The Christmas Bride (2 page)

“Santa is a lech,” she told June with a sigh.

“And Isabelle loves every minute of it, I'm sure,” June assured her.

Isabelle, Santa's helper, was the newest college student to take a job in the mail room. And her smile clearly indicated that she was having a good time.

Danny, Cary's eight-year-old son, turned suddenly, sensing that she was there. His freckled face broke into a wide grin at the sight of her, and she felt a sudden, quick pounding of her heart. Danny looked so much like his father. The clear, sky-blue eyes, the blond, almost platinum-streaked hair, the pale spatter of freckles over the bridge of his nose. He was a cute kid, she knew, not just because he was her own. Most kids were cute, she assured herself, but with Danny, it was more. There was something about his eyes…a wisdom in them. Even a compassion. Danny had never grown bitter, even when he had understood what had happened to his father. He had only cried.

He still cried at night, sometimes.

But he had never allowed his father's death to warp his feelings toward others, or even toward life. He had grown older long before his time. Yet it had given him a charm and a sense of responsibility, rare for his age. Talking to Danny was sometimes like talking to a teenager or a young man ready for college.

“Mom! Come on up!” he called to her.

“Go on,” June told her. “I'll wait for you by the exit from Santa's hut.”

Cary grinned. “All right. I want to get a peek at Danny with Santa if I can, and see if Jeremy holds up.”

June nodded. Cary excused herself, as she wended her way through the parents and children to reach Danny. Isabelle offered her a wide friendly smile. “Hi, Mrs. Adams. Is this one yours?” she asked, indicating Danny.

Cary nodded. “He is. Danny, this is Miss Isabelle LaCrosse. She works with us now. Isabelle, my son, Daniel.”

Danny solemnly shook hands. “And I thought you were really an elf!” he said with a soft sigh.

Startled, Isabelle stared at Cary, who shrugged, hiding a smile. “He likes elves,” she explained lamely.

Isabelle peeked behind the curtain. “I think Santa is ready for you, Daniel. Come on in. Mrs. Adams, if you'd like…”

Cary saw a break in the red curtain where she could discreetly spy on Santa and her son. She offered Isabelle a wide, engaging smile and slipped closer while Danny marched in to sit on Santa's lap.

“Well, ho, ho, ho, it's Mr. Daniel Adams, so it is!” Santa said. Cary watched her son's eyes widen with surprise as Santa addressed him so familiarly.

Jeremy, she decided, was perfect. He was padded wonderfully, and the suit was great. A big snowy beard covered his chin, with a swooping mustache attachment that hid the whole lower half of his face. The red and white Santa hat fell over his forehead, and little gold spectacles sat on the tip of his nose.

“Yes, sir, Santa,” Danny said with a certain awe. He had told Cary that he had no intention of sitting on Santa's lap, that he was a big boy. He had meant to stand and talk to Santa man to man.

But he was quickly up on Santa's lap, and he seemed to have no idea at all that he was talking to his mother's cousin.

“I know that you've been just as good as gold this year, Danny. So tell me, what would you like for Christmas?”

Danny hesitated. Cary frowned, watching him. “What would I really like for Christmas?” Danny asked softly.

“Yes, son, of course. What would you really like for Christmas?”

“I believe in Santa, you know,” Danny said quickly. “I believe in God and Santa and miracles, especially Christmas miracles. And I know you can help me, Santa—Mr. Claus, I know you can!”

“Danny, I—”

“I'd like a father, Santa. Oh, not a real one! I know you can't bring my dad back. He lives up in heaven, with God, because he was a great dad. God can't give people back once he takes them. And it isn't for me. I'd like someone for my mom. She tries not to show it, but she's so unhappy, and I can see it. I don't think she knows I can see it, but I do.”

“Danny—”

“She's a great cook, and a good housekeeper. She makes neat chocolate chip cookies. And she's a writer. She writes all about other people who need help, and sometimes the things she writes get help for them. She's been really good, Santa. Please.”

She felt her heart—she could have sworn that she actually felt her heart—swelling. Tears welled behind her eyelids, and she almost choked on them. She swallowed. Hard. A smile slowly curved her lips. I love you, Danny, she thought.

“Look Danny,” Santa said, managing to interrupt him at last. “I—I'd like to make you a promise, but I can't. You see, grown-ups have to—well, they have to find people that they like themselves sometimes.”

“I know you can help me,” Danny said stubbornly.

Santa opened his mouth, then closed it. Danny had a stubborn streak in him. And this Santa knew it very well.

“I'll tell you what, Danny. I'll see what I can do. But that's not an easy Christmas order. It's absolutely the hardest. You may have to give me more than one Christmas to fill that wish, all right?”

“But you'll work on it?”

Santa sighed. “I've
been
working on it,” he muttered, then smiled. “Of course I'll work on it. Hard. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Danny said simply. “I'll help you. I'll wish on the North Star every night.”

Santa nodded. “And what about this Christmas?”

“Oh, well, I'd like that computer made especially for kids my age. The one they have at school.”

Cary almost muttered an expletive out loud. Danny would never say he wanted anything. And now he was asking for something she could never afford. She knew the computer he was working with at school. It was a wonderful invention, with talk-it-through word processing and talk-it-through graphics for math and art projects.

I'll bet I could even straighten out my income taxes with it, she thought wryly.

But, unlike many other computers, this one had yet to come down in price. The whole outfit cost thousands, and she didn't know if she could manage the payments even if she bought it on time.

