The Secret of Santa

by Liz Isaacson

  “Can I just ask you one thing?” Sammy asked, stepping partially in front of Bear. “How did you get him to sit down?”

  “No, no,” Bear said. “Baby, you should’ve asked her how she got him to sing.”

  “Two things, then,” Sammy said, and Willa looked back and forth between the two of them. They simply looked at her, not an ounce of teasing in sight. They really wanted to know. Others in the Glover family crowded behind them too, men and a couple of women, their eyes just as anxious and just as eager to hear her answers.

  “Move along,” one of the women said. “Leave her alone.” She shooed the group forward, but she stayed back, her eyes barely leaving Willa’s as she watched her family leave. “The real question is how you got him to stay all the way to the end of the service.”

  “No,” a man said as they came back into the chapel. “I want to know what you did to get him so riled up that he’d argue with you right here in church.” He actually looked semi-gleeful about their argument.

  Willa had no idea what to say, and she rarely found herself in such a position. Embarrassment filled her that they’d heard the argument, but she still felt like she couldn’t walk away. They both looked at her, until finally the woman said, “I’m Arizona, Cactus’s sister.”

  “Willa.” She shook Arizona’s hand while she said, “This is my cousin, Ace.”

  “And you’re all Glovers?” Willa asked.

  “That’s right,” Ace said with a smile. “It can get overwhelming, trust me. Sometimes I even forget how many of us there are.”

  “You do not,” Arizona said as she swatted at Ace’s shoulder. “There are twelve of us. Nine boys. Three girls, and we live up at Shiloh Ridge Ranch.”

  Willa had heard of it, only because she’d asked Stan Summers who Cactus Glover was. She felt like she deserved to know, as he’d given the man her phone number.

  Ace looked at his phone. “I have to go, or I won’t have a ride back to the ranch. Nice to meet you, Willa.” He touched the brim of his cowboy hat and ducked out the back of the chapel.

  Willa managed to step into the aisle, hoping to shake Arizona by going down the hall to Patrick’s office. His girls would be there, waiting for her, and she’d take them back to her house until Patrick finished up here.

  The woman followed her, though, saying, “Quick tip on Cactus. He only pretends to have a loud bark.” She gave Willa a knowing smile and hurried out the front doors.

  “What in the world does she think she knows?” Willa murmured to herself. She also didn’t believe her, not even for a second. Cactus had a loud bark, period. He’d nearly shouted at her in the back row of the chapel, mere moments after the service had ended.

  “Aunt Willa,” Gigi called, and she turned away from the doors Arizona had gone through to receive her six-year-old niece. She smiled as she lifted the girl into her arms, ignoring the stitch of pain in her back that caused her to spasm.

  “What’s Mariah doing?” she asked. “Doesn’t she know we have cookies to bake today?”

  Gigi’s face lit up. “Can we make those oatmeal ones with the white chocolate chips and the red raisins?”

  Willa giggled and nodded. “Yes, baby. We can make those.” She cast another look toward the doors before putting Gigi back on her feet so they could walk down the hall and find her sister.

  After all, Willa needed a lot of cookies in order to figure out why she’d engaged in an argument with a man she barely knew. Not only that, but a man she’d been thinking about for months. A man she’d hoped would ask her out again.

  She shook herself at yet another bad judgment call and started mentally going over the ingredients she’d need to make homemade Oreos in addition to the white chocolate cranberry cookies Gigi wanted.

  Chapter Ten

  Ranger Glover stood beside Oakley’s shoulder, his hand gripping hers. Dr. Monroe stood and started to remove her gloves. “You’re done, Oakley.” She wore the news on her face, and Ranger bowed his head, the anguish streaming through him stretching toward infinity.

  Dr. Monroe stepped on the pedal to open the garbage can and tossed her gloves inside while Oakley covered up her legs and sat up. Ranger moved to her side and looked at her. She already knew too.

