Dashing Through the Mall: Santa, BabyAssignment HumbugDeck the Halls

by Sherryl Woods

  “Hopefully he’ll get it while he’s locked up,” Nick told her. “The important thing is that he’ll never get another chance to hurt anyone else.”

  Amy listened to the exchange with mounting horror. She realized now why Nick had been so desperate to find Josh, so determined to stay right by her side until her son was safe. He was trying to make up for not being able to help another little boy, this woman’s son. No wonder he was tormented. No wonder he’d asked so many questions about Ned. The search for Josh must have dredged up a thousand terrifying moments for him.

  The woman spoke to Amy, “I’m sorry to intrude, but when I saw that Nick was here, I wanted to tell him that I don’t blame him for anything that happened. I thought he might need to know that.”

  Nick did, indeed, look as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “You have an amazingly generous heart,” he told her.

  “If I do, it’s because I had an incredible boy in my life for a few brief years. I’m so grateful for that. It was far too short, but he taught me so much. That’s what I want to remember. Not the way he died, but the way he lived.” She hugged Nick fiercely. “Merry Christmas, Detective.”

  “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, his voice choked.

  After she’d gone, Amy reached up and touched the tears on his cheeks. “I am so sorry that you had to relive all that today.”

  He met her gaze. “I’m not,” he said eventually. “Not if it brought you, Josh and Emma into my life. How could I possibly regret that?”

  He turned to Josh, who was rolling a laughing Emma in circles nearby. “Hey, guys, let’s get going. It’s Christmas Eve and Santa’s got a very busy night ahead. I have toys to deliver.”

  His gaze shifted to Amy and he lowered his voice. “And maybe, if I’m lucky, I can even sneak a kiss or two under the mistletoe.”

  Amy laughed. “You can try. I’ve been wondering all day if that beard tickles. I couldn’t tell earlier.”

  Grinning, Nick called out to Josh. “Don’t look, okay?”

  “Don’t look at what?” Josh asked.

  “Do as you’re told,” Amy instructed, laughing. “Mommy’s gonna kiss Santa Claus.”

  Josh’s expression immediately brightened. “Cool!”

  Yeah, Amy thought, as Nick’s mouth settled on hers. It was definitely cool. No, she concluded an instant later, actually, it was hot. Very, very hot.

  Outside the mall, the air was icy and snow was falling, but Amy was still overheated from that kiss. North Carolina might be in for some sort of rare blizzard, but for her this was quickly turning into the hottest Christmas on record.

  EPILOGUE

  Christmas, one year later

  “SO, YOUNG MAN,” Nick said to Josh in his booming Santa voice, “What do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?”

  Amy had no idea how Trish had persuaded Nick to play Santa for a day once again this year. He still claimed he’d hated every minute of it when she’d coerced him into it the year before. Maybe it had something to do with knowing that Amy would once again be bringing Josh and Emma to the mall for their Christmas Eve visit.

  Josh studied Santa intently, then seemed to reach some sort of decision. He cast a quick glance toward Amy, then pulled Santa’s head down so he could whisper in his ear.

  Nick immediately glanced at Amy, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, now, I don’t know about that, son. Maybe your mom should have a say about something that important.”

  Amy sighed. A puppy? He’d asked for a puppy. Josh knew they couldn’t have one where they were living. What was she supposed to do now?

  “Sweetie, I told you we can’t have a puppy till we move to a house,” she said, which oddly enough only seemed to make Nick’s smile grow. She regarded him with confusion. “He didn’t ask for a puppy?”

  “Nope,” Nick said, carrying Emma down to join her.

  “What then?”

  “A new dad,” he told her. “And he seems to think having Santa for a dad would be pretty awesome.”

  Amy’s cheeks flooded with heat. “Oh, no. I am so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m thinking it’s something to consider.”

  She stared at him in shock. “Excuse me?”

  “Not today, of course, but you know, down the road.”

