Page 64 of Run, Run Rudolph
I crouched in front of him. “Can you share some of your Christmas contingency plans so we can start prepping…in case we need them?”
“Top secret,” he replied cheerfully. He tapped the side of his nose and gave me a wink. He was so jolly and loveable, I felt bad for the third degree I was going to have to give him.
“Yes, I’m sure they are. But it’s time to make them less top-secret.”
“No can do, Tamara Madden of Eagle Ridge.”
“Santa, Christmas is in danger. You have a concussion. Your sleigh is broken. Rudolph got hit by a car and is injured. Blitzen is drunk. And Snarky…” I looked at the elf, who was now sobbing and throwing himself around on the floor. “Well, he’s having a breakdown. We need to activate contingency plans.”
Preferably soon, so I could wriggle my way back into Haden’s arms and see what he had in mind for me.
“Mrs. Claus takes care of Hugo now.” His tone held a hint of sadness.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s her Numero uno. He chose his side.”
“Oh? Okay. Well, can the two of you kiss and make up?” The reindeer inhaled as one, taking a step back as though choreographed. “Christmas is on the line, and I get the feeling we could use your wife’s help.”
“She needs to make the oats,” Santa said bleakly. His blue eyes looked damp.
“Right,” I said softly. I glanced at Haden, but he just shrugged. “So, she needs to mix up those oats. Can’t I make them?”
“Top secret!” Santa made a tsk-tsk sound, his bright eyes sparkling merrily, his earlier moroseness gone. “Have you met Sir Fluffball? He has such an exquisite name.”
“Um. Yes. Fine. It’s lovely.”
He leaned closer to me, and I echoed his move. “Do you find it odd that I know people and their names, but I don’t know their pets?”
“Well…”
“Poor Sir Fluffball can’t ask me for Christmas gifts.” He rubbed his cheek against the cat’s back. “A real oversight, I’d say.”
“I agree.” I cringed at the idea of any of my cat’s wishes coming true. I pretty much let him have run of the house, but had chased him out of my cereal bowl the other day. I mean, I wasn’t finished yet! And I was fairly certain I’d read somewhere that cats were actually lactose intolerant. He’d sulked for hours, even though I’d been looking out for him.
Naturally, I dreaded to think what might appear on his Christmas wish list.
“Hugo?” Santa commanded.
Snarky elf stood immediately, snapping to attention, face impassive, as though nothing had ever been wrong. “Yes, sir?”
“Look into that.”
“What, sir?” His eyes shifted from side to side, as if he had done something he shouldn’t have, and was waiting to be caught out.
“Why can’t animals make Christmas wishes?” Santa turned the cat so he was looking at Boots, face-to-face. “It seems very unfair to me. Don’t you think so, Sir Fluffball?”
Puss in Boots gave a small meow of agreement, his purr filling the room.
“I’ll add it to the list, Santa, sir.” The elf pulled a spiral notebook from a pocket in his pants and began scratching the item onto an existing and lengthy list.
I met Haden’s eyes, and he shot me a look I knew. It wasn’t a secret glance, like the kind Kade despised. It was simply the shared knowledge that Christmas was definitely in trouble.
I turned back to Santa. “What do I need to do to make the oats?”
“Are you a witch, Tamara Madden of Eagle Ridge?”
“No.”
