Santa’s Little Library Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Text

  About the Author

  By Jana Denardo

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  Santa’s Little Library

  By Jana Denardo

  For small-town newlyweds Caleb and Quinn, finding the perfect gifts to commemorate their first holiday as a married couple isn’t as easy as it sounds.

  Despite their different cultural backgrounds—Caleb’s Norwegian and Quinn’s Native American—a common love of books, travel, and long walks in the snowy Wisconsin woods brought them together. And though Quinn has Caleb’s gift sorted, Caleb, with his busy schedule at the hospital, might need some help… from Mother Nature.

  Thanks to all who support me in this crazy writing endeavor. Without you, none of this would be possible.

  CALEB STRAND flopped down in the surgical break room and helped himself to the peanut butter and crackers on the table. The operating team insisted on them and on having orange juice in the fridge. On busy days no one on the team had more time than it took to hit the bathroom and get to the next case. The sugars and proteins of peanut butter offered sustenance when there wasn’t time for a proper break. Only Betty was allergic, and luckily not so badly that having it on the table bothered her.

  Caleb munched happily. In his next life, he was picking an easy career, not that he knew what that would be, but surgical nursing wasn’t it. Still, he mostly loved his job, though it got insane around the holidays. Between family coming in and being able to be a support system, and racing to get it in before deductibles reset in January, people scheduled their elective surgeries around Thanksgiving and Christmas. It made him irritable because it really crunched the staff’s time, but on the other hand, no one went into health care expecting copious time off.

  Dr. Arneson sauntered in and sagged into a chair. “You ready for the holidays?”

  Caleb soaked in the exhaustion radiating off the orthopedic surgeon. They had completed three surgeries already and had one more scheduled, with podiatry assisting—a limb salvage that had been shoehorned in at the last minute. In a way, Caleb saw himself in Arneson, both Wisconsinites born and bred. At six foot five, they both embodied their Viking ancestors in the breadth of their shoulders, blondness of hair, and eyes the color of the sky. New staff members had taken them for relatives. He could do worse than to have a good guy like Dr. Arneson in the family.

  Caleb sighed. “Yes and no. The house is decorated, but I still need to work on Quinn’s big gift. It’s our first Christmas, so I want to do something special.”

  Arneson narrowed his eyes. “Haven’t you two been together for five years?”

  “Yes, but it’s our first as a married couple. Quinn is already all hearts and flowers over it.” Caleb pretended he wasn’t too, but truthfully, he was just not as bad as Quinn, though he suspected his husband would argue he was worse.

  Arneson spread his hands in way of apology. “Okay, right. It should be easy, but nope. Valerie and I were college sweethearts and lived together all through medical school, but yes, the first Christmas after our wedding was somehow magical and she expected me to be just as excited.” He snorted. “So, yes, you’re going to want to pull out all the stops.”

  “And it would help if I had any ideas in my brain.” Caleb sank lower in the chair and stuffed another peanut butter cracker into his mouth.

  “Of course you don’t. You’re a guy. I’m not sure many of us excel at this.” Arneson shrugged. “I’m as surprised as my kids when I see the gifts I theoretically bought them but in reality Valerie got and wrapped and wrote my name on the card.”

  “Oh, Quinn excels at it. I’m 110 percent sure he’s already had my gift bought, wrapped, and hidden away. Meanwhile, I’m flailing around like those waving-arm things they put in front of used car dealerships.”

  Arneson chuckled. “Now there’s an image.”

  He tugged another cracker out of the wrapper. “All I know is I want it to be something special, but I’m not sure yet what it might be. I want to surprise Quinn. I thought about getting a greenhouse for us, but there was no way to hide that until the holiday.”

  “That would not be good for a surprise, but it could be a fun thing to have. You both like growing your own veggies and whatnot.”

  “Quinn is into heirlooms, so it would be nice to have a place to baby them.”

  “That sounds excellent. You’re pretty handy. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Arneson helped himself to the crackers. “What are some of the things Quinn’s passionate about, besides the gardening?”

