10
Betsy leaned against the yew tree that made one side of the stable’s main door and pulled her red-and-white parka more tightly about her as she watched Horatio with the herd. It was Christmas Eve and once more the excitement practically shimmered through St. Nick’s stables.
Harnesses with bright polished bells were laid upon well-curry-combed backs as the reindeer pranced with delight. A small elf choir stood up in the hayloft singing about Good King Wenceslas, Little Drummer Boys, and Friendly Beasts. She noted that Rudolph was nowhere in the repertoire—Jeremy was not a fan of Robert L. May. He’d grown to be a very dignified reindeer.
“Especially now that he has a family to look after,” Horatio had whispered softly in her ear one night.
And his nose was definitely not red, his main
