“Bring the strainer, dear?” Grandma asked as she stirred the last of the bits into the dirty-looking liquid. It was a dark yellow and brown now, but would be a stunning cream color by the time they were done with the process.
“Be right there.” She loved this life. She loved living as off-grid as they did. The three of them managed together just fine. “Felix is the only male we need around these parts.” The only one she’d let into her heart. Having it broken by a man was an experience she didn’t want to repeat.
CHAPTERTWO
“Happy Thanksgiving!”
Drake swooped to the door and took his niece from Natasha. She was one and precocious and perfect. Straw-colored curls were tamed into pigtails and adorned with ribbons that wouldn’t last longer than a piece of pie.
“Dwake!” she squealed as he swung her around and around. “You make me dizzy.”
He stopped and planted a loud kiss on her cheek and then blew a raspberry right after–earning him a fit of giggles and the title of World’s Most Favorite Uncle. “You make me dizzy, little girl.”
“I not little.” She held up all five pudgy fingers. He grabbed her hand and kissed each one. “Then you must be gigantic.” He tossed her into the air. “You’re taller than me.”
She laughed, and when he transferred her to his hip to cart her around, she patted his cheek. He loved those pats. They were the best part of his day.
His mother was big on all the holidays, with Thanksgiving being almost as important as Christmas. She pulled out all the decorations, adding large acorns; and sprigs of leaves in red, yellow, and browns; pumpkins; turkeys; and little blocks of wood with sayings on them that reminded everyone to be grateful, thankful, and that they were blessed. This year, they were all full of thanksgiving that they still had Dad to celebrate with them and that they’d added to their family with a beautiful wedding.
Catching sight of her cousins, Aspen wiggled to be let down, and he set her on her boots to scamper off and snitch olives from the table when she thought no one was watching.
Sighing, he turned to see where he could help. Caleb and Jack finished carrying up the folding chairs from the storage in the basement. Forest and Pax laid out the dishes and silverware. Faith and Mitzi hauled in the side dishes. Mom brought in the turkey. Dad sat at the head of the table, carving knife in hand. He was almost back to his pre-pneumonia weight. Coupled with his white beard and white hair, he looked like Santa once again.
And Drake was back to being unneeded. While Dad was down, he’d had more than his fair share of things to do to keep the ranch running, the reindeer happy, Mom from feeling overwhelmed, and Dad involved in things even though all he could do was lay in bed. Training the few fliers they had in the barn—even though they would never make it to Santa’s sleigh—was just as crucial to the reindeer’s mental well-being as it was to keeping the wrangler’s skill set sharp.
Not to mention, he’d been Mom’s right-hand man for a while. All the little things she’d ask Dad to do around the house, like fix a door knob or change the lightbulbs, had been his domain for a while. He’d been essential.
Until he wasn’t.
That was part of the reason he’d decided to build his house. He’d gotten a taste of being responsible for the upkeep of a home and wanted more. The very day he moved in, he had an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.
The next day, he felt lonely. He’d grown up with five brothers; how could he not miss the noises of other people in a house? Water running through the pipes. Footsteps on the wood floor. The refrigerator opening and closing a million times a day.
Most mornings, he came to the farmhouse for breakfast, claiming that Mom’s cinnamon rolls and apple oatmeal were better than anything he poured from a box. He suspected Mom saw through his excuses, but didn’t mind one bit that her youngest son exchanged morning hugs for breakfast.
“Gather in, folks!” Dad called over the general buzz. He had on a brown and cream flannel and a pair of brand new jeans that were stiff enough to hold up a horse. His custom belt buckle, with an outline of a reindeer, glinted, and he grinned at each of them as they took their seats.
Ryder climbed up on a chair with an old yellow pages telephone book on it. Drake laughed that Mom had hung onto the thing, but she swore it was the best booster she ever had. He’d check the date later but was pretty sure he’d sat on it a Thanksgiving or two when he was a child.
Mitzi set Aspen in the high chair. She banged her pudgy hands on the plastic and grinned, knowing wonderful tastes and yummy things were headed her way. Drake was a little more patient. The spices and flavors of the holidays were his absolute favorite. They had turkey a couple times a year was all–unless it was deli meat–and he couldn’t wait to dig into a drumstick. He and Jack always got the legs, because no one else wanted them–which was just fine with him. Billy would get the wish bone in a couple of days after it had a chance to dry out. When Ryder and Aspen got a little older, they’d have to take turns.
He’d always thought the dining room was so big. Their family of seven easily fit in the space. He teased Dad once that they could move the table out and have a barn dance in here. Dad had that look in his eye of an adult who knew more of the ways of things than a child and said, “One day, it might be too small for all of us.” Drake hadn’t known what he meant at the time but he understood now.
Dad stood, and the room went quiet. “I want to thank all of you for being a part of this family. Some of you didn’t have much of a choice.” He looked over his glasses, meeting each of his boys’ eyes. “And some of you were coerced.” He looked at his daughters-in-law, who all chuckled. Mitzi blew him a kiss. As a woman who was on her own, raising a son, she’d fallen into this family and adopted them as her own. She even called Drake’s parents Mom and Dad.
“I just want you to know how grateful I am to have another year to celebrate with all of you.” He lifted his cup. Drake followed his example, the glass cold against his skin. “May you all be blessed within the circle of love found here on Reindeer Wrangler Ranch.”
“Here, here!” Drake called before clinking his glass with Ryder’s tumbler of milk, who giggled, completely thrilled to play along with the adults.
“Pax.” Dad motioned for him to say the blessing. They bowed their heads, and Pax offered up a prayer of thanksgiving to the One Who Provided.
As soon as the amen rang out like bells on Christmas, the room erupted with conversations, dishes clanking, and soft music Mom liked to have in the background. This year was a collection of The Piano Guy’s Thanksgiving hymns. She’d found them on YouTube when Dad was sick and played their albums throughout the day when she was in the office or in his room while he fought for his life.
Drake kept his head down and listened to the conversations going on around him as he helped Ryder put olives on his fingers. The two-year-old wiggled and laughed too hard to do it himself, and it was a tradition for the kids at Thanksgiving to have olive fingers. Or, it had been, until they’d all gotten too big to fit the olives over their digits, but some things were important to share with the next generation.
“...Looking for alternative means…” said Pax across from him.
“Like what?” asked Natasha. She had on her interviewer persona, something she slipped into often around here as she learned more and more about the ranch.