  “His powwow dancing, but regalia is a very personal thing. I think he’s in a good place with that. He’s a reader too.”

  “Can you make a bookcase, or is he e-book-only?”

  “He reads both.” Caleb scrubbed a hand over his forehead. “A bookcase might work. Thanks. I’ll look around to see if we have a place for that, and then I’d have to get him out of the house and figure out where to hide it once I have it built.”

  “If that’s what you go with, you can hide it in my garage,” Arneson said, rubbing his fingers to loosen them up.

  Caleb shot him a pitying look, knowing that he had to be getting stiff-fingered and their next case with the badly infected foot was going to be a tough one. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate that. I’ll google some bookcase ideas if we do have the room.”

  “Glad to help. Ready for the last surgery of the day?”

  “About one surgery ago.” Caleb stood, rubbing the small of his back. Standing in those cold OR theaters could be brutal on the back, but at the end of the day, he couldn’t think of a more rewarding job.

  “Tell me about it. Well, let’s see if we can go save this foot.”

  Caleb sincerely hoped so. No one deserved to lose a limb, but far too many limb-salvage operations on diabetics ended that way—just another stress of the job.

  QUINN THUNDER laid out the cards, trying to ignore the burgeoning headache developing behind his eyes. Casinos were hell on headaches, between the smoke, the unceasing cacophony from the slot machines, and the noise of the patrons. Casinos birthed endless supplies of brain-splitting commotion, and his break wouldn’t be for hours.

  Quinn turned over a card in front of him. “Dealer has ten,” he said, listening to the groans of the people at his blackjack table. Sure, he could have a three—or worse, a six—down in front of him waiting to be revealed, but the gamblers knew the odds were always in the house’s favor. Quinn loosened his ponytail a little with one hand, hoping that would ease his headache.

  Between that and his wandering mind, keeping a close eye on the players proved problematic. He wanted to know why Caleb had been so squirrelly lately, ever since the Christmas tree had gone up. Quinn suspected his husband was stressing over the mythical perfect gift. He knew Caleb down to his bones. Quinn didn’t have to be told he would be questing after something very special to mark their first Christmas as a married couple.

  He flipped a card on top of a twentysomething blond woman’s cards even as her fellow players told her not to hit on a seventeen. But the tall Nordic-appearing woman—something Wisconsin had in abundance—swayed on her seat, insisting on another card, too drunk to realize how badly the odds were against her. He dealt her a six, and she blinked, openmouthed, trying to add up the numbers. It would take her a second to learn she’d busted. He’d already moved on to the canny old man next to her, who waved him off his sixteen. It wasn’t a good hand, but he knew a hit would likely take him over. The middle-aged man next to him hit on his two sixes twice and went as bust as the Nordic queen.

  Quinn made eye contact with the old man an
d flipped over his hole card, a jack. “Dealer has twenty.”

  The old man grimaced, grumbling under his breath, but he ponied up another bid the moment Quinn cleared the board and let them bet. As he dealt the first two cards to everyone, Quinn considered Christmas again. He understood where Caleb was coming from. He wanted it to be special too—hell, maybe even more so. He’d been the one to drag out all the boxes of Christmas crap once the Thanksgiving dishes were in the washer.

  He knew Caleb was so busy it was hard for him to get in the mood. He could forgive that. At least Quinn didn’t have to work Christmas Eve or Day. He knew the Ho-Chunk casino did a good business on those days, especially with the Christmas meal spread they put on, but he had enough seniority to not end up working the holiday unless he wanted to. It paid extra, after all.

  Quinn guided his attention away from his Christmas worries and back to his players. By the time his break rolled around and he could beat it to the break area, his headache ran full tilt. He raided the cabinet where they kept some aspirin. Quinn grabbed some of the appetizers—the same they put out for the high rollers—and sat on a couch next to Ashley. Like him, she was Those-Who-Are-Above clan and distantly related. His mother had explained the intricacies of it to him, but Quinn had forgotten. It didn’t matter. He liked Ashley for her, not because she was a cousin three times removed.

