Holiday Heat

by Janelle Denison

  “It would just be for an hour?” he asked, stalling. “I do have stuff to do.”

  Nearby, someone snickered. He shot a glare at his kid sister, Marie, who sat in a chair in the corner, busily sewing. She obviously saw right through him, knowing he’d never been able to refuse his grandmother any reasonable request. And while this one was stretching that word—reasonable—to its utter Webster limits, he knew he couldn’t now.

  “Yeah, Gram, you know how busy Tanner’s been this week with his mysterious nights out,” Marie said. “I bet some random bimbo is already kindling her Yule log for tomorrow night.”

  He could have retorted that his “mysterious” nights out hadn’t had anything to do with a random women—just his search for a very specific one, whose last name he didn’t even know.

  But he didn’t want to go there, not with these two, already so in his business they might as well live in his back pocket. Besides, what could he say? That he was haunted by someone he’d met years ago, someone with whom he’d shared coffee and grief on a violent night filled with pain, blood and loss? That he had been scouring hospitals in the area, knowing she’d said she was from this area, too? That every time he closed his eyes, he could still see her beautiful smile, even though the last time he’d seen her she’d been wrists-deep in a wounded man’s guts, looking so exhausted but also utterly determined to save his life?

  That he’d never forgotten her—and he never would?

  No. He wasn’t about to share any of those things. Because sometimes he wondered if that woman—Jessica, her name was Jessica—was even real, or if he’d conjured her up on a night when he’d needed to feel warm and sane and normal.

  “An hour will be fine, dear. So will you do it?” Gram said.

  He stalled, not meeting her eye, looking around the room for inspiration. As his gaze skimmed over his sister, something drew his attention. It finally registered that the fabric Marie was torturing with the needle was red and fluffy.

  The truth hit him. She was making his costume. She had been, since before he’d walked into his grandparents’ house.

  “I never had any choice in this, did I.”

  “Well, of course you did. If you refuse, I will find another way.” His grandmother shook her head sadly, then pulled out the first nail and hammered it into his coffin. “Of course, it might mean your grandfather has to do it, and with his heart condition….”

  His grandfather’s recent heart attack was one reason Tanner had pulled every string he could to get this holiday leave.

  “Or,” she added, hammering nail number two, “I could spend all the entertainment budget on hiring the one professional not already busy, meaning I’d have to cancel the Glenn Miller tribute band from the New Year’s Eve party. Of course, the seniors do so love to dance and the news would probably be enough to ruin Christmas.”

  That was so below the belt.

  “Or maybe we should just cancel both events, it’s getting so complicated.”

  Nail three. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” he snapped.

  Marie, laughing loudly now, pulled out a big bag of fluffy, white pillow stuffing.

  He groaned. “Please tell me that’s not for me.”

  “You have to have a big belly—Santa.”

  Santa. Freaking Santa Claus. He could not believe he was gonna dress up as the fat guy in red and play the part of the jolly old elf at an assisted living facility’s Christmas party.

  “Thank you so much dear,” Gram said, sounding far too self-satisfied. “The residents of Rolling Hills would have been heart-broken if anything ruined their holiday party. For some, it’s the only day of the year they get to see their families. Some people don’t even make the effort to visit more often than that.”

  His heart twisting, he bit back any further commentary. Just the thought of his own grandparents ending up feeling so neglected made him queasy. It was enough that his seventy-eight year old grandmother devoted so much of her time volunteering in the place.

  Besides, it wasn’t that much to ask, one hour in a silly costume to make a lot of people happy. But this sure wasn’t how he’d pictured his first Christmas at home in so many years. Honestly, he hadn’t experienced a real Christmas in so long, he didn’t know what he’d been picturing. Eggnog, carols, parties and church and bell-ringers? Was it possible those things all still existed in this world from which he’d been removed for so very long?

  Well, there was one thing he knew hadn’t changed, since his sister had hit him with a list as long as his forearm. Presents. Those were still a big part of the holiday.

  Which was fitting, he supposed, considering he was about to become the present. He was being wrapped with a bow and gifted by the bossy—lovable—women of his family to a bunch of complete strangers. And, for the first time in a decade, Tanner was unable to think of one single thing he could do to save himself from his fate.

  “So, little girl, what do you want for Christmas? Why don’t you sit on Santa’s lap and tell him all about it?”

  The comment was accompanied by a leer, but Jessica D’Angelo wasn’t exactly excited by the flirtation. Because the man doing the flirting was grey-haired, denture-wearing, and married. Considering the pathetic state of her love life, she might soon have to stop being so picky, and shorten her list of requirements in a man. But “married” would be a total non-starter no matter what. Dentures were pretty much a deal-breaker, too.

  “Now, Mr. Shaughnessy, remember what happened the last time your wife got jealous of your flirting? She exchanged your denture cream for hemorrhoidal ointment.”

