Thank you to the fastest and best betas around - The Divine Ms. M and Nita. You guys are awesome.
A special thank you to those who've written me in the past few months asking about more stories. Sorry I haven't gotten back to you, but I haven't been able to check the Klair account until this week.
This story is for y'all. Happy Holidays!
Better To Give
By Klair
"Little Bit."
Hearing the stern voice, the boy stated, "I wasn't doing anything."
That obvious untruth was met with a disbelieving snort.
The boy turned angelic eyes up to his father, giving it all he had. "I was just looking."
"Then use your eyes, Blair, not your hands," Jim said, returning to his chore of making piecrust for tomorrow's Christmas feast. It wouldn't be as good as his mother's, or Chu Wa's, but it wasn't half bad either, he admitted to himself with pride.
Coming over to the sideboard where his father worked, Blair had to give his quest another try. "Couldn't I just open one?"
"That one being from Uncle Steven?" Jim asked dryly, carefully placing his crust over the top of the waiting apple pie.
"Wweeellll," Blair began, running a finger absently through the flour left on the rolling surface, "he did send it all the way from Seattle. Ppppllleeeasssssse, Papa?"
Owning up to his own curiosity about what his younger brother sent, and wanting a peaceful night, Jim relented.
"All right. This once."
Blair didn't need to be told twice, he dived for the present under their little tree and ripped through the wrapping to find a wooden crate about the size of a butter churn. Jim pried it open with the edge of his knife and they both removed the inner packing material.
"Oh, WOW!" Blair said, gazing at what lay inside.
Jim remained speechless. He would find a way to repay his little brother.
"A DRUM!!" Blair exclaimed, as he removed the beautifully decorated Indian tom-tom and began to make a racquet with it. Soon their little cabin was filled with a loud, driving beat that catapulted the little boy around the room in dance and loud chant.
Yes, Steven's turn will come when he has children, Jim thought, cinching down his hearing.
Maybe a nice bugle.
The end