Jeremy obviously didn't know the price of the computer. “That's easy!” he assured Danny. “I can definitely work on that one!” He set Danny on his feet and reached into the big red bag by his high black boots. “For the moment, my boy, I've got a remote-control car for you, how's that?”

“Great, Santa!” Danny said. “It's great, honest, just great. And thanks, thanks a lot.”

Danny escaped through the curtain, Jeremy started to summon Isabelle to lead in the next child when he happened to look up and notice Cary standing there. He stared at her for a second, then crooked his finger toward her.

“Come here, Cary Adams!” he commanded.

She stepped forward. “Sorry, I was eavesdropping. I couldn't quite—”

She managed to swallow a little squeal as he wound his arms around her and pulled her onto his lap.

“I hear you've been a very good girl,” he told her, and winked.

“Would you quit that, you lech, I'm your cousin!” she protested, laughing.

“Second cousin,” he reminded her, and sighed.

“Close enough, so behave.”

“Well, you heard your son, Mrs. Adams,” he told her. “He wants someone for you. And I've tried and tried—”

“Jeremy, you're a dear, and I love you with all my heart, and you know it. And you know, too, that you aren't a bit serious about me—”

“I could be, if you would just get over this relative bit,” he said jokingly.

“Jeremy—”

“What about that electrician who was built like a bodybuilder?” he demanded darkly.

She had to smile. “Sorry. He wore his boxer shorts up to his boobs.”

“The lawyer from Concord?”

“He was cross-eyed, I swear it.”

“Cary,” Jeremy told her sternly, “no one is going to be Richard. That lawyer was not cross-eyed.”

She caught her breath and stared into his eyes, seeing his concern and love. She exhaled slowly. “I know no one will be Richard, Jeremy. Honestly, I know that. But he—he would have to live up to Richard, can you understand that?”

He started to nod then maybe he realized that she was very close to tears, so he shook his head vehemently. “Mrs. Adams, your boy has been very good all year. And I think—”

“I think you got me into a lot of trouble!” Cary interrupted him.

“Me?” Jeremy said in mock distress. “I have been an absolute angel!”

“Jeremy, you've never been an angel, but that's not what I'm talking about.”

“Oh?” he murmured, wounded.

“You promised him a father!”

“Hey! I gave you a few years.”

“Thanks. That was really swell of you.”

“I do try to please.”

“And then, on top of that, you promised him a gift I can't possibly afford!”

“What?” For a moment, Jeremy was serious, frowning. “I thought computers prices were coming down!”

“They are—but not the setup Danny wants. It costs thousands, Jeremy.”

“I'll help—”

“Like hell you will. I don't take charity from the family, Jeremy, and you know it.”

“Hey! I have every right to buy my little cousin a Christmas present.”

“Sure. And if I ever manage to afford that system, you can buy him a game or some software.”

“Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn,” Jeremy insisted. Then his eyes brightened. “We might get Christmas bonuses.”

“That much?”

“Maybe. After all,” he teased, lightness returning to his voice, “you've been a good girl yourself. Too good. Atrociously, boringly good. So I'm going to sprinkle you with Christmas dust. And the next man you see is going to be the man of your dreams. Rich as Midas, sleeker than a Mercedes Benz, tender, gentle and kind. Tall, dark and handsome. Danny's Christmas present—and yours. And the Christmas dust is going to make you run right out and be bad with him. How's that?”

She was laughing. “The next man I see will probably be old Pete from the mail room, he of the ten children and eighteen million grandchildren. But hey, knock yourself out. Sprinkle away with Christmas dust. Maybe I'll at least find a suitable date for the adult Christmas party. What do you think?”

“I think that your time's up,” Jeremy said. “If the one adult I get on my lap all day can't ask for one lousy, decadent present, you may as well stand!”

Laughing, she found her feet. “I'm telling you, Santa sure isn't what he used to be,” she said with mock horror. She started toward the exit when she stopped short, suddenly aware that someone was blocking the red-curtained exit door.

Someone big. She couldn't see who it was right away, because the flare from the Christmas lights was in her eyes. All she could catch was the form, tall, imposing, totally blocking the exit. Dark. Even forbidding.

For a moment her heart fluttered, and she didn't know why. She felt an acute sense of unease.

How silly, she told herself. She didn't know why she was so startled by the masculine figure in the dark tux.

She took a step forward, then realized who the man was. She should have known him instantly from his height alone.

It was none other than their host himself. Her boss. The illustrious Mr. Jason McCready.

There had been rumors that many a female at
Elegance
had foolishly cast away her heart and pride on his behalf. McCready wasn't interested. He never dated his employees, and when he made his necessary social appearances with women, they were never the same from one occasion to the next. Still, Cary knew that June found him irresistible.

That was undoubtedly because June had never ventured into his office with a story proposal, Cary decided.

She took another step forward, deeply irritated with herself. Then she paused again, because of the way he was staring at her.

Once again it seemed as if those green eyes sliced her like steel blades. The scent of him slowly curled around her; it was subtle, but very masculine and…alluring, she had to admit. He was compelling, standing there. So tall, so dark, his shoulders broad, his hips lean. She wondered about his chest. It would be deeply muscled, she was certain. Hairy, or sleek and bare? Hairy, she was sure. Darkly hairy, with a narrow whorl that drew a line from his chest to his…

She jerked her head up and stared into his eyes, horrified. He stepped back, lifting the curtain for her.

“Mrs. Adams?”

She gritted her teeth and started forward. She had meant to see him sometime during the day to thank him for the party, but now she couldn't seem to muster up a thank you. In fact, she couldn't seem to speak at all.