The Santa Suit (Holiday Homecoming #4)

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  A whistle blew, and with a whoop of outrage, Gun surged to his feet, pumping the air with his fist. “Whattayamean, foul?” he yelled. “If that was a foul, I’m Mother Teresa!” He turned to commiserate with a red-faced fan on his other side. “Where do they get these referees? The dark side of the moon?”

  Gabe crossed his arms and tried to get back into the spirit of the game. After all, he’d shelled out quite a few bucks for these tickets. But all he could think about was the five crumpled dollar bills in his shirt pocket, and Katherine Harmon. Both images created a warm spot near his heart. For reasons known only to God…and possibly Gun.

  “So you’re going to help a couple of industrious kids find Santa Claus.” Gun resumed his seat on the bleachers and picked up the conversation again. “A commendable bit of charity, Junior. I’m proud of you for taking the case.”

  “I’m not. Taking the case, that is. I’m returning their money tomorrow.”

  “What for? Don’t tell me you’re scared of two seven-year-old kids.”

  “No, I’m not scared of two seven-year-old kids,” Gabe parroted in denial. “Their mother is scary enough for me, thanks. She threatened to sue me.”

  Gun looked momentarily concerned. “Not a former client of mine, is she?”

  “You’re in the clear on this one. She doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, and doesn’t think anyone else should, either.”

  “So she’s going to sue you? What for? Does she think you own stock in Christmas?”

  “I know. She was being ridiculous, and I told her so, too.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that calmed her right down.” Gun stroked his clipped white beard and shook his head. “She was probably tickled pink you pointed that out to her.”

  “All right, so it might not have been the most tactful way to tell her she was overreacting. But from the moment she walked in the room, I had this feeling she didn’t think much of me, even before she found out I’d agreed to help the twins look for Santa.” Gabe bent forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “I’m almost certain we’ve never officially met, but she seemed very familiar, somehow. And it wasn’t the kind of familiar feeling you get from passing someone in the lobby a few times, either. It was more like…well, almost as if I knew things about her I had no way of knowing. And I know what you’re thinking, but she’s not the kind of woman I’d forget.”

  “Have you asked Louisa?”

  Gabe let his mouth quirk in a wry smile. “Believe it or not, Dad, there are a few things even Louisa doesn’t know.”

  “If there’s a woman out there who wants to sue you and Louisa doesn’t know about it, you’d better get yourself a lawyer.”

  “Katherine doesn’t want to sue me. That was just her way of…well, of warning me off.”

  “Doesn’t want you around her kids, huh?”

  “The funny thing is, I think the warning was more personal than that. I think she’s afraid of me.” Gabe wasn’t sure where that insight had come from, but he knew as soon as he said it that he was right. It was the angle he’d been trying to find all evening, the reason Katherine had been so ill at ease in his office. Despite the circumstances—even .cutting her some slack for the anxiety she must have felt when she discovered that her children had wandered away from her office and wound up in his—she’d been abnormally nervous.

  He hadn’t imagined it. He knew he hadn’t. But he couldn’t think of a thing to account for it, either. Katherine Harmon didn’t like him. And it wasn’t just a general dislike of men. It was real and it was personal. She didn’t like him. Until this minute, though, it hadn’t occurred to him that he scared her. Scared her in the same way kids had always scared him. Not because he found them frightening creatures, but because he found them fascinating, and some survivalist instinct told him he had to steer clear or get involved.

  So Katherine Harmon was afraid of him. Interesting. A woman who didn’t believe in Santa Claus, who said she believed a father was unnecessary—or at least nonessential—in a child’s life, a woman who probably didn’t allow many men into her and her children’s lives, was afraid of getting involved with him. She didn’t want anyone to hurt Abby and Andy, which was perfectly understandable. Except they got hurt either way, didn’t they?

