Yank on the rope, not the reins, if you want him to go faster.
Hold. On. Tight.
I was feeling confident, but as I look around at my fellow racers, it’s clear to me that they take this race seriously. You’d think a bunch of Santas would be jolly and happy. But all I see under the white beards are eyes full of steely determination and competition.
The race is held on a street parallel to Main. Snow that was brought in covers the shut-down road. Crowds line each side of the street, families dressed in their winter gear, kids sucking on candy canes while holiday music blasts from nearby speakers. As with everything in Mistletoe Falls, the atmosphere is festive and light.
At least for everyone not participating in the race.
One of the race organizers leads me to my spot at the starting line, and I get my first look at Nick’s reindeer, Sparkles. The name isn’t giving me much confidence as I look into his enclosure, but he looks big enough.
“We’re going to win this, aren’t we, Sparkles?”
He huffs through his nose, the cold air clouding in front of him.
It takes another few minutes to get everyone organized, and I use the time to build my confidence.
All my pep talks are wasted when one of the organizers brings me a helmet.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask him.
He laughs and walks away.
Unease grows in my stomach, but I remove my Santa hat and replace it with the helmet, then I click my boots into the skis. I’m a snowboarder at heart, but thank God, I did that race with my siblings and their partners last Christmas, where we swapped skis and snowboards. If I can ski down a hill, I can ski now. Maybe not as well as snowboarding, but good enough to win this race.
I make my way to the starting line, beside the unit where Sparkles is contained, and pick up the reins and the rope that’s attached to his harness. The reindeer huffs at me as though he’s eager to get this thing started.
In a moment of trepidation, my stomach sinks, and I wonder whether I may have bitten off more than I can chew.
But seriously, how fast can these things really go? They’re not thoroughbreds or anything.
Chapter Nine
ASHLEY
“C’mon, Carter! Go! You’ve got this!” I clap and jump up and down.
If he ever heard me cheering this loudly for him, I would certainly deny it, but as soon as the race started, I couldn’t help but root for him. I tell myself it’s only because I want Nick to win that money, but I’m pretty sure I’m lying to myself.
Carter starts the race strong, neck and neck with another racer for the lead, but as the race continues, Sparkles falls behind. Carter pulls on the rope attached to the reindeer’s harness, and Sparkles picks up the pace, growing closer to the lead racer.
Then Carter wobbles. He brings his torso up to find his balance, then his legs twist and both skis pop off his boots. He goes from riding to being dragged behind the reindeer.
I gasp as another reindeer almost stomps on Carter, flying by them. The other racer misses him, but it’s too late. Carter is first on his back, then on his front, his white beard yanked away by the friction of the snow. He’s dragged another five feet until he finally releases the reins, and Sparkles gallops on without him.
I run toward Carter lying unmoving in the middle of the road, face in the snow. By the time I reach him, several other people have gathered around.
“Excuse me. Excuse me,” I say, pushing through. “Carter, are you okay?” I drop to my knees beside him, unsure whether I should roll him over.
He lets out a groan and rolls onto his back. “That didn’t go as planned.”
Despite what just happened, he’s smiling. I don’t know him all that well, but from what my sister said and how he seems, it feels like that’s so Carter.
Then I notice the cut and road rash at the corner of his right jaw. He must’ve turned his head to the side when he flopped onto his front.
“You’re hurt.” I reach out with my mittened hand then pull it back, not wanting to hurt him.
He works his jaw and suppresses a cringe, moving himself up.
