Chapter 20
THE CHOPPERS set down in a frost-brittle field. The moon rode high in the sky, framed by midnight velvet. The rotors slowed to a desultory spin as the Wolves and their families emerged from the Blackhawks. In the distance, a wild wolf howled and the Wolves raised their faces to the moon, basking in the cold night air as the sights and scents of the desert washed over them.
Liam shivered and his father slipped an arm around his shoulder. He stared up at his dad and smiled. “We’re gonna be okay.”
“Yeah, buddy. We’re gonna be okay.” Mac reached for Hannah and she moved willingly into the warmth to be found under his other arm.
The families gathered together, but remained in a loose circle facing Captain Valentine. He stared up the hill behind them as if waiting.
Antoine heard the motor first and tensed. As if they’d choreographed the move, the women and children were herded to the center and the Wolves turned to face the threat. Mac stood next to Valentine. His weapon remained holstered. He didn’t need a gun to take out the officer if this was a trap.
“Relax, Sergeant Major. It’s a friend.” Valentine remained calm and didn’t appear threatened by the Wolves at all.
A rattletrap truck topped the hill and chugged down toward them, its headlights bobbing over the rough terrain. Cody pulled free from his mother and pushed through the ring of men. The boy bounced on his toes, unable to contain his excitement.
“Look! Look! It’s Papa Noel. It’s gotta be.”
The truck bounced to a stop and the driver’s side door creaked open on rusted hinges. “Howdy, folks.”
Micah clapped his hands, eyes wide with delight. “Sanna Caus. Sanna Caus, Momma.” He strained against his mother’s arms, wanting down.
The old man who greeted them was as straight as a pole and wiry tough. Faded jeans were stuffed into scuffed western boots. His red, goose-down vest offered a hint of plump where the man had none. A battered felt Stetson corralled long, silver hair and his cheeks were furred with gray stubble. He eyed each of the Wolves, meeting and holding their gaze before moving to the next. When his eyes collided with Mac’s, he nodded slightly.
“Better get these young’uns bundled up to the house. Missus’ll whip up some o’her special hot chocolate to warm ’em up.”
Cody, totally fearless, marched up to the man, threw back his head and stared up at him. “Is this the North Pole?’
The man stared down at the child, his expression serious. “No sir. This is New Mexico.”
The little boy’s face fell. “Oh,” he sighed. “Then I guess Christmas won’t find us after all.” Cody pivoted and trudged back to Sean and leaned against the big Wolf’s thigh.
Sean ruffled the boy’s curly hair and murmured, “Don’t worry, little man.”
The old man scratched his grizzled cheek, looking thoughtful. “Y’all need t’get in outta the cold. The two little ladies with the babies can ride up front. Ol’ Blitz looks worse for the wear, but his heater works just fine. There’re blankets in the back and the house ain’t far.”
His gaze held Mac’s though he spoke to Valentine. “I’ll take it from here, Cap’n. You be sure t’tell Command Sergeant Major Donner Merry Christmas.”
Captain Valentine saluted the man and nodded. “Yessir. A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.” He laughed as he climbed into the passenger bay of the Blackhawk. “Sorry. I’ve always wanted to say that!” He tossed off a salute to the Wolves, made a whirling motion with his right index finger and slid the door closed.
The Wolves ducked and hustled their families away from the choppers. Both Blackhawks revved their engines and in moments lifted off, one after the other. Everyone huddled around the truck, the exhaust steaming from the tailpipe hiding them behind a white cloud.
The old cowboy helped Sally and Grace Marie into the cab of the truck, along with Liz and Micah while everyone else climbed into the back and cuddled up in the hay piled there, using blankets to insulate against the cold. Mac examined the man who, after studying Mac in return, stuck out his hand.
“Nick.”
“Do I know you, sir?”
“Naw. Don’t think so, Command Sergeant Major McIntire.”
“Mac. I’m just Mac now.”
“Pleased t’meetcha, Just Mac. Get in. Let’s get these folks home and warm.”
The truck chugged up the hill, topped the crest, and slid over the other side. Down below, a sprawling log house with every window lit from inside welcomed them. Nick pulled up near the front door, which burst open. A woman bustled out, wiping her hand on a red apron.
“Come in. Come in! You must be frozen. And hungry. Oh, look at the darling babies. Nick, you forgot to tell me there were children.” She bustled them all inside and pointed them toward the great room in the center of the house where blazing logs snapped and crackled in a fireplace so big the Wolves could stand up inside it, shoulder to shoulder.
Lightfoot carried a sleepy Micah, the toddler’s head on his dad’s shoulder. Liz sank onto an overstuffed leather couch and leaned against the worn Pendleton blanket thrown over the back. She held up her arms and he placed their son in her lap. Sally curled in with Grace Marie. Cody wouldn’t settle. The boy roamed around the great room as if looking for something.
Annie called to him, “Come sit down, Cody.”
“But, Mom…” He spun in a circle like a whirling dervish. “Where’s their Christmas tree?”
“Well, little man, it’s only Christmas Eve.”
Everyone stared at Nick as Cody marched up to him again. “What’s that mean?”
“That means you have to believe in Christmas magic, Cody.” Nick’s wife bustled in with a tray laden with mugs, a bowl of whipped cream, warm gingerbread, and a steaming teapot. Her beatific smile encompassed the whole room.
“Thank you, Missus…” Annie didn’t know what to call the woman.
“Nona. Everybody calls me Nona, honey. Now drink up. Who wants whipped cream on their cocoa? Who wants some gingerbread? It’s fresh from the oven.”
Lulled by food, warm drinks, and the fire, the children nodded off one by one and weary parents carried them to bed. Nick and Nona guided them to the abundance of guest rooms in the big house. As if a magic spell had been cast, the Wolves and their mates soon tumbled into deep dreamless sleep as well.
Downstairs, Nick carried mugs and plates to the kitchen where Nona hand washed the dishes. She stacked the last mug, wiped her hands and turned into her husband’s embrace.
“What are we going to do, Nick?”
“Same thing we always do, sweetheart.” He kissed her, a smacking buss of lips followed by a pat on her round bottom. “We’d best get to it.”