A Gift For Santa. Beth Carpenter

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СКАЧАТЬ would you like Santa to bring you?”

      A confident smile bloomed on her face. “An Elsa doll and a big elephant.”

      Chris’s chest rocked with suppressed laughter. “You mean a stuffed elephant.”

      She shook her head, her eyes solemn. “No, a real one I can ride, with long tooths and a trunk.”

      Chris looked over to her parents for guidance, but they only shrugged. He turned back to the girl. “I’m not sure I have room for an elephant in my sleigh. Besides, where would you keep him?”

      “In my room.”

      “Hmm. That could get a little messy. I’ll have to think about it, but I’ll make a note. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with what you find under the tree on Christmas morning. Now, smile at Elf Marissa and she’ll take our picture.”

      The girl beamed at Marissa, accepted her candy cane and skipped off with her parents. Chris hoped she didn’t have her heart set on a live elephant. He looked to Marissa for the next child, but no one seemed to be in line.

      A small boy stood to one side, peering at him from behind his mother.

      Marissa smiled at the boy. “Would you like to sit on Santa’s lap?”

      He shook his head and ducked behind his mom. Chris got down from his big chair and sat on the step, looking toward the windows instead of at the boy. “You know, Elf Marissa, if someone wanted to give me a message, they wouldn’t have to sit on my lap. They could just whisper it in my ear.”

      Marissa cocked her head at the boy. “What do you think? Do you want to whisper something to Santa?”

      The little guy leaned out from behind his mother’s legs to look at Chris, but hid again and shook his head.

      Marissa pressed her finger against her chin. “Or maybe they could whisper the message to me, and I could pass it on. What do you think, Santa?”

      Chris couldn’t resist teasing her. “I don’t know. That’s a big responsibility for an elf.” He glanced over at the boy. “Do you think we can trust her to get it right?”

      The little boy bobbed his head eagerly. Chris smiled. “All right, then.”

      Without hesitation, the boy hurried to Marissa. She bent so that her face was level with his, and he whispered something in her ear. She motioned his mother over and the three of them huddled together for a minute. When the boy looked up, Chris offered him a candy cane. After a little encouragement from his mother, he crept toward Chris while she and Marissa watched and whispered.

      Without making eye contact, the boy took the candy from Chris’s hand. “Thank you,” he whispered.

      “You’re very welcome. Merry Christmas.”

      The boy ran back to his mom, but turned to smile and wave at Chris before disappearing into the crowd with her. Marissa came to sit beside Chris on the step. “I think he was the last.”

      “Good, but don’t you have a message for me?”

      She laughed. “Taking your duties pretty seriously there, Santa. Yes, Noah wants his dad home for Christmas, and from what his mom tells me he’s going to get his wish.”

      “Military?”

      She nodded. “A few months apart must feel like years when you’re that small.”

      “His mom looked excited, too. I’m glad they’ll be together for Christmas.”

      Marissa turned to him, but quickly glanced away again. Was she remembering, as he was, their last Christmas together? Snuggled up next to the fire, the air spiced with peppermint and evergreen and the light flowery scent that clung to her hair. Warm laughter and cookie-flavored kisses. Back then, he’d believed it was the beginning of a lifetime together. He was wrong.

      He stood abruptly. “So now what?”

      She rose and faced him. “You’re done. Just leave the costume on the hanger.” She paused, and then continued in a formal voice. “Thank you for your help. Have a nice Christmas.”

      “Santa.” Becky came bouncing toward them, her cheeks rosy above her fur-trimmed red sweater. “How did it go?”

      “Fairly well, I think.” Chris looked at Marissa.

      She nodded. “Just fine. Everything okay with the reindeer?”

      “The kids loved them, as always. At first, Dillon acted like the kids might bite, but he eventually settled down.” Becky took Chris’s arm and led him toward a quiet corner. Marissa followed. “So, Chris, we’re going to need a Santa for a party Tuesday afternoon, and for several other appearances between now and Christmas. It’s a paying gig, and there’s no snow to plow in the forecast anytime soon. What do you say?”

      “No.” Marissa stepped between them. “We’ll find someone else. Chris is busy.”

      Ten years ago she’d dumped him, and now she thought she could speak for him? Not likely. But why did they need him? Chris frowned. “Won’t Oliver be better by then?”

      Becky shook her head. “Oliver’s quite ill. It’s his heart.”

      Oliver had a bad heart? He seemed so healthy. Granted, he carried a few extra pounds thanks to Becky’s cooking, but he was strong, tossing around fifty-pound feed sacks with ease. “I’m so sorry. If it—”

      “We’ll be fine.” Marissa locked eyes with him. “We appreciate the help, but you’ve done enough.”

      Chris’s gaze shifted from Marissa’s glare to the hopeful glint in Becky’s eyes. He ignored Marissa and smiled at her aunt. “Of course. I’d be happy to help. Let’s go find my phone and I’ll put in the dates.”

      He left Marissa standing there with steam coming out from under her elf hat. So she didn’t want him around—tough cookies. He wasn’t so keen on spending time with her, either, but Becky and Oliver needed his help. Marissa was just going to have to grow up and think about someone besides herself for a change.

      That alone was worth the price of a few dozen candy canes.

       CHAPTER TWO

      Twenty-two days till Christmas

      THE BUZZING FLUORESCENT bulb in Chris’s warehouse office seemed to hit the resonant frequency inside his skull. He massaged his temples while he waited for his password to reveal the balance of his checking account. Sadly, the figure was exactly what he expected. He’d have to transfer more money out of his boat fund to cover payroll.

      After years of working on someone else’s boat, socking away his earnings from his share of the catch, he’d almost reached his goal of owning his own fishing boat. In fact, he’d come close to buying one in September, even going so far as to sell his one indulgence, his red convertible. At the last minute, the boat owner had changed his mind about selling. Just as well, because the money from Chris’s car had been keeping the plowing business afloat. СКАЧАТЬ