We thank our wonderful beta Melanie. She's a gem. All remaining mistakes are are ours and we would appreciate them being pointed out to us.

Comments are welcomed at: klair@postmark.net or to bcrapewi@artsci.wustl.edu.

Snow Angels

by Klair and BCW

"Come on, sleepy head," Paddy laughed as he squeezed Justin's big toe through the covers. "You're missing a beautiful snowfall."

The small mound of covers shifted and groaned. "Snow?"

"Sí."

A dark head appeared. "It's snowing?"

"Has been all night. Come see."

Reluctantly, Justin slid from beneath the warm covers, slipping his arms into the robe his father held for him.

"Don't forget your slippers."

Justin had just slipped his stockinged feet into the shoes and walked over to his bedroom window. As far as the eye could see, everything was covered in a thick blanket of white.

"Isn't it beautiful, chiquito?"

Justin wrinkled his nose. "No."

"No?" Paddy laughed, taking the small boy in his arms. "Why not?"

"It's cold and wet."

"It's snow, Justin."

"Why does it have to snow? We never had snow back home," he said petulantly.

"We never had snow back home, either, but I still like it."

"Why can't we live in California?"

"Because we live here," Choate said patiently. They had had this conversation several times already over the summer monthswhen Justin had complained that it was too hot.

His lower lip crept out in a pout. "But how long will it stay cold?"

"Probably as long as it stayed hot, chiquito. Now get dressed. The Ellison's will be here soon and you have chores to do."

Justin threw himself down on his bed. "I don't like the cold, Baba," he whined around a yawn.

"I don't too much like it either, querido, but it comes with the season." He lovingly stroked the dark hair. "Come on, chiquito. Carlotta and Dulce are waiting."

"All right, Paddy!" the sleepy little boy snapped impatiently.

The big rancher stopped at the door. "What did you say?" he asked in a tone that let Justin know he'd heard exactly what he'd said, and the way he'd said it.

Justin looked at his father. "I said I'd be right down, Baba," he gulped.

"That's what I thought you'd said," Paddy told him as he closed the door behind him.

~~

"Master Justin," Chu Wa said to the little boy, "your breakfast is
ready."

Justin plunked himself down in front of the large bowl of oatmeal and dug in.

"Don't you have something to do first, chiquito?" Paddy said sternly from behind his paper.

Justin looked up, spoon halfway to his mouth. "But Baba. . ."

Patrick Choate lowered one corner of the paper enough to peer at his son, one eyebrow raised.

Justin put the spoon back in the bowl and stood up. "Can't expect a person to work on an empty stomach," he said under his breath.

"I will keep it warm for you, then," the tiny ancient said, moving the bowl of oatmeal back to the stove.

"Could've let me eat my breakfast," the little boy whispered as he bundled up to go outside, casting a sullen glance at his father. The look on the rancher's face hurried the young boy along.

Paddy had cleared a track earlier on his way out to feed the stock. On each side of the path there was a three foot high wall of snow, and it was still coming. Justin pulled his coat tighter around himself as he stomped off to the barn.

"Carlotta better not have anything to say about cold hands this morning," he grumbled to himself as he pulled the barn door open.

~~

The kitchen door closed with a bang as a pink-faced young Choate stomped the snow from his boots and began peeling off his outer wear.

"You know how to close a door, Justin Choate," Chu Wa scolded.

"My hands are cold!"

"What has that to do with your manners?" the ancient asked as he placed the hot bowl on cereal on the table.

"Nothing," Justin said sullenly as he sat down.

"Did you finish?" Paddy asked from the doorway.

"Yes," Justin said curtly as he began eating.

"Little boy, you've had a burr under your saddle since you got up this morning. You'd better pull yourself together before you find yourself in some trouble."

Justin shoveled more oatmeal into his mouth. "Don't see why we can't move back to California."

"We've been over that, Justin."

"Well, why can't we spend the winter with Tito?" he said around a full mouth.

"Justin--"

"I know he has room. And he invited us. I don't like snow. And it's too cold. And--"

"All right! I've had enough of this!" Choate reached his son in three strides and hauled him from the table. "Upstairs to your room until you get rid of this attitude."

"But, Baba--"

The angry rancher turned his son towards the stairs. "Now!" he said and swatted Justin smartly on the backside to get him going.

