On a scale of one to ten, how big of an asshole am I for hiding out in the men’s room until I’m sure my dad has finished lunch?

It’s not that I’m not eager to see him. I missed him like hell every time I shipped out, and visiting him has been my first stop anytime a tour ended.

But watching him eat—watching a nurse spoon mashed potatoes into the mouth of a guy who used to feed me baby food—is more than I can bear. This strong ox of a man who came to all my football games and used to heft our family Christmas tree overhead like he was pressing a barbell has been reduced to someone who can’t lift a spoon by himself.

I owe him the dignity of not having me watch him eat.

“Hey, Pop,” I greet as I walk into his room after lunch.

He doesn’t look up. Just stares out the window at the garden that last night’s frost has left shriveled and brown.

I take my seat beside him anyway and rest a hand on his knee. His eyes stay fixed on some unseen point outside, or maybe on nothing at all. He’s wearing a pudding-stained T-shirt and a Santa hat with a pom-pom that flops over one eye. He doesn’t seem to notice the obstruction.

The indignity of it all makes my chest hurt.

“Here, let me take that off you.” I yank off the Santa hat, irritated by everything he’s had to suffer through. Divorce isn’t fair. Having a stroke at fifty-one isn’t fair. At least I can save the guy the humiliation of looking like Insane Asylum Santa.

My father drags his gaze off the garden and studies me as I set the hat on top of his dresser. Beside it is a framed photo of me in my dress blues the day I was awarded the Medal of Honor. A lump forms in my throat, and I wonder how much my dad understands about what I’ve been doing these last twelve years. Somewhere in there, does he know I’m his son?

“Let me clean that off for you,” I tell him. I grab the photo by the edge of the frame and use the hem of my T-shirt to polish the glass. “There,” I say, setting it back on the dresser. “Good as new.”

There’s another photo beside it, a grainy one of my youthful-looking father holding a blue-swaddled bundle in the hospital delivery room. It’s the first photo of the two of us together, and I have no idea how it got here.

“That’s a good picture of you,” I tell him, for lack of anything better to say.

My dad doesn’t respond.

Rage pools sour in my gut as I think about the day my mother walked out. Fucking Frosty the Snowman was playing on the stereo, its tinny-sounding cheer an ironic backdrop to the words my mother shouted.

“I’m fed up to here with this Christmas crap!

I can’t handle this.

This isn’t what I signed on for.”

My dad just sat there on the couch with a bottle of beer in one hand and a dumbstruck look on his face.

He was wearing a goddamn Santa hat then, too.

I shake off the memory and try to think of something calming to talk about.

“I’ve been working out at Uncle Cort’s ranch,” I say. I stop there, not sure if he has any clue Cort is dead and his kids have taken it over. I haven’t said anything, but I don’t know if my cousins have visited or what they’ve said about their dad’s passing.

“I’ve been doing a lot of woodworking out there,” I continue, feeling idiotic for carrying on like this to a guy who probably doesn’t have a clue what I’m saying. I’m never sure how much he understands. “And I’ve been doing some part-time stuff at a reindeer ranch.”

Still no response, though his gaze flicks once over the Santa hat on the dresser. Coincidence, or is he following along?

I wonder if thoughts of Christmas past fill him with the same sort of fury they give me, or if it’s all blank in there. I’d almost prefer the latter. Not remembering at all, not having to think about my mother’s Christmas tirade.

I haven’t seen her since that day, though I heard through the grapevine she lives in Florida somewhere.

“There’s this girl named Jade I really like a lot.”

I have no idea why I just said that. Yeah, we kissed, but I’ve kissed plenty of women.

Not women like her.

“Anyway, she’s been teaching me stuff about reindeer. Did you know both male and female reindeer grow antlers? They’re the only deer species that does that. And they lose their antlers every winter.”