  In his mind, he could see their wistful blue eyes, and he knew he was their last hope. Well, okay, maybe the situation wasn’t that desperate, but there wouldn’t be many more opportunities for them to have a Christmas like the one in their drawing. In another year, they’d be older, and there’d be fewer people who’d bother to pretend that Santa was real. And over time, they’d develop that cynical outer shell of protection, that Santa-is-for-kids, hurry-up-and-just-get-through-the-holidays mentality of adults, and Christmas would lose much, if not all, of its magic. As it already had for their mother.

  Gabe looked at his father, at the hair that was now sparse and white, at the accumulated wrinkles, and at the faded brown eyes that had yet to lose their mischievous sparkle. “Do you still believe in Santa Claus, Dad?”

  “Hell, yes. And I’ve asked for a Snow Flyer sled this year, so when you see it under the tree, don’t go thinking it’s yours.”

  Gabe laughed. “I’ll trade you a day with your Snow Flyer for a ticket to the next Knicks game.”

  “What kind of deal is that? You’d give me the ticket anyway.”

  For a moment, the action on the court held their combined attention. “Dad?” Gabe asked. “If you had to go looking for Santa Claus, where would you start?”

  “Macy’s,” Gun said decisively. “And from there, I’d just follow my instincts.”

  “What if your instincts were telling you to run like hell?”

  “Then I’d know I was on the right track.” Gun offered an encouraging nudge with his elbow. “Just out of curiosity, though, how are you planning to persuade a woman who, in your words, ‘doesn’t think much of you,’ to let you hang around long enough to prove there really is a Santa Claus?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  Gun’s short white beard dipped toward his chest in a satisfied nod. “Now you’re beginning to talk like a real detective.”

  KATHERINE STIRRED a teaspoonful of gourmet flavoring into her coffee and inhaled the aroma as she carried the cup and saucer with her into the living room. Tucking her legs under her, she sank onto the sofa and into the luxury of a morning at home. Not that she didn’t have work to do; she’d brought a pile of it with her from the office yesterday. But while the twins were still asleep and the day was still fairly new, she could relax and enjoy a few minutes of peace and quiet. And a leisurely cup of coffee, one of the small pleasures of life she allowed herself. The only one she absolutely refused to feel guilty about. Closing her eyes, she brought her favorite china cup to her lips, anticipating the first hot, slightly bitter taste of the coffee. The door buzzer scalded her solitude in a noisy interruption, and a splash of coffee slopped onto the collar of her white terry robe. Dabbing at it with one end of the robe’s tie belt, she carried the cup with her to the front door of the apartment. She flipped back the cover of the peephole, looked out, and stepped back so fast she subsequently spilled coffee dowr the other lapel and onto the cotton nightgown underneath. What the hell was he doing here?

  The buzzer blared again and, angrily, she threw back the locks and jerked open the door. “Mr. Housley,” she said. “What do you want?”

  He smiled, and her stupid heart stuttered like a lovesick adolescent “Coffee,” he said easily, as if he showed up at her door every morning to join her in a cup. “I feel naked until I’ve spilled some on my shirt.” His gaze shifted from her stained lapels to the cup in her hand. “Can you spare a few drops?”

  “How did you get up here?”

  He hooked his thumb toward the hallway behind him. “I got into the elevator and punched in your floor. From there, I just had to walk down the hall until I reached your apartment.”

  How anyone so obnoxious could look so attractive at this h
our, Katherine couldn’t understand. The few times she’d been with a man at this time of day had not been conducive to noticing such things as the way his hair waved away from his forehead…except for that one stray lock that fell forward. She certainly had no reason or desire to notice his clean, obviously freshly shaven face, or that his eyes were the same shade of whiskey brown as his Armani overcoat. The coat fell casually from his shoulders, angling toward the back on the right side, as if it were accustomed to being pushed aside in order for him to reach the pocket of his tweed slacks. This morning, he looked the way he had the first time she saw him. Only he hadn’t been standing still then. He’d been striding through the lobby of the Fitzpatrick Building as if he owned the place. She’d subsequently discovered that he did…own the place, that is. She’d also, subsequently, decided that it wasn’t the man she found attractive at all. It was his coat…the one he was wearing now. “How did you get past the security guard downstairs?”

