by Jana Denardo
“Vader!” Quinn groaned.
“I’d say let’s get a lapdog next time, rather than a lap crusher, but he is a love bug.”
“He is.” Quinn canted his face toward the ceiling. “Hear that wind? Sounds like a winter storm is coming.”
Caleb listened to the ghostly howl. One large gust blew up, making the old house shudder. Vader burrowed into them, not nearly as brave as the villain he was named for. “We could probably blow to the next county over.”
“Seriously. And new topic: I know I’m forgetting something. Later this week. Your brain has been jellied by patients—mine by incessant noise at the slots. I’m not forgetting date night or anything, am I?”
“That’s next week, the doctors’ dinner. No, we’re dressing up and taking Vader to the children’s wing of the hospital and then over to Sleepy Pines.” Caleb looked forward to both the senior citizens and the ill kids interacting with Vader. He might have failed as a guide dog, but he excelled as a therapy dog. They took him at least once a week to the library for reading hour with the children’s librarian, and if Quinn had off, he’d take Vader to the University of Wisconsin’s Sauk County branch during finals so the students could relax and pet Vader.
“Oh, right. Why do I have to wear the elf ears?” Quinn asked.
“Because, dear geeky heart, you’re the one with Vulcan ears for our annual trip to Madison’s Comic Con,” Caleb replied, expertly ignoring his own favored Batman regalia hanging in his closet.
“You’re too skinny to be Santa.”
“You too. Besides, you have great elf hair.” Caleb ran his finger through the long, dark strands. Quinn had the best hair. Caleb could play with it for hours.
“You don’t say.” Quinn gave Vader a gentle push. “Off, boy.”
Vader reluctantly slithered off their laps, and Quinn took Vader’s place, straddling Caleb, nipping Caleb’s chin. Quinn ran his hands down Caleb’s chest.
Caleb’s breath hitched, his cock stirring as he slipped an arm around Quinn, hauling him even closer. Before he could kiss Quinn, the winds went banshee, followed by a stomach-sinking crack and crash. Quinn nearly toppled onto the floor. Caleb steadied him.
“What the hell was that?” Quinn swung off him.
“No clue, but it sure didn’t sound good.” Master of understatement. That’s me, Caleb thought, levering himself off the couch.
They ran to the front entrance. The wind nearly snatched the door from Caleb’s hand. At the end of their drive, the hundred-year-old oak lay across their road.
“Oh no! I loved that tree.” Quinn sagged against the doorframe.
Caleb agreed. He ran the numbers through his head. If he called a tree removal service, they’d be out hundreds of dollars, just what they didn’t need at Christmas. He had a chain saw out in the garage. He could deal with this himself.
“I used to climb that tree every time I visited Grandma.”
Quinn’s family had owned their house for a hundred years. His great-grandfather had done well in the fur trade, which was pretty remarkable to Caleb, given how horribly the Native Americans had been treated in general.
He put his arms around Quinn, pulling him close, tucking him against his body. “I’m sorry. It must have had a sickness in it to snap it like that.” Caleb kissed Quinn’s cheek.
“It was old. How are we getting to work tomorrow?” Quinn turned away from the door, pulling free of Caleb.
Caleb shut the door on the winter winds. “You don’t work until evening. I’ll call Dr. Arneson and HR now to tell them I’m blocked in by a huge tree, and then tomorrow you and I can cut up the tree with the chain saw.”
Quinn arched his eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I know how to use a chain saw, and the tree is already on the ground, so that’s one danger removed.”
Quinn narrowed his eyes. He was not a giant fan of all the woodworking tools Caleb owned, as if somehow fearing they’d become sentient and eat Caleb’s arms off. “I don’t want to have to call Dr. Arneson and tell him we need his services after you cut a foot off.”
“I won’t.”
“Or my hands! I need them for things.”
Caleb lifted one of the hands in question to his lips. “And I love the things you do with them.”
Quinn scowled.
“Trust me,” Caleb said, his mind churning with the possibilities the dead tree represented. He couldn’t tell if Quinn trusted him or not, but his imagination was off the chain. Christmas had just taken an interesting bounce.
