He nodded curtly. “More like throws me on my behind.”
Caleb tipped his head back and laughed. This guy was alright. “That’s Stella.” He winked at Stella, and she made a kissing noise back at him.
A sleigh landed with a flurry of jingle bells and snow flying, grabbing Caleb’s attention. Robyn, the oldest Kringle daughter, bounded out of the sleigh, followed by two dark-haired little girls who grabbed the stranger’s hands. They couldn’t be his daughters, and yet there was a whole lotta daddy worship in their eyes. Good on him.
“Can he help him?” asked the smaller of the two.
Caleb jumped in to answer, intent on easing the worry on her sweet face. It was Christmas; she should be making snow angels and eating Christmas cookies not worrying over a sick reindeer. And Dunder was as sick as he’d ever seen a reindeer. His own worry grew by the second, and he did his best to tamp it down in front of the kids. “You bet I can. I’m the best reindeer wrangler around.”
“He likes to think so,” called his brother as he strode out from the house.
Caleb rolled his eyes. Trust his twin to steal the glory. Still, he was glad for the help. Dunder’s breathing hadn’t slowed. They needed to get his heart rate down and see if he could drink, or at the very least eat some fresh snow.
“Jack!” Stella ran and threw her arms around Caleb’s carbon copy.
Jack twirled her around just like he had, both of them laughing. “What have you brought us this time, princess?” He set her down, and Stella swatted at him.
“Princess? I thought I told you never to call me that.”
“As you wish.”
“Stop!” Stella hit him again, laughing.
Caleb pulled Dunder’s eyelid up and was met with an angry red glare. “Okay, big fella, I know you don’t like me poking at you, but I’m here to help.” He put his hand near Dunder’s nose. “Come on, you remember me.”
Dunder huffed as if saying, Of course I remember you, idiot.
Caleb rubbed between his eyes. “You’re still grumpy, huh? I thought living at the North Pole would have sweetened you up.”
Dunder moaned in protest.
“Good.” Caleb moved to scratch under his jaw, and Dunder relaxed.
Robyn approached, and Caleb leaned back on his heels, taking her in. She still had that oldest-sister vibe going, but her hair was cut different, more modern, and she wore clothes that hugged her curves. He’d bet her little sister Frost had gotten hold of her for a makeover. Knowing Robyn was all business, he jumped in with his laundry list of questions. “What’s he been eating lately? How many hours is he flying a day? What’s his sleep habits like?”
Robyn rubbed her lips together. “I’m going to call the stables and see if we can get Selora on the line. She’ll know more about his eating habits than I do.”
Caleb lifted his felt hat and rubbed his hair. “’Kay.” Santa’s head stable elf would have all the info he needed. “I just don’t know what to do for him except make him comfortable. If we could find out if there was a trigger, something he ate that didn’t agree with his stomach, I could help him better.”
Robyn nodded as she dialed the North Pole.
The rest of Caleb’s family arrived. The sound of a sleigh drew a crowd around this ranch. They had visitors, but not many who knew about the reindeer. It was great to be able to just be chill and talk about flying mammals as if it were all normal.
Caleb leaned his head on Dunder’s chest and listened to his lungs. They sounded clear to him. He lifted a couple fingers to the strangers Robyn had brought in her sleigh when Stella said his name in introduction. Besides Robyn and the two girls, Robyn’s husband and her brother-in-law had come along for the trip. Mom was all over the two little girls.
Caleb couldn’t blame her; they were as sweet as gumdrops. Which was why he made a motion for his mom to get them out of here. They needed to move Dunder into the barn and out of the cold. Which was funny, considering Dunder’s home was the North Pole, but he kept blinking at the glaring sun.
Mom took the girls inside, telling everyone else to stay and help. She’d fill the kids with cookies and Santa stories and get her grandma fix for a while.
“Can you get a blanket big enough to hold a reindeer out of that thing?” Caleb nodded to the magical purse hanging over Robyn’s shoulder. Every Kringle girl had one, and they were pretty handy.
“Sure.” She reached inside and pulled out a thick red-and-black plaid blanket.
