by Box Set
Grandpa only shook his head. “If only your grandmother could be here to see this.”
“I’ve a feeling she’s here every year,” Ben said, helping his grandfather from the limo.
He jerked away, grumbling, “Stop treating me like a heart patient. I’m all better now. Besides, I want to enjoy the decorations you put up.”
“Let me hit the switch then,” Ben said, jogging to the electric panel. He turned on the lights and motion, and the entire yard came alive.
One by one, the limos stopped, and Ben’s entire family joined them in the yard. They followed Grandpa as he marveled at the wooden train whose wheels still turned. Bright lights lit the gingerbread people, some wearing cowboy hats, and others with long hair, blond, red, and dark.
Ben watched, in amazement as Grandpa walked alongside the train naming the gingerbread people. “Braden, Damon, Susanna, Nash, Ben, Macy, and Riley, Wes and Terri,” Grandpa said, clearing his throat.
Terri was Ben’s mother’s name, but he was surprised Grandpa had named Gingerbread people after his stepsisters. Of course, Jolene was absent.
Grandpa stroked the tangled blond yarn on the Terri Gingerbread Woman and kissed it. “I didn’t make one for Colleen. She’s the angel on the lawn.”
“She definitely is,” Ben’s father agreed with his wife, Jolene, at his side.
The Colleen angel stood on a soapbox with her hands in prayer. Somehow seeing her here surrounded by family, Ben felt more at peace. She would always exist whenever the people who loved her remembered her.
Ben’s sisters marveled at the animatronics and of course, compared themselves to their Gingerbread people, taking selfies. Meanwhile, Nash placed Abbie on one of the wooden reindeer while Lindsay took a picture of them.
Jolene held hands with Wes and pointed at the flamingos towing the lighted sleigh, holding Santa and Mrs. Claus. Behind the sleigh, snowman serenaded the entourage. The only thing missing was the North Pole sign. Where had that gone? Ben was sure he’d placed it next to the snowmen.
“I’m so happy your family’s here,” Brittney whispered in Ben’s ear.
“Me, too. It all starts and ends with you.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “Let’s take Grandpa in for the surprise your grandparents planned for him.”
After everyone had finished admiring the yard decorations, Ben helped his grandfather walk up the leaf-strewn trail to the front porch. “Ready for some mistletoe?”
Grandpa took a deep breath of the piney scent mixed with salt spray and closed his eyes. “I reckon it’s time for me to make peace with her.”
“With Grandma?” Ben asked. “I don’t get it.”
“She was always getting between me and your dad, trying to bring us together, but she didn’t understand men—not when our stubborn pride was involved.”
“What changed?”
“Almost dying has a way of changing a man’s heart.” Grandpa pointed at the top of the porch. “Ah, the first sprig of mistletoe.”
Tiptoeing, he puckered up and kissed the air. “That’s for you, Sally. Thanks for watching over this place until I was ready to come back.”
Ben wiped a tear from the corner of his eye as he extracted the key from the lock box. “Grandpa, open her up.”
Grandpa took the key and turned toward his family. “Thank you, every one of you, for blessing me this Christmas.”
He opened the door and out popped Treat and Big Blizzard.
“Waarrooaah!” howled the basset hound.
“Welcome home,” said the cockatoo.
“Merry Christmas,” shouted Ben and Brittney’s families. “Santa’s come home to stay.”
A red and white barber pole stood just inside the doorway, next to a coat rack with a sign hanging off it proclaiming it to be the “North Power Pole.”
Epilogue
The evening of the pro football draft
~ Brittney ~
Ben and I sit with his family in the crowded auditorium awaiting the announcement of the pro football draft picks. The nervous energy in the building buzzes as players and their families cheer when each pick is selected. The others bite their nails, worrying and waiting for their big moment.
I hold onto Ben, rubbing his big broad back as player after player is picked and announced. We’re still in the first round, and usually those picks are reserved for quarterbacks, running backs, and wide receivers.
