Page 14 of A Heart Falls Cowboy Christmas

“Three months to go and counting. She’s feeling great because she’s still not at the ‘don’t tell me I’m waddling’ stage.”

“You’re a brave man to even think the word waddle about a pregnant woman,” Ryan offered.

“Her phrase, not mine,” Mack insisted. “Thanks for asking.”

They strode together in silence then, and Brad was once again reminded how grateful he was to have people to work with who were also friends. Nothing too wild, nothing too outrageous, but solid men with a ton of heart.

The fire hall shone with lights, both upstairs and down. Brad pulled the door open and stepped into loud, colourful pandemonium.

He was still chuckling as he parked in his spot outside Lone Pine ranch. As he settled at the dinner table with his wife, father, and family, he tried to explain the chaos.

“Alex had the downstairs area and was running the volunteers through workout drills with hoses and spinal boards,” he explained. “Which is great, but everyone who showed up today came dressed up…tacky.”

His fourteen-year-old daughter Crissy laughed. “The Tacky Threads challenge? They’re really getting into it?”

“It seems like,” Brad agreed, replacing two-year-old Ethan’s spoon in front of him on the table. “This goes into your mouth, not on the floor.”

Ethan sat back in his booster seat and grinned. “Oops.”

“Oops, my foot,” Brad offered back. He leaned in and showed his teeth in a mock growl. “Eat your noodles, kiddo.”

“Good to know the crew is embracing the challenge,” Patrick said, nodding his approval. “But you and your team do a good job with keeping them motivated.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Brad returned.

“How many tacky outfits are we talking?” Hanna asked, buttering a second bun then placing it in front of four-year-old Drew, who, unlike his brother, was eating everything in sight.

“And which was your favourite?” Crissy added.

“At least a dozen downstairs and the same up. Turns out Alex and Ashton divided them up by colour scheme, and downstairs were the people who went with the brighter the better. It was like one of those flashback images to an exercise class from the ’70s, with leg warmers and spandex, all in variations of neon pink and green.” Brad shuddered and replaced Ethan’s cup. Thankfully, it had been empty. “And to answer which was my favourite, when we went upstairs, the crew working on CPR and emergency approach strategies were the earth-toned colours.”

“That doesn’t seem very tacky,” Hanna said, amusement lighting her eyes.

Brad put Ethan’s napkin back on the table as he met her gaze straight on. “Mixed earth tones are fine. Mixed patterns are another matter. Edison from the health unit was there with stripes that went up and down one side of his pants and crosswise on the other leg. He also wore a vest with four different fabrics repeated over and over in no particular pattern, houndstooth, swirls, chevron, and stars.”

Hanna snickered as Drew asked “What’s houndstooth?”

“Sort of zigzags,” Crissy answered. She caught Ethan’s cup before it could accidentally fall to the floor again.

Hanna held out a hand. “I’ll take that, please.”

Ethan watched as his mom put the cup in front of her own plate and poured juice into it. He reached out his pudgy hands, fingers wiggling. A small noise escaped him as Hanna deliberately took a drink. “My cup, Mama.”

One brow raised, Hanna took another slow sip as she considered. “Accidents happen. But if something falls off the table more than one time, that means you didn’t want it anymore.”

“My cup,” Ethan insisted, looking to Brad for assistance. His lower lip stuck out the right amount to tug on Brad’s heart even though he knew better. “Daddy?”

“Sorry, kiddo. Your mom has spoken.”

Then Brad braced himself for the fallout that in the past months had become a Jeckle and Hyde reaction from the usually even-tempered child.

Ethan started his whine at a low level, gearing up for a full-on nerve-scratching wail, when Patrick clapped his hands. Hard, sharp, and accompanied by a quick snap of Ethan’s name.

Impossibly, the tiny terrorist paused mid-screech.

“What did we talk about this afternoon?” Patrick asked his grandson gravely.

Lips still quivering, Ethan backed down. A moment later, eyes on his plate, he lifted his spoon and meekly shoveled a load of noodles into his mouth.