by Janet Dailey
“No, it isn’t,” Jake declared. “My toes are cold.”
An eyebrow arched in mild reproof. “I don’t hear any of the other boys complaining, and you shouldn’t either.”
“I guess,” he mumbled. He heaved a big sigh of resignation and made a big show out of lifting his downcast head. Abruptly his expression lost its disgruntled look. “Hey, Greypa, there’s Aunt Cat. She’s with the husband you got her.” He pointed to the couple a short distance away from them.
“Now, he isn’t her husband yet,” Chase corrected.
“But he just put his arm around her. That means he likes her, doesn’t it?”
“I’m pretty sure he likes her,” Chase agreed.
“I bet it’s a special kind of liking, the same as me and Becky.” Jake nodded in certainty.
“Who’s Becky?” Jessy wanted to know.
“A girl. She’s in the play, too.”
Chase exchanged an amused look with Jessy. “Really?”
“What part does she play?”
Jake thought for a second. “She’s supposed to be Mary. She has really long hair and a blue dress.” He looked down doubtfully at his burlap robe. “Is this a dress? It’s scratchy. Aren’t shepherds s’posed to wear jeans?”
“I’ve never seen one in jeans,” Chase stated.
Sloan shook her head, confirming Chase’s statement, gave the rope belt around his waist an adjusting tug. He looked up in time to see Cat smiling up at Wade, and cupping a hand over the one he had on her waist as if to keep it there.
“Aunt Cat likes him a lot, too, Greypa.”
His grandfather chuckled. “Yes, she does.”
“Has she started thinking it’s her idea and not yours?” he wondered.
Sloan took him by the hand. “Come on,” she said to Jake. “Let’s go see if the other kids are ready yet.”
Jake didn’t protest and for once didn’t drag his feet. Sloan suspected that little Becky might have something to do with that.
“Did you practice your part?” she asked as they walked to the improvised stage.
“I sure did.”
He rattled off the few lines assigned to him and Sloan smiled, squeezing the warm little fingers in hers with maternal affection. “Very good. I’m proud of you.”
Wade kept his arm around Cat as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do so. The occasional curious glance they got from others at the party didn’t seem to faze him in the least.
“So all of these people work on the ranch?” he asked in a low voice.
“All of them. Some are married. Some aren’t. Most were born and raised here.”
“Really?” Wade seemed genuinely interested.
Warming to the subject, Cat nodded at a group standing around the punch bowl. “Really. Those over there are third and fourth generation on the Triple C.”
“I’m impressed. They really are like family. Now I understand why you and I are being watched. Discreetly, of course.”
She was pleased Wade was a quick study, but not surprised by his instinctive understanding of the relationship between the Calder clan and the people who worked for them. They really were an extended family and it was never more evident than around the holiday season.
“Need some help?” Sloan asked the woman in charge of the Christmas play. Babette Nevins was on her knees, pinning up a burlap robe for a boy who was shorter than Jake.
“You bet,” the other woman replied, straightening the rough fabric. The boy took a step away from her, but she shook her head. “Not so fast, Eddy. I have to baste the hem.”
Jake leaned closer to Sloan. “Baste? Isn’t that what Aunt Cat does to the turkey and ham?” Jake whispered with a hint of worry.
Sloan fought back a smile and nodded. “Yes, but in this case it means something different. And she said hem, not ham. That’s the bottom of the robe. It’s too long. Mrs. Nevins is going to sew up the material so he doesn’t trip on it.”
“Oh,” Jake said.
Babette took a threaded needle from a fat, tomato-shaped pincushion on the floor next to her. “Hold still,” she instructed Eddy, and got to work, sticking the pins into the pincushion as she removed them.
A little girl in a flowing blue robe came over to see what was going on, clutching one hand in the folds of the same blue fabric that was draped over her head. Sloan felt Jake’s grip tighten and glanced down. Jake’s gaze was fixed on the girl’s face.
“Hi, Becky,” he said.
