Forever Wild(32)

“Seriously? On Christmas? You’re a workhorse.” Though sometimes I think that tractor is more a toy to Jonah than anything labor-related.

“Well, yeah. Muriel and them will want to drive up for dinner.”

“Yeah. I guess.” I add, “And Roy.”

He snorts. “Babe, Roy’s not comin’ to Christmas dinner.”

“We’ll see.” He’s likely right, but I refuse to give up on the curmudgeon just yet.

I admire Jonah’s body as he tugs on his thermal clothes, followed by his outer clothes. “I’ll be down in a bit,” I promise.

He’s at the door when he stoops to retrieve my slinky outfit from its heap in the corner. He holds it up by his pinkie. “I’m getting a repeat performance tonight, right?”

I plaster mock sympathy across my face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, but Mrs. Claus only comes out on Christmas Eve.”

His responding smile is wicked. “We’ll see about that.”





I emerge twenty minutes later to Michael Bublé’s “White Christmas” playing over a portable speaker, competing with the hum of the generator outside. Bj?rn is stuffing a log into an already blazing fire in the hearth while Astrid sits on the couch, studying the designs for the log house we’re breaking ground on in the spring. Balsam fir–scented candles burn in place of table lamps.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Simon is wrist-deep in the raw turkey, the aroma of onions and sausage lingering in the air. My mother watches, her customary mimosa perched artfully in her grasp.

“Merry Christmas!” I raise my eyebrows at Simon. “You aren’t wasting time.”

“It’s a twenty-five-pound bird! It’s going to take a few hours.” Simon nods to our oven. “It’s a good thing you went with propane, or we might be eating cold leftovers.”

“Pretty sure we could survive all winter out here, if we had to.” Between the Toyostove and a winter’s worth of wood for the fireplace, we’ll always have heat. For our electrical needs, we have a heavy-duty generator, as well as a backup generator and enough fuel sitting in the workshop to keep them running for months. “But I need to put the breakfast casserole in there for an hour before you put the turkey in.”

“Already in and baking. The note said 350°?” Mom rounds the counter and ropes her arms around me, pulling me into a fierce hug. “Merry Christmas, honey. We’re so happy to be spending it with you guys. Here, I poured you one.” She holds up the second champagne flute for me, but then pulls her hand back. “That is assuming you can drink alcohol.” She levels me with an examining stare.

She’s still not convinced that this isn’t a shotgun wedding. “Oh my God, Mom! How many mulled wines did I have last night?” I snatch the glass from her hand and punctuate that with a large gulp.

The side door cracks open. “Ho ho ho!” comes Agnes’s reedy voice, along with boot stomps outside the threshold. She appears down the hall, rosy-cheeked from the cold and stooping under the weight of a cranberry-colored canvas satchel half her size slung over her shoulder. A green-and-gold-wrapped box pokes out from the open end.

Astrid sets the blueprints on the coffee table to rise and help her. “You didn’t ride across the lake with that, did you?”

“No, no. Jonah brought it over in the truck last night.” She sheds her parka and her hat to reveal a tacky red reindeer Christmas sweater. “Boy, there’s a lot of snow out there.”

“And more coming later, according to the forecast.” Astrid lugs the heavy bag over to the Christmas tree, where people have been covertly tucking packages over the last few days. Luggage restrictions didn’t seem to limit anyone. A sizeable and colorful stack of presents now covers most of the tree skirt.

Agnes rubs her hands together for warmth, stopping at the kitchen counter. “Can I help you with something, Simon?”

“Yes! You can help me by pouring yourself a mimosa or a coffee and putting your feet up for the day. We’re all covered.” He caps that off with a beguiling smile.

“Sounds like my kind of Christmas.”

I set the mimosa down to fix myself a latte. “Is Mabel still sleeping?”

Agnes chuckles. “No. This is the one day of the year that I don’t have to drag her out of bed. She went to feed Bandit and Zeke for Jonah. He said he has to go to the hangar for something.”

I drop my spoon with a clatter. “He’s going to the hangar?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” She frowns. “Why?”

As if on cue, the snowmachine’s engine starts.

I abandon my coffee with a huff and rush for the door. “Because his Christmas present is out there, and he wasn’t supposed to find it yet!”





Jonah’s back is to me when I push through the door a few minutes later, my scarf haphazardly wrapped around my neck, my cheeks raw from the futile race to get here ahead of him.

In front of him is the satin steel-gray Chevy Silverado that Toby drove over last night.

“Guess I should have asked about getting a winch for it?”

He looks over his shoulder and gives me an arched brow before he turns back to stare at it some more. “What did you do now, Barbie?”