A Bodine Christmas

A decade and change later…

The SUV’s all-wheel drive ate up the snowy lane. Scarlett and Devlin’s lake house sprawled out in front of them in festive perfection. It was lit up for Christmas with a wreath and candle in every window—Devlin’s classy handiwork. The blinking colored lights plastering every square foot of roofline were clearly Scarlett’s.

Gibson smirked at the dozen snowmen lining the drive, the work of his twin nieces, carbon copies of his little sister.

God help Devlin survive the teen years.

He peeked in the rearview mirror and felt the familiar warmth bloom in his chest.

God help them all, he thought fondly.

His wife squeezed his hand and Gibson lifted Callie’s knuckles to his lips.

They shared the sly smile of parents who’d already given each other their Christmas presents… naked.

“We’re here,” Callie sang cheerfully. “Who’s ready for more Christmas?”

“Meeeeeee!” The chorus rose up from three oldest.

Gibson Bodine and Callie Kendall had beat the odds. Not only had they found their strength in each other, they’d started a family together. The family they’d both deserved when they were younger.

He cleared his throat to dislodge the bright rush of emotion that seemed hell-bent on choking him. Callie gave his hand a final squeeze and bounced out of the car. His wife. His family. He’d gone from a loner who believed he was no better than the man who made him to a husband, a father, a Little League coach.

A freaking hugger.

Cash the faithful dog, gray in the face now, shoved his nose between the front seats and gave Gibson a slobbery Christmas kiss.

He thumped the dog on the chest. “Thanks, buddy.”

Together, they climbed out of the car and the dog immediately snowplowed his face through the snow on the heels of the kids, and their second dog, Potato—that’s what you got when you let your four-year-old name your dog. The Bodine clan made the mad dash for the front porch where a menagerie of cousins waited for them in pajamas.

Scarlett’s Rule: Bodine Christmas happened in pajamas.

Dogs and Katherine the pig zig-zagged through the eight inches of snow that had fallen, adding a little Bodine chaos to the pristine winter morning.

Gibson opened the back door and grinned. Jonah Bodine III, Joe for short, burbled happily up at his daddy from his car seat.

“You ready for more family, little man?”

His toothless, cheerful son slobbered out a happy reply as Gibson unhooked him and picked him up.

“Want some help wrapping him up?” Callie offered. She’d changed her hair again. This time going for a soft silvery blond that hung to her shoulders. Gibson knew from first-hand experience how spectacular it looked fanned out on the rug in front of the fireplace.

“Just shove his feet through,” he said, putting on the baby carrier. “I’ll wear him until the kids and dogs calm down a bit.”

“Good thinking,” she said, tucking their son’s chubby little legs through the carrier. Callie picked up the diaper bag and tote of presents. Together, with their treasures, they trooped through the snow in boots and plaid pajama pants toward the house. The kids had already raced inside and were oohing and ahhing over the tree, the presents, and the hot chocolate.

“Merry Christmas,” Devlin greeted them on the front porch holding two travel mugs of coffee. Always just a shade too fancy for Bootleg Springs, he’d topped his fleece Santa pants with a navy sweater. It was part of Judge McCallister’s charm, Gibson supposed.

“Merry Christmas, Dev,” Callie said, giving her brother-in-law a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Did you see which way the rest of my small army went?”

Their host tilted his head in the direction of the tree. “I believe they are engaging their cousins in an epic game of ‘guess what’s in this box’. Spoiler alert: no matter what anyone says, it’s not a pony.”

Grinning, Callie went inside to ensure order was reasonably observed. With an eight-year-old, a seven-year-old, a five-year-old, and now Joe, order had become a relative term in their home.

“Have a sec?” Devlin asked Gibson.

“All the time in the world.”

“Scarlett’s having feelings today.”

“Oh boy.”

“She’s down on the dock ‘taking a minute.’ It’s Bodine related so I thought you’d be a better ear than me.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Gibson said.

