A Gift For Santa
Beth Carpenter
It’s the season for giving…and starting over?A reindeer farm without Santa wouldn’t be Christmas in Marissa Gray’s Alaskan hometown. Luckily Chris Allen’s there to pinch-hit, although for Marissa, seeing her ex-fiancé again brings back memories of what might have been.Ten years after their breakup, the feelings between the wildlife biologist and blue-eyed fisherman are stronger than ever. Only now there’s a foster kid in the mix, as well as the shocking crime that cost Marissa her job and her family’s security. She and Chris need to find their way to a meeting of minds and hearts to make this truly a season for second chances…
It’s the season for giving...and starting over?
A reindeer farm without Santa wouldn’t be Christmas in Marissa Gray’s Alaskan hometown. Luckily Chris Allen’s there to pinch-hit, although for Marissa, seeing her ex-fiancé again brings back memories of what might have been.
Ten years after their breakup, the feelings between the wildlife biologist and blue-eyed fisherman are stronger than ever. Only now there’s a foster kid in the mix, as well as the shocking crime that cost Marissa her job and her family’s security. She and Chris need to find their way to a meeting of minds and hearts to make this truly a season for second chances...
“Are you ready to collect on our bet?”
The corners of Chris’s eyes crinkled after he said it.
“I am.” Marissa smiled and took a step closer. “Kiss me.”
He ran a finger down the side of her face to brush her hair back behind her shoulder. And then he gathered her into his arms and pulled her tight against his chest. Her heart beat faster, and he hadn’t even gotten to her lips yet. He lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers like a whisper. She parted her lips to draw in a breath, and he captured her mouth. Her arms wound around his neck, bringing him closer.
How she’d missed this. The way they fit together. His arms holding her safe, his heart beating in time with hers. It was like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle that fit into the remaining spot and brought the whole picture into focus. It was never this way with anyone else. She wanted to stay in his arms forever.
Dear Reader (#u03d23ca1-d711-5721-a08f-698b93945f15),
I love Christmas. I love the decorations, the food and the excitement of children as they anticipate Santa coming. In my heroine Marissa’s family, Christmas is not only a passion, but a way of life. Marissa grew up on her aunt and uncle’s reindeer farm in Alaska, and Christmastime is their busiest season. Her uncle Oliver is a natural Santa, with his white beard, round belly and love for children. But Oliver is sick, and it’s up to Marissa and Aunt Becky to carry on.
For my hero, Chris, Christmas magic was in short supply during his childhood. Until he met Marissa, he’d never known that that sort of supportive and happy family unit existed. But a fundamental disagreement led to their breakup.
Now, as much as Marissa would like to deny it, her family needs our hero’s help. Partly to annoy her, he agrees to step in. Just to complicate things, a dinosaur-loving boy in dire need of a dose of Christmas spirit ricochets into Chris’s life. And Christmas starts to work its magic...
I hope you enjoy reading this story. There will be more Northern Lights romances to come. To keep in touch, visit www.bethcarpenterbooks.blogspot.com (http://www.bethcarpenterbooks.blogspot.com), where you can find my email, Facebook and Twitter contacts as well as the latest book news. You can also sign up for my newsletter.
Wishing peace, love and joy to you and yours the whole year through.
Beth Carpenter
A Gift for Santa
Beth Carpenter
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
BETH CARPENTER is thankful for good books, a good dog, a good man and a dream job creating happily-ever-afters. She and her husband now split their time between Alaska and Arizona, where she occasionally encounters a moose in the yard or a scorpion in the basement. She prefers the moose.
To my husband, Steve. Thank you for supporting my dreams.
I also want to thank my agent, Barbara Rosenberg, and editors Kathryn Lye and Victoria Curran for believing in me and working with me to make each story the best it can be. And thanks to Brenda, Brenda, Christy, Sue, Diana and other early readers. Your encouragement made all the difference.
Contents
Cover (#u7b2f8397-d65f-505b-88b2-11006dae00f0)
Back Cover Text (#u56a1c2db-e00c-55e4-83a6-04f910cf699c)
Introduction (#ud11b8754-6891-53b5-b806-2fb3539ed8d4)
Dear Reader (#u36aab227-ee82-56de-ae11-e318cbe7f4fc)
Title Page (#u409199c7-2cef-5ee7-a802-d775193a7b5c)
About the Author (#u242c0515-c863-58d7-93c1-2b65e0f819eb)
Dedication (#u4f5b2db1-7591-54d2-ae9a-4e8b8718adfc)
CHAPTER ONE (#uccd80a76-877b-5c49-ac44-85ed0beee6e6)
CHAPTER TWO (#u623e6a2e-3e84-5374-946c-8d06dc9525e4)
CHAPTER THREE (#u095c9b84-374c-5ad1-bfa6-55af0fd39886)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u7f312d8a-5c01-58bc-9007-a845134b8f66)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u274f37fe-90fe-5e11-b2ef-52be86dbc577)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u03d23ca1-d711-5721-a08f-698b93945f15)
Twenty-four days till Christmas
NO SNOW. No Uncle Oliver. Even the reindeer weren’t cooperating. Instead of following the others out, Peppermint pawed at the floor of the trailer and shook her head, jingling the bells on her harness.
Marissa scratched the hairy diva’s forehead and spoke in a low voice. “Come on, girl. You’ll have fun. Think of all those kids so excited to ride behind a real live reindeer.” She patted Peppermint’s neck until she seemed calm. “Let’s go. Your public awaits.” She gave a little tug on the lead, and with a toss of her antlers, the reindeer trip-trapped down the ramp. Her snort formed a cloud of white vapor in the icy air.
The last few rays of sun cast a pink glow on the oval track of trucked-in snow, breaking up the expanse of brown grass. Ordinarily, at least ten inches of packed snow would blanket the area beside the golf-course clubhouse Grizzlyco always rented for their Christmas party, making it the perfect venue for reindeer sleigh rides. But there was nothing ordinary about this year, especially without Oliver playing Santa Claus.
It felt wrong, setting up for a party without Oliver’s hearty “Ho, ho, ho,” booming in the background as he warmed up for his favorite role. Her uncle barely had the energy to get out of bed these days, much less spend a strenuous evening handling reindeer and wrestling children on and off his lap.
Aunt Becky pulled one of the pop-up Christmas trees from the back of the truck and stopped to look across the clearing, where a man was attaching grooming equipment to the back of a snow machine. “The snow track looks good.”
“It does. I’m amazed Grizzlyco took on the expense of trucking in snow.”
“Lucky for us, this is their premier event of the year, and the sleigh rides for the kids are a big draw.” Becky frowned. “And speaking of draws, have you seen the guy who’s supposed to play Santa?”
“Not that I know of.” A few people had been milling around the kitchen and decorating the party room when she went inside earlier, but she hadn’t seen anyone who looked like a would-be Santa. Of course, it was hard to picture anyone else in the role except Oliver.
Becky clucked her tongue. “He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. I’ll take this tree inside and see if he’s arrived.”
Marissa unloaded the other tree and Santa’s throne. On her final trip indoors, she found Becky pressing the cell phone to her ear, a look of panic spreading across her face. Was Oliver okay? Marissa stepped closer to listen to the conversation.
“Yes, it’s today. What’s all that noise? Are you in a bar?” Becky paced back and forth as she waited for the reply. “No, thank you. And don’t bother showing up for the next one, either. Yes, well, I’m sorry, too. Goodbye.” Becky tapped the phone and met Marissa’s eyes. “No Santa.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“That’s what I get for hiring someone’s nephew as a favor. He sounded half-sloshed.” Becky gazed upward. “Now what do we do?”
“I don’t know.” Marissa thought for a moment. “I guess we’ll have to draft Dillon.” Although how they were going to turn their sixteen-year-old assistant, with a voice that tended to unexpectedly switch octaves, into the jolly old elf himself was hard to imagine.
“Dillon?”
“Who else? Maddy or Jasmine? All they do is giggle.”
“True.” Becky shook her head. “I’ve got one or two possibilities. Let me make some calls while I set up Santa’s throne.”
“All right.” Marissa unpacked the tree she’d brought in. “I’ll make sure the reindeer rides are ready to go.”
Becky nodded, already flicking through the contacts on her phone. Marissa picked up the empty tree bags and carried them to the truck.
Hiring a Santa was never a consideration before, with Oliver so perfect for the role. He kept his white beard all year round in preparation for the Christmas season. How long had he been going downhill? It had been too many years since Marissa had made it back to Alaska to visit. Oliver had seemed fine last February when he and Aunt Becky had come to see her in Louisiana—maybe a little thinner, less energetic, but then he was getting older. Still, she should have realized something was wrong.
If she hadn’t been so busy assisting Jason with that fund-raiser while they were visiting, she would have. Or maybe not. If she were any good at picking up subtle clues, Jason couldn’t have conned her and left her jobless and under suspicion of fraud. Once the River Foundation closed, ending her work there, she’d come slinking back to the reindeer farm outside Anchorage where she’d grown up. She’d never expected to find Oliver so pale and weak. Why had they kept it from her? At least the train wreck in her own life brought her home, where she could help Becky get through the Christmas season.
Marissa stopped to check on the reindeer and the three elves who would lead them around the tracks. The teenagers clustered together under the light pole where children would be lining up for rides. “You guys all have your boots and costumes, right?”
“Do I really have to wear the thing with the bells?” Dillon scratched the back of his neck.
“Of course. It’s all part of being an elf. You’re lucky. When I was your age and doing this job, I had to wear elf ears, too. The only reason you don’t is that people kept asking if I was a Vulcan.”
Predictably, the girls giggled. Dillon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “We just have to lead the reindeer and pull the kids, right? We don’t have to talk to the kids or anything?”
Hmm. Not the best candidate to embrace the whole Santa Claus persona. Surely Becky could come up with someone better. Marissa gave Dillon an encouraging smile. “Just look friendly and lead the reindeer around the track. Becky will handle getting the kids in and out of the sleds. Okay?”
Dillon nodded and adjusted Peppermint’s harness. At the other end of the clearing, the snow machine made a second pass along the track, leaving a packed trail with twin grooves in the snow. At least something was going right. Marissa had figured the trucks would just dump the snow, but whoever had hauled it in had taken the trouble to find a cross-country ski groomer and condition the trail. That would make the reindeers’ job, as well as that of the reindeer handlers’, much smoother.
Marissa walked over to the edge of the oval and waved down the driver. He stopped the snow machine in the shadow of a tall spruce, cut the engine and lifted the helmet from his head.
She stepped forward. “Thanks for grooming. It looks great. We appreciate the extra effort.”
“Bo?”
She froze at the sound of the familiar voice. Great, just great. What were the odds of running into him here? If they had to meet, she would have liked it to be on her own terms, not when she was already frazzled. But it had to be Chris. Nobody else ever called her Bo, short for Rainbow, because he said her smile was like a burst of sunshine after a rainstorm. At least he used to say that, a long time ago.
She swallowed. “Hello, Chris.”
