Page 55 of Falling Like Snow

“Um… what for?”

“You’ll see,” I sing as I pass her.

She squints at me. “O-kay…”

I gasp when I step into the woods. The lights now twinkle and flicker, making the snowy branches glow, creating an actual winter wonderland. Christmas songs play softly from Mom’s portable Bluetooth speakers as I place the music stands along the mile-and-a-half-long trail that loops back to the open field. By the time Mom joins me in the woods after setting up the propane heaters with a few volunteers, I’ve completed my side project.

She walks to the first music stand, takes one look at it, and turns to me. “You did this? Just today?”

“I did,” I say, stepping beside her. “Hannah helped me.”

“But how?”

“I am not telling the mayor how I got into the high school on a Saturday. But I found the book at the library, used the school’s copy machine, and laminated the pages. Then we borrowed some stands from the music room.”

“Borrowed with permission, I hope,” she says.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

She eyes me. “Actually, no, I don’t.”

“Good choice,” I tell her. “Plausible deniability.”

“I’ve raised a delinquent.”

“You’ve raised a resourceful delinquent,” I correct her.

“Well, whatever. If the cops ask, I’ll just say these were here when we got here. No idea where they came from.”

I lay my head on her shoulder. “Aw, we’re practically Ginny and Georgia.”

“A few music stands is a little different than murder, but sure,” she laughs. “You ready to take some photos?”

I take one last look around the sparkling woods I won’t get to enjoy tonight since I’ll be busy volunteering. “Yep.”

She slings her arm over my shoulder as we exit the woods. “Thank you. It really is the Christmas Trail from my childhood now. People are going to love it.”

“You’re welcome.”

Right on cue, vehicles begin pulling down the ranch’s drive. Even from here, I can tell Jake is having a little too much fun in his bright orange vest, swinging his flashlight around, directing people to the large field designated for parking. Mom introduces me to the owners and hands me her Nikon as the first family appears, all bundled up and heading straight for the reindeer enclosure.

I take my place in front of the sleigh I spotted earlier, now with a harnessed reindeer attached. It doesn’t pull anyone around the farm, but people can get into the sleigh to get their photos taken—by moi.

“His name is Cinnamon,” the eldest Garcia daughter says as I slowly approach the reindeer.

“Cinnamon?” I smile at the reindeer. “That’s my favorite Pop-Tart flavor. We clearly belong together. I shall keep you.”

The handler laughs. “He was my birthday present four years ago and is our friendliest reindeer. You’ll have to fight me for him.”

I look her up and down, maintaining a straight face. She’s maybe a few years older than me. Definitely bigger than me. Still, I say, “Deal.”

She lets out another deep laugh. “You can pet him if you want. Just not his nose, head, or antlers.”

I make my way to his back and stroke his soft fur. I’m barely refraining from hopping in the sleigh and stealing this guy when someone approaches me from behind.

“You’re brave,” Ellis says. “I’ve heard caribou are pretty ornery.”

“They can be,” the Garcia girl says from the other side of Cinnamon. “But this one’s very laid-back.”