“These are for you and her,” Devlin said, handing over the mugs. “And this is for her.” He slipped a candy bar in the pocket of Gibson’s flannel coat, then gave Joe’s nose a boop and tickled under his chin. “What me to take Joe?”

“Nah, he’ll soften her up,” Gibson predicted. “We’ll be in soon.”

He stepped off the porch and followed the path that carved its way through the snow-covered yard in the direction of the lake. Steam rose from the dark waters. Evergreens drooped under the weight of the white. The sky was a flawless, cloudless powder blue. The warm, loving chaos of family behind him and the pristine quiet of nature ahead of him.

The perfect West Virginia Christmas.

He found his sister perched on the edge of the dock, swinging her elf clad legs above the water.

“Don’t you come a step closer,” she said without turning around.

He could hear the tears in her voice.

Ah, hell. He hated tears.

Ignoring her warning, he strolled up to her and handed the coffee over her shoulder.

“Thanks, Gibs,” she sniffled.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Your footsteps sounded grumpy.”

“Who’s grumpy on Christmas?” he asked, carefully settling down next to her. Joe cooed and reached toward the endless stretch of lake in front of them. Scarlett swiped her sleeve under her nose. “I’m not sad. Just so you know.”

“Mad?”

She shook her head and he noticed the pointer finger of her left hand was tracing the words carved into the wood.

The Bodines had built this dock together the summer the house was complete. They launched decks, and boats, and kayaks, ate picnics, sang songs, threw each other in the lake, all from this stretch of wood.

In homage to their past and present, they’d carved the names of every single family member, pets included, into the wood.

Jonah and Connie Bodine. They got top billing on the very last board. Scarlett’s gloved finger traced the letters over and over again.

“Overwhelmed?” Gibson guessed.

Scarlett shot him a suspicious glance. “It would seem that having a wife and two daughters has tuned you into the female perspective.”

“It would seem,” he agreed, tickling Joe’s socked feet. “Thinking about Mom and Dad?”

She nodded, sipped the coffee, and stared out of the water.

“We’re so fuckin’ lucky, Gibs. You, me, Callie, Bowie and Cass, Jonah and Shelby, Jameson and Leah Mae, Juney and George. Sometimes it just swells up inside me until I could just burst. Then I think how none of this would be possible if it weren’t for them. How it wouldn’t be this good if they were still here.” Her voice broke a little on her confession.

Gibson wisely remained silent. He stroked a hand over her back. His sister’s biggest problem had always been how big she loved. It was his favorite thing about her.

“They did the best they could,” he murmured. Becoming a father had given him a new and terrifying perspective on how damn hard raising human beings was. Even though he had a loving partner and had managed to make peace with his demons, being on, being good, staying focused on what was best for them all was fucking monumentally exhausting.

“I know they did,” Scarlett said, wiping her nose with her other sleeve. “Just like I know we’re gonna do a hell of a lot better by our kids and our partners. I wish I could just say ‘thank you’ for giving us this life.”

“You can. I don’t know if they’ll hear you, but there’s nothing wrong with carrying a little gratitude around in your heart.”

She snorted. “All right now. Who are you and what the hell did you do with my brother?”

He bumped her shoulder with his. “Let’s chalk it up to a Christmas miracle. I promise to go back to callin’ everyone names and kickin’ puppies tomorrow.”

“Maybe you’re feelin’ a little grateful yourself,” Scarlett mused.

“Maybe I am. You’re the best sister I could have ever asked for, Scar,” he said, surprising them both.

“Damnit, Gibs! Don’t you go and say stupid things like that when I’m trying to compose myself,” she wailed.

Joe rewarded his emotional aunt a baby belly-laugh.

Gibson’s throat tickled a little again and he cleared it gruffly.

“You know that you’re the reason I am who I am, don’t you?” she said. “Mom and Dad may have put us here, but you made me who I am. You raised me right, Gibs, and you’re doing an amazing job with those four little ones.”