“Why are you here?” He stepped out of the shadow. The light from the pole bounced off auburn hair, disheveled from the helmet. His beard was neatly trimmed, not wild and curly the way it tended to be at the end of fishing season, but he still had the same broad shoulders, the same crooked smile. Maybe a few more lines around his eyes. Darned if he didn’t look even better than he had ten years ago.
“I’m helping with the party.” And that’s all he needed to know.
“I mean in Alaska. I thought you’d gone for good.”
She nodded. “This is just temporary. I’m between jobs and Becky needed help for the busy season.”
Chris studied her face. “I see.”
He looked as though he did see. Scary thought. The Ponzi scheme Jason had been running was all over the networks, but Chris usually didn’t pay a lot of attention to national news. He wouldn’t know she’d been working at the River Foundation Jason had founded, much less that she and Jason had been dating. At least she hoped not. The fewer people who tied her to Jason, the better.
“No luck, Marissa,” Becky called as she hurried toward them. When she realized who Marissa was talking to, her face lit up. “Chris!”
“Becky, how are you?” He opened his arms to hug the small, plump woman. “I thought I’d find you here. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you. So you trucked in the snow?”
“Yes. My snowplowing business isn’t doing so well this winter, so I jumped at the chance to earn a little extra hauling it down from the mountains.”
Becky stepped closer to the track. “It looks great. Where did you get the grooming equipment?”
“I borrowed it from the Nordic Ski Club. They’re not using it. So, where’s Oliver? I’d like to say hello.”
Marissa didn’t want to get into explanations. “He couldn’t make it today. He’s not feeling well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It won’t be the same without him playing Santa.”
“No. In fact...” Marissa could all but see the light bulb go on over Becky’s head as her aunt said, “We’re having a little problem.”
Marissa gave her own head a brief shake. No, no, no. The last thing she needed was to spend a whole evening with Chris. Not with their history. Even if it meant forcing Dillon into the role. In fact, she’d play Santa herself before she’d let Chris worm his way back into her life.
He glanced at her in time to see her trying to wave Becky off, and the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled. Uh-oh. She knew that look.
Her aunt bumbled on, either completely missing Marissa’s signals or ignoring them. “Our substitute Santa backed out at the last minute. It looks like you’re about done with the snow. Would you be willing to fill in for Oliver?”
Chris raised his eyebrows. “You want me to play Santa?”
“Chris can’t do Santa.” Marissa tried to keep her voice matter-of-fact. “He doesn’t like children.”
He frowned at her. “That’s not true. I have nothing against kids.”
“But you said—”
He turned to Becky. “I’ll do it. Where do I get a costume?”
“We’ve got everything you need. Marissa will get you fixed up.” Becky beamed at him. “Thank you, Chris. You’re a lifesaver.”
“No problem. I just have to finish this pass and send my guys home with the equipment.” He caught Marissa’s eye, and there was a challenge in his gaze. “I’ll be back.”
She met his stare without blinking. “I’ll be here.”
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Chris slouched in his chair while Marissa smeared petroleum jelly around the edges of his beard. “Is this really necessary?” he muttered.
She smirked. “Unless you want white dye all over your skin. Trust me, when I wipe it off, you’ll be glad.”
“Why can’t I just wear the fake beard, like everyone else?” Sure, Oliver had a real beard, but then his was naturally white.
“Real is better. We might as well take advantage of yours.”
“Great.” What had he gotten himself into? He didn’t dislike kids, no matter what Marissa said, although it was true he had little experience with them. But when he’d seen how much she hated the idea of him playing Santa, he couldn’t resist yanking her chain. Besides, Becky was in a bind and he was fond of her and Oliver, in spite of everything. They weren’t the ones who’d dumped him.
Marissa held a spray can near his face. “Ready?”
“I guess.”
“Keep your eyes and mouth closed.” With a hiss of aerosol, she started turning his beard white. A little tickle followed her progress. She paused to shake the can. “Hang on. It’s not easy to cover all these red whiskers.”
He scowled and looked up at her. “My beard is brown.”
A hint of amusement glinted from those green-blue eyes of hers, the exact color of the Kenai River on a sunny day. “Sure it is. Close your eyes and don’t talk, unless you want a mouthful of dye.” She took so long he wondered if she was stretching out the process on purpose, but finally, she finished.
He reached for his beard, but she slapped his hand away. “Let it dry.”
“This stuff does wash out, right?”
Marissa snickered and started smearing petroleum jelly across his forehead.
“You have to do my hair, too?”
She pushed a stray lock away from his face. “No, the wig and hat will cover that, but Santa can’t have red—excuse me, brown—eyebrows.” She used to tease him about his hair when they were together. She’d run her fingers through the thick waves and say she was jealous.
Her own hair was perfectly straight, a warm brown that glowed even under the fluorescent lights of the closet they were using as a dressing room. He knew if he reached out to stroke it, it would feel like satin ribbons under his hand. She’d changed surprisingly little in ten years. Only the easy smile, the confident optimism, was missing, but that might have more to do with the way they’d parted than the years that had passed.
She was still beautiful, no doubt about that. He’d been drawn to her from the first moment he saw her, laughing as she helped a group of schoolchildren release salmon fry into Chester Creek. He’d interrupted his hike to listen to her explain the salmon’s life cycle. Once the teacher herded the children back onto the school bus, Chris saw his chance. He’d helped Marissa pack some gear into her car, and struck up a conversation. By the time she’d closed the trunk, he was hooked.
Smart, energetic and laugh-out-loud funny when she wanted to be, Marissa had fascinated him. A year later, she’d let him put a ring on her finger. But at twenty-four, Marissa was a woman who knew what she wanted, and wasn’t about to let a little thing like love interfere with her carefully laid plans. A month before the wedding, she’d called the whole thing off.
Maybe he’d dodged a bullet. He hadn’t had a relationship since Marissa that lasted even six months. Sometimes he suspected she’d done him a favor when she broke the engagement, saving them both the agony of a bitter divorce. He wondered how those plans of hers had worked out. Last he heard, she was doing some sort of research on the Gulf Coast. A quick glance reaffirmed the absence of rings on her hands, so maybe the devoted husband and two-point-four kids hadn’t materialized. Not that it mattered to him one way or another. Their relationship was ancient history.
“Eyes closed.” Two puffs on his eyebrows and she started wiping the grease off his skin with a tissue. “Okay, that does it for the dye. So, here’s the routine. I’ll organize the kids and bring them to you one at a time. You set them on your lap, ho, ho, ho a little and ask what they want for Christmas. Then I snap your picture together, you give them a candy cane and we send them on their way.”
“Okay.” Chris nodded. “That sounds straightforward enough.”
“Be enthusiastic, but not too loud. And if they start screaming, don’t force them onto your lap.”
Was she serious? “Screaming?”
Marissa nodded and dipped a fluffy brush in a powder pot. “Imagine if somebody told you to sit on a bearded stranger’s lap. It can be scary.” She reached for his face with the brush. “Hold still.”
Chris pulled away. “Santa wears makeup?”
“Just a little powder so your nose won’t shine in the pictures. Man up.” She tickled his nose and cheeks with the powder. “There. I’ll leave you to get into your costume. The pants are waterproof.”
“I’m afraid to ask why.”
“Like I said, sometimes the kids are scared.”
“So they pee? What are they, puppies?”
She gave a maniacal laugh. “You should hear some of Oliver’s stories. A friend of his from Santa school had a diaper leak all over his lap.”
Now that was disgusting. The only child Chris had spent much time around was his little sister, and he couldn’t remember her doing anything along those lines.
He grimaced. “You know, I never graduated from Santa school. I don’t want to get in trouble for practicing without a proper license or anything.”
“Too late now. The children are counting on you.” Her grin was pure evil. “Besides, you promised Becky. Get dressed. I’ll check back in a few minutes.”
Fifteen minutes later, Chris examined himself in the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Amazing. Santa Claus looked back at him, blue eyes twinkling beneath white eyebrows. Padding filled out the plush red costume under the wide black belt. Fortunately, he’d worn black snow boots, because he never would have fit his feet into those patent leather booties.
He looked the part. Now the question was could he play the part? No one had ever taken him to see Santa when he was a kid, so he didn’t have that experience to fall back on. He’d been to a few parties where Oliver was working, but never paid much attention to how he did his job. Oliver just seemed to treat the kids with the same gentle enthusiasm as he did everyone, and they adored him. He loved playing Santa. Poor guy. He must be down with a nasty flu or something to miss the biggest party of the year.
Chris wrinkled his nose and patted the stiff plastic lining of the pants, hoping he wouldn’t need it. Surely Marissa was exaggerating. All those stories were just to torture him for defying her and agreeing to Becky’s request. No doubt if he’d declined, Marissa would have held that against him, too. There was no winning with her. She expected the whole world to fall in with her plans. You’d think she would have outgrown that by now.
If it were just Marissa, he’d take the hint and leave her to solve the problem on her own, but Becky deserved better. She and Oliver had made Chris feel truly welcomed from the very first time they met, when Marissa had brought him home to meet the couple who’d raised her. Even after the split, Chris would run into them now and again, and they greeted him like a long-lost relative.
A knock sounded, and the door opened a crack. “Are you decent?”
Chris glanced toward the mirror again. “Only my hands and eyes are showing.”
Marissa walked in, wearing white tights, a red dress trimmed with white faux fur, and a matching stocking cap with a jingle bell on the end. More bells jingled from the turned-up toes of her shoes as she stepped into the room. Chris grinned.
She shot him a look. “Don’t say a word.”
He chuckled. “For an elf, you’re awfully bossy. Come on. Let’s get jolly.”
* * *
THEY’D BEEN AT it for two hours, but it looked like they’d finally worked their way to the end of the line. Chris watched Marissa climb the step of the platform and deposit another child on his lap. He’d lost count along the way, but it felt as if he’d interacted with a thousand or so little people so far. They’d had a few meltdowns, but Marissa was good at assessing whether they wanted her encouragement to approach him or just needed to put some distance between themselves and the scary man with the beard.
He smiled at the girl on his lap. “What would you like for Christmas?”
She just stared up at him, her little mouth forming an O, her dark eyes wide. Chris tried again. “You’ve been a good girl, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” She reached up to touch his beard, stiff from all the white dye. “It’s real,” she whispered.
He gave a gentle “Ho, ho, ho. What would you like Santa to bring you?”
A confident smile bloomed on her face. “An Elsa doll and a big elephant.”
Chris’s chest rocked with suppressed laughter. “You mean a stuffed elephant.”
She shook her head, her eyes solemn. “No, a real one I can ride, with long tooths and a trunk.”
Chris looked over to her parents for guidance, but they only shrugged. He turned back to the girl. “I’m not sure I have room for an elephant in my sleigh. Besides, where would you keep him?”
“In my room.”
“Hmm. That could get a little messy. I’ll have to think about it, but I’ll make a note. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with what you find under the tree on Christmas morning. Now, smile at Elf Marissa and she’ll take our picture.”
The girl beamed at Marissa, accepted her candy cane and skipped off with her parents. Chris hoped she didn’t have her heart set on a live elephant. He looked to Marissa for the next child, but no one seemed to be in line.
A small boy stood to one side, peering at him from behind his mother.