  “Remind me why I want to work here?” she asked, curling and uncurling her toes. Her shoes rested next to her feet.

  “The pay is good, and you like tinkering with the slot machines.” Ashley had been trained on slot repair. She didn’t enjoy it as much as computer gaming, but enough that she loved her job—except when a patron blamed her for the fact that the casino wouldn’t pay out on a busted machine. She was still a little salty, though, that esports were now a way to get through college. Quinn kept telling her that she could go back. She was only twenty-five, after all. He was five years older, so maybe that was why she looked to him like a big brother.

  “True, but I’m beginning to subscribe to the idea that old people live to bitch.”

  He snorted, and she wagged a finger at him.

  “And don’t tell me I should have respect for my elders—I do, but a few I want to beat with their canes.”

  He laughed. “Same here.”

  “So, are you and Caleb ready for Christmas?”

  “I wish I knew. We’re all decorated and I have his gift, but he seems very antsy. I know Caleb. He’s probably obsessing over the perfect gift.”

  “What did you get him?”

  “He’s been talking about us going on a big vacation. We’ve saved up for it, so I got him some new luggage, which, yes, is not the most romantic of gifts. I’ve stuffed it with tour pamphlets that are in our budget. Plus, I have an IOU for one romantic sunset cruise in the Dells, plus a hotel reservation for a long weekend in Door County, looking at lighthouses. He’s always wanted to go there.”

  Ashley grinned. “That’s so sweet. We’ve all lived in Wisconsin our whole lives but never made it to Door County.”

  He nodded. Door County included Lake Superior and some of the most expensive real estate to be found in the state.

  She patted his arm. “Caleb will love that. I’d love that. I need to find me a romantic man, but that is a rare commodity.”

  Quinn laughed. “Untrue… okay, maybe het dudes are lacking, but I’m sure they’re out there.”

  “I find the lacking ones.” Ashley shrugged. “I have to work Christmas Day. Almost makes me wish I was a cocktail waitress. At least they’ll rake in the tips. Might be worth wearing that sexist uniform.”

  Quinn considered the supershort skirt and revealing tops of the cocktail waitresses. He always felt sorry for them, as if they should have moved on from this sort of nonsense long ago. He could only imagine the ageism and size-shaming that went into hiring the cocktail waitresses. “Hmmm, I don’t have the legs for it,” he replied.

  She glanced at his knees. “Nah, not at all. Probably knobby kneed and fuzzy.”

  “My knees are lovely.” He grinned and she shoved him. “And my break is over. My head still kills.”

  “You have my sympathies.”

  “Thanks.” Quinn levered himself up and headed out into the maddening throng to take his gaming table over once more.

  CALEB POPPED another peanut butter cardamom truffle into his mouth as he uncorked some after-dinner wine for himself and Quinn. Bark Vader, their black labradoodle, rubbed against his knee in hopes of him dropping the candy. Vader could suck up dropped food so fast that Caleb swore the dog really could use the Force. He put a few more of the truffles on the plate before sealing it up and setting the container on the top of the fridge, out of Vader’s reach. No chocolate-induced emergency vet visits were going to mar this holiday. Really, though, his sister made the absolute best candies. Caleb fetched another treat Kara had made—peanut butter and sweet potato dog biscuits.

  “Sit.”

  Vader obeyed, and Caleb handed him the goodie. While the dog was occupied, Caleb gathered up the dessert tray and headed into the living room. Quinn relaxed jelly-limbed on the couch, his long hair loose, spilling over his shoulders in a way that made Caleb want to eat him as the delicacy instead of the truffles. The leather couch was parked catty-corner to the old stone fireplace, which had a nice fire crackling away, and across from the TV that hung next to the wall of books. Both of them loved their little library wall full of books and knickknacks, mostly parts of Quinn’s Hochungra tribal dance regalia, and a few Norse items, including Mjolnir, though it was the Marvel version. They had another bookshelf with even geekier things sharing space on the shelves in the office. In spite of those bookshelves, Caleb thought Dr. Arneson’s suggestion of him handmaking a bookcase was an excellent one.

