A Stone Creek Christmas

Olivia patted Butterpie’s neck. “Excellent,” she said. “That’s the spirit.”

“You have a reindeer in the back of your Suburban?” Tanner queried, keeping pace with Olivia as she left the barn.

“See for yourself,” she replied, waving one hand toward the rig.

Tanner approached the vehicle, and Ginger barked a cheerful greeting as he passed the passenger-side window. He responded with a distracted wave, and Olivia decided there might be a few soft spots in his steely psyche after all.

Rubbing off dirt with one gloved hand, Tanner peered through the back windows.

“I’ll be damned,” he said. “It is a reindeer.”

“Sure enough,” Olivia said. Ginger was all over the inside of the rig, barking her brains out. She liked good-looking men, the silly dog. Actually, she liked any man. “Ginger! Sit!”

Ginger sat, but she looked like the poster dog for a homelesspets campaign.

“Where did you get a reindeer?” Tanner asked, drawing back from the window to take a whole new look at Olivia.

Ridiculously, she wished she’d worn something remotely feminine that day, instead of her usual jeans, flannel work shirt and mud-speckled down-filled vest. Not that she actually owned anything remotely feminine.

“I found him,” she said, opening the driver’s door. “Last night, at the bottom of my driveway.”

For the first time in their acquaintance, Tanner smiled, and the effect was seismic. His teeth were white and straight, and she’d have bet that was natural enamel, not a fancy set of veneers. “Okay,” he said, stretching the word out a way. “Tell me, Dr. O’Ballivan—how does a reindeer happen to turn up in Arizona?”

“When I find out,” Olivia said, climbing behind the wheel, “I’ll let you know.”

Before she could shut the door, he stood in the gap. Pushed his hat to the back of his head and treated her to another wicked grin. “I guess there’s a ground-breaking ceremony scheduled for tomorrow morning at ten,” he said. “I’ll see you there.”

Olivia nodded, feeling unaccountably flustered.

Ginger was practically drooling.

“Nice dog,” Tanner said.

“Be still, my heart,” Ginger said.

“Shut up,” Olivia told the dog.

Tanner drew back his head, but the grin lurked in his eyes.

Olivia blushed. “I wasn’t talking to you,” she told Tanner.

He looked as though he wanted to ask if she’d been taking her medications regularly. Fortunately for him, he didn’t. He merely tugged at the brim of his too-new hat and stepped back.

Olivia pulled the door closed, started up the engine, ground the gearshift into first and made a wide 360 in front of the barn.

“That certainly went well,” she told Ginger. “We’re going to be in each other’s hip pockets while the shelter is being built, and he thinks I’m certifiable!”

Ginger didn’t answer.

Half an hour later, the X-rays were done and the blood had been drawn. Rodney was good to go.

Tanner stood in the middle of the barnyard, staring after that wreck of a Suburban and wondering what the hell had just hit him. It felt like a freight train.

His cell phone rang, breaking the spell.

He pulled it from his jacket pocket and squinted at the caller ID panel. Ms. Wiggins, the executive principal at Briarwood. She’d certainly taken her time returning his call—he’d left her a message at sunrise.

“Tanner Quinn,” he said automatically.

“Hello, Mr. Quinn,” Ms. Wiggins said. A former CIA agent, Janet Wiggins was attractive, if you liked the armed-and-dangerous type. Tanner didn’t, particularly, but the woman had a spotless service record, and a good résumé. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call sooner—meetings, you know.”

“I’m worried about Sophie,” he said. A cold wind blew down off the mountain looming above Stone Creek, biting into his ears, but he didn’t head for the house. He just stood there in the barnyard, letting the chill go right through him.

“I gathered that from your message, Mr. Quinn,” Ms. Wiggins said smoothly. She was used to dealing with fretful parents, especially the guilt-plagued ones. “The fact is, Sophie is not the only student remaining at Briarwood over the holiday season. There are several others. We’re taking all the stay-behinds to New York by train to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade and dine at the Four Seasons. You would know that if you read our weekly newsletters. We send them by e-mail every Friday afternoon.”

I just met a woman who talks to animals—and thinks they talk back.

Tanner kept his tone even. “I read your newsletters faithfully, Ms. Wiggins,” he said. “And I’m not sure I like having my daughter referred to as a ‘stay-behind.’”

Ms. Wiggins trilled out a very un-CIA-like giggle. “Oh, we don’t use that term in front of the pupils, Mr. Quinn,” she assured him. “Sophie is fine. She just tends to be a little overdramatic, that’s all. In fact, I’m encouraging her to sign up for our thespian program, beginning next term—”

“You’re sure she’s all right?” Tanner broke in.

“She’s one of our most emotionally stable students. It’s just that, well, kids get a little sentimental around the holidays.”

Don’t we all? Tanner thought. He always skipped Thanksgiving and Christmas both, if he couldn’t spend them with Sophie. Up until now it had been easy enough, given that he’d been out of the country last year, and the year before that. Sophie had stayed with Tessa, and he’d ordered all her gifts online.

Remembering that gave him a hollow feeling in the middle of his gut.

“I know Sophie is stable,” he said patiently. “That doesn’t mean she’s completely okay.”

Ms. Wiggins paused eloquently before answering. “Well, if you would like Sophie to come home for Thanksgiving, we’d certainly be glad to make the arrangements.”

Tanner wanted to say yes. Instantly. Book a plane. Put her on board. I don’t care what it costs. But it would only lead to another tearful parting when it came time for Sophie to return to school, and Tanner couldn’t bear another one of those. Not just yet, anyway.

“It’s best if Sophie stays there,” he said.

“I quite agree,” Ms. Wiggins replied. “Last-minute trips home can be very disruptive to a child.”

“You’ll let me know if there are any problems?”

“Of course I will,” Ms. Wiggins assured him. If there was just a hint of condescension in her tone, he supposed he deserved it. “We at Briarwood pride ourselves on monitoring our students’ mental health as well as their academic achievement. I promise you, Sophie is not traumatized.”

Tanner wished he could be half as sure of that as Ms. Wiggins sounded. A few holiday platitudes were exchanged, and the call ended. Tanner snapped his phone shut and dropped it into his coat pocket.

Then he turned back toward the barn.

Could a horse get depressed?