He finished with, “…someone posted bail for Austin and Denise Harrier, and they promptly skipped town. Didn’t even bother to get the kids from Denise’s sister. Mary tells me that it’s only a matter of time before law enforcement catches up with the fugitives and we find out who hired them to steal all those trees.”
“Not to mention that Mr. and Mrs. Harrier owe big money for damaging the barn they used without permission,” Uncle Mark said. He ran Bearpaw Ridge’s only law office. “The ranch’s new owners apparently got in touch with an attorney in Twin Falls, and they’re planning to file a lawsuit against the fugitive couple.”
“Trees aren’t the only poaching problem we’ve had lately,” Uncle Evan intoned. “The Forest Service rangers all tell me that there was a lot of elk and deer poaching this year, more than usual. Apparently, someone’s got a booming business selling game meat to high-end restaurants in the big West Coast cities.”
“You think there’s a link to the mysterious Mrs. B?” asked Maggie.
Before Uncle Evan could answer, Cade finally arrived. He strode over to kiss Maggie and greet the rest of the family. A breath of cool, snowy air clung to him as their lips met.
“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized to Grandma Elle, who was sitting next to Grandpa Justin on the sofa, a newly-adopted cat on her lap, and a pile of decorated paper bags on the carpet next to her. “Something knocked one of the temporary hotwire fences down, and a few of your beeves went for a stroll in the snow. Took me longer than I reckoned to round ’em up and bring ’em back home.”
Grandma Elle smiled at him. “You’re exactly on time, Cade. And thank you for your diligence. We’re so grateful and happy to have you here.”
* * *
Cade felt bad about being the last to arrive for Christmas dinner.
But the house was warm, merry, and bright. And even better, everyone seemed genuinely glad to have him here, even the Swansons he hadn’t previously met, like Maggie’s smokejumper uncle from Denver.
Elle’s house looked like something out of a holiday fairy tale, complete with a tall, beautifully-decorated Christmas tree that almost reached the high ceiling. And there were swags of fragrant evergreen branches, decorated with ribbons and ornaments, all around the room.
Elle’s sister Margaret, who lived some distance away at a place called Cougar Lake, invited the Swansons over last week to cut a Christmas tree from the sabertooth pride’s territory.
Margaret’s mate, the celebrity chef Daniel Langlais, had cooked them all a memorable lunch which included a venison and mushroom stew served over German potato dumplings, served with spiced red cabbage and homemade eggnog.
It had been a fun outing. For the first time in years, Cade thought he might regain his childhood fondness for Christmas.
As soon as Dane had poured Cade a finger of Scotch, Elle stood, brushing cat hairs from her long wine-colored velvet skirt.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” she began. “It’s been another good year here at the ranch, and I’m so thankful to see my family gathered under my roof, and that you’re all happy and healthy. I appreciate everyone who braved the adventures of holiday travel to be here with us. This Christmas, I also want to welcome our newest clan member, my granddaughter Maggie’s mate, Cade Hunter.”
She beamed at him, and he smiled back, feeling warm inside. Then she bent to sort through the decorated bags, and straightened up with one in her hands. “Cade, every year, I crochet a pair of warm slippers for everyone in the family. This pair is for you.”
“I—thank you,” he stuttered, coming forward to accept them from her. “No one’s ever made me anything before.”
“Let me know if they fit you. I’ll be happy to make another pair, bigger or smaller, if these ones aren’t right.”
He stepped back in a daze as Elle continued to hand out bags. His arm went around Maggie’s shoulders. He hoped she wouldn’t notice how much he was leaning on her, because his knees had gone wobbly with emotion. He clenched the gift bag with his free hand, crumpling the thick, shiny paper.
Elle made me slippers. I’m part of a family again.
Then he spotted the Christmas stocking. It was embroidered with his name, and it hung next to Maggie’s stocking on the long, antique oak mantel crowded with the family’s other stockings.
He just stared at it.Not gonna cry like a baby,he told himself, fiercely.
“I know you don’t like Christmas—” his mate began, sounding apologetic.
He looked down at her, his eyes stinging something fierce, blurring his vision. “I—I reckon I could change my opinion about that,” he told her, huskily. “If Christmas is always gonna be likethis.”
“I promise it will.” Maggie drew his face down for a kiss. “After all, this is your forever home, my love.”
* * *
