It's That Time of Year. Christine Wenger
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“The scheduled Santa had to work overtime at the paper mill, so I got roped into it by Cal.”
“I see.”
Two days in Hawk’s Lake and Sam had been roped into playing Santa. By his own admission, he had at least a dozen bigger events to attend, yet he’d come for the kids. She had to admit he wasn’t quite the bad guy she’d made him out to be…
“I’m not sure that I’ll be a very good Santa,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Any advice for a rookie?”
As she looked up into those twinkling eyes, she had to laugh. “Just be natural and do a lot of ho-ho-ho-ing. And by the way, Jack’s truck needs a new alternator.”
“You can tell that right off?” He sounded impressed.
“I could tell by the sound when you pulled in,” she said confidently. “I’ll call my cousin Ronnie at the garage to send a tow.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why Jack loaned you this truck. He knew the alternator was going. Ronnie will fix it tonight.”
She closed the hood, then turned a critical eye to Sam’s outfit.
“Sam, your beard and your…stomach…are a bit off center. You should fix them.”
“I’ve tried, but I can’t seem to get them straight.”
It was dark behind the truck, and he was standing much too close to her, but Melanie couldn’t let the kids see Sam in his disheveled state.
She hurriedly moved his beard to the left, so the mustache was positioned correctly around his lips—his perfect lips. Glancing down to his stomach, she centered the pillows in the middle of his body.
She could smell peppermint on his breath and pine-scented cologne. His eyes were no longer full of amusement, but seemed to watch her with a very different kind of intensity.
“There,” she said, embarrassed by her husky voice. “Much better.”
“Thank you,” he said, but he didn’t back up. She couldn’t stop looking at his eyes, glittering in the moonlight. What secrets were hidden behind those blue depths?
She shook her head and reminded herself that she didn’t want to know him well enough to find out.
Melanie stepped back, found her cell phone in her purse, motioned for Kyle to join them, and called cousin Ronnie at the garage. She put in the order for a tow while Sam got a red sack out of the front seat of the truck.
“Santa’s reading How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” Sam said to Kyle in his Santa voice. He looked at Melanie and cleared his throat. “Ho, ho, ho.”
“I know,” Kyle said, looking up in awe. “It’s my favorite.”
Melanie listened to the snow crunching under their boots. She’d rather be digging a tunnel through a glacier with a spoon than be in the same room with Sam LeDoux. He made her feel things she didn’t want to feel—but she couldn’t disappoint her son.
“I’ll show you the way, Santa,” Kyle said.
“Ho, ho, ho! That’s a good boy.”
Kyle seemed to be growing taller as he led Sam into the library. The children squealed in glee when they saw Santa, and Sam eventually relaxed and played the part enthusiastically.
Melanie took a chair at the side of the room while he motioned for the children to gather around him on the floor. Then he read The Grinch to the packed room of kids, parents and library staff.
He seemed like he was having the time of his life, Melanie thought. Every kid stared up at him mesmerized. His deep, resonant voice echoed through the hushed library, and his Grinch voice was sufficiently creepy.
The children stared up at him, caught up in the fantasy of Christmas in the happy hamlet of Whoville.
Melanie watched as a tiny girl inched closer and closer until she was touching Sam’s knee. He absentmindedly pulled her into his lap, tucking her halo of dark curls into the crook of one arm. She looked up at him, transfixed by every word.
Melanie was transfixed, too. Could a man who played Santa so naturally be all that bad?
The story ended and Santa received a round of applause and cheers. He motioned to Kyle to come forward. “Kyle, would you like to help Santa pass out candy canes?”
Kyle nodded so enthusiastically she thought he was going to fall over. With pride, Melanie watched as her son carefully handed each person a candy cane and politely answered, “You’re welcome” to every “Thank you.”
The library emptied out, except for one mother and a little towheaded girl. The girl stood next to Kyle watching the fish swim in an aquarium in the corner of the room.
Melanie heard the woman tell Sam that they were staying nearby at the Mountain Lake Lodge on Blue Lake. She explained that they were rebuilding their home after an electrical fire, but construction was moving slowly due to the snow and frozen ground.
“Would you mind if my daughter, Emily, talked to you for a minute?” she asked Sam, hope etched into her face. “She’s still upset about the fire.”
Melanie’s heart squeezed as Sam said, “Of course.”
The woman went to get Emily. The girl seemed painfully shy, barely looking at Santa. She clutched the hem of her mother’s jacket in a death grip. But when Sam patted his knee, the girl scrambled up into his lap. So much for her shyness.
“And what is your name?”
“Emily Farley. I’m seven years old.”
“Have you been a good girl, Emily?”
Emily’s eyes grew wide, and she looked to her mother for affirmation. Her mother nodded. “Yes.”
Sam took her hand and held it. “Santa knows that you had a fire at your house. That must have scared you.”
Tears glistened in Emily’s eyes as she nodded, and Melanie’s heart ached for the little girl.
He patted her head. “Santa knows you were very brave,” Sam said gently. “Your house will be ready soon. And it’ll be nice and special and all new just for you.” Sam held up a tissue. “Close your eyes.”
Emily closed her eyes, and Sam blotted them carefully with a tissue. “Now smile for Santa.”
The child’s grin lit up like lights on a tree.
Melanie smiled. Sam had handled the situation perfectly. Melanie warmed up to him a little more.
Sam smoothed back the little girl’s hair. “Emily, since you’ve been such a good girl, what would you like for Christmas?”
“A Katie Ann doll and the Katie Ann town house. And some clothes for Katie Ann. And Katie Ann’s boat and trailer, too.”
Emily’s mother took her little hand. “Sweetheart, I’m sure Santa will do what he can.” As her words faded she looked away, wiping her eyes.
Sam held the little girl’s chin in a gloved hand. “Santa always tries to make Christmas wishes come true. Now, why don’t you ask Kyle to give you another candy cane.”
Emily’s mother shook her head and sniffed. It was obvious that she couldn’t afford all those toys.
Sam took her arm and moved her away from Kyle and Emily, who were peeling candy canes and chattering like long-lost pals.
“Mrs. Farley.” Sam handed her a tissue and winked. “There’s no crying on Grinch night.”
The woman chuckled and wiped her eyes. “It’s just…it’s been so hard since the fire, and I want to give Emily an especially nice Christmas.”
Melanie’s stomach churned. She knew exactly how Mrs. Farley felt.
“Have faith, Mrs. Farley,”