No one speaks, knowing how anxious Ben is. All the talking and horse-trading between the teams have already been done behind the scenes in the war room, and all that remains is the announcement.
“I’ve a good feel about this,” Ben finally says as they announce the tenth pick. “The worst teams get to pick first, so it’s good I’m not picked yet.”
“I bet you’re coming up soon.” I hold onto him tight. “You’ve only gotten bigger and better.”
Ben has bulked up to two hundred-sixty pounds, but hasn’t lost his agility or speed. He’s a powerhouse, jumps forty-two inches, bench presses four-hundred and quick too, clocking in the forty-yard dash at around four and a half seconds. I know. I religiously followed his progress at the combine this year while starting another company with Lacy and Brandon.
“The twelfth pick of the draft,” the commissioner announces. “The Oakland Brigands select Bennett Powers, middle linebacker UC Sacramento Goldrushers.”
“Woohoo!” I leap to my feet as Ben rises from his seat.
He plasters a kiss on me and I hug him briefly before letting his family crowd around. He hugs his father, and then his stepmother, kisses each of his sisters, and receives a slap on the back from Nash.
Looping his arm around Grandpa, he poses with him for the cameras.
“I love you, Grandpa,” he says. “For always believing in me.”
“You go, Benny Boy,” Grandpa slaps his back. “Go, go, go.”
Ben walks toward the stage, running a gauntlet of cameras. Someone hands him a Brigand’s cap. It’s amazing how they have someone around with all the caps. I wonder how they can get that jersey onstage so quickly.
Ben pulls the cap onto his head and walks with the spotlight trained on him to the commissioner. I scream my head off as Ben gives the commissioner a huge bear hug, picking him off his feet to the hoots and hollers of the crowd. They pose together with the extra-large black Oakland jersey with the name “Powers” and a big number one emblazoned on it to signify first round pick.
Ben totally deserves it. He was college football’s best pass rusher and the fear of every quarterback—nearly unstoppable. His dedication and determination have paid off.
Later that evening, at the celebration dinner, Ben passes the jersey around and everyone wears it to take their picture. I’m the last one, and when Ben pulls it over my shoulder he takes out the black instamatic camera with the ice-cube flash bulb.
“Where’d you find that antique?” Grandpa calls out. “I lost it a long time ago.”
“Last roll of film,” Ben says, handing him the camera. Of course, his sisters are using their cell phone cameras, so I’ll be sure to ask them to text me a copy.
I smile for the old camera as Ben lays a kiss on my cheek.
Flash! It blinds my eyes and when I move to take off the jersey, he shakes his head and whispers, “I want you and that little Powers you got growing in there to wear it the rest of the night.”
Yep. I’m pregnant and proud of it. Twenty-one weeks along.
Lacy had her baby in January, a boy she named Jaxon, and well, Ben and I are hoping for a girl to name Colleen. I accepted the buyout for ScrapCloud from Dave and Jen, a pretty hefty sum, and plowed it into our new startup—a dating app based on shopping habits and purchase behavior. I also bought Grandpa’s farmhouse and work from there. My parents gave Treat back to Ben, and of course, Big Blizzard, the umbrella cockatoo is mine. Too bad, I couldn’t bring him to the auditorium for the draft selection announcement. He sure would have caused a ruckus.
Ben taps my shoulder and pu
lls an envelope from his pocket. “You won’t believe how hard it is to find someone to develop this film. I had to mail it to some lab in Kansas to get it done. Who wants to see the pictures I took of Brittney at the Christmas cottage?”
“Hey, I haven’t even seen them.” I try to swipe them from him, but he’s too fast.
He passes each picture around and I can only wait as his sisters giggle and exclaim about our silly outfits.
Finally, I get ahold of them. There we are in front of a bare Christmas tree, kissing. Ben’s wearing a bright orange Shopahol t-shirt and Kelly green elf pants, and I’m in his mother’s pink elf costume.
The pictures are out of order because the next one is me and Ben in the carriage wrapped in the blanket, then one of Ben holding a spatula cooking “Christmas” breakfast, looking so sexy with his two-day old beard.
