Page 27 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
More reindeer inside. At least seven of them, all staring at me from the dim interior of the barn with expressions that clearly say “Who the hell are you?”
Oh my God. He was telling the truth. Chris actually has reindeer.
Relief floods through me, immediately followed by panic. Because one of them is now loose, and I broke into his property.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I scramble to my feet, slam the barn door shut before any others escape. “Come back here! You can’t just—where are you going?”
The reindeer, smaller than the others, definitely younger, no antlers, which means either very young or female, is trotting away from me toward the house.
“Hey! Stop!”
It doesn’t listen.
I chase after it, my boots slipping in snow. “Come back! Please come back! I’m sorry I let you out!”
The reindeer ignores me, heading straight for a pile of chopped wood stacked near the side of the house. Behind the woodpile, a large evergreen tree leans against the house, probably waiting to be set up somewhere for Christmas, still wrapped partially in netting.
The reindeer scrambles up the woodpile with surprising agility.
“No. No, no, no, don’t you dare?—”
It reaches the top of the woodpile, uses the leaning tree as a ramp, and suddenly it’s on the roof.
I stare up at it, dumbfounded.
The reindeer stares back down at me, looking entirely too pleased with itself.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I yell. “That’s not even… How did you… Get down here!”
It blinks at me, unconcerned.
“I’m serious! You’re going to hurt yourself!” I’m pacing now, hands in my hair. “Or fall through the roof! Or get stuck up there and die and then Chris will kill me for killing his reindeer!”
The animal sits down in a gentle pose on the roof, getting comfortable.
“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”
This is a disaster. This is a catastrophic failure of judgment that I’m going to have to explain to three bounty hunters who are probably watching me on camera right now, laughing at thecrazy woman who broke into their property and released their livestock.
I pat my pockets like a nervous rabbit. Nothing but phone, keys, lint. No emergency scone. My brain panics for exactly two seconds before I remember where I left the goods—the car.
“Stay,” I tell the reindeer like it understands English and common sense. It stares at me, unimpressed, chewing on the air. “Okay.” I take off, skittering across the frosted lawn toward the driveway. Cold hits my cheeks so hard my nose stings. I fling open the car door, dive in, and aim for the open platter of brownies and carrot cake muffins. I break a small piece of the muffin as reindeer like carrots, right?
Then I sprint back. The reindeer is still on the roof, because of course it is.
I wave the goodie like a flag. “Hey, you,” I call, breathless. “Down here, Rudolph. Yes, you. Do you think you’re one of Santa’s reindeer or something? Because I am not leaving until you come down and behave.”
It snorts and flicks an ear. I offer a piece of muffin on both palms like some kind of pastry priestess. “Look at me. This is fresh from this morning. Not the sad, stale kind, but Lily’s signature. You will regret refusing this.”
The wind shifts, and the scent must reach the reindeer full on. Its nostrils flare. Hope lights in its eyes, which is ridiculous because this is a beast, not a golden retriever. It edges down the tree with the same agility it used to climb up, hooves hitting the woodpile next, and leaps down to the ground with terrifying grace. That’s when I notice an axe embedded in one of the logs, and my heart stops for a second, but the reindeer lands clear, unhurt, and trots straight toward me.
I practically weep with relief. “Yes! Good Rudolph. That’s it. Come get it.”
It bounds forward and snuffles the piece of carrot muffin out of my hands with a sound that could be mistaken for a purr if you are professionally delusional. Crumbs coat my fingers. I laugh, wiping them on my jeans. “You massive pastry thief.”
The reindeer chews solemnly. I stroke its muzzle because now feels like a good time to establish a friendship. But it headbutts me, gentler this time, like it’s playing.
“Okay, no. We’re not playing. We’re going back to the barn.” I grab for what I think might be a collar around its neck, but it’s just fur, and the reindeer dances away from me. “Come here!”
