by Tawna Fenske
Sweating, I try again. “Look, Amber told me to come by at two to meet you in person and fill out some paperwork,” I say. “But I can come back another time if now’s not good for you.”
I shut my mouth so I don’t repeat the rest of what Amber told me. That she’s worried about odd stuff happening here—tools gone missing, gates left open, an eerie feeling of being watched—and that older sister Jade would never consent to professional security. Kinda kills the festive family vibe.
A Santa who fills the role in a subtle way seemed like a solution, so here I am.
Jade stares at me for a moment with those Crater Lake eyes unblinking. Two shaggy reindeer stand behind her with antlers the size of coat racks, looking like thugs poised to beat the shit out of me if Jade gives the order.
But she seems to decide something then, and spins on her heel to walk away. I do not check out her ass because I am a gentleman. Also because the tail of her plaid flannel shirt comes down past her hips.
But mostly because I’m a gentleman.
“Come on,” she calls over her shoulder. “You can walk with me while I check the fence line.”
I’m not sure what we’re checking it for or why I’m already taking orders from her when I’m not positive I have this job. But I’ve got nothing better to do on this cold November afternoon, so I fall in beside her and try not to step on any piles of little black berries I’m ninety percent sure aren’t berries.
Jade’s walking fast for a girl almost a foot shorter than me, but she’s not breathing hard at all. She’s also not looking at me.
“So we’re the third largest domesticated reindeer herd in the continental U.S.” She stops and adjusts something on a surprisingly tall fence, then continues on like the world’s least-friendly tour guide. “A lot of them came from abusive homes or neglect situations, so I’ve been doing rehab with them and getting them ready to interact with the public.”
I want to ask what reindeer rehab entails, but I suspect she’d think I’m making fun of her. “They look good to me,” I offer. “Not that I know what healthy reindeer look like, but I assume they are. Healthy, that is.”
I’m spewing word salad like it’s on the menu, which isn’t like me at all. I’m usually pretty polished around women, so I don’t know why this one’s making me blather like a moron.
Jade spares me a glance and continues walking. “They are healthy. We had four new calves born last spring, which gives us fourteen steers, sixteen cows, and one bull who’s not going to be a bull much longer.”
I’m almost afraid to ask. “What do you mean?”
She gives me a pointed look. “Harold—stage name Donner—is getting castrated next week.”
“Ouch.”
Jade shrugs and keeps walking. “Bulls are impossible to deal with during rut. Nonstop grunting from August to December, and they’re mean as hell. Dangerous, too.”
“I’ve known guys like that.”
Jade stops walking again and turns to face me. She narrows her eyes just a little, and I fight the urge to take a step back. “They die young,” she says. “Reindeer bulls do. You get three or four breeding seasons out of them, and they might live a year or so after that, but not much. Unless you castrate them, they’re pretty much goners.”
“Jesus.”
I’m not sure we’re still talking about reindeer, but I don’t love the way she just glanced at my crotch. Or maybe I’m imagining things. “So you’re cutting off his balls to save his life.”
“Pretty much.” Jade starts walking again. “Artificial insemination’s better for the herd anyway. Safer, too. Each reindeer is worth about ten grand, so we can’t afford to lose one to a hookup gone bad.”
That explains her hostility about mating. Maybe. It also explains why Amber was so gung-ho to have security. Now that I’ve met Jade, I understand why Amber said her sister would bristle at accepting outside help. I get the sense Jade would happily punch me in the jaw if I offered to carry her groceries.
I glance around the pasture, wondering which one’s the bull and whether I should go offer my condolences. “Have you always had reindeer?”
“No.” She pauses as a particularly massive specimen lumbers up and noses her pocket. I’m standing close enough that his antlers bump my arm, and I’m surprised by how powerful they are. Jade reaches into her pocket and pulls out the tiniest apple I’ve ever seen, which she gives him along with an ear scratch.
