“That’s dog talk for yes,” Joe-Joe said.
“Yeah, I guess you can say that.” Tom stood and handed the boy the leash. He knew in his heart it was the right thing to do, but it sure did hurt. Hurt like hell. “He’s all yours,” he said, barely able to get the words out.
Taking the leash in his hands, Joe-Joe was all smiles. “What’s his name?”
The name Winston was on the tip of Tom’s tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Somehow it was easier to say Cupid than Winston, but not by much.
“His name is Cupid,” he said, the lump in his throat strangling his words. He cleared his throat. “Just like Santa’s reindeer.”
Ten
The general store was abuzz that afternoon when Holly walked in. A small crowd gathered in front of the counter and appeared to be hanging onto Mrs. Buttonwood’s every word.
Never one to be shy, Mrs. Buttonwood made the most of the attention. Her speech was punctuated with dramatic pauses and exaggerated hand motions.
“And then do you know what he did?” she asked, surveying her audience before she answered her own question.
Holly moved closer to the others, not sure that she’d heard right. “Excuse me. Did you say Tom gave his dog to Joe-Joe?”
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Buttonwood said.
Holly couldn’t imagine Tom parting with his dog. “Why…why would he do such a thing?”
“I asked him that very same question, and he said it had something to do with a letter Joe-Joe had written to Santa. Said the dog would keep him safe…”
Mrs. Buttonwood said more, but Holly didn’t stay around long enough to hear the rest. Tom had thought of a way to make a little boy’s wish come true. Clutching at her skirts, she dashed out of the shop and ran all the way to the blacksmith shop.
The double doors of the blacksmith shop stood open, and the sound of clanking iron rang through the air.
Holly paused at the door to catch her breath. “Tom!”
He turned his head in her direction. Greeting her with a crooked smile, he set his hammer down. “Holly—”
Before he could say another word, she quickly closed the distance between them. Flinging her arms around his neck and looking into his startled eyes, she kissed him on the cheek. It was a kiss of heartfelt gratitude that would have been over in an instant had he not wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close.
“What was that for?” he whispered.
Heart pounding, she gazed up at him and savored the feel of his warm, masculine embrace. “What you did for Joe-Joe…” She moistened her lips, drawing his gaze to them. Pressing her hand against his cheek, she smiled. “I can’t thank you enough.”
He took her hand in his and, holding her gaze, dropped a kiss into her palm. “No need to thank me,” he said, his voice husky.
They stared at each other for a heart-stopping moment before he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips brushed against hers tenderly at first—like a whisper—awakening feelings within her that were new and exciting. Never had she experienced anything so pleasurable or sweet.
When she offered no resistance, his strong arms tightened around her waist, and he pulled her closer. She gazed into his heated eyes, and her heart pounded. It beat even harder when his mouth swooped down to capture hers, this time with more intensity. Never had she felt more desirable or needed than she did at that moment.
Working her arms around his neck, she melted against him and returned his kiss with equal ardor and need. Nothing seemed to exist outside his powerful arms or beyond his enticing lips.
Lost in the moment, she was shocked when he suddenly pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean… I should never have…”
An awkward silence followed, and she drew in her breath. Her lips still burning with the memory of his kiss, she felt strangely disoriented, as if he had taken part of her with him.
Still shaken, she stared at him in confusion. “T-there’s no need to apologize,” she stammered. “What you did for Joe-Joe… I know how much Winston meant to you.”
“It helps knowing that he has a good home with Joe-Joe.”
She managed a smile. “Santa couldn’t have done better.”
He smiled, too, but all too quickly his somber expression returned.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” she said, not knowing what to say. What to think. Before turning to leave, she tried to read the look in his eyes but couldn’t.
At the door, she glanced over her shoulder. His back was turned, his shoulders rigid.
He hadn’t meant—? What would it have felt like, she wondered, had he really meant to kiss her? Could his kiss have been any more passionate, any more encompassing? Any more complete? With that burning thought, she walked outside.
* * *
Long after Holly had left, Tom stood frozen in place. He was afraid to move for fear he’d wake up and find that kissing Holly had been but a dream.
When at last he got up the courage to move, he stared at the spot where he’d held her, kissed her. He certainly hadn’t been prepared for the feel of her, the scent of her, the sensation of her breath next to his.
He’d kissed other women, but none had affected him as much as Holly.
He’d known all along that he was attracted to her. Intrigued by her. But when he’d held her in his arms and tasted her sweet lips, it wasn’t just attraction he’d felt. It was something far stronger, more portent. It felt like the first stirrings of love.
True, she’d kissed him back. But as much as he wanted to believe her kisses had meant the same to her as they had to him, he knew otherwise. She had kissed him out of gratitude. Nothing more. Due to an act of fate, he had been able to grant Joe-Joe’s wish, and Holly had simply been showing appreciation.
No woman would be foolish enough to choose him over Nelson. The man owned half the town and could give Holly everything she ever wanted. While he was but a lowly smithy, fighting to eke out a living from a town hard hit by the economy.
It didn’t take a genius to know that his chances with her were nil.