And the boy flew up the stairs.

~~~

The sound of sleigh bells drew Paddy away from his paperwork, and he left it gladly to greet his guests at the door. He stepped onto the veranda just as Jim was helping Blair from underneath a large buffalo robe that engulfed the child.

"It cold enough for you, poppet?"

Blair giggled as he made his way to the veranda, his nose red as a cherry. "Yes, Uncle Paddy! It is, but, look! It snowed! We can make snowmen and snowforts and snowangels and. . .and. . .where's Justin?"

Paddy frowned. "Justin is having a little trouble today, poppet. He's in his room right now cooling off."

"Oh. Can we still play?" Blair asked hopefully as Jim joined him, shaking Paddy's hand while throwing him a cautioning glare.

Paddy frowned. "Maybe later, bueno. He has to stay up there right now. Why don't you go to the kitchen and ask Chu Wa if you can help with the cake he's baking?"

Blair's frown evaporated at the word "cake." He raced through the house to obey, the men chuckling behind him.

Paddy helped Jim unharness the horses from the sleigh. Leading Brownie to a stall, Paddy patted the horse's rump, urging him inside. "Get along, old man."

"Thanks, Patrick," Jim said, leading Blaze into the stall next to Brownie. "I wasn't sure we were going to make it today. This might be our last trip over for the winter."

"I hope not, amigo," Paddy said, leaning on the stall gate. "I enjoy your company."

"You enjoy someone who plays chess worse than you do," Jim chortled. "You want a real challenge, teach Blair like he's been pestering you to do."

"That's not true," the younger man protested weakly as his cheeks colored. "But I just might do that."

"Maybe you could give him his first lesson when you come to our place for Christmas," Jim said, as they began the trek back to the house.

"Good," Paddy said as they stopped to stomp their boots and brush the snow from their clothes.

When satisfied they wouldn't track up Chu Wa's floor, they pushed open the kitchen door open and stepped inside.

"I look forward to it," the younger rancher finished as he closed the door behind him.

"Look forward to what?" Blair asked, looking up from the cake batter bowl he was "cleaning".

Paddy smiled at the look of childish contentment on his nephew's batter-coated face. He'd seen it on Justin's many times. "Teaching you chess."

"Great!" Blair said, jumping to his feet, leaving the bowl to come stand before the men. He grabbed Choate's hand. "Come on. Let's go."

"Blair," Jim began as he took the washcloth offered by Chu Wa and attempted to wipe the boy's face clean of batter. "Patrick and Justin are coming to our place for Christmas. It can wait until then."

Blair moved away from the cloth bathing his face to look up at the two men. First Jim then Paddy. "Promise?"

"Si, poppet," the younger adult said with a smile. "Promesa."

"Dinner is ready, Master Patrick," Chu Wa told him. "Should I call, young Master Justin?"

"Yes, Chu Wa. Maybe the grump has changed his attitude by now."

The small band headed for the dining room, Choate in the lead.

They had just gotten seated when Justin appeared in the doorway, looking sullenly at his father.

Paddy looked up at his imp's approach. "Ready to join the civilized, Mr. Choate?"

Justin plopped down in his chair. "Yes, sir."

"Then don't be rude," Paddy admonished gently.

"Hi, Uncle Jim, Blair."

"Hey, Justin. What's wrong with you?" Blair asked, taking a biscuit before passing the basket on to his father.

"Justin doesn't like the snow, poppet," Paddy told him as he passed around the plates of food.

Blair's jaw dropped and he stared at his friend as if he'd sprouted another head. "You don't like snow?!"

"It's cold and it's wet," Justin said, as he stirred the vegetables on his plate sullenly. "I want to go back to San Francisco."

Blair frowned at that. "You mean you'd rather be far away from here instead of having snowball fights and building snowmen with me?"

Justin looked up sharply at his friend. He hadn't thought about that part of it at all. His hate for the snow warred with his love for his extended family. "Can I be excused?"

"No. You finish your dinner," Paddy said sternly.

"Then we can go out and play in the snow, Justin," Blair said, smiling around a mouthful of food.

"I don't want to go outside," he said peevishly.

"What is wrong with you today, chiquito," Paddy said helplessly.

"Can I be excused?" Justin repeated.

"Yes, Justin. Go."

The little boy pushed back from the table and slowly made his way out of the dining room.

"This Justin's first snowfall?" Jim asked nonchalantly.

"Yes. Why?"

"It's a lot to get used to," Jim said after swallowing another mouthful of Chu Wa's roast. "It is pretty cold, and wet." He gave his son a mock angry glare. "Especially after being pelted with Blair Sandburg Ellison's Special, Super Deadly Snowballs."

"It's Super, Special Deadly Snowballs and you had fair warning, Papa!"

"Super, Special Deadly Snowballs, huh?" Paddy asked, a twinkle in his eyes. "We'll see how well they stand up to the Choate Chunky Snowball of Death."

"You're on, Uncle Paddy. Can we after lunch?"

"Yes, poppet. You up for the battle of the century, Jim?"

Jim had been dreading that question. After more than two hours trudging through the snow to get here, he looked forward to a toddy by the fire rather than a snowball in the face, or worse, down the back of his neck. "I don't know, guys."

"Please, Papa?"

"Come on, Jim. Chicken?"

Jim smiled wickedly. "I just hope you're wearing your extra thick woollies, Choate. You're going to need them."

~~~

Justin stood at the window of his room and watched the 'snow war' below him for a few moments, jealous of the fun everyone was having.

Turning from the window, he threw himself down onto his bed. They didn't love him, they were having fun without him!