QUINN LINKED arms with Caleb as the wind nearly tossed him into his husband. Vader shook himself on his leash, all but prancing along the hiking trail. Caleb knew how much walking in the woods relaxed him, so Quinn was grateful to have a lover willing to put up with cold-weather walks.
Cutting up the tree had strung out Quinn’s nerves like an archer’s bow, so Caleb had suggested the hike around Devil’s Lake before Quinn’s late shift started.
He was never one to turn down Devil’s Lake. How many places in the world could you walk surrounded by cliffs of quartzite gleaming purple in the pale winter sun? In the summer, the rocks looked like precious gems, and the lake offered a cool respite from the heat. Now it was mostly deserted, much to Vader’s disappointment. He loved greeting other hikers. His Santa handkerchief fluttered in the breeze.
What had puzzled him all day was the gleam in Caleb’s blue eyes as he chainsawed the tree into sad smaller chunks. He’d been oddly ebullient as they stacked the wood up on the pallet by the garage workshop for burning once it got truly cold—which, being Wisconsin, it would go frigid. He had no idea how the Ringling Brothers had decided on Baraboo as a wintering ground for their circus. Surely Florida would have been more logical.
Quinn sensed Caleb was up to something, but he couldn’t imagine what. As a man used to keeping patients’ secrets, Caleb could lock down tighter than a gambler with inside info for a sure bet.
A gust blew up, laden with the scent of pine. Most people wouldn’t think about a long cold walk around the lake at Christmas, but the smell alone evoked the holidays in such a primal way. He turned his face into the wind, breathing in the coniferous essence.
“It’s beautiful here,” Caleb said, tugging Quinn over to a large rock formation atop which squatted a small but determined conifer. He pulled his cell phone out.
Quinn melded to him, grinning for the camera as Caleb took a few selfies. Farther along the trail, they squatted down and took a few with Vader between them. As they circled back toward their car, Caleb said, “Did I mention that the doctors’ dinner is going to have seared sea scallops over grits and ribeye with goat cheese?”
“Hmmm, sounds good. What, no deer?”
“They were going to do venison, but since kids are coming, they didn’t want anyone to think Rudolph was on the plate.” Caleb snorted. “How about the casino? Anything tasty on the menu?”
“Oh, the buffet is going all out for the holidays. I’ll never see any of it. So let me ask, what’s up with the tree? You had a gleam in your eye when we were cutting it up and moving it.”
Caleb made a face. “I think your distress has you hallucinating. All I did was cut up a poor fallen tree.”
“Uh-huh.”
Caleb glanced over at him, and for a moment, Quinn believed maybe he had been imagining things earlier. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. Well, okay, it does make me feel all manly to play with a chain saw.”
Quinn snorted. “Now that I can believe.”
“Good.” Caleb leaned in, stealing a kiss.
Any time spent with Caleb was good. Still, in the back of his mind, Quinn thought Caleb was keeping a secret. Quinn could only hope it was a good one, given how happy he seemed.
CALEB TURNED a piece of the treated wood over in his hands. It had come out better than he’d imagined. Keith handed him another piece. He and Keith had been friends since they were both in grade school, and he was the only one Caleb knew w
ho liked to work in the shop and handle wood as much as he did.
“So, you lied to your man.” Keith wagged his head, surrendering the plank.
“Stretched the truth. Technically I’m on call,” Caleb replied, thinking it would be just his luck to get called in after telling Quinn he had to work and couldn’t go with him to his mother’s. Betty was in on it, keeping her son distracted overnight so Caleb could finish his planned gift. He’d done some of the work prepping and treating the wood when Quinn had been on evenings at the casino, which he often was. All Caleb had left to do was to actually construct the bookcase, and he was thrilled to have Keith here to help him.
“I think it’s an inspired decision to do this.” Kevin rapped his knuckles against the wood.
“Dr. Arneson was a help. He suggested the bookshelves, and that’s what I was going to do until the tree went down. I thought, Let’s do this. Quinn has always wanted a little library, and he loved that tree. How better to deal with its loss than to give him something he’s been hoping for and to be able to use the poor tree?” Caleb pictured Quinn’s reaction. There was no way he’d hate it.
