Pete would be in prison for a long time to come. Maybe it would make his brother a better man.

All he could do was hope that one day his brother would find the peace that had always eluded him.

Michael placed a tender kiss on Catherine’s brow as he took Diana’s hand in his and helped her up into the wagon.

Every day for the last two years, he had been grateful that his wife had stood by him, even though it was the last thing he’d deserved.

“Thank you, Cathy,” he breathed as he helped her climb into the wagon seat.

“For what?” she asked.

“For making my life worth living.”

Her smile warmed him to his toes. “It’s been my pleasure, Mr. O’Callahan. Merry Christmas.”

And a Merry Christmas it would be, too. For in this life, there were second chances, and this time, Michael wouldn’t waste the one he’d been given.

Redemption: A Bonus Scene from The Guardian

Redemption

A Bonus Scene from The Guardian

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Seth stared at himself in the mirror as he tried to do something with his rebellious hair.

It was useless.

Even worse than the curly mess he couldn’t control were the clothes Lydia had picked out for him to wear. The black pants that buttoned on the sides were extremely uncomfortable and they only went to his knees. From there down, he had on white … what had she called them? Stockings? And weird buckled shoes that pinched his toes and rubbed his heels worse than his armored boots.

But the thing he despised most was the gold, high-collared, heavily embroidered jacket with a white shirt that had mountains of girly lace cascading down the front. Lydia had called it a cravat. He called it hideous. And that same scratchy lace spilled out at the end of his sleeves, covering both of his hands, all the way to his knuckles.

He’d bitched about this monstrosity the moment she’d shoved it at him. The only reason he’d finally agreed to wear it was that she’d pointed out the fact that it couldn’t possibly be any more uncomfortable to wear than his armor—something he empathically disagreed with. Only an outright moron laughed at a man encased in demonic armor. Dressed like this, only an outright moron wouldn’t laugh at it.

And two—the most important reason of all—he wouldn’t have to wear it long. As soon as they were done, she’d promised to rip this heinous outfit off him and make him deliriously happy that he’d humored her.

Little did she know, he’d have worn it for her anyway. All she had to do was smile at him and he was sunk.

Still …

“I look like an effing idiot.”