Glory. Glory. … Forest worked to picture her. They had over 700 reindeer in the herd, and he’d been gone for a while now. “Glory?”
“She has the blond halo.”
“Oh yeah.” He smiled, thinking of the angelic reindeer. “How’s she doing?”
“She shows promise. At least her attitude is good.”
“That’s ninety percent of it.”
“How about you?”
Forest’s mood shifted with the shift in conversation. “I’m …”
“You’re so stupid!” a child shouted a ways off. “That’s not Santa’s sleigh!”
“Is too!” fired back a smaller voice.
“Nuh-uh, it’s too small!”
“I may have stumbled onto something. I’ll call you later.” He hung up as Pax said goodbye, his interest already pinned on where the fight was shaping up.
“It’s proof! Santaisreal!”
“No, it’s not! You’re lying!”
Forest’s snow boots made it sound like a horse was coming up on the clearing, and when he burst through the underbrush, he had an audience of five wide-eyed boys.
The scene was laid out and easy to read. The smaller boy with a red face must have been the one who thought this was Santa’s sleigh. The other four were a tad larger, and disbelief poured off of them like water off an icicle in March.
“Hey.” He stared at the sleigh. It was a two-seater—three if the third person was small. The last time he’d seen this sleigh, Stella Kringle was flying away from the ranch on a quest to save Christmas. The very one that Snowflake had taken off with last Christmas Eve. The elation at finding the sleigh was immediately replaced by worry. The reins were empty, weathered, and cracked. Someone had to have unharnessed her—but who? Every eyewitness report of Snowflake included a sleigh. Either she’d been grounded, or she was … well, she was grounded.
“You boys don’t believe in Santa?” he asked.
“Santa’s for babies.” The tallest boy folded his arms, and his coat made a slippery sound as his arms rubbed together.
Forest strode forward. “You sure?” He pointed to the carving on the back of the seat, a scrolling SC that he knew Clarence Kringle had carved himself. Of course, he was retired from being Santa and living in Mexico these days, but he could still carve.
He watched the boys as they shifted their feet, glancing at the SC as if they weren’t sure bravado would be enough to save them if Santa thought they didn’t believe in him—or her, as the case may be. Growing up with the Kringle family, it hadn’t been strange to have Ginger take over as Santa a few years ago. But the rest of the world hadn’t caught on to the change yet. Who knew where things would go from here? Christmas Magic had a mind of its own—that was for sure.
His eye went to the smallest boy, who hung back. He didn’t need to look at the carving. Maybe he’d examined it long before he’d brought these others along.
“I have an idea.” Forest clapped his leather-clad hands together. “You all could test your theory about Santa this year.”
“How?” demanded the kid with cheeks so chubby they hung over his scarf.
Forest pulled his phone out of his inner pocket. “I’ll just call up to the North Pole and have you tell Santa you think Christmas is for babies.” He started to dial. “I’ll just need a few names to tell the head elf …”
The boys scattered.
Forest chuckled but stopped when he saw the smallest kid staring wide-eyed at him. They were soon alone, and he still hadn’t fled.
“You have Santa’s phone number?” he asked.
Forest nodded.
He spun around and took off at a sprint—well, as fast of a sprint as he could do in knee-high snow wearing moon boots. At the top of a small hill, he turned back—his eyes full of fear.
Fear?