Eleven
It was Christmas Eve, and a steady stream of parents had tracked to Holly’s door to collect toys for their young.
Mrs. Whittaker was one of the last ones to show up. Holly handed her a porcelain doll, along with a little wooden crib. “I think little Susie will really like this,” she said.
Mrs. Whittaker gazed at Holly with tear-filled eyes. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done.”
“I was happy to do it,” Holly said. “I just want you and your family to have a merry Christmas.”
“Thanks to you, the whole town will have a merry Christmas.” After giving Holly a hug, Mrs. Whittaker drew a handkerchief from her sleeve. Dabbing at her eyes, she left.
Bobby Baker’s father arrived soon after. Upon seeing the toys for all four of his children, he was practically speechless. “Bobby doesn’t think Santa will come.”
“I would say he’s in for a big surprise,” Holly said.
“This…this is the nicest thing that happened since my wife—” Voice choking, he fell silent for a moment. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You can thank me by having a very merry Christmas.” Holly said.
After Mr. Baker left, she glanced around. Now that all the toys were gone, the room seemed empty, just like her heart.
“You done good, Holly,” her aunt said from her chair. “When you first told me what you planned, I thought you were crazy.”
“You weren’t alone,” Holly said. She reached for her cloak.
“How come I haven’t seen Nelson around?”
Holly bit her lower lip. She hated to disappoint her aunt, but it couldn’t be helped. “We’ve both been busy,” she said, not wanting to spoil her aunt’s Christmas.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join us for caroling?”
Her aunt narrowed her eyes. “Is Harold gonna be there?”
Holly nodded. “Yes, Grandpapa will be there, along with the rest of the Random…eh…Ransom Notes.”
“Then I’ll pass. I heard enough screeching at the school pageant.”
Wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, Holly kissed her aunt on the forehead. “I won’t be late.”
“Are you sure you don’t want cotton for your ears?”
Holly laughed. “Don’t tempt me.”
Outside, the wind had stopped, and a full moon smiled down on her. It was a perfect night for Santa to make his rounds. Thinking about the squeals of happy children, she hurried toward Main Street.
The carolers had decided to meet in front of the Haywire Book and Sweet Shop, the most centrally located place in town.
Holly’s breath caught in her chest as she passed the blacksmith shop. She hadn’t seen Tom since the day they’d kissed. Had he purposely avoided her? She debated on whether to ask him to join in the singing, but no lights shone in the window. There was, however, a sign that read For Sale.
Holly froze. Tom was selling the business? A searing pain shot through her, and her knees threatened to buckle. That could mean only one thing: he was leaving town.
Shaken by the realization, Holly started down the wooden sidewalk toward the sweet shop. She understood her surprise, but not the depth of her sadness. She had known Tom for such a short while, but his kindness and gentleness of spirit had captured her heart.
She and Tom had shared a kiss only the one time, but the memory had left its mark and she’d hardly been able to think of anything else since.
She joined the little knot of people waiting for her in front of the sweet shop and tried to hide her pain and confusion beneath an overbright smile.
The owners of the candy shop, Kate and Brett Tucker, were there, along with the Ramsom Notes and some of Holly’s friends from church. Joe-Joe and his mother arrived just after Holly, with the boy’s dog in tow. The dog greeted her with wagging tail, and Holly bent to pet him.
“Hi, Winston,” she said, scratching him behind both ears. “How are you doing?”
Joe-Joe frowned. “His name is Cupid. Like Santa’s reindeer.”
Holly looked up. “Cupid? Did you name him that?”
“That was already his name. When the nice man let me have him.”
Her heart thudded. Why would Tom—
“I’m keeping him safe,” Joe-Joe said, his voice earnest. “And he’s keeping Ma and me safe, too.”
Holly straightened. “I’m glad you have such a loyal friend.”
“Come on, let’s go,” her grandfather called. He and the others started down the street, singing on the top of their lungs. “Deck the halls with boughs of holly…”
Holly fell in step behind them, and Joe-Joe walked by her side, holding Cupid’s leash.
Cupid barked and whined, and Joe-Joe was certain his dog was singing. Holly didn’t have the heart to tell him that Cupid was more likely barking in protest.
It did Holly’s heart good to hear Joe-Joe singing his little heart out. Even Grandpapa was impressed. “If you ever want to join the Ransom Notes, let me know,” he said.
They were just about ready to call it a night when Joe-Joe’s mother noticed something in Cupid’s mouth. “What’s that?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Joe-Joe tried grabbing the thing away from the dog, with no luck. “He won’t let me have it.”
Holly patted her thigh. “Come here, boy.” Cupid trotted up to her. “What do you have there, eh?”
Much to her surprise, Cupid dropped the thing at her feet. It was a paper ball. “Good boy,” she said, shoving it in her pocket to be discarded later.
Cupid wagged his tail and barked.
“Maybe he wants you to throw the ball,” Joe-Joe said.
Holly smiled. “Maybe Santa will bring him a real ball to play with,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. Fortunately, she had included a ball in the box his mother had picked up earlier.