He grabbed one end and they laid it on the snow next to Dunder, bunching it up so when they rolled him over, he would be all the way on the fabric. Yeah, the reindeer was going to love that one.
“What do you think?” asked Robyn quietly as a mini snowball fight broke out between Stella and her boyfriend. Caleb would be upset that they were horsing around while he was doing all the work, except Stella was always the one who lightened up the situation. Not because she didn’t understand how serious it was, but because she loved those involved and hated to see people sad.
Jack took one look at what Caleb and Robyn were doing and broke into a jog toward the barn.
Robyn looked over at him, her eyebrows lifted.
“He went to get the sled,” Caleb informed her.
“Twin mind meld—I almost forgot.” She dug out some snow by Dunder’s shoulder and shoved the blanket under there. Caleb wished he had the Kringle anti-cold gene, because his hands were numb.
Jack emerged from the barn, pulling the transport sleigh. It had silver runners and a flat top sanded smooth and painted bright red. They didn’t have to use it often, but when an animal was down, it was a huge help. He and Jack had tried to use it for sledding once, and they’d about lost their lives. It was too much sled for the two of them at fifteen. Heck, it was probably too much for them today.
At the sled’s arrival, everyone gathered round to help. Turning a reindeer over wasn’t an easy task, but they managed it with only a low growl from Dunder. It was almost like he’d given up on being angry, which was the worst sign for a curmudgeon like him.
Caleb stepped back and let Jack take charge of getting the sleigh moving. He grabbed his phone out of the inside of his coat and called Doc, the vet. His call went to voicemail. He hung up and tried again. Doc was usually on top of things—especially out here. He was the only one in Sleigh Bell Country who had seen a reindeer fly and not thought he was crazy. That had been over thirty years ago, and he’d never missed a chance to come to the ranch since. Caleb left a message. He didn’t have to think hard about his next step. If anyone was going to help Dunder, it would be the vet. He had skills, medicines, and machines for diagnosis.
“What can I do?” Kris, Stella’s boyfriend, asked, seeming at a loss as to how to make things better.
Caleb shook his head. “I can’t get ahold of Dr. Saintsbury.” He kicked a pile of snow. “I’m going into town to find him.”
“Keep calling,” Jack called over his shoulder. “He may have gotten your message and be on the way. Service can be spotty.”
“Like I don’t know that,” Caleb grumbled as he stormed toward the house. A word kept coming to mind: acidosis. The illness was terminal for reindeer. Even getting the vet here wouldn’t stop it. But he couldn’t wait around to see if things got better. He had to act.
He stormed through the house to grab his truck keys. Mom was at the table, coloring with the girls. She was having as much fun as they were bringing princesses and elves to life with crayons. Cookie crumbs abounded, and a plate of homemade Oreos sat in the middle of the table.
He snatched one, in case he didn’t have time for lunch. “I’m going to look for Doc.”
“We’re going to keep on coloring and make some dinner in a bit.” Mom’s smile was big and wide and set in place like it had been cut with a cookie cutter. She was worried about Dunder but didn’t want the girls to know.
“If he gets here before I find him, call me.” Caleb shut the door quickly, not wanting to cast a cool bree
ze or feeling over the cozy gathering. One of these days, his own kids would color at that table with their grandma.
He couldn’t think about the future right now, though. Dunder was counting on him, and he wasn’t going to let the reindeer down. He’d scour the county for Doc and not come home without him.
Chapter 3
Faith
Some people had issues with hospitals, but Faith wasn’t one of them. The smell of antiseptic and that weird green bean tinge from the food trays was par for the course. Frankly, it smelled like her the elementary school cafeteria where Mrs. Brinhall had taught her and a handful of other low-income sixth graders how to serve up a lot of food—fast. Working in the lunchroom wasn’t a popular thing to do, but she’d gotten all the leftover peanut butter bars she could eat. Did they even serve those anymore? It would be a darn shame if they didn’t. She’d bet the hospital had something like that on the menu.