Lower lip creeping out into a pout, the small boy tucked his pillow under his chin, cursing the snow until he fell asleep.

~~~

Getting into the spirit of the play, Jim leaned down from the shelter of the old outhouse, scooped up double handfuls of snow and began shaping them into a snowball.

Behind him, to his left, Paddy, hidden from view behind one of the trees in the yard, followed suit, both of them 'sighting' one another.

Blair, crouched down behind the horse trough, with a small pile of hard-packed balls at his side, drew back his hand.

All three let loose there snowballs. . .just as Chu Wa stepped out into the yard, right in the path of the flying projectiles.

The three combatants only had time to let out triple gasps of dismay as the snowballs neared their target.

Long seconds passed before the two men opened their eyes and Blair lowered his hands from his face.

Miraculously, the old man stood in the yard, unscathed.

The three breathed a sigh of relief, until they saw the look on the ancient's face.

Slowly, the old man turned and walked back into the house without a word.

Blair was the first one to speak up. "He's not going to get the spoon, is he?"

Jim chuckled at the appalled look on the younger rancher's face. "Come on, Patrick," he cajoled, slapping Paddy on the back, "what he can he really do? Deny us supper? Dessert?" The older man laughed. "It was an accident. Besides, we didn't hit him."

"You don't think he'd take away dessert, do you, Uncle Paddy?" Blair asked sorrowfully as he came to stand next to his father.

"It was an accident, guys," Jim repeated.

"I. . .maybe if we offer to do something for him?" Paddy suggested hopefully.

As the young rancher and his son took off for the house, Jim called after them, "It was an accident!!"

But they never looked back.

~~~

Justin sat by his window. The three 'combatants' were nowhere to be seen. How long had he slept? Did they even miss him? Maybe, if he went downstairs and apologized. . .but he did hate the snow! First he had to enduring the heat. Hot. Hot. Hot. Now the heat was gone, even the colors were gone. Everything was stark white and frigid. Justin hated this country. He longed for San Francisco. Any place would be better than this! But Blair and Uncle Jim wouldn't be in San Francisco. Neither would his father. It was so unfair! His sulk was interrupted by the door of his room banging open, Blair hurrying breathlessly into the room.

"Oh, boy, Justin! You should have seen it! We had a snowball fight, and I would have won, but Chu Wa got in the way and then," Blair's gesturing hands made a smashing motion, "somehow the snowballs missed him! Boy did he look angry. Papa and Uncle Paddy are talking to him now." The younger boy threw himself onto Justin's bed, never missing a beat. "I'm sure glad to be out of there." He giggled. "But you should have seen his face! Papa's and Uncle Paddy's, too!"

Justin perked up. "You almost hit Chu Wa with a snow ball?"

"It was an accident!"

The dark haired boy smiled. "I'da like to have seen that!"

"Yeah! It was great!" Blair's smile faded. "It woulda been better if you'da been there. Come on, Justin. The snow's not so bad once you get used to it. You can't spend all winter up here. And pretty soon, the snow'll be too deep for us to visit. We won't see each other until spring."

Justin looked strickened. "I didn't think of that!" He hopped off the bed and went to the door. "Baba!" He called. "Can I come down now?"

"That depends on your attitude, little boy," his father called back up. "You ready to behave now?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then, yes."

~~~

"Blair!" Jim called from the front porch. "It's time to go, Little Bit."

Without using his heightened senses, Jim could see the disappointment in the two boys' body language from where he stood. Justin and Blair finished putting the arms on their snowman before trudging back to the house.

"Ah, do we have to leave now?" Blair asked, using his most pitiful begging expression. "Can't we stay the night, at least?"

"No, son. I don't trust this weather. It's clear now and I want to take advantage of that." Jim played his trump card to wipe the stormy look from Blair's face. "You don't want Nemo to get snowed in, do you?"

"No! She needs me."

"Make your good-byes then so we can go. And don't fret. We'll see the Choates for Christmas."

~~~~

The small figure peered from around the edge of his nest within his father's heavy coat, and the buffalo robe draped across them both. "How much further, Baba?"

"Not much, querido." The rancher smiled as he clucked to the team of horses. "Just over that ridge."

They could see the trail of smoke rising from the Ellison's chimney.

Twenty minutes later, the Choates pulled into the yard.

The cabin door flew open and Blair raced out of the house to great them, Jim trailing him holding the boy's coat.

"Uncle Paddy! Justin! Merry Christmas!" Blair sang out, literally bouncing in place, eyes shining with joy.

Paddy lowered Justin to the ground before climbing down after him.

"Feliz Navidad," Paddy said as he enveloped the bundle of energy in a hug. "Where's your coat, poppet?"

"Huh?" Blair looked perplexed, until he saw his father standing with his coat next to him, right eyebrow raised. "Oh."

"Never mind, Little Bit," Jim said, taking the boy from Paddy and throwing him over his shoulder. "Let's get you boys inside, then Patrick and I will see to the horses." The big rancher took one step forward before stopping. "Forgot something," he said with a laugh, as he swept Justin up under his arm, relinquishing his hold on Blair long enough to give the bottom presented forward a playful swat. "Hey, squirt!"

