Clove Hogan pulled her long sweater tighter around her and cinched it at the waist before stepping onto the large wrap-around porch to check on the Thanksgiving turkey in the smoker. When it snowed, it didn’t feel all that cold out, so she slipped into the boots by the door and stepped into Old Man Winter’s playground.
The world was dressed in layers of snow for the festivities. Giant pine trees reached to the clouds, their boughs heavy with snow. She and Grandma Hannah had stored their trucks in the garage weeks ago and now used their snowmobiles to get around town. She liked the speed, but if she had the chance, she’d cross-country ski all winter long. The activity helped her feel like she wasn’t cooped up for the winter, but set free to explore while the bear population slumbered.
The scent of applewood smoke reached her first, and she wrinkled her nose, knowing she would smell like Thanksgiving for the rest of the day and have to wash her sweater.
There were worse things.
“Stir the wax!” Grandma yelled before the door shut. She worked her arthritic hands to the bone in the kitchen, determined to have all the fixin’s for the holiday. Even though it was just the two of them, she insisted they couldn’t do without stuffing, cranberry sauce, or sweet potatoes topped with miniature marshmallows. When Clove showed up on her doorstep, she wasn’t so sure about raising her granddaughter but had risen to the task of making their cabin in the woods a loving home.
Clove pressed her palm over her stomach, already anticipating the food coma she’d have while trying to wash dishes. They’d have enough leftovers to feed them until Christmas, and then they’d do it all again to celebrate the birth of the Savior. She loved their quiet Christmas traditions and the manger they put out on the porch every year, along with a few bales of straw.
She went to the smoker first. Pressing the button that read the temperature, she nodded at the steady progress. Their bird was right on time. It would have a smokey flavor that made it taste like they had cooked it over a campfire and dripping with juice. Her stomach growled in anticipation.
Stepping to the Camp Chef to stir the wax, as directed, a distinct crunch sounded under her brown leather boot. She paused and lifted her foot to look underneath. Something orange stuck there.
“Carrot?” Off to the right, there was another piece. “Hmm,” she said a little louder, “I wonder how these carrot pieces ended up on the porch?” She followed them like breadcrumbs to the base of the giant pine tree that sheltered her bedroom window from the sunrise. Looking up, she found her culprit.
“Felix,” she scolded the reindeer as he lounged on the largest branch. “I told you to stay out of the root cellar.” Repeatedly. Every time she went down there and every time she came back up and latched the door.
Felix’s eyes widened:I did.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I know you did–until you didn’t.”
He spit a carrot stem on the ground in front of her:Prove it.
She pointed up at him. “You’re on thin ice with me, Mister.” What she couldn’t figure out was how he got down there with his antlers. The entrance wasn’t wide enough for him to fit easily. He must have really wanted a snack or charmed a squirrel into bringing him food. Somehow, that seemed less likely than him flying into that tree to munch on his ill-begotten vegetables.
A snowmobile roared, coming up the drive and interrupted their spat.
“It’s the sheriff,” she hissed up at Felix.
He rolled his eyes as he flipped off the back of the branch and landed softer than an angel’s kiss on a marshmallow floating in whipped cream. His elegance and grace sometimes overwhelmed her. As Sheriff Hoffman cut the engine, Felix turned around and rubbed his backside on the tree.
“Lovely,” Clove mumbled under her breath toward the hairy beast. Putting on a neighborly face, she called down the drive, “Hello, Sheriff. What brings you out on the holiday?”
He swiped his helmet off his head and tucked it under his arm. His orange hair stood on end, and his freckled face was red with the effort of managing a snowmobile in fresh powder. “I’m here on official duty.” He gulped. “And for the hundredth time, call me Allen. We went to middle school together, for heck’s sake.” He ran his gloved hand over his hair and ended up leaving behind a bunch of snow. Scowling, he took off his glove and brushed it out.
“Official business?” she glanced at Felix, her pulse spiking with fear. The only thing in her life that was slightly outside the lines was harboring an illegal reindeer. She and Grandma didn’t claim ownership of Felix, but he was an endangered species. If their property wasn’t right on the border of the Kootenai National Forest, he wouldn’t have been able to stay as long as he had. She forced herself to act casual. “What’s so official? It’s Thanksgiving.”
“Shoot. I didn’t mean to alarm you, Clove.” He went to lean on his snowmobile and, having misjudged the distance, stumbled into it instead.
Felix chortled.
Allen looked at Felix as if he just realized he was there. “You should cut off his antlers.”
Felix’s mockery cut off, and he glared at the sheriff, his shoulders hunched as if ready to tear into the man for recommending such a thing.
Allen, feeling the heat of his glare, unwound his scarf. “He’s supposed to shed them. I bet he gets headaches.”
Felix pawed like a bull getting ready to charge:You’re a headache.
Clove coughed to hide her laughter. “Some reindeer don’t shed them. I looked it up. As long as he doesn’t walk crooked, he’s fine.”
“Oh.” He glanced around as if looking for another topic.
“Your business?” she prompted.
“Yeah, I’m checking on all the cabins and making sure they have enough firewood for the weekend.” He stepped back and patted a bundle on the back of his sled.
