The Christmas Wedding Swap. Allyson Charles

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ it. The way her opponent was eyeing her, she was going to need a weapon. Gingerbread Woman might have been short, but she was fierce.

      The elf rubbed his elbow. “I’m sure I can help you both find just the toys you’re looking for. At Tinker Tots, we aim to make your shopping dreams come true.” The sing-songy slogan of Pineville’s premier toy store came out a little shaky as the teenager backed away.

      Gingerbread Woman never took her eyes off Allison. “Do you have any more Caty Cowgirl dolls in the back?”

      The elf tugged at his red-and-white-striped turtleneck. “Uh, no. All our inventory for that item is on the shelf, but—”

      “Then the only way my shopping dream is going to come true is if I get that doll.” She leaped toward Allison, her fingers clawing the air inches from the box as Allison jumped back. “It was my doll. I saw it first!”

      “You left it on the shelf. It’s mine.” Allison tucked the box under her arm like a football and spun on her heel. The cash register was only an aisle away. She leaped over a pile of discarded toys and zigzagged around an abandoned shopping cart. The small part of her brain that had managed to remain rational knew that her behavior had passed batshit crazy a while back. Christmas was supposed to be the season of peace, giving, and all those other sappy greeting-card messages. And it was only a doll, after all.

      But when Molly had looked up at her with those big brown eyes, her lips quivering as she explained how much she wanted the limited-edition toy, well, what was an aunt to do? Allison didn’t have her own kids and hadn’t developed the immunity necessary to tell a little girl no.

      And besides, once Gingerbread Woman had gotten physical, all bets were off. Allison had a competitive streak a mile wide, and no way was she going to lose now. She whipped around the end of an aisle and jumped over a child lying on the floor playing with a toy truck. Ha! All those years playing flag football with the neighborhood kids growing up weren’t wasted. They were training, for this, for—

      “Oof!” The breath hissed out of her as something hit her legs from behind and she went down. Caty Cowgirl rolled out of her hands, the box turning end over end for several feet before settling near the toe of a shiny black boot.

      Her heart tumbled like the box. She couldn’t cope with black boots right now, her deal with her sister be damned. She pushed to her feet, kicking the woman off her legs, and stumbled toward her prize. Gingerbread Woman grabbed a handful of Allison’s hair and yanked, pulling her up short.

      “Give it—”

      “Hello, ladies.” Judge Nichols bent down and picked up the doll—her doll. The older man turned the box over in his hands. “Caty Cowgirl,” he read. “The cleverest cowgirl in all of Texas and a friend for all ages. Recommended for children between two and ten.” He harrumphed. “Two through ten isn’t all ages. Misleading advertising.” He rolled the box over and studied Caty. “But a very nice gift for our children’s toy drive. Thanks for thinking of it, Miss Stuart, Mrs. Samson.”

      Gingerbread Woman, aka Mrs. Samson, tugged on Allison’s hair. “It’s not for the toy drive. That’s my—”

      The small man laughed, the rich chuckle slapping Allison with shame. The judge might look like a sweet old man with his snowy-white hair and twinkling blue eyes, but everyone knew that the authority he wielded was absolute. She felt the laugh for the warning it was.

      So did Mrs. Samson. The hand in Allison’s hair loosened, and the woman shuffled back a step.

      “Of course it is,” Judge Nichols said. He tipped his head to the side, a lock of his hair brushing against the black wool of his long coat. “If what I saw wasn’t the two of you arguing over who would make the kind donation, then I might be obligated to call the police.” His eyes turned flinty. “Mrs. Samson, you tackled this woman and grabbed her hair, an action that could be considered assault. How would you like to explain that?”

      “Well…” Mrs. Samson looked at Allison, eyes wide, as if expecting her to help. Reaching out, she stroked the ends of Allison’s hair and cleared her throat. “I was just asking, uh…”

      “Miss Stuart,” the judge said helpfully.

      “Yes, Miss Stuart where she got her hair done.” She dropped the platinum blonde strands, and rubbed the tips of her fingers together as though wiping off cooties. “It’s really nice.”

      Allison narrowed her eyes. She knew her hair was a frizzy mess. She’d stumbled out of bed at four a.m. in order to be first in line for the deals. When on a shopping mission, hair was the least of her concerns. But Mrs. Samson had to get her digs in when she could, and the judge, being a man, probably wouldn’t even recognize the insult.

      She was right. He beamed. “That’s what I thought. Now, I don’t want you two fighting over who gets to be the generous person to buy the doll and donate it. So I have the solution.” He walked to an open cash register.

      Allison gaped. The whole morning she had been stuck in lines that coiled all the way around stores, but the second the judge wanted to steal her doll away, he snaked an open spot. She clamped her fingers around the large shopping bags she held, precious booty from earlier that morning, and the plastic crinkled loudly.

      The judge handed the doll to another elf and pulled out his wallet. “I’ll buy this doll, and the two of you will leave donations instead.” He picked up his purchase and placed it in the round tub of toys the firefighters were collecting for charity. Next to it, on a small wooden table, sat a clear plastic box half full of cash, coins, and checks. The money was going to purchase more toys for the needy children of Pineville and the surrounding areas for them to open on Christmas. He tapped the box. “Very nice donations, I might add.”

      “Yes, Judge.” Mrs. Samson pulled a checkbook out of her purse, her shoulders rounded in defeat.

      He turned his blue eyes in Allison’s direction.

      “Uh, yeah. Of course.” She went to a cash register that wasn’t open and dumped her purse on the counter. She dug through the bag. “I don’t have my checkbook with me. I don’t suppose they’d take a credit card?” She laughed, only half joking. The judge’s lips firmed in a hard line, so she kept digging. She pulled out her wallet. “I don’t have much cash on me right now. Just”—she counted—“sixteen dollars.” A bit of green peeked out from the back pocket of her wallet. “And my emergency hundred.”

      Crap. Had she said that out loud? She peeked up at the judge. Going by the approving smile on his face, she’d have to guess that she had. A hundred bucks? She looked at Mrs. Samson but was too far away to see the number she was writing down. By the smug look on her face, Allison would bet it wasn’t close to that amount.

      She sighed and took the C-note from its place. The emergency money had been there for so long it was still entirely green, none of that new blue and red holographic technology in sight. Walking over to the donation box, she hesitated just a second before dropping the bill in. It was for a good cause. And it wasn’t like she didn’t make donations this time of year anyway.

      Caty Cowgirl winked up at her, the doll’s eyelids opening and closing as she settled in the tub. Allison itched to grab the doll and run. She grabbed her bags instead. Plastering a smile on her face, she wished the judge happy holidays and scurried out the door.

      Shifting her bags to her right hand, Allison rolled her left shoulder, trying to ease the ache. Christmas shopping wasn’t for sissies. Her morning so СКАЧАТЬ