Free A Christmas to Remember by Jill Shalvis, Kristen Ashley, Hope Ramsay, Molly Cannon, Marilyn Pappano

Dad and Tyra were on one couch. Shy and I were on another. And Landon had the armchair.
    The minute Tyra’s ass settled on the couch next to Dad, Dad gave the go ahead.
    “Tear it up, boys.”
    Rider and Cutter did not delay.
    I didn’t either.
    Neither did Rush.
    It was arguable, but I thought stockings were the best part of Christmas. I didn’t know why. I always got stuff like deodorant, magazines, gift cards, things to put in my hair, lip gloss, shit like that, all of this wrapped in Christmas tissue paper (another Tyra tradition). So it wasn’t like I was unearthing diamonds and pearls, but instead stuff I usually bought myself at the drugstore on a regular basis.
    Still, I loved it.
    I was halfway through tearing through my stash when something hit me. A warm buzz that vibrated in the air—indistinct, almost elusive—but I felt it coming at me from my left side. I lifted my head from unwrapping a plastic spatula shaped like a Christmas bell and looked that way.
    And at what I saw, I went still.
    This was because both the brothers Cage were not unwrapping their stockings. They were watching Rider and Cutter as if they were mesmerized. But their mesmerization left warm looks on their faces, the kind of warmth mixed with nostalgia that made me catch my breath.
    My eyes drifted to my brothers, all three of them, the big and the little.
    All of Kane Allen’s children looked like him, including Rush and me. Ride and Cut were no different. A mess of dark, thick hair, and even as little boys you could see they were going to have Dad’s tall frame.
    Both my baby brothers got their mother’s green eyes, however.
    Rush got our mother’s eyes. Luckily, I got Dad’s, which meant I got nothing from my mother. I was down with that, seeing as we didn’t get along since she didn’t much like me from approximately the day I was born and I returned the favor.
    Landon, being dark like Shy, made Tyra, a redhead, the only odd man out in the assemblage.
    We looked like family, though. All of us.
    But I knew Shy and Landon didn’t see how cute those two little boys were, tearing into their underwear and socks with abandon. Or how awesome it was that Rush, a badass himself, got off on sitting on the floor with his little bro buds and passing out Christmas presents. Shy and Landon also weren’t thinking how beautiful Ride and Cut were with their father’s coloring, features and frame, and their mother’s extraordinary eyes.
    No.
    They were seeing themselves in happier times.
    And, for once, in fact, for the first time in sixteen years, that nostalgia didn’t hit them like a knife in the gut.
    Instead, it was hitting him with a feeling that was sweet.
    I knew Shy was going with that flow; he had been since he became a part of my life.
    It was Landon who now was letting the sweet feeling of love, joy, and family seep into his pores.
    And liking it.
    And I liked that.
    Feeling my own not-so-vague hint of sweet, I came unstuck, moved the part of my stash that I’d tucked in the seat between Shy and I, and shifted closer to him.
    I put my hand on his thigh and when I got his eyes, I encouraged quietly, “Baby, open up your stocking.”
    “It’ll get opened, Tab,” was his quiet reply.
    I held his eyes, saw the sweet burning in them, felt it burn into my soul, and nodded.
    Then I went back to my stash.
    “Now presents!” Cut shouted, clearly done with his stocking and ready to move on.
    “Lan and Shy aren’t done with their stockings, honey,” Tyra told him, and Cutter sliced his narrowed, impatient gaze to Shy and Landon.
    “Hurry up!” he snapped.
    “We’re good,” Landon told him and looked Tyra and Dad’s way. “You can keep goin’. We’ll catch up.”
    Dad gave him a look, assessed what was going on (Dad was far from dumb; he knew all about Shy and Lan). Then he gave a chin lift and his gaze moved to Rush, “Start it, Rush. Think this year it’s youngest to oldest.”
    “
Yee ha!
” Cutter, the youngest,