Page 31 of Sleigh Bells and Snowstorms
“Who, and what, is that?” Jensen asked.
“That’s Woody Blankenship. He restored that old fire truck and now he uses it to plow the roads in winter. He also plays Santa Claus every year. The kids love him.”
Woody leaned out the window and waved. His white beard was as real as it came, and he looked a lot like Santa, even without a costume.
“Brilliant,” Jensen said. “Of course there’s a man who looks like Santa Claus driving a vintage fire engine playing Christmas music. Why wouldn’t there be?”
I waved at Woody as he passed. “That’s Tilikum for ya. Come on. Let’s go inside.”
The wide entrance was open, and large overhead heaters blew warm air. We passed a stack of chicken feed and a cart unceremoniously filled with winter hats and gloves. I grabbed two hats and two pairs of gloves as we walked by and handed them to Jensen.
“When am I going to need these?”
“I don’t know, but when you’re in the mountains, it’s good to be prepared.”
“Fair enough. Lead the way.”
I led him to the clothing section. He took slow steps through the racks, eyeing everything dubiously. There were coveralls, jeans, thick coats, and four racks of flannel shirts.
He plucked the sleeve of a red-and-black buffalo-plaid flannel and held it out. “This is… interesting.”
“Yeah, I’m not really feeling that on you. Maybe something more subtle.” Pressing my lips together to hide my smile, I picked a bright orange plaid shirt and held it up. “What do you think?”
“How is that subtle?”
“Fine, I’m kidding.” I put it back and chose a dark green. “What about this one?”
His brow furrowed. “I suppose that isn’t terrible.”
“Great. I think a blue as well.” I kept shuffling through the shirts. “And this gray is nice. Why don’t you find some jeans in your size.”
Jensen went to the wall of jeans, organized in cubby shelves. He held up a pair and tilted his head, regarding them as if denim was a foreign concept.
We grabbed several more things, then I led him to the back where a curtained-off square with an upside-down bucket fora stool functioned as a fitting room. He went in and shut the curtain, although it left a crack on one side.
I moved so I wouldn’t be tempted to peek.
Customers wandered by while I waited, some pushing carts and others carrying armfuls of items. The Christmas inflatables seemed to be popular. I saw several people with the big, brightly colored boxes in their carts.
The curtain swished open, and Jensen stepped out. It was hard not to gape at him. How did he make a green plaid flannel and jeans look like they belonged on a runway?
“What do you think?” He turned in a circle.
The shirt accentuated his biceps, and the jeans hugged him in all the right places. It was like they’d been tailored to his body.
“Looks good,” I said, careful with my choice of words. I didn’t want to blurt out something embarrassing, likeyou’re a Greek god in flannel.
But seriously, he was.
With a subtle grin, he glanced down at himself and adjusted the shirt. “I could grow to like this.”
“It’ll help you fit in.”
“Then mission accomplished.”
He returned to the fitting room and tried on a few more things, settling on two pairs of jeans and a few flannels. I suggested he get some white T-shirts to go under them, and we found socks and a pair of boots that would do much better in the snow than his sleek leather shoes. We also grabbed a dark blue winter coat.
As we walked to the front of the store to check out, I could see why he’d lit up the gossip line so fast. Everyone seemed to notice him. Heads turned, mouths opened, and he left a trail of wide eyes and whispers in his wake.
