Page 2 of Holiday Hire

Wilder and Ace don't say anything.

"Well?" I push.

Dad interjects, "Boys, answer your father."

"We were finishing our ride," Wilder states.

"Yeah," Ace follows.

I point at them. "Don't push me right now."

My sons sigh and reply, "Yes, sir."

Before I can say anything else, Dad steps between them. "Let's go wash up." He turns them toward the house and guides them away.

"Unbelievable," I grumble.

"Chill out. They're just being kids. We were like that," Jagger reminds me.

"We wouldn't have ignored Dad," I repeat.

He grunts. "Sure we did. Stop insisting we didn’t. We were hellions."

"You're wrong," I insist, stomping toward the house. The last thing I'm going to put up with are my sons turning into little disrespectful brats.

"Georgia! I did it!" Ace shrieks, breaking away from my father and running toward the porch.

All day, the women in my family have been taking down Halloween decorations and putting up Thanksgiving ones. Orange and gold lights wrap around the posts and hang from the awnings along with pumpkins and turkeys. A huge autumn wreath with burlap, acorns, pine cones, reddish-orange berries, and multicolored fall leaves hangs on the front door.

"Yay!" Georgia praises Ace, then ruffles his hair.

I can't help but smile. Our family fell in love with Sebastian's wife, and my sons weren't immune to her beaming personality.

She shouts, "Hurry up, guys. Lunch is ready."

"We're coming," Sebastian yells back.

Ace and Wilder disappear inside with Georgia, and the rest of us follow. We remove our boots, then take turns washing our hands in the kitchen.

I'm the last to enter the huge dining room.

Years ago, my parents had a custom-made table so the entire family could fit around it. It has several extra leaves, so it expands. My parents were smart and anticipated needing room for future spouses and grandkids. But even now, there are times we have to pull out kiddie tables. Today, we don't need one, sinceonly my sister Evelyn and her three kids are here. Her husband and my other sisters, Ava, Willow, and Paisley, aren't home.

Before I step inside the room, an animated voice declares, "This looks amazing, Mrs. Cartwright!"

"Please, dear. I told you to call me Ruby," my mom insists.

I freeze outside the doorway, peek inside, then groan internally. My mother has an annoying habit of bringing home women and trying to set me up with them. She did the same thing with Sebastian, then once he married Georgia, she pinned her unwelcome matchmaking skills on me.

I've told her countless times to stop and to not bring them around my boys. The last time it happened, she claimed any woman I would get serious about needed to be great with my sons.

It only infuriated me. We got into a heated conversation, which rarely happens. I reiterated that the last thing I want is to replace the boys' mother.

She reminded me that my wife passed away eight years ago and that I didn't need to be alone forever.

Every statement cut deeper into my still-raw wounds. So I fired back harsher than ever.

That was about eight months ago. I thought she learned her lesson, but she's at it again.

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