Page 52 of Run, Run Rudolph
“Well, what am I supposed to wish for?” She was shaking her head. “There are so many ways this can backfire. And isn’t it wrong for me to interfere with someone else’s agency?”
“She—or you—just needs to wish that she was a few minutes earlier or later hitting the road tonight. It will solve everything. A near miss that will be even better than a mile.” I grinned at my use of a human expression.
“A miss is as good as a mile,” Char corrected.
I was so close.
“So, please agree to make a wish that will create a miss as good as a mile for your friend.”
“Ohhhh,” Char said, head tipping back. “I know why she won’t make a wish.”
“But I told her she can use your credits.”
Char was smiling softly, and slowly shaking her head. My confidence in my plan faltered. “We can grant her permission.”
Char was still shaking her head.
“Don’t you want her to be safe? She’s meddling with a very important holiday. She’ll end up in the Magical Court of Rules.”
Char’s smile wavered, and I could see her concern growing for her friend. I pressed on. “She needs extraction. We need tonight to have never happened.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I think she finally kissed Haden.”
Chapter 16
~ Haden ~
Tamara and I, with Santa braced between us, made it through the falling snow to the barn with the reindeer following us. By the time we hit the driveway, the snow had lightened to a few gentle flakes. Santa definitely had a concussion, and likely wouldn’t be himself for at least several hours.
As we struggled through the snow, I could feel Tamara silently berating herself for asking the reindeer to go to the North Pole to get help. But there was no way we could have predicted this.
Well, that was a lie. The reindeer were drunk. There was a reason drinking and driving laws were in effect around the world, and it wasn’t a stretch to think it should apply to flying animals.
“Mrs. Claus needs to make her flying oats for the reindeer,” Santa said. “I don’t know if she’s making them this year. Do you know if she’s made the oats?”
“I don’t know,” Tamara said, struggling under Santa’s weight as one of his shiny black boots slipped in the snow.
Santa. We were carting the real Santa Claus across Tamara’s yard. Mind. Blown. Did he wear his red and white suit at all times? Or was it a flight suit? It seemed right that he was in red and white, but also weird since it wasn’t quite Christmas. I felt like a kid full of questions and wondered what Tamara was thinking.
A moment later, Santa said, “The reindeer need their flying oats. Will Mrs. Claus be making a batch?”
“Not sure,” I answered. “But they were flying earlier. And eating something out of a pouch Comet had.”
“Leftovers. We need her oats for Christmas Eve. Has she made them?” Santa asked again.
“We’ll ask,” I said.
“You know my wife, Mrs. Claus?” he asked warmly, like he was meeting someone he knew would be a friend for life.
“We’ll make sure it gets sorted out, Santa,” Tamara said.
“Tamara Madden, from Eagle Ridge. I got your letter. For Christmas you want a?—”
“Santa! Can I make the oats?” Tamara asked, cutting him off in a fit of inspiration.
