One Tough Christmas Cookie - Lucy McConnell Page 0,18
sip from his glass of eggnog. “Doc will need some easy meals, and his daughter could use some meat on her bones.”
Caleb grinned. Faith looked good to him just the way she was—he wasn’t looking to change her. But that was another tractor ponder session. He jumped to his feet before he filled up his calendar with thoughts of Faith. “What do you want me to tell her about Rudy?”
Dad leaned back and rubbed his stomach. He glanced at Mom, who nodded for him to go ahead. “We talked it over last night. If she can help him see, I think we should go for it. He might be the only animal we can send to the North Pole for the next little bit.”
A cloud of worried thoughtfulness descended over the table. Each year, fewer and fewer flying reindeer were born. The ones in the barn weren’t up to the task of helping Santa deliver toys for one reason or another. If they didn’t get some new fliers soon, Christmas would be in real trouble.
“But—you have to stay with him the whole time,” Dad added. “We can’t have Faith finding out about Rudy’s special abilities.”
Caleb nodded and knocked on the table for good luck. “I’ll put on a tie—meet you at the truck in five minutes, Drake.” He’d stayed over at Doc’s with a reindeer before, but that was different—Doc wasn’t a beautiful woman who’d caught his attention.
It didn’t matter. He’d have to keep his distance from Faith and keep his head down. It had worked at the hospital. He grinned to himself as he tied his tie, thinking of how she’d kicked his boots. She was a tough cookie; that was for sure.
He passed by the back door, where he hit the button on his key fob to start the truck engine. It took a full minute for the glow plugs to warm up before it rumbled to life. When it did, he ran up the stairs to grab his hat.
Doc didn’t know why the reindeer weren’t producing fliers. He’d tried crossing bloodlines and matching flying reindeer with flying reindeer, even though in the past they’d let the reindeer figure all that out. But nothing seemed to work.
Maybe Faith could help them out. He paused, wondering why he’d thought that, and an old, hazy memory lifted from the back of his mind. About ten years back, Doc had been all excited that Faith was specializing in breeding and gene development in animals. He’d thought she’d be the answer to all their problems. But she hadn’t shown up after graduation like Doc had predicted. Caleb frowned. He’d forgotten all about that until just now.
He double-checked his shirt to make sure he hadn’t spilled on it at breakfast and then ran down the stairs. Maybe he could ask Faith to look at their breeding records. If she could find a solution …
No. He wouldn’t dare. Not without telling her about the magic coursing through their veins. And doing that wasn’t up to him. If Doc had kept it a secret from her, then he had his reasons.
Caleb was really interested in finding out what they were.
After Sunday services, Caleb and Drake found Doc’s recovery room in a different part of the hospital than where Caleb had met Faith. This area was calmer. The walls were clean, off-white, and there were pictures of local farms and landmarks blown up and framed on the walls. The smell of cleaner tinted just about every space they entered. That was probably a good thing, though it put an exclamation point on the fact that this wasn’t a home. Home smelled like earth and cinnamon and fabric softener.
Doc sat up in bed and glared at the television, where It’s a Wonderful Life played. He glanced at them hovering in the doorway and then jerked his head toward the TV. “It’s not like that, you know.”
“What’s not?” asked Drake as he moseyed in and took a seat on the other side of the bed. He was pretty much comfortable anywhere. Church, hospitals, the barn. If Caleb had had half his confidence at nineteen, he could have built an empire or climbed forbidden mountains. Drake didn’t realize the gift he had, being the youngest and feeling like he belonged. As the oldest, Caleb had grown up paving trails.
“Dyin’,” Doc barked. “No one tells you what good you’ve done; all you count is the opportunities missed and see all the ways you screwed up.”