Still no response from my dad, so I keep blathering like a dumbass. “They have this tendon thing in their ankles that rubs over the bone and makes a clicking sound,” I continue. “It’s how they find each other when they’re walking around in the dark or in bad weather.”

Slowly my dad turns his head and goes back to staring out the window. A lump thickens in my throat, and I wonder if he’ll even recall I was here by the time he goes to bed tonight.

I don’t know how long we sit there in silence like that. Eventually, I take my hand off his knee and get awkwardly to my feet. “I’m going to get going now, okay? It was good seeing you, Pop.”

He keeps staring out the window. I bend down and give him a stiff sort of side hug. He doesn’t hug back, but he does lean into me just a little. That’s something.

By the time I get to my truck, there’s a hollow pit in my stomach. Or maybe I’m just hungry, since I skipped lunch to come here. I drive to the burger joint over by the high school. My teammates and I used to hang out there after football practice, fueling up for the next big game.

I’m not surprised when I walk in and spot a whole pack of them in the corner.

“Hey, Brown! Over here.”

I make my way toward the booth in the corner, which is filled with faces I recognize. Jimmy Albrich. Brian Grimes. A few girls I used to know whose names are escaping me at the moment.

I sit down on the edge of a bench seat and find myself across from one girl whose name I do remember.

“Hey, Bran. Good to see you again.” Stacey Fleming reaches across the table and touches my hand, and I can’t decide whether I’m happy or edgy about it. “You still hanging out at the reindeer place?”

“Yeah,” I answer, directing my response at the whole table. “It’s shaping up to be pretty cool. Tell everyone you know to bring their kids out when it opens.”

“We’ll do that.” Another girl whose name I don’t remember edges closer to me on the bench seat. That earns her a glare from Stacey, who hasn’t let go of my hand yet.

“That Jade chick sure got hot.”

I whip my head around to see who said it. Chris Renner, varsity runningback my senior year. He was always kind of an asshole, so I don’t feel bad about the dirty look I shoot him.

“I don’t remember her from high school,” I admit. “But she seems like a great girl.”

“Great rack, that’s for sure,” Chris says as he stuffs a handful of fries in his mouth. The comment prompts a round of laughter from the guys at the table, and an uneasy glance between the women.

I fix Chris with my iciest stare. The one a former drill sergeant once dubbed “the death glare.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Renner,” I snap. “That’s fucking disrespectful, and you know it.”

He has the good grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry, man,” he mutters. “I didn’t know you and Miss P—uh, that you and Jade were a thing.”

I open my mouth to correct his misguided assumption that I’d only defend a woman I’m sleeping with, but I stop myself. I don’t owe any of these people an explanation.

“I think she’s sweet.” That comment comes from a girl at the far end of the table whose name is either Heather or Holly. I’m not positive. “And she’s done really well for herself out there.”

Stacey gives a grudging nod and strokes a finger over the ridge of my knuckles. “She sure has,” Stacey says. “Hopefully you won’t be spending all your time out there, Bran. We’d sure love to see more of you, now that you’re back in town.”

I clear my throat and nod. “Yeah. Look, I’m gonna go grab some food. Anyone want anything?”

Everyone shakes their heads as I stand up and turn toward the smell of grilled meat. I feel eyes on my back as I make my way to the front counter, and I’m not sure whose they are. Maybe all of them.

There’s a weird feeling in my gut that I’m pretty sure has nothing to do with hunger.

I take the long way back home, telling myself I’m just enjoying a scenic tour of all my old hometown haunts.

But there’s only one reason for me to pass by the Central Oregon Dementia Care Unit at this hour, and it has nothing to do with my dad. I’m hoping for a glimpse of Jade, just a peek of her visiting with patients or loading up the reindeer.

What I don’t expect is the sight I see as I pull through the parking lot.

“Everything okay?” I call as I roll down my window and draw up close.

She looks up from where she’s peering under the hood of a beat-up work truck and frowns at me. “I think the battery’s dead. Which is stupid, since it’s brand new.”