  “It’s definitely another miscarriage.” Dr. Monroe sat on her rolling stool and moved right into Oakley’s knees. “I’m so sorry, Oakley.” She actually reached up and brushed at her dark eyes. Ranger focused on the doctor’s long, thick eyelashes, as well as her sleek, straight, nearly black hair. He couldn’t look at his wife again.

  “I think y’all should take a break.” Dr. Monroe looked at Ranger. “I know you want a child, and there’s nothing more I want too—except for your health and well-being, Oakley. You’ve had two miscarriages in what?” She glanced over at her nurse, though the other woman in the room gave no indication of anything. “Just under nine months. Your body needs time to heal.”

  Ranger’s heart needed that time too, and he’d never felt anything as true or as deep as that. Beside him, Oakley nodded, her tears flowing down her face in a steady clip. She made no move to wipe them, and Dr. Monroe zipped over to the counter and picked up the tissue box. She extended it to Oakley, who took a couple and covered her whole face as she sobbed.

  He could not stop this pain, and this level of helplessness actually ignited a fury inside him unlike any he’d felt before.

  Dr. Monroe gave him a small smile he could not return. Her eyes were so wide and so full of concern, and she touched Oakley’s knee. “I can give you something for the next couple of weeks. Rycor. It’s an anti-depressant—a light one. It’ll help you deal with the feelings you’re having.”

  Oakley shook her head and laced her fingers in Ranger’s. “I’ll be okay,” she said, squeezing his hand with what felt like every ounce of strength she had.

  The doctor nodded, her concern never wavering. “Oakley, I want you to take a prenatal vitamin. I want you to come back in June, and we’ll do an assessment of everything. We’ll do blood work and check to make sure you’re as healthy and as ready as possible to carry a baby. Okay?”

  Oakley nodded, but to Ranger, June felt impossibly far away. It was over seven months away. “Then what?”

  “Then, you two can try again.” Dr. Monroe tried the small smile on her, quickly sobering. “We know you can get pregnant. Instead of waiting to take a test from the supermarket, you’ll come here. We’ll do a blood test on the third day, and the fourth, and the fifth until we know if you’re pregnant or not. Once you are, we’ll start the progesterone treatments.” She nodded to the nurse, who came forward and handed Oakley a couple of sheets of paper.

  “They’re perfectly fine for you and the baby,” Dr. Monroe said. “It’s a shot you get every week to make sure your body knows it’s pregnant. What’s happening, I think, is that the baby isn’t producing enough progesterone, and that’s a signal to your body that you’re not pregnant. So it wants to menstruate as usual. The shots keep that pregnancy hormone high enough, until the baby is big enough to do that itself.”

  Oakley nodded, handing the pages to Ranger. He nearly fisted them, the white noise racing through his ears and blood deafening and crippling. “Then what?”

  “Then, once you reach the second trimester, and your blood work shows that your body is producing the needed hormones itself, that’s it. You carry that baby to full-term.” She grinned as if such a thing could really be so simple. If it was, Ranger wouldn’t be in the blasted room the size of a postage stamp, grieving the loss of his second chance at fatherhood.

  His poor, lovely wife wouldn’t be experiencing abdominal pain and losing blood so quickly she nearly passed out. She wouldn’t be tired for weeks following this, and he wouldn’t have to try to tell himself that everything would be okay.

  Nothing was okay.

  Dr. Monroe nodded and stood. She murmured something to her nurse, and she hugged Oakley tightly. “We’re going to get it right next time,” she said. “We know
more now.” She straightened and looked at Ranger. “Plenty of fluids and rest, both of you. If she’s bleeding severely, you get her to the hospital.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ranger said woodenly, not even recognizing his own voice. The doctor left, and he helped Oakley get dressed, leaving behind the soiled gown that only tied in the back. He walked right beside her back to the truck, and he stood inches behind her as she climbed in.

  Oakley cried while Ranger choked the steering wheel. He’d promised Bear they’d pick up the pets from the groomer, and he had to leave her while he ran inside to get Benny and The General.

  The cat really didn’t like the groomer, and he wasn’t shy about letting everyone know. The General didn’t like much of anyone, especially Benny, Lincoln’s dog, but Ranger held onto the leash in one hand and the cat carrier with the yowling cat in the other.