Marissa smiled at the boy. “Would you like to sit on Santa’s lap?”
He shook his head and ducked behind his mom. Chris got down from his big chair and sat on the step, looking toward the windows instead of at the boy. “You know, Elf Marissa, if someone wanted to give me a message, they wouldn’t have to sit on my lap. They could just whisper it in my ear.”
Marissa cocked her head at the boy. “What do you think? Do you want to whisper something to Santa?”
The little guy leaned out from behind his mother’s legs to look at Chris, but hid again and shook his head.
Marissa pressed her finger against her chin. “Or maybe they could whisper the message to me, and I could pass it on. What do you think, Santa?”
Chris couldn’t resist teasing her. “I don’t know. That’s a big responsibility for an elf.” He glanced over at the boy. “Do you think we can trust her to get it right?”
The little boy bobbed his head eagerly. Chris smiled. “All right, then.”
Without hesitation, the boy hurried to Marissa. She bent so that her face was level with his, and he whispered something in her ear. She motioned his mother over and the three of them huddled together for a minute. When the boy looked up, Chris offered him a candy cane. After a little encouragement from his mother, he crept toward Chris while she and Marissa watched and whispered.
Without making eye contact, the boy took the candy from Chris’s hand. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“You’re very welcome. Merry Christmas.”
The boy ran back to his mom, but turned to smile and wave at Chris before disappearing into the crowd with her. Marissa came to sit beside Chris on the step. “I think he was the last.”
“Good, but don’t you have a message for me?”
She laughed. “Taking your duties pretty seriously there, Santa. Yes, Noah wants his dad home for Christmas, and from what his mom tells me he’s going to get his wish.”
“Military?”
She nodded. “A few months apart must feel like years when you’re that small.”
“His mom looked excited, too. I’m glad they’ll be together for Christmas.”
Marissa turned to him, but quickly glanced away again. Was she remembering, as he was, their last Christmas together? Snuggled up next to the fire, the air spiced with peppermint and evergreen and the light flowery scent that clung to her hair. Warm laughter and cookie-flavored kisses. Back then, he’d believed it was the beginning of a lifetime together. He was wrong.
He stood abruptly. “So now what?”
She rose and faced him. “You’re done. Just leave the costume on the hanger.” She paused, and then continued in a formal voice. “Thank you for your help. Have a nice Christmas.”
“Santa.” Becky came bouncing toward them, her cheeks rosy above her fur-trimmed red sweater. “How did it go?”
“Fairly well, I think.” Chris looked at Marissa.
She nodded. “Just fine. Everything okay with the reindeer?”
“The kids loved them, as always. At first, Dillon acted like the kids might bite, but he eventually settled down.” Becky took Chris’s arm and led him toward a quiet corner. Marissa followed. “So, Chris, we’re going to need a Santa for a party Tuesday afternoon, and for several other appearances between now and Christmas. It’s a paying gig, and there’s no snow to plow in the forecast anytime soon. What do you say?”
“No.” Marissa stepped between them. “We’ll find someone else. Chris is busy.”
Ten years ago she’d dumped him, and now she thought she could speak for him? Not likely. But why did they need him? Chris frowned. “Won’t Oliver be better by then?”
Becky shook her head. “Oliver’s quite ill. It’s his heart.”
Oliver had a bad heart? He seemed so healthy. Granted, he carried a few extra pounds thanks to Becky’s cooking, but he was strong, tossing around fifty-pound feed sacks with ease. “I’m so sorry. If it—”
“We’ll be fine.” Marissa locked eyes with him. “We appreciate the help, but you’ve done enough.”
Chris’s gaze shifted from Marissa’s glare to the hopeful glint in Becky’s eyes. He ignored Marissa and smiled at her aunt. “Of course. I’d be happy to help. Let’s go find my phone and I’ll put in the dates.”
He left Marissa standing there with steam coming out from under her elf hat. So she didn’t want him around—tough cookies. He wasn’t so keen on spending time with her, either, but Becky and Oliver needed his help. Marissa was just going to have to grow up and think about someone besides herself for a change.
That alone was worth the price of a few dozen candy canes.
CHAPTER TWO (#u03d23ca1-d711-5721-a08f-698b93945f15)
Twenty-two days till Christmas
THE BUZZING FLUORESCENT bulb in Chris’s warehouse office seemed to hit the resonant frequency inside his skull. He massaged his temples while he waited for his password to reveal the balance of his checking account. Sadly, the figure was exactly what he expected. He’d have to transfer more money out of his boat fund to cover payroll.
After years of working on someone else’s boat, socking away his earnings from his share of the catch, he’d almost reached his goal of owning his own fishing boat. In fact, he’d come close to buying one in September, even going so far as to sell his one indulgence, his red convertible. At the last minute, the boat owner had changed his mind about selling. Just as well, because the money from Chris’s car had been keeping the plowing business afloat. Who knew this would be the winter of no snow?
He was down to two employees; the previous year he’d had ten. He couldn’t cut his last two guys. They’d both been with him almost from the beginning. Besides, he was under contract to clear parking lots for several businesses, and if the weather ever turned, he’d need them. And he sure wasn’t about to let anybody go this close to Christmas.
He got up from the desk and stared into the warehouse. Six trucks sat idle. He’d started with one pickup and a plow, clearing driveways, a few months after he and Marissa began dating. Before that, he’d fished in the summer and spent the winters skiing and riding his snow machine, but being with Marissa had made him think of things like down payments and IRAs. Besides, Marissa was uncomfortable with a high play/work ratio, and at that time he’d been willing to jump through fire if it meant she’d stick around.
Marissa was a grad student then, going to school in Fairbanks while Chris got this business off the ground in Anchorage. Their relationship consisted of snatched weekends and holidays, interludes of sweetness that always left him wishing for more. Maybe if they’d lived in the same town he’d have realized before he asked her to marry him just how unsuited they really were. After all, she had a master’s degree in wildlife biology; he was a college dropout who fished and plowed snow. Although her parents had died when she was small, Marissa grew up as part of a loving family. Chris was lucky to get the occasional pat on the head from his father, and his mom hardly noticed him. But he and Marissa were happy together, and their differences didn’t seem to matter. Until they did.
What was she doing back in Alaska? Was something going on with Oliver and Becky? Marissa had said she was between jobs, but knowing her work ethic, it was unlikely she would leave one position before she’d lined up another. Before she’d even finished her degree, she’d landed several job offers from all over the country. Hard to imagine an experienced wildlife biologist would resort to working as an elf, even if it was the family business.
Of course, he’d resorted to a job as Santa Claus. It was mostly as a favor to Becky, but looking at the weather forecast, he figured a little extra income wouldn’t hurt.
Chris sighed and returned to his desk. He transferred the money into the checking account and printed the payroll checks. They were sliding out of the printer when the office door opened.
“Hey, we got all the plows waxed.” Brad, his most senior employee, sauntered in. “Kenny’s putting the stuff away.”
“Good. Thanks.” All the equipment had been waxed back in May before it went into storage, but since he was paying the guys, he might as well give them something to do. “Hang on a minute. I have your check ready.” Chris signed it, then handed it to him. “Don’t cash it until tomorrow, though. I just put in a transfer but it won’t go through until tonight.”
“No problem.” Brad tucked the check into his wallet and looked up at the ceiling. “That bulb is flickering.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Want me to change it for you?”
“Sure—” Chris stood and stretched “—but do it tomorrow. No need to stick around any longer today.”
Brad shifted his weight to his other foot. “Actually, I might not come in tomorrow.”
Chris looked at him. “Why not? You getting sick?”
“My brother-in-law has this business going, hanging Christmas lights. He wants me to run the cherry picker. And I figured since you don’t really need me around here anyway...”
“I don’t care if you take some time, but you are coming back, right?”
“Well, sure. I’ll be back after Christmas.”
“Okay.” Chris shook his hand. “Sorry I can’t do a Christmas bonus this year.”
Brad shrugged. “Weather’s a killer. Merry Christmas, dude.”
Chris laughed. “Yeah. Merry Christmas.” He watched Brad walk away before grabbing Kenny’s check and flipping off the office lights. He’d replace that bulb tomorrow. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.
* * *
MARISSA TOSSED A bale of hay onto the rack. The reindeer crowded past her to the food, two yearling bulls tossing their short antlers with the kind of attitude usually seen on high school basketball courts. The older bull, Blizzard, had already shed his impressive antlers, but the cows would hold on to theirs for another few months.
One of the cows, Snowflake, stopped to nuzzle Marissa’s hand. She still remembered. Marissa pulled out a piece of carrot she’d hidden in her pocket just for the old girl, a tradition of theirs since Snowflake was a calf. In fact, Marissa had been there at her birth. Hard to believe it was almost twelve years ago. Chris had been there, too. He’d come by to take her out to dinner when Oliver announced Muff was about to give birth. Neither of them could bear to leave until Snowflake had arrived and was on her feet and nursing.
Many of the reindeer pulling hay from the feeder had been born since the last time Marissa visited Alaska. She’d been away too long. Becky took good care of the animals, but the farm, always so crisp and kempt, showed signs of neglect. Rusty hinges, broken boards, peeling paint... Even the sign at the road had faded. Oliver must have been losing ground for a lot longer than Marissa had realized. But it was easier to have him and Becky visit her than to come back to Alaska on her limited vacation time. And if she were honest, she was also afraid she would run into Chris.
Now she had, and it wasn’t as hard as she’d thought it would be. Same old Chris, eager to pitch in, as long as you didn’t try to tie him down. Never with one woman too long, judging from what she’d gleaned from social media. Chris’s own page hadn’t been updated since she’d set it up for him back when they were dating, but he was always being tagged in pictures, usually by some blonde bragging about the “real Alaska man” who made her vacation the “best ever.” Not that Marissa was stalking him or anything. In fact, Chris barely even crossed her mind anymore. She just happened to stumble across the photos now and then when looking up other old friends from Alaska. At least that was her story, should anyone ask.
Across the pasture, Oliver’s old truck bounced up the lane. Good, they were back from the doctor’s appointment. Marissa had been home for a little over a week, but Oliver and Becky had been very closemouthed about his health status. Hopefully, the doctor had suggested a different prescription or treatment—something to help Oliver’s heart and build up his strength—because the current medicine didn’t seem to be working.
The truck circled behind the old farmhouse, which could definitely use a coat of paint. Even from where she stood, Marissa could detect spots where the white paint had flaked off, exposing the weathered wood siding. It was one of those sprawling houses built in stages. Wood-frame additions had grown up and out from the original two-room log cabin as the homesteaders added rooms to accommodate their eight children.
Even though Oliver and Becky had closed off a whole wing and added insulation, Marissa suspected the fuel bill to run the main boiler must be enormous.
After checking to make sure the heater was keeping the water trough clear for the reindeer, Marissa made her way home.
She stepped over the broken front step and onto the porch, noticing as she opened the front door that one of the small panes in it had a crack in the corner, temporarily mended with duct tape.
In the living room, Oliver lay back in his recliner, his face paler than ever. But he greeted her with a smile. “There’s my girl. How’s the herd?”
