Lone Star Santa

by Heather MacAllister

  Maybe Mitch had known that about Jeremy, but it hadn’t bothered him. An arrogant self-confidence and a flashy personality had been good for business. Mitch hadn’t recognized that it had been the wrong business.

  Kristen continued. “So when he drove up in his hot little car, I acted impressed.”

  “You were supposed to ignore him.”

  “And lose the opportunity to learn something?”

  She was right. However, “Exactly where did your little sweet and sour dance fit in?”

  “Didja like that?” She grinned widely.

  “I would have liked it more if you’d been wearing Friday’s outfit.”

  She reached out and finger-walked down his thigh. “That can be arranged.”

  Mitch gripped the steering wheel as a wave of unexpected lust gripped him.

  “I’ve got some really great pompoms,” she added.

  “Which you must never, ever show to Jeremy.” The woman was going to drive him crazy.

  Judging by her smug grin, she knew it, too. “That’s the point. I became the cute, flirty cheerleader. The kind of girl who wouldn’t have noticed him in high school. But I sure noticed him now.”

  “Just like every other woman,” Mitch said in disgust. He honestly hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  “Mitch!” She poked him. “Oh, come on.”

  “Kristen, I know you pegged his type, but people—especially women people—like that type. When we’d go out, they were all over him.”

  “That’s because they knew he’d buy them drinks!” Her mouth was open in astonishment. “And he did, didn’t he?”

  Mitch nodded.

  “I bet he put it on his expense account, too.”

  Mitch nodded again. He’d argued with Jeremy about it. Jeremy had told him to lighten up. Mitch had told him their company couldn’t afford it if they both lightened up. Jeremy had quoted the old “You have to spend money to make money” adage and that no one would hire them to manage their money if it looked as though they weren’t rich themselves. Instead of being fiscally responsible, Mitch was actually hurting the company. So Mitch had backed off.

  And when the business poured in, he couldn’t argue with what worked.

  It wasn’t that Mitch was jealous of Jeremy’s appeal, but he was curious. “How did they know he’d buy them drinks?”

  “The hotties?”

  Mitch shifted in the seat. “It depends on your definition of hot.”

  “Me, Friday night. I was smokin’.”

  Letting out a long breath, he said quietly, “You’re always smokin’.” He glanced at her. “Always.”

  She gave him a wide smile. “Mitch, you sweetie.”

  Mitch did not want to be a sweetie. Not in this context. “Just pat me on the head and get it over with.”

  Kristen promptly thwapped him on the head.

  He ducked. “Hey! I was speaking metaphorically.”

  “You were speaking stupidly. Jeremy is easy to size up as a man who needs arm candy to feel important. He buys them drinks so they’ll stick around. Otherwise, they wouldn’t.”

  They were nearly back to Kristen’s house. “There’s got to be more to it than that,” Mitch said.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s so…”

  “Shallow?”

  “Pathetic. They’re using him.”

  “He’s using them! He doesn’t care about anything but the way they look and the hotter the better. He wants every man in that room to envy him.”

  “I don’t envy him.”

  “Because you wouldn’t have to bribe a hottie to stick with you. You are the bribe. And don’t think Jeremy isn’t aware of that.”

  He smiled slightly. “Yes, but are women aware of that?”

  “Okay, well I did make you buy me a margarita,” she admitted with a laugh. “One. But look at all the mileage you’ve gotten out of it.”

  In spite of himself, Mitch’s smile widened. “I always had a knack for picking good investments.”

  “Listen.” Kristen let go of her knees and swiveled to face him. “Jeremy may look great with his expensive haircut, his buffed nails, his bronze skin and his bleached teeth.”

  “Not that you noticed.”

  She ignored him. “He can have the car and the cash and the expensive watch and the designer clothes while you’ve got nothing—”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “And you know what eats at him? He knows you’re still more of a man than he could ever be.”

  Mitch pulled next to the curb in front of Kristen’s house and killed the engine. “You really are a cheerleader.”