  “Raymond?” Gabe said the name easily and with great familiarity. “Oh, I’ve known him for ages. He works for me.”

  “You being Housley Security, I suppose.”

  He nodded, adopting an expression she felt sure was meant to appear humble. “It isn’t quite as personal as it sounds,” he said. “We provide the security personnel and monitor the alarm systems for a lot of apartment buildings. I just happen to know Raymond because he’s played in a monthly poker game with my dad for…well, for a lot of years.”

  It figured. Katherine wished abruptly that she’d bought an apartment on the Upper East Side instead of this Central Park location. Although Housley Security had probably infiltrated there, as well. “Do you hire all of your father’s poker buddies to fill security positions?”

  “Only the winners. The losers have to work in the main office.”

  “How reassuring,” she said, feeling unreasonably annoyed by the knowledge that whether she was at her office or at home in her apartment, her security was connected to Gabe Housley.

  “I lost one game too many and ended up as president of the company,” he said modestly.

  She offered a pseudosmile in reply and managed to throttle the impulse to rub at the stains on her lapels. “I’m surprised you’re still in business, if you don’t insist your security personnel notify tenants before allowing a visitor upstairs.”

  “Oh, that’s standard procedure, as I’m sure you know.” He tightened his lips and, either by intent or design, came up with that quirk of a smile she found so irritating…and so irrationally appealing. “But this morning I pulled rank and told Raymond he didn’t need to buzz me through. I figured the twins might be still asleep and the noise might wake them.”

  She leaned her shoulder against the door, wondering what he wanted and why she didn’t just insist he spit it out. “When I file my complaint with the residents’ association, I’ll be sure to mention you broke the rules out of a sincere consideration for my kids and their need for sleep.” She knew she wasn’t going to file a complaint, and he undoubtedly knew it, too. But she felt she had to at least raise the point. “Maybe poor Raymond won’t lose his job.”

  “Raymond isn’t in any danger of losing his job.”

  “Well, I can’t imagine that your head would be the one to roll.”

  He impatiently brushed the hair back from his forehead. “You know, Kate, I didn’t come here to argue.”

  “We’re not arguing, Mr. Housley…although we will be if you keep calling me Kate.”

  “Katherine, then.”

  She liked the way he said her name, but then, she liked the frustration she saw gathering in his eyes, too. “Now that I think about it,” she continued. “There’s really no reason for you to call me anything at all. Have a nice day, and the next time you decide to pay an unexpected visit, I suggest you have the guard follow the standard procedure and announce your impending arrival.”

  “I didn’t think you’d invite me to come up if I did.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I wouldn’t have.” She started to close the door, but Gabe flattened a hand against the panel to keep it open. “I’d really like to talk to you, if you think you can get that chip off your shoulder long enough to hear me out.”

  Chip? He thought she had a chip on her shoulder? “You mean you’re not going to ‘pull rank’ and just knock it off yourself?”

  “I’m actually a very gentle man most of the time. It’s only when I can’t figure out why someone dislikes me as intensely as you apparently do that I get a bit testy.”

  “Happens often, does it?”

  “No,” he said, his voice getting testier by the syllable. “It happens so infrequently that it really bugs me. So why don’t you just tell me what it is about me that puts you up on such a high horse, and I’ll apologize for whatever it is I did or didn’t do. Then, perhaps, you can offer me a cup of coffee, and we can sit down and talk civilly.”

  Katherine wished, irrelevantly, that she’d put on makeup and combed her hair. Not that it made a bit of difference. Regardless of how she looked, she was going to invite him in and offer him a cup of coffee, because it was obvious he wasn’t going away until she did. “Would you like to come inside and have a cup of coffee?” she asked, using the element of surprise to her advantage. “I think you and I need to come to an understanding.”

  He frowned at her sudden change of tactic, but stepped inside quickly, as if he thought she might change her mind. “Thank you,” he said.

