Unwrapping Christmas (12 page)

Dough is much easier to roll if still a bit chilled.

Potatoes should be done a day ahead and refrigerated. Dough must be rolled soon after mixing.

Sirupsnipper

9 tablespoons cream

½ cup + 2½ tablespoons corn syrup

½ cup + 2½ tablespoons sugar

7 tablespoons butter (no substitutes)

2 cups flour

¼ teaspoon pepper

¼ teaspoon ginger

¼ teaspoon anise

¼ teaspoon cinnamon

¾ teaspoon hartshorn salt

¾ teaspoon baking soda

almonds, blanched, for decorating

Boil cream, syrup, and sugar together. Stir in butter and let mixture cool until lukewarm. Sift in dry ingredients and knead the dough to mix thoroughly. Chill overnight.

Roll dough out as thin as possible and cut into diamond shapes. Lay on a greased baking sheet. Place half a blanched almond on each cookie. For a shiny finish, brush cookies with egg white. Bake at 350 degrees F for five minutes.

Read a sample chapter from Lori Copeland’s Now and Always. Coming in 2008!

1

Very few things distracted Katie Addison when she was on a mission, but the sight of three dead horses strewn across the highway stopped her in her tracks. The Jeep skidded and veered to the right before stopping. Passing motorists set out flares, and highway patrol began the process of diverting traffic around the gruesome sight. Putting a tissue over her nose, Katie exited the Jeep, hurrying to the scene. Thick smoke covered the area from the burning fire on the ridge below Devils Tower. Wildfire had broken out in the thirteen-hundred-acre park, and crews had been battling it all day. A suffocating haze blanketed the area.

Confusion reigned as Katie threaded her way through curious onlookers and fellow travelers who’d stopped to help. Her eyes focused on the black skid marks, and it didn’t take a sleuth to see that the overturned truck and stock trailer had veered to the center and jackknifed, blocking most of the road.

Blowout? Deer standing in the road?

The long, white trailer lay on its side in the ditch. The sides were enclosed and the top was lined with openings for ventilation. The terrified screams from trapped horses, kicking and lunging, trying to break free, sent a shudder up her spine. She’d lived on a ranch all her life, and while she wasn’t a vet, she knew almost as much as anybody about animals. She took care of her own — three dogs, three cats, a goat, and a lame Appaloosa, and she’d sewn up more than one wire cut by lantern light.

She approached a uniformed officer trying to redirect traffic. “Is the driver hurt?”

“Don’t know, ma’am. An ambulance is on the way.”

She strained to see beyond the man’s imposing height. Men worked to free the truck’s passenger-side door while others were trying to break into the mangled trailer. Katie watched for a few minutes, and then impulsively raced to help, her former mission forgotten.

Working her way around the overturned trailer, she tried to peer through the narrow slits in the side wall. It was impossible to count the heaving flesh trapped inside, but she estimated three, maybe four horses down, kicking and struggling to get out. Men worked feverishly to reach the injured animals, but the enclosed trailer defeated their efforts. The back door hung by one hinge, but the divider separating the back compartment from the front was jammed, making it almost impossible to reach the injured. Apparently the dead animals had been thrown out when the trailer jackknifed. Some had been hit by cars, judging from the damaged autos scattered along the roadside. A portly man collapsed against the overturned trailer, breathing heavily and wiping sweat from his forehead. The cloud of smoke cast a stifling blanket, hampering rescue efforts.

Katie crawled inside the overturned carrier, cautiously working her way to the crumpled and jammed divider. Her stomach curled at the sight of the tangled limbs of the horrified and injured horses.
There had to be a way to get them out. A bay kicked frantically, lunging against the divider. Blood spurted from a nasty shoulder gash.

“There, boy, take it easy,” Katie crooned, trying to calm the horse.

A shout and the wail of a siren heralded the arrival of emergency vehicles. Katie crawled through the wreckage and emerged as an ambulance, two fire trucks, and a couple of police cars pulled up, sirens blaring. Paramedics hit the ground before the vehicle fully stopped, racing to the truck cab. Firemen approached the overturned trailer, eyes openly assessing the bedlam. Katie wanted to scream at them to hurry, but she knew they needed to determine what would be best for the horses’ sake. Someone brought a Sawzall. Was it strong enough to slice through the metal trailer? Rescue workers were already using the Jaws of Life to cut through the truck cab and reach the driver pinned inside.