"Hi, Uncle Jim," the boy giggled happily as he gripped his uncle's hip for balance. "Feliz Navidad."

"And a Merry Christmas to you, too." The heavily-laden rancher turned back one more time to the younger man. "You coming, Choate?"

The younger rancher followed his friend, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.

Once inside the snug, homely little cabin, they hung their coats and hats on the pegs by the door while Jim stoked up the fire in the fireplace, pulling some coals to the front.

"Aren't there supposed to be decorations on the tree, Uncle Jim?" Justin asked studying the beautiful, but bare, eight-foot tree in the corner by the bookcase.

Jim retrieved the cornpopper from its place by the fireplace and began filling it with corn kernels. "There will be as soon as you two get this corn popped and strung, squirt." He handed the handle of the popper to Justin.

The child gingerly took the popper from his uncle's hand and looked up at him with wide, green uncomprehending eyes. "You want us to pop corn? I asked about the tree, Uncle Jim," he said, a serious expression on his young face.

Jim shot Blair a disapproving look when the boy busted out in a giggle-fit. He opened his mouth to explain when Blair cut him off.

"The corn is for the tree, Justin." Blair rolled his eyes. "We string it on this thread then put it on the tree. But only the best corn. The funny-looking ones we gotta eat."

Justin turned to his father for help. "Baba?"

The younger rancher smiled. "Es verdad, querido," he said gently. "Or cranberries can be strung to add color."

The small boy looked back at his extended family. "It's like an offering?" he asked tentatively.

"No," Blair said through his renewed giggling. "It's like a decoration! We have painted pinecones, too."

"We didn't do it like this back in Chinatown, Baba." He looked up at his uncle. "But I can learn new things, can't I?"

Jim ruffled Justin's hair affectionately and smiled. "You sure can, squirt."

"Come on, Justin," Blair said, urging his friend to put the popper over the coals, "let's get going." The boys made themselves comfortable in front of the blaze, Justin thrusting the popper into the fire. "Justin? How did they do Christmas back in Chinatown?"

"The Chinese don't celebrate Christmas. We did exchange presents because of my father, but my mother and grandmother and I celebrated the Chinese New Year."

Jim handed Paddy his hat as he put his own on his head, motioning to the door. Pulling on his heavy buffalo coat, Jim said to the boys, "We'll be back as soon as we get the horses settled. Stay out of trouble."

"Yes, Papa," Blair replied, his exasperation clear for all to hear.

