Dachshund Through the Snow - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,1
children are going to sit on his lap and get gifts?”
“Well, he did, and we have no lap. Not a lap to be found tonight. Every lap in Bitter Bark is spoken for.”
“None of the other men in town can step in?”
“Not on Christmas Eve,” Finnie said as she walked out of the kitchen. “They’re either already involved with the festival, or doing the big play tonight at First Baptist, or committed to family.”
“Well, that’s a shame.” Agnes eyed the dough, trying to decide if she should finish this bread quickly, or just start from scratch after she had Charis.
“But I did come up with a solution,” Finnie called from the dining room.
“Oh, good. So, I think we should—”
She stopped midword when Finnie returned with an armload of red velvet and white fur, lifting it high and offering a look that Agnes already knew far too well.
“Not a chance, Finola Kilcannon.”
“Mrs. Claus needs a husband, Agnes.”
“Who doesn’t? But I’m not going to be yours.”
“’Tis two hours of your evening. You’ll do nothin’ but sit next to me, be kind to children, and I’ll hand them a present from the pile.”
“I do not look like a fat old man from the North Pole. I’ve dieted my heart out and stuck enough Botox in my face to smooth the face of a shar-pei. I will not—”
Finnie stuck a giant white cotton ball in Agnes’s face. “Wear this beard and ho-ho-ho your heart out.” Her tone invited no arguments. “We’ll be finished early enough to head to Waterford Farm for the big celebration, the placement of the candle in the window, followed by gift giving, then Midnight Mass.”
“The fun never stops.”
Finnie wiggled the beard and lifted a brow that was nearly the same shade of white. “You want me to agree to a third dog in our house?”
“Finnie! You said—”
“Then polish up your ho-ing, and I don’t mean the dirty kind.” She gave a toothsome grin. “You know it’ll be fun, lass.”
Agnes gave her a look. “I’m not a lass.”
“Then you should have no problem playing Santa to my Mrs.”
With an angry sniff, Agnes took the red costume and held up the red jacket. “And I’m not fat enough to play this part.”
“Why God invented pillows.”
Oh good heavens. Hadn’t she lost twenty percent of herself last year so she didn’t look like she was padded with pillows? “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“We get to bring my new dog.”
Finnie considered that, then nodded. “I knitted a few elf hats for all the family dogs for our picture tonight,” she said. “I have an extra one that Rover can—”
“He will not be called Rover.” He would be Charis, but she had no intention of explaining all that to Finnie.
Finnie, ever the fine negotiator, tilted her head in concession. “Then all three doxies can come with us to the festival and be part of our act.”
Victorious, she closed her eyes and saw the image of the dog she’d been searching for since…that day. Maybe this was the one. Maybe this was Charis.
Just then, the back door opened, and Prudence, Finnie’s teenage great-granddaughter, stepped in, her creamy cheeks pink and her eyes bright from cold as she rubbed her hands together. “I’m here to help you bake, Yiayia,” she announced, bending over to greet the dogs when they bounded toward her.
“Baking can wait,” Agnes said. “There’s more important work to do.”
“More important than baking?” Pru shot Finnie a pretend look of shock. “Has she been hitting the ouzo early?”
“No, lass, but…” Finnie’s brows furrowed as she walked closer to Pru. “I thought you were supposed to work the ornament table with the other high school volunteers at the festival.”
“Yeah…well.” She dropped her head to snuggle Pyggie. “Hey there, handsome little man. You look like you lost a pound or two.”
“Pru.”
She glanced up. “Sorry, Gramma. I know he’s sensitive about his weight.” She looked around Finnie’s narrow frame to catch Agnes’s eye. “You might have thought of that when you gave him the name, Yiayia.”
“What’s the matter?” Finnie asked, ignoring the exchange and laser-focused on Pru.
“Nothing,” she said, with just enough hesitation to make Agnes doubt that was true.
“You’ve been crying,” Finnie said.
Guilt flashed over her young and pretty features. “No, I haven’t. It’s just…”
“Cold,” Agnes suggested, feeling the inexplicable need to help the girl out.
“Exactly. It’s going to snow some more,” she said with false brightness. “Nothing like snow on Christmas Eve. So what are we baking, Yiayia? That Christo…Greek Christmas bread?”
She tried to slide past Finnie to