Despite teasing Clove about the taste of crow–he, himself, despised it.
There was nothing worse than admitting to his practically-perfect-in-every-way older brothers who never made a mistake that he’d screwed up.
There was no other way to get Felix out of police custody, though, and he’d do anything for Clove–er, Felix. He’d do anything for Felix and the ranch–right? That’s why he was here. Not Clove and her delicate shoulders that folded into him as if he could protect her from all the monsters under the bed.
He hadn’t thought to bring his certifications or any type of documentation on the ranch. They didn’t have paperwork on Felix. How could they? He wasn’t theirs. Still wasn’t.
And Mom would never fudge records. Never.
Not that he’d ask her to, but it would make things so much easier if he could waltz up to Sheriff Hoffman and shove a piece of paper in his face and drive off with Felix. Well, march off with Felix because his trailer was in pieces on Otis’s shop floor.
He’d thought getting him to the ranch was the only hurdle–the Mayor’s ambition was a wicked punch out of nowhere. It was time to call home and ask for help.
Gritting his teeth, he sat on the bed, then jumped back up to his feet so he could pace.
Mom answered on the second ring, “Merry Christmas, Drake.”
“Is it?” he asked, too much gingersnap in his tone. He schooled himself. “Sorry. Mom.”
“That’s okay. Having a rough day, dear?”
Some of the fight went out of him like a balloon leaking air, making it possible to say the hard words. “Yes. But I mean, I’m sorry I left without talking to you.” He drew himself up. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going. I’m sorry I made life harder for you and everyone else on the ranch. I’ll—” he gulped—hard. “I’ll call everyone else later and apologize. I promise.”
“Gabriella, you know I love you forever. Thank you for saying all that, though.”
He wanted to cry at his mother’s easy forgiveness. “I hope you still love me after what I’m about to tell you.”
“Please tell me you’re not in jail,” she joked.
He gulped, not sure where to start.
In his hesitation, Mom grabbed onto panic. “Drake Obadiah Nicolls, you'd better not be in jail!”
“I’m not!” he fired off. It was time to come clean. “Okay, I’m just going to tell you everything, so here goes.” He started with calving season and then his fear that the ranch would be shut down forever and his niece and nephews would stop believing in flying reindeer and Christmas and children all over the world would go without Santa’s visits and how he decided to kidnap Felix.
Mom gasped in horror at that, but he plowed over her sputtering, telling her about Clove crashing the trailer and how they were stuck all the way up to how he couldn’t keep Clove out of jail and save Felix. When he finally stopped to breathe, the line was quiet.
“Mom?” He pulled the phone away from his ear and checked to make sure he hadn’t lost the call. “Can you hear me?”
“I heard everything.” She sounded like she was smiling.
He put her on speaker and dressed quickly. “Why do you sound so happy?”
She laughed. “You’ve managed to get into quite the pickle.”
“Again, why do you sound so happy?”
“Because you had to choose between saving the girl and saving the reindeer and you picked the girl.”
He stopped, one foot in a pant leg.
“Which means,” she continued, “you must really like this Clove.”
“What?! No! I—.” He tripped over his half-on pants and fell into the bed. He did like Clove, but he didn’t want to admit it to himself, let alone talk to his mom about it. “Seriously, Mom! I’m trying to save the ranch and that’s what you get out of that entire story?”
She laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m productive too. I’ve emailed you copies of all our federal permits and our state one. We have a few seals of approval from international organizations that may intimidate a small-town mayor into letting Felix go. They're all in your inbox.”
He rolled onto his back and hoisted his pants up, buttoning them quickly. “Thanks. I’ll see what I can do with that.”