Now there was something blurring up his eyes. Must be a fog rolling in, he decided and wiped at the corner of his leaky eye.

“There’s something else,” she announced in a rush.

“Oh, hell, Scarlett. You didn’t up and murder someone did you? Shit. Misty Lynn didn’t give up her job singing at that diner in Kentucky and come home did she? Where’s the body? Do we really want to put the next generation of Bodines through that?”

Scarlett punched him in the shoulder just like he’d hoped.

“I didn’t kill anyone, though if that Misty Lynn thinks she can show up here today with Jenny and Jimmy Bob for lunch, she’s got another thing comin’. I ain’t afraid to defend my home from a garbage bag human being like her.”

“So what is it then?”

“It’s about the next generation. I’m pregnant.”

“No shit?”

“All natural and accidental this time. Just like Mom and Dad. Haven’t even worked up the nerve to tell Dev yet.”

Scarlett and Devlin’s twins had taken a lot of trying and some science. They’d made an adventure out of it and in the end, they’d gotten their happily ever after with two tomboys who kept them on their toes.

Gibson hoped for a boy. A calm one.

“Scar, he’s gonna be over the moon.”

“Oh, I know. But I don’t wanna just blurt it out like I do everything else. I wanna make it special.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“If you tell him I told you first, I’ll call you a dirty liar and insist on cooking y’all dinner.”

Gibson laughed softly. “I love you, Scar.”

“Love you too, Bodine.” Her hand rested on her belly, a soft smile curving the corners of her lips.

“Merry Christmas, Bodines!”

Gibson raised a hand to the occupants of the canoe that paddled by. Santa was at the helm. Mrs. Claus held up a set of jingle bells.

Scarlett blew them a kiss. “Merry Christmas, y’all!”

They watched until Santa disappeared. Only in Bootleg Springs.

“Ready to go back in?”

“Yeah. The grown-ups to kids ratio in there is a little scary right now before all the grandparents roll in for lunch.” They climbed to their feet and Scarlett gave Joe a quick snuggle. “Bet the tree’s been pulled down by a kid or dog and one of the cousins accidentally punched another one in the face.”

“That’s how Jackson lost his first tooth,” Gibson recalled fondly.

“My dear, sweet Calla didn’t mean to knock his tooth out,” Scarlett argued. “She was merely puttin’ on a sweatshirt and he stood too close.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “It’s good life, isn’t it?”

“The best.”

“Here, something to make it even sweeter,” he said, handing over the candy bar.

“That Devlin,” Scarlett said, ripping off the wrapper. “I swear that man knows me better than I know myself.”

“He’s too good for us,” Gibson agreed.

“Let’s hope he never figures out that fact,” Scarlett said, taking a bite of chocolate and nougat.

“Better?”

“Perfect. Now, gimmie your baby, Gibs. I need to practice.”

Gibson deftly freed baby Joe from the carrier—by his fourth baby, he was nothing if not experienced—and handed him to Scarlett. Joe squealed and Scarlett gave him a kiss on the forehead.

Inside, in the warmth and chaos of the great room they found Gibson’s older three at the large dining table custom built to fit their growing family. The kids were happily dunking marshmallows into mugs of hot chocolate with their cousins. The dogs, bored with chasing Jedediah the cat, lurked nearby, ready to snatch up any dropped morsels.

Bowie and Cassidy’s six-year-old daughter, a pretty little thing with the dark Bodine hair and the Tucker nose, sat next to Scarlett and Devlin’s pigtailed twins arguing about whether or not the table was level. Scarlett and Cassidy had been pregnant together completing their lifelong dreams of sisterhood.

Jonah and Shelby’s two kids—they’d adopted a girl, then a few years later, a boy—were on the other side of the table stirring candy canes into their mugs of cocoa and eyeing the excitement of the younger cousins with amusement.

Jameson and Leah Mae’s two girls—ages four and two—shared their daddy’s lap at the table. They both wore princess dresses over their pajama pants and had sparkly pink crowns on their heads. A very pregnant Leah Mae—due with their first boy just after the new year—lounged on the couch with her feet up.

