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transformedd into a festive hall, complete with strings of lights hanging from
its massive oak beams, a Christmas tree decorated with paper chains, popcorn
strings, snowflakes, and ornaments made by the ranch children, both past and
present, and a large pii9ata-a custom brought to the ranch by those first
Texans who had made the Triple C their home.
Since early morning, large salamanders had blown their heat through the
cavernous alleyway, taking much of the chill from the air. The assemblage of
people did the rest. Now children ran about in heavy sweaters and sweatshirts,
and the roar of the portable heaters was drowned by the chatter of voices, the
laughter of children, and Christmas carols that came over the tape deck's
speakers.Ty came back from the groaning buffet tables carrying a plate mounded
with turkey, ham, candied sweet potatoes, sagedressing with gravy, cranberry
sauce, and green beans. Jessy got up from the seat she had saved for him, took
one look at the food piled on his plate, and shook her head in amusement.
"If you manage to eat all that, Ty, you won't need a pillow to fill out that
Santa suit," she said, ribbing him about his new role at the Christmas party
as she had done ever since Chase had announced he was relinquishing it.
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"Watch it, or I'll have a Mrs. Claus outfit made for you," he warned, a lazy
gleam shining in his eyes.
"In that case, I promise to be a good girl, Santa," Jessy countered with mock
contriteness, then slipped in a final gibe, "but you'd better practice your
ho-ho-hos."
"And you'd better get in line before all the food is gone." He gestured toward
the buffet tables with his fork.
"I'm not worried. I saw how much food Tucker fixed. Right now," she paused and
craned her neck to scan the far end of the barn, "I think I'll give Mom a
hand. She's trying to get the kids corralled so we can get the Christmas
program under way."
"Good luck." Ty picked up his knife and fork to slice off a bite of ham.
"We'll need it, as always," Jessy replied.
The children's Christmas program was a tradition at the employee party, and
long one of its highlights. This year Judy Niles had received the dubious
honor of being named coordinator of the event. Naturally, she had roped Jessy
into helping.
Truthfully, Jessy hadn't minded, although she still squirmed when she recalled
some of her own less-than-shining moments as a participant-such as the time
she had beaten up on Tommy Summers after he had razzed her one too many times
about being a "sweet little angel." She had ended up with a black eye plus
tattered wings and a crooked halo.
After an initial sweep of the area tailed to turn up her mother, Jessy sought
out her father. Stumpy Nilcs was leaning his squatty built frame against one
of the stalls, busy finishing off a large slice of pumpkin pie with whipped
cream.
"I can't find Mom. Have you seen her?" Jessy turned to survey the throng of
milling mothers and excited children.
"Gabriel-alias Ricky Goodman-refuses to put on his costume," Stumpy explained
between bites. "He insists only girl angels wear robes. Your mom took him off
to have a private talk and see what they could negotiate."
"A private talk? Here?" Jessy raised an eyebrow in skepticism.
He smiled in agreement, then nodded to a spot across the way. "Some kids are
over there snickering outside the stall where they're keeping the sheep." He
scooped up the last bite of cream-smeared pie. "I figure that's where she took
him."
Jessy looked across the way and spotted four young girls huddled outside one
of the stalls, giggling behind their hands. "I think I'll let Mom straighten
Gabriel out on her own while I get the heavenly choir organized. Have you seen
Cat? She promised to help me."
"She was over at the dessert table, giving Tucker a hand dishing up the pie."
Catching a telltale glimpse of the bright red sweater Cat had been wearing
earlier, Jessy nodded. "I see her."
"She should have had more sense than to wear that color."
Jessy whipped her head around, stunned by the unusually caustic comment from
her father. "What do you mean? It's Christmas red."
"Some might call it scarlet," he said with dry censure.
"Dad, you are wrong about Cat," she said, suddenly impatient with him and with
the quickness of others to look harshly
on her. Jessy knew there had been talk about Cat.
Stumpy turned a cool eye on her. "You mean she ain't pregnant?"
"Of course she is, but-"
"Then I'm not wrong."
"It wasn't the way you think, Dad. I can't believe you can be so quick to
condemn her for what happened."
He looked off into the middle distance. "I don't know if I can explain it, but
it boils down to this-she's a Calder." He held up a hand to stave off her
protest. "I know you're going to say that it isn't right or fair-that it isn't
modern thinking. But that's the way it is here."
The truth of his words was inescapable. Jessy recognized it and said nothing
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as he moved away. Perhaps elsewhere in the country, such strict moral conduct
was no longer expected. But it was in this remote stretch of country called
the Triple C.
"Miz Jessy." A small hand tugged at the hem of her sweater. Jessy glanced down
into the earnestly serious face of six-year-old Beth Ramsey. "Miz Niles says
she needs you to get the heavenly choir together."
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