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all?”
    Jonas collapsed with a grunt, hand over his heart. “Aren’t you two supposed to be in Milford?” Trix bounded onto the bed, her shaggy blond tail beating the air with a joyful rhythm, her bobbing head begging to be petted. Disoriented, Jonas scratched his own head instead, trying to make sense of it all.
    “You didn’t think we’d leave you all by your lonesome self on Christmas, did ya?” Jeff’s grin never budged. “No way, brother.”
    “That’s right,” Chris chimed in. “Aren’t you gonna ask us how we got past your fancy security system?”
    “Hey!” Jonas grabbed the pillow behind him and swung it at the nearest target. “Good question, turkeys. How
did
you get in here?”
    Jeff rubbed his head in mock agony. “Some blond woman was parked in front of your house when we drove up.” He offered a broad wink. “Said you were … good friends.” He ducked when Jonas swatted him again. “Anyway, she could tell we were brothers. Said she’d be happy to let us in since she had a key.” He lifted one dark eyebrow. “Uh … how come she has the key to your house, Mr. Do-Good Christian?”
    Jonas let out a noisy sigh. “Because she sold me this place. I guess she kept an extra key handy.” A problem he intended to correct pronto. He’d managed to avoid a visit from her when she’d called last night; now he’d have to face the woman after all, like it or not.
    Not.
    Jonas nudged Trix off the bed, then reached for a pair of jeans, standing to pull them on, stalling long enough to buy some time and sweep out the cobwebs. “So. I take it you haven’t left hearth and home behind to make my own Christmas merry and bright.” He yawned, stretching a T-shirt over his head. “Where’s the rest of the crew?”
    Chris jerked his thumb toward the living room. “They’re out there, waiting for you to get decent.”
    “This is as decent as I get.” Tucking the black shirt in his jeans, Jonas followed them toward the front of the house, finally noticing the muffled sounds of activity coming from the living room. It was obvious that his younger brothers—both happily married and settled in their hometown of Milford, Delaware—had gone to a great deal of trouble to transplant theirholiday celebration more than three hours north.
    Although the twins were identical—dark haired, swarthy skinned—their wives were polar opposites. Diane—cool, blond, and sophisticated—had given Jeff a carbon-copy daughter, plus two dark, rough-and-tumble sons that carried on the all-boy Fielding tradition admirably. Diane was the first one to spot Jonas and nodded her sleek platinum head in his direction. “My, my, look what Trix dragged in.”
    Despite the rude awakening and his scruffy appearance, Jonas threw out his arms in a general embrace. “Mornin’, family.”
    Connie, a tall, curly-headed Texan with a toddler balanced on each hip, crowed back, “Will y’all look at that mess? Jonas, when was the last time you shaved that sorry face of yours?”
    “Huh.” He squared his shoulders, assumed his most macho pose, and stuck out his tongue. “Some females like a bit of stubble on a man.”
    The two women rolled their eyes. “From a distance, maybe,” Connie grumbled. “Di and I make sure there are fresh razors at every sink in the house.” She lowered her two wiggly bundles to the floor. “Children, give your Uncle Jonas a big hug, but mind you, don’t get your tender cheeks anywhere near his chin. It’s worse than Daddy’s.”
    In seconds, he was shoved into an overstuffed chair and covered with nephews and nieces, giggling and squealing and ignoring their mothers’ warnings as they rubbed their sticky faces along his scratchy one. “Uncle! Uncle!” Jonas hollered, knowing that would only spur them on.
    When they finally stopped hugging and tickling long enough for him to catch his breath, Jonas eyed his siblings through the maze of arms that circled his neck, feeling his chest tighten