and it chimed merrily, sounding all too much like reindeer bells. 

“Why don’t you come into the den,” he said.  “I can show you something I know your mom would want you to have.” 

Without looking to see if Arch would follow, Frank strode down the hall in the direction of the trophy room. 

He had a slight hitch in his step from an old, poorly healed injury, and the way he walked accompanied by the jangle of the tools, made him sound like a genuine spur wearing desperado, in Arch’s opinion.  Frank liked the way it sounded.  Raymond Archibald Cranston most certainly did not.  Arch hated everything about the much younger man at first sight.  Not just because he was smelly, unkempt, and carried himself like a grave robber.  But becaus...

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