Georgia's Gamble [A Historical Fiction Novel; The Pratt Chronicles Book 1]

Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Georgia Pratt

Christmas Eve had always been my favourite. There was something about the crisp winter air, which, even in Texas, carried a slight chill, mingling with the scent of pine, cinnamon, and the occasional whiff of roasted pecans from the kitchen. The warm glow of the fire flickered against the windows, contrasting with the wide, open fields dusted with a rare frost outside. This year felt extra special, with everyone home—my siblings, cousins, parents, aunt, uncle, and even our grandparents all gathered at the ranch, the sprawling family home that had stood tall on this land for generations.

I smiled as I surveyed the scene unfolding in the sitting room. Finn and Tucker were wrestling with the garland, which was supposed to drape gracefully along the wide wooden banister leading upstairs. Instead, it looked like they'd gotten caught in a brawl with the greenery.

"Finn, that garland is supposed to hang, not choke the banister," I called over to them, stepping closer. My fifteen-year-old brother straightened up, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips, while Tucker, still concentrating hard, continued twisting the ribbons in knots only a ten-year-old could invent.

Finn shot me a look. "Well, maybe if you quit hovering over us, it'd turn out better!"

I laughed, shaking my head. "If I leave it to you, it'll look like a Christmas tree exploded." I gently untangled the mess Tucker had created, rearranging the loops with a more delicate touch. "Here, let me show you."

Quinn appeared at my side with a knowing smirk, sipping from a mug of hot cocoa. "They need all the help they can get, Georgie. You'd think Finn was raised in a barn." Close enough.

Finn rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile there. "This is harder than it looks, alright? Why don't you just do it?"

Quinn shrugged. "I'm just here for moral support." He handed the cocoa to me, raising his hands in mock surrender.

I ignored his teasing and turned back to Tucker, who was now holding the end of the garland with wide eyes, waiting for further instructions. "Alright, Tuck, gently. We want it to look festive, not like we're preparing for a rodeo."

Tucker nodded solemnly, adjusting the garland with newfound care. Meanwhile, Kit—our younger brother at eight—was hanging off the other end of the banister, swinging like a monkey as he tried to help Wyatt, who at five had no idea what he was doing, but was excited to be involved nonetheless.

"Kit, you're going to break your neck if you keep that up," I warned, moving to lift him off the railing. He pouted but obeyed, sliding down to the floor while Wyatt giggled and mimicked his every move.

Our parents, aunt, and uncle were in the kitchen, their voices carrying over the sound of clattering dishes and the bubbling stew on the stove. The smell of freshly baked biscuits filled the house, making my stomach rumble in anticipation.

Near the fireplace, JJ and Aaron, our fourteen-year-old cousin, were in charge of hanging the stockings. JJ had the more practical approach, arranging them evenly, while Aaron, true to form, was trying to hang his upside down, no doubt in the hopes of messing with our youngest sister Dakota.

At barely one year old, Dakota was toddling around the room, her chubby hands grabbing onto the hem of Aaron's shirt as she giggled, oblivious to the holiday chaos around her.

"Don't let her near the tree," I called to JJ, who grinned and bent down to pick Dakota up.

"Don't worry, Georgie, I've got her. She's my little sidekick." JJ balanced her on his hip as she grabbed at his hat, squealing in delight.