"Sure, Uncle Jim."

~~~

The two men worked in companionable silence while they unharnessed the horses and rubbed them down.

"Quite a culture change for Justin," Jim chuckled, breaking the quiet as he remembered the look on the little boy's face.

"We do things a lot differently than where he's from," Paddy said, following the older man out of the barn. "I honestly don't know what to tell him about the concept of the holidays."

Jim laughed. "We do things a lot differently from where I'm from, too. And Blair," Jim's eyes took on a sad look, "I don't think he's been in the same place two months in a row, let alone two Christmases before he came here."

That caused the younger rancher to laugh out loud. "We've got ourselves double handfuls, don't we, amigo?"

Clapping Choate on the back and squeezing his shoulder, Jim replied, "And we wouldn't have it any other way."

Paddy shook his head. "No. We wouldn't have it any other way at all."

They shook the snow and mud from their boots before reentering the cabin.

The door opened on their sons standing back, pride showing on their faces.

"Look what we did, Baba, Uncle Jim," Justin said with a smile.

"It just needs this on the top, Papa." Blair held out the misshapen papier-mâché star he'd made earlier, waiting patiently for his father to take it.

Paddy choked, Jim hid a smile behind his hand.

The wide Christmas tree had decorations and ornaments woven intricately through all its thick middle branches. The top and bottom half of the tree remained bare.

Jim pulled himself together and took the remaining ornament from his son. By prior understanding between father and son, Jim handed the star to Justin.

"Come on, Justin," Jim said as he hoisted the boy to reach the treetop. "Plunk it on top and finish the job."

Justin quickly affixed the star to the topmost branch of the tree, wrapping his arms around his uncle's neck in a quick hug and ducking his head slightly when Jim playfully mussed his hair.

"Good job, squirt."

Jim set Justin down and Blair came to his side, wrapping his arms around his father's middle. "I picked a good tree this year, didn't I, Papa?"

Hoisting the boy into his arms, tickling his ribs when Blair was settled, Jim said, "You sure did, Little Bit. A mighty fine tree."

"And it's decorated real nice, too," Justin piped up. "Even the snowflake on top."

Paddy placed both hands on the small shoulders as he leaned down and whispered something in the child's ear.

Justin colored faintly and looked apologetically up at his 'extended' family. "It's a star," he said softly.

"The star of Bethlehem," Blair said, pouting slightly.

Jim placed a raspberry on his son's cheek in an effort to banish the sour face there. "Maybe later I can read you two the story about it."

"Blair," Justin said as he moved closer to his friend, "want to show me how to make a snowangel?"

The two men looked disbelievingly at each other.

"Sure! Come on!"

The boys struggled into their heavy coats and boots before hurrying out
the door.

Jim tossed Paddy his coat before donning his own. At the younger rancher's puzzled expression, Jim grinned. "This I've got to see." He opened the door and paused. "Coming?"

"He'll last until the first snowflake falls down his neck," Choate told the older rancher as he shrugged into his coat.

Jim and Paddy followed the sound of laughter coming from the side of the barn. There, next to a sizeable snowdrift, stood their boys, Blair explaining the finer points of snowangels to Justin.

Blair fell back into the bank, arms wide, then began to move both arms and legs back and forth.

"See, Justin?" he asked from his snow bed.

His friend looked dubiously at the small mountain of pristine white snow. "I have to lay in it?"

"How else are you going to make the angel? Come on Justin. It's only snow."

Gingerly, the small boy made his way over to the drift.

"Now fall back. Come on, Justin. It's fun."

With one more look at Blair, Justin turned and fell backwards into the snow.

"Now you flap your arms like this. Do your legs, too." Blair watched as Justin complied. "There." He rose to his feet, Justin quickly following.

Both boys turned to admire their handiwork, their fathers coming up to have a look, as well.

"Those are two fine looking snowangels, boys," Jim said, resting a gloved hand on Blair's shoulder.

"Thanks. You want to make one too, Papa?"

"Oh, I don't know, Little Bit."

"Come on, Uncle Jim," Justin pulled at the rancher's hand. "If you tuck your collar tight, you won't hardly get any snow down you back."

"Yeah, Uncle Jim," Paddy laughed.

The murderous glare Jim threw him only made Paddy laugh harder, that is until he found himself on his backside in the snowdrift. Jim flopped down in the snow far enough away so they could both move their arms without interfering with the other.

"Come on, Uncle Paddy," Jim snickered, "flap those arms."

"I'll get you for this, Ellison," the younger man said under his breath as he moved his arms up and down to make the angel's wings, while scissoring his legs to form its gown.

Jim scrambled to his feet and offered a hand to the younger rancher, bringing him up so they could all admire their work.

"Well, Patrick, that loo--" Jim's words were cut off by a sloppy snowball smacking him in the side of the head. Not bothering to wipe the snow away, Jim began forming his own weapon. With a wicked smile he called to his assailant, who was running for cover, "You're a dead man, Choate!"

Justin and Blair kept out of the range of fire as they watched their fathers battle back and forth, the two men laughing and bantering while trying to pelt the other with snowballs.

Blair shook his head in bewilderment. "Grownups."

Justin shrugged his shoulders. "What are you gonna do?" They watched a few more exchanges before Justin suggested, "Hey, want to go build a snowman?"

"Yeah, but let's go over there," Blair pointed across the yard, towards the river.

The two men were soaking wet and nearly covered from head to toe in snow before they wound down.

"Truce, Ellison!" Paddy panted. "Enough?"

Jim looked at Choate, then the snowball in his hand and back again before dropping his slushball to the ground. "More than enough." Jim smiled crookedly at the younger man as he approached. "You have a mean throw there, Choate. Ever play baseball?"

