PROLOGUE
It was a balmy 82-degree summer night on Reindeer Wrangler Ranch. The sun dawdled like a child procrastinating at bedtime. Salmon and orange colors burnished the clouds on the horizon.
Drake Nicholas removed his straw cowboy hat, swiped the back of his arm across his forehead, and settled the hat back in place. A whole week of tending expectant mothers and their newborn calves with his family left him bone weary and longing for a hot shower. He longed for them on regular work days because of the shower panel tower system he’d installed two months ago as an upgrade to his bachelor’s cabin.
Summers in North Dakota were fairly mild compared to other parts of the country, and 82 degrees felt like a heat wave. Dust and sweat clung to his skin, scratching under his collar. Of course, the hottest week would hit them during calving season. He glared at the sun, seeing it as a bad omen and a curse upon their heads all in one.
Their reindeer didn’t particularly enjoy warm temperatures either. The poor mothers panted and sweated through delivery. The wranglers brought them buckets of water and sponged them in an effort to keep them comfortable. The 260-320 pound animals longed for winter temperatures, icy winds, and the frigid icescape of the North Pole where Santa’s elves tended to their every need.
Not every reindeer made it to Santa’s elite stables, though. They had over three hundred head on the ranch–far beneath what they could care for out here in the wide open hills and valleys that had been in his family for generations. Population control hadn’t been a concern–until recently. Then, it became a matter of bloodlines, chromosomes, and genes as they worked to solve the biggest crisis the ranch had faced since its conception.
The Reindeer Wrangler Ranch was the only reindeer ranch in the whole world. Wild, non-magical herds could live in the Arctic tundra and the adjacent forests of Greenland, Scandinavia, Russia, Alaska, and Canada. As far as the Nicholas Family knew, they were the only ones with flying reindeer. Santa himself had worked with Drake’s great-great-something-grandfather to establish the reindeer ranch, so he would have a ready supply of reindeer to choose from without all the work involved in ranching at the North Pole.
Thanks to his mother’s tireless work and the help of several scientists, reindeer had been placed under the care of the Endangered Species Act about five years ago–which made the wranglers’ jobs a lot easier in some ways and increased their paperwork by 315%. Such was the way of government projects.
All that work and their family may have failed. Failed Santa. Failed Christmas. Failed children all over the world who wrote letters, kept themselves on the Good List, and waited with eager anticipation to hear reindeer on their rooftop on Christmas Eve.
Drake paced just behind the line of four-wheelers and ATVs as his family watched with trepidation as the last pregnant cow worked to bring her baby into the world. He couldn't hold still. Faith, his sister-in-law and their resident veterinarian, banished him back here because he made the mother nervous. His parents and family sat on their machines, not wanting to crowd in on the female. Caleb’s son, Ryder, sat in front of his grandpa, his mouth open far enough to catch flies. Forest and Mitzi were in a four-seater side-by-side, their one-year-old girl, Aspen, bouncing on Mitzi’s lap while Billy, Mitzi’s son from her first marriage, leaned into Forest.
“Come on, Snowball,” Billy cheered quietly. He was so excited to be a part of all that happened on the ranch, and they loved having him around. The brothers grew up learning by working alongside their father, and that style of teaching came naturally to them.
Snowball was a tawney-pelted beauty who descended from Dancer herself, and her five-to-twenty pound bundle of joy was their last hope. If she didn’t give them a flying calf, they were out of options and out of magic. The thought made him tense and in a weird way–itchy.
Snowball bleated and threw her head back. Faith landed on her knees next to Snowball’s head and rubbed down her neck in long, soothing strokes. “Come on, girl,” she cooed. “You can do it.” She’d painstakingly combed through the breeding charts of every animal on the ranch and hand-picked the fifty cows they bred this year and the bulls assigned to them.
Caleb was next to his wife in a flash. His hands gripped the ground, his knuckles white. Caleb’s hair was white-blonde with a few grays thrown in, and he had navy blue eyes, while Drake’s were dark brown, and his eyes were the color of storm clouds. Caleb was the oldest of the five brothers, and Drake was the baby. Even with their coloring on opposite ends of the spectrum, they had the same build, the same square jaw, and the same worry line between their eyebrows.
The family had worked all spring to separate the herd into different fields and ensure they followed her orders precisely. There wasn’t room for error.
Fifty was more than twice as many as they usually bread. They hoped that breeding more cows would increase their chances of getting a flying reindeer in these desperate times.
Pax threw a leg over his machine and stepped down. His medium-brown hair and beard turned red in the sunlight. His steel-gray eyes missed nothing. Even though he paced opposite Drake, the two of them moving like soldiers guarding the royal gate, his expression was even, and his hands still, unlike Drake’s hands that fluttered here, there, and everywhere. He scratched his head, his chest, and the back of his neck. He was the family rock–the steady influence and, when they were younger, the voice of reason.
Not that Drake always listened to him.
“It’s time,” Faith called out excitedly. She pulled leather medical gloves from her back pocket and slipped them on.
The family held their collective breath. Natasha, their social media guru and documentarian, used three GoPros set on tripods at different angles to film the birth. She also had her husband, Jack, filming with his phone while she did the same, getting close ups. She and Jack would be out here long after the rest of them drove home, documenting the calve’s first steps for their social media following. They walked a careful line of giving enough information on the herd to stimulate interest while keeping the family’s biggest secret a secret.
Natasha joined the family last year after filming a movie on the ranch, meeting Jack, and falling desperately–and somewhat sickeningly–in love with his older brother. She enjoyed sharing stories and had taken their little ranch from a local wonder to a national treasure. The upcoming holiday season had the town's B&B fully booked, and their holiday reindeer sleigh rides had a waitlist almost as long as Santa's Nice List. If the interest kept up, they’d have to extend into January.
Forest and Mitzi each put a hand on Billy’s shoulder to keep him from launching over the front of the side-by-side, to be closer to Snowball.
Drake stepped up to his father’s side. Dad had a bout of pneumonia last year that left him thinner and older-looking. He was back to seventy-five percent of where he’d been before he got sick. They all hoped he’d continue to get stronger. His hair was thinner and his snowy white beard was as fluffy as ever.
Dad named every reindeer on the ranch—all three-hundred-and-forty-nine of them.
With one mighty bellow from Snowball, her calf slid into the world, blinking in the sunlight.
Make that fifty.
“It’s a girl!” Faith cheered.
Girls were a good sign. Most of Santa’s reindeer through the ages were female.
Ryder twisted so he could look up at his grandpa. “What’s her name?”
Dad smiled down at the newborn, the pride evident on his face. Nothing was as beautiful as the birth of a new addition to their ranch. This little one represented a new generation and the promise that life continued on. “Oh, I think we should call this one Tundra. What do you think, Ryder?”
