Page 25 of Run, Run Rudolph (Fairy Godmothers and Other Fiascos #2)

~ Haden ~

T amara and I, with Santa braced between us, made it through the falling snow to the barn with the reindeer following us. By the time we hit the driveway, the snow had lightened to a few gentle flakes. Santa definitely had a concussion, and likely wouldn’t be himself for at least several hours.

As we struggled through the snow, I could feel Tamara silently berating herself for asking the reindeer to go to the North Pole to get help. But there was no way we could have predicted this.

Well, that was a lie. The reindeer were drunk. There was a reason drinking and driving laws were in effect around the world, and it wasn’t a stretch to think it should apply to flying animals.

“Mrs. Claus needs to make her flying oats for the reindeer,” Santa said. “I don’t know if she’s making them this year. Do you know if she’s made the oats?”

“I don’t know,” Tamara said, struggling under Santa’s weight as one of his shiny black boots slipped in the snow.

Santa. We were carting the real Santa Claus across Tamara’s yard.

Mind. Blown. Did he wear his red and white suit at all times?

Or was it a flight suit? It seemed right that he was in red and white, but also weird since it wasn’t quite Christmas.

I felt like a kid full of questions and wondered what Tamara was thinking.

A moment later, Santa said, “The reindeer need their flying oats. Will Mrs. Claus be making a batch?”

“Not sure,” I answered. “But they were flying earlier. And eating something out of a pouch Comet had.”

“Leftovers. We need her oats for Christmas Eve. Has she made them?” Santa asked again.

“We’ll ask,” I said.

“You know my wife, Mrs. Claus?” he asked warmly, like he was meeting someone he knew would be a friend for life.

“We’ll make sure it gets sorted out, Santa,” Tamara said.

“Tamara Madden, from Eagle Ridge. I got your letter. For Christmas you want a?—”

“Santa! Can I make the oats?” Tamara asked, cutting him off in a fit of inspiration.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said jovially. “Only Mrs. Claus can make those special oats.”

I listened to Santa’s repeating loop of conversation as he asked again about if the oats were ready, watching for clues to the depth of his injury. Tamara and I had assumed Santa had an injured reindeer plan. But did the North Pole also have an injured Santa contingency plan?

“What are you doing?”

I came up short at the sound of my brother’s voice.

His truck was parked near the barn, and Kade was standing in front of us.

Apparently Tamara hadn’t noticed him either, because she let out a gasp and the two of us nearly pitched Santa forward onto the snowy driveway as we came to a quick, guilty stop.

Could Kade see Santa?

I really didn’t want to include him in this.

Not just because I was starting to repair things with Tamara—things I suspected Kade was responsible for damaging.

But also because my doofus younger brother was likely to try and pull off Santa’s beard to prove he was a fake.

Kade was gregarious, and the life of pretty much every party—whether invited or not.

And he expected the entire world to be charmed by his personality.

And sometimes that led to him doing ridiculous things for laughs and a sense of belonging.

And although he was social and outgoing, he lacked Tamara’s natural kindhearted acceptance, which was what we needed right now. The woman had returned to Eagle Ridge with a confidence that made her dazzle.

What had Tamara ever seen in Kade? Yeah, he was fun.

He brought everyone out of their shells and was a generous guy to boot.

But he and Tamara were so different from each other, and it was easy to see the strain he put on her sometimes.

She deserved a man who accepted and loved her personality, and Kade wasn’t that guy.

Kade eyed us, his gaze landing either on Tamara or me, and never in between us. I wondered what he saw, if not Santa. Tamara and I with our arms out, as if we were supporting an invisible person or giving each other a long-distance pat on each other’s shoulder?

“Hey,” he said easily to me, “what are you doing here?”

“Helping with an animal emergency.”

“Yeah, well.” He hesitated a second. “Mom’s looking for you.”

“Thanks.” That was a weird comment from him. I’d been checking my phone plenty, and there’d been no text from Mom. If I didn’t know better, my little bro didn’t like me being here.

Was he like this with any guy who entered Tamara’s orbit? Was he afraid she’d find someone who made her happy, and glow in the way she truly deserved, and he’d have to sit and watch, all lonely and down in his cups?

Or was his issue specifically with me being around Tamara?

“What’s up, Kade?” Tamara asked. I wanted to believe I heard a slight impatience in her voice.