“It’s a fantastic idea. Do you plan to paint?”
“Not yet. I’ll stain it. If Quinn wants a color, I’ll let him pick it.”
Keith nodded. “Then let’s get this put together so I can decide how to do the doors.”
Together, they started bringing the wood to life like he’d planned. Like magic. Like it was meant to be. He’d had the plan in his head, communicating it to Keith with precision born of long association. They’d been creating things since they took shop class in high school. Keith chattered as they plugged away, telling Caleb about what his kids were up to now and all the things he had gotten them for the holidays.
Caleb reduced his friend’s voice to background noise as he worked the wood. Under his hands, the library box took shape. He designed it like a log cabin. His hammer pounded out the rhythm of creation. Keith built the brackets that would hold the post come spring when they could actually cement it in. Little by little, the library came together, and they fitted the roof on it, the smell of the oak soaking into them.
Once the doors were hung over the inner cabinet, Caleb sat back, surveying what they had manufactured from the fallen tree. He smiled. “It’s perfect.”
Keith patted his shoulder. “Quinn will love it.”
Caleb nodded, not trusting his voice. He couldn’t wait for Quinn to see it. “Thanks so much for helping me do this. I wouldn’t have had time to finish it by myself.”
“Happy to help.” Keith slapped the table. “Now to finish this.”
Caleb picked up his hammer. The second project he had in mind was smaller but should be just as fun to create. This was as much a gift to himself as it was for Quinn. It would be perfect.
QUINN PULLED up to the house, nearly missing the drive, distracted by two big colorful boxes at the end of the driveway where the tree had stood. Caleb sat on the porch in a bright tossle cap, sipping something steaming—coffee, knowing him—with Vader’s big fluffy head on his lap. Quinn parked, swung out of the truck with a container his mother had sent along, and trudged up to the house.
Standing up, Caleb leaned down and kissed him on the porch steps. Vader raced in circles, barking, and then flung himself down, belly-up. Quinn thrust the container into Caleb’s hands and squatted down to rub Vader’s soft belly.
“Have a good visit with Mom?” Caleb asked.
“Very nice. It’s a shame you couldn’t be there. Should I ask about the two new decorations?” Quinn gestured to the end of the driveway.
Caleb shrugged. “I got bored. I think they look cute.”
“They do.” Quinn unfurled from the squat, eyeing Caleb. He still couldn’t escape the idea that something was up.
“What’s in the container?”
“Mom baked.”
“Oooo.” Caleb set the mug on the porch rail and tried to get into the cookies.
Quinn picked up the mug and shoved Caleb toward the door with the other hand. “Take them inside, doofus. It’s freezing out here.”
“Doofus? Someone wants his gifts to go back.” Caleb pouted over his shoulder.
Quinn hugged him from behind. “Do you have another word for someone who chooses cookies over warmth?”
“Cookie Monster?”
Quinn growled cookie in his best—though not particularly good—Cookie Monster voice. Caleb laughed and stripped off the lid. He dug out two snickerdoodles and offered one to Quinn.
“Your mom’s cookies are as deadly as my sister’s candy. We’re both going to need to buy new pants,” Caleb said.
“Agreed. Is there more coffee?”
“Yep.”
Quinn filled a mug, wondering about the two boxes. Caleb could easily have gotten bored, but that seemed unlikely if he’d been working half the day.
Quinn didn’t have time to think about it, seeing an array of handwritten recipes all over the kitchen table and pinned to the fridge with Star Trek magnets. The scent of cardamom filled the kitchen. Caleb had his grandmother’s julebrød in the oven, baking the Christmas bread. Quinn could practically taste it. In the slow-cooker, the rice porridge they’d have on Christmas morning was already on low. Technically Risengrynsgrøt was a Christmas meal, but to Quinn, rice pudding was either breakfast or dessert, and Caleb had agreed. A big head of cabbage rested on the counter, waiting to be shredded into surkål, a sweet-and-sour dish that Quinn thought would go well with the rich dish he’d be preparing as their main course: roast venison with wild rice and cranberries.
