“Fair enough.” Sara sags against the office doorframe. “He doesn’t have a backup reindeer person?”
Taylor sits up and fixes Sara with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I tried everything. He says he has a grandnephew who helps him out, but he’s seventeen, and Mr. Earl trusts him local, but not for a long trip like this. It’s a four-hour drive.”
“Rome will be okay if the reindeer don’t come, but he won’t believe Mr. Groggins is the real Santa, so he’s not going to tell him his wish. He’ll count on ‘real’ Santa guessing it, and he’s not going to be okay if Santa doesn’t. And that means a double disappointment on Christmas. No special gift and no more belief in Santa. And he’ll take Gage down too.” She leans her head against the doorframe. “Sorry, Tay. Not trying to make you feel worse. I know you can’t do anything about it.”
Poor kid. I want to help. Maybe . . . “Have you tried—” I start.
“Yes,” they both say together.
“We’ve sicced my parents on him, Dean via Facetime, letters to Santa, apps that let you ‘call’ Santa, all of it,” Taylor says. “He’s only talking to the ‘real’ Santa, and apparently, that Santa has reindeer, end of discussion for Rome.”
Sara gives me a tired smile. “I know it sounds ridiculous. If this were any other year, I’d be fine with talking about who Santa really is, but this year…” She looks at the floor, struggling to control her emotions. “This year is so hard for them with Dean gone, and they’re still so young. I was hoping I could give them at least this one thing to look forward to. Have at least one more year before they grow out of believing.”
“There’s nothing we can do?” I ask Taylor. “Could you try your old reindeer, uh, supplier?”
She shoots a look at Sara. “It’s a long shot,” she warns, “but if they have reindeer available, it’ll be two at best. That’s why I tried this new place.”
Sara gives her an encouraging nod. “Rome would be happy with two. We’ll tell him the other reindeer are…training?”
“I’ll give it a shot.” She looks through her phone for a number, takes a deep breath and makes the call.
After a short conversation, it’s a bust.
“They don’t have any available,” Taylor says, setting her phone down. “And they made sure to get in a dig about how if I was a loyal client, they’d be able to do more for me. So basically, unless either of you knows a reindeer wrangler, I’m out of moves.”
I hesitate, then I raise my hand. She and Sara look at me with confused expressions.
“This isn’t class, Levi,” Taylor says. “You don’t have to raise your hand to ask questions.”
“I’m not,” I tell her. “I have reindeer-wrangling experience.”
There’s a long silence while Taylor stares at me. Then she looks at Sara while digging into her ear with a pinky. “It sounded like he said he had reindeer-wrangling experience.”
Sara shakes her head. “No. That wouldn’t make sense. He said he wears reindeer Wranglers.”
“How does that make any more sense?” I ask, but Taylor’s nodding.
“Girls go nuts for Wrangler butts,” she says. “Levi would definitely chick bait them with Wranglers.”
“You can just say you don’t want my help,” I tell them.
“We love your help in general,” Taylor says. “But we’re talking about real live reindeer here.”
“Guess I don’t need to ask if you read everything I write.” I slide my phone from my back pocket and do a quick search, annoyed with myself for being the tiniest bit hurt that Taylor doesn’t remember this article. I pull it up and hand her the phone.
“What is it?” Sara asks.
“’On the remote Russian peninsula of Kamchatka, a gentle but fierce nomadic people tend to their herds as their ancestors have for centuries. Not sheep or goats. Not even cows. The Even people—this land’s indigenous tribe—watch over reindeer,’” she reads aloud.
She glances at me, looks back to the phone, skims further, then sets it on her desk. “You’re saying you’ve spent time watching people herd reindeer?”
“I’m saying I’ve spent time wrangling reindeer with my own two hands,” I tell her.
Sara slowly lifts a finger and pokes my arm. “Who are you?”
“Levi the Reindeer Wrangler.” I do halfhearted spirit fingers.
“You’re for real,” Taylor says. I watch the realization dawning on her face. “Would you—”
