One Tough Christmas Cookie - Lucy McConnell Page 0,19

doctor hadn’t said anything about Doc dying the night of surgery.

“Not according to the doctors, but I know what happened.” Doc stared out the window as if recounting the experience in his mind. “It ain’t all angels and bells, boys.”

Wow! Caleb caught Drake’s eye. His younger brother was as weirded out by that statement as he was. Were they supposed to ask him about what he saw? ’Cuz from the way Doc talked, Caleb wasn’t sure he wanted to know what awaited them on the other side. It wasn’t like Doc was a sinner of large proportions. He didn’t come to church, and he had a complicated relationship with his daughter, but that didn’t mean he was meant for hellfire and damnation.

Heck, if Doc was in trouble with God, where’d that leave the rest of them?

Caleb shuffled closer to the bed. “How ya feeling?”

Doc’s whole frame lifted and fell with his sigh. “Like someone punched me in the chest and then ran over me with a sleigh. I’ll be all right, though—still got some work left in me.”

“We aren’t worried about getting you back to work,” Drake protested. “We’re here as neighbors for a Sunday visit.”

Doc looked like he was going to snort at that, and then he paused and softened. “Thanks. I’m worried about the herd, though, always am. They’re my saving grace.”

“How so?” Caleb leaned one hip against the bed.

“Any good I’ve done in this life was for them.” Doc’s face fell. “I could have done a lot more for people who shoulda meant more to me, but there it is. I can’t give up on the reindeer now, though, so I gotta lot to get done before I’m—well …”

Caleb patted his shin. “You worry about getting better right now, and when you’re healthy, we’ll be glad to have you.” He paused, wondering much Doc remembered from before he’d gone into surgery and if Faith had visited since then. “I don’t want to put stress on your newly repaired valve. Do you think you could talk some things through with us?”

Doc nodded, his brown eyes showing interest. “I’d appreciate the distraction.” He tossed the remote on the bed and folded his hands in his lap.

Caleb and Drake explained about Stella bringing Dunder in and his symptoms.

“Doesn’t sound like a stomach issues—which is a good thing. Remember when Buddy colicked a couple years back?” Doc asked.

Drake dropped his head, and Caleb closed his eyes, picturing the dark-coated animal with a two-point rack. The young reindeer—a non-flier—had gotten into the garden and eaten a bunch of corn. No one could have stopped him, and as his stomach had swelled and he’d passed away, Doc had kept him comfortable and eased his suffering. It’d been a hard day all around. Caleb had learned early on that reindeer didn’t live forever, but an unforeseen passing was always a blow.

“So Dunder has a chance?” Drake asked.

“I wish I could get a blood sample.” Doc’s hand twitched against the sheet.

“Faith already did,” Caleb offered, hoping to ease his worries.

“Faith? You let Faith treat Dunder?” Doc came up off the bed, his face going red. “She doesn’t know. She can’t know about the fliers.”

Caleb leaned in and put his hands on Doc’s shoulders, gently pushing him back to rest on the bed. “She doesn’t.”

Doc sagged as if all his strength had run through holes in the bottom of a bucket. “She can’t find out,” he mumbled.

“Why not?” asked Caleb, trying his best to keep an even, quiet voice.

“Because she doesn’t believe. She has all these new-age ideas about things, and she’ll mess everything up.”

A need to defend Faith rose up inside of him. “I think she could be an asset to us. Maybe help us figure out how to get more fliers out of the next breeding season.”

“She doesn’t have the Christmas spirit to do any such thing.”

“I think you’re underestimating her,” Caleb spat back. He’d seen the way Faith worked with the animals, the way they took to her. Well, except for Sparkle, but she’d have an issue with any new female in the barn—human or reindeer.

“I’m afraid he has me pegged.”

All three males whipped around to find Faith standing in the doorway, carrying a lunch sack and a pile of fresh clothes for Doc. Her ash-brown straight hair framed her angular face. His eyes traced her pert nose and the line of her cheekbone before he realized he was staring and averted his gaze.

Wait, Faith was here. Shoot. They’d been too open, and