Chapter 3 Red
“Grandpa! Great-grandpa!” Something poked his cheek. Then again. A finger—definitely a finger. “Benedict Starling!”
Who was that? No one called him Benedict, not since he was knee high to a—
He opened one eye, then the other, pulled from the comfort of his BarcaLounger to peer up into the far-too-close face of his ten-year-old great-grandson.
Really, the only human who could wake Red Starling from a noon-time nap and live to tell the tale.
“Benny,” he growled, scrubbing a hand over his face. “What in the name of—”
“You said you were watching me, remember?” Benny reminded him, chipper as a chipmunk. “Only you weren’t, because you fell asleep with the TV on and your mouth open like this.” Benny mimicked a cartoon snore and flopped his head back dramatically.
Red raised the recliner with a grunt. “I wasn’t asleep. I was…resting my eyes.”
“For an hour,” Benny said. “I timed it.”
“’Course you did.” Red squinted at the clock on the mantle. He had meant to rest for fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty. Darn turkey leftovers.
“Well…” He groaned, hauling himself upright while every joint in his body filed a formal complaint. “You’re still breathing and not on fire, so I’d say I did a fine job.”
Benny grinned. “I need help with something important. I tried to do it all myself, but some jobs only the great Santa Starling can manage.”
Oh, boy, he was layin’ it on thick now. “Like what?”
“It’s a decorating emergency,” Benny said. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Red followed the boy out of the living room, stepping carefully over a pile of ribbons and wrapping paper, and into the den. What awaited him looked like a Christmas explosion gone sideways.
“What fresh headache is this?” he muttered, taking in the tangled mess of string lights, half-emptied boxes marked “Christmas decs” in MJ’s handwriting, and a pile of ornaments haphazardly dumped on the coffee table.
Benny stood in the center of it all like a commander on a battlefield. “I’m decorating the sleigh Nicole dragged out of storage.”
“The sleigh? Who’s gonna drive that thing? If you say ‘Santa,’ then you will be on fire or not breathing.”
“No one is driving it. Nicole has to put it out front to attract people.”
Red felt his face form a scowl. “People. Who wants them?”
“Aunt Cindy and Grandma MJ!” he exclaimed. “’Cause if we don’t have more people, we’re going to move! To another house! Not Snowberry Lodge. Can you imagine that, Grandpa?”
Now that was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard. He’d been born on this land, and he’d die here. He’d lived in this very house, a two-story timber-framed family home near the edge of the property, from birth to…that last nap.
His pa, Owen Starling, had built this as the family house on the property when he had the foresight to turn the original residence into Snowberry Lodge.
With its pitched metal roof, wide covered porch, and weathered cedar siding, Starling House, as it was known, had a quiet sturdiness that came from decades of lived-in love.
Red rubbed the back of his neck, a slow, dark worry crawling up his chest. They liked to keep things from him, those daughters of his. Didn’t want to worry him. Never wanted to stress his old heart.
What was this all about? Were they going to move the three of them into some kind of cookie-cutter condo and try to rent this place for extra money?
“What in the world does a sleigh have to do with that?” he asked, sensing that his great-grandson—the single smartest whip Red had ever met—knew more than he was letting on.
Benny’s face grew serious, but then this was Benny. Serious was his middle name—along with internet, apps, and all that other stuff that made Red’s teeth itch.
“I heard Aunt Cindy last night. She was talking to Grandma MJ and said something about selling Snowberry. Said we might have to close the lodge. And then we’d all have to move.”
Selling…Snowberry Lodge? The floor dropped out from under Red’s stomach, and he reached for the doorjamb to steady himself. “What?”
“So, Nicole said we need to decorate the sleigh.” He lifted a snarled mess of lights. “We have to, Grandpa!”
“No need to sound desperate.”
“I am desperate, because get this!” He danced on his toes as if he couldn’t contain himself. “If we get enough business, Aunt Cindy is going to get me a puppy!”
Red drew back. “Your mama know that?”
“Aunt Cindy said she didn’t care,” he said confidently. “So we have to decorate the sleigh and get people here. Don’t you see, Grandpa?”
He couldn’t see anything but…selling Snowberry? He’d do anything to stop that. Anything.
“And this looks like something you’d be really good at,” he prattled on, handing him a nest of Christmas lights. “I borrowed your phone while you were snoring and asked the AI app, but it didn’t help me untangle Christmas lights.”