  He got them both in the back seat, noting that Oakley simply stared out the window now. Blank from here until the horizon, and Ranger’s hatred at this situation bloomed again.

  “Ready?” he asked over The General’s protests at being left in the cat carrier. Oakley simply nodded, her chest lifting every time she hiccuped.

  Only a few blocks later, she twisted around and got The General out of his carrier. The cat wasn’t what anyone would call a loving friend, but right now, he curled up on Oakley’s lap in the front seat and settled right down. She stroked him absently while Ranger struggled to find something to say.

  Benny put his paws up on the console between the two front seats, and Ranger said, “No, bud. Stay in the back.”

  He went, only to come forward again a few seconds later. He pressed his nose to Oakley’s cheek, and she lifted her hand and cuddled his face against hers. Fresh tears came, and Ranger prayed to know what to say or what to do to help her.

  Nothing came, and he wondered if that was the answer. There simply was nothing to be said or done to help her right now. Crying was okay, and he should let her carry on with that.

  By the time they reached the turn-off for Shiloh Ridge, she’d calmed and wiped her face with a couple of napkins from the glove box. At the homestead, she drew a deep breath and opened her door.

  Ranger met her and The General at the front of the truck with Benny, and they went straight in the front door of the homestead and up the steps, no discussion needed. He couldn’t face anyone right now, and truth be told, he wasn’t even sure he could face his wife.

  He put coffee on in their wing of the house while she went down the hall to the master suite. Silence permeated everything, and Ranger stood in front of the huge window that looked out over the ranch from his second-floor living room.

  Everything outside existed in shades of brown, white, and gray. Nothing seemed alive or thriving, and a deep, penetrating numbness overcame him. It wasn’t until Benny nosed his hand that Ranger smelled the fresh coffee and turned away from the barren landscape.

  He poured two cups of coffee and took long minutes to stir in cream and sugar before going down the hall to the bedroom. Oakley had curled herself into their bed, and he set their coffee on her nightstand. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of her eye.

  She wept, and Ranger discarded his boots and his belt and climbed into bed behind her, wrapping her in his embrace and holding her tightly against his chest. He wasn’t sure if the action was meant to comfort her or himself.

  Ranger wanted to be a father desperately, and he felt the loss of another child like a whip across his soul. He pressed his eyes closed and prayed that the Lord would help him be strong for his wife. Ranger didn’t have to deal with physical ailments on top of the crushing emotional blow, and he tightened his arms around her as he began to weep too.

  He didn’t tell her it would be okay. He didn’t tell her they’d try again. Right now, Ranger needed to grieve, and he needed to find a way to do that with his wife and within the framework of his other responsibilities.

  “Baby?” he finally whispered. “I’m going to ask Ward to take over Two Cents in Amarillo.”

  Oakley rolled toward him, her face only inches from his now. They existed together in this narrow space of time and with her so close, Ranger felt the weight of the world disappear. “What do you think of hiring someone to do some of what you do at Mack’s?” he asked. “I think we need time, baby.”

  “Time for what?” She cradled his face in her hands, her eyes focused somewhere down by his mouth.

  Ranger let his eyes drift closed, and the world further narrowed. Just her and him and the sound of their breathing. Just the light, feminine touch of her fingers along his jaw. Just the warmth of the two of them together.

  “Time for us,” he said, not sure how to explain it. “Time to grieve together. Time to talk about everything. Time to just be who we want to be.” He opened his eyes again and looked into hers. “Just time.”

  She searched his face, finally giving him a small nod. “I’ll talk to Vanessa today.”

  “Not today,” Ranger whispered. “Today, we’re just staying here.”

  Her face fell again, and her chin wobbled as her emotions overcame her once more. “I love you, Ranger Glover. Thank you for giving me time.”

  “When my father died,” he said as she slid her hands down to his chest and then one around his back. “I didn’t take any time. I had to process it all and keep going to work. I had to set the example for everyone. I had to be the strong one.” His chest heaved now as fresh waves of pain rolled through him.