  “The words you’re looking for are ‘thank you, Kristen.’”

  Instead of thanking her, Mitch reached out and tugged on her ponytail until she’d leaned within range. And then he kissed her.

  It was just your basic you’re-an-incredible-woman-and-I-don’t-deserve-you kiss, but it was still a pretty good one. It was rich and layered and packed an emotional wallop that Jeremy would never experience with his shallow, anonymous hotties.

  As Mitch pulled back and gazed into Kristen’s eyes, he pitied Jeremy.

  “Mmm. You’re welcome,” she whispered.

  He released her ponytail and leaned against the truck’s door.

  She held his gaze for just a second before intently studying her thumbnail. “You’re staring at me.”

  “I like looking at you.”

  Every time he saw her, she looked like a different woman. At first, he’d noticed her voice and her lips. Then she was all eyes. Today, he could see the bare canvas—the face he’d see on the pillow next to his when he woke up in the mornings. Simple, quiet beauty.

  Jeremy could keep his dazzle and flash.

  He smiled.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Were you ever arm candy?”

  Kristen dropped her head back and groaned. “Of course! There are a lot of men who need their egos stroked. That’s all I was doing with Jeremy.”

  “He wanted a lot more than being stroked,” Mitch told her darkly.

  “No, he’d insist on doing the stroking.” Kristen pulled the baseball cap off and freed her ponytail. “And he’d want to be told he was the best ever, which he wouldn’t be because with that kind of guy, it’s all about the technique. And it’s never great when it’s all about the technique.”

  Mitch made a mental note.

  “But those guys never get that because they’re emotional cripples. And you realize they’ll never get it and that it isn’t about you, it’s about them, and so you want the whole thing over with.”

  “I can see that.” They were veering into a territory Mitch didn’t really want to explore with her.

  Kristen looked around for her jacket and grabbed it from behind the seats. “Only they’re not going to stop because they’re the best, and by golly, nothing less than your screaming gratitude will satisfy them. And so you fake it.”

  “You fake, er, gratitude?”

  “Sometimes you have to.” She was so nonchalant about it.

  “Oh.” He swallowed. “Does that happen…a lot?”

  His voice must have given him away because she laughed as she pulled her arms out of the sleeves of the sweatshirt. “Don’t worry. I won’t have to fake it with you.”

  Hello? Mitch sat up.

  Kristen pulled the sweatshirt over her head and then seemed to realize what she’d said. Her cheeks turned pink as she folded the shirt and handed it to him.

  Mitch caught her eye and grinned. “Good to know.”

  A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER, Kristen picked her way across the Town Center grass to where Mitch and The Electric Santa team were building a King Kong–sized Santa Claus who would be overseeing his workshop, represented by the floats in the light parade. The massive structure would be the center of the display. It was fixed in position and after the parade, the floats would park around it, and complete the scene.

  She heard someone c
all her name and waved to Mitch’s mom, who, along with Nora Beckman, was assigning display spaces to the parade floats.

  All around them, volunteers roped off part of the City Hall parking lot and marked the grassy area for the float display. Vendors were starting to set up their booths and electricians were running extra power cables and lights. City workers had posted temporary directional signs and erected barriers along the parade route. Traffic had already been rerouted to accommodate all the additional visitors and keep it moving around the display site without blocking the regular flow.

  This thing was out of control, Kristen thought. When she’d reigned as Miss Sweetest, the parade had consisted of her float, all sugary white, a few high school bands and their drill teams, bagpipers, the local vintage auto club, a church handbell choir in Dickensian costumes, the sheriff’s mounted patrol, some caroling groups, a fire truck, maybe another couple of floats sponsored by whatever business wanted the advertising, and bringing up the rear, Santa Claus, who threw candy to the crowd.

  Everyone had been thrilled.

  Now, parking near the area was a nightmare. Everybody in Sugar Land was either working on the parade or Christmas shopping at the nearby mall.

