Page 141 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
Kane reaches into the back, grappling with him, then sighs. “Not going to happen.” He slumps back into his seat. “He rides loose. Just drive.” Then he grabs the first aid kit from the glove compartment and wraps gauze around his forearm where he was cut with that asshole’s knife.
I throw one last look toward the yard where Scot is still zip-tied to the tree, squirming like a giant pissed-off earthworm, shouting curses, and I love that I lit up his groin with a Taser.
He sees us backing out and yells something muffled and furious. Something about revenge. Something about lawyers.
I don’t care, and I peel out fast.
Corn Dog’s hooves skid on the seat, and he lets out a startled bark of a sound before he happily plants both front legs on the center console like he’s the damn copilot.
“We’re saving Christmas, buddy,” I tell him, eyes on the road, heart pounding. “Try not to break the truck before we get there.”
Kane reaches back to steady him. “Hannah’s gonna lose her mind when she sees us.”
“She’d better,” I mutter, flooring it. “We’re coming in hot.”
My phone buzzes. Chris. I hit speaker and try to shove Corn Dog’s muzzle away from my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Where the actual fuck are you two? Did you find them? Is everyone alive? Hannah’s about to start hyperventilating and pacing holes in the ground. Talk to me.”
“We found them,” I say, taking a sharp turn. “We’re heading back right now. All reindeer accounted for and alive.”
“Thank fuck. And Scot?”
“Gift-wrapped for the sheriff with a bow on top. There’s a whole thing involving money laundering, a safe house full of fugitives, and Corn Dog chewing through their wiring. Long story. We’ll explain when we—Corn Dog, stop chewing my shirt right now.”
The reindeer gets a solid grip on my collar and yanks. Hard. I practically fold backward over the middle seat. We swerve for a moment.
He only lets go so he can headbutt the phone in my hand, which triggers God knows how many settings at once. My screen lights up, then swipes, then opens five apps in a row like it’s possessed. Then the phone sends a text and hangs up on Chris.
Asjkdfh help reindeerlkjsdf CORN fuck sdkjfhksjdf TRUCK ksjdhf.A full, nonsensical voice-to-text horror show.
“Fuck, give me the phone,” Kane states, snatching it from my hand.
Chris calls back instantly. “Did you have a stroke?” he barks.
“That wasn’t me,” I say, prying his hooves off the middle console, stopping Corn Dog from fully climbing onto it before he can stomp the gear shift. “That was Corn Dog. He texted you. With his face.”
Kane laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “He’s smart, but not in a useful way.”
The back passenger window lowers in a smooth, cheerful hum, and suddenly his head is hanging out of the truck like a very large, very enthusiastic golden retriever.
“Noel, close his window. Shut it,” Kane groans, while trying to grab Corn Dog and not get kicked in the teeth.
“Hell, this reindeer,” Kane grumbles, and I’m pressing every button except the right one. “Why are there so many switches on this damn door?”
Wind blasts into the cab. Corn Dog’s ears flap wildly. His tongue is lolling out like he’s never been happier in his life.
Chris is still on speaker. “What’s happening? Did your reindeer jump out of the truck?”
“He’s not jumping,” I snap—then immediately second-guess myself as Corn Dog shifts forward like he might absolutely jump. Kane finally gets him inside, and I hit the button for the back window. Thank fuck.
Corn Dog licks the top of my ear in protest. I swear my soul leaves my body for a second.
“Chris,” I say, steadying myself while Corn Dog tries to put his front hooves on my shoulders like a toddler, “how much time do we have?”
“Twenty minutes until the ceremony starts,” Chris replies. “Maybe less. Hannah is pretending she’s fine, but she has the same look you get right before you beat the shit out of a suspect.”
I exhale through my teeth. Twenty minutes. We barely have time to breathe, and we’re in a truck with a reindeer currently trying to make us crash.