  Quinn offered up a lazy smile, patting the cushion next to him. Caleb parked himself next to Quinn, resting the tray on the table. He gave Quinn the small dish of truffles, figuring they should eat them before Vader reappeared. Quinn took his two, his eyes fluttering closed as he ate the first dark chocolate bite.

  “Hmmm, we should kidnap your sister and have her make us desserts all the time,” Quinn muttered.

  “Two problems with that. We’d weigh more than a bison in no time, and I think her husband might protest.” Caleb laughed.

  “Too bad she won’t be here for the holiday, though.” Quinn gobbled up the remaining truffle as Caleb poured their favorite from Baraboo Bluff Winery: The Girlfriend. He and Quinn weren’t “real” wine drinkers according to one of the surgeons he worked with. True oenophiles preferred dry wines. Caleb wasn’t sure if that was correct, but he and Quinn definitely liked their wine sweeter.

  “Yeah. Maybe we should have gone with her and the kids to Disney,” Caleb replied, handing Quinn a glass of wine.

  Quinn sipped it before answering. “Also two problems with that. One, after all day of dealing with crowds, I don’t want to have to deal with them on vacation, and two, you hate waiting in lines. You would be miserable.”

  “And three, Kara’s kids are seven and five, and I don’t have the energy or patience for that either.”

  Quinn snickered. “No one does. That’s why Kara keeps saying she’s going to drop them on us and run away from home.”

  Caleb shook his head. “And that’s why I keep telling her, she made the little monsters, she can deal with them.”

  Leaning against Caleb’s shoulder, Quinn took a bigger taste of his wine. “You’d love it if she and Sam do take that long trip next year and leave the kids with us for ten days.”

  Caleb grinned. “Yeah, but I still say in that case, we just stay at their house. It’ll be easier than childproofing this place.”

  “Agreed.” Quinn covered Caleb’s hand with his. “Want to tell me what has you so stressed this week?”

  Leave it to Quinn to notice. Caleb had thought he’d been hiding it well. Apparently not. “I have to deal with Dr. Dildo tomorrow.”

  Quinn snorted
. “That always puts you in a bad mood, but that’s not what this is about.”

  Caleb scowled. He should be allowed to blame Dr. Dalgaard for his anxious mood. No one liked the man. He was the only one of the surgeons at the orthopedic clinic Caleb didn’t like. Dalgaard was a great surgeon but he treated everyone abominably, leading to the nickname the nurses called him behind his back. “You sure about that?”

  “I know your expressions when you have to deal with Dildo. Please tell me you’re not stressing out about Christmas.”

  Caleb sighed, knowing he couldn’t exactly lie to Quinn. Oh, he could try, but he wasn’t likely to be successful. “Maybe a little, but I have a handle on it now, I think. I just need to work out the details.”

  “You are good at making things more complicated than they need be, love.”

  Vader trotted in and jammed his woolly black head between Caleb and Quinn’s thighs. Vader was a failed Seeing-Eye dog, but he had good empathetic instincts. Caleb caressed his soft curls.

  “I wish you wouldn’t drive yourself nuts about this,” Quinn said, stroking Vader’s snout as the labradoodle snuffled about for crumbs. It was one of the reasons he’d washed out of guide-dog school: he was an inveterate chowhound.

  “It is our first Christmas. I just want it to be special.” Okay, so I lied to Dr. Arneson, Caleb thought. I’m probably worse than Quinn about Christmas.

  Quinn leaned closer to kiss him quickly, almost chastely. “You’re what makes it special. I don’t need anything else.”

  Caleb’s cheeks warmed. “You’re so sappy sometimes, and I love it.”

  “Thanks, I think.” Quinn rolled his eyes at him. “And you’re making me worried my gift isn’t enough.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s just my neuroses. Working with demanding doctors all day and crazy patients makes me crazy—it’s no wonder I’m a stress ball.”

  Just then Vader backed up and launched himself into their laps. Both of them grunted as eighty-five pounds of canine slammed their full guts.