Total pages in book: 11
Estimated words: 9947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 50(@200wpm)___ 40(@250wpm)___ 33(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 9947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 50(@200wpm)___ 40(@250wpm)___ 33(@300wpm)
He failed at that. The whole Clan’s worried.
“Jesus,” Lachlan says, shining a flashlight in the ditch. “Tell me that isn’t them?”
Cormac squints his eyes, and peers ahead of him. He shakes his head. “There’s something shiny and silver, but it certainly isn’t Malachy.”
I peer into the darkness like him. “Good lord, it isn’t his car. It’s far too small. Looks more like…” his voice trails off. “A sleigh?”
“A sleigh? How much did you have to drink before we left?” Carson asks, frowning.
Cormac grins. He’s only teasing.
“Alright, relax,” I order. “We need to stay focused here.”
“We have to go down,” Lachlan says. “Keenan, you shouldn’t go. You need to stay here in case there’s something dangerous ahead of us.”
"I'll go with you," Carson says. We watch as they head down the steep, icy incline, and fresh snow falls harder now. It accumulates on my shoulders just as quickly as I can brush it off.
“Keenan!” Lachlan shouts from below.
I wave my hand at him to tell him I’ver heard him. “What is it?”
“It isn’t Malachy or Daniel, but someone else.”
Dammit.
“Who is it?”
“Santa!” Lachlan says with a grin. He turns back to the ditch, sobering. “Honestly, though, it’s definitely some poor bloke that came to deliver gifts and slid down. We’ll see if we can help him.”
The clouds part and moonlight falls softly around us, illuminating our path.
I nod reluctantly. As it is, we’re short on time and I wish we had Malachy.
Lachlan and Carson talk to a hooded figure down below, when suddenly Cormac shuts out.
“Keenan! Look!”
I look to where Cormac points ahead of him. “There’s another set of tire marks we didn’t see before. Bloody hell.”
I look to where he points.
“Jesus, you’re right.
“And I know it’s Malachy’s because he bought those new tires himself.”
It’s the Clan at its best: loyal to the brotherhood, sharp attention to detail, bravery in the face of uncertainty.
I nod slowly. He didn’t fall into the ditch, then. At that moment, the rescue trucks Lachlan called arrive. I look down to find Lachlan and Carson already hauling someone dressed in red velvet up the steep incline.
“Goddamn, they’ve really rescued Santa,” I mutter.
Cormac chuckles. “Maybe they’ll end up on the nice list after all.”
I snort. “Right, there’s no amount of rescuing that will help them there.”
Still, I’m proud of my boys.
“Wasn’t a sleigh, exactly,” Carson says. “He was volunteering in town and ran off the road.”
“Good job you saw him then,” I say. “Well done, boys. Now to find Malachy. Has anyone called him again?”
“Aye, no answer,” Lachlan says. “Can you track his phone, Carson?”
“Tried earlier, said the mobile was unavailable. Could be out of the area or broken.” Carson shakes his head. “But I’ll try again.”
The wind howls and we all huddle together against the cold and snow that falls like feathers from the sky. Carson taps on his phone, brings up the app we use to keep track of everyone, and peers at the screen.
“Hard to fucking see,” he mutters, squinting, then he curses under his breath. “No, just as I saw before, I— no, wait a minute.” His voice holds a note of hope. “The little dot just appeared in Ballyhock centre. Could it be?”
“Let’s go.” We pile into our cars and drive to the centre. Cormac comes with me, and Carson drives with Lachlan. Most everything’s closed, but a few shop windows still have lights in the windows.
“Keenan! Is that them?” Cormac points ahead to a two people huddled by the side of the road, their car flashing hazard lights. I come to a stop behind them and try to peer through the window. Could it be?
“Damn it is!” Thank God. I’m so relieved, I’m suddenly warmed through, the biting cold of the night forgotten.
I open the door just as Lachlan and Carson exit their car, following behind us.
“Malachy?”
One of the figures turns and looks to us, waving his hand. He’s bundled against the cold, but his hat and scarf are wet and iced over. Beside him stands a young lad, also bundled and damp.
“Malachy! Are you alright?” I ask.
“Thank God, Keenan,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve been trying to reach you for ages. Phone won’t work, we got a flat tire on the way to the party tonight. I had a quick stop to make,” he says, averting his eyes for a moment. “But damn if I haven’t been able to fix the damn tire. It’s warped, won’t go on.”
I look down to his raw red hands and shake my head. “Leave it. Come back to the house with us, and we’ll take care of it in the morning. We were worried about you.”
His bright blue eyes warm in the stark cold. “Thank you, son. We’re alright. But God what I’d give for some good food and something hot to drink.”
I clap him on the back. “Anything you want, Malachy. And you must be Daniel?”