Nick of Time. Elle James
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park in front of the store, I’ll introduce you to my fa—Santa.” When he shifted the car into Park, she grabbed for the handle and jumped out, anxious to ask her father what was so important she had to fly home at the drop of a hat. At the same time, she didn’t want to let Nick get away without finding out what business he had with Santa.
Nick popped the latch on the trunk and lifted her suitcase as if it weighed nothing. “I’d appreciate that introduction.”
She led the way to the glass doors and entered. Inside, it wasn’t a mob of shoppers she ran into. Instead, she was met by North Pole police officer Trey Baskin and Chris Moss, one of Christmas Towne’s employees, Betty Reedy, the Christmas Towne baker, and her stepmother, Kim Claus.
They stared at her, their gazes shifting to the man beside her as though seeing her with a man was so unusual they were stunned into temporary silence. Mary sighed. So it had been a while since she’d brought a man home to North Pole—two years to be exact. And this one wasn’t even her man. “Trey Baskin, Chris Moss, Betty Reedy and Kim Claus, this is Nick St. Claire. He was good enough to give me a lift from the airport.”
Chris Moss, the teenager her father had befriended and hired on as full-time staff, was first to stumble forward, his face creased in a worried frown. “Mary, I’m so glad you’re here.” The pale tinge to his young skin set off alarms in Mary’s subconscious. Chris had been the most optimistic teen she’d ever known since her father took him under his wing.
“What’s going on?” Mary grabbed his hand and held tight, her stomach doing full gainers in a sea of airport food and acid.
“It’s Mr. Claus.” Sixteen-year-old Chris squeezed her hand, tears welling in his eyes. He opened his mouth to talk and closed it again.
Betty stepped forward, her happy face drawn and looking all of her fifty-five years. “Your father is missing.”
Nick schooled his face to show no shock. So, Santa was missing and Mary Christmas was his daughter. He really shouldn’t be astonished that the petite blonde next to him was Santa’s daughter. Not with a name like Mary Christmas and in a town called North Pole with streets like Santa Claus Lane and Snowman Lane. Why shouldn’t Mary’s father’s real name be Santa Claus? And given that Nick was sent by a dead man to help Santa Claus, it all made sense in a weird, surreal way.
Whatever the case, he knew his job remained here. If the dead man in Brooklyn had wanted Royce to help Santa, Nick was the first line of defense to find the man and protect him from the fate of his buddy back East.
While Mary questioned the officer and the tearful Mrs. Claus, Nick studied the people gathered.
He started with the boy, Chris, with his shaggy brown hair hanging down past his collar and a skater look to him. Dark circles smudged the skin beneath his eyes and his gaze darted around the room in nervous jerks.
Betty Reedy, the woman with salt-and-pepper hair, slightly rounded figure and soft blue eyes wrung her hands, her mouth pressed into a grim line. She reached out and pulled Chris into the curve of her arm and whispered something into his ear.
Chris nodded, jammed his hands into his pockets and stared down at his shoes.
Mrs. Claus was the most unusual of the group milling about the front of the store. She stood no more than five feet tall, her slanted eyes and pale skin marking her as of Asian descent. She carried herself ramrod straight, making good every inch of height she could, her sleek brown hair combed into a smooth chignon at the back of her head, exposed a long, thin neck.
Then there was the cop, doing his best to document the details of Santa’s disappearance. Trey Baskin, in his police uniform, jotted information into his notebook, a frown pressing his brows into a V over his nose. He’d probably never handled anything more violent than a knifing in a bar fight.
And Mary Christmas stood among them shooting questions at each, her voice strained. She reached out and pushed a long strand of silky blond hair back away for her face, exposing a delicate ear studded with a single pearl earring.
The curve of her jaw and the smooth line of her neck captured Nick’s attention more than then should have. When he realized he was staring at her, he turned away and wandered around the spacious shop. Decorated like an old-timey general store with rough wooden beams and wooden barrels filled with toys, the place was a treasure trove of delight for children and adults alike. In one corner was a work space littered with wood pieces that once assembled would be a toy train set. An apron hung on the wall behind a stool. The whole setup looked like Santa’s workshop where he demonstrated toy making.
In the center of the store stood a large chair resembling a throne, decorated with red, white and gold paint. A fuzzy red jacket trimmed in white fur hung on a peg beside it. Santa’s chair where he entertained the hopes and dreams of hundreds of small children each year.
Nick snorted beneath his breath.
A camera and several lighting umbrellas stood among fake Christmas trees and giant candy canes. Get your picture taken with Santa…for a charge.
On closer inspection, Nick noted tiny cameras in each corner of the building. A fairly elaborate security system for a place so far north, but then maybe Santa had problems with the locals hiking through several feet of snow to steal Christmas gift items during the endless winter nights.
“Can I help you?” The voice behind him with its hint of an Asian accent sounded as cool as the wind outside.
He turned toward the tiny, thin woman. She wore a deep red velvet dress trimmed with white fake fur at the wrists and neckline. Her slanted, brown eyes were red-rimmed and her face was smooth and porcelain-pale.
Mary had introduced her as Kim Claus. Santa’s wife? She didn’t look anything like Mary. Was she a stepmother? Santa’s new wife? “When did you discover Mr…Claus was missing?” Nick stumbled over the name, feeling more than just a little ridiculous. How long had it been since he’d stopped believing in Santa Claus? Had he ever? Growing up in foster care in Texas wasn’t the best environment for misplaced beliefs.
The woman touched a tissue to the corner of her eye and sniffed. “What was your name again?”
“Nick St. Claire, a friend of Mr. Claus.” Nick moved back toward the others standing in the center of the store.
Kim followed him. “My husband never mentioned you.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“I’ve known Mr. Claus a long time. I have no memory of your name.”
“We don’t know each other well. How long did you say you knew Santa?”
“We’ve known each other since back when we were much younger.”
“Really?” Nick lifted a nutcracker in the shape of a wooden soldier from a shelf and pretended to study the cracking mechanism. “I thought you were newlyweds.”
“We are. I—we just recently found each other again.”
Nick glanced up and caught Mary’s gaze.
Her long blond hair framed a pale face and beautiful blue eyes glassy with tears.
He found himself drawn to her, crossing the floor to her side before he realized what he was doing. The tug of concern pulling at the muscles in his chest was foreign to Nick. He didn’t know this woman.
Until yesterday, he didn’t know a man named Santa Claus existed other than in the movies and fantasies of children. Why should he care about how the woman next to him felt about her missing father? His primary focus should have been on finding Santa Claus. The man and his daughter were nothing more than another assignment. Emotions weren’t part of an SOS agent’s authorized equipment list.
“This whole situation is crazy. Santa is