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Hank always felt a little bit like the odd man out. He was the middle child, thirteen months younger than Simon and ten months older than Grady. And he was the last man standing. All four of his brothers were happily married. Most of them with children and it always seemed like more were always on the way.
A rather raucous shriek came from somewhere overhead and he heard a crash followed by a herd of footsteps running down the stairs.
“Harrison O’Hara,” his sister-in-law Katrina yelled from the kitchen. “That better not have been you and your merry band of cousins. If you made a mess you clean it up.”
There were grumbles and a bunch of, “Yes, ma’ams,” as footsteps could be heard going back up the stairs.
Hank grinned. It was bedlam. Complete bedlam. He loved his family. Really, he did. It’s just that there were so many of them. Everywhere he turned, there was another O’Hara in his path for him to trip over.
Hank considered himself a tolerant kind of man. But enough was enough. He hadn’t had fifteen minutes to himself in the last week with his nephews and nieces underfoot. He’d exhausted every avenue of entertainment he could possibly think of—sledding, ice skating, taking the kids to get ice cream sundaes at Hoopers, and they’d played so many video games his eyes were starting to cross. He loved being the “favorite” uncle, but if he didn’t get out of this place soon he was going to lose his mind. It seemed like every O’Hara in the house had something to say or argue about. And they all had to do it at top volume.
There were a bunch of manly cheers from the next room as a touchdown was scored, and his youngest brother Wyatt skidded out of the family room and ran to the kitchen at top speed, coming out seconds later with a tray of snacks and a bucket of cold drinks. The women were smart enough to know the best place the men could be was out of the kitchen while they were cooking Christmas dinner, so they kept snacks at the ready to shove into waiting arms.
Hank’s head was pounding. He was used to the commotion after all these years, but there was a reason he chose to live in the little house he’d built, secluded from the rest of the town—and better yet, the rest of the O’Haras.
“Uncle Hank!” his nephew Charlie said, cornering him in the mudroom. He had the wild-eyed look of a kid who’d had too much candy and had been playing video games too long. “Come play Mario Kart. I’m the champion. Ain’t nobody that can beat me.”
“Raincheck, kid,” Hank said, tousling the top of his dark head. “I’ve gotta do a job for grandad.”
Hank pulled on his ski cap and his warm lambskin jacket. His scarf was still damp from the last snowball fight, so he didn’t bother with it. He pulled his gloves from his pockets slipped them on, hoping the tools he had in his truck would be enough to fix the problem. The hardware store was closed, and he’d have to drive to his shop for parts if they were needed.
“Aww, man,” Charlie said, pouting pitifully. “Who am I supposed to beat now?”
On second thought, maybe a trip to his shop was exactly the escape he needed.
“Go ask your dad,” Hank said.
“No way,” Charlie said, expression horrified at the thought. “He’s the worst. I always beat him. Besides, mom said he couldn’t play anymore because he got too excited and broke her plant.”
Hank’s lips twitched, tucking away that bit of information for later use. “I’ll tell you what. As soon as I’m done with the boiler I’ll come beat you.”
Charlie gave him a gap-toothed smile and held out his pudgy hand for Hank to shake. “Deal.”
“Oh, Hank,” his mother said, peeking into the mudroom. She looked frazzled and her cheeks were pink from the heat in the kitchen. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You’re not leaving are you?”
Anne O’Hara was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her hair was a softer shade of red than it had been when he was a child, and it was artfully highlighted with wisps of blonde. Her skin was smooth due to a fantastic esthetician, her eyes a snapping green, and she had a voice like an angel.
She’d been on the way to Broadway stardom when she’d met his father forty years before. Mick had been dragged kicking and screaming to the opening night of Kiss Me Kate by a guy who’d set him up with a mutual friend for a blind date. Mick hadn’t had much interest in the blind date, but he’d taken one look at Anne Winslow and fought his way backstage after the show to get an introduction.
Mick got tossed out on his ear by security that night, but not before he’d gotten Anne’s number. It had been instant attraction for the both of them. A once in a lifetime meeting of souls that were meant to spend eternity together. They eloped two weeks later.
Then in a very short period of times their lives and priorities changed. His mother finished the run of Kiss Me Kate about the time she found out she was pregnant with his oldest brother Arthur, and his father was sent the news that his old man had died suddenly from a tractor incident, leaving the ranch to his widow and to fend off all the wolves coming out of the woodwork to try and buy up prime real estate.
His parents had no choice but to come home. It was a sacrifice they’d both been happy to make.
Hank had grown up hearing the story of how his parents had met. Maybe it had painted an unrealistic expectation in his mind of what it would be like when he finally met the right woman. Maybe he’d passed up a woman or two who’d have made perfectly acceptable wives and mothers. But his gut just kept telling him he’d know when the time came. That’s the hope he held on to.
“I was heading down to the basement,” Hank said. “Dad said the boiler is acting up.”
“Oh, right,” she said, waving a hand in dismissal. “If it’s not one thing it’s another in this old house. Don’t tell your father, but I wouldn’t mind living out the rest of our days in one of those sleek condos you’re building downtown. I heard there will even be laundry service.”
“You heard right,” Hank said, shocked at her confession. “I thought you loved this place.”
“Some days I do,” she admitted. “Today is not one of those days. I’ve got a boiler from the pit of Hades, fences that always need mending, creaky floors, and your father keeps escaping to the barn to smoke those cigars of his. Not to mention I’ve got a twenty pound turkey I’ve got to figure out how to shove in that ancient oven. Which is why I’m glad I caught you before you head out to look at the boiler. I need your man strength.”
“Good thing you had sons instead of daughters,” Hank said, pulling off his gloves and following her back into the chaos.
Cheers greeted him from his sisters-in-law as he came into the old farmhouse kitchen. The smells that greeted him would be worth every bit of inconvenience and headache in the end.