“Merry Christmas!” George called to Gibson. He and June stood near the fireplace. Their sports-obsessed daughter—a given thanks to her parents’ interests—was busy showing off her new hockey jersey to Uncle Jonah. Their son was tucked quietly in a corner of the couch under a blanket with a book and a headlamp.

Gibson caught Devlin’s eye and gave him a reassuring nod. His brother-in-law raised his morning beer in thanks.

“All right, y’all, who wants to open presents?” Scarlett demanded, raising her voice to be heard above the din.

“Me!” every one of the kids seemed to shout at once.

It sounded like a herd of elephants knocking over a roomful of furniture as all the kids scrambled out of their chairs and into the living room. Devlin and Bowie masterfully corralled the cousins and their volcanic excitement, placing them in a half-circle on the floor in front of the huge Christmas tree. Jonah joined them and the three donned red Santa hats to do the honors. Years ago, when the family had been smaller, they’d all taken turns playing Santa. Now that there were thirteen kids—and counting—Santa needed some extra helpers when it came time to open presents.

The kids tore into their packages, flinging bows and wrapping paper everywhere. In no time flat, the living room looked like it had been hit by a Christmas tornado.

Jameson sat on the floor with his girls, helping the youngest get the ribbon off her package while her older sister hung on his back. Jonah and Shelby’s son dutifully collected discarded paper and bags while his sister helped the littles unbox treasures. George darted in to break up an impromptu—and giggly—wrestling match that broke out between his daughter and one of Scarlett’s girls a second before they rolled into the twelve-foot white pine tree. It had been knocked over on two separate occasions.

Gibson leaned against the kitchen island and sipped his coffee. The giggles and squeals from all the kids nearly drowned out the Christmas music playing in the background. The house smelled of that magic formula of pine, chocolate, fresh coffee, and cranberry orange muffins Millie Waggle-Newsome and her husband had dropped off earlier that morning.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down. His oldest, eight-year-old Jackson, held up a shoebox-sized package that he’d clearly wrapped himself, in pink paper left over from his sister’s last birthday.

“What’s this, buddy?” Gibson asked, taking the present.

“It’s for you.”

Gibson felt the weight of it and eyed his son with curiosity. He’d gotten used to kid gifts. Flowers picked on hikes. Rocks fished out of the lake. Scribbly pictures that held places of honor on the refrigerator or the big bulletin board they’d put up in the dining room of the new house they’d built on Bodine land. Then there were the presents obviously chosen by Callie for Father’s Day or his birthday. But he could tell this was different. Jackson looked up at him with big blue eyes full of hopeful expectation.

So much like his mother.

Carefully, Gibson popped the two pieces of scotch tape Jackson had used to secure the box. Inside, he found what looked like a big lump of hard clay surrounded by wadded up newspaper.

Taking it out, he turned it over. He could make out ears and a nose. Four legs with big paws. A tail. And just one eye.

“I made it for you,” Jackson said. “Uncle Jameson helped a little.”

“This is Cash?” Gibson asked.

“Yeah,” Jackson nodded enthusiastically. “Do you like it?”

Gibson crouched down so he could look his son in the eyes. “Buddy, I love it. I’ll put him in my workshop so I can look at him every day.”

The smile on his son’s face lit up the world. He wrapped his arms around Gibson’s neck. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

“Merry Christmas, son,” Gibson said, hugging his boy maybe just a shade too tight. “I love you.”

Jackson planted a loud kiss on his cheek. “Love you too!” He wriggled free and ran off to join his cousins in playing with their new toys. Gibson stood and Jameson caught his eye. He held up the clay dog and Jameson raised his beer. They shared a smile and a nod that made Gibson’s throat feel thick again.

He turned and coughed into his fist. The whole damn family was choking him up today.