“Hello,” she replied demurely.
“Do you want me to fasten that cloth for you?” Sloan asked her. She’d seen a safety pin among the straight pins Babette was working with.
“Yes, please.” Becky let go as Sloan knelt down and safety-pinned the draped material carefully so it wouldn’t slip off. Jake watched with interest. Another little girl came over, cute as could be, a curly, white, fake-fur pelt slung over her shoulders and fastened in front, clearly intended to be a sheep’s costume. Black knitted gloves stood in for hooves and a black headband held sheep ears made from felt in place behind her golden braids.
“Who are you?” Sloan asked, aware that some of the ranch families had visiting relatives staying with them and the Christmas play needed plenty of young actors to fill up the improvised stage.
“I’m Lizabeth,” she announced.
“Oh. What part do you play?” Sloan asked politely, even though the answer was fairly obvious.
“I’m the second sheep,” the little girl replied. “I don’t have to say anything.”
“Yes, you do,” Babette reminded her, after sticking the pins safely into the pincushion. “You get to baa, remember? Let’s hear it.”
Lizabeth took a deep breath and obliged with several long baas. The two boys and Becky giggled behind their hands.
“Hey,” Lizabeth said indignantly. “That’s what sheep sound like. My big sister raised lambs for a 4-H project, so I know.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Sloan assured, suppressing a smile of her own. The little girl’s outraged expression wasn’t very sheeplike and neither were the braids.
“Hmm,” Babette mused. “I think we should cut that down to one baa. Okay with you?”
Lizabeth pouted.
“Don’t forget that the animals stand in back,” the little girl in blue pointed out. “I’m in front. The whole time.”
Her friend’s pout turned into a scowl but Babette intervened before the unhappy little sheep could object to her role being shortened.
“That’ll do, kids.” She rolled her eyes at Sloan, as if saying “Actors and their egos.” “And Becky, please remember that everyone’s part is as important as yours. Now I want all of you to do a last read-through of your lines. Showtime is in fifteen minutes.”
“I lost the paper,” Eddy said.
“Your mom has extra copies.”
He looked guilt-stricken.
“Just ask her.” Babette laughed. “She won’t get mad.”
“Okay, Mrs. Nevins,” he answered respectfully.
Becky smoothed her blue robe and walked away, followed by Lizabeth, who threw a dark look over her shoulder at the two boys. There could be trouble in Bethlehem tonight, Sloan thought, tickled by the pint-size rivalries.
She got the extra copies of the two-page play and helped Babette herd the children into a quieter area. An older kid, a gawky thirteen-year-old who hadn’t taken out the earbuds in his ears, was listening to music while he rolled and unrolled a scroll on a spindle.
“Who’s that boy?” she asked.
“That’s Dave,” Babette said. “He’s our last-minute replacement for the angel. Actually, he’s a blessing in disguise. The wings came out longer than we expected and he’s tall enough that they don’t drag the floor.”
Sloan glanced at the swooping, feather-bedecked cardboard shapes attached to the back of the full-sleeved robe the teenager wore. The wings’ tips cleared the floor by a foot. “So far, so good,” she murmured. “What happened
to the first angel?”
“He came down with a stuffy nose and sore throat. Are you ready, Dave?” she asked the tall boy.
Dave looked startled but he unrolled the scroll with a flourish and cleared his throat before he pretended to read from it. “Wow! Listen up, people! I bring you tidings of great joy! Awesome!” he said loudly.
“That’s not what it says on the scroll,” Babette said dryly. “Take out the ear things so you can hear me, okay? The first word is ‘behold,’ not ‘wow.’ And you can drop the second line and the ‘awesome’ while you’re at it.”
He got it right the next time. The other kids did fine, remembering nearly all of what they were supposed to say.
“Very good,” Babette told them. She turned to Sloan. “We’d better do this for real before they forget,” she whispered. Both women guided the group of children to the stage platform, and had them wait at one side.