  At Noir Blanc, business had slowed, which was good because Kristen’s mother and her super secret cadre of real estate colleagues were going after Sloane Property Development and Construction with everything they had, which was a lot once they started matching names with information Mitch had given them.

  Several of those names had local connections. Kristen wondered if Mitch knew that his father was playing detective. Robert Donner had been an oil company salesman and used his talents to line up sponsors for the annual parade. Now, he was calling on their suspects under the guise of asking for last-minute donations. While he was at it, he threw in a few seemingly casual remarks praising the Sloanes for going ahead with the party, even though they were leaving the country shortly afterward. This information visibly unnerved some of the people. Those names made the hot list.

  Kristen found Mitch standing on top of a four-foot-tall plywood platform that would conceal the controls and power source for the Santa Claus.

  Kristen shaded her eyes and squinted up at the Santa’s support structure. “You’re going to frighten small children with that thing.”

  “Hey.” Mitch shoved his safety glasses to the top of his head and grinned down at her. “And you haven’t seen the arms move yet.”

  It was a warm, muggy day, typical in a month of flip-flopping weather when cool fronts blowing in from the north battled with the moist air over the Gulf of Mexico. Today was not a day for black wool, which was what Kristen wore.

  Mitch had abandoned his sweatshirt and was wearing just a thin white tee shirt with his jeans.

  If he walked into a bar right now and looked at the women the way he was looking at her, she’d guarantee they’d be all over him. And they’d be buying the drinks.

  “Ready for a lunch break?” Kristen held up a cooler.

  “You betcha.” He unbuckled his tool belt, an action that caused a few flutters in Kristen’s middle, and set it and his safety glasses next to the edge. Then he squatted and jumped down, landing beside her.

  She openly gave him the once over. “You’re looking very manly, today.”

  “And you’re looking very womanly, as always.” His eyes crinkled.

  Kristen hadn’t seen his eyes crinkle since before he learned about Jeremy. He did a good crinkle. “You’re in a good mood.”

  Mitch spread a packing quilt over the edge of the plywood. “I ought to be. A hot babe just brought me lunch.”

  “That’s good-lookin’ dame to you.” Kristen appreciated the flattery, but there was something else going on. She’d let him bring it up.

  Patting the quilt, he said, “This should prevent another stocking disaster like we had yesterday.”

  When she’d joined him on the platform for lunch, the rough wood edges had snagged and shredded her fragile vintage stockings.

  “We don’t want them to run since they’re expensive, genuine vintage, seamed stockings that you order off the Internet,” he quoted.

  She laughed. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

  He took the cooler from her. “You may have mentioned it once or twice.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Not a problem. I’ve developed a fondness for the genuine vintage, black-seamed stockings that you order off the Internet.”

  “In England, they’ve kept a few of the old machines that manufactured old-style stockings going. Can you believe it?”

  Mitch looked her in the eyes. “Yes.”

  Hmm. So Mitch might be a lingerie man. Not that she was likely to know for certain at the rate things were going. Which was slow. Kisses and meaningful intense looks were all very well and good, but they weren’t leading to anything more.

  Even her revealing slip on Sunday hadn’t moved things along. She really hoped he wasn’t waiting for the mess with Jeremy to be cleared up, but was very much afraid he was.

  While she wasn’t against a woman making the first move—or even the second and third move—at some point, the man was going to have to make a move back. Or rather, forward, because even the most understanding woman needed positive reinforcement. Technically, Mitch’s good night/good morning kisses could be considered positive reinforcement, but Kristen honestly could do with a little more enthusiasm.

  “Hang on.” Placing his hands around her waist, Mitch hoisted her onto the platform.

  Kristen straightened her skirt. “I tell you, when women wore these outfits, they couldn’t move around much.”

  Mitch hopped up beside her. “Made them easier to catch.”

  Kristen refrained from pointing out that she wasn’t running and he wasn’t chasing. Instead, she took the lid off the cooler.