  The eighty-four year old frowned deeply, his bushy brows veeing over his eyes. “I wasn’t talking about my lap,” he said. “Santa Claus is right over there, and from what I hear, he’s a young fella. You oughta go climb aboard, Doc. If anybody needs a little romance in her life, it’s you.”

  She didn’t need romance. Sure, it might be nice to have some, but needing and wanting were two different things. Frankly, given her choice between having enough time to deal with all the dating rigmarole, or sleeping an extra hour every night, she’d take the sleep.

  One thing was sure, she was too busy to meet any eligible men. Her patients were elderly veterans and their spouses or widows, and since coming to work here, taking over as in-house physician at the assisted-living community, which also had an intensive nursing wing, she’d had no time for socializing. And she certainly wouldn’t look for some by “climbing aboard” the lap of some random Santa.

  That said, though, she had to concede, having caught a glimpse of him earlier, that the Santa in question did look extremely nice from behind. If his red coat had been checked with white, he might have been mistaken for a table in an Italian restaurant—his shoulders were that broad.

  “Forget it,” she said, as much to herself as to Mr. Shaughnessy.

  “Scared, huh?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I dare ya.”

  “Not even if you triple-dog it.”

  “Come on, it’ll make everybody laugh.” The elderly man gestured toward the few seniors sitting alone. Those whose families hadn’t come. Those who quietly watched other residents share special moments with their grandchildren.

  Those who looked so damned sad they made her heart ache in her chest.

  “They all love you, and it would give them a smile,” he added, all humor gone now. “I think a few folks could use some cheering up with all this partying going on.”

  He was right, as crazy as it sounded. Nothing slammed home an intense feeling of loneliness than being surrounded by people who were all looking forward to visits from their more attentive relatives. Some of these people would retreat and regress during the holiday season, falling back into depression they’d been working hard to climb out of.

  Jess wanted to make her lonely patients smile. Wanted to do so much for them, to brighten their days. And heck, considering they all had, at one time or another, commented on the fact that she w
as an all-work-and-no-play kind of “gal,” she knew they’d get a kick out of seeing her being a little silly.

  This is crazy, a voice whispered in her head. But she ignored it, edging closer to Santa and his throne. All the kids had had their turns, and a few nurses, too—obviously she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the build under the costume. Right now, he sat alone, posture straight, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair, his lap totally empty.

  Still, she couldn’t make her feet go further.

  “Chicken!” Mr. Shaughnessy whispered.

  She shot him a glare. Then, looking around and seeing so many of those sad, lonely expressions on the faces of her patients, Jess went ahead and made a fool of herself.

  She walked over and plopped right down on Santa’s knee.

  Chapter Two

  Tanner let out a little oomph, surprised when an adult crash-landed on him without warning. He hadn’t even spotted her coming, which said a lot about how ridiculous he felt. Because in his line of work, letting somebody sneak up on you was a big no-no.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” he remembered to say, casting another quick glance at the clock on the wall. It had been nearly two hours since he’d arrived, well over his agreed-upon sixty minutes. But every time he moved to stand up, another munchkin showed up with a wish list as long as his arm.

  “Check out the doc!” someone called.

  A voice whooped and another person whistled, which was enough to get him curious. He stared at his lap’s new occupant. Looking at a cloud of thick, dark hair pulled back at the nape, as well as the pretty profile—high cheekbones, pert nose, lush lips—he felt a tingle of recognition. When she turned her face toward him, Tanner finally saw her springtime green eyes, flecked with gold. Wide, luminous eyes. Beautiful eyes.

  Eyes he knew.

  His breath left him. “You!”

  “Sorry to ambush you,” she whispered, “I’m just trying to give some of them a laugh.”

  She might have given the seniors a laugh, but all she’d given him was one hell of a shock. Because it was her, Jessica. His mystery woman. The one he hadn’t even been sure existed.

  “Tell ’im what you want, Doc!”

  “She needs a man, that’s what she needs,” a cackling woman said.

  She stiffened, and Tanner reflexively slid his arms around her waist, afraid she was going to regret her impulse and shoot to her feet. “Stay,” he ordered, his voice low, for her ears only.

  She looked down at him, those eyes widening, a hint of pink appearing in her cheeks. As their stares met and locked, her lovely lips parted and she sucked an audible breath through them. Finally she murmured, “Do I know you?”

  He nodded once. “How ya doin’ Doc?”

  “How…who…”

  He reached for his fluffy white beard, then, at the last second, remembered he couldn’t just yank it off and give her a good look at his face. He’d probably scar for life some kid who still totally bought the whole Santa thing.

  “We met a long time ago,” he admitted, wondering if she heard the rawness in his voice.

  She shifted a little more, which, considering the crowd of seniors and children all around them, shouldn’t have elicited the hot, instantaneous reaction, but still did. He felt the heat of her ass against his thigh, the way her calves dangled between his. Hell, even the warmth of her breath on his brow as she leaned closer to look at him was a total turn-on.

  She smelled like cinnamon. It wasn’t because of the holiday cookies or the eggnog. That was one thing he’d always remembered about his mystery woman—the cinnