Samara grinned, surveying her mother’s decidedly unglamorous appearance. Few people would recognize the famous fashion designer in her husband’s loose-fitting white button-down shirt worn over black leggings. But even without her stylish clothes and expensive makeup, and even with her hair pulled back into a simple twist, Asha still looked beautiful.
As she headed up the staircase with Milan, Samara went to open the door. She grinned broadly at the husband and wife nuzzling on the doorstep, each carrying two large aluminum pans covered with foil.
“Hey, Aunt Prissy and Uncle Stan,” Samara greeted them cheerfully.
They pulled apart and grinned at her. “Hey, baby girl.”
“Come on in,” she said, opening the door wider.
Prissy Wolf kissed her cheek as she bustled inside the house with her pans of food. “Where’s your mama?”
“Putting Milan down for her nap.”
Stan Wolf leaned down to kiss Samara’s forehead and wink at her. “Where are the fellas?”
“Out back playing basketball.”
Stan grinned. “Oh, it’s on.”
Prissy laughed. “Better bring that food into the kitchen first,” she admonished over her shoulder. “Oh, and Mason’s coming, Samara. He was right behind us.”
Samara looked outside. Sure enough, a black Lamborghini was roaring up the driveway.
She grinned, watching as the sleek Italian sports car skidded to a stop just inches behind Stan’s Lincoln Navigator. The door of the Lamborghini lifted vertically and then out stepped Mason Wolf, star wide receiver of the Atlanta Falcons.
Like the other Wolf men, Mason was a towering hunk of masculinity with broad shoulders, gorgeously chiseled features and dark chocolate skin. His black hair was braided into neat cornrows that were easier to maintain during football season, and he sported immaculately trimmed sideburns that tapered down into a precise goatee. He was wearing black Timbs, dark Seven Jeans and a fitted white shirt that hugged his muscle-sculpted chest and some serious abs.
He was texting on his phone, a wicked grin playing at his lips as he sauntered up to the house with that long-legged Wolf prowl.
Samara called out teasingly, “Better put that phone away before you walk into something.”
Mason glanced up at her, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Wassup, beautiful.”
She grinned. “Yo, wassup.”
Reaching the door, Mason tucked his phone into his back pocket and then wrapped Samara up in a bear hug, lifting her off the floor and making her laugh.
As he set her back down, she wagged her head at him. “Why am I not surprised to see you here on your Sunday off?”
He grinned. “I heard my mama’s food was headed this way. So I followed.”
“Of course you did,” Samara teased, closing the door. “Good game on Thursday night. Two hundred and ten receiving yards and three touchdowns? I’m impressed, old man.”
Mason laughed. “Now, see, why you gotta throw shade? Why couldn’t you just congratulate a brotha without adding the ‘old man’ diss?”
Samara laughed. “It’s all love, boo.”
“Uh-huh. Right.” He was grinning as he started from the foyer. His jeans sat low on his lean hips, hugging a round ass that female sports fans had lasciviously dubbed “the best ba-dunk-a-dunk” in the NFL. When he retired from playing, women everywhere would go into deep mourning.
Mason and Samara reached the kitchen to find Sterling, Asha, Stan and Prissy gathered around the huge center island. They were laughing and drinking wine from Asha’s French vineyard as fragrant aromas wafted from the double ovens, making Samara’s mouth water.
Mason went over to greet his aunt and uncle, grinning boyishly as Asha planted a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek and Sterling affectionately rubbed the back of his head. Mason might be a future Hall of Famer and a sex symbol, but to the Wolf Pack, he would always be Pipsqueak.
Everyone ribbed him good-naturedly as he helped himself to a handful of holiday canapés from a platter on the center island.
“The food’s heating up,” Prissy told her youngest son, “so you can eat when everything’s ready.”
“That’s what’s up.” Mason polished off a canapé and popped another one into his mouth. As Samara came up beside him, he playfully bumped her shoulder with his. “Where your husband and kids at?”
“Milan’s napping,” Samara answered, selecting a smoked salmon pinwheel. “Marcus and the boys are out back shooting hoops.”
“They wore Uncle Sterl out,” Stan teased his older brother. “That’s why he came back inside with a quickness.”
Everyone was still laughing when they heard the front door open followed by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Michael and Reese appeared in the arched doorway, each holding a child in their arms. They were joined by Manning and Taylor, their three kids in tow.
Everyone called out enthusiastic greetings to the newcomers, welcoming them with hugs and kisses and delighted smiles. Asha plucked MJ out of Reese’s arms while Prissy took Savannah from Michael.
When Marcus emerged from the backyard with Matthew and Malcolm, the older children greeted one another excitedly and then raced off to play downstairs, Shadow barking behind them.
It wasn’t long before Montana, Magnum and Maddox Wolf showed up, broad grins wreathing their handsome faces as they looked around the bustling kitchen.
“We heard there was a party going on,” Montana drawled.
“With food,” Magnum added, rubbing his stomach.
Everyone laughed as the three brothers made their way to the platter of canapés. More glasses of wine were poured, more dinner plates added to the growing stack on the center island. Sterling put on some holiday music, Nat King Cole crooning about chestnuts roasting on an open fire.
Marcus wrapped his arm around Samara’s waist as she fed him the last canapé and slowly licked her fingers. They held each other’s gazes, the air between them sparking with heat and electricity.
The festive gathering grew even larger and noisier with the arrival of Prissy’s brother and sister-in-law, Theo and Winnie Kirkland. They were accompanied by their twin daughters Maya and Zora, along with their husbands and young children. More boisterous greetings and hugs were exchanged, everyone laughing and talking at once.
When someone brought up the family’s upcoming trip to France, Zora called out to no one in particular, “What day are we leaving again?”
“We’re leaving on December twenty-second at seven A.M.,” Manning called back in a deep, authoritative voice that halted all conversation. When twenty pairs of eyes swung to him, he took the opportunity to elaborate. “As everyone may recall, it’s an eight-hour flight to Paris followed by a ninety-minute drive to Burgundy. It’s going to be a long day and we’re traveling with small children, so we need to get an early start. We ain’t operating on CP Time, folks. Anyone who’s late to the airport is getting left. I’m looking at you, Maya and Zora.”
Everyone burst into knowing laughter as Maya and Zora traded sheepish grins. The twin sisters’ perpetual lateness was a long-running joke in the family. They’d even been tardy to their own weddings.
Manning joked, “I can already see y’all running down the tarmac yelling ‘Wait! Wait!’ while the rest of us wave at you from the plane.”
As more raucous laughter erupted, Navarro and Zachary made a show of consoling their pouting wives.
More than forty of them would be spending the holidays at Asha’s luxurious château in Burgundy. To avoid overloading one plane with everyone’s luggage and Christmas packages, they were splitting up into two groups. Half of the family was traveling on Manning’s Gulfstream, the other half on Marcus’s.
“All I know is that I’m flying on the same plane as Mama Wolf,” Magnum announced.
“Aww,” Prissy cooed, patting her son’s stubbled cheek. “That’s sweet that you want to fly with your great-grandmother.”
“Heck, yeah, I do,” Magnum assert
ed, grinning. “Mama Wolf is like a good luck charm. She’s one hundred and five years old and still going strong. As long as she’s on the plane, nothing’s gonna happen.”
This set off a round of laughter and guffaws, heads shaking in amusement.
Maddox remarked humorously to Mason, “Your boy Reid has been lighting up Twitter since last night.”
“I know,” Mason said with a laugh. “Every woman I know has been sending me the link to the video all day. Like I hadn’t already watched the press conference last night and called to congratulate Reid.”
“Are you talking about your friend who plays hockey?” Sterling asked.
“Yeah. He popped the question to his girlfriend last night after the game. Mind you, he had a really big night, scored his three hundredth career goal. But all these chicks wanna talk about is his romantic marriage proposal. Granted, it was pretty dope.”
“Ooh, I wanna see it,” Reese exclaimed. “Is it on YouTube?”
“But of course.” As Mason pulled out his smartphone, everyone crowded around him to watch the video of a tall, strapping, blue-eyed hunk proposing to his stunned girlfriend, a lovely young black woman in a badass Miu Miu dress.
When the video ended with the couple locked in a passionate kiss, a chorus of feminine coos and sighs swept around the kitchen.
“Aww! That was sooo romantic!”
“What a lucky girl!”
“There’s nothing like young love. And what a kiss.” Asha sighed, laying a hand over her heart. “Le seul vrai langage au monde est un baiser. The only true language in the world is a kiss.”
Zora was less eloquent but just as truthful. “Damn, Reid is fine as hell!”
The women laughed and hummed in hearty agreement, causing the men to scowl and grumble.
Zora grinned, fanning herself. “If I weren’t happily married—”
“Girl, hush,” Maya chided. “One white boy is enough for you.”
“I know.” Zora leaned up on tiptoe and soundly kissed Zachary’s cheek, drawing amused snorts of laughter from everyone.
“How long have Reid and his girlfriend been dating?” Asha asked Mason.
He grinned. “Just a couple months, if you can believe it.”
“Wow,” the others exclaimed. “He moves fast!”
Marcus smiled down at Samara. “When it’s right, it’s right.”
“Amen,” Michael agreed, winking at Reese.
Asha gave Samara a meaningful glance before smiling at Mason. “And how did you meet Reid?”
“We met in New York a few years ago,” Mason explained, tucking his phone away. “We were shooting an anti-drug PSA with some other pro athletes. We hit it off and started hanging out after that. He’s good people.”
Stan nodded. “I like him. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, seems like he was raised right. Pris, remember how he treated us all to dinner when we flew out to Denver for Mason’s game against the Broncos?”
“I remember,” Prissy said warmly. “Reid was the perfect host, and it was so wonderful to see the Wimbushes again. Remember how we spent hours at the restaurant laughing and reminiscing about the years we lived in Denver?”
“Sounding like a bunch of old fogies,” Mason clowned his parents. “Reid and I were tryna hit the club and y’all were holding us up.”
Stan and Prissy laughed.
“Didn’t Reid just sign a deal with Nike?” Marcus asked.
“Yup,” Mason confirmed. “We’re doing a commercial together next year.”
“Oh Lordt,” Zora joked. “That’s gonna break the damn Internet.”
All the women laughed in agreement.
Donning fancy oven mitts, Prissy and Asha removed the aluminum pans from the double ovens and set them down on the center island.
As everyone gravitated toward the good-smelling food, Prissy peeled off the foil covers with a dramatic flourish and cheerfully announced, “Come and get it while it’s hot!”
She didn’t have to tell ’em twice.
7
Three days later, Marcus was driving back to the office after attending a hearing at the courthouse. The judge had ruled in his client’s favor, so Marcus had strolled out of the courtroom feeling even more exhilarated than when he’d arrived.
Truth be told, he’d had a permanent spring in his step for the past nine years, starting from the day Samara had gazed into his eyes and spoke the words, “I do.” She’d changed him in more ways than he could have ever imagined. She’d torn down his defenses, dismantled the walls he’d erected around his heart in the aftermath of his parents’ devastating divorce. After years of carrying around so much hurt and anger and cynicism, it had been liberating to let go of the baggage.
Since marrying Samara, he’d been at peace with himself and his world. He walked around feeling a bone-deep satisfaction with life. As far as he was concerned, nothing on earth compared to the love of a good woman. It was the kind of love that could sustain a man through life’s toughest challenges and save his very soul.
Whistling along to the Christmas tunes playing on the radio, Marcus decided to take a detour and pay a quick visit to Magnum at the fire station. He and his cousin had always shared a close bond. They were the same age, so they’d played together as children and were roommates at Morehouse.
Magnum always knew he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a firefighter. He and his four brothers had grown up taking rides on fire trucks, sirens blaring and lights flashing. Long after his brothers outgrew the thrill, Magnum’s fascination with firefighting had only intensified. He’d collected replica rescue trucks and enjoyed running around the house in his father’s helmet, turnout coat and boots.