Callie sidled up to him, baby-free for the moment. Bowie had snatched Joe from Scarlett, and he and Cassidy were making him belly laugh with a game of peek-a-boo.

“What did Jack give you?” she asked. “He insisted on doing everything himself. Wouldn’t even let me help wrap it.”

Gibson held up the dog his son had sculpted. “He made Cash.”

“Oh my god, that’s so freaking cute,” Callie said.

“It’s not just cute, it’s fucking precious,” Gibson said, setting it down reverently on the island.

Callie laughed and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Family gossip: Cass and Bow are thinking about another kid.”

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing at his brother, currently making goofy faces at baby Joe. “About time.”

“Cassidy was asking me about having multiple kids and Bowie was asking Jonah about adoption,” Callie said. “They’re worried about messing up their family dynamic. Ava is basically the easiest child on the planet. I think they’re afraid if they have another one, he or she might be like…”

“Like Scarlett,” Gibson said with a laugh.

“Or you,” Callie said, squeezing him.

“That would be a disaster,” he said. “Thankfully ours all take after their mama.”

“I don’t know, that little one could go either way yet,” Callie said.

Gibson chuckled. Baby Joe had been a bit of a surprise. But he couldn’t imagine life without his little man. Hell, he couldn’t imagine life without any of them. His two sons. His two sweet girls. His beautiful wife. Their dogs. Family was everything. And part of him felt a deep sorrow that Jonah and Connie Bodine never grasped that truth.

“What’s going on out there?” Callie asked, nodding toward the deck doors.

Scarlett and Devlin were outside having what appeared to be a very animated conversation.

“They aren’t fighting, are they?” Callie asked.

“Nah, they ain’t fighting,” Gibson said. “Scar hasn’t tried to bite him yet.”

Gibson watched as Devlin grabbed Scarlett, picking her up off her feet, and twirled her around. Scarlett threw her head back, her dark hair streaming out behind her, an expression of pure joy lighting up her face.

“Looks like something good,” Callie said. “Maybe she just told him what she got him for Christmas.”

He pulled his wife in closer and took a deep breath, inhaling her scent. “I bet it’s something like that.”

Devlin burst inside, dragging a laughing Scarlett by the hand. “Y’all! We’re pregnant!” he shouted over the noise.

The house went quiet like a record scratch.

“And Devlin said y’all, y’all!” Scarlett added.

A new level of chaos exploded. Scarlett and Devlin’s twins hurled themselves off the coffee table and into their parents’ arms. Cassidy, impatient with the family hug, shoved a twin out of the way and grabbed Scarlett in a tearful embrace. Devlin juggled both girls and the congratulations of the entire rest of the family.

The kids, sensing relaxed disciplinarians, tackled Devlin to the floor in an aggressive celebration.

Gibson caught Scarlett’s eye when Cassidy finally let her go and winked.

Someone called for a toast and in seconds Jameson and Jonah were in the kitchen, popping the corks off champagne bottles.

“I sure love that noise,” Scarlett chirped. “Nothing says celebration like a champagne bottle popping.”

“You may listen, but you may not partake,” June said sternly.

Bowie lined up juice glasses for the kids—as well as Gibson, Leah Mae , and Scarlett.

Once drinks were distributed, Devlin held up his glass. “To Scarlett Bodine McAllister for making my life one miracle after another.”

The collective “awh” came from the women in the room.

“To Scarlett!” the crowd of them said together.

“That was a nice sentiment,” June said. “I would like to go read now.”

George held up a sparkly gift bag with festive piglets on it. “Got you covered, June Bug.”

“Christmas pigs and a sports biography,” June nodded her appreciation. “You excel at being a husband.”

“Y’all, I’ve got something to say, too,” Gibson said clearing that dang tight throat again. Cash and Potato trotted over and sat at his feet, looking up at him, tails wagging.

Callie’s eyes sparkled at him and made him feel like he could probably get the words out.