“I think I see something in this one,” Ben’s sister, Susanna, says.
She holds up the picture I took of Ben hugging the Colleen angel. Fog mists around him and the flash bounces off the angel’s halo, glinting.
Grandpa grabs the photo from her and stares at it. “Is that my Sally? And Terri?”
The shadows behind Ben look like the silhouette of two women hovering above. I remember seeing a third shadow between the two women, but it’s not there.
At that moment, my baby kicks.
“I feel her,” I exclaim, palming my hand over my belly.
Ben bends over and rests his cheek against my abdomen. He kisses it and says, “My little Collie’s in there. I can’t wait to meet you.”
A voice bounces in my mind. You’ve made my Ben so happy. I’m proud of you, little Britt. You done good.
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If you enjoyed Brittney and Ben’s story, you’ll love Nick Wolff and Carol Cassidy in Bad Boys for Hire: Nick, where another naughty Santa boy falls for another girl genius, this time, a paraplegic in a wheelchair.
Please turn the page to read an excerpt from Bad Boys for Hire: Nick.
Excerpt - Bad Boys for Hire: Nick
Description:
Carol was an avid mountain climber until an accident left her in a wheelchair. Love is the last thing on her mind when she hires Nick to play Santa. Shocked at the sensations he elicits, she resists him and decides to date a good guy—a disabled firefighter.
Nick is drawn to Carol like a magnet to iron, and he sets out to prove that bad boys who hire themselves out can be good boys, too—especially in bed.
Carol discovers she’s not dead to passion, but when Nick’s dirty laundry is aired, she regrets choosing the naughty over the nice. Will the spirit of Christmas teach her that sometimes, a huge lump of coal can turn into the brightest diamond of love?
Chapter One
“How many times have I told you not to have sex?”
Nick Wolff propped his feet on his boss’s desk and shrugged. “It just came up.”
“Then bring it down. Take a cold shower. Lop it off. Whatever.” Rex Carter, owner of Bad Boys for Hire Entertainment Services, stabbed an index finger at Nick. “All the other certified Bad Boys seem to have no trouble keeping their pants on.”
If he only knew.
Nick couldn’t help the way his lips twisted into what he hoped was not a knowing smirk. After all, he wasn’t the only entertainer who slept with the clients. He was the only one they complained about.
“Who was she? The banker? Or the doctor?” Nick looped his fingers together behind his head and affected an uncaring attitude. Whatever complaints had nothing to do with the sex department and more to do with his “no-repeats” policy for certain clients.
“It doesn’t matter. You signed an employment contract.” Rex’s voice was gruffer than usual. “No sex with clients. What’s so hard to understand? You’re damaging the reputation of Bad Boys for Hire. If word gets out that we’re providing sexual services, bookings will go down and our former clients will no longer refer us to their friends.”
Rex Carter’s Bad Boys for Hire was a cross between an escort service and an impersonator service providing actors and entertainers for parties, events, fake dates, and other situations where women felt the need to “hire a hunk.”
Nick had signed the contract forbidding sex as part of the offerings. But hey, stripping and exotic dancing stimulated appetites, and he simply hated for a woman to go away hungry, especially a well-heeled one with plenty of greenbacks to spare.
Technically, none of the women were clients when he gave them their happy endings. He’d had them sign a waiver stating he was off the clock and not liable for damages. They’d been so eager to sign they didn’t read the fine print.
Entertainer reserves the right to deny repeat engagements.
All that didn’t matter now that Rex was breathing down his neck. Nick had a boatload of student loans and no job to show for his expensive private college history degree.
“It won’t happen again.” Which was exactly what he’d told the former clients. Nick dropped his feet to the ground and prepared to stand. “Have you ever wondered why all the complaints I get happen after I refuse additional services? Not before?”
Rex slapped both hands on his desk. “That’s another problem. You’ve worn out your welcome with the executive class clientele. I’m putting you on probation. You can hang up your Sexy Santa act, because you’re doing nothing but children’s parties.”