“Just fine. Snowflake was begging for treats.” Marissa could hear Becky banging around in the kitchen. She shed her coat and sat on the sofa. Tiger, the yellow house cat, jumped onto her lap and purred.
“Snowflake has a long memory.” Oliver paused to breathe. Just walking from the garage to the living room had left him winded. “Remember how she used to try to follow you into the house?”
“I remember.” Snowflake’s mother had sustained an injury a week after the calf was born, and Marissa took over bottle-feeding her. Before long, Snowflake was following her all over the farm, and couldn’t seem to understand why she wasn’t allowed to come into the house when Marissa ducked in to grab a snack. She would stand on the porch, grunting and snorting, until Marissa returned for her.
“I thought I heard you in here.” Becky bustled in, carrying a tray with three steaming mugs, which she set on the coffee table. “I made orange spiced tea.”
“Thank you.” Oliver accepted his cup and set it with shaking hands on the table beside his chair. His breathing slowly returned to normal.
“So what did the doctor have to say?” Marissa asked.
“Nothing much. It’s all about the same.” Oliver was trying for nonchalant, but his smile looked forced.
Becky’s mouth tightened. “That’s not what he said.” She turned to Marissa. “His heart is getting weaker. The doctor says a transplant is really our only hope. He’s on the list, but—”
“Transplant?” Marissa stared at her.
Becky shot an accusing glance at her husband. “You said you told her.”
“I did.”
Marissa shook her head. “When you called, you said you were having some trouble with your heart, and the doctor gave you medication. This is the first I’m hearing about a transplant.”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“How long have you known about this?”
Oliver wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Four months or so.”
Marissa sat in a chair across from his and leaned forward. “You should have told me. I would have come home a long time ago.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you. There’s nothing you can do. I’m not that sick. I’m what they call status two, which means I can stay at home and don’t need any special IV meds while I wait.”
“So how long will it be before the transplant?”
“Nobody knows.” Becky plopped into the chair beside Oliver’s and took a sip of tea. “The sicker patients get first priority, of course. They’re the ones in hospitals, hanging on and waiting for a match.” She left unspoken that if he didn’t get a transplant soon, Oliver would be one of those people in the hospital, hanging on.
Marissa caught Oliver’s gaze. “So, if I hadn’t lost my job and come home, were you not going to tell me at all?”
He patted her arm, the way he used to when she was a little girl with a skinned knee. “Of course I was. But I was hoping to sandwich it in with the news that I was getting a transplant.”
“Oh, Oliver.” Marissa blinked back tears. “You and Becky have always been there for me. When my parents died, you were there. When Jason took off and everything fell apart at the River Foundation, I didn’t know who to trust, but I knew I could count on you and Becky to take me in and love me. Don’t you know I want to be there for you, too? We’re family. We share the bad times as well as the good.”
He gave her a gentle smile. “You’re right. I should have told you, but you’ve had so much on your plate. I didn’t want to be a burden.”
“You could never, ever be a burden. Not to me.” She kissed his cheek. She’d been nine years old when her parents died. Oliver and Becky had been her family ever since, and she couldn’t have asked for a better one. From the very first night when they tucked her under the quilt in the cozy bedroom beneath the eaves and kissed her forehead good-night, she’d felt cherished. She still did. “How can I help?”
Becky reached over to rub her shoulder. “It’s out of our hands. All we can do is hope and pray.”
Oliver gave her a wry smile. “I can’t in good conscience ask you to pray for someone with a healthy heart to give up his life for mine. But if you really want to help, you could go get me some of those oatmeal cookies Becky made this morning.” At his wife’s pointed look he amended, “One cookie.”
“All right. I’ll be right back.” Marissa gave him a brave smile and went to the kitchen. When she opened the snowflake-printed tin, the scent of cinnamon wafted through the air. It smelled like home. Her vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn’t lose Oliver. She just couldn’t.
Becky and Oliver were her rocks. After the fiasco with Jason and all the nasty accusations launched in her direction, it made all the difference to know there were two people in the world she could count on to believe in her no matter what. People who knew she would never embezzle money, never lie to donors and never be involved with a man who did. At least not knowingly.
Jason. Who would have thought he was capable of something like this? His philanthropic efforts had established the research center she’d worked for in Louisiana, or rather had worked for until they were forced to shut down. They were studying the recovery of a riparian ecosystem once devastated by a chemical spill, but steadily recovering. She and the other two scientists at the River Foundation were documenting the recovery, observing how the various building blocks of the ecosystem linked together. The information they’d gathered would help others trying to reestablish similar ecosystems.
But it turned out Jason was using the River Foundation as a front, part of the elaborate Ponzi scheme he’d engineered. He’d convinced hundreds of people to invest with his company, or to donate to the River Foundation. They all trusted him, and why not? Who wouldn’t trust someone so friendly, and generous, and full of confidence? Which was probably why they called such types confidence men.
When Marissa first started at the center, a rumor had been circulating that Jason was getting divorced. Everyone worried that it might affect their funding if he lost too much in a divorce settlement, but it didn’t seem to. Marissa had been with the center for almost a year when Jason invited her to attend a fund-raiser with him. She’d asked if he wanted her to speak about their research, but no. He had a short Powerpoint presentation, but mostly he just wanted her there, on his arm. He’d explained that people didn’t respond to lectures. What he wanted was her enthusiasm for the project. He said if Marissa chatted with potential supporters one-on-one, they’d line up to donate. He was right.
The evening was a huge success. They began dating, and Marissa threw her considerable organizational talent into fund-raising for the River Foundation. Jason seemed so interested, so sincere, that she believed he truly cared for both her and the research center. But it was all an act. Even the divorce was a ruse to hide money. At least it looked that way, since nobody could seem to find Jason’s ex-wife, either. It caused a knot in Marissa’s stomach whenever she thought of the people who had donated money to her efforts, only to have it disappear along with any sign of Jason. No wonder they hated her.
Threatening letters arrived at the center from donors accusing her of stealing their money, of knowing where Jason was hiding. The investigators were watching her passport even now, waiting for her to make a move to some Caribbean island without an extradition treaty. She’d had to get permission from federal agents to fly home to Alaska.
If only she did know Jason’s whereabouts. She’d turn him in so fast he’d get whiplash. With any luck, he’d spend the rest of his life locked away where he could never betray honest people again. She would like to see him just one more time, though, to tell him exactly what she thought of him. The stories of older people losing their retirement savings, of a young couple forced to give up their home, sickened her. And it was all because of Jason.
She dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin and washed her hands before setting three oatmeal cookies on one of Becky’s reindeer plates.
Her memories of her parents were vague, only bits and pieces before they’d died and she’d come to live in Alaska. They’d loved her; that she knew. But they were gone. Becky and Oliver were the people in her life whose love was unconditional and constant. And now there was a chance she could lose Oliver. She’d known his condition was bad, had seen how weak he’d become, and yet she’d refused to believe he could die. But it was time to be a grown-up and face facts. She might lose him. And all she could do in the meantime was cherish the time they did have together.
She’d been a lucky little girl. After her parents died, she could have ended up with someone who only tolerated her. Instead, her aunt and uncle were thrilled to bring her home, as though she was a special gift. Despite having no children of their own, they’d quit their jobs and started a successful reindeer farm to provide a magical Christmas experience for other people’s kids. And Marissa landed right in the middle of the magic.
Knowing it was Oliver playing Santa didn’t diminish the experience at all. Just the opposite. She got to grow up on the farm with the jolly old elf, his lovable wife and his magical reindeer the whole year round.
Marissa pasted a smile on her face and picked up the plate. Santa Claus needed his cookie.
CHAPTER THREE (#u03d23ca1-d711-5721-a08f-698b93945f15)
Twenty-one days till Christmas
“...AND A NINJA SWORD, and books, and a puzzle.”
Chris glanced over to make sure the parents were able to hear the conversation. They smiled and nodded, so apparently there were no surprises.
He reached into the bowl beside his chair. “Got it. Have a merry Christmas, Sean. Here’s a candy cane.”
Today, they were working a party for a large group of homeschoolers and their parents at the community center. Chris was starting to get the hang of this Santa thing. Kids were just people, but without the filters. They were noisier and messier, but also more spontaneous and joyful. And they believed in magic, some more than others. But whether they were skeptics or true believers, they knew Christmas was special. And he got to be the spirit of Christmas. How cool was that?
Of course, a two-minute conversation with a kid who believed you had the power to make their dreams come true was a far cry from actual parenting. Even his own father used to feign interest in Chris’s activities every once in a while. How did parents do this? A couple hours of holding the kids on his lap and talking to them left Chris as tired as if he’d been digging ditches, and yet parents did it all day, every day.
Marissa started to lead the next child forward, but another boy, maybe four or so, ran to the front of the line. “My turn to talk to Santa.”
“No, it’s Nolan’s turn.” Marissa’s voice was firm. “You need to get in line with the others.”
“But I wanna go now.” Tears squeezed from the boy’s eyes and he wailed, “It’s my turn. My turn.” He sobbed as if his heart were breaking, and sank to the floor.
Chris winced. So much for getting the hang of things. He’d have to remember this next time he felt cocky. The boy’s mother hurried over, but made no move to pull him away. Instead, she crossed her arms and made eye contact with Marissa.
Marissa gave her a sympathetic smile and led the next boy in line around the weeping child sprawled across the vinyl floor. “Santa, this is Nolan.”
Okay, if that’s how they were going to play it. “Hi, Nolan.”
Chris watched the other boy from the corner of his eye while carrying on his conversation with Nolan, at least as well as he could with earsplitting screams a few feet away. Within minutes, the sobs diminished and the boy opened his eyes. When he realized no one was paying attention to him, he stopped crying as if turning off a faucet, and allowed his mother to escort him to the back of the line. When his turn came twenty minutes later, he cheerfully recited a long Christmas list, including requests for his baby brother and the dog. He gave no indication he even remembered he’d had a tantrum.
Wouldn’t that be great? To be able to simply put past mistakes behind you, without giving them another thought? At what age did you start to keep track of all the stupid, thoughtless and selfish actions that you and the people around you committed, letting them build up into walls? Chris wondered. On the other hand, what if everyone just acted as rotten as they wanted, without consequences? There was a reason people called it childish behavior. Kids were a puzzle.
How did Marissa know how to handle all this stuff? She was an only child, raised by an older couple. But somehow, she seemed to know exactly how to manage a herd of excited kids without breaking a sweat. She’d always wanted kids. Maybe she did a lot of children’s outreach programs with her job. That sounded like something she would enjoy. Or maybe she had a boyfriend with kids back in the lower forty-eight, so was used to hanging around with them. Chris pushed that thought away without giving himself time to wonder why it made him feel antsy.
Once he had talked with all the twenty or so kids at the party, he and Marissa went outside to watch the reindeer rides. With no snow, Becky had hitched up a red wagon that could hold one or two children at a time. Marissa offered to take over and give her a break.
Chris pulled out his phone from inside his Santa jacket and snapped a few photos of Marissa leading the reindeer and wagonful of wide-eyed children around the parking lot. “They’re having fun,” he stated.
Becky waved at the little ones before turning to him. “Don’t post those online without their parents’ permission.”