“The land has been in my family for six generations, but it’s been a few different things,” she says. “My parents raised pigs when I was growing up.” She glances at me like she’s daring me to say something about that, but I have no interest in taking that dare. “They sold off the pigs when they retired to Hawaii,” she continues. “Now the farm belongs to my sister and me.”
“So you decided to start a reindeer ranch,” I say. “Something different.”
She keeps walking, but I see her nod once. “A little different. It’s a commercial operation, obviously, but we’re still maintaining the regional culture and the intended purpose of the land.”
“Okay,” I say, though I have no idea what she’s talking about. “I guess you’ve gotta do what it takes to make farmland profitable these days.”
She stops walking and frowns up at me. “That’s not entirely true. These properties were meant to be farms and ranches. You couldn’t just plunk down a shopping mall or a strip club or some fancy resort for rich people. Not without losing the integrity of the land.”
Oh.
Okay, now I know what she’s talking about.
“You mean that luxury ranch resort thing down the road? The one opening next fall?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps walking, pausing once to check a sturdy-looking gate before continuing her march along the fence line. Her hair is long and wavy like her sister’s, but streaked with honey-colored rays of sunshine. A breeze catches the end of her ponytail, sending the soft strands fluttering across my forearm.
“I’m saying it’s important to be respectful of established culture and tradition,” she says. “Out here in the country, there are issues like grazing rights and quality of life and traffic patterns and—”
“Hey, I grew up here, too. I get it, don’t worry.”
That gets a snort out of her. “Yeah, well I’m not sure the resort people do. Out-of-state billionaires snapping up family farms and turning them into Disneyland for rich people? No, thanks.”
“I can introduce you to them, if you want,” I offer as she stoops to study a snag on some wire. “The Bracelyn family? They’re my cousins.”
She stands up so fast she smacks the top of her head on my elbow, which makes her teeter in tall rubber boots. I reach out without thinking and catch her arms again, annoyed to realize how much I like it.
For the second time in fifteen minutes, I force myself to unhand the boss.
Her throat moves as she swallows, and those lake blue eyes stare up at me in dismay. “You’re related to the Bracelyns?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “On my dad’s side. My uncle was the out-of-state billionaire. He bought it when I was a kid, but didn’t visit much until after my mom—”
Fuck.
I stop talking, not sure what’s got me blathering my life story to someone I’ve just met. Jade’s eyes are like magnets, drawing sharp shards of steel out of the scarred ridges on my chest.
I force myself to swallow. “Anyway, I’m staying out there with my cousins right now,” I continue. “I can talk to them if you want.”
She looks like she wants to dig a hole under the fence and make a run for it, but instead she turns and abruptly starts walking again. “I didn’t know that,” she mumbles. “That you’re related to the Bracelyns.”
“How would you? We have different last names, and it’s not like I put it on my job application.”
“Of course not, but we went to high school together.”
“You and me? We did?”
&nbs
p; She doesn’t look at me, but I could swear she just rolled her eyes. She’s walking faster now, so I hurry to keep up as I rack my brain trying to remember her.
Our high school wasn’t huge—maybe fifteen-hundred students—but I’d definitely remember a girl with lake blue eyes and an attitude like a blast of rocket fire.
“We didn’t know each other in school,” she says at last. “I knew of you, but didn’t everyone?”
“Because of the sports stuff,” I ask, “or because I was an asshole?”
She fires me a curious look. “Did you just call yourself an asshole?”
I shrug. “I can admit it now. I was kind of a dick in high school. Might as well take the bull by the horns. Or the reindeer.”
That gets a smile out of her. A small one I see only in profile, but still a smile.
“Antlers,” she says at last. “Reindeer have antlers, not horns.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Do.” She stops and turns to face me, her chin tilted up. “And keep in mind they’re more dangerous than they look. A reindeer can kill a full-grown man with just a flick of its head, if the mood strikes.”
I take a deep breath and nod. “I’ll consider myself warned.”