  She closed the door and enjoyed a moment of serene confidence—until she turned around and looked straight at his broad chest, covered with a blue coarsely woven shirt, striped with a Jerry Garcia necktie and outlined by the lapels of that damn overcoat. In the same way a mist of rain saturates the atmosphere on a hot summer day, a sensual attraction soaked into her awareness, and the air around her went from morning fresh to humid in a single breath. She was an idiot to have invited him into her home, an idiot to think she could sit and talk to him as if he were the guy next door. But she could hardly retract her invitation now without revealing what an idiot she was. So she’d just hear what he had to say and get him out of the apartment before she started noticing other intriguing things about him, beyond his overcoat.

  “You can put your coat over there.” She gestured blindly, not caring where he put it, as long as he took it off. “Can I get you some coffee?” Without waiting for his answer, she headed for the kitchen and wondered if it would lower her body temperature any if she slipped a couple of ice cubes down the neck of her robe. But he followed her, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t have iced herself without him noticing. “Sugar? Cream?” she asked. “I have some International Flavors, too, if you like.”

  “Black,” he said. “I figure if I’m going to drink the stuff, I shouldn’t cover up the taste with artificial sweeteners and gourmet flavorings.”

  Just like that, guilt attached itself to her sugared, creamed and gourmet-flavored indulgence, and she wanted to put her hands over her own cup, so that he couldn’t see the betraying caramel color. Instead, she took a mug from the cabinet and filled it with coffee, noting with some small satisfaction that she’d randomly chosen a cup inscribed with the words Men! Who needs them? She handed it to him, noting that he looked marginally less attractive out of the coat than in it, but she was still careful to avoid any hand-to-hand contact as he took the mug.

  To her dismay, instead of returning to the other room, he leaned a shoulder against the door frame and proceeded to sip the coffee, his brown eyes leisurely taking in the dirty dishes in the sink, the smear of grape jelly on the counter, the smudgy fingerprints on the refrigerator…and her, all sixty-four-and-a-half inches of her at her disheveled, stained, only-recently-rolled-out-of-bed and frumpy best. Imagining the scene through his eyes, Katherine felt about as uncomfortable as she’d ever felt in her own kitchen…not counting the time she burned the oatmeal.

  “I like your taste in art.” He nodded at the crayon drawings magnetically tacked to t
he refrigerator and Scotch-taped on cabinet doors. “I even recognize the artists.”

  She glanced fondly at the first-grade decor. “It probably helps that they print their names in really big letters.”

  “I think the subject matter would give them away, even without the signatures.” Pointing to one of several neatly drawn pictures, he indicated the objects in turn. “That would be Abby, Andy, and you, a house, Sparky the dog, and…” He paused, obviously trying to recall the name of the cat and looking to her for help.

  “Matilda the cat,” Katherine supplied. “I see you were with the twins long enough yesterday to learn the entire menagerie.”

  “Right down to the Slime Monster, the Trash Monster, and the Alien Wearing Underpants.”

  She glanced at Andy’s collection of monsters, all drawn in quick, vivid, one-color strokes of crayon, and shook her head. “I hope he outgrows this monster fixation soon. Every time I walk into the kitchen, it seems like there’s a new one that’s stranger than the one before it.”

  “Nothing strange about it. Boys love ugly, gross and scary things. It’s the nature of the male, the way we learn to deal with fear.”

  “Really?” She narrowed her eyes, thinking the true nature of males was basically anything that was directly opposite of the female. “Are you afraid of monsters?”

  “Not anymore.” He sipped the coffee and regarded her over the rim of the mug. “If I had to draw the things I’m most afraid of, the picture would be closer to Abby’s than Andy’s. What about you, Kate…Katherine? What are you afraid of?”

  “Wasting the only quiet time I’m likely to get today.” Leaving her china cup on the counter, she stepped toward him, thinking he’d take the hint and back out of the way.

  He didn’t. He kept his shoulder pressed against the doorjamb and continued to lean like the Tower of Pisa, holding the mug easily in the curve of his large hand, watching her with more interest than her appearance merited. She arched her brows in a subtle warning. “Are you going to spill that on your shirt yourself, or could I be of some assistance?”