“No problem.” The photos were just for him, although he wasn’t sure why he wanted them. To remember the day, he supposed, and his time as Santa Claus. It surely had nothing to do with how cute Marissa looked in her elf costume, leading the reindeer and laughing with the kids.
When the party was over, Chris helped Becky and Marissa load their equipment. After waving goodbye to the last child, Becky went inside to collect the fee. Chris arranged the sections of the Santa throne in the bed of the truck. “How long until you go back to work?” he asked Marissa.
She flashed him a look of suspicion. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On when I find a job.”
Chris closed the tailgate. “You didn’t have one lined up before you quit? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I didn’t quit. The facility I was working at closed down.”
“Why?”
“Lack of funds.” She pushed a lock of hair away from her face. “Don’t worry. I’ve got applications out and a headhunter looking. I’m sure I’ll find something soon.”
“And in the meantime, you’re staying here?”
“This is where my family lives.” She crossed her arms. “Why? Is Alaska not big enough for the both of us?”
“Just asking. I figured you’d need to get back to a husband, or at least a boyfriend, who misses you.”
“Well, I don’t.” She spoke a little too quickly. “I don’t have a boyfriend and I’m not looking for one. Right now, I just want to get Becky and Oliver through the Christmas season and then get my career back on track.”
Chris smirked. “So, you’ve made a few changes to the master plan?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know, the plan where you’ve established your professional reputation by thirty, and by thirty-five you have two or three children and a golden retriever. You’re what, thirty-four now? You’re running a little behind.”
A strange expression flashed across her face. “Very funny.” She spun away from him and flounced across the parking lot.
What was that all about? Marissa never backed down from a good sparring match. He trotted after her. “Marissa?” She didn’t slow. He finally caught up with her and caught her by the elbow. “What’s going on?”
She spun around, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Nothing. Leave me alone.”
“Look, I’m sorry if I said—”
She jerked her arm from his grasp and turned away. “Forget it. Just go away.”
“But you’re upset.”
“Don’t talk to me. I don’t want you here. How much clearer can I be?”
“Bo, I didn’t mean—”
Her head shot up. “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that. Just go.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, I’m going. Whatever it was, I’m sorry.”
“Fine. Go.”
Chris crossed to his own truck and got in, but instead of starting the engine, he sat there watching her. She stood at the edge of the parking lot, her back rigid, as if it was taking all her strength not to burst into tears. Which was crazy. Marissa didn’t cry. She planned.
Where most people hung posters or art on their walls, she posted goals. She created notebooks full of lists, time lines and flowcharts, color-coded and with footnotes. She made contingency plans, and if those fell apart, she wasted no time on regrets, but immediately started a new plan. Chris had to admire her ability to strategize and follow through.
Even so, he’d never been able to resist the occasional urge to sabotage her daily schedule. “Sometimes you’ve just got to throw out the plan and follow your heart,” he’d tell her. He showed her the joys of spontaneity, of ducking out of a party early to spend the evening wrapped in blankets, gazing at the stars from the bed of his truck. Of blowing off a dinner reservation in favor of an impromptu picnic. Of stolen kisses in elevators and coat closets. And she’d loosened up a little, learned to let go, while she’d taught him how to organize his business. They were good for each other. When he’d needled her about her grand plan just now, he’d meant to tease, the way they’d always teased each other. Hadn’t he?
Or maybe there was a part of him that wanted to hurt her, the same way she’d hurt him when she made it clear her love for him only extended so far. That her desire for motherhood trumped her promise to marry him. Maybe he’d done it on purpose, to see her suffer.
If so, it had backfired, because he felt no satisfaction, watching her pain. Only an overriding desire to make it stop. But it was too late. The damage was done.
Marissa stood motionless for several minutes. It was only after she disappeared into the community center that Chris started his truck and drove home. There was really no reason to feel guilty. So he’d stepped over a line he didn’t know was there. He’d apologized. Several times. That’s all he could do. Besides, why should he care about Marissa’s feelings? She wasn’t concerned about his.
He parked in the driveway of the split-level house at the end of a cul-de-sac that backed against the woods in Bicentennial Park. The smell of fresh-baked cookies greeted him as he opened the front door. “Dana?” Kimmik ran to greet him, his tail thumping against the banister railing as he led Chris upstairs to the kitchen.
Wire racks full of shaped Christmas cookies covered most of the kitchen island, but Dana’s bag was missing, as were her keys. Chris grinned. If she didn’t want him to eat the cookies, she shouldn’t have left them unguarded. He helped himself to a slightly lopsided star, breaking off a corner for Kimmik before taking a bite himself. Yum. The quality of food had improved considerably in this house since his sister moved in. He finished the cookie before shedding his Santa hat and coat. Kimmik whined and scratched at the door, so Chris let him into the backyard before heading for the shower to wash the dye from his beard and eyebrows.
He emerged fifteen minutes later and thirty years younger. He threw on old jeans and a flannel shirt, and padded barefoot across the room to let Kimmik inside. But when he whistled, no dog appeared. He leaned out the door to look for him, but saw only an empty yard with the gate standing open.
Shoot. He couldn’t lose Sam’s dog. He crammed his feet into shoes, threw on a jacket and hurried out. Let’s see, where would a loose dog go first? Probably straight into the woods. Chris would just have to pick a trail and follow it, hoping the sound of his voice would bring Kimmik home.
He shivered. Frosty weather and wet hair wasn’t a good combination. He should have grabbed a hat. He was considering whether to go back for one when he spotted Kimmik up Bunchberry Street, chasing after a stick and returning it to someone Chris couldn’t see behind a bush.
Letting out a breath of relief, he trotted toward them. “Here, Kimmik.” But the dog didn’t come. When Chris reached the bush, he spotted a boy in a baggy green jacket determinedly holding on to the dog’s collar while Kimmik, still holding the stick in his mouth, struggled to break loose and answer Chris’s call. As soon as Kimmik saw him, he stopped struggling and wagged his tail.
“Hi, I’m Chris. Thanks for taking care of Kimmik.”
The boy studied Chris with skepticism. “That’s his name?”
“Uh-huh. It means dog in Inupiat. Right, Kimmik?”
The dog wiggled in agreement, but the boy didn’t release his hold on the collar. “Kimmik likes to fetch sticks.”
“He sure does, but he shouldn’t be out of his yard unsupervised. Do you live around here?” Chris was familiar with most of the kids on the street, at least by sight, and was pretty sure he’d never seen this boy before. He was seven or so, with brown hair spilling forward from under the hood of his sweatshirt, and he was eyeing Chris with contempt, as though he could barely bring himself to answer such an absurd comment.
“He wasn’t unsupervised. He was with me.” Chris noticed the boy didn’t answer the last question. He decided not to push it.
“Yeah, it was lucky you were there when he got out so he didn’t get into traffic or anything.”
The boy looked at the stick Kimmik was holding, obviously wanting more playtime with the dog, but Chris’s ears were freezing. Before he could figure out how to get the kid to release Kimmik’s collar, a woman’s voice called, “Ryan.”
The boy stiffened, but didn’t answer. She called again.
Chris jerked his head in the direction of the voice. “Your mom is calling.”
“She’s not my mom.” The boy finally released Kimmik, who ran to greet Chris. With a mighty sigh, Ryan trudged away.
Chris located the voice as coming from a woman standing on the second-story deck two houses down, and waved. “Merry Christmas, Sandy.”
“Merry Christmas,” she called back. “Ryan, hurry. We have to go now, or we’ll be late.”
With no discernible change in speed, the boy made his way toward her. Once, he looked back, the expression on his face like that of a starving man being dragged from a Thanksgiving meal.
Chris shrugged. Not his problem. He whistled, and Kimmik danced up to him, carrying the stick. He threw it ahead, playing fetch with Kimmik all the way home. He was shutting the gate when Dana’s jeep turned into the driveway. She waved before pulling into the garage. Chris slipped in the back door. When he arrived in the kitchen, Dana was there, unpacking a bag of groceries.
“Hey, how was the Santa gig?”
“Not bad.” He swiped another cookie from the rack and bit into it.
“If you’ll wait a little while, I plan to frost those cookies.”
“No need.” He took another bite. “They’re good like this.”
“So what are you doing running around in the cold with wet hair? Trying to catch pneumonia?”
“You sound like a mom.” He thought about that while he finished the cookie. “Well, maybe not our mom, but somebody’s mom. Actually, I realized Kimmik had gotten out and went to find him.”
Dana frowned. “How did he get out?”
“The gate was open and I didn’t notice.”
“That’s odd. It was closed when I let him out a couple of hours ago.” She rubbed Kimmik’s ears and looked into his eyes. “You haven’t learned to open the gate, have you?”
Kimmik declined to answer, rubbing his body against her legs. Chris went to pour himself a glass of milk to go with his cookies. “I doubt it. Must have not latched well, and blown open or something.”
Dana emptied a bag of tiny oranges into a wire basket. “Still no snow in the forecast. Good thing you found this Santa Claus job.”
Chris nodded. It would be, except today when Becky tried to pay him, he’d turned the check down. If Oliver had something wrong with his heart, they probably had prescriptions and doctor bills to worry about, and Chris didn’t feel right taking their money. Becky had tried to insist, but he’d said he wouldn’t cash the check even if he took it, and she’d finally backed down.
Dana grinned. “A friend of mine was at the Grizzlyco party the other night with her daughter and told me all about the Santa Claus there. You must feel like a rock star, having all those kids waiting in line to talk with you, and a pretty elf fawning over you.”
Chris shook his head. “Believe me, the elf is doing very little fawning. I’m not her favorite person.”
“You know her outside work?”
“I did, a long time ago.”
Dana’s ears perked up and Chris braced himself for the upcoming interrogation. When Dana was a teenager, Chris had left his family after a disagreement with their father. Nineteen years later, Dana came searching for him, and along the way had fallen in love with his roommate and best friend, Sam. Now that she’d married Sam and moved into the house with them, Dana was determined to catch up on everything she’d missed in Chris’s life. “What’s her name?” she asked.
“Marissa Gray.” He picked up a couple cans and set them in the pantry. “You don’t have anything planned for dinner, do you? Because I’m hungry for Thai. Do you want pineapple curry?”
“That sounds good.” She seemed to be accepting his change of topic, but the glint of curiosity in her eyes warned him she wasn’t giving up. Before she could frame another question, Chris pulled out his phone and started walking toward the stairs that led down to is bedroom. “I’ll call in the order.” He really wasn’t up to a conversation about his history with Marissa right now. No doubt Dana would get the whole story from Sam tonight.
“Chris?”
Too slow. He stopped without turning around. “Yes?”
There was a short pause before she spoke. “Get extra rice.”
BECKY STOPPED THE truck and trailer in the pullout beside the main road. A motley collection of mailboxes lined the edge of the pavement. Marissa hopped out to collect their letters. As she returned to the truck, she happened to glance up at Becky, catching her unaware. Worry lines formed deep furrows across her forehead, and the slump of her shoulders hinted at her exhaustion. Oliver’s illness was taking a toll on both of them. But when Marissa opened the door, Becky turned to smile at her, banishing any trace of sadness or fatigue. Marissa smiled back. “Good party today.”