“But Sexy Santa’s one of our biggest revenue generators,” Nick argued. He was the most popular entertainer, and he’d gotten the act down, including the surprise parties where he showed up half-dressed in a g-string and Santa hat, no pants required, with his bag of goodies.
“Your last two clients canceled their bookings, so it’s children’s parties for you.” The corners of Rex’s lips turned down into a frown. “Just be glad I have something for you to do.”
“You mean the Obsessive Book Whores and the Nasty Naughty Vixens?”
“Yes, they were highly unsatisfied with your Halloween performance.”
“Right. I wouldn’t touch either of them with a hollow weenie.” The event organizers of those two romance reading groups tried to blackmail him into sleeping with them in exchange for the Christmas gig. “I bet they lied about me, because they wanted me to audition for the job in bed, and I refused.”
“Then you should be glad you’re doing children’s parties for the rest of the year.”
“I can’t believe this.” Nick didn’t mind children climbing all over his lap. The problem was the tips, or lack thereof. Harried parents dealing with bouncing-off-the-wall children careening off sugar highs weren’t about to stuff a twenty down his pants the way horny women did, trying to cop a feel at the same time.
“Believe it.” Rex flipped through a thick file folder. “I have you scheduled for preschools, charity organizations, and toy drives.”
Nick winced and brushed his hand through his thick locks of hair. “I don’t look or feel like a Santa Claus. Too hard, dark, and handsome.”
“Tough.” Rex slapped the folder into Nick’s hands. “Here’s your schedule for the next three weeks. Now, get out of here and stay out of trouble.”
Nick needed the gigs, truth to tell, otherwise he would have shoved the folder back at Rex. The only reason he hadn’t been fired was because Rex’s sister was married to his brother.
Not bothering to say goodbye, Nick stalked out of his boss’s office and shuffled through the information sheets. Mission Hills Montessori, The French Academy, Happy Hummingbirds Preschool, Bumblebees Dance Club …
His eyebrows rose and he blinked, not sure he was reading it right.
The Bumblebees Dance Club was holding their party and toy drive at the Club Rachelle, a biker bar and nightclub, to benefit a charity called Wheelympics.
Why kind of preschool
dance club hung out at a biker bar?
Chapter Two
“Five, six, seven, eight,” Carol Cassidy shouted and raised her hands above the loud beat of music. “Body roll, on your toes, turn around, whip to the side. One, two, three, four. Toss your head. Shuffle right, shuffle left.”
Her best friends in the world hip-hopped in front of her. They’d been together since preschool days when they were part of the Busy Bumblebees dance team.
She, however, was a newcomer to the group, introduced to them when her brother, Ken, married Jolie Becker, the willowy slim redhead who was allergic to almost everything under the sun.
The speakers pulsed as Carol steered her wheelchair from one end of the line to the other, barking counts like a drill sergeant on speed. Her friends were working up a sweat, thanks to the difficult routine she’d choreographed.
Some might call her a sadist, some might say she was insane, but before the accident which left her a paraplegic, Carol was an avid mountain climber and she never shirked from hard physical exertion. Now that she was confined to a wheelchair, she worked out by dancing and propelling herself around the local high school track.
“Come on, you can do it. Faster, faster.” She clapped her hands. “Move that body, move, move. One, two, three, four, kick, kick.”
“Stop the music. Stop! I’m dying here.” Terri Martin Slade flounced on the floor, her lungs heaving like bellows. “Can we do something slower?”
She was large boned and very blond, and was always on a diet. It was her idea to use the dance routine as a workout. Terri spent her life around flowers since she owned a flower shop, and the rest of the time, she tooled around on a Harley with her new husband, biker Ryker Slade. Just the other day, she was complaining about her sedentary lifestyle, and Carol wasn’t about to cut her any slack.
“Get up, Terr. I’ll jiggle along with you.” Reaching for the music player, Carol cranked up the volume.