Chapter 10
Eve
Does Luke Dawson like me? Or does the man hate me? It’s like kindergarten all over again because the two emotions really seem to be the one and the same right now with him.
Okay, maybe “hate” is a strong word. Let’s go with “gruffly tolerates my existence while secretly contemplating ways to hide my body in a snowdrift and also clearly thinking about maybe kissing me.”
Or maybe it’s only me that’s thinking about kissing him.
Still… the evidence is lining up. He saved me at Caroloke. He joined the gingerbread decorating contest for the first time in… well, maybe ever. He brought me peppermint hot chocolate. Even if he claims it was Aunt May’s idea, he still followed through in delivering it.
Today, though, seems to be a different story altogether.
I’m parked squarely in his personal bubble at the reindeer farm, pestering him with questions like a sugar-fueled reporter and watching his jaw tic with barely concealed restraint.
He’s chopping wood, which seems like a really aggressive but incredibly sexy way to process irritation.
“What do reindeer even eat in the wild?” I ask, tossing a handful of grain into the trough like I’m part of the team. (Spoiler: I am not.)
“Moss. Lichen. Sometimes berries,” he grunts, not even looking at me.
“Berries? So basically, they’re woodland vegans. Makes sense.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
Again.
“Eve.”
“Yes, Luke?” I bat my lashes, leaning against the fence like I’m in a romantic country music video. A rush of frigid wind whips around us and I shiver, pulling my coat higher up around my neck. Luke, as usual, seems totally unaffected by the drop in temperature.
His eyes flick to me—brief, sharp—and then away again. “You're not actually helping when you throw food like that. It’s supposed to go in the bins. Evenly.”
“Oh, right. Evenly. Of course.” I casually brush the rest of the grain from my mitten and act like I totally knew that. “I mean… that seems weird to me. They all just rush over and gorge themselves on the feed anyway. Who cares if it’s exactly two pounds on each side?”
He sighs and mutters something that might be a prayer for strength. Or maybe just an expletive. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him.
“Because,” he starts, “If it’s not evenly distributed, a couple of my reindeer will eat a ton of feed and the others won’t get as much. It’ll be like the freaking haves and have nots of Reindeerville.”
My eyes go wide. “Reindeerville! Omigod! Why don’t you turn this place into Reindeerville?! You charge admission. Make an adorable little sign! An archway! Have a petting zoo!” I jump up and down, clapping my hands together. “You could even dress like Santa and—”
“I’m going to stop you right there. I am never dressing as Santa.”
“Party pooper.” I jut my bottom lip out. “No… North Pole pooper.”
By the time the sun begins to dip, painting the snow in shades of lavender and peach, I’m more tired than I expect.
Farm life is… a lot. I take a break, sitting on a hay bale in the barn and sipping the hot cider that I brought in my thermos which can seriously no longer be considered hot. It’s more like tepid cider.
Luke comes in, dusting snow from his flannel coat. “You’re still here?”
“You say that like I’m a raccoon you thought you scared off an hour ago.”
He looks at me, and for a second—just a split second—there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. A micro-smile. The Luke Dawson smile… practically a mythical creature.
Then he blinks and it’s gone. “Farmhands left an hour ago. I figured you were gone too.”
“Nope. Still here. Living my best rural fantasy. Isn’t this how Hallmark movies start?”
His brows lift. “I wouldn’t know. Though, usually I’d guess there’s less hay in your hair,” he deadpans.
I reach up and, yep, find a whole haystack nested up there. “I’m just committed to the bit.”
Then there’s a sound. A sharp grunt. A groan. Not from Luke. It’s low, animal, and insistent.
Luke’s entire body goes alert and he quickly strides toward the stall at the end.
“Uh… is that normal? It’s been making that noise for at least twenty minutes.” I stand up as well, following him to the end of the barn.
“That’s Junebug,” he mutters, peering over the partition into one of the reindeer pens. “She wasn’t due for another couple weeks or so…”
“Due? As in…” I push onto my toes and peek over his shoulder into the pen. The reindeer—Junebug, apparently—lies on her side, breathing heavily, clearly in distress. “Is she—oh my God, is she having a baby right now? Like right now right now?”
He quickly unlatches the door and rushes in to kneel beside her, calm and focused. “Yeah. It’s early. But it’s happening.”