  “I did the same thing when we lost our first baby. I can’t do it again. I’m trying, baby, and I will be there for you when you need me, but I’m not going to pretend like I’m okay when I’m not, and I don’t think anyone expects us to.”

  Oakley just nodded and reached up and stroked his face. He loved that comforting touch, and he kissed her gently. “I think we should tell the family.” His nerves raged at him, but he plowed on. “They can help too. I believe in the power of prayer.”

  “I do too.”

  “My mother has special sway with the Lord,” Ranger said with a smile through his anguish. “At least that’s what she told us kids growing up.” He laughed quietly, the sound only lasting for a moment or two. “We believed her too. When Ace didn’t make it home one night from a dance, she got us all up and into the living room. We all knelt at the couch while she prayed for him and his safety and to know what to do to bring him home. I have no doubt she did that privately for all of us, all the time.”

  “What happened?” Oakley asked.

  “She stood up and said, ‘Okay. Ranger you go get the spotlights from the barn. You and Daddy will take the night truck and drive down to town. See if he’s off the road or needs help.’ She gave every one of us a job, and right in the middle of telling Etta she needed to go find Ace’s backpack, she paused. She tilted her head to the left and she said, ‘I need to call Carrie.’ Then she walked over to the phone and with all of us standing there listening, even Daddy, she called someone she barely knew.”

  Ranger let that powerful feeling and the immense lesson he’d learned that day flow through him. He drew in a breath and pushed it all out. “I learned that God answers prayers that night. I learned that my mother did have a special conduit to Him. I learned that He loves me, and He loves her, and He loves Ace.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Carrie Dawson had found Ace walking on the side of the road, on the highway back toward town. She picked him up and took him to the gas station, where he filled up a can. He said he could walk back, and it was late. Carrie wouldn’t let him, and she took him back to his truck and waited to make sure it would start. It wouldn’t, and they had arrived at her house thirty seconds before Mother called. She was trying to get Ace to tell her our phone number so she could call and let us know where he was. He was a little panicked and hadn’t been able to tell her yet. Daddy and I went to get him, and we didn’t see his truck on the highway where Carrie said it had been. It wasn’t there.”

  �
��Where was it?”

  Ranger shivered now, the same way he had then. “We went the next day in the light, and we still couldn’t find it. Ace insisted he’d parked it near Quail Creek Road. He even found his footprints and an oil stain from the old truck. We reported it stolen, and about two weeks later, we learned there had been a string of vehicle thefts late at night, when someone had been injured during the robbery. Mother sobbed and sobbed and she told us all that God had protected Ace that night because of our prayers and that Carrie Dawson, who was never out that late, had been sent to save him.”

  There were so many more lessons Ranger had learned through that experience, but he was suddenly so tired. He closed his eyes. “Let’s go see Mother tomorrow, okay? Maybe she can pray for us and we’ll find some relief for even an hour.”

  Oakley nestled into his chest and said, “I’d like that. Ranger, I don’t want to tell anyone. I don’t care if they know, but can someone else tell them? And can we ask them not to ask me about it? I don’t—I’m not ready to talk about it.”

  “Of course,” he said. “We’ll tell Mother and she’ll handle everything.” He’d seen her do it before and she’d do so again. He and Oakley settled into silence, and he sent a prayer of gratitude heavenward for such an angel mother that he could rely on, even now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Holly Ann stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, the bright red and white assaulting her eyes. “This isn’t right,” she muttered to herself, trying to get the big Santa coat down around her hips.

  She wore the bodysuit under the costume, the same as she had been for the past four years, and she’d never had a problem with the coat riding up like that. Feeling clownish, she stared into her own eyes, trying to find the solution.

  Her father would be here in a few minutes, as she needed help getting the beard and hat ready this year. Since she’d been named the chairperson for the Christmas Festival, she’d be extremely busy and torn in a dozen different directions. She needed to be able to step into the role of Santa in less than five minutes and slip out of the suit, the wig, and the persona just as quickly.