Becky put the truck in gear and turned down the secondary road that led to the farm. “Yes. Chris is good with the kids.”
He was. And it was driving Marissa crazy. When they were engaged, Chris had as much as told her he wanted nothing to do with children, and yet he seemed to have a natural way with them. Marissa wondered, not for the first time, if his no-kids stance was only an excuse to get out of marrying her. But she didn’t need to lay all that on Becky. Her aunt had enough to worry about.
Instead, Marissa opted for loyalty. “He’s not as good as Oliver.”
“Well, that’s a given. Oliver is the master of all things Santa.”
“Yes, he is.” Marissa smiled again, thinking about her uncle’s constant research on Christmas traditions past and present. They drove along for another fifteen minutes, past the entrance to their solitary neighbor’s seasonal cabin, and turned in beside the faded Reindeer Farm sign with a stylized portrait of a reindeer pulling a sleigh. The truck rattled over the drive, which was in desperate need of gravel and grading, and came to a stop near the barn.
Marissa pulled down the ramp on the trailer. “Why don’t you go check on Oliver and let the aid go home? I’ll take care of the reindeer and everything.”
Becky looked relieved. “Thank you. I’ll do that. Leave the truck, and I’ll unload later.”
Marissa nodded, although she had no intention of leaving work for Becky. She unloaded the reindeer, brushed each one, and led them into their pen. “You girls did well today. Great party.” She gave each of them a pat on the rump before she left the pen.
It had been a good party. The homeschool kids were really into the magic of the reindeer and Santa Claus, and Chris was selling the whole child-loving, jolly old elf persona quite well. But, of course, it was an illusion.
And she should recognize an illusion when she saw it, having been fooled so many times. She’d been so in love with Chris. The day he put a ring on her finger, she was happier than she’d ever been. But then he’d started to withdraw, to push her away. When she tried to make plans, he’d change the subject. It all came to a head that weekend they’d skied at Alyeska. The day she’d brought up children.
Just outside the resort, they’d spied a family gathering at one of the Nordic ski trails—two boys, maybe nine and seven, a preschool girl riding on her dad’s back, and the mom with a baby in a front pack. The mother transferred the little girl and the baby into a pulk, one of those small nylon tents on a sled, while the dad got the two boys outfitted with skis and poles, all involving an incredible amount of noise and confusion. But eventually, the family started off down the trail, with the dad pulling the pulk behind him and the mom chasing after the two boys, who’d surged ahead. After they’d gone by, Marissa laughed. “They have their hands full.”
“I’ll say.” Chris looked after them and smiled as the boys raced forward, pretending they didn’t hear their mother calling for them to slow down.
Marissa took his hand. “How many do you want?”
“How many what?” Chris seemed genuinely confused.
“Children. How many kids do you think we should have?”
The look of horror on his face said it all. “Kids? Oh, no. I’m not cut out to have kids.”
Marissa tried to smooth over his blunt reply. “It wouldn’t be for a few years. The plan is to get my career established first, and have the kids between thirty and thirty-five.”
“No. Not now, not in a few years.”
“But—”
“No. I know what it’s like to have a bad father. I wouldn’t do that to an innocent child.”
“Oh, come on, you’d be a great dad. Just think—”
He stopped in his tracks. “No, I wouldn’t. I won’t.”
Marissa crossed her arms across her chest. “What are you saying? You’ve just made that decision for both of us? What I want doesn’t matter?”
He blew out a breath. “It’s always about what you want. I’ve agreed to all your wedding plans. I’ve agreed to leave my job behind if you decide you want to move away from Alaska once you graduate. But not this.”
“So, you’re not even willing to compromise?”
“Compromise how? Half a kid? Children can’t be a compromise. If both parents aren’t fully committed, they shouldn’t have children. Period.” He turned away and strode toward the hotel.
She ran to catch up and grabbed his arm to stop him, to force him to look at her. “I’ve always wanted children. What if this is nonnegotiable for me?”
Chris shrugged. “Then I suppose you’ll have to make up your mind which is more important, marrying me or finding someone who wants kids. It’s your decision.”
And in the end, she made it. She couldn’t marry someone so deeply selfish he wasn’t even willing to discuss the possibility of children, knowing how important they were to her. Pretty ironic as it turned out, but the point stood. She’d believed Chris was the one. She was wrong.
And she’d been wrong again. Wrong when she’d thought Robert would make the perfect husband and father, and so very wrong when she’d believed Jason was someone she could trust. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
So many bad choices, but she was finally taking the lessons to heart. She had poor judgment when it came to men. Much better to focus on the aspects of her life she did well, like her career and her family. Not that she’d done so well with family in the past few years, but now she would, because the scare with Oliver made her realize he and Becky meant more to her than anything else in the world.
She went back to work, taking care of the rabbits and feeding the goats and Willa, the potbellied pig. Once she’d checked that the chickens were all right, she unloaded the party gear from the truck. The mail still lay on the front seat where she’d left it.
She put the truck away and carried the letters to the house, sorting through them to see if anything had been forwarded to her. A large “second notice” stamp on one of Oliver’s envelopes caught her eye. Uh-oh.
Oliver had always handled the bills. Maybe with his illness, he’d fallen behind. Marissa decided that after dinner she would volunteer to help out. The scent of sage and onions greeted her when she opened the back door. Becky was stirring the chicken soup she’d started in the slow cooker that morning. Marissa closed her eyes and inhaled. “Mmm. I’m starved.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re ready to eat.” Becky dished up bowls of soup filled with big chunks of chicken, vegetables and barley. Oliver sat at the kitchen table, slicing bread. Marissa hurried to wash up.
After dinner, she washed the dishes and Becky dried. While her aunt was still wiping down the countertops, Marissa slipped into the living room to talk with her uncle. “I brought in the mail today and left it on your desk.”
“Okay, thanks.” Oliver reached for the remote control.
“I, um, couldn’t help but notice that one of the envelopes said second notice.”
Oliver didn’t look at her. “Humph. Must be some computer error or something.”
“Do you want me to check? I’m good with paperwork, if you need me to balance your accounts or anything.”
“No, no. I can handle it.” He was answering too quickly.
She studied his face, at least what she could see of it, since he still hadn’t looked her way. “I know you can, but as long as I’m here, why don’t you go ahead and write the check so I can put it in the mail tomorrow?”
He snapped the television on to some reality show that she knew he had zero interest in. “Not necessary.”
“Aren’t you curious as to which bill is late?”
He shook his head and pretended to watch the show. He knew. It wasn’t some computer error. Oliver knew exactly which bill was late and why. What was going on with their finances?
“Uncle Oliver, tell me the truth. What’s wrong?”
For a moment, he ignored her. Finally, he clicked the TV off, but continued to stare at the screen. “We’re having a little cash flow problem.”
“Why?”
“I made a bad investment.”
A sense of foreboding formed an icicle in her stomach. “What kind of investment?”
He shrugged.
And she knew. “You invested with Jason, didn’t you?”
Jason had gone out of his way to welcome them when they’d visited in February. He’d asked all sorts of questions about the farm and life in Alaska. He’d seemed fascinated with Oliver’s stories of the reindeer farm and how isolated they were with their closest neighbors a mile away, a couple who used the house only in the summer. And of course, Oliver ate it up.
Jason had never mentioned money or investing while Marissa was around. He’d obviously waited until he had Oliver alone. Of course, even if Marissa had realized he was soliciting investments from Oliver, she wouldn’t have objected. After all, she’d entrusted her own modest savings with him. And now Oliver and Becky were facing old age and illness without any financial cushion, while Jason lived it up with their money on a tropical island somewhere. Damn him.
Oliver eyed her with concern. “Honey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”
“I should have known. The whole setup was wrong. It was too good to be true. He was too good to be true.”
Her uncle reached for her hand. “Don’t beat yourself up. Most people are basically good. So, you and I let a slick huckster take our money. Next time we’ll know to ask more questions. But what would be the real tragedy is if we let him destroy our faith in people, don’t you think?”
How did he do it? Here he was, sick, unable to pay his bills and yet he was comforting her. Her heart swelled with pride to be related to such a man. She hugged him. “I think you’re the world’s best uncle.”
He chuckled. “I believe I have a mug that says so. Don’t you worry about that bill. Once Becky takes today’s check to the bank, we can pay it and the feed store. And the good news is we have several more parties scheduled between now and Christmas. We’ll be fine.”
But what about after Christmas? There was a huge gap between Christmas parties and the summer tourist season. They were going to require a regular income above their modest retirement checks just to get by, and the transplant wouldn’t be cheap. As soon as she could make it happen, Marissa needed to find a job.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u03d23ca1-d711-5721-a08f-698b93945f15)
Twenty days till Christmas
ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER PARTY. This one was a private birthday party. Not as profitable as the big events, but every little bit helped. Marissa grimaced as she bounced the wheel of the trailer over the curb on the turn into the parking lot, no doubt jostling the reindeer inside. Sorry, girls. She wasn’t used to driving with a trailer, but Oliver’s aid was running late and Becky had to stay until she arrived. Marissa gingerly pulled the truck and trailer along the edge of the almost-empty parking lot where they would be setting up the reindeer rides.
Across the lot, the door of an old blue truck opened. Chris. What was he doing here so early? Becky had him scheduled to arrive just in time to get dressed before the party started. After her meltdown the other day, Marissa had hoped to have Becky as a buffer the next time she faced him, but apparently not.
He walked across the parking lot. “Hi. Where’s Becky?”
“She’ll be along in a little while. Oliver’s health aid got delayed.”
“Oh.” He shifted his weight. “I, uh, I’m sorry for the other day. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Because I—”
“So let’s just forget it, okay?”
“Okay.”
“What are you doing here so early?”
He shrugged. “Nowhere else I need to be. Besides, Sam is leaving for his rotation to the North Slope today, so I wanted to be out of the house.”
“You still live with Sam?” She’d have thought Chris would have gotten his own place by now.
Chris shrugged. “Why not? He’s been promoted to head supervising engineer at Prudhoe Bay, so he’s gone to the slope two weeks out of four, and I’m out fishing most of the summer. Why leave two places sitting empty? I might be moving soon, though.”
She smirked. “Trouble in paradise after all these years?”
“Very funny. No, it’s just getting a little crowded, now that he’s married. And since it’s his last day home for two weeks, I thought I’d give the newlyweds some privacy.” He opened the tailgate. “You need all this stuff carried in?”
“Sam is married?” She wasn’t sure why she was so surprised. Sam was a great guy, but he’d been solely focused on his career. More than one woman had tried to tie him down, with little success. Marissa wondered who had finally won him over. “What’s his wife’s name? Do I know her?”
“Dana. And no. She’s from Kansas.” He lifted the parts of the Santa throne from the truck. “She’s my sister.”
“You have a sister?” Marissa stared at him. How could she not know that? She’d almost married the man, for heaven’s sake.
“Half sister, technically.”
“She wasn’t on the guest list for the wedding.” Marissa blurted it out before she thought, instantly wishing she could recall the words. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about the wedding that never happened.