  “Say sometime after you’ve actually had a chance to think about it?” she asked dryly.

  He laughed, not the fake, booming laugh of Santa, but the amused chuckle of a man she’d discovered had a wonderful sense of humor.

  “Oh, I’ve been thinking about it for some time now,” he told her. “How about you? Has the thought crossed your mind?”

  It was her turn to chuckle. “How could it not, with your folks and Trish pressuring me every chance they get?”

  “So, what do you think?” Josh demanded impatiently. “Is he gonna be my new dad or not?”

  “I think maybe we ought to give your mom a little more time to think about this,” Nick told him. “She might even want a real, romantic proposal.”

  “What’s that?” Josh asked.

  “Candlelight and stuff,” Nick told him. “Keep it in mind. You might need to know about things like that later. In the meantime, why don’t I walk you all to your car. I’ve heard a rumor and I want to check it out.”

  “What kind of rumor?” Amy asked, confused by the hint of mystery in his voice.

  “You’ll see.”

  They walked to the same exit where Amy, Josh and Emma had entered the mall on that fateful day a year ago. When Nick pushed open the door, she immediately saw what he’d been talking about. Once again, snow was falling. It had already covered the ground and turned the rapidly emptying parking lot into a winter wonderland.

  “Snow!” Josh screamed, running ahead and twirling around, his head thrown back and his mouth open so he could catch the fat snowflakes on his tongue. Suddenly he ran over and threw his arms around Nick’s huge, padded waist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Nick winked at Amy. “Sorry, kid, Santa can’t take credit for this.”

  Maybe not, she thought, but he had a lot to do with the joyous expression on her son’s face. He was also responsible for the amazingly lighthearted feeling inside her.

  As far as she was concerned, Santa—Nick—had given them everything they needed and the promise of much more.

  ASSIGNMENT HUMBUG

  Darlene Gardner

  For George and Marilyn. Even though we’re not under the same roof during the holidays, you’re always in my heart.

  And thanks to Dr. Makarowski and Eda Burhenn, CRNP, for all the rheumatology information.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MAYBE, AS HER FREE-SPENDING mother suggested, Merry Deluca really was shopaphobic.

  She suffered through the quarterly trips to New York City showrooms that her wardrobe consultant insisted upon and hadn’t stepped one high-heeled foot in a mall in more than a year.

  Until today, the last frantic shopping day left before Christmas.

  The shopping day hell had wrought.

  From a bench positioned on the periphery of one of the wide thoroughfares, Merry watched the tide of shoppers grow and wished she could talk some sense into them.

  Why rush through the mall on one of the most festive days of the year instead of spending quality time with family?

  Merry certainly wouldn’t be here on the outskirts of Charlotte at King’s Mall if the assignment editor at WZLM-13 news hadn’t sent her out to do this story.

  Merry was an on-camera correspondent whose reports from the mall were scheduled to air live on the noon and six o’clock broadcasts. A taped version would appear at eleven.

  She checked her watch. It was a quarter past nine in the morning, a little more than an hour since the mall had opened and fifteen minutes past the time she was supposed to have met her cameraman.

  The technician operating the ENG truck wouldn’t appear for another few hours to start setting up for the noon broadcast, bu
t she’d arrived early to get a jump on the story. Her plan was to weave some taped interviews in with the live report.

  So where was Danny Thompson?

  She didn’t suppose he was any happier about hanging out at the mall than she was, but a television reporter without a cameraman was like December without Christmas.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her fingers against her upper arms, then turned her mental energy toward her approach to the story.

  Betsy Anderson, the assignment editor, had told her to think light and upbeat. To try to capture that “air of excitement and anticipation that only comes around once a year.”

  As though that feature hadn’t aired a thousand times by a thousand different television stations.

  She gazed around at the cornucopia of stores with their attractive window displays, all competing to tempt dollars from passing shoppers. From the look of things, they were succeeding. Take the slim brunette in lambskin nearly toppling over from the weight of her purchases.