Sloan went up the wooden stairs and pulled together the makeshift stage curtains. Then she motioned to Babette to bring the children onto the stage.
Beyond the curtains everyone began drifting over, chatting with each other, but watching the curtains, waiting for the moment when they would open. There was an occasional bump from a child walking behind them but no little faces to be seen.
Among the onlookers, many stood, but some found folding chairs to sit on, creating a couple of irregular rows. Chase was in front, dead center, seated on a wooden armchair that befitted a family patriarch. He waited for the play to begin, a composed expression on his weathered face. He accepted a printed program from the Martin girl, who had a basket of them on her arm, and nodded his thanks.
“He must have seen this dozens of times,” Wade murmured, standing well in the back with Cat.
“Scores,” Cat agreed. “But look at the twinkle in his eye. He enjoys it as much as all the other parents.”
They joined the enthusiastic applause that greeted the two small shepherds who clutched the edges of the curtains and ran to either side to reveal the stage.
The costumed children were positioned in a nativity scene, looking out at their audience with a mixture of expressions, from calm to jittery.
Babette read the opening narration and stepped aside to let the play begin. Dave came forward, unrolled his scroll, and announced the impending birth of Jesus to the shepherds watching by night.
When he finished, Jake confronted him. “Next time, ask God to have Jesus borned in Montana so I can wear my boots,” he blurted out.
The crowd erupted in laughter, even Chase. When the happy noise dwindled down, the play continued without a hitch. The children hit their marks and remembered their lines, telling the old, old story of the night in Bethlehem with no more adlibs or flubs. The great star, which looked suspiciously like a pierced tin pie-plate, blazed against the dark backdrop and Becky gazed tenderly into the straw-filled basket that cradled the unseen Christ Child.
There was a brief rustle of programs as the audience joined the children in singing “Silent Night.” As soon as the last note died away, the applause began and the young actors ran forward to take their bows, some proud, some self-conscious, but all pleased with themselves.
“That went well,” Babette said to Sloan. “Jake was the hit of the show, though.”
“He certainly got a laugh,” she answered with a wry smile.
“Arms up,” Babette ordered the kids waiting in line when they left the stage. She shucked the costumes over their heads with practiced speed and handed them to Sloan to fold and put into a big cardboard box. The children ran back to claim the praise from their parents. Dave didn’t bother to change and walked away in his angel’s costume, rocking to the music coming into his earbuds. Evidently wings were cool, Sloan decided.
As expected, Sloan found Jake half-draped across the arm of Chase’s chair, chattering away, dividing his attention between Chase and Jessy. While Sloan had been helping Babette, Jake had run back to the tack room and retrieved his boots.
The instant Jake saw her, he ran to meet her. “Greypa said the program was the bestest he ever seen.”
“I hope you thanked him for that.”
Nodding, Jake made an agreeing sound. “And Grandma said I did my lines perfect.”
“And what did she think of your ad-lib?” Sloan asked in a mildly teasing voice.
Jake screwed up his face in a puzzled frown. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.” She laughed and gave the brim of his cowboy hat a playful, downward tap. “Have you seen your dad?”
“He was here at first. He had to leave, though,” Jake explained. “He said he had something important to do, but he’d be back.”
“If he said he’ll be back, then he will,” Sloan declared, fully aware of where her husband had gone and why.
Jake caught hold of her hand and pulled her over to Chase’s chair. “I told Mom that you thought I did good.”
Suppressing a smile, Jessy asked, “And did you tell her what part you want to play in next year’s program?”
“I forgot,” he said in self-disgust then turned an earnest look on Sloan. “Next year I want to be the angel.”
Surprised by his choice, Sloan decided the wings were even cooler than she realized. “Why the angel?”
He propped one hand on his hip in a slightly challenging pose. “’Cause that boy got to wear his boots.”
Try as she might, Sloan couldn’t choke off the laugh that bubbled from her. Chase and Jessy chuckled along with her.
“You can take a lot of things away from a cowboy, but don’t touch his boots,” Chase declared.
