Abner laughed heartily, holding his belly. “Maybe I could get them to do a conga line.” He turned in front of Apples and started walking. “Da da da da da. Da!” Apples followed behind, sniffing his pockets where he kept the reindeer treats. When he kicked a leg out, she stopped and looked at him like he was crazy. Clove could practically hear the reindeer say:You’re losing it, old man,and she laughed.
If Drake’s family was half as fun and half as happy as they seemed, then it was no wonder he was desperate to save their ranch and way of life. Not to mention, there was something wonderful about Abner.
“What would it be like to have a father like that?” she mused.
For some reason, she thought Abner would be on her side about this whole kidnapping Felix thing. She could probably call him, and he’d chew Drake out for putting her and her family through this.
Calling wasn’t even a temptation. Because she liked Drake. She liked how he treated Felix with respect and care. She’d watched him this morning as he brushed Felix like a horse, laying compliments on him like snowflakes accumulating on the sidewalk. Felix practically preened under the attention and stretched under the curry comb like a cat leaning into a good scratch. She knew he was a little vain, but had no idea he wanted so much praise. He stood taller after Drake left, holding his head high.
Had she stifled him all this time because she didn’t flatter him? Ruined his self-esteem because she didn’t understand how to nourish it?
Drake was also respectful and kind to Grandma. She couldn’t enter a building or a room or exit a vehicle without him holding the door and offering his hand to steady her. He’d carried her luggage into the B&B. And Clove had a strong suspicion that it wasn’t Drake's idea for Grandma to come along with Felix on this expedition and yet he’d allowed it.
Then there was the way he played with Colter, the little boy from next door. Some men talked down to children or encouraged them to move along. Not Drake. He’d accepted Colter’s presence, talked to him like an adult, and made him feel important.
Grandma came into the room carrying a glass of water. She liked to have one by her bed at night because the wood-burning stove back in the cabin sucked the moisture out of the air. They had a pot that they kept on the stove, filled with water to steam, but they didn’t leave it on overnight because it would dry out and ruin the pan and could cause a fire. This house had a regular furnace, but old habits die hard.
“You look like you’re thinking too hard.” Grandma set the glass down and opened the nightstand to find her pajamas.
Clove hid her phone under the covers and leaned back against the headboard. “I have a lot to think about.”
“Like what?” Grandma sat down and picked up her brush. She liked to brush her hair one hundred times each night–said it soothed her nerves.
Clove wasn’t sure how to share her thoughts without giving away too much. If Grandma so much as sniffed her interest in Drake, she’d throw the two of them together in as many awkward ways as possible.
“Do you remember during harvest time when Pastor Tom talked about knowing someone by their fruits?” The Fruit Sermon, as the congregation dubbed it, was an annual one. He didn’t repeat many sermons, however, Easter and Christmas were always variations of the same message. That was to be expected. In the spring, he’d give the seed sermon, talking about planting the Word in your heart. In the Fall he did the fruits and a couple weeks later he’d talk about the harvest. She enjoyed the repetition and reminders. They were comforting and a good chance to gauge her progress from the last time she’d heard the message.
“I do.” Grandma nodded.
“What do you do when the fruits are mixed?” She plucked at the front of the bright pink pajamas, wondering what Drake thought of her dressed like Dolly Parton’s biggest fan.
“What do you mean?” She stroked the brush through her hair at an even pace.
“I mean, what if someone has both rotten fruit and good fruit on their branches? How do you tell what is real?” She gulped back the emotions that tightened her throat, not even sure why she was emotional over this topic. It was all Drake’s fault. He had her tied up in knots, wanting to kick his shins one moment and snuggle into his rather impressive chest the next. If she’d never witnessed for herself the many muscles he contained in a flannel shirt, she could have died in contented bliss. Now that she knew they were there, she would have to be content with the memory of the warmth of them against her palms.
Grandma chuckled. “I suppose we all have some of both.”
Clove’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She hadn’t considered her own branches and fruit.
Grandma glanced at her gaping mouth and then explained. “I can be a little cantankerous when the occasion calls for it.”
Clove snorted. “A little?”
Grandma gave her a sharp look. “You’re no picnic all the time either.”
She clamped her lips shut.
“We’re works in progress, dear.” She stood, gathering her things for a shower as she talked. “We’re going to have rotten fruit–that’s what Jesus is for. We’re going to have good fruit as we become like Him. Don’t judge people just by the rotten fruit. Take in the entire tree.” She stopped to kiss Clove on the head, leaving behind a hint of the fireplace and softening the lecture.
Clove smiled in return. She was right. Of course, she was right. Just like a tree, no one was done growing. Maybe Drake had more good fruit than bad fruit on his tree. Grandma left and she pulled the phone out from under the blanket.
She glanced at her phone. Abner smiled back at her. What would make a man raised by this guy want to kidnap a reindeer?
Love. Love for his dad, whose eyes were sunken in and whose shirt hung on his shoulders as if he’d lost weight.
She set the phone aside and climbed into bed. She’d crashed the trailer trying to protect her loved ones. Maybe Drake’s kidnapping was along those same lines. Heck, if she had a family like his, she’d do anything to protect them.
She and Drake weren’t that different.