  The labels on the smartly dressed shopper’s bags— Harrington & Vine’s, Crystal’s, Saks—revealed that she’d managed to hit all of the mall’s anchor stores in seventy-five amazing minutes.

  It also marked her as the poster girl for Christmas excess.

  A story very different from the one Betsy had suggested formed. Why not give the news reports a fresh feel by focusing on the buy, buy, buy mentality that had captured so many. Including her headliner, who was…disappearing into the madding crowd.

  Merry scrambled to her feet and gave chase, thankful that her chosen method of keeping in shape was jogging around her neighborhood. The overburdened shopper didn’t stand a chance of avoiding her.

  Merry fell into step beside her. “Excuse me, can I have a minute of your time? I’m—”

  “Merry Deluca of WZLM news,” the woman finished for her. She stopped walking and beamed as brightly as a Christmas tree light. “I watch you all the time. I particularly loved your story about that new store in downtown Charlotte with the live models. What could be better than being treated to a fashion show while you shop?”

  “Thank you,” Merry said, while her nose for news went on high alert. The woman, who was middle-aged, darkly beautiful and sporting a ring the size of Gibraltar on her left hand, smelled as expensive as she looked.

  “I’m going to report on the last shopping day before Christmas and wondered if I could interview you.”

  “Well, sure. What do you want to know?” The shopper’s well-endowed chest, covered by an exquisite lambskin jacket in a tasteful shade of rust, heaved slightly from exertion. No wonder. She must have been hotfooting it to buy as much as she had in so short a time.

  Why, the woman was as bad as Patrick, not that Merry would let herself think about him. But if she did, she’d make a parallel between Patrick’s tendency toward extravagance and the shopper’s.

  Merry shoved Patrick to the back of her mind, where he wouldn’t leave. She looked over her shoulder but still couldn’t spot her cameraman.

  Where was he?

  “I couldn’t help noticing how much you’ve bought,” Merry said, plowing ahead. Her piece would be harder hitting with video of the woman, but she could still use the vignette. “Can you tell me why you waited until Christmas Eve to do your shopping?”

  “Waited? I didn’t wait. I started my Christmas shopping the day after Thanksgiving, and I’m still going strong.” She laughed, a jolly, little tinkle. She seemed so willing to share that Merry felt guilty for reveling in her cluelessness.

  But, really. Did the woman honestly believe that showering friends and family with a wealth of hastily chosen gifts would bring her love?

  “Are you done for the day?” Merry asked.

  “Probably not. Once I drop this stuff at the women’s shelter, I may pick up one or two more things.”

  Merry’s brows lifted. Her gut tightened. “The women’s shelter?”

  The shopper wrinkled her nose. “It probably sounds silly when the women at the shelter need so much, but I thought they’d appreciate getting some presents that aren’t secondhand.”

  Merry pressed her lips together, wondering how she’d misread the situation. “No,” she conceded, “it doesn’t sound silly at all. It sounds thoughtful. And sweet. Really, really sweet.”

  Relief, as easy to read as the names of the neighboring stores, filled her face. “Bless you for saying that.”

  Trying to disguise her disappointment that she’d had the bad luck to stop a good Samaritan, Merry asked a few more questions and got the woman’s name.

  “Have a wonderful holiday,” the woman called over her shoulder as she retreated, balancing the jam-packed bags as though she were the female version of Santa Claus.

  “You, too,” Merry responded, barely able to maintain her smile long enough for the woman to walk away.

  She folded her arms over her chest and tried to look on the bright side. One bighearted shopper did not make a trend. It was early yet. As the day wore on, tempers would flare, shoppers would grow desperate to complete their Christmas lists and she’d rack up all the material she needed for her story.

  But where was her cameraman?

  “Top o’ the morning to you, love.”