Joe-Joe’s mother called. “Come along, Joe-Joe. It’s time to go home and get ready for Santa.”
Joe-Joe waved. “Good night, Miss Sanders.”
“Good night, Joe-Joe.”
The rest of the group scattered, and Holly walked home alone. She tried not to look at Tom’s shop, but the For Sale sign in the window was like a beacon. She reached home feeling more depressed than ever.
Her aunt had already gone to bed, and the fire was almost out. Since Holly wanted to read before turning in, she reached for the poker and stabbed at the dying flames.
Needing paper, she glanced around the room. What had Aunt Daisy done with the morning newspaper? Recalling the paper ball retrieved from Cupid’s mouth, Holly reached in her pocket. She was about to toss the wadded paper into the fire when the words Dear Santa caught her eye. Worried that a child’s letter had gone astray, she moved closer to the gas lamp and carefully unfolded the paper. Just as she’d expected, it was a letter to Santa. As she read the masculine scrawl, her mouth dropped.
All I want for Christmas is to love and be loved by someone. She must have eyes that look like emeralds, hair as red as a summer rose, and a smile that takes the breath away. If by chance her name is Holly, I’d be the happiest man in the world.
It was signed Tom. She ran her fingers over his name and clutched the letter to her chest. How in the world had Cupid known the letter was from Tom? Unless, of course, everything she’d ever heard about a dog’s sense of smell was true.
Rereading the letter again and again, she could no longer deny what was in her heart. She was definitely attracted to Tom Chandler and, crazy as it seemed, maybe even more than a little bit in love with him.
Twelve
Tom stared at himself in the mirror over the dry sink. He was now staying at Mrs. Gray’s boardinghouse. It was better than the shop by far. The bed was comfortable, the food good, and the surroundings pleasant.
But it was still lonely.
It was Christmas Day, but he didn’t feel like celebrating. Nelson had made him an offer on the shop, contingent on him staying until another smithy could be found to take his place.
He didn’t want to stay. He wished to God he’d never come to Haywire. He’d lost his best friend, Winston, but that was the least of it. He now knew he’d also lost a big piece of his heart to Holly.
If only he hadn’t tasted her sweet lips. If only the memory of her smile didn’t continue to haunt him. If only…
Clamping down on his thoughts, he turned from the mirror and reached for his leather vest. While everyone else was celebrating, it was a good day to go to the shop and work.
It’s just another day, his father had said every Christmas during Tom’s early growing-up years. But it wasn’t until he’d met Holly that he realized how special Christmas could be, especially when doing for others. He only wished he could hear the happy squeals of delighted youngers that morning as they found what Santa had left for them.
A knock sounded at the door, interrupting his thoughts. It was the boardinghouse owner, Mrs. Gray. “Merry Christmas,” she said.
“Merry Christmas.”
“You have something waiting for you under the tree.”
Tom lifted an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t have. I mean…”
She discounted his protests with a wave of her hands. “Don’t thank me. I believe it’s from Santa.” Laughing, she turned her bulky form and lumbered away.
Curious, he quickly finished dressing and left the room. The smell of coffee greeted him as he jogged down the stairs and crossed the hall into the parlor.
He stopped in the open doorway. Afraid to believe his eyes, he blinked. “Holly?”
She sat by the tall Christmas tree, looking more bea
utiful than anyone had the right to look. The skirt of her pretty green dress formed a circle around her. Her hair was pulled up and cascaded down her back in soft, luxurious curls.
He moved across the room to where she sat. “What…what are you doing here?” he asked when at last he found his voice.
She unfolded a piece of wrinkled paper in her hand. “‘Dear Santa,’” she read softly. “‘All I want for Christmas is to love and be loved by someone.’” She lifted her gaze to his. “That’s funny. That’s all I want, too.”
Feeling utterly foolish, he shook his head. “Where?”
She smiled. “Winston found it and brought it to me,” she said.
“You mean Cupid,” he said.
“No, I’m pretty sure that the dog that found your letter was Winston,” she said and stood. “Cupid is looking after Joe-Joe, but Winston is still looking out for you.”
Tom tilted his head, not sure what to think. “Are you saying that you’re here because of that letter?”
Her mouth curved. “No letter to Santa should ever go unanswered.”
His heart practically turned over. Was she saying what he’d hoped she was saying? “But…what about Nelson?”
“Well, you see, it’s like this,” Holly said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Winston/Cupid isn’t only looking out for you and Joe-Joe. He was also looking out for me. And he told me in no uncertain terms that he didn’t approve of Nelson.”
Tom shook his head in disbelief. Don’t let this be a dream. “You do know that anything Santa leaves under the tree is meant to be kept.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, and was suddenly in his arms. “But, of course, that would mean you’ll have to stay in Haywire.”
At that moment, Tom felt as if he could hear the happy squeals of every child in the county. In the world. “I’m staying, I’m staying.” His heart bursting with happiness, he sprinkled loving kisses on her forehead, her nose and, finally, her mouth.
Gazing into her eyes, he was already planning his next letter to Santa, and it had to do with wedding bells.
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