Raylen slipped his arms around her from behind and pulled her back to his chest. “Merry Christmas, darlin’.”

“Merry Christmas to you.” She wiggled in closer and sniffed the air. “Do I smell cinnamon rolls? Does that mean the jig is up? Did you find the milk and cookies on the bar, Santa?”

“I found my milk and cookies. Blister talked me out of the milk and Hooter begged for the cookie so that was their Christmas present. The cinnamon rolls are not canned. Wilma had them in the refrigerator with a note on top that said to heat for ten minutes on Christmas morning.” He led her to the kitchen. Coffee, juice, and two forks were already on the table. He brought the cinnamon rolls from the oven and put them on a hot pad in the middle of the table.

Excitement reigned in her heart. She’d gotten what she wanted for Christmas. A house that wasn’t on wheels and not just any old cowboy picked up under a tumbleweed or behind a mesquite tree, but Raylen O’Donnell. Miracles did happen. She had living proof.

She nibbled at the cinnamon rolls but was too nervous to eat more than a few bites. She’d put out all ten of his presents before she went to bed the night before, had awakened at two o’clock and checked to make sure they were arranged just right and to see if he’d snuck one in for her. At four she woke up again and padded up to the Christmas tree to rearrange them one more time. Still nothing from Raylen.

“All finished?” she asked.

He pushed back the coffee cup. “Wait right here.” He disappeared down the hallway and into the spare bedroom where she’d kept all her presents until the night before. When he returned, he was carrying something wrapped in an old quilt.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Your Christmas present,” he said.

He laid it in her lap, and a little white head and two black hooves shot out from under the quilt. The foal made a noise that reminded her of a baby and looked up at her with big round black eyes.

“Oh!” Other than one word, she was totally speechless.

“He’s all yours, but we have to take him back to his mama. You’ll have to go out to the barn to spoil him,” Raylen said.

Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “The first of my own herd. And I’m going out to the barn every day to spoil him.”

Raylen grinned. “I know you will.”

More tears flowed from her eyes. “Oh, Raylen, I love him. Do I get to name him?”

“He’s your baby,” Raylen said.

“His name is Glorious Christmas Star because of the star on his forehead, and because all winners have to have three names. I will call him Star.”

Raylen cocked his head to one side and wiped her tears away with a white handkerchief that he pulled out of his pocket. “Sounds fine to me, but are you sure that’s a star? It looks more like a lightning streak to me.”