But the reference didn’t seem to faze Chris. He just kept on unloading. “Long story short, I hadn’t been in touch with my family since I left home when I was twenty-one. Dana literally showed up on my doorstep this past summer, after my father died.”
“I can’t believe you have a sister.” Marissa wasn’t sure why she found that so surprising. Chris never talked about family, seldom mentioning his life before he came to Alaska, and she’d inferred he must be estranged from his parents. But for some reason, she’d never pictured siblings. Maybe because she didn’t have any. “Any other family?”
“Only my mom. That is, my stepmother. She still lives in Kansas.”
“Is your sister older or younger?”
“Dana’s my little sister. She was sixteen when I left home.”
“And you’ve never seen her since?”
“Not until this summer. Now that we’re living in the same house, we’re seeing a lot of each other.”
Marissa tried to imagine it. “What’s she like?”
“Dana? She’s a sweetheart. You’d like her. She’s in college right now, updating her credentials. She wants to teach math.” Chris spoke about this sister he’d never mentioned with a casual fondness, like any brother talking about a younger sibling. Marissa was beginning to wonder if she’d ever known Chris at all.
“So whatever it was that made you leave your family, it’s resolved?”
“Yep.” He closed the tailgate. Marissa ached to know the rest of that story, but Chris obviously wasn’t inclined to share.
Not that it was any of her business. Not anymore. “And your sister is married to Sam, the confirmed bachelor?”
“That’s right.” He grinned. “You should see them together. It’s a little sickening.”
“Oh?”
He chuckled. “Way too much giggling and whispering. Sam goes around with this goofy grin on his face.”
Marissa thought back to the ambitious young engineer she’d known. She’d always liked Sam. She felt a certain kinship with him, since he’d lost his parents and been raised by someone else, as well. Marissa had met his auntie Ursula, and it was clear he adored her as much as Marissa adored Oliver and Becky.
She’d like to talk to him herself, to meet his wife and offer her best wishes. But she’d seen Sam only once after she broke the engagement to his best friend, and he’d been far from friendly. He wouldn’t want to talk with her now. Still... “I’m glad he’s happy.”
“Yeah. Me, too. I’ll carry this stuff in and come back for the next load, okay?”
“Sure. And when you see Sam, tell him I said congratulations.”
“Will do.”
* * *
THE NEXT DAY, Chris slept in. No use jumping out of bed. No snow meant no work and no skiing, just time to kill. If he were willing to drive up to the mountains, he might be able to find enough snow to run his snow machine, but when he’d been hauling snow the other day, conditions looked poor. He finally dragged himself into the shower and pulled on some clothes. He was almost glad when he noticed his overflowing hamper. At last, something to do.
He went upstairs and poured a cup of coffee from the pot. Another perk of having Dana around. A bouquet of red carnations on the kitchen table emitted a spicy odor that blended nicely with the scent of coffee. No sign of his sister, but if the coffeemaker was on, she must be around.
A few minutes later, a door opened and Dana came down the hall, her arms full of books and Kimmik at her heels. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” Chris took a sip of coffee. “I’m washing. Got any laundry you want to throw in?”
She dropped the books on the island and dug in the kitchen drawer for a pen. “Maybe some towels. What are you doing home?” She tucked the books and pen into a backpack.
“Nothing to do at work, and I’m not scheduled for a party until tomorrow. I gave Kenny the day off.”
“Well, if you’re looking for something to do, you could check the gate and make sure Kimmik can’t open it. And if you want to get the towels from our hamper and wash them, that would be great.”
“Sam get out okay this morning?”
Dana’s face lit up at the mention of Sam’s name. “Yes, but he’ll be home for Christmas.” She paused. “He told me about the girl you were engaged to. I’m sorry.”
Chris shrugged. “Don’t be. It was over a long time ago.”
“But it’s her family’s reindeer business you’re working for, right?”
“Yeah. Her uncle always played Santa, but he’s sick, so they need a sub. No big deal. It’s only until Christmas.”
“So there’s no chance of the two of you getting back together?” Dana shrugged into her coat. He wasn’t sure if she was hopeful or wary, but it didn’t matter. He and Marissa were over.
“None. I’ve learned my lesson.”
Dana stopped in the middle of reaching for her keys. “I’m getting together with some friends for a movie tonight. Want to come?”
“No, thanks. You have fun.”
She threw a look of concern over her shoulder on her way out the door, but finally left him in peace. He smiled and shook his head. Funny girl. When he and Dana were growing up, their mother had basically checked out, spending all her time compulsively shopping rather than nurturing her family. In spite of that, or maybe because of it, Dana had developed a strong mothering instinct. With no other outlet, she’d focused that instinct on him. Never mind he was five years older than her or that they’d been apart for nineteen years; she was convinced he couldn’t cross the street without her. Not that he really minded. It was fun having his little sister around again.
She had no reason to worry about him, at least when it came to Marissa. Chris had never had much trouble finding female companionship whenever the mood struck. He wasn’t so lonely he was likely to start mooning over the one woman he knew for sure didn’t want him. There were a dozen women he could call if he felt like a date. But he didn’t call them.
Instead, he gathered up the laundry and started a load. Then he decided to surprise Dana by vacuuming and cleaning. It was only fair. She was busy and he wasn’t. It was midafternoon when he remembered about the gate. He pulled on boots, and was reaching for his jacket when he glanced out the window to see Ryan lifting the latch and calling Kimmik outside. By the time Chris pulled on his coat and made it to the door, boy and dog were playing fetch in the cul-de-sac.
“Hey, Ryan.”
The boy looked up, eyes wide and startled, but then turned his back and threw the stick again. Kimmik ran after it and galloped back, carrying it in his mouth with his head held high.
Chris trotted over to the boy. “Ryan, you can’t just be letting the dog out of the yard without asking.”
Ryan took the stick and threw it again. “He got out. Maybe he dug a hole.”
“I saw you open the gate.”
The kid raised his chin. “Well, he’s lonely. You don’t ever play with him.”
“I do, but you’re right, not as much as he’d like. Ryan, I don’t mind you playing with the dog, but you have to ask first. You can’t just take somebody else’s dog without permission.”
“If he was my dog, I’d take good care of him. I’d play with him and brush him and feed him.” He patted Kimmik on the head and threw the stick again. “You should take better care of your dog.”
Clever way to shift the blame. Chris smiled. “Technically, he’s not my dog. He belongs to my roommate, Sam. But I think we take pretty good care of him.”
“He’s not yours?” Ryan looked him in the eye for the first time.
“No. He’s Sam’s dog.”
“Is it your house?”
“Nope. Sam’s house, too. I just live there.” Chris rubbed Kimmik’s ears and took the stick, handing it to Ryan.
The boy threw the stick and turned to him. “So are you, like, a foster kid, too?”
Chris chuckled. “Not exactly. I pay rent and help with the chores, like taking care of the dog.”
“I do chores, too.”
“Good. That shows you’re responsible.”
“Ryan?” a man’s voice called from up the street.
The kid made a face. “Homework.” He made no move to answer, instead throwing the stick again.
Brent, a neighbor from up the street, walked toward them. “Ryan, it’s time to come inside.” He looked at Chris. “Sorry. Hope he wasn’t bothering you.”
“No, he just wanted to play with the dog.” Ryan shot Chris a look of alarm, but Chris patted him on the shoulder. “I told him he was welcome to play with Kimmik anytime, as long as he comes to ask first.”
“He loves dogs. He might drive you crazy.”
“Nah, he’s fine. I’ll let Sam and Dana know he might be stopping by.”
“Thanks.” Brent grasped Ryan by the shoulders and turned him around. “But right now, you need to go inside. Sandy wants to go over your spelling words with you while the baby’s napping.”
“But Kimmik wants to play.”
“Ryan, now.”
Ryan dropped his chin onto his chest with a mighty sigh, and trudged away.
Brent stayed with Chris. “Thanks for being nice to him.”
“No problem. I like him.”
“Do you?” Brent watched the boy. “He’s a handful. Sandy and I are fostering a baby girl we’re hoping to adopt. Ryan is new to foster care. His grandmother was looking after him, but she had to go to a nursing home. Sandy heard about him and couldn’t stand the idea of him not being with a family for Christmas, so she volunteered to keep him until January. Hopefully, they can find a long-term placement for him by then.”
Chris got the impression it wouldn’t have been Brent’s idea to take Ryan, but what did he know? Either way, they were taking care of him over Christmas, so kudos to Brent and Sandy. “Congratulations on the baby. And I meant what I said. Ryan is welcome to come play with Kimmik. He’s not dangerous.”
“I know. Labradors are great with kids.”
“Yeah. So give Sandy my best wishes, too. What’s the baby’s name?”
“April. She’s six months old.” Brent pulled out his phone and started pushing buttons. Chris had been around enough new fathers to know where this was going.
“Pretty name.”
“Thanks.” Brent held out his phone. “Here she is with Sandy on the day we brought her home.”
Chris dutifully studied the picture. The infant laughed toward the camera, her eyes opened wide and framed with dark curly lashes. “She’s gorgeous,” Chris assured him, truthfully in this case. Some of the babies he’d been forced to compliment looked, well...scary. “I’d better get Kimmik in. See you around.”
Chris put the dog in the yard and carefully latched the gate. Maybe he should have told Brent about Ryan letting Kimmik out, but it sounded like the kid had enough trouble in his life. Chris had a feeling he might be seeing a lot of Ryan over the next few weeks. Or at least, Kimmik would.
* * *
“SO, LAYLA, HAVE you been a good girl this year?” Chris smiled at the pigtailed imp in his lap. Wide brown eyes looked back at him solemnly.
“Nuh-uh.”
Well, he had to give her credit for honesty, even if it meant he wasn’t sure what to do next. “No?”
She shook her head. “I’m supposed to sit still and pay attention at school, but it’s too hard.”
“Huh. What grade are you in?”
“First grade.”
He nodded. “What’s your favorite subject?”
“P.E.”
“Oh yeah? Mine, too, when I was in school. I liked basketball.”
“You went to school?”
“Of course. School is important. If I hadn’t learned to read, I wouldn’t be able to read letters or make lists. I used to have a hard time sitting still, too.”
“You did?”
“Uh-huh. But I had a trick. I’d listen to what the teacher said, and then repeat it inside my head, and wriggle my toes.”
“Your toes?” She giggled, watching his eyes as if she thought he was joking.
“Sure. You’re not supposed to wiggle your body, but if you wriggle your toes, nobody sees. And it helped me remember. Say we were doing spelling words, like c-a-t, cat. I’d wriggle my toes, right-left-right, c-a-t, and I’d remember.”
“C-a-t,” she repeated, flapping her feet.
“Good, but when you do it in school, just do your toes, not your whole feet. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Good girl. Now, I’ve got a present for you here, somewhere.” He rummaged through the stack of packages he’d been provided.
“But you only get presents if you’re good.”
“You are good. Sometimes it’s hard to behave, but you try, and that’s what matters. Here it is, a package for Layla.” He handed her a polka-dotted box. “Merry Christmas.”
“I love you, Santa.” Layla hugged the box against her chest and flashed him a bright smile before skipping away.
