AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Won’t have to tell him. He’s smart enough to figure that out on his own.”
Tom came back in the kitchen and picked up the coffee pot, pouring some into his dad’s cup, then asked her with lifted eyebrows. She nodded, and he filled hers, then his.
Pete leaned his chair back. “Brunch was pretty good, wasn’t it?”
Tom smirked. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments. You know it was.”
He deserved the compliments and more. “It was awesome. Really.”
“Good. Let’s take our coffee into the living room?” He stood, pulling the last piece of bacon off the plate, tossing it to Rusty. “Merry Christmas, Rusty.”
Happy chomping filled the kitchen for maybe two seconds, then he bounded to the living room. Pete sauntered to the Christmas tree in the corner and grabbed a small oblong package first, unwrapping it, cutting the plastic off, and tossing it to Rusty, lying on his bed. “That ought to keep him busy for a while longer than a strip of bacon.” Rusty gnawed on the foot-long bone immediately.
Then Pete handed her and Tom packages. Hers was a rather large, flat, square box, and Tom’s was very small, both wrapped in a Christmas plaid.
“Thank you, Pete.” After carefully unwrapping the box, she pulled it open. Dark brown leather was nestled in tissue paper. She lifted a cowboy-style belt and holster, embossed with a beautiful pattern of flowers and leaves winding around the cartridge loops and continuing down the holster. “Oh, it’s beautiful. Thank you, Pete.” It was the best gift she’d ever gotten, and she had to blink back tears.
“Well, we couldn’t have a real cowgirl out with us wearing all that tactical black stuff, now could we? That holster is sized for a standard .45 ACP, and we can add another one on the other side if you want. You don’t have any wheel guns, do you?”
Wiz swallowed back the incipient tears. “No. I’ve never owned a revolver. This is absolutely gorgeous. Thank you!” She smiled him.
Pete grinned. “You’ll have to wear it for a while so the leather softens and conforms to you. I guessed on the size. Does it fit?”
She bounced up and out of the chair and wrapped it around her waist. Pete stuck his thumbs in his belt. “The folks who made it said it should fit down on your hips, and the belt is shaped to fit a woman, rather than flat like a man’s.”
She buckled it to rest on her hip bones, like a backpack. “It’s perfect. And it’s pretty comfortable already. I won’t have to wear it in much.” She rubbed the leather; soft but tough.
“You can attach other things, like a knife or bear spray, too. And Cathy wasn’t happy, but I made her put a plain, dull bronze buckle on it, because I just couldn’t see you wearing a lot of bling.”
No, never anything shiny. “It really is perfect. Thanks, Pete.” She crossed to stand in front of him and rising on her toes, kissed his cheek. Then she ran back to the chair. Pete’s cheeks were red, and he turned away to sit.
Tom got up next, telling his dad thanks on his way. She didn’t know what he’d gotten. Tom brought her a small square box wrapped in bright red, about twice as big as a jewelry box, and gave a flat package to his dad.
“Thank you, Tom.” She unwrapped the present and took the lid off the box. Inside was a doll-size black cowboy hat. She pulled it out. “I don’t think it will fit.”
Tom laughed. “It’s a stand-in. Like Dad said, we can’t have you out on the trail without proper gear. But you can’t pick out the right hat without trying it on. So, I made arrangements with a custom hat maker we know down in Darby, and we’ll go down there for a private fitting session, just you, me, Dad, and the owner. You can pick black if you want, but it tends to get hot and dusty on the trail.”
She blinked at him, stunned that he’d go to that much trouble. “Thank you, Tom. That’s really, really nice of you.”
He smiled. “Figured you’d like it a lot better than jewelry you hardly ever wear.”
She grinned at him and Pete. “Thank you, both of you. These are the nicest, most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever gotten.”
“You’re welcome.” Tom shrugged. “I’m just happy I thought of something good.”
Pete guffawed. “Thank you, son. I think.” Tom chuckled. Pete held up his present so she could see it. It was a book, titled, Raising Beef the Natural Way.
Wiz joined their laughter, then she got up. She had to swallow again and wipe her hands on her pants. She wasn’t sure exactly how Pete would take her gift. “I guess it’s my turn.” She pulled the long thin box out first and handed it to Pete. “Now, before you open it, tell me again what the serial number of your sniper rifle was.”
“582283.” Pete fired the number.
She smiled, and Tom laughed. “You still remember that, Dad?”
Pete barked a laugh. “Are you kidding? I’ll never forget. It was drilled into my brain. Winchester Model 70. One of the guys going home handed it to me. Told me it saved his life and now it would save mine. He was right; that rifle saved me dozens of times.” He shook his head. “The first sniper rifles issued in Vietnam were terrible, so the new sniper-scouts bought their own from the BX in Japan. Then they’d give them to the guy taking their place. I think the last guy brought it home during the fall of Saigon, but I lost track of most of those guys a long time ago.” He tore off the wrapping paper and lifted the plain cardboard box in his hands. “Heavy.” He opened the box and slid his hands gently under the stock and barrel, pulling the rifle out of the molded cardboard. The rifle was a little beat-up, but Wiz had an expert go over it and make sure it still operated to military specifications.
Pete examined the rifle and grinned. “You got me a pre-64 Model 70? Just like I shot in the war. Hot diggity dog. Man, I loved that rifle.”
“Check the serial number, Pete.”