He groaned. That dang phone. He hated everything about it and gave it to Benny whenever he needed something. Gracie didn’t like that, though. She had a hard and fast “no phone” rule for the boy, which Red tried to respect but, dang, sometimes he needed Benny’s help to work that stinking device.
Red held up the knotted lights. “God himself doesn’t know how to untangle these beasts.”
“You can do it, Grandpa,” Benny said. “You’re Red Starling. You can do anything.”
Red felt a smile pull as he looked down at the kid, not sure if that was a crock of hooey or hero worship. Either way, he fell for it.
“I’m going to wrap the fake presents,” Benny announced, pulling out a roll of…was that duct tape?
With a ragged sigh, Red looked at the lights, the mess of boxes, but his focus fell on the old fur jacket lying across the ottoman like a lazy dog.
Oh, the Santa outfit he climbed into every blasted year because he had the good fortune to be fat, bald, and sport a six-inch beard that had turned whiter than the snow that fell last night.
That jacket, that role—the whole month, to be honest—was the bane of Red’s existence. He was so darn sick of ho-ho-hoing those little greedy bra…kids.
But if things at the lodge were that bad? Well, yeah. Red didn’t shy away from his responsibilities. That didn’t mean he liked them, though.
Stepping into the mess, he grabbed the jacket and slipped it on, smelling the musk of the attic mixed with the lingering scent of peppermint and pine.
“It still fits.” He pulled the front around his belly and tugged at the slight gap. “Almost.” Oh, Gracie. Why did his granddaughter have to own the best bakery in Park City and bring her leftovers to him?
Benny made a face. “The belt will hold it together.”
Red chuckled despite himself and let the jacket hang open. “All right. What do you need me to do? Let’s make it fast…” He picked up the old Santa hat and pulled it on his bald head. “’Fore I turn you into an elf.”
Benny giggled and slapped some gray tape on a very badly wrapped box. They worked in a companionable silence for a bit, then headed out for phase two of what Benny called his “special mission.”
He was certain that decorating a useless sleigh would somehow translate into a puppy his mother didn’t want to add to her long list of responsibilities. And Red could see that the sleigh might attract customers, which were apparently in very short supply.
Outside, the snow had stopped falling but the yard still sparkled with a fresh coat of white powder, clean and pristine under the late afternoon light. The sleigh—old, red, and charmingly beat-up—had been dragged to a nice spot in front of the ski shed.
It wasn’t shiny and all decked out, but it looked better than Red for its age—and they were probably about the same eighty-two years old. That thing had been around Snowberry Lodge for as long as he could remember.
With the Santa jacket providing the only warmth he needed, he hoisted up some wrapped packages on to the seats. Yeah, they looked like the entire elf crew had been inebriated while they worked. But it was festive enough.
After that, he and Benny started threading string lights along the sides of the sleigh. Red’s arthritic fingers weren’t much help with the tiny plastic clips, but he did what he could.
“Careful with those cords,” he warned the boy. “Last time I got zapped, I smelled like burnt chestnuts for a week.”
“It’s not even plugged in,” Benny said. “And these are LEDs. They barely get warm. Plus, I can put an app on your phone so you can turn them on and off right from your recliner.”
“Please don’t,” he said.
After twenty minutes of grumbling, laughing, and Benny stringing extension cords like he had an electrician’s license, the sleigh sparkled with twinkle lights, candy cane ribbons, and pretend presents.
Two massive gold bells, meant for the horse, hung from the front with a wreath Benny had “borrowed” from one of the cabin doors.
“There.” Benny clapped his hands. “Now you have to sit in it.”
“Why?”
“Because I want a picture.” He waved Red’s phone, which spent a lot more time in Benny’s hands than his own. “You’re Santa. Come on, just for one picture.”
He didn’t like it, but he climbed into the front, lifting the reins.
“I wish we could get Copper,” Benny said.
“He’d just fuss,” Red replied, easing into the seat. “That horse never liked the sleigh.” The leather was cold and stiff, not comfortable at all. He slouched, stretched his legs, and tugged the hat lower over his eyes.
“Can I nap now?”
Benny held up his phone. “Say cheese, Santa.”
Red scowled and Benny giggled.
“You look mad.”
“I am mad. I was born mad, and this dang itchy jacket makes me madder. You’re lucky I like you, son.”
Benny kept fiddling with the phone. “Okay, keep talking like that. Say something like Santa would.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something Christmasy. Pretend you’re doing a commercial for the Snowberry Lodge that would get people to come here.”
Red groaned. “I don’t like people,” he said dryly.
“Grandpa!”