Chris chuckled. The things kids said. Like Ryan the other day, asking if Chris was a foster kid. It must be hard, knowing you were a temporary part of a family, that the place you were living was your home only for a while. You could never have a pet of your own if you were moving around all the time. Chris could sympathize there; he’d begged for a dog for years when he was a kid but his parents said no. The closest he ever got was a fish.
Was it wrong for Chris to encourage Ryan to form a bond with Kimmik, knowing he’d be moving elsewhere after Christmas? The kid obviously loved dogs. Anyway, if he hadn’t promised, Ryan would probably just continue sneaking Kimmik from the yard. He seemed like a strong-willed kid.
Marissa stepped forward, leading another little girl with a thick black braid. “Santa, this is Lotu.”
“Hi, Lotu.” And so it went. One child after another. Some were shy, barely able to verbalize one gift, while others had an entire spiel memorized, including a record of their good behavior. After a while, the requests tended to run together, but each child was unique, and Chris tried to give every one his full attention.
He used to wonder why Oliver would have left a well-paid desk job in order to start a reindeer farm. It must have been a risk. But now that Chris had experienced the magic for himself he was starting to understand. Watching the kids’ eyes light up when they touched real live reindeer, or the excitement on their faces when they talked to him. Christmas magic.
There wasn’t a lot of magic in the house where he’d grown up. Sure, they got presents from his parents. His mom was a compulsive shopper, after all. And she usually had some Christmas doodads scattered around the house. But nobody baked goodies or decorated a tree. Nobody set out milk and cookies for Santa, because Santa didn’t come to their house. Chris remembered feeling superior to the kids who still believed in Santa. Who would have thought he’d ever be charged with the awesome responsibility of being the jolly old man himself?
Once all the children had had a chance to talk with him, he and Marissa went outside to watch the reindeer rides. This was a mixed group from an after-school program. Some of the parents had decided to put together the Christmas party as a special treat. The kids were thrilled to get to hang out with Santa and real reindeer.
Becky and the elves had three reindeer pulling little red wagons around the brightly lit parking lot. All three elves seemed to be enjoying their jobs, including Dillon.
Near the front door, children waited for a turn. One boy jostled a girl, causing her to spill the cup of red punch she’d carried outside. Her squeals as it splashed onto her sweater and the sidewalk startled the nearest reindeer, who threw up her head. But fortunately, the elf in charge was able to control her, while Becky calmed the girl and sent her inside with a parent to clean up.
At the end of the night, Becky paid the three elves and sent them home. Chris helped Marissa load up the reindeer and pack the equipment in the truck, while Becky collected their fee. Marissa had just closed the tailgate when her aunt reappeared. She started down the sidewalk, but when her foot hit the now-frozen puddle of punch, it slid out from under her and she went down.
“Becky!” Chris rushed over and knelt beside her.
Marissa was right behind him. “Are you okay?”
Becky blinked at them for a moment. “I think so.” She sat up.
Chris put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Just take a second. Did you hit your head?”
She rubbed the back of her skull. “No. Only my bottom.” She moved her legs and winced. “And my ankle.”
Marissa touched it gently. “We’d better get an X-ray.”
Becky hissed as she moved her foot. “No. I’m pretty sure it’s just twisted. If you can get me home, I’ll be fine.”
Despite Marissa and Chris’s best efforts to convince her, Becky refused to let them take her to the emergency room. She smiled at Marissa. “I guess you’re driving.”
“Why don’t I drive the reindeer?” Chris suggested. “And Marissa can take you home in my truck. It’s not quite as high to climb into.”
Marissa jerked her head toward him, probably about to say they didn’t need his help, but after another glance at Becky, she nodded. “That’s a good idea. Thanks.”
Chris helped Becky into the passenger seat of his truck and carefully tucked her foot onto a folded blanket. He handed the keys to Marissa. “See you there.”
He climbed into Oliver’s old dually and followed Marissa out of the parking lot, slowing down to make the turn with the trailer. The truck shuddered over the joint where the concrete met the asphalt, and Chris was doubly glad he’d volunteered his vehicle. Becky’s ankle would have felt every bump in the road with the worn-out shocks on her truck.
Forty minutes later, he swayed and bumped down the drive and pulled up outside the barn. Before unloading the reindeer, he walked back to the house, where Becky was sliding out onto her good foot. With Marissa on one side and Chris on the other, she hopped across the front yard. She stopped in front of the porch to catch her breath. A crack ran across the bottom step. Paint peeled away from the porch railings. When Becky grasped the handrail beside the stairs, it shifted. Marissa bit her lip and eyed the path to the front door.
“Let’s not stress that ankle.” Chris bent and lifted the older woman into his arms. “Marissa, could you get the door?”
Becky almost giggled. Marissa scurried ahead while Chris carefully climbed the steps and then carried Becky into the living room, setting her on her usual chair.
Oliver struggled out of his recliner. “What happened?”
“I’m fine.” Becky squeezed his hand. “It’s just a twisted ankle.”
He settled into the chair beside her without ever letting go of her hand, panting a little. For a moment, Chris thought it was panic, but soon realized it was simply the exertion from standing that had Oliver out of breath. He didn’t look good, being thinner than the last time Chris saw him, his face almost as pale as his beard.
A middle-aged woman, presumably Oliver’s health aid, pushed through the door from the kitchen. “Oh, my. What happened here?”
Becky explained briefly, while Marissa dragged an ottoman in front of her chair and plopped a pillow on top for her foot. Chris was glad to see the ankle didn’t look too swollen. It wasn’t until Becky was comfortable that Oliver finally looked up. “Chris. Thank you for your help. And for filling in for me.”
“It’s only until you’re ready to take over.” Chris shook the older man’s hand.
Oliver gave a wry smile. “I don’t quite have the energy right now. Maybe by next Christmas I’ll be back at my fighting weight.”
“I hope so. Nobody does Santa better than you.” Chris caught Marissa’s eye. “I’ll unload the reindeer and the truck while you get Becky an ice pack.”
“Thanks.” Marissa actually smiled at him. “Just put them in the corral by the barn. I’ll come out later to brush them and unload the truck.”
“I can do that. Where does it all go?”
“Inside the barn, in the storage room. I’ll be out in a little while.”
Halfway between the house and the barn, Chris stopped and turned to look around. He couldn’t see much except in the pools of light on the porch and from the floodlights on the barn, but what he saw needed work. The tidy farm he’d loved to visit ten years ago had deteriorated.
How old were Becky and Oliver now? In their late sixties? They probably should have retired a while ago, especially with Oliver’s health. Chris opened the trailer and led the first reindeer to the corral. The gate groaned. He unsnapped the lead, and the big animal wandered toward the hayrack in the middle of the pen. The top rail beside the gate had cracked in the middle, and a cluster of vicious-looking splinters protruded, fortunately toward the outside of the pen. It wouldn’t be easy to sell the farm in this condition. They needed help.
Chris had all three reindeer in the corral and most of the truck unloaded by the time Marissa arrived. She handed him his keys. “Becky’s feeling better. I think she’s right, that it’s just a twisted ankle and she’ll be fine tomorrow.” Marissa looked up at him. “She appreciates your help.”
Chris nodded and pulled out the last bundle from the truck. “How bad is it?”
“I told you, she’ll be fine.” At his searching look, she glanced down. “Oliver? It’s bad. He needs a heart transplant.”
“Wow. What kind of wait time are we talking about?”
Marissa shrugged. “It depends. He’s not high priority. Yet.”
Chris shut the tailgate and topper and nodded toward the sagging barn door. “He must have been sick for a while.”
“Apparently. They didn’t tell me anything about the heart condition until a couple of months ago.”
“But you had to have seen that the place was—”
“I wasn’t here.” She met his eyes, allowing him to read the guilt and regret there. “I haven’t been here in years. It was easier just to have them visit me, a nice winter break for them.” She looked away, but not before he saw the glint of tears. “I should have come home more often.”
She was right. But how could he judge her? He’d deserted his family and never looked back. Never even considered that they might need him. Marissa at least stayed in touch. “You’re here now.”
She nodded. “For the moment. To help them get through the party season. But then I need to go back to work.”
“You’re leaving them?”
“I have to.”
Chris’s mouth tightened. Couldn’t she see that Oliver might not have much more time? Couldn’t her precious career wait? Marissa didn’t appreciate how good she’d had it, growing up with an aunt and uncle who adored her. She owed them, big time. But what could he do? He was Marissa’s ex, not family. Not even her friend. He had no say in her decisions.
“I guess I’ll see you at the next party. Let me know if Becky needs help in the meantime.”
“Chris?” Her voice was tentative. She must sense his disapproval. Well, she should.
“Good night, Marissa. Tell them I said goodbye.”
CHAPTER FIVE (#u03d23ca1-d711-5721-a08f-698b93945f15)
Seventeen days till Christmas
WHEN MARISSA CAME downstairs the next morning, Becky was already in the kitchen, stirring pancake batter. A pot of coffee sat ready on the drip machine. Marissa frowned. “Should you be on your feet?”
“I told you, I just twisted my ankle. I’m fine now.” Becky smiled. “Although it was nice to have a handsome man carry me over the threshold.”
“He’s too late. I already carried you over the threshold almost forty years ago.” Oliver chuckled as he made his way to the kitchen table. “Tell Chris to get his own girl.” He settled into his chair and caught his breath.
Becky set a mug full of coffee in front of him and kissed his cheek. “I remember. You carried me into our first apartment.” She returned to the stove and shook a drop of water onto the griddle to test the temperature. “The one with a bedroom so small we had to jump into bed from the doorway, and a bathroom with one pink sink and never enough hot water. But I thought it was beautiful.”
“You made it beautiful.” Oliver sipped his coffee. “Seriously, though, I’m glad Chris was there to give you a hand. He’s a good man.” He sent a pointed look toward Marissa, but mercifully said nothing else.
He didn’t have to. The unspoken question was there. Why did you let him go? But they didn’t know the real Chris. Yes, he was kind and generous, when it suited him. But the occasional grand gesture wasn’t enough to build a life together. Especially when they didn’t want the same things.
She grabbed her coat and slid her feet into boots. “I’m going to see about the chickens. I’ll be back in time for pancakes.”
Marissa slipped out the back door and picked up the basket lying on the stoop. The sun wouldn’t be up for hours yet, but a full moon illuminated the familiar shapes of the trees, shaggy dark spruce and pale white birch trunks. Farther back, the barn, the well house and the chicken coop formed a tiny village, while the reindeer milled around in their pen. The scene was beautiful, cozy and welcoming, until she got close enough to trigger the floodlights. Instantly, the sagging boards, peeling paint and hundred-and-one chores that needed to be done popped out at her.
She should make a plan. List all the things that needed repair and prioritize them. Get supplies and bids. That was how she always tackled problems. She’d learned early, and from the best. When Marissa’s parents died in that accident, she’d been terrified, not knowing what would happen. But then Becky and Oliver came, and Becky showed her how they could move forward step by step. First, the funeral. Then packing up the house. Moving her things. Enrolling in a new school. As long as she took it one step at a time, she could cope.
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