He was destined to become a firefighter, and just like his old man before him, he’d turned out to be a damn good one.
When Marcus pulled up to the fire station, the garage doors were open. Two fire engines and a fire truck were inside the large bay.
Marcus parked at the curb and got out. He was wearing dark sunglasses and a navy Brioni suit with Louis Vuitton loafers. He always felt overdressed when he showed up at the fire station in his business attire. The firefighters enjoyed giving him a hard time and calling him “Counselor GQ.”
The thought made him chuckle as he started up the long driveway toward the redbrick building. He could see a pair of booted feet inside the fire truck’s ladder chute, a narrow compartment that provided access to the engine and pump.
As Marcus neared the truck, he heard a muttered string of expletives that brought a knowing grin to his face.
“Damn, son,” he drawled, pulling off his sunglasses. “Is it that bad?”
Magnum broke off mid-curse. “Marcus?”
“The one and only.”
Magnum chuckled. “Yo, what up, cousin? What’s good with you?”
“That’s what I should be asking you, Captain Wolf.” Marcus sauntered over to the side of the fire truck so he could see his cousin through the opening. Magnum was wearing tinted safety goggles and sporting several days’ worth of dark stubble.
“What’re you doing?” Marcus asked him.
“Fixing this damn valve that sprung a leak.”
“Don’t you have a mechanic for that?”
“He’s out sick.”
“So you couldn’t find anyone else to do the job?”
“Why should I?” Magnum retorted. “I’ve been fixing engines since I was in diapers.”
It wasn’t far from the truth. Magnum’s father was a talented handyman who’d always enjoyed repairing things. He’d passed on his knowledge and skills to his sons and nephews, who’d spent many childhood afternoons crowded around the hood of a car as they learned everything from how to change the oil to how to install an exhaust system.
Part of being a man is being self-sufficient, Uncle Stan would lecture them. Your ancestors fought bravely in wars, took care of their families and handled their business like real men are supposed to. No Wolf male should ever go th
rough life not knowing how to do something as basic as changing a flat tire.
Smiling at the memory, Marcus hitched his chin toward Magnum. “Sounds like you’re having some trouble up there.”
Magnum grunted. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Marcus propped one shoulder against the truck. “This is the umpteenth time this year that the truck has needed repairs. Think it’s time to put her out to pasture?”
“Nah,” Magnum scoffed. “No need to blow our budget on a new rig. Regular maintenance and upkeep is all this baby needs.”
Marcus grinned teasingly. “Your old man is the head honcho. Why don’t you just ask him to hook you guys up with a new truck?”
Magnum laughed at the suggestion, which, of course, had been made in jest.
As the son of Atlanta’s fire chief, Magnum had risen through the ranks on his own merit, proving himself through hard work, grit and determination. To avoid the appearance of nepotism, he went out of his way not to ask his father for anything. Like, ever.
Tinkering with a molded black hose, Magnum said conversationally, “Wifey and kids doing all right?”
“Yup,” Marcus said, smiling. “Just counting down the days to Christmas.”
“I bet they are.” Magnum shot him a sly grin. “By the way, I saw the looks you and Samara were giving each other on Sunday. If she’s not already pregnant again, she will be soon enough.”
Marcus laughed. “From your lips to God’s ears.”
Magnum’s grin broadened. “You always talked about wanting a big family if you ever got married. Guess you weren’t lying.”
“Nope.”
Magnum chuckled. “Hand me that ratchet wrench right there.”
Marcus picked up the right tool with barely a glance and handed it over.
“Thanks.” Magnum started spinning the handle of the wrench, loosening a nut. “So you really want more kids, huh?”
“I do.” Marcus leaned back against the truck, his hands tucked into his pockets. “See, you grew up with four brothers, so you always had someone to keep you company. Sometimes I envied you.”
Oh Baby: A Holiday Novella (Wolf Pack Book 9) Page 6