“I’ll need to start the roast soon. I want to cook it low and slow. Once I get it in the oven, I think we can start opening gifts.” Quinn made eyes at Caleb. He couldn’t help it. He had always been like a little kid at Christmas.
Caleb rolled his eyes, sauntering over to the counter, and picked up a large knife from the block. “Christmas Eve, lover.”
“The anticipation might kill me.” Quinn flopped his head and chest down on the table dramatically to prove his point.
“Doubtful,” Caleb replied over the sounds of him reducing cabbage to slaw.
“You’ll be sad when it does,” Quinn promised, setting aside his coffee. He levered himself up from the table and went out to the truck to fetch his overnight bag and the venison roast, along with the crap-ton of wild rice and dried cranberries harvested by tribal relatives up in northern Wisconsin. He considered going down to the big boxes at the end of the drive to see if there was something hiding under the paper or if they were just empty boxes that once held hospital supplies before Caleb had wrapped them. He decided it would be unfair to peek, so he went back inside. After dropping the overnight bag by the staircase to their second-floor bedroom, he carted the rest into the kitchen.
Caleb glanced up from where he mixed caraway seeds, sugar, and vinegar into the cut cabbage. “Amazing, not yet dead of anticipation,” he said drily.
Quinn set his burden down, then slapped Caleb’s butt gently. Vader barked at that. “Smartass.” Quinn dug out the roasting pan. “Mom says we’ll do gifts at her place Christmas Day. She wants me to bring that smoked trout we put over the hickory wood and any leftover surkål, because you always make more cabbage than two people can eat without exploding into a gaseous ball.”
Caleb laughed. “You can’t just make a little of this.”
Quinn gathered up some simple herbs and spices, garlic, salt and pepper, and some fresh rosemary. “I know.” He rubbed some olive oil on the roast to help the spices stick and then dressed the meat. “Anything exciting at work yesterday?”
Shrugging one-shouldered, Caleb shook his head. “Boring. How was Mom?”
“Waiting for me to hang up every card she’s received.” His mom had a hopeless orange tree struggling in a pot, and she liked to tie Christmas cards to the branches to display them. Admittedly he liked the idea too. He considered getting a small pencil tree for next to the front door and doing the s
ame here. “She can’t wait to give Vader his gift.” He chuckled. “God knows what she’s gotten him. He’s such a spoiled boy.”
“He is, and he loves it.”
“I know. Man, this is all making me hungry already.” Quinn turned the oven on low after washing his hands. “Too many hours before dinner.”
“I know how to while away some of them.” Caleb grinned.
“I just bet you do.”
Caleb always had the best ideas, Quinn decided. Once the food prep was done, the good, hard romp around the bed had been divine. Afterward, they retired to the couch to watch some of their favorite holiday movies: The Nightmare Before Christmas and Die Hard.
It proved hard to resist the lure of the kitchen as the smells of the roast permeated the house. At one point Vader took up residence in front of the oven, ever hopeful that somehow Quinn would drop dinner when he went to fetch it. He had to make do with the small slice of roast Quinn had saved back and panfried quickly without any spices that might be harmful to dogs.
While Vader happily munched his Christmas Eve goody, Quinn and Caleb gave in to their hunger, digging into their spread as if they’d not seen food in days. They washed it down with some freshly mulled Nouveau wine before giving themselves the right to lounge about, stuffed to the gills.
Finally, changed into their ugly Christmas sweaters—Caleb’s sister, Kara, insisted on both sweaters and pictures taken in them—they settled around the tree to open gifts. Surprised he didn’t see any more gifts there than before he’d left for his mother’s, Quinn wondered if his gift hadn’t arrived. Most of the gifts under the tree would be carted to his mom’s tomorrow, or to Kara’s place once she was back from Florida.
Caleb took a picture of the tree while Quinn got Vader’s gift off the top of the bookshelf. Vader might be a good boy, but Quinn doubted he could resist the urge to shred the box full of liver, cheese, chicken, and peanut butter dog cookies if it had been put under the tree. He let Vader sniff the cookies, shaped like animal crackers for some weird reason, before giving him two plus the hemp rope toy. He put the box back on the high shelf, then lugged Caleb’s gift over to him.