The receptionist’s desk was chest high and covered in aged-pink Formica that screamed for a makeover. Cream walls were covered with children’s artwork in gold frames, popular in the 1980s. Small-town hospitals were way down on the list for cosmetic upgrades. Hopefully, the medical equipment was newer than the decorations.
The man working the phones had a Mr. Rogers vibe going. His high forehead was covered in wrinkles and disappointment—as if everyone who asked a question was an idiot. Faith wasn’t one to be deterred by a bad mood—she worked with pit bulls, after all. This guy couldn’t be that bad.
Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, she leaned her hands against the edge of the counter and said, “Hi, I was told to ask for Dr. Calvin when I got here. He’s expecting me.”
With a huff and an eye roll, Grumpy Rogers picked up the phone and pressed a couple buttons. “Cheryl, there’s a lady at the front desk asking for Dr. Calvin.” He covered the receiver and looked over his glasses at her. “Name?”
“Faith Saintsbury.”
He dropped her gaze and glanced down at the table, repeating her name for the nurse in a slow, deliberate way. The nurse probably wanted to strangle him on an hourly basis. How did this guy get to be the face of the hospital? Either the town was too small to find a replacement, or someone in HR had lost a poker game.
He hummed in response to whatever Cheryl said a couple times and then hung up. “You can go back to the nurses’ station. They’re prepping the patient for surgery now, so you need to hurry.” He snapped his fingers and pointed down the right hallway. She found herself breaking into a jog at his command before realizing that he wasn’t in charge of her.
Slowing to a fast walk, she made it to the nurses’ station, where Cheryl, according to her name tag, motioned toward an open door. “He’s in there, honey.” Her voice was deep and smooth and just the kind of tone you wanted when coming out of surgery or coming up to breathe after bad news. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a low bun, and her brown eyes, peering over half-moon glasses, were full of sympathy.
“Thanks,” Faith threw over her shoulder before coming up short in the doorway.
The man she called “Dad” didn’t look at all like himself. How long had it been since she’d seen him? It had been ages, according to the lines on his face and the gray tint to his skin. Gray, like the color of a headstone. She shook herself as a David Marley warning shivered over her skin. Hurrying into the room, she tried to figure out where she could stand that she would be out of the way of the nurses who were changing out his IV bag and unhooking monitors. Everything was happening so fast, it felt like the room spun around here. Any second, they’d wheel the whole bed away and her chance at closure would disappear.
Seeing a break in activity, she rushed forward. “Dad!” She leaned over the flat bed, noting the white sheet that lay across his still body like a shroud.
She needed to rein in her morbid thoughts. He wasn’t dead—not yet, anyway. But the knowledge that this could be the last time she laid eyes on the man who’d taught her how to set a broken wing whooshed through her entire body. Was it possible for a person’s spirit to leave while their heart still beat? Her eyes darted to the monitor that beeped sporadically. She suddenly wished she’d watched the documentary on near-death experiences when it had popped up on her Netflix feed last week.
“Can you hear me?” She placed her hand on his arm, shocked at how cold he felt. Especially since she hadn’t worn gloves and her hands were cold.
His eyes fluttered open at the sound of her voice, as if she’d called him back from a deep sleep—maybe the deepest. His work-worn hand groped for something to hold on to. Her hands weren’t much better than his, covered in calluses, the nails trimmed short. Veterinary practice didn’t lend itself to manicures and feminine wiles.
“Faith,” he graveled out. His voice had always been deep, but her name sounded like it was dragged behind his old green pickup on a dirt road.
“Yeah, Dad?” She leaned in, hopeful and expectant that his last words would be healing, comforting, and an apology for the years he’d neglected his family. She could forgive him if he finally saw the light, if he finally noticed the prized woman she’d become despite not having his influence in her life. This was the moment that all the pain could be washed from their history and she would be able to look back and only see the good.
“Protect the reindeer,” he said, moistening his parched and cracked lips.
