Lone Calder Star (Calder Saga 9)

“Hi, Qui

nt. It’s your mom,” came the answer.

“Hi. What’s up?” Quint immediately pulled out the desk chair and sat down, certain the conversation wasn’t likely to be a short one.

“Nothing much,” his mother replied. “I just finished the last of the Christmas cards and thought I’d give you a call before I started wrapping presents. So what have you been doing?”

“We’re in the middle of trimming the tree,” he answered as Dallas returned to the stove, poured oil in the large pan, and measured more kernels into it, then set it on the burner.

“You’re having a tree. How nice. Wait a minute, did you say ‘we’?” she asked and immediately answered herself. “That’s right. Jessy told me that your hired man had moved in with you, along with his granddaughter. You know, if I’m not mistaken, the Christmas decorations were always stowed in the attic at the Cee Bar. I’ll bet they’re still there.”

“I’ll check, but the Garners have plenty,” he told her, then carefully changed the subject. “How’s Gramps doing?”

“He’s grumpy as usual.”

Quint smiled at the description. “What’s he complaining about this time?”

“We’re having the Triple C Christmas party this coming weekend, and he thinks it should be closer to Christmas. I don’t suppose you can come home for the party. Everybody would love to see you.”

“I’ll have to miss it this year, I’m afraid.”

A faint sigh of resignation preceded her response. “I had a feeling you’d say that. As long as you’re here for Christmas, that’s what counts.”

“I’m going to try.” But Quint wasn’t willing to promise anything beyond that.

“Now, Quint, there’s no reason why you can’t, especially now when your hired man is right there to do the chores and look after things while you’re away.”

“With any luck, that’s the way it will work out.” The first smattering of popping kernels rattled in the covered pot. Dallas immediately began moving it back and forth across the burner more vigorously.

“You’d better be here,” Cat warned and would have said more on the subject, but there was an eruption of exploding kernels. “What is that noise, Quint?”

“Dallas is making popcorn.”

“I thought you were trimming the tree.”

“We are. The Garners have a tradition of stringing popcorn and draping it on the tree.” Seeking to divert the conversation away from more talk of Christmas, he asked about Trey.

Fortunately his mother needed little urging to launch into other topics, bringing him up to date on family happenings as well as things at the Triple C. It was a good ten minutes before she wound the conversation to a close.

“Tell everyone hi for me,” Quint said. “And let Jessy know things have been quiet here the last few days. Hopefully they’ll stay that way.”

“I’ll tell her,” she promised. “I love you, Quint. See you at Christmas.”

“Love you, too,” he said and hung up.

When Quint returned to the living room, the tree was a-twinkle with an array of red, blue, green, and yellow lights. Dallas was standing on the four-foot stepladder, rearranging the light strand around the top branches for a more visually appealing look. Empty was in his chair, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his lap, a long needle in one hand, and a piece of fluffy white popcorn in the other.

“I see you managed to get the lights untangled,” Quint remarked. “The tree looks beautiful.”

“It better,” Empty grumbled and nodded to a second bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. “Grab yourself a needle and thread and some popcorn and start stringing.” He shoved the needle through the popcorn and ran it down onto the thread. “Dallas got carried away with the popcorn. There won’t be room on the tree for any ornaments.”

“That’s because I knew you’d eat most of it,” she countered, sending him a knowing smile.

“It does smell good.” Quint grabbed himself a handful on the way to the couch, pushed aside a box of ornaments, and sat down. “Is there any trick to this?” he asked and popped some kernels into his mouth.

“About the only trick is threading the needle,” Empty replied, then glanced at him curiously. “Haven’t you ever strung popcorn before?”

“Nope, never have,” Quint admitted and reached for a long needle sticking out of a strawberry-shaped pincushion, noticing the spool of ultra-heavy-duty thread beside it.