Free Wild Irish Christmas (Wild Irish, Book Eight) by Mari Carr Page A

led them in The Twelve Days of Christmas . Sean and Ewan cleverly managed to change the lyrics, loudly singing bawdy lines over the real ones. By the ending refrain, they’d all ditched the true words and were singing the most irreverent version of the song ever sung.
    Finally, they pulled out the gifts they’d purchased, placing them beneath the tree. Because the family was so large, they’d long ago adopted the tradition of drawing names so everyone didn’t go broke trying to buy gifts. Patrick noticed that didn’t seem to be the case this year.
    “That’s quite a lot of presents,” he remarked.
    Killian plopped down on the couch and lifted his feet, resting them on the coffee table. “Riley’s idea again. She said it sucked getting older because her pile of Christmas presents continued to get smaller every year.”
    “All I said,” Riley interjected, sitting next to Killian and lifting her feet next to his, “was I wanted to buy a gift for all my brothers and sisters this year and I wanted them to shower me with presents as well.”
    “And,” Tris added, grabbing the bottle of whiskey, “since it’s only the eight of us here in the morning, that’ll make it easier to watch everyone open their gifts. Fewer people around the tree and no little ones running all over the place, asking to go next.”
    Patrick claimed his recliner as the rest of his kids pulled up chairs or grabbed pillows and plopped down on the floor around the tree. “I still can’t believe you’re all spending the night here.”
    Keira grinned. “We’re here because it’s the holidays, Pop. You haven’t been yourself the last few months. We worry.”
    Patrick grasped his oldest daughter’s hand. “I’m a tired, old fool. I suppose I lost my way for a bit. Let the daily grind get me down. You crazy kids have reminded me what’s important in life with this gesture. It’s a lovely gift.”
    Keira squeezed his hand. “We love you. It’s been years since the eight of us were alone together in this apartment…all busy with kids and jobs. We thought it was time we took a night to reconnect. To remember where we came from.”
    “Oh,” Sean added, “and a word to the wise, Pop. Next year, when the girls ask you what you want for Christmas, say a flashy tie or an animal-print Snuggie or some bull like that. Don’t say, ‘I only want you all to be happy and healthy’. Leaves too much room for interpretation—especially from Riley.”
    Riley picked up a pillow and lobbed it at her younger brother’s head. “Way to ruin Keira’s sappy speech, smartass.”
    “Language, Riley,” Patrick said, the words a familiar joke more than a true rebuke.
    “Sorry, Pop.” Her face told him she wasn’t sorry at all.
    Tris lifted the whiskey, proposing a quick toast. “We’re here, Pop, because we’re family. To the Collins clan.” He took a swig from the bottle and passed it to Teagan, who followed suit with her own cheers.
    Patrick wasn’t sure what it said about his character that he was proud of the way all seven of his offspring could hold their whiskey.
    As the bottle moved from hand to hand, they each offered up words of thanks or wishes for the New Year. When it reached Patrick, he lifted the bottle and proposed a toast he hadn’t used since the last Christmas he’d celebrated with his wife, Sunday.
    “To Conall Brannagh.”
    Ewan took the bottle from his father. “Who?”
    “Conall Brannagh,” Patrick repeated. “If your mother had chosen him over me, none of us would be here tonight.”
    Sean leaned forward, a definite gleam of interest in his eyes. “So you had some competition for Mom, eh? I never knew that.”
    Keira grabbed a bag of pretzels. “I didn’t either. Was Mom in love with him?”
    Teagan looked at Patrick. “I always thought you were her first love.”
    Patrick smiled at his daughter. “I was her last love, Teagan. That’s a much better spot to claim. Besides, I don’t know if it’s fair to say