“Cool. Do you want to drive us to Chickasha for the lights, too?” I asked.

“I’d love that,” Dad said. I noticed his energy was starting to pick up.

“What lights?” Arthur asked, nodding to the paper in my hand.

“The Chickasha Festival of Light. It’s actually awesome.” I leaned closer to Arthur and whispered, “There was a picture on the website. The light bridge?”

“That was real?”

I stared daggers at him a moment. But I also couldn’t help noticing he smelled really nice, like a woodsy amber, maybe. Was that cologne or soap?

Aunt Esha said, “All of those sound like excellent options, Finley. My nephew and I appreciate your kindness and hospitality. Is that not so, Arthur?”

“Indeed,” said nephew murmured, though his expression was less convincing.

I looked back out the window, deciding not to dwell on anything woodsy or amber.

We drove past a large white sign proclaiming sedgewicks’ ranch in red letters at the top of a long dirt road.

We had arrived.

The land leading up to and including Sedgewicks’ was as yellowed and dead as everywhere else. Which was going to make for an interesting sleigh ride.

The first impression was that it looked like a typical Oklahoma ranch.

Buildings were big and functional, yet lacked TLC. Someone had attempted to repaint the main barn a fresh red, but only got about ten feet up, probably as tall as their ladder would reach, then quit. The effect was a bright red ring around the barn base with the other twenty feet a weather-beaten gray.

The whole thing felt like its roots were showing after too long away from the salon.

Semi-rusted discarded farm equipment sat in batches and there were animal pens, though the only animals visible were cows.

We parked in the graveled section with a half dozen other cars and once I got out of the Jeep, it didn’t take long to realize where this place diverged from a regular ranch: everything that could possibly be stamped with the likeness of a reindeer had been.

The parking sign, the trash can, the front door, the building itself, a flag (below the Stars and Stripes), even the concrete stops had a goofy reindeer’s face smiling up to greet each car.

Arthur stood next to me, surveying the surroundings. “Well. They certainly embraced the theme.”

A theme that carried over to the interior of the converted house, which was the greeting area/gift shop/café, except jacked up to eleven. Welcome mats, antler light fixtures, reindeer upholstery on the sofa and chairs. The Christmas tree in the center of the lobby had only reindeer ornaments and its branches drooped from the sheer volume. It was a lot.

And yet the mounted reindeer head opposite the front door was still unexpected.

Arthur stopped in his tracks when he saw it.

Dad jammed his hands in his coat pockets. “Guess we know how Rudolph really got his job.”