Paddy gave his friend a confused look. "What ball?"

Jim just chuckled, draping an arm over his friend's shoulders. "Come spring, you'll find out. I got Blair a whole set of equipment for Christmas. That boy's got a wicked fastball." A puzzled look crossed the older rancher's face and he scanned the yard, muttering under his breath, "Where are those two?"

The two men rounded the corner of the barn and found their sons not too far away. Blair was putting the finishing touches on their snowman. Justin stood close by, hands tucked under his arms, stamping his feet, his face flushed with the cold, trying not to look too miserable.

Paddy slid up behind him, sweeping him into his arms. "Had enough snow for one day, querido?" he asked hugging the child close.

The little boy turned in his father's arms, hugging him back. "I think so, Baba."

"How about you, Little Bit? Ready for some cocoa?" Jim asked, knowing his second question to be rhetorical.

"Yes!" came the enthusiastic response, as Blair quickly stuck the last coal eye on their snow creation and headed for the cabin.

The four came back into the cabin, laughing and talking. They all stopped in the doorway, a gasp escaping Blair's lips. All their earlier tree-trimming efforts lay in ruin, the tree toppled over, ornaments scattered on the floor.

"Nemo! Bad dog!" Blair scolded as he stomped over to the mutt, yanking the empty popcorn string from her mouth while Jim and Paddy righted the tree. Justin picked up painted pinecones from the floor. Nemo ignored them, sniffing the floor for any missed pieces.

"That's it," Jim said, scooping up the little animal. "She's sleeping in the barn."

"But, Papa--"

"No," Jim said with finality. "She'll be just fine in the barn."

"But it's Christmas!" Blair stamped his foot, a stubborn expression taking over his face.

"And if a bed of hay was good enough for the baby Jesus it's more than good enough for this little popcorn thief." Jim shook a scolding finger sternly at his tantrum throwing-child. "And if you don't improve your attitude by the time I get back, you'll be sleeping out there with her."

And he was gone before Blair could say a thing more. The boy stood in the middle of the room, staring at the closed door, pouting.

"Poppet, come help us trim the tree," Paddy said, holding out a red-painted pinecone to Blair.

Sullenly, Blair took the ornament from his uncle and dutifully hung it on a branch.

"We need to pop more corn." Blair looked up into Paddy's confused face. "To make another garland."

The young rancher looked over to the sideboard at the bowl of popped corn sitting there. "There's plenty left in the bowl, poppet."

Blair wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Can't use that for the tree. They didn't pop up right. They're just good for eating."

"Oh, they're good enough to eat, but not to hang on the tree?"

"Right." Blair smiled, pleased his uncle understood the importance of proper popcorn stringing. "So, can you get the fire going just right so we can pop some more?"

"I think I can do that."

When Jim returned from his errand in the barn he was greeted by the sight of his son and their extended family sitting cross-legged in front of a cheery fire, popping, stringing and eating popcorn.

Hanging up his hat and coat, he said over his shoulder, "Any room for me over there?"

"Sure," Blair began as he strung another popped kernel on his string and popped another "reject" into his mouth. "You can sit over here." Blair and Justin moved apart to make room for the big rancher.

"What about the cocoa?" Justin asked.

Jim stopped in mid-squat. "Cocoa. Right." He moved to the stove and began to put together the confection.

"Papa makes the best cocoa in the county," Blair said with pride.

"Kinda like Chu Wa's cookies?" Justin asked as he snuggled closer to his father's side, only to be moved aside as the rancher rose to his feet.

"Knew I was forgetting something," Choate said, rummaging through his bag. "Ah! Here they are!" He waved a small tin in triumph before opening it so the boys could see. Nestled between layers of waxpaper were a dozen of Chu Wa's little masterpieces of dough.

"Perfect timing," Jim said, smiling as he brought over four mugs of steaming hot chocolate. As the boys reached for a mug Jim warned, "careful, it's hot," before letting them take one.

The four spent an enjoyable evening eating cookies that were washed down with hot chocolate while they redecorated the tree.

"There," Jim said, as he set Justin and Blair down on the floor after they jointly affixed the star to the treetop. "Bedtime, boys."

"Papa said we can sleep next to the tree, Justin," Blair said as he began pulling out the bedding.

"Okay." Justin began to help him.

Soon two bedrolls were spread between the fireplace and the Christmas tree.

"We need to hang our stockings, too," Blair said, retrieving a large sock from the dresser.

"Why?" Justin asked.

Jim removed his sock from Blair's hand, replacing it with a much smaller footcovering. "So St. Nicholas will fill it with treats, Justin," Jim explained, shaking his sock with a reproachful look at his son. "If you've been good all year, St. Nicholas brings you treats, but if you've been naughty, he leaves coal and switches instead."

Jim turned around to find Justin watching him with the oddest look on his face.

"Who?" the child asked him cautiously.

Trying to hide his smile, Jim reached for the slim volume of The Night Before Christmas on top of the bookcase. "Just pick a sock to hang and I'll tell you the story."

Once the boys had their stockings hung securely at the end of the mantle, each settled on one of Jim's thighs as the rancher sat in the armchair by the fireplace, ready to begin reading.

"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. . ."

By the time Jim got to, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.", there were three very intent listeners to his story. Blair snuggled into his side, very contented. Justin sat straighter in his lap, eyes big as saucers. Jim looked over to Paddy who sat very still in the rocking chair, a look on his face the older man couldn't decipher.