I feel a mix of panic and awe bubbling in my chest. “Should I get someone? Call 911? Or … or… Santa?”
He shoots me a look, but it’s not quite annoyed. It looks even a little amused. “Do you think Santa has a degree in large animal veterinary medicine?” he asks with a quirk of his lips.
I throw my hands into the air. “Well, I don’t know! Should I go find Dave? Or… or call the vet?”
“Most of the staff already left. And I only ever call the vet if there’s a complication. So for now… tonight…It’s just me left. And I guess… you.”
I gulp. “Me?”
Luke gives a solemn nod. “You’re gonna help.”
I blink. “What? I’m not qualified. As far as buns in the oven go, I’ve only ever delivered cinnamon rolls. And even then, they’re almost always burnt!”
“You’ll do fine. I’ll walk you through it.”
“But what if I faint? Or cry? Or faint and cry?” The tears are already welling up in my eyes and I stare into the dim lights of the barn, trying my damndest to blink them back.
His voice softens. “Eve. Look at me.”
I do through the distorted blur of my unshed tears.
“You can do this. Junebug needs you to do this.”
I swallow the golf ball in my throat. “But we aren’t talking about distributing feed in the troughs here—which I also can’t do right, for the record. We’re talking about a little life. A baby.”
He nods. “That’s right. We’re talking about a little life. Which is why I need you to be calm and focused. You can do this,” he says quietly.
“How is it you have such faith in me?”
Luke holds my stare. “Because we’re the only hope she has,” he says, gently patting Junebug on her swollen belly.
Somehow, that quiet certainty in his voice settles the panic in my chest. My stomach still churns, but I nod. “Okay. Yes. Let’s do this. It’s baby reindeer time.”
Helping deliver a baby reindeer is both more magical and more horrifying than I ever imagined. There are fluids. So many fluids. And smells. But also, something so vulnerable and pure that I could cry—and almost do.
Luke works with quick, steady precision.
He guides me with short instructions. I run and get a ton of clean bedding and towels.
And a bucket of hot water. I hold Junebug’s head.
I soothe her. I cheer her on like she’s running a marathon.
And finally, when the tiny, wobbly creature slips into the world and lets out its first bleat, I burst into tears.
“It’s a boy,” Luke says.
“Look at him,” I whisper. “He’s so perfect.”
Luke wraps the calf in a towel, wiping off the jelly-like gunk covering his fur and nostrils.He checks him, murmuring soft reassurances, and I stand there, watching him with my heart in my throat.
He’s gentle with the calf, gentle in ways I didn’t know existed in him.
And when he turns back to me, something clicks into place.
We’re both covered in hay and exhausted and surrounded by reindeer, and yet—this feels like a moment that matters.
“Come on over. Say hi,” he says with a jerk of his head.
I step tentatively over toward the calf, careful to walk around the puddles of bodily fluid that I prefer not to dwell too long on. I pause only to give Junebug a quick pat of her head. “Good girl, Mama,” I say as I pass by.
Then, I approach the baby cautiously, kneeling beside Luke. I reach out a hand and pet a section of his chest that’s been mostly cleaned off, surprised at how soft he is. Soft… and impossibly small and precious.
“What’s his name?” I ask, beaming through tears and barn grime.
“Dunno. Haven’t picked one yet.” Luke pauses, sliding a glance in my direction. “Do you want to do the honors?”
“Me?” More tears fill my eyes. I don’t know why naming a damn reindeer feels so special… but it does.
“Yes, you. You helped bring him into this world. It’s tradition that the first calf you help deliver on the farm, you get to name.” He points to the pen across from us. “You don’t think I actually named a reindeer Xavier, do you?”
I bite my lip through the utter joy I’m feeling and grin like the maniac I am. “Then I’m officially naming him… Princess Yuletide Sparkles.”
Luke’s face completely falls. “He’s … he’s a boy.”
“Hmmm…” I press my lips together. “Good point. Prince Yuletide Sparkles, then.”
Luke groans and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Please, God, no.”
I press my lips together. “You’re right. Prince doesn’t have the right ring to it. Princess Yuletide Sparkles it is!”