Chapter 3
JADE
“So that’s how reindeer grow a new set of antlers every single year,” I conclude, proud of myself for making it through our eighth and final field trip of the week. “Are there any questions?”
A little boy in a blue coat raises his hand at the front of the pack. “What are those two reindeers doing?”
There’s a titter of giggles from the pack of seven-year-olds standing along my fence line, and I turn to survey where he’s pointing. Beside the barn, a confused-looking steer is doing his best to mount one of the young females. She turns and butts him with her antlers, but Lester is undeterred.
“He’s—uh—yes,” I stammer. “Leapfrog. They’re playing leapfrog.”
“He’s not very good at it,” observes a little blonde girl in pigtails and purple sneakers.
“In his defense, he’s missing the parts he’d need to be an effective player,” I point out.
Their teacher gives me a nervous look, and I make a mental note to dab Vicks VapoRub on all females who go into heat between now and Christmas. It’s an old trick for keeping the boys away, though judging by the determination on Lester’s face, it might not be enough.
“Okay, I think we’re just about out of time,” I announce. “Thank you for coming to Jingle Bell Reindeer Ranch. Don’t forget to ask your parents to bring you back next week when we have Santa here.”
Santa!
The word ripples through the crowd of school-kids with a hushed excitement, and everyone starts talking at once about Christmas lists and presents and how often the big man in red needs to stop the sleigh and poop after eating all those cookies.
The students’ teacher, Stacey Fleming, sidles up to me. She’s a pretty blonde who was two years ahead of me in school, but through the magic of makeup and good genes, she looks about ten years younger. Her hair is that shoulder-length, flippy style meant to look effortless, but requiring two hours of intense labor with a curling iron. At least it would for me, which is why I stick with a ponytail most days.
Stacey’s wearing red leather knee-high boots that she’s somehow managed to keep mud-free, and her white peasant blouse is spotless. I wonder if she remembers the time in junior high when one of her friends stole a Twinkie out of my lunchbox and ran away giggling about how I didn’t need the extra calories.
“Thanks again for doing this,” Stacey says as the kids file toward the front of the school bus where my sister has set up a snack table. “The students had a great time.”
“No problem,” I say. “It’s nice to get to show them how the farm works. What the reindeer eat and how they look instead of the cartoon pictures of them on TV.”
Stacey smiles and leans in with a conspiratorial whisper. “So what are they really?”
“What are what?” I whisper back, totally clueless.
“What are the animals? Some sort of elk or something?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It’s not the first time I’ve encountered someone who lumps unicorns and reindeer together in the class of mythical beasts, but I might have hoped a teacher would know better.
“They’re reindeer,” I tell her. “Real, honest-to-goodness reindeer.”
She nods and gives me a knowing smile. “Ah, got it.” She winks. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
I start to protest, but think better of it and shut my mouth. If she wants to believe I’m passing off fake reindeer to the public, there’s not much I can do about it.
Stacey’s eyes go wide, and it takes me a second to notice she’s not looking at me or the reindeer. She’s staring at the parking lot over my shoulder. “Oh my God,” she whispers. “Is that Brandon Brown?”
The name sends goosebumps skittering up my arms, but I turn slowly, trying not to show the same awestruck eagerness as Stacey. I fix my expression in a nonchalant gaze I feel wavering when I see him striding up my driveway in a fitted black T-shirt and jeans that make me want to pen a thank you note to Levi Strauss.
“Yep,” I say, still striving for casual but unable to hide the wobble in my voice. “He’s probably here to pick up his uniform. His first day as Santa is next week.”
“That’s your Santa?”
Her voice is practically a shriek, and I glance toward the bus to make sure none of the kids heard. They’re all distracted by the paper mugs of cocoa Amber is handing out, along with generous squirts of hand sanitizer. I turn back to Stacey.
“Apparently so,” I tell her. “I just got his background check, and everything looked fine.”
