Page 12 of Mountain Man Santa

“Sure thing,” I reply without hesitation. Unwilling to leave the safety of the wall, I order, “Load up on cookies for your little brother, will ya?”

Turner stands next to her, wearing his tan Stetson and winter-weight Carhartt. “The last thing we need is children bouncing off the cabin walls, thanks to a sugar overload.”

Pointing at Jack’s twin sister, Rosie, whose mouth is covered in red, white, and green frosting and sprinkles, I say, “It’s already too late for that. But then, you’re the one who decided to become an instant family man.”

It’s not lost on me how Stacey looks up, eyeing my interaction with the cowboy and custom home builder. Not so long ago, Turner was the kind of guy I thought would never settle down. Now, he’s got the patience of Job, dealing with the constant whirlwind of destruction that is his children. From Jack and Rosie at the youngest end of the spectrum to pre-teensDaisy and Poppy, growing more awkward and morose with each passing day.

“I wouldn’t change it for the world,” Turner replies, winning a happy kiss from his redheaded bride. “Although there are times I miss the orderliness of my former cabin.”

Now, his wife goes from wrapping her arm around his waist to smacking him lightly. He chuckles, “But I’ve got a spitfire to make up for all that. And one of these days, we’ll have a quiet house again.”

“Not until we add a few of our own kids to the mix,” she adds with a smile.

Turner says, “Which would make me the happiest man in the world. Although, at this point, I’ll have to invest in a school bus to transport everyone.”

The servers and a few stragglers in the room, like Hawk, Roxy’s husband, laugh at the observation. Hawk and Turner are foster brothers from the Rough & Ready Ranch. Honestly, I thought more of their foster brothers would be here tonight, but storm warnings have put a real damper on things. The last few families clear out, making the bell on the front door chime as they wave goodbye and thank us for the abbreviated evening.

I relax against the wall, wondering how bad the tear actually is. Fortunately, I wear black boxer briefs, so even a worst-case scenario won’t be obscene. Black briefs don’t exactly fit with the whole Santa schtick, however.

Delilah listens to our conversation quietly without saying much. Finally, she adds, “If all goes well in court, Holden might be celebrating with us next year.”

“I hope he’s out much sooner than that,” I reply.

Tears well in her eyes, and she smiles sadly, going back to packing cookies. About a year ago, she had high hopes that he would get out. He’d accrued plenty of good time credits, and things looked hopeful. But at his parole hearing, an army of hisvictim’s family members showed up, and denial of his parole became a foregone conclusion yet again.

It’s a strange case with plenty of evidence indicating Holden acted in self-defense. After all, he got jumped from behind by a group of frat boys outside a bar and had the tar beaten out of him before pulling a knife to get the upper hand.

In the process, he stabbed one of his assailants multiple times, snagging his femoral artery. The man bled out and died at the scene before first responders arrived.

But said victim was the son of one of California’s most powerful senators. And the only witnesses to that night’s events were the other frat boys. To top it off, Holden already had a rap sheet filled with minor drug offenses and petty theft. And he fled the scene, failing to call for help. Talk about the perfect storm of bad luck and even worse decision-making.

Glancing out of my peripheral vision at Stacey, I notice how somber her face looks after Delilah’s quiet statement. I’d love to know what the curvy server’s thinking.

When the help for tonight and their families have to-go boxes filled to the brim with holiday treats and their puffy jackets, gloves, scarves, and hats in place, we say our final goodbyes.

Hawk, a Shoshone-Bannock helicopter pilot and team roper, looks at me curiously, asking, “Are you ever gonna come off that wall, man?”

I chuckle. “Probably better for me to hang out right here. I’m experiencing what you’d call a wardrobe malfunction.”

Turner and Hawk laugh. “How so?”

“Well, it’s complicated, so I’ll spare you the details. But Santa tore the seam outta the back of his pants.”

“Seriously?” Lily asks, laughing.

“It’s been a long day, but if that’s the worst of my problems after this sh—” I stop short, remembering the little ears in the room. “After this less-than-stellar day, I guess I’m doing good.”

More laughter makes me begrudgingly smile, but all I can think about now is getting home to my cabin, building a roaring fire, and drowning my sorrows in some bourbon.

“What else do you need us to do?” Delilah asks, staring apprehensively through the vast front restaurant windows at the white curtains of snow shrouding the landscape.

“Nothing I can’t handle. Does everyone feel safe getting home?” I ask, looking around the room.

“Stacey, do you need a ride?” Hawk asks. Although the sunshiny blonde drives a red Touareg fully capable of conquering the snow, she’s never been a big fan of driving in blizzard conditions. Roxy side-eyes her husband with a frown, shaking her head.

“That would be fantastic, actually,” the coppery blonde says, shooting me a look stuck somewhere between worry and longing.

“Nope,” Roxy cuts in, shaking her head. “We can’t give Stacey a ride because…you know, that thing. We have that thing in the truck taking up the whole back seat.”

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