“Oh, right! Christmas gift.” He jogged back to his truck while we helped Santa get a few feet closer to the barn door.

Kade returned, handing Tamara a small, red-and-white bag jammed with tissue paper.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Kade, straining under Santa as he leaned her way, mumbling something about presents and Christmas, “I didn’t realize we were doing gifts.”

“Yeah, no worries.” Kade shrugged easily. He was still studying us, but there was no pause or lingering look at the man in the red and white suit, nor the herd of reindeer who’d gathered behind us.

“Well, um, thanks,” Tamara said.

Santa called out jovially, “Onward, Pickles!”

Kade didn’t even blink, and Tamara let out a gusty exhale, as if she’d been holding her breath.

“What’s up? You seem stressed,” Kade asked Tamara. He moved to her side, lifting his chin in my direction in a joking manner. “This guy bothering you?”

“What? No, I’m fine,” she chirped back. “He’s fine.”

My phone let out a series of beeps from my pocket, and I sighed involuntarily.

It was not the ringtone for our mom, but was, more likely, another well-intentioned, overly attentive pet owner.

It felt conceited, but I was tempted to find a woman who’d pretend to be my girlfriend, so the never-ending texts and calls from the women of Eagle Ridge would ease up.

Maybe I could convince Tamara to be my fake girlfriend.

It would be worth it not only for the cessation of unnecessary calls and texts, but also to see my brother’s head explode.

Because I knew it would. Especially since I’d finally realized it had been his insecurity that had tossed the bomb into my friendship with Tamara.

I had a feeling he’d been the one orchestrating the growing space between us.

I sincerely hoped he hadn’t, because it didn’t say a lot about my brother or his trust in the two closest people in his life. And yet… I was pretty sure he had.

Plus, faking something with Tamara would give me plenty of excuses to figure out why kissing her felt so right.

Spending time with her tonight reminded me of how much I enjoyed hanging out with her.

I’d missed her. Now that she was no longer joining the family for holidays and dinners, they were bland and boring.

There was nobody willing to keep Kade in check, and the conversations tended to centre around him as a result.

Which was fine—he was always interesting and amusing—but I missed Tamara.

“Does your phone ever shut up?” Kade asked with a hint of bitterness as my phone chirped a second time.

He was the life of the party, but felt I got more of the type of attention he craved.

Honestly, I think he’d believed that when he broke up with Tamara, he’d be up to his eyeballs in women.

He only needed to spend a day in my shoes before he’d realize the attention wasn’t quite what it was cracked up to be.

“No. It does not.”

“What if it’s your mom?” Tamara asked, the edge of her mouth fighting a grin.

“She has her own text sound.”

“Why are we standing out in the cold?” Kade asked, making a point of rubbing his hands together and hunching down into his coat. He stamped his feet in the snow, then turned to Tamara. “You got some hot chocolate? The kind with mini marshmallows?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

We needed Kade out of here. We couldn’t very well start attending to an invisible jolly Saint Nick with him peering over our shoulder.

“Bummer. I sure could go for some. How about you? You look cold,” he asked Tamara. He shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, clearly opting for no gloves in hopes of looking cool despite the biting, dangerous temperatures.

“I’ve got to get to work here,” I told Kade. “Tell Mom I’m fine, and that I’ll call her when I’m done.”

As one, Tamara and I wordlessly started propelling Santa toward the barn again.

There was a gash on Santa’s forehead, and I hoped to give him a better once-over than I’d been able to perform in the sleigh, to ensure it was superficial.

Hopefully, things weren’t worse than Santa’s obvious concussion, and possibly his cholesterol.

The man had some serious weight behind him.

Weight that had worked against him when the sleigh had made contact with the tree.

To say Santa had rung his bell during the crash was an understatement.

Kade didn’t take the hint and began following us to the door.

“What’s wrong with Dolly? Boy, Carl’s going to be ticked if anything happens to her on your watch, right?”

“Her landlord trusts her with his horse,” I said, my tone more biting than I intended.

“I was making conversation. Loosen up, man.”

“The horse is fine,” Tamara said kindly.

“You work too much,” Kade told me as we entered the barn. “Take some time off. Hey! I know. Let’s go to Louise and shred it up on New Year’s Eve. Then hit the town, meet some ski bunnies.”