  She froze at the sound of the charming Irish brogue. There was nothing particularly suggestive about the saying—except that the sayer had a habit of snuggling up next to her in bed and whispering those words in her ear after he’d stayed the night.

  The voice had come from behind her. Bracing herself, she turned, but her breath still caught.

  Patrick MacFarland in the flesh stood a few paces away, pinning her with the vivid blue eyes that were such a striking contrast to his black hair.

  He looked outrageously masculine in a beige cable-knit sweater and chocolate-colored chinos. Tall and wiry, he had chiseled cheekbones, a long nose and a sinfully beautiful mouth.

  His looks, combined with the accent he’d brought over from Ireland at age twelve when his family immigrated, turned a lot of female heads. It had been his passion that turned Merry’s. Not only his passion for life, but his passion for his family…and for her.

  She drew air into her lungs, fueling her resolve not to let him know how much his mere presence affected her.

  “What are you doing here, Patrick?” She tried to instill frost into her voice, a neat feat considering chipmunks chirped the Christmas song from the mall’s sound system.

  “The plan never was for me to stay in San Francisco over Christmas,” he said in his lilting voice. “I had a devil of a time reaching you or I would have let you know when I was getting back.”

  “I’m screening my calls, Patrick,” she said. “I don’t pick up when I see one of your numbers.”

  “Did you get the long-stemmed red roses I sent?” he asked as though he hadn’t heard her.

  “Yes.” She sighed. “And the chocolate. And the cheese-of-the-month club subscription.”

  “That one was inspired. You’re a woman who likes her cheese,” he said, seeming pleased with himself.

  Considering what was between them, the inanity of the conversation struck her. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

  “What better place is there but where you are?” He moved toward her with a panther’s grace. Knowing how dangerous his nearness could be to her peace of mind, let alone body, she backed up only to come flush against a railing draped with holly. He didn’t stop advancing until he was a hand’s width from her. He brushed a strand of hair back from her face, touching her cheek in the process and sending her nerve endings skittering. “And is that any way for a woman to be greeting her fiancé?”

  She fought an overpowering urge to breathe deeply of his clean, masculine scent and batted his hand away. “You’re my ex-fiancé, Patrick. We broke up. Remember?”

  “We?” He shook his head sadly, and her heart clutched. “I didn’t break up with you, love.”

  “It only takes one to make
it official.”

  “I hardly think telling me such a thing over the phone qualifies as official. One minute we’re talking about the doves your mother wants released at the wedding, and the next you’re breaking up with me.”

  “She wanted two dozen white doves to fly over us as we left the church. Two dozen, Patrick! And you said you didn’t understand why I was against it,” she accused.

  “I also said I’d back you up no matter what. If you don’t want doves, that’s fine with me.”

  “That’s beside the point. If we’re not on the same page about these things, we shouldn’t be getting married.”

  “But we are on the same page. I want you to have whatever you want.”

  She shook her head. How could she explain her doubts to him when she hardly understood them herself? She chewed on her bottom lip, thinking about how to proceed.

  “You’re right about one thing. I shouldn’t have broken up with you over the phone.” She didn’t elaborate, because she could hardly admit that her will got so weak at the sight of him that she’d doubted she could end things in person. “But what’s done is done.”

  “Have you canceled the wedding yet, love?” he asked in the same low voice he used when they were in bed together. Her resolve weakened, but she bolstered it back up.

  “My name’s Merry,” she said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d call me that instead of love.”

  He trailed his forefinger along her jaw, then let it drop before she could protest. “Why should I be making it easier for you to ignore what’s between us?”

  Just like that, the endearment took on greater meaning. She remembered the day she’d accepted his proposal. They’d been at Charlotte’s finest restaurant, and he’d asked her to marry him over champagne and caviar.

  She’d have chosen a less ostentatious setting, but at the time it hadn’t mattered. She’d been so in love with him, she’d been giddy with it.