"Uncle Jim?" Justin asked.

"Yes, squirt."

"Is there really a St. Nicholas?" He paused, watching the rancher with great eyes. "And, can reindeer really fly?"

"Well, Justin, I've never seen it happen, so, I can't say. There have been many things in my life I didn't think were possible only to find
out that they were."

Justin turned the same great eyes on his father. "Baba? Do you believe in St. Nicholas?"

"When I was a small boy, we called him Father Christmas," Paddy said very quietly. "And, yes, I believed in him."

"One thing I'm sure of, boys," Jim said, fixing each child in his lap with a serious expression, "St. Nicholas won't come unless you're asleep." He scooted the boys off his legs. "Now get under those blankets."

Once both boys were tucked in snug as bugs in a rug, foreheads graced with kisses goodnight, the adults resettled around the fireplace.

"How were Christmases celebrated at your home, Choate?" Jim asked, once he was sure the boys were asleep.

The younger rancher shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "The Spanish celebration is more religious than yours, Ellison," he said, sounding defensive.

"But your father wasn't Spanish."

Paddy turned his face towardsss the fire. "My father wasn't about St. Nicholas or Christmas stockings hung by the chimney with care, either," he said sadly.

"But he did tell you about Father Christmas." At the younger man's surprised expression, Jim said, "My people are of English descent. I grew up with that, too. This St. Nicholas," Jim tapped the little book on the table next to his chair, "is pretty close in some ways, with some nice additions."

Paddy's face lit with a shy smile. "Actually, it was mi mamacita who told me about Father Christmas. But we never did the thing with the stockings."

Later, after making certain Paddy was asleep, Jim slipped from the covers. Creeping across the cabin, he opened a drawer and withdrew another sock. Tiptoeing back to the fireplace, he hung the stocking with care.

~~

Justin shifted and stretched, wondering what had awakened him so early. Cracking open one eye, he saw he wasn't in his own bed. It took him a minute to remember where he was.

Turning, he nudged his bedmate gently, whispering, "Blair."

"Don't wanna get up, Papa," the younger boy mumbled. "You feed the horses."

"Blair. It's Christmas."

Blair's grogginess cleared quickly. "Christmas!" He sat up quickly, looking with glee at the full stockings, then mischievously at the men sleeping soundly in the bed. He nudged his friend and motioned towards the bed. "Come on."

With predatory stealth, the boys slid from their beds and crept along the wooden floor.

Blair put a finger to his lips when they reached the side of the bed in the corner. He motioned for his friend to go around and over the trunk at the end of the bed to get to the younger rancher. Blair waited in his position while Justin got into his. Silently, Blair held up three fingers and began to count down. When the last finger disappeared into his fist, they pounced.

"Merry Christmas!" they yelled, out of sync.

Jim had heard them creeping across the floor, but waited, playing possum for the attack. Paddy, caught completely off-guard, jumped several inches before catching a joyful bundle in his arms.

"Merry Christmas, Little Bit," Jim said, tickling the squirming boy in his arms. He reached over to Justin with his free arm to offer some of the same treatment. "Merry Christmas to you, too, Squirt."

Paddy joined in and soon there was a tickle free-for-all seriously underway. It didn't stop until Blair was able to pant out, "Stop. I gotta go pee!!" The boys were quickly bundled up to make a trip out to the outhouse.

Jim was helping Blair out of his coat, Justin's already back on the hook, when Paddy returned from outside.

"Please, Papa, please. Can't we just look in the stockings?"

"You should eat first."

"It's just the stockings, Uncle Jim. We can eat breakfast before opening the rest of the presents."

"Well . . ."

"Please," the boys begged together, their most beseeching expressions used to full dramatic affect.

"All right. Stockings first, breakfast later." Jim covered his ears as the boys cheered loudly. "Choate, why don't you go first."

A pair of chocolate-brown eyes turned to regard crystal-blue ones.
"First??"

Jim walked to the mantle and removed the stocking he had hung last night next to his and the boys'. He held it out to his friend. "I don't think this is for the boys. Unless you allow Justin to have those." Jim grinned wickedly at Choate's stunned countenance as the younger man peered into the sock.

"Whatcha get, whatcha get?" Blair asked impatiently, pulling on Choate's shirt sleeve.

"Nothing you'd like, poppet," the young rancher said as he pulled two rather expensive cigars from the stocking. His brows arched as he produced a new deck of cards and several horehound drops.

"Looks like Santa thought mighty highly of you this year, Patrick," Jim said, his wide grin still in place. "Boys, why don't you see what's in yours."

Blair and Justin didn't need to be told twice. They quickly removed their stockings from the mantle, Blair up-ending his on the seat of the armchair and Justin carefully pulling each item out one at a time.

"Oh, boy!" Blair squealed beholding his booty. A whistle on a string, magnifying glass, several painted tin soldiers and a generous handful of assorted candies kept Blair oohing and aahing.

Justin's stocking was equally as stuffed with bounty, revealed to him as he poured it out on the kitchen table. "Look, Baba, Indians!" The boy held up three painted warriors for his father's inspection.

His father leaned down, cupping the smaller hands that held the figures in his larger ones. "You're starting quite a collection, chiquito." He returned the child's dazzling smile with a loving one of his own.

"Okay, boys, breakfast." At their moans of disappointment, Jim held up a staying hand. "We had a deal. The rest of the presents can be opened later."

The two boys hung their heads a moment before turning longing gazes to the small pile of gifts under the Christmas tree.