“All right. Christmas isn’t a bad time to stop for a minute and look around at what we have. It doesn’t seem so long ago that this family was a lot smaller. Maybe we ain’t perfect. It’s only a matter of time before one of the dogs chases Scarlett’s cat and knocks over the tree, or the kids try to sled down the stairs on sleeping bags, or someone starts a food fight. Kids, maybe keep it to marshmallows this year. If y’all are gonna throw Jell-O again, take it outside.”

The kids giggled. Last year’s Jell-O fight had been epic, but a hell of a mess to clean up afterward.

“I guess what I’m saying is, we have a damn good family. And the fact that it keeps right on growing,” he said, nodding to Scarlett and Leah Mae, “makes it that much better. Things could have turned out a lot different for all of us. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about how lucky we are.”

He had to stop for a second because his damn throat was closing up again. He took a quick breath and raised his cup.

“To us. Merry Christmas, y’all,” Gibson said, his voice cracking just enough that Callie was launching herself into his arms, spilling her champagne and his apple juice.

“To us! Merry Christmas!” rose the chorus of voices.

“The Grandmas and Grandpas are here,” Scarlett’s twins reported peering through binoculars from the landing on the staircase.

“Oh, lord. I haven’t even got the pickin’ food out yet,” Scarlett yelped.

“Scarlett, you didn’t cook did you?” Leah Mae asked as Shelby hauled her to her feet to greet the new arrivals.

“Shelby did the cookin’ but I swear I helped and I didn’t burn a damn thing,” Scarlett shot back.

“She burned six-dozen sugar cookies,” Shelby reported under her breath. “The fire department was on standby.”

The grandmas and grandpas and nanas and pappies funneled through the front door in a seemingly endless procession. Jenny and Jimmy Bob. Harlan and Nadine. Granny Louisa and Estelle arrived with Gram-Gram. James and Darlene Thompson. The McCallisters. Clay and Betsy Larkin. All arrived with covered dishes and even more gifts.

“You’re gonna need a bigger house if this family keeps growing,” Jonah told Scarlett, before swooping in to give his mother a peck on the cheek.

“Let me at those grandbabies,” Jenny said.

They produced appetizers, popped more champagne, and generally sprawled out to catch up. Everyone ate and drank. Talked and laughed. The kids played.

Jedidiah the Cat hissed from his perch six feet up the tree. Potato and Billy Ray got in a tug of war over a dog toy while Katherine the pot-bellied pig shoved her snout under the blanket where June cuddled with her son and their books.

Scarlett and Devlin’s girls tried to wrap up their uncle Jonah with the discarded wrapping paper. He pretended to break free with a big roar, earning the squeals and screams from the kids. The dogs barked and yelped, joining the delighted celebration.

“When is Jayme getting’ in?” Bowie asked.

“She and her wife are en route,” Cassidy reported. “They’ll be here with their daughter in time for lunch. They had breakfast with their folks this morning.”

“Hey, y’all, we still need to do the Bootleg Swindle,” Cassidy called.

The gift exchange had become a Bodine-McAllister-Thompson family tradition. It had started simply enough, as a white elephant gag gift exchange. But in true Bodine fashion, it had morphed into something more complicated and rowdier.

Bowie had been the genius to introduce the red poker chip. Whoever found the red poker chip in their package got a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill.

To even it out, they also got dunked in the lake.

To make it fair, Jenny did the honors of placing the poker chip in one of the packages ahead of time, so no one would know where it was. Unlike the rest of the family, she was uncorruptible. They’d all tried to bribe or threaten, but the stubbornness in the family wasn’t relegated to only the Bodine side of things.

“Okay, but I don’t want to go first,” George said. He had a knack for picking the the poker chip. He’d gotten it three times—a family record. Luckily, he was a good sport and jumped off the dock, rather than making everyone try to lift him.

With reluctance and excitement, they all drew numbers. And the swap began with enthusiasm. Packages were chosen and swapped. Some were stolen when their owners weren’t watching. It was all part of the Swindle.

