Page 23 of One Hundred Humbugs

As night fell, Ruby stayed at the kitchen table, surrounded by the remnants of Uncle Peter’s life. She picked up a UFO photo, smiling at the enthusiastic scribbles in the margins. It struck her how much life he had lived in this house—how many dreams he’d chased, how many adventures he’d imagined. And now, somehow, she was a part of it too.

And here she was, ready to sell it all off without a second thought.

The realization made her pause. Was she truly so eager to erase all traces of Uncle Peter from her life? To turn her back on this town that had welcomed her with open arms?

Ruby glanced out the window, where she could just make out the shape of Becket’s tent in the moonlight. She thought about how fast he’d come to her aid, how he’d faced down the town’s judgment without hesitation. How he’d made her laugh even in the midst of crisis.

With a sigh, Ruby closed her notebook. She had a lot to think about, and not just about Christmas decorations. As she got ready for bed, she found herself humming a tune—something she hadn’t done in months.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The wind howled around Becket’s tent, pulling him from sleep. He blinked in the dim light, momentarily disoriented. The air inside the tent was frigid, his breath visible in small puffs. The sleeping bag that had seemed so cozy when he’d fallen asleep now offered little protection against the biting cold.

“Well, this is new,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his hands together. His fingers were stiff, and he flexed them, wincing at the pins and needles sensation.

Unzipping the tent flap, Becket was met with a wall of white. Snow was falling heavily, obscuring everything beyond a few feet. The wind whipped the flakes into a frenzy, creating swirling patterns in the air. It was beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way.

“Ah, hell,” Becket groaned, zipping the tent back up. This was more than just a light dusting. This was a full-blown winter storm, the kind that could strand people for days if they weren’t prepared. And he was most definitely not prepared.

Concern for his goats immediately overrode his owndiscomfort. Becket hurriedly pulled on his boots and coat, fumbling with the tent’s zipper before stepping out into the maelstrom. He braced himself, taking a deep breath of icy air as the wind threatened to knock him off his feet.

Trudging towards the makeshift pen, Becket could hear the distressed bleating rising above the howling wind, tugging at his heart. Snow had piled up against the sides, and he cursed himself for not checking the weather. “I’m coming, guys!” he called out, though his voice was lost to the storm.

The snow crunched beneath his boots, already several inches deep, when a brown and white head popped up over a snowdrift—Houdini, of course. The escape artist had climbed the snow pile and perched precariously atop the pen, looking for all the world like the king of a small, cold mountain.

“Don’t you dare,” Becket warned, quickening his pace. He could already see the playful glint in the goat’s eye, the one that always preceded trouble.

But it was too late. With a triumphant bleat that sounded almost like a laugh, Houdini leapt from his snowy perch ... and immediately sank up to his neck in the deep snow beyond the pen. The look of surprise on the goat’s face was almost comical.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Becket laughed at the goat’s startled expression. “Not quite the great escape you had in mind, huh buddy?” Even in a crisis, Houdini managed to lighten the mood.

Scooping up Houdini, Becket made his way to the pen’s entrance. The goat’s wet fur soaked through his gloves, making his already cold hands even colder. Inside the pen, the rest of the herd was huddled together, looking cold andweary. Daisy, heavy with her pregnancy, looked downright uncomfortable.

“Alright, gang,” Becket said, assessing the situation. His mind raced, trying to come up with a solution. “This isn’t going to work. We need to find you someplace warmer.” He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a small shower of snowflakes.

He glanced toward Ruby’s house. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow through the swirling snow. Becket was tempted to knock on her door, to ask for shelter. The thought of being inside, warm and dry, was incredibly appealing. But he dismissed the idea. He couldn’t impose on her like that, not after all the trouble Houdini had caused. Besides, he was used to handling things.

“Looks like we’re on our own, guys,” he told the goats, trying to sound more confident than he was. “Let’s see what we can rig up.”

Over the next hour, Becket battled the elements as he attempted to construct a more substantial shelter for his herd. He used tarps from his truck, spare pieces of wood he found scattered around the yard, and no small amount of creativity. The wind bit at his exposed skin, and his hands grew numb despite his gloves. But he pressed on, driven by the need to protect his animals.

But the wind kept tearing down his efforts, and the snow was accumulating faster than he could clear it. Every time he thought he was making progress, a gust would come along and undo all his hard work. It was like trying to build a house of cards in a wind tunnel.

Exhausted and half-frozen, Becket had to admit defeat. His clothes were soaked through, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. He couldn’t leave the goats out here, not inthis weather. They needed real shelter, and fast. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed help.

With a heavy heart, Becket made his way to Ruby’s door. He hesitated before knocking, acutely aware of his snow-covered appearance and the early hour. What if she turned him away? What if she was angry at being woken up? He pushed the thoughts aside. He had to try, for the goats’ sake.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened. Ruby stood there in flannel pajamas and an oversized sweater, her hair a mess and her eyes still heavy with sleep. But as soon as she saw Becket, those eyes widened with concern.

“Becket? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Becket opened his mouth to explain, but a strong gust of wind chose that moment to blow him off balance. Ruby reached out, grabbing his arm to steady him. Her touch, even through his wet coat, was warm.

“Get in here,” she said, pulling him inside and shutting the door against the storm. “You’re freezing!”

As Becket stepped inside, the heat of the house hit him, and his frozen fingers began to tingle painfully. “Thanks,” he managed through chattering teeth. “It’s the goats. They can’t stay out there in this storm. I tried to build them a shelter, but...”

Understanding dawned on Ruby’s face. “Say no more. We’ll figure something out.”

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