“I’ll say things look fine.” She’s watching Brandon, not me, and I can’t tell if her expression is one of pleasure or irritation. Maybe a bit of both.
“You know him?” I ask.
“Biblically,” she murmurs, voice still teetering between annoyance and attraction.
He has that effect on me, too.
A tiny inchworm of jealousy wiggles around in my gut, but I ignore it the same way I’m trying to ignore the gentleness in Brandon’s eyes as he stops to pet Anthony, one of the smallest steers in my herd.
A flicker of memory lights up my brain, an image of Brandon jogging off the field and dropping his helmet on the sidelines as Stacey leapt into his arms, wrapping herself around him in her cheerleading skirt. “You guys dated in high school,” I say.
Stacey shrugs. “I wouldn’t say dated. He took me out a couple times.” She gives a brittle little laugh. “Me and everyone else with a perky pair of tits.”
I ignore what may or may not have been a jab at my teenage rack. It wasn’t until senior year that my baby fat rearranged itself into something resembling curves. Brandon had long since graduated by then, and it’s not like we’d have run in the same circles regardless of my boobage.
Brandon stops petting the reindeer and strides toward us, probably all too familiar with what it looks like when two women are trying to pretend they aren’t discussing him.
“Hey, Jade, Stacey. Good to see you again.”
His stride is slow and cocky like he knows he’s God’s gift to denim. His t-shirt is short-sleeved, despite the fact the it’s freakin’ November in Central Oregon. I don’t know whether I hate him more for not being cold or for having biceps that make my mouth water.
“Hey, Brandon,” Stacey purrs. “I didn’t know you were back in town. Last I heard you were in Syria someplace.”
“Just finished my last tour in Raqqa,” he says. “I had a ton of accumulated leave to burn, so I’m here through the holidays.”
“So it’s just temporary?”
He shrugs and looks away. “I’m considering leaving the service.” He drags his boot through the dirt. “I’m a little war weary, plus I’ve got some family stuff going on.”
She smiles
and sidles up closer, surveying him the way my reindeer eye a bucket of apples. “I’d love to hear about what you’ve been up to. Maybe we could grab a drink sometime?”
Brandon clears his throat. “Actually, I’m going to be pretty busy with Jade here.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence as Stacey looks from Brandon to me and back to Brandon, probably humming the Sesame Street song, “One of These Things is not Like the Other” in the back of her mind.
“Playing Santa,” I clarify, wanting to make it clear we’re not an item. Not that anyone in their right mind would think that.
Stacey nods once, then turns back to Brandon. “You’re looking good, Bran,” she says. “I’ll see you around.”
Leave it to Stacey to turn fiber cereal into a nickname and make it sound sexy. She turns and saunters away, her butt blinking with those sparkly crystals that adorn the pockets of some women’s jeans. Not mine, obviously. My butt has never twinkled, and I wonder if that should be a point of pride or regret.
Stacey rejoins her class, rumpling hair and talking to kids whose faces are smudged with cocoa and mud. At least I hope it’s mud. She chats with the kids for a while before stepping over to talk to Amber. My sister points toward the hay barn, probably telling her where the restroom is, and I watch as Stacey ambles in that direction.
I turn back to Brandon, assuming he’s been looking at her like I have. But nope, his gaze is fixed on me.
“I like your hair like that,” he says.
“Unwashed and unbrushed?” I flip my low ponytail over one shoulder. “Thanks.”
He grins. “Anyone ever tell you that you suck at taking a compliment?”
“Anyone ever tell you it’s a bad idea to tell your new boss she sucks?”
Brandon shakes his head. “According to that PI guy you had doing my background check, you’re not technically my boss. He was real adamant about telling me it’s your sister.”
“Ugh.” I give him an Amber-esque eyeroll. “That’s Connor, and he’s been madly in love with Amber for years. I’m sure he’s just trying to pee on her fire hydrant.”