The screech of metal cutting metal sent the horses into a panic. Firemen cut through the top of the trailer, and the minute it was open, Katie tried to maneuver into line to help remove the animals, but a burly captain stepped in front of her.

“Sorry, ma’am. You need to step back out of the way.”

“I can help. I’ve doctored animals all my life.”

“You could get hurt in there. Sorry, but if you want to help, you’ll stand back and let us work.”

A tall, rawboned woman with short salt-and-pepper hair ran toward them. “I’m a vet.” She was allowed to pass to the scene of action, while Katie fumed. A couple of men cautiously approached the trailer. Katie held her breath as they tried to untangle the downed animals. Finally they led the bay out at the end of a rope. One by one, the horses were removed. Frightened, shying at every noise, the trembling animals were led to safety. Two were limping, and all were bleeding from numerous wounds. A stock trailer rattled up, restoring alarm. The men leading the horses spoke calmly, guiding them gently forward. One horse couldn’t get up. “Broken legs and internal injuries,” someone in the crowd murmured. The vet administered an injection, and after a short time, the thrashing body went limp and the horrible sound of an animal in agony was stilled. The carcass was dragged out and loaded onto a flatbed trailer.

The woman vet glanced at Katie, her color drained.“Those horses look like someone took a ball bat to them. It’s a shame to allow this to happen in a civilized nation. Someone ought to do something about this disgrace.” A fireman called her and she moved away to join him.

What disgrace? Accidents happen.

A news reporter held a microphone to the fire chief’s mouth, and Katie shamelessly eavesdropped. “How many horses were saved?”

“Four. At first we thought we had four in the trailer, but when we got inside, one was down and buried under the weight of the others. Eight horses in all were involved.”

“Are the remaining ones going to be all right?”

“Can’t say.” The chief lifted his hat for ventilation. “You’ll need to talk to the vet — looked to me like most of them were hurt pretty badly. They got tossed around when the trailer overturned.”

Attendants strapped the driver to a body board and loaded him into the ambulance. A stench of oil and spilled gas, of blood and sweat and death, hung over the scene of the accident like a thundercloud mingling with the sharp, stinging scent of smoke.

Devils Tower, the first vertical monolith to be named a national monument, loomed in the distance. The massive rock formation jutted out of the smoky Black Hills landscape, looking almost surreal with the smoke billowing around its base and the flickering flames skirting the ridge. Katie knew several northern plains tribes called it Bear’s Lodge and considered it a sacred worship site. It was probably best known for the role it played in the late seventies movie
Close Encounters
. Today, the tower, the smoke, the tragic wreck, sent a shiver of apprehension rippling through her. She breathed a quick prayer.

Father, be with the driver, and with these helpless animals.
You can work miracles, and it looks like the victims
could sure use one.

“The driver will be lucky to get out of this alive.”

Katie turned to find Joel Tate beside her. Joel owned the ranch two miles to the south. Except for the seven years he’d spent on Wall Street, he’d been a fixture in these parts. They’d gone to school together, known each other most of their lives. Joel had been back a few weeks, but this was the first time she’d bumped into him.

“It’s so tragic. Does anyone know how it happened?”

He inclined his head toward the distorted wreckage. “The driver hasn’t regained consciousness.”

Katie’s eyes scanned the highway where carcasses were being loaded onto the flatbed trailer. “It’s a miracle anything survived.”

He lifted his Stetson and ran a hand through black, curly hair. Katie had to admit the man just got better looking with age. His odd colored eyes, a dark green hue, had been a distraction during his youth; now they enhanced his rugged features. In high school he’d been the bookish sort, not particularly handsome, and certainly not part of the “in crowd.” He hadn’t been a partier. She’d liked that about him, but others called him a geek. Well, world, Joel Tate was anything but a geek now. Katie thought he’d be married by now with a houseful of kids and an immense library. Thirty-seven wasn’t ancient, but most men were committed by that age, yet Joel remained single.

He was a couple of inches taller than her own six feet, which made it nice standing beside him. It hadn’t been easy in high school when she had towered above him and most boys her age.

