Drake suddenly felt alone. Bare and alone, surrounded by his family and somehow on the outside of it.
“So much for waiting until after dinner,” Dad grumbled. Mitzi threw him an apologetic smile, even though none of this was her doing.
Drake couldn’t take this feeling anymore. It was hot and stifling and if he stayed one more second, he’d lose it.
“Where are you going?” Pax demanded. He often acted like he had a right to know everything about Drake’s life–like a grown-up babysitter.
“I need to move.” Drake hurried out.
“More like storm,” mumbled Forest.
Whatever. He hit the front porch with the same ferocity that the cold air hit his cheeks. He needed to take action, to move a mountain–even if it was a mountain of hay.
His eyes fell on the line of trailers they used to transport reindeer. He could take the live-in trailer–half camper, half reindeer transport–up to Alaska and search for a flier himself. He could get off the ranch and away from his older brothers and their hovering over his every decision. He could travel and do something to help rather than sit here and watch the hourglass run out on their magic.
Montana is a lot closer, he thought.
A quick Google search told him he could be there in twelve to fifteen hours, depending on the weather and the location of this reindeer. He combed through his old emails, looking for a hint. A woman named Hannah made first contact. She hadn’t told him her address, but she’d mentioned a national forest. That should be enough of a place to start.
After Hannah’s first email, he’d had to deal with a woman who told him no over and over again. She was a grinch with a side of Scrooge. Neither woman had verified that their reindeer could fly, but Hannah hinted heavily in her email that that was the case.
She’d also said he was male. Both women had–in fact–called him a “he.”
Drake would search all of Montana if needed. But if he wanted to be back in time for them to have flying reindeer calves this spring, he had to be home by Christmas. And even that was pushing the end of the mating season.
He continued to search. If only he could remember the name of the forest.
There! The Kootenai National Forest.
Another internet search told him how big the forest was and that he could be on the hunt for weeks. There wasn’t time to waste. He needed to get on the road and get going. Tucking his phone in his pocket, he went for his truck, intent on getting home and packing up.
His family had gone crazy–lost the Spirit of Christmas–and it was up to him to get it back.
They needed hope.
And he’d be the one to find it for them.
Even if it meant kidnapping a reindeer, yeah, it would be hard on the animal if he’d bonded with this woman, but he could adapt. Besides, life on the ranch was a reindeer’s best life. Here, he could fly all year long in the indoor arena. He could test his skills against the other fliers. He’d have friends who were like him.
He’d have Dunder to . . .
Dunder could be a problem. Male reindeer were territorial, but reindeer kings were protective of their herds–to the point of sparring matches and locked-horn wrestling matches that didn’t end well for the loser.
He shoved the worries away to deal with on another day. One problem at a time. If he started listing the potential issues with his plan, he would stand around all night. For example, there was a genuine chance that the reindeer’s illegal owner would chase Drake off her property with a shotgun. Or call the cops. Nah, she wouldn’t do that. The police had to side with him and would have to figure out how to transport the reindeer for him. It was unlikely that he would end up in jail.
He hoped.
He had no desire to rot in prison for a year while his family’s situation worsened. He’d have to be sneaky. Get in. Get the reindeer. Get out.
This was his chance to do something for his family that would really matter. Something that would make his mark on the Reindeer Wrangler Ranch and ensure that Santa had flying reindeer for generations to come. Something that would finally prove to them that he was just as capable as each of them.
He’d have to leave before his meddling family finished Thanksgiving dinner, or they’d try to talk him out of this. Or, worse, insist on going along. They’d see. Once he was back, the new bull would fit right in with the herd and they’d be chasing baby fliers before they knew it.
Everything would be fine, merry even. This would be their best Christmas yet.
CHAPTERTHREE
Clove let the lid to the roosting boxes slam close. She’d forgotten the basket she used to collect eggs and, instead, had opened her coat and pulled up the hem of her sweater to hold them. The hens were happy in their coop, if the number of eggs was any indication—which it was. If they were too cold, they’d stop laying. Funny enough, the snow packed against a new, well-placed straw bale worked as an insulator. She’d have to leave a comment on ChickenRebels.com to thank them for the article.