"Vamos, muchachos," Paddy said softly as he placed his hand on each boys' back to move them along. "Maybe we can talk Jim into making a batch of his famous blueberry pancakes."

Two pair of eyes turned on him, one light, one dark, the expression in them asking him if he was out of his mind, did he have any idea how long that would take, there were presents under the tree.

Paddy ducked his head to hide his grin. "Or not."

"We aren't all that hungry, are we, Justin?"

"No. I'm still full from dinner, Uncle Jim, Baba. Honest."

"Yeah. We could eat some biscuits." At his father's stern look, Blair hastily added. "And some milk."

"Yeah," Justin quickly agreed, then paused as he thought about what he was turning down. "But, Uncle Jim, we could eat your pancakes for dinner." Green eyes regarded his uncle imploringly. "Couldn't we?"

Surveying the looks he was receiving from all present, Jim conceded. "All right. Presents first, food later." The boys whooped with excitement and began looking for packages with their names on them. Only Paddy heard the older rancher mutter with exasperation, "Little flim-flam artists."

Paddy only smiled in agreement.

"Uncle Paddy," Blair said, clutching a package under his arm while holding another out to the younger rancher, "this one's for you."

Slowly, the young rancher took the package from his nephew's hands. "For me?"

"Merry Christmas!"

Paddy gently peeled away the paper until he held the intricately beaded moccasins in his hands.

"Uncle Paddy? Don't you like 'em?" Blair asked tentatively.

Choate looked up, his throat tight with unshed tears, his glaze sliding between Blair and his father. "I. . .I don't know what to say," he whispered.

"They're bears," Blair said, pointing to the design on the top of the soft, fur-lined shoes. "I wanted them to have eagles or snakes, but Seeks the Waters says these were the right ones. I got wolves on mine now. Papa gets the panthers 'cause Seeks the Waters says so."

The dark-haired young man ran his finger lovingly over the image. "It is a wonderful present. Thank you, poppet."

The smile widened. "Papa said you'd like 'em." Blair gave his uncle a quick hug, his arms not even going half way around the rancher's middle, before taking his package back to the tree to open it.

Jim patted Choate on the shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Patrick."

"Merry Christmas, Jim."

"Baba! Look!!" Justin rushed over holding something leather in his hands. The boy held it at his waist to model. "See! It's a real buckskin loincloth and leggings! And it has a shirt to match!"

Paddy cast his friend a wry look. "I'll get you for that, Ellison," he said too softly to be heard by anyone but the watchman.

"I'm just trying to keep my bandannas safe for the purpose they were meant, Choate," Jim replied with a grin.

"Now, Baba?" Justin asked as he pulled anxiously on his father's arm.

Paddy smiled as he cupped the child's cheek in the palm of his hand. "Sí, chiquito."

Justin jumped up, a wide smile on his face, and raced over to his father's saddlebag. Bringing two wrapped packages back to the small group, he held them out to his father.

"You give them, querido."

Justin's wide smile turned shy as he turned to his extended family, offering a gift to each.

Blair didn't stand on ceremony. "Thank you," he said, snatching the snatching the soft, festively wrapped package from his friend's hands, quickly stripping it of it's festive paper.

Out into his hands spilled a very large piece of brightly-colored silk.

"What is it?" Blair asked, struggling with the length of material.

Jim reached over and took one corner in his hand as Blair moved away from his father, opening the cloth between them.

On the surface was the painting of a fierce-looking dragon being slain by a knight, behind him stood the figure of a small boy.

Blair looked up at his friend, his wide eyes bright.

"It's from your story," Justin said softly. "Do you like it?"

"It's . . .It's . . .wonderful. How? Who painted it?" Blair asked,
touching the fabric with soft finger tips.

"I did," Justin boasted proudly, then cut eyes at his father. "Chu Wa helped," the child added. "Baba sent all the way to San Francisco for the cloth. You hang it on the wall."

Jim put his partially opened gift to the side to examine the painting more carefully. "You did this, Justin?" Jim asked rhetorically as he admired the work. "You've got a lot of talent."

Tearing his eyes away from the image of his story, Blair turned pleading eyes to his father. "Can we hang it over the bed, Papa?"

Jim nodded. "For now, Little Bit. After we get that room of yours built this spring you can hang it in there."

Justin smiled with pride. "Open yours, Uncle Jim."

"Yeah, Papa. What 'cha got?"

With slightly hesitant fingers the older rancher peeled back the paper on the gift in his hands.

"Do you like it, Jim?" Paddy asked his friend anxiously.

Ellison held the object up to the light.

"What is it, Papa?" Blair asked his father.

"It's a fop for his watch," Justin said happily.

"A watch fob, chiquito."

Jim fingered the delicately woven piece in his hands; tiny pearls glittered inside the pattern. At the end, a clasp fashioned from a heavy Spanish silver conch gleamed. "This is too much," Jim whispered hoarsely.

Blair crowded his too-still father to try to get a better look. "It's real pretty. What's it made of?"

"Silk," Paddy said softly. "Justin made it by himself. He's good at it," the rancher added with pride.

"The pearls were left from a pair of my mother's earrings. I used the others to make a hat band for Baba."

"Choate. . .I," Ellison faltered. "I don't know what to say."

"Say thank you, Ellison," Paddy said a bit smugly, happy that he could put that expression on his friend's face. "Thank you and Merry Christmas."

Jim smiled. "Yes. Thank you."

There came a tug at his sleeve. "And Merry Christmas, Papa."

"Yes," Jim said, smiling wider, smoothing his son's curls. He looked Paddy in the eye. "And many, many more of them with us together."

"As a family," Justin reminded the adults sternly with a sage frown.

"Si, hijito," his father said with a laugh, as he lifted his son and hugged the frown away. "As a family."

The End