  Mitch rubbed his hands together. “Thanks, honey. What have we got today? A ham sandwich and potato salad? Some of your dee-lishus fried chicken and chocolate cake?”

  She handed him a black-bottomed plastic clam shell container. “California roll with wakame seaweed and sesame salad and an order of edamame.”

  “That was my next guess.” He cast a wary eye at the container.

  “Here are your chopsticks. There’s a bottle of green tea in the cooler.”

  Mitch looked at the chopsticks and then at Kristen.

  “What? Don’t you know how to use them?”

  “Sure, but edamame and chopsticks? After I spent the morning wielding a hammer and other manly tools?”

  “There’s a packet with a napkin and fork taped to the bottom of the plate.”

  “Now we’re talking.” Mitch ripped open the plastic with his teeth. Removing the fork, he made a show of digging it into the pile of edamame.

  Kristen watched him and then used her fingers to pick up the beans. “It’s like a snack food.” She popped a couple into her mouth.

  “You just didn’t want to use chopsticks, either.”

  Kristen smiled. “I saw your mom over there. How’s Nora Beckman working out for her?”

  Mitch looked over at his mother. “Great. Mom’s using her as the kickoff party liaison to avoid dealing with the Sloanes.”

  “That’s probably a good thing.” Between Mitch’s problems and overseeing the entire Christmas Light Parade and everything that went with it, Kristen was surprised Patsy Donner hadn’t cracked. “Although I don’t know about Nora Beckman being the only thing between your mother and the Sloanes.”

  “Mrs. Beckman has been really up front about her drinking problem and wants to keep busy.”

  “After seeing this place, I don’t think that’ll be too hard.” Kristen tangled the strands of seaweed with her chopsticks. They slithered off.

  “Snack food?” Mitch asked.

  “Fork food.” She gave in and unpeeled her condiment pack. “Did Mrs. Beckman tell you about her twin brother?”

  “That they were born on Christmas and he and his
family were killed coming to visit her? Yeah.”

  “Mr. Beckman says she blames herself.”

  Mitch tore open a packet of soy sauce. “Her brother was piloting his own plane, right?”

  Kristen nodded. “They’d never missed spending the day together.”

  Mitch soaked his sushi in the dark liquid. “I hate hearing stuff like this.”

  “I know.” Kristen picked at her salad, but didn’t eat any. “Anyway, the weather delayed flights and naturally, Mrs. Beckman was disappointed.”

  “It was still his decision to fly.” Mitch spread an alarming amount of wasabi on his sushi.

  “But she’s convinced that if she hadn’t made such a big deal about it when her brother called that he wouldn’t have decided to fly and they’d all still be alive.”

  Mitch had started shaking his head before Kristen finished. “He had his wife and kids with him. If he took off in that plane, it was because he thought it was safe to fly. No man would risk his family just to show up for Christmas a few hours earlier.”

  Just understanding that showed that Mitch was good father material, Kristen thought, knowing she was getting way ahead of herself, but not particularly minding.

  “Any more soy sauce?” he asked.

  “You can have the rest of mine.” She gave it to him and he promptly added to the lake his sushi was already swimming in. “You know wasabi is super hot, right?”

  “It’s the only manly food in this lunch,” he grumbled.

  “Well, pardon me for trying to keep you healthy and alert while you use your manly power tools this afternoon.” Miffed, Kristen stabbed at her salad.

  “Aww. You brought me seaweed because you care.” He gave her a sappy grin.

  “It looks like somebody is going to be getting his own lunch the rest of the week.”

  “And he’ll be getting it over there.” Mitch was looking at something behind her.

  Kristen turned around and saw Patsy talking with one of the booth workers. Nora was helping another woman hang up their sign. “Sausage on a Stick. Mitch!”

  “Oh, that’s nothing. Mom is all excited because they’re debuting a new food here. Batter-fried fruitcake.”