“Please god do not name my reindeer Princess Sparkles. If it was a girl, I’d be asking the same thing—”
“Too late. You said it yourself… it’s tradition that I get to name the first calf I help birth. So Princess Yuletide Sparkles it is.”
Luke groans again, but this time I spy the tiniest hint of a smile curving his mouth.
“He’s gonna be the most majestic reindeer of them all. Just wait. He’ll be leading the sleigh in no time.”
“All of Santa’s reindeer are female,” Luke says.
I snort. “Not if we’re going by the gospel according to claymation.”
“Well, claymation got it wrong. Male reindeer shed their antlers before December 24th. Thus, all the reindeer leading the sleigh are female.”
“Well,” I say. “That just makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it? Suck it to every man who’s told me women are bad drivers!”
Luke’s grin spreads. “Amen to that.”
Princess Yuletide Sparkles nudges my hand and curls up in my lap with a sigh. Dang. He’s pretty cute… for a slimey little thing.
Luke leans over, giving the baby another little scratch between the ears. “He’s probably not even a flyer.”
“He’s definitely a flyer. Don’t besmirch my godson like that.”
“Oh, so now you’re the designated godmother?”
“Damn straight.”
Luke chuckles, quiet but real, and something in my chest stutters.
I think… I think I like this version of him. When I look back up, somehow, Luke feels like he’s sitting even closer to me, our shoulders brushing.
“I’m glad I was here,” I whisper. “Even if it means I smell like a barn.”
He smiles, real and slow. “You did good, Eve.”
We sit there, the space between us crackling.
Then… he leans in just slightly. And so do I.
His lips brush across mine in the gentlest kiss that’s barely there. Soft. Cautious. Exploratory. Like we’re both unsure if this is a terrible idea or the best one we’ve ever had.
And then—
Another bleat comes from my lap, loud and long, making me jump.
I look down at Princess Yuletide Sparkles laying in my lap as we pull apart, laughing. “Not a fan of romance, Princess?
“Your timing is impeccable, Sparkles,” Luke mutters.
Princess Yuletide Sparkles stands up and on wobbly legs, he makes his way over to his mother’s udder and begins eating.
“I think that’s our cue to leave.” Luke stands, then takes my hand, helping me to my feet. “Let’s leave them to it.”
Something in my gut lurches as I look back over my shoulder. “Are you sure they’re going to be okay out here alone all night?”
“He’s not alone. He’s got his mama,” Luke says, gently squeezing my hand. “They’ll be okay. I promise. Plus…” He stands up and taps his fingers to a small white square hooked up against the wall of the barn. “I have a couple webcams set up in here so I can keep an eye on the gang.”
He strolls over to me with a smug smirk, offering me his outstretched hand.
Despite the cold temperatures in the barn, warmth washes over me and I let Luke pull me to the door of the barn. He flings it open and we’re immediately met with a blanket of white.
Not just snow… but a wall of thick, unrelenting, blinding whiteout snow. The kind that erases the world and makes even Luke look vaguely worried.
“Wow, that weather system rolled in fast,” he mutters, peeking his head out of the barn.
I yank my phone out of my back pocket and find multiple concerned texts from my mom and dad. I immediately text them back, telling them I’m still at the farm with Luke.
Mom’s response comes back almost instantaneously.
MOM:
Do not drive home! It’s treacherous out! We’ll take care of Cringle.
Normally, I would say she’s being dramatic. But this time, she’s spot on.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” Luke says, reading my thoughts. Or rather, my mom’s thoughts.
I look back at the barn and flash him a teasing grin. “So… I’m sleeping with the reindeer?”
He gives me a long, patient look, then playfully rolls his eyes at me. “You’re sleeping in the guest room.”
I blink. “You have a guest room?” I squint my eyes, trying to see beyond the falling snow to the small cabin where I know Luke lives, off site from Aunt May’s farm house.
“I don’t,” he says, “but Aunt May does.”
I try to ignore the way my heart sinks just the tiniest bit at that. “Well, we’d better go check on her, shouldn’t we?”
But then, Luke takes my hand, giving it another squeeze. “Ready?”
“To run into a blizzard?”
“What else could I mean?” His eyes roam across my face, pausing briefly at my lips.
And I swear, with the unspoken words in that moment, my heart decides to skip a beat—just to spite me.