“At least, not this cowboy’s,” Sloan agreed and gave his hat another downward tug.
“Quit, Mom.”
At that moment, Jake’s best friend Dan came running up and grabbed his arm. “Come on, Jake. Hurry. Santa’s here.”
Turning in place, Sloan spotted the tall figure dressed in the traditional stocking cap and red Santa suit, sporting a long white beard and toting a sack bulging with presents, making his way to the stage area, already surrounded by children. The costume fooled the children, but Sloan recognized Trey’s dark eyes and rugged features despite the masking beard.
He winked at her as he passed. When he reached the stage, he slid the big sack off his shoulder, placed both hands on his stomach and issued a hearty “Ho! Ho! Ho!”, then attempted to discreetly pull strands of fake beard out of his mouth. Sloan had to laugh. Automatically she glanced to see where Jake was.
The minute she noticed him staring with fierce intensity at Santa Claus, she knew the jig was up. “Oh-oh,” she murmured and hurried forward, practically pushing her way to Jake’s side.
She arrived just as he thrust out an accusing finger. “Hey, how come—”
She clamped a silencing hand over his mouth and steered him out of the group of children. Only when she judged they were a safe distance away did Sloan remove her hand from his mouth and kneel down in front of him.
“That was Dad. How come he’s wearing Santa’s clothes?” Jake demanded.
“Santa had to be somewhere else tonight, and because he knew how disappointed all the children would be, he asked your dad to pretend to be him just for tonight,” Sloan explained. “And Santa asked him to keep it a secret. So don’t you tell the other kids. Okay?”
“If it’s a secret, how come you know?”
For a split second she wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Mothers always know everything.”
He sighed a big sigh. “Like where my sandals were.”
“Exactly.” She almost hugged him for that. “Now, Santa left a present for you, so you go get it. But remember—not a word to the others. Promise?”
“I promise.” He nodded. Then his expression turned a little smug that he knew something his friends didn’t.
Releasing him, Sloan straightened and watched as Jake ran back to the stage area, all smiles. Jessy came up on her left and exchanged a knowing glance with her.
“He re
cognized Trey, didn’t he?” she guessed.
“You saw that, too,” Sloan realized.
“It was obvious. To everybody,” she added. “I’m not surprised. It’s hard to fool a Calder.”
Sloan immediately thought of Wade Rogers, and remembered Trey’s utter lack of suspicion about the man. She felt a little guilty for not fully sharing his opinion. Blind trust had never been something Sloan found easy to give.
Without thinking, she skimmed the crowd, looking for Cat and Wade. Almost immediately she made eye contact with Cat, who waved, then signaled that she and Wade were leaving. Sloan acknowledged the message with a high lift of her head and waved back, then nudged Jessy.
“Cat and Wade are off to dinner.” She nodded in the direction of the departing couple.
“Good. I was hoping Cat wouldn’t feel under any obligation to do more than put in an appearance here.”
“Do you think Wade is the right man for her?” Sloan couldn’t help wondering about that.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. Her feelings are the only ones that count,” Jessy replied in a calm, steady voice that fully accepted whatever decision Cat made.
Chapter 10
Forty-five minutes after leaving Triple C headquarters, Cat and Wade pulled up to the east gate. “Which way?” Wade asked, glancing at her while keeping one hand on the steering wheel.
“Blue Moon is to the north,” Cat pointed left.
The headlights sent long beams of white over the winter landscape as the rented SUV made the turn and took aim on the Big Dipper.
Being alone with him was something Cat welcomed, although she still found herself searching for what to say. Wade kept the conversation neutral, and she was grateful for that, answering his questions about the area as they drove into the night.
“How far is it to town?” he wanted to know, adding, “I mean in minutes. The distances out here in Montana are mind-boggling.”
“Oh, we don’t even notice the miles.” Cat laughed. “It’s about fifteen or twenty minutes. I’m not sure you would even call it a town.”