“What?!” She moved closer still, sure she had misheard. “Are you kidding me right now?” The man was pounding on death’s door, and he asked her protect the very animals she’d resented her whole life. If it’d come down to going to Faith’s preschool Christmas show or a vet check on a reindeer, he’d picked the reindeer. When her mom had handed him the ultimatum—us or the reindeer—he’d chosen the reindeer.
And now, after Faith rushed to his bedside—leaving her own thriving vet practice in a lurch and her partner to cover for her during Christmas, with only the clothing on her back and the credit card in her purse—his thoughts were of the reindeer.
“It’s important. Promise me.” He wheezed as if every word cost him greatly.
What he didn’t understand, what he never understood, was what those darn hooved beasts had cost her.
A nurse with bright red hair put her hand on Faith’s shoulder and spoke calmly. “We’re going to take him in now, sweetie. Say what you need to say.”
Faith glanced up to meet her warm chocolate eyes and nodded. So many words filled her mind. Angry ones that had bite and venom. Words that would sting him for every wrong he’d ever done her and every loss she’d ever felt because of his obsession with the stupid reindeer.
She took in the old man lying naked under a thin sheet, his hand shaking in hers. Tubes went from his arms and nose into who knew what machine or bag of fluids. His life hung in the balance, and she couldn’t let their possible last moments together be tainted with the past. Did that make her a sucker? Mom would think so. Mom would tell her to leave him there. Let him ask the reindeer for help—see if they were there for him in his dying moments.
But she wasn’t her mother.
“I promise, Dad.” She kissed his forehead and then stood and folded her arms as the staff kicked the release on the wheels and rolled him out of the room. Tears, hot and stingy, blurred her vision. She went into that place where the mind and the body numbed to protect her, and she folded her arms over her chest to hold herself together. Breathing was not an option. Time stood still, or rushed forward. She had no idea. It was like this moment in her journey was being dog-eared and underlined and she had to pay attention.
A tall, broad form in a cowboy hat filled the doorway.
She stared at it for a moment, willing her eyes and her brain to focus. Perhaps she’d conjured up this blurry vision, or maybe it was an angel who’d arrived 30 seconds too late to escort her dad to the pearly gates. If Dad had a guardian angel, he would be a cowboy.
Rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes, she blinked away the moisture and
swiped at her cheeks trying to pull herself together. Her vision cleared, and she stared dumbfounded at the manly specimen before her. This was no angel; this was a man. The kind of man they used for truck commercials—rugged and handsome with a swagger to boot.
She suddenly needed a tall drink of water and speech lessons.
“You Doc Saintsbury’s kid?” he asked, whipping his black felt hat off and holding it over his heart like some actor in an old Western. Only there was no Hollywood in his weathered winter boots and worn jeans. This guy was the real deal, a straight-shooting rancher in a soft flannel shirt and a tan Carhartt coat with a pair of leather work gloves peeking out of his back pocket.
He had the attitude of a rancher too—calling her a kid. He couldn’t be much older than her, and she was twenty-seven with her own practice and a nice condo, thank you very much. Indignation fueled her ability to speak again, and she asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m Caleb Nichollas, miss. We’ve got an emergency on the ranch. A reindeer’s down. Can you come take a look at him?” He threw his thumb over his shoulder and glanced behind him as if his ranch were just there.
A reindeer? Couldn’t they at least let her father die in peace? Or live. Hopefully live. The way he struggled to breathe had shot an arrow right through her hope. She’d never understood why her father cared so much about one type of animal and this specific herd in particular. They were on the endangered species list, but the Nichollas family was granted the special charter to protect the herd, not Dad. “Caleb, did you say?” she asked as if she hadn’t paid attention to his name.
“Yes, ma’am.” His drawl was kind of cute. His white-blond hair and beard were a shock compared to his chiseled features and navy-blue eyes. Like a Viking and an angel had a baby.
Too bad he was part of the reindeer ranch. For the amounts of attraction blowing through her body, they could have had something. But she wasn’t going to date a man as crazy as her father. Mom had drilled into her that she should never come second in her husband’s life and these reindeer people were fanatics.
One Tough Christmas Cookie (The Reindeer Wrangler Ranch Christmas Romance Book 1) Page 2
