Page 41 of Christmas in Kiwi Country

“Are you ready?” Gwen asks softly, and I look up to see Hank asleep in the chair and the boys asleep in their bassinets.

My gaze falls to Nova and then back to Gwen, and she laughs softly at my pout before taking the baby from my arms.

“The babies are sleeping. The parents are sleeping. Dinner is in the crockpot and I think Rhea and Sorren are on standby to come help. Time to go home, Pappy.”

She coos at our granddaughter before kissing her forehead and placing her gently in her own bassinet. Sighing, I stand and Hank opens one eye. Gwen kisses the top of his head before giving him the same speech and leading me quietly through the house.

Gwen and I had married just before the triplets were born. Isla had groused about being twenty-seven months pregnant in the photos, but we promised we’d do a vow renewal at her convenience.

Cheyenne had designed and made Gwen’s wedding dress—black lace over caramel-colored satin with a high neck and low back and the most stunning beading. Her red heels had matched her signature lipstick, and she’d been every bit as breathtaking as the moment I first saw her.

“Say it again?” I ask as soon as we’re outside.

Wrapping her arms around my neck, she smiles and presses her body against mine. “Time to go home, Pappy.”

My grin is wolfish as I back her toward the car and press her against the side. “Mrs. Andrews,” I tsk as I kiss down the column of her neck. “You know what that does to me.”

Giggling, she pushes me back just far enough to slant her lips over mine. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you like it.”

“I do, Mr. Andrews. I certainly do.”

* * *

The plansfor theBig Houseare spread out over the kitchen table, and Gwen smirks at my overly enthusiastic design. Flora and Vincent’s house was getting tight, and if we continued to add people into the family, we’d need a bigger space.

Gwen and I had sectioned off a plot of the Darling Farms land and were getting ready to bring the plans to Sunday dinner to show everyone before we start construction in a couple of months.

“You don’t think this is too much?” Gwen asks and I shake my head.

“I want us to be able to grow into it. Have everyone be able to gather comfortably, and what better way to spend our money than on the people we love.”

She rolls her lips inward as she bites back her retort aboutour money,and I appreciate the effort. I don’t need her to be comfortable right away with the wealth I’ve accumulated, but I was serious when I said my vows, and what’s mine is hers.

Kissing my cheek, she says, “I think everyone will be real happy with the design, and you know the kids will love the game room and home theater.”

I’m just about to respond when a car roars into the driveway and Gwen stands to look outside. A door slams and I stand. “Something’s wrong,” she says over her shoulder before two swift knocks hit the wood.

Opening the door, I’m surprised to find Sorren standing on our porch. We haven’t had a lot of time to get to know each other, although more since the babies arrived. His expression is stormy as he looks from my wife back to me.

Placing a hand on his chest, she says, “I’ll leave you boys to talk. I’ll be out in the garden if you need me.”

He nods and forces a tight smile as we watch her walk out back.

“Do you want a drink? I think Gwen picked up some root beer, there’s sweet tea, water?” I ask but he shakes his head. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I ask the next logical question. “What do you need?”

“I need a favor.” Tension radiates from him in spades as he prepares to say the words that cost him more than I’ll ever know.

“Name it.”

Taking a piece of paper from his back pocket, Sorren steps forward and hands it to me. I scan the document, my eyebrows getting acquainted with my hairline as I read the highlighted names.

“Have you talked to your sister?” I ask.

“I don’t want to unless there’s a reason.”

“I’ll call the Private Investigator we have at Andrews International and pass this along.” I may be retired, but Tom Oakden is still a friend and right now my family is in trouble. I look up at Sorren, his expression hard, anger simmering in his eyes. “I’ll give him your number to follow up.”

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