The crazy events rushed back to her, and she started laughing. Christmas music playing in a field? Reindeer talking? She must be going nuts out here. If she weren’t careful, she’d begin to think the reindeer could fly.
Come to think of it, how did Jack get there so fast?
She shook the thought out of her head.
That was ridiculous. This place, the movie, the cursed striped tights, all was messing with her better sense.
For real, though, had he flown in? Like swooped?
Nah…
But… he came from above the trees. Didn’t he?
There was one thing she hadn’t made up: Jack riding in like a hero on the back of the biggest, baddest reindeer she’d ever seen. That was hot. And something she never wanted to forget.
She hit the brake as she contemplated going back and looking for reindeer tracks that would prove Dunder had run from the barn. One glance in her rearview mirror told her that would not give her the answer she wanted. An entire herd of reindeer walked over the snow.
She’d just have to ask Jack to clarify how he got there. Tell the story again from his perspective. There had to be a reasonable explanation.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
The runaway sleigh, with Raelynn inside, did a number on Jack’s nerves, and he didn’t sleep well. She was fine. Better than fine, because she counted Dunder as a dear friend. The legendary reindeer had worked Christmas Magic with her, and she barely remembered being in the sleigh when Cocoa took off. She remembered dancing in the snow with a reindeer—a memory that ran so deep it would resurface every Christmas season.
He knew because he had a few of those himself.
His hope that Raelynn would once again capture and hold on to the childlike wonder of Christmas was closer than ever to being a reality. He should feel good about that.
So why was he so unsettled?
He threw the blankets off and stood up. Some cocoa or reading by the fire would calm him. He crept along the house, not wanting to wake the rest of the family. As he passed his parents’ door, he heard a muffled cough.
Worried about his dad, he stuck his head inside. “Dad?”
“I’m awake,” Dad whispered. He had the bedside light on and sat up, reading a book. Mom was asleep, a pillow propped up to block the light. The sight was so familiar to Jack. How often had he come home—barely making curfew—to this exact scene? Gratitude for his parents surged through him, and he stepped inside.
“Can I get you a drink or something? I was about to make cocoa.”
Dad’s eyes brightened. “I’d love some.”
Jack hurried out and made them both a mug. He stepped back into the room and noted the cold floors. He set the mugs on the side table and then added a log to the wood-burning stove in the corner.
“Your mother will appreciate that when she gets up,” Dad lifted his mug in thank you. He sniffed the cocoa. “Peppermint?”
“To help with your cough.” Jack brushed his hands on his flannel PJ bottoms before picking up his drink and sitting on the side of the bed. “She does a lot to take care of us.”
Dad grimaced. “She’s working too hard with me laid up.”
“You sound better tonight.”
Dad sipped his drink. “It’s slow going, but I’m improving. Getting old isn’t for the weak.”
Jack smiled into his cup.
“No filming tonight?” Dad asked.
Despite the craziness that Tinsel Town presented during the day, they all tucked into their trailers or the local B&B at night. When the temperatures went down, no one wanted to be outside.
Jack shook his head. “The next night’s shoot will be in the barn we contracted. There’s one on Main Street on Christmas Eve too. Should be something to see if you’re up for it.” Dad’s color was better; his cheeks cheery. Jack took comfort from seeing him become his robust self—little by little.
