Page 49 of Run, Run Rudolph
Apparently, they actually believed that adult women made wishes to Santa, and that, when they did, they wished for boyfriends. As pathetic as that sounded. Honestly, why couldn’t they assume the more reasonable explanation—that Santa had bumped his head a little too hard?
I sighed and scooted closer to Santa.
I did want a boyfriend. Living on the farm alone was more isolating than I’d expected. And if my mom was right—and all the good ones had been taken, or were not interested like Haden—then I could use all the help I could get. Including Santa’s.
And why was I suddenly thinking about Haden as an eligible man? Sure, there was a fizz of something fun between us, but that wasn’t a reason to start thinking of my ex’s brother in that way.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said to Santa. “It looks like your sleigh hit a tree. Are you hurt?”
“The elves can’t make boyfriends in the factory,” Santa told me, his expression somber.
Someone was snickering again.
“Do you know what day it is?” Comet asked.
“It’s snowing,” Santa announced.
A sinking feeling of nothing but pure unadulterated dread took over.
If Santa had a concussion, what would happen to Christmas?
And even worse, would I be blamed? I shivered at the thought of what might await me in the magical realm and focused back on Santa and the snow falling around us.
“It is snowing,” I agreed. “Very pretty snow tonight.” Mentally I began humming White Christmas. Keeping my tone light, I asked, “What are all of your reindeers’ names?”
“Olive.”
“Sorry?”
“Olive.”
In the silence, a female voice said quietly, “It’s an old joke from the song Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”
I nodded. I knew it. I just didn’t know what it meant in regard to Santa, and a possible brain injury.
“The line where you sing ‘all of the other reindeer’,” Donner mansplained to me. “That’s Olive. The tenth reindeer.”
“Right.”
“It’s a joke. There is no Olive.”
“Thanks for clearing that up.”
“No problem.”
I peered through the snow, casting my light across the reindeer. There was indeed one more than I’d sent off an hour ago. “Vixen?”
“Yes?” Her voice was sweet and calm.
“Nice to meet you.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. Other than it was lovely to have another woman around, and that I was sorry for dragging her into this mess.
“Nice to meet you, too,” she said, her voice rising with pleasure.
“Olive, huh?” I said to Santa. So he had a sense of humour as well as a possible brain injury. This was going to be so much fun.
“Where’s Mrs. Claus?” I asked. I’d half-believed both of them would come to gather up their injured reindeer friend and take him home in their sleigh. The now crashed and damaged sleigh.
Nobody answered, the studying of snowflakes resuming among the deer as though they were researchers working on a thesis.