“You leave your lights on or something?”

“Definitely not.” Her frown deepens. “Not today, anyway. I’ve had a couple mornings lately where I’ve come out to find the lights on and the battery dead. Maybe I’m more distracted than I thought.”

I don’t want to say it, but that’s one of the things Amber mentioned when she talked about odd happenings at the ranch. “Maybe it’s worth locking the truck at night,” I suggest. “Just to be safe.”

Jade sighs. “It’s a freakin’ ranch in the middle of nowhere Oregon,” she says. “No one locks their doors.”

“Humor me.”

Jade looks at the battery again, then back at me. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into jumping me?”

My libido lunges, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say something inappropriate. But that’s not what she needs right now.

“Got jumper cables?” I ask as I put the truck in park and ease out the door.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll go grab them.”

She runs around the side of the truck, giving me a chance to check out her ass as well as the impressive rig hooked to the back of the truck. It’s like a retro-fitted horse trailer, and I see two pairs of antlers moving around inside. I step closer and slip two fingers through the slats near the front.

“Hey, guys,” I murmur as I stroke a downy nose. “You keeping warm back there?”

Footsteps behind me signal Jade’s return, and I pivot to see her already hooking the red clamp to her battery. “Thanks so much,” she says as she offers me the other end of the cables. “Getting stuck out here with a pair of hungry reindeer isn’t my idea of a good time. Or theirs.”

“No prob.” I shuffle around to the front of my truck and pop the hood, taking a second to flick a speck of corrosion off the battery. “Why don’t you get in my truck where it’s warm?” I offer. “No sense standing out here freezing your butt off.”

I expect her to argue, to insist she’s just fine where she is. To my surprise, she nods. “Thanks,” she says. “That’s a good idea.”

She turns and walks around to the other side of my truck while I finish hooking the black clamp to the metal strut propping the hood open. Then I pop open the driver’s side door and slide behind the wheel. There’s a faint smell of gingerbread filling the cab, and Jade gives me a small smile.

“Thanks again,” she says. “I’m not used to being rescued like this.”

“You can quit thanking me, Jade. You’d do the same thing for anyone else.”

I turn over the engine, firing it to a low roar as the heaters kick on and blast us with a warm gust of air. The stereo blares to life with a screeching country song, and I reach across her to turn it off.

She smiles again. “Were you coming by to see your dad again?”

I should probably say yes. It’s the simplest explanation.

But it’s not the one I offer. “No. I was hoping you’d still be here.”

“Me?”

I nod. “I wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

She scoffs a little at that, stretching her legs out across the floorboards in front of her. “You don’t have to watch out for me, Brandon. I’m a big girl.”

“Everyone needs someone watching out for them,” I tell her. “Learned that in the Marines.”

Her expression softens a bit. “I guess I’m in good company, then.”

“You’d make a badass Field Artillery Officer.”

“Thanks. I think.”

We’re silent for a few beats, listening to the soft hum of the engine and the rush of wind hurling crackly leaf carcasses against the window.

When Jade speaks again, her voice is soft. “I—uh—should probably apologize for what happened in the barn the other day.”

I turn to look at her. “You mean the kiss?”

She nods, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “I’m a consenting adult, Jade. I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you.”

Her eyes jerk to mine, and she frowns again. “I kissed you,” she says. “Which I totally shouldn’t have done as your boss.”

“You’re not my boss,” I retort, well aware that I sound like a misbehaving ten-year-old. “Amber oversees me, and besides that, I kissed you.”

“You did not,” she snaps. “I totally put the moves on you like some kind of floozy.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demand, irritation growing. “I distinctly remember mashing my lips against yours and macking on you like a creeper, and I’m sorry if I took advantage.”

“Took advantage?” She snort-laughs, and I’d probably find it adorable if she didn’t look like she wants to punch me. “No one takes advantage of me, I can tell you that much. And I’m absolutely positive I’m the one who kissed you, which is why I’m trying to apologize for—”

“You know what? This is stupid. Let’s settle it right now.”

