A Mum for Christmas. Doreen Roberts

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      It wouldn’t do to let her know how pleased he was with the idea. In his experience, if he offered someone as young as Miss Latimer an apple she was likely to turn it into an entire orchard. No, let her think he was grudgingly allowing her to try to make up for her brother’s mistake. She would be far more likely to work her butt off proving she was right.

      He just hoped she had the stamina for the job. Playing Santa was a grueling experience, judging from the comments of his past employees. “Are you sure you can handle it?” he asked, letting his gaze flick over her padded figure. “It’s a tough job for a woman.”

      As he’d hoped, her chin came up a fraction. “If my brother can handle it, then so can I. Tom would feel very badly if the children were deprived of a Santa. I really do think Mrs. Claus would be a hundred times better than no Santa at all.”

      “Yes, well, that remains to be seen. I guess it couldn’t hurt for now, anyway.” He reached for the phone and dialed the warehouse. “Yes, take a male mannequin to toys as quickly as possible. I need the clothes on the mannequin in the Santa display in my office. Do it as discreetly as possible, and have someone let the customers know that Santa will be there soon.”

      He replaced the receiver and looked back at Sherrie Latimer who was staring at the picture of Lucy on his desk. He waited for a comment, but she hastily directed her gaze back to his face.

      After a moment of awkward silence, he asked heavily, “When you aren’t bailing your brother out of trouble, Miss Latimer, what do you do for a living?”

      “I’m a research assistant for Conway Pharmaceuticals.” She touched her lips with her fingers and dislodged some more cotton.

      He was suitably impressed, but did his darnedest not to show it. “You must have a very understanding boss to allow you to take off at a minute’s notice.” Probably more understanding than he was at the moment, he grudgingly admitted.

      To his surprise, Sherrie Latimer didn’t answer right away. In fact, she appeared to be having some trouble with her eyes, since they were tightly shut. Just when he was on the point of asking her if she was all right, she opened her eyes and blinked several times.

      “I happen to be on vacation, Mr. Blanchard. I had intended to spend the holidays with my brother, until this emergency came up.”

      He could swear he saw a tear glistening in her eye. No doubt she was terribly disappointed that her plans for Christmas had been upset. He was beginning to feel like a prize jerk for yelling at her and was relieved when a sharp tap on the door interrupted the conversation.

      As he took Mrs. Claus’s clothes from the arms of the young man at the door, a thought flashed through his mind. He wondered what kind of figure Sherrie Latimer was hiding under all that padding.

      Annoyed with himself, he practically threw the outfit into her arms. “I’ll get out of here while you change,” he muttered. “Lock the door behind me and when you’re finished, take the Santa suit down to toys and have someone dress the mannequin and put it back in the house.”

      “Yes, Mr. Blanchard.”

      The words had been polite enough, but he’d detected a note of rebellion in the quiet voice.

      “Please,” he added, as an afterthought, then wondered what the hell was the matter with him. He was her boss, after all. Even if it was temporary.

      Deciding the best thing he could do was to get out of there as quickly as possible, he gave her a brief nod and escaped through the door. The firm click of the lock behind him seemed to echo in his mind as he strode down the hallway.

      Inside the office Sherrie scrambled out of the Santa suit, breathing a sigh of relief. Tom would have been upset if she’d messed things up for him. He’d been so torn between the chance to go to Mexico and his responsibility to Blanchard’s, not to mention letting down the hordes of children eagerly waiting to meet Santa. Most of all, he’d been worried about leaving her on her own for the holidays.

      In fact, it had taken a superb acting job on her part to convince him she’d be perfectly happy by herself. She had nowhere else to go, she’d pointed. out, and she certainly didn’t feel like facing her friends after the fiasco at the church.

      Sherrie stepped out of the roomy pants, struggling with the sudden onslaught of depression. It was bad enough that she’d been jilted practically at the altar, leaving her a month’s vacation to get through.

      Instead of spending two weeks in Hawaii on her honeymoon and another two moving into a new, expensive condo, she was now faced with the prospect of finding somewhere cheaper to live, since she’d already moved out of her old apartment.

      With her furniture in storage, and unable to bear the thought of everyone feeling sorry for her, Sherrie had immediately agreed when Tom had suggested she stay with him until she found somewhere else to go.

      It had seemed the perfect solution. Tom wasn’t the kind to commiserate with her. He’d told her flat out that Jason’s last-minute cold feet was the best thing that could have happened to her. Knowing that he was right was poor consolation, however. Spending the holidays alone in her brother’s apartment was not her idea of celebrating Christmas, and playing Santa for a crowd of excitable, hyperactive children had definitely not entered into her plans.

      Nevertheless, once she made a commitment, she stuck with it. Through heaven and hell, if need be. She’d promised Tom she would do the job for him, and Sherrie Latimer always kept a promise. Even if Matthew Blanchard did not approve of her. Besides, playing Santa would at least keep her mind off her own troubles.

      Sherrie eyed the Mrs. Claus outfit with a frown. It was still too big for her, but a vast improvement on the suffocating red wool suit that now lay crumpled on the floor amid a pile of pillows.

      The full skirted dress with the red-and-green holly pattern slipped easily over her head. She added a pillow to give her a bosom, and another under the waistband, then pulled on the white wig and the bonnet.

      Placing the pair of granny glasses on the edge of her nose, she squinted through the empty frames. She wished she had a full-length mirror to inspect herself before she went public. Matthew Blanchard didn’t have one mirror in the entire room. Obviously he didn’t like looking at himself.

      Which was too bad, Sherrie thought, as she bent over to pick up the Santa suit. The man would be quite attractive if he learned to smile.

      The glasses slid down her nose and fell to the floor. She reached for them, grunting as the pillows prevented her from bending that far. She almost toppled over as she made a grab for the spectacles.

      Straightening again, she let out a long sigh. She was clumsy enough as it was, without having to deal with the unfamiliar padding obstructing her every movement. Heaven help her if she dropped a child off her lap.

      After folding the red coat neatly, she laid it on the uncluttered desk. The photo of the little girl was turned partly away from her, and Sherrie couldn’t resist taking a closer look. Turning the frame toward her, she saw a pretty child of about four or five.

      It was obvious the little girl was Matthew Blanchard’s daughter. She had the same gaunt cheekbones, straight nose and light blue eyes, though her hair was dark blond instead of black like her father’s. Her smile lit up her entire face, in stark contrast to her father’s grim, austere expression, but even so, she bore a marked resemblance to Sherrie’s temporary boss.

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