“Ready?” Devlin asked, once everyone had a present.

Anticipation crackled in the air. The gifts were often odd, silly, homemade, or most often legitimately terrible—like the singing fish Gibson had gotten a few years ago. But the real question was always: Who would wind up with the poker chip?

“Go!” Devlin and Scarlett shouted together.

The adults tore into their gifts with as much gusto as the kids. Callie held baby Joe on her hip while the older three peered over the back of the couch, hoping one of their parents would get the poker chip.

“I am not the loser,” June declared, holding up an XXL sweatshirt that said Moonshine Mama.

Callie dumped the contents of her gift—a battery-operated fly swatter and a pack of baby wipes—on the coffee table and let out a sigh of relief. “Not it.”

More “not me’s” filled the air as gift after gift was unveiled. Gibson’s daughters—too excited to wait any longer—jumped in to help him rip open his present.

“Daddy got the chip! Daddy got the chip!” they cried.

Gibson let out a long breath and held the red poker chip between his thumb and forefinger. “Shit.”

“Daddy said shit!”

“Get the prisoner!” Scarlett’s twins yelled simultaneously, swooping in with a length of pink rope and a roll of scotch tape.

Gibson dropped the chip and nimbly darted through the kitchen and out the door. Cash and Potato tore after him, barking up a storm. Billy Ray and the Bodine brothers gave chase. But Jonah was faster. He tackled Gibson headlong in the snow.

“Don’t fight it, Gibs,” Bowie said, taking hold of one of his arms. “This just has to happen.”

“It’s how we do things,” Devlin said, clearly enjoying himself. He took a leg.

Jameson and Jonah got his other limbs. George and the twins were there in case Gibson needed further restraint.

“Ah hell, guys, it’s freezing out,” Gibson said. “How about a raincheck? Y’all can dunk me twice next summer.”

“Not a chance, Bodine,” Callie laughed. “You’re going in the drink.”

He growled at his wife, mostly for show and she gave him a smug smile.

“This is a stupid family tradition,” Gibson yelled.

“Uncle Gibs said stupid,” Ava sang. The rest of the kids ooohed their disapproval.

Gibson didn’t resist—much—as his brothers hauled him down the path to the dock. Everyone followed—from the humans and pets alike—all chanting dunk him, dunk him, dunk him in unison.

They took him to the edge of the dock and wasting no time, threw him into the water.

He plunged beneath the surface, thankful the hot springs kept the lake lukewarm, even in the winter. He came up sputtering.

His family—those crazy bastards—all stood on the dock cheering and hollering.

He swam the few feet back to the dock and reached a hand toward his wife. “Scar, grab baby Joe.”

His sister reacted without a second’s hesitation, plucking Joe from Callie’s arms. Before Callie knew what was happening, Gibson grabbed her and yanked her into the water with him.

Callie came up laughing and splashed water at Gibson. “You ass!”

He scooped her into his arms and then dunked them both, pressing a watery kiss to her mouth beneath the surface.

“Ah, what the hell.” Bowie wrapped his arms around Cassidy, then leaned over the edge toppling them both into the water.

Next thing Gibson knew, people—and dogs—were jumping in around him. Scarlett passed Joe to Jenny and with a whoop, she and Devlin plunged in. Their twins grabbed hands with Bowie and Cassidy’s daughter and dove off the dock with a chorus of yells.

Leah Mae recorded the shenanigans while Jameson took their girls’ hands and jumped off the edge. Jonah pulled Shelby in with him and their son dove in after them.

George beat them all. He got a running start on the dock and cannon balled, sending a spray of water into the air. His daughter carefully removed her new jersey, folded it neatly, and then copied her dad with a big splash. June and their son emptied their pockets.

“This is a weird tradition, Mom,” he said to her.

“Sometimes the best things don’t make sense,” June said, running a hand through his hair. “Would you like me to push you in?”

“Nah. I’ve got it,” he sighed, and hopped feet first into the water.