“How are you going to—oh—”

Whatever she was going to say is smothered by my lips pressing against hers. I half expect her to bite me or push me away, but her response is the opposite. She grabs the front of my coat and yanks me closer, kissing me back with a fierceness that steals my breath.

I respond in kind, damn sure there will be no question of who’s kissing whom. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone the way I want to kiss Jade, so I thread my fingers into her hair and brush her tongue with mine.

She lets go of my coat and shoves her hands inside, palms kneading my chest through the nubby wool sweater I’m wearing. Her touch is rough and hungry, and I find myself needing to touch her, too. I let go of the steering wheel and tug at the zipper on her coat, braced for her to resist.

But she presses closer, shifting so her flannel-covered breast slides into my hand like the best damn Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten. Jesus, she’s soft. So soft, which is the opposite of how we’re kissing right now. There’s a frantic energy to it, a feeling of wanting to devour each other.

Jade slides her hand down and yanks the hem of my T-shirt from my jeans. Her eager fingers burrow beneath the layers, tunneling up and over my bare chest. I stifle a groan and take my cue from her, praying my hand isn’t cold as I slip it under her shirt. She gasps, but not with discomfort. That’s clear the instant I skim a thumb over her peaked nipple, and she cries out in response.

“God, yes. Oh, please, Brandon.”

“Jade,” I murmur against her mouth.

“More.”

Her breast fills my hand, and our breath fills the cab of the truck, steaming the driver’s side window. I can’t get enough of her, and I’m drowning in all this heat and friction and energy and—

“What the hell?” she says.

I jerk back as Jade pulls away and blinks.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I got carried away with—”

“Not you,” she says, scrambling across the bench seat to yank at the door handle. “Oh my God, my truck!”

She’s out the door and on the ground running before I can figure out what the hell just happened. It takes me a second to process the fact that Jade is standing beside the driver’s side door of her pickup, shirt untucked, as she shouts at a cotton-haired woman in a nightgown. The old lady grips the steering wheel like a life buoy, so short she’s forced to peer through the middle.

I push open my own truck door and jump out, halfway to Jade’s side before the door of the clinic opens, and a nurse comes rushing out. “Mrs. Peterson! Stop! Oh my God—”

“I’m goin’ for a joyride!” hoots the little old lady with an impressive set of pipes. She grips the wheel in both hands and revs the engine as Jade and the nurse try unsuccessfully to pry her out of the cab.

“Mrs. Peterson, please stop,” the nurse urges.

It takes all three of us to wrangle one elflike senior citizen who couldn’t weigh more than ninety pounds soaking wet. We’re all breathing hard by the time we get her out of the cab. Her feet are bare, so I hold her in my arms as she flails and kicks and shouts something about missing the Buddy Holly concert.

“Goddamnn cops,” she growls as she whacks my chest with a gnarled fist. “I’m sixteen years old, and I have my license, and Daddy said I could take the Camaro.”

“I’m so sorry,” the nurse pants, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to me, Jade, or Mrs. Peterson. “Someone left the side door unlocked. We’ve had problems before with her trying to steal cars, but I didn’t think—”

“It’s fine,” Jade says, glancing at me. “No harm done. Everything’s good with my truck now, so I’ll just get out of here.”

I start to protest, desperate to find some way to continue what Jade and I started back there in my truck. But that’s tough to do with my arms full of feisty octogenarian, so instead I nod. “I’ll, uh—see you at the ranch?”

She nods and skirts past me to unhook the jumper cables, moving like a bank robber prepping the getaway car. “Sure,” she says, her voice a little breathless. “See you at the ranch.”

I hardly have time to step back before she’s revving the engine and peeling out of the parking lot, reindeer peering back at me from the trailer with bewildered looks on their faces.