Page 51 of Deck the Halls with Cowboys
Abbie looked at her girls for help as I walked around the table to pour Lance a glass. “Thanks, boss,” he muttered.
I clappedhim on the shoulder. “Not a problem.”
“Everything looks wonderful,” Jigs said, eyeing each dish. “Thank you to everyone who cooked—but can I ask who made the rolls?”
I jerked my chin. “Harm did, Jigs.”
“Well, damn,” he drawled, reaching for one. “They look just like mine.”
Abbie brought her hand to her mouth to conceal her laugh, her eyes shooting toward my sister-in-law, who, strangely enough, looked like she’d seen a ghost. When I looked back at Jigs, he was already taking a bite of the soft bread, steam coming from the inside as he chewed it methodically. Slowly, the man’s weathered features were painted with confusion, then shock, and more confusion. “These…these are my rolls.”
“What?” Beau blurted. “That can’t be.” He reached for a roll and ripped off a huge bite.
My lips twitched as I looked back to my wife, who was gawking at Harmony’s profile, jaw slack.
“Holy shit,” Beau whispered. Then his head whipped over to Harm, eyes narrowing. “How in the hell did you make these?”
“Umm…” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Well…you see…”
“Ham is done!” my brother announced from the back door.
“Thank fuck,” Mags muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“See? I told you.” Diana beamed at him.
I shot a wink to Valerie before bending down and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “A perfect Christmas,” I whispered.
As I rose to my full height, Mase came around the corner, the big silver ham pan in his hands. The ham itself was still covered in foil, but that didn’t stop him from plastering the biggest smile on his face like the cocky son of a bitch he was.
“Dinner is served,” he drawled, leaning between Harmony and his empty seat to place the ham in the center of the table. He clapped his hands and spread his arms wide. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!”
Mags clicked his tongue, leaned forward, and yanked the foil off. I braced my hands on the back of my chair, praying for one last Christmas miracle.
It didn’t come.
Smoke lifted into the air, all of us watching it spread around the chandelier, before all eyes landed on the ham.
The dark brown, almost black ham.
“God dammit,” Jigs muttered, shaking his head.
“It’s burnt,” Beau deadpanned, glaring at Mase.
“It is not burnt, you fuckers! It’s a little crispy,” my brother argued as I looked at my wife, expecting devastation on her face. What I found instead wasthe opposite.
She was about to burst out laughing, but Diana and Abbie beat her to the punch.
“How does one burn two hams?” I asked, looking at Mase, shaking my head.
He gestured to it. “It is not burnt! It just got a little crispy on the top because it nearly caught fire—”
“Again?” everyone asked, groaning.
“I’ve never known anyone to actually catch something on fire with the smoker,” my son noted. For some reason, NJ found that hilarious and started laughing. A rough chuckle left me.
“Look, is it edible or not?” Lance asked. “I’m starved.”
“Yes! It’s fuckin’ edible!” Mason growled.
