Beneath the Mistletoe. Susan Crosby
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had never been one of Lucy’s talents. Joan stiffened a bit. “Yes,” she replied after a moment. “I’m divorced. The kids haven’t seen their father in several years.”
“You’re doing a wonderful job with them.”
“I do my best.”
It couldn’t be easy raising two children alone, Lucy mused. Which was why a solemn respect for the responsibilities of fatherhood was high on her list of husband qualifications. Lucy definitely wanted children, and it was her intention to provide those children with a good father.
“Have you ever been married?” Joan asked, turning the questioning around.
“No, but I’m looking,” Lucy replied cheerfully.
“Um, you are?”
“Yep. I’ve been on more blind dates than I can count during the past year. None of them has led to anything promising, but I haven’t given up.”
“So you really are looking.”
“Oh, yes. I concentrated on establishing my career first, but now I’m ready to establish a family. I’ll be twenty-eight in a few months.”
“I was married at twenty-three,” Joan confided as she spread mustard on a slice of wheat bread. “Three years later we were on the verge of a breakup when I found out I was pregnant with Tyler. We struggled along for another couple of years, but Roger left while I was pregnant with Tricia. He said he couldn’t handle the pressure of a wife and two children.”
What a jerk. Keeping that thought to herself, Lucy said only, “I’m sorry.”
Joan shrugged. “It was all for the best, I suppose. The kids and I have gotten along fine without him.”
More determined than ever to make sure Tyler and Tricia had a nice Christmas, Lucy asked, “Do you have their Christmas gifts in your car?”
“Yes, hidden in the trunk. Why?”
Lucy glanced quickly toward the doorway. She could hear Pop and the children singing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” in the living room, so she felt safe enough saying, “Would you like for Santa Claus to stop here for them tonight? We have a tree—and the rest of us could help you.”
Joan turned to face her, obviously intrigued by the suggestion. “I had thought I’d just wait until we reached my mother’s house, but maybe—”
“Wouldn’t they get a kick out of waking up tomorrow morning to discover that Santa found them after all?”
Joan’s smile turned tremulous in anticipation. “They would be thrilled.”
“Then let’s do it.”
Joan nodded. “It’s a deal.”
Lucy called Banner in from his workshop for lunch, which they ate around the dining room table. Bobby Ray was moving more easily now, the pain reliever having done its job, and everyone seemed to be in good spirits.
After lunch Banner carried in the six-foot-tall cedar he and Bobby Ray had found earlier. Banner had nailed a wooden stand to the bottom of the tree, which he set in one corner of the living room.
“We don’t have any twinkle lights,” Tricia said, studying the bare branches.
Her brother gave a long-suffering sigh. “We don’t have any electricity, dopey-head. The lights wouldn’t work even if we had some.”
“I’m not a dopey-head,” Tricia protested, lower lip protruding.
“Are, too.”
“Am not!”
Joan interceded quickly. “It’s Christmas Eve, kids. Don’t forget who might be listening.”
They fell silent immediately. Tricia looked around as if searching for hidden Santa listening devices. Joan and Lucy exchanged conspiratorial smiles.
Joan helped the children drape strung popcorn and paper chains around the tree. A stack of imaginative paper-glitter-button-and-ribbon ornaments waited to be hung from the branches. Pop, Miss Annie and Bobby Ray watched indulgently, offering occasional suggestions.
Lucy remembered seeing a box of cocoa in the pantry. She leaned toward Banner. “Would you mind if I make hot chocolate?”
He made a sweeping gesture toward the kitchen. “Mi casa es su casa. At least until the ice melts.”
She gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his arm. “You’re a very gracious host.”
“I’ll be even more gracious,” he countered. “I’ll help you make the cocoa.”
“You’re just trying to avoid decorating.”
He smiled, a very brief flash of white teeth against his tanned face. “You’ve got that right.”
She very nearly melted into a puddle right there at his feet. All it took was a tiny little smile, she thought in bemusement. Amazing…
He took her elbow and led her into the kitchen. By the time they’d reached the pantry, Lucy had herself under control again. Mostly.
“Well, it’s almost three o’clock,” Banner said, handing her the cocoa and sugar. “It should take an hour—at most—to decorate the tree. Then what?”
“Then…we’ll do something else,” she said with a shrug. “Games or stories or anything to keep the kids entertained until bedtime.”
She cast a quick, furtive glance toward the doorway, making sure neither of the children was within hearing range. “Joan and I were talking earlier. She has the children’s Christmas presents in the trunk of her car. We were thinking maybe Santa Claus could visit here tonight so they would have gifts under the tree on Christmas morning.”
He nodded. “What do you want me to do?”
She giggled in response to his stoically resigned expression. “What makes you think I want you to do anything?”
“Experience,” he answered dryly.
She laughed again. “Poor Banner.”
Without responding, he stepped out onto the back porch to retrieve the milk from the big cooler. “There’s some melting going on,” he commented when he came back in with the milk. “The thermometer on the porch reads a few degrees above freezing.”
“Great. Maybe we’ll be able to get out of your hair tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll be glad to have your house to yourself again.”
He didn’t answer, but crossed his arms over his chest and leaned one hip against the bar. “So what do you need me to do to help with Joan’s kids?”
“I don’t suppose you would put on a Santa suit?”
“Not even if my life depended on it,” he answered evenly.
“That’s pretty much what I thought,” she said, amused. “So, how about if you get the gifts out of Joan’s trunk before it’s dark and stash them somewhere close until after the kids are asleep?”
“That I will do.”
She sighed. “I appreciate it, of course, but I would have dearly loved to see you in a Santa suit.”
He reached around her to turn down the heat beneath the bubbling cocoa. His arm brushed against her with the movement, sending a jolt of awareness through her.
“Is this some sort of kinky fetish thing?” he asked in a murmur. For a moment she couldn’t think what he was talking about, since his touch seemed to have temporarily emptied her mind.
When she realized that he was displaying yet another example of his quirky humor, she managed a smile. “I’ve always had a thing for Santa Claus.”
“Must be hard for your other boyfriends to compete.”