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moose munching on a
corn stalk on the spotless wooden bar and then poured two fingers of the amber
liquid into a pair of mugs. Angleman had a rule—no man drank alone. “So are
going to tell me what’s wrong? Some woman turned you down?” He topped the
whiskey with coffee and slid a mug across the bar. “Here you go.”
    “Just the
opposite. Tried to turn me on and then I turned her down.” Dylan slipped off
his parka and tossed it on the barstool next to him. Wearily, he slid onto the
barstool and cupped his chilled hands around the steaming cup Tom had placed on
the ivory napkin. He took a sip and relished the heat coating his tongue and
finding its way to his stomach. “Thanksgiving is on my mind.”
    “Thanksgiving was
two weeks ago.” Tom chuckled. “It’s history.”
    “Yeah. And it was
a disaster.”
    “Hey,” Tom’s mug
thudded against the bar’s top. “You and the kids ate here.”
    Dylan shook his
head and smiled. “It wasn’t the food. The food was good.”
    “Good is okay, I
guess.” The big guy perched his lips and shrugged. “The years I spent at
culinary school weren’t totally wasted.”
    “Come on. Don’t
give me shit. You know what I mean. Thanksgiving wasn’t the same for the kids.
They’re used to the big family get together.” He arched his hands in the air,
signifying the grandeur of the family dinner. “Elizabeth always made this huge
feast and Bob would act as the host with the most. Afterwards, they’d all pile
in the hay wagon and head out to the Mini-Moose Point to find the perfect
Christmas tree.”
    “You make it sound
like Bob and Elizabeth had Norman Rockwell holidays.”
    “They did. Everyone
was sloppy happy.”
    Tom swallowed a
gulp of coffee, licked a droplet from his lips and sat the mug down with a
thud. “I’ll let you in on a secret.” He waggled a finger at him. “The perfect
holiday, like the perfect meal, is a myth.”
    “Not according to
the Jillian and Katy.”
    Tom’s brow shot
north on his wide forehead. “They’re kids. What do they know?”
    “I don’t know.
They’re pretty damn smart. They’ve taught me a few things over the past few
months.”
    “Well, they’ve
only had what—six or seven Christmases’ to compare anything to? Wait until they
have thirty-some behind them, like us. Then they’ll know holidays are not
perfect.”
    Dylan mulled Tom’s
philosophy over for a few seconds while he sipped the hot liquid. His toes were
finally warming. “I think Elizabeth and Bob made a mistake leaving the kids in
my care. Maybe they should’ve sent them off to Scottsdale to be with
Elizabeth’s parents. Or let them travel the country with Mom and Dad.”
    Tom’s hearty
chuckle echoed through the bar. “Oh, I’m sure the kids would’ve had a perfect
holiday either way. No snow in middle Arizona and I hear the Baker’s nanny is
real nice.” His brow furrowed. “Why do the Bakers have a nanny anyway?
Elizabeth left home fifteen years ago.”
    “They have very
special pets.”
    His friend waved
Dylan off before he could go into more detail. “It does matter. And if they
were with your parents… Now, don’t take this the wrong way. I love Gray and
Lilac. They’re a hoot. The girls could mingle with radical groups and decorate
the interior of the mini-van with peace emblems and tie-dye reindeer or elves.
Both scenarios sound like every little girl’s dream Christmas. Don’t you
think?”
    Picking up his
mug, Tom poked a finger at him. “Besides the fact that Jillian and Katy adore
you and you them, your brother and Elizabeth decided to leave their children
with you and not with either set of grandparents, or any other relative, for
many reasons. The kids belong on this mountain, just like you. It’s their home.
Elizabeth and Bob knew they could trust you to take care of them while they’re
off serving our country. They’re safe, fed, loved and surrounded by friends
they’ve known all their lives. You’re doing a good