June followed suit and swam out to George who was floating on his back-spitting water at the sky like a fountain.

“Do you know how many units of urine are in a gallon of lake water?” June asked.

“Let’s see if we’ve still got it,” Shelby told Jonah.

“Come at me, Shelby honey,” Jonah said. She swam to him and he lifted her out of the water for a split second of Dirty Dancing perfection.

“Why do you guys always have to do that when we get in the water?” their daughter groaned.

Jenny laughed and handed baby Joe to Leah Mae. “We’ll go get towels.”

It was a process to get everyone back on the dock. The big kids ran back to the house—followed by the dogs—dripping wet and shrieking about the cold ground. Jenny and Jimmy Bob brought armfuls of towels, and the parents helped their kids bundle up to go inside.

Callie stood on the dock, her hair and clothes dripping. She and Gibson wrapped bright beach towels around their girls and sent them running inside to get dry by the fireplace.

“What are we going to do about clothes?” she asked, plucking at her sodden pajama pants.

He pulled her into his arms, feeling her body press against him. “I packed an extra change clothes for everyone in the back of the SUV in case there was another Jell-O fight.”

She draped her arms around his shoulders and tilted her face up so he could kiss her. “You are very good at this parenting thing, Gibson Bodine.”

“Merry Christmas, Callie Bodine,” he murmured between kisses.

“Merry Christmas, Gibson Bodine,” she sighed happily.

They walked back inside, arm in arm, to the chaos of a Bodine family Christmas. Ribbons and wrapping paper. Food and drinks. Wet dogs, laughing children, and happy adults. Gibson hugged Callie again, kissing her forehead.

“Thanks, Mom and Dad,” he whispered to the framed photo on the mantel. He felt a lightness, a brightness, as if this moment was etching itself onto his heart. Rough edges sanded down with gratitude and forgiveness.

This woman. This family. This life. It was all beyond his wildest dreams.

Where are they now?

Judge Kendall is serving a life sentence in prison for as the fine folks in Bootleg say “Bein’ a no-good, two-faced, incorrigible asshole.”

Misty Lynn followed in her mama’s footsteps and ran off. She works part-time as a cashier in an adult video store and has been married—and divorced—three times. Her car was just repossessed.

Henrietta VanSickle reached enlightenment, cashed in the seven-figure stock portfolio no one knew she had, and moved to Blue Moon Bend. She winters in the Caribbean and started a scholarship fund for Bootleg Springs high school seniors interested in finance and world religions.

Mona Lisa McNugget Number Six got herself into a love triangle with Rufus the free-range goat and Sampson the stray kitten.

Jayme, the badass attorney, made partner in her firm and immediately implemented a hostile takeover, ousting the other two managing partners. She and her wife, Alice, are co-conspirators in a campaign to convince their teenage daughter that college—not bumming around Alaska and Europe for a year—is the better path to a successful future.

Millie Waggle’s baked goods finally snared her a man. Sid was on Day 34 of keto when, weak with hunger, he wandered past her open window and ate an entire loaf of her cheddar cheese and rosemary bread. They honeymooned in Italy and ate all the carbs.

Lula, spa entrepreneur and massage therapist, fell in love with a man with four daughters from a previous marriage. She is enjoying life as a not-so-evil stepmother.

Ol’ Judge Carwell and Carolina Rae finally retired and now run a canoe and kayak rental business on the lake.

Mrs. Varney and Old Jefferson Waverly finally came clean about their twenty-year love affair. They tied the knot, but continue to live in separate homes.

Sonny Fulson expanded Build-A-Shine to include a barbecue restaurant. He continues to guard the moonshine truth serum recipe with his life.

Opal Bodine met Billy Bodine on a blind date. Turns out, he’s a second cousin to the Bootleg Springs Bodines. When they tie the knot this fall, she will officially be a relation.

For a lot more behind-the-scenes information on the Bootleg Springs series, download the series ending bonus material from bookfunnel (seriously, it is too much to fit here).