Maybe he was like her, content to wait until the right person came along, though rumor had it, he’d been involved in a pretty nasty breakup prior to leaving the Big Apple.

She didn’t have time to brood about her lack of social life. Taking care of Grandpops until he died took time, then working the shelter . . . She glanced at her watch. “Oh, granny’s skirts! I was due at the airport fifteen minutes ago!”

Joel turned to look at her. “New guest?”

She nodded. Everyone around knew that she took in battered women, but the town kept the information to themselves. Little Bush was a close-knit community, loyal to a fault, and the Addisons had been part of the community as far back as anyone remembered. It wasn’t a large community, though it had grown since she graduated from high school. For one thing, a couple of factories had moved in, and a few hometown boys made good, investing time and money into the community. Quite a few mom-and-pop businesses had sprung up, and the chamber of commerce boasted a healthy number of members. The town still had most of the original buildings, reminding one that it was an old town, it’s roots going back a long way. There was still a hint of wildness, a feel of the frontier that outsiders sometimes found intimidating. If they wanted something more, Sundance and Gillette were a short drive away.

Katie’s Grandpops, old man Addison, as the locals called him, ran the town before he died last year. Paul and Willa Addison, her maternal grandparents, had raised Katie from an infant when their daughter had been shot and killed by her jealous husband.

With abuse in her background, if mistreated women needed protection, Katie gave it and Little Bush enforced it. Her thoughts returned to Joel. “What happens to the surviving animals?” She stepped back to allow an emergency worker to pass.

He shook his head. “They were on their way to the slaughter house. I suppose they’ll continue the journey.”

Her jaw dropped. Slaughter house! She knew these things happened, but . . . slaughter house?

“Why?”

“Why? Surely you know why.”

Oh, she knew why, and she knew animal by-products were a huge business, but to see evidence of the cruelty turned Katie’s stomach. Sure, she was accused of taking in every stray that wandered her way, and if her house and yard were any indication of being a pushover, she couldn’t argue
with the accusation, but horses, innocent animals, on their way to becoming glue or paste, or whatever they did with them?

“The survivors — I want them.”

Joel glanced over. “You want them?”

“Yes. I want them. Who do I talk to?”

He shook his head, a grin shadowing the corners of his mouth. His clean shaven features hadn’t changed much over the years; his youthful complexion had cleared but left some remaining evidence on his cheeks. Wall Street’s pressure had done a job on him, folks said, made him cynical. Sick of life. He pretty much stayed to himself, only going into town for groceries and supplies every couple of weeks.

He shifted. “I see the years haven’t changed you.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning you’re still trying to take care of the whole world.”

She shrugged. “And that’s a bad thing?” That was most people’s problem; because they couldn’t take care of everything, they quit trying to take care of the things they could. She believed one person’s efforts, regardless of how puny, made a difference, and she tried to live her life accordingly.

Her cell phone rang and she punched the on button. “Yes, this is Katie. Oh . . . hi. Yes, I meant to call you this morning about the feed bill. I’ll have the payment to you by morning — yes, in the morning. No later, Sue.” She flashed a lame grin in Joel’s direction. “Yeah, can’t really talk now. Thanks for calling.” She clicked the off button and resumed the conversation without missing a beat. “I really have to go. Who do I see about getting the animals?”

“You’ve got room for four near dead horses?”

“I’ll make room.”

Shaking his head, he focused on the activity. “I haven’t acquired injured horses on their way to the slaughter house, but I suppose if I were planning on it, I’d start by consulting Ben. Most likely he can trace the owner’s name, maybe talk to the people at the USDA or humane society.”

“Ben?” Her eyes traced the sheriff who was busy trying to redirect traffic. “You think he’d help?” Not likely. She and Ben had been at sword’s point of late. She wasn’t sure he would be overly eager to help her. Their on-and off again dating over the years was starting to get on his nerves. Like Joel, she’d known Ben most of her life, and while it wasn’t secret that he’d had a crush on her longer than anybody in Little Bush could remember, Katie didn’t return the sentiment. He was great guy, but he was Ben. Kind, courteous, good-looking some would say, with reddish blond hair and tiger green eyes, but Ben was Ben. Familiar. Safe. Not what God had in mind for her mate.