Page 23 of Run, Run Rudolph (Fairy Godmothers and Other Fiascos #2)

“Step on the curly part at the front,” Prancer suggested.

I aimed my light toward the front of the sled and, sure enough, the runners curled up into a decorative swirl at the front of the sleigh. As I angled my body into position to launch myself over the front of the sleigh and onto the seat beside Santa, the reindeer began bickering.

“I told you to turn,” Dasher said to Blitzen, who I noted no longer had decorated antlers. “Are you still drunk?”

“We all should’ve turned. Together,” Comet said calmly. “We should’ve slowed down, too.”

“I don’t do slow,” Dasher said simply.

“Only mentally,” Dancer said in his Swedish accent, and someone snickered.

“Everyone shut up,” Cupid bellowed. “Let the humanoid do her thing. I have a date tonight.”

“Her name is Tamara,” Prancer said. “Learning people’s names is important, Cupid.”

“Hey, Cupid,” Donner called. Like Blitzen, he’d also ditched the festive decorations from his antlers for the Rudolph rescue flight with Santa. The party was over, and it gave me hope that the herd would be more helpful moving forward. “What’s her horse’s name again?”

“Luscious,” he said with confidence.

“Is not!” several of them chorused.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

“It’s Dolly,” Prancer said smugly.

I swung my light around, still struggling to vault my way into the sleigh.

Finally, by some miracle in physics, I managed to hoist myself onto the edge of the cab.

I balanced precariously on my stomach for a half second before toppling inside, headfirst, landing on the sleigh’s floor.

I scrambled in my bulky parka, righting myself, then placed myself on the seat beside the large man in the red and white suit.

I took a slow breath to calm myself, excited to be sitting next to the one and only Santa inside his flying sleigh.

I wanted to touch him, ask for something fun for Christmas, but the idea that he was real was still so overwhelming.

I sat for a moment, simply staring at the man.

His beard was long and thick, a beautiful white, his cheeks indeed rosy. Not a shopping mall wannabe. The real deal.

Was this how Char had felt when she’d first discovered our fairy godmother was real? Excited and slightly lightheaded?

No, she’d been skeptical and freaked out.

Two adjectives that did not describe me meeting Santa.

“Well? How is he?” Comet asked. “Santa? How are you?”

“Mhm,” Santa mumbled.

I gently touched Santa’s arm to get his attention, shining my light away from his face so I didn’t blind him.

“My name is Tamara.”

“Tamara Rose Madden. Eagle Ridge, Carl Gerson’s farm. You want a boyfriend for Christmas.”

I blushed, flicking the flashlight’s beam over the snickering herd to my left. Suddenly, they became very studious about watching the falling snow, with the exception of Cupid, who I swore was grinning at me.

Apparently, they actually believed that adult women made wishes to Santa, and that, when they did, they wished for boyfriends. As pathetic as that sounded. Honestly, why couldn’t they assume the more reasonable explanation—that Santa had bumped his head a little too hard?

I sighed and scooted closer to Santa.

I did want a boyfriend. Living on the farm alone was more isolating than I’d expected. And if my mom was right—and all the good ones had been taken, or were not interested like Haden—then I could use all the help I could get. Including Santa’s.

And why was I suddenly thinking about Haden as an eligible man? Sure, there was a fizz of something fun between us, but that wasn’t a reason to start thinking of my ex’s brother in that way.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said to Santa. “It looks like your sleigh hit a tree. Are you hurt?”

“The elves can’t make boyfriends in the factory,” Santa told me, his expression somber.

Someone was snickering again.

“Do you know what day it is?” Comet asked.

“It’s snowing,” Santa announced.

A sinking feeling of nothing but pure unadulterated dread took over.

If Santa had a concussion, what would happen to Christmas?

And even worse, would I be blamed? I shivered at the thought of what might await me in the magical realm and focused back on Santa and the snow falling around us.

“It is snowing,” I agreed. “Very pretty snow tonight.” Mentally I began humming White Christmas. Keeping my tone light, I asked, “What are all of your reindeers’ names?”

“Olive.”

“Sorry?”

“Olive.”

In the silence, a female voice said quietly, “It’s an old joke from the song Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. ”

I nodded. I knew it. I just didn’t know what it meant in regard to Santa, and a possible brain injury.

“The line where you sing ‘all of the other reindeer’,” Donner mansplained to me. “That’s Olive. The tenth reindeer.”

“Right.”

“It’s a joke. There is no Olive.”

“Thanks for clearing that up.”

“No problem.”

I peered through the snow, casting my light across the reindeer. There was indeed one more than I’d sent off an hour ago. “Vixen?”

“Yes?” Her voice was sweet and calm.

“Nice to meet you.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. Other than it was lovely to have another woman around, and that I was sorry for dragging her into this mess.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she said, her voice rising with pleasure.

“Olive, huh?” I said to Santa. So he had a sense of humour as well as a possible brain injury. This was going to be so much fun.

“Where’s Mrs. Claus?” I asked. I’d half-believed both of them would come to gather up their injured reindeer friend and take him home in their sleigh. The now crashed and damaged sleigh.

Nobody answered, the studying of snowflakes resuming among the deer as though they were researchers working on a thesis.

I sighed. If their fight was bigger than an injured Rudolph, that likely wasn’t a good sign.

I addressed Santa. “Can you move?”

“She’s upset,” he said flatly.

“About Rudolph?”

He leaned awkwardly to one side, muttering to himself about misunderstandings.

“Maybe we can get you out of your sleigh to assess its damage?”

“On Dasher, and Olive and Pickles and Cucumbers!” Santa announced in his booming, jolly voice. He had righted himself, and he wiggled the reins in the air.

“Is that us?” Dancer asked in his Swedish accent.

“Yes!” Dasher cried. The sleigh twisted and creaked beneath me as he pawed at the snow.

“No. Don’t move, boys,” Comet commanded.

“I think we’d better get you checked out, Santa. My barn is just over there. Let’s move inside.” I gestured through the storm, realizing I might have trouble finding the barn again through the wildly swirling snow. But it was too cold to stay here. We needed to move.

I got out of the sleigh and began unhooking the reindeer from their harnesses. I told Comet to go get Haden, hoping the animal’s instincts would guide him through the dark, and that he wouldn’t get lost. Then I began coaxing Santa from the sleigh, hoping Haden would know what to do.