Dad sat up in bed, three pillows propped behind him. He wore red plaid pajamas and a matching robe. So. Much. Plaid. Charles Dickens’s “A Christmas Carol” lay open on his lap. The green fabric cover was dull with age. Dad read the book every December—come blizzard or pneumonia.
The conversation stopped the second Jack’s feet hit the thickly piled carpet, and every head swiveled his way. Scowls adored their faces like ornaments on Christmas trees. “Tough crowd,” he mumbled.
Instead of facing the firing squad, he turned to his dad, ready to tell him how great it was to see him sitting up. Just as he opened his mouth, a coughing fit seized Dad, and he doubled over. Mom rubbed his back and reached for the jar of homemade menthol rub. She’d used it for many things over the years, including mosquito repellent and acne.
A few seconds into her rubbing it on Dad’s neck, he calmed down.
Caleb blinked heavily. “Are your eyes burning?” he whispered to Jack behind his hand.
Jack coughed. “She must have doubled the menthol,” he said hoarsely. “Where’s the baby?”
“Ryder’s napping in the playpen.” She fanned in front of her face and wrinkled her nose. The doctor said it was unlikely any of them would catch pneumonia from dad, but the less exposure Ryder had to him during croup season, the better.
Of course, if Mom knew of their teasing, she didn’t show it. Once Dad had settled again, she twisted the cap on the jar and went to wash her hands in the master bathroom.
Dad drew a feeble breath and seemed to gather himself, sitting taller. “What in tarnation is going on out there?” He jerked a finger toward the window.
They all exchanged looks. Being under Dad’s discerning eye while he waited for one of them to step forward with the truth of the situation was all too familiar.
Like the time they’d crashed the sleigh into a tree. Try explaining that one to the fire department.
Or the time they drove the tractor into the lake, and it froze over. Jack could have sworn they had two more days before the cold front moved in.
Then there was the time Stella convinced them to set up a trampoline for the reindeer.
Caleb nudged him. Jack looked down at where he’d bumped his side and realized it was up to him to answer. He was the family representative, after all.
“So…” he started. Pax made a get-on-with-it motion. Better to just get it out there. Once they knew the worst of it, they could get to work on a solution. “They cast Sparkle for the lead reindeer part in the movie.”
Pax scoffed. “No other reindeer stood a chance. She was all over tryouts—the little diva.”
“More like queen diva,” joked Forest.
Pax scoffed his agreement.
Jack squirmed under his father’s unwavering gaze. How did he manage to do that when he could barely sit up in bed? The man was a legend.
“How did they even see her?” asked Mom as she changed the box of tissues. “You should have locked her in the barn.”
Jack kicked the carpet. “I let them use the barn as a windbreak, so they were right there when a Sparkle came out of her workout.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I should have been more aware of the time.”
Mitzi tapped her foot. “Do you think she can do it?”
“She has enough drama for a television series. I think she can act in one movie.” Forest slipped his arm around her and pulled her to his side. He was protective of his bride. Considering her ex-husband and that whole situation, Jack didn’t blame him.
“That’s not what I mean.” Mitzi playfully shoved his chest. “Will she keep her hooves on the ground?”
Jack exchanged a dubious look with Caleb. “Reindeer are unpredictable.”
“They could use Snowflake. She doesn’t fly unless it’s with Billy,” Mitzi offered.
Jack considered her offer. The reindeer belonged to the ranch, but Billy had a special bond with Snowflake. He’d found her, injured and scared, and taken care of her, loved her right back to health. The two were tighter than Dunder and Lux Kringle, which was saying something.
Jack shook his head. “I’m afraid Sparkle has theitfactor. And the eyes.”
“Oh, those eyes,” Faith crooned with a smile that had Mitzi laughing. Faith sobered. “Sparkle can do anything she puts her mind to if she has the right motivation.”
“I don’t know.” Pax rubbed the back of his neck. “All it would take is one step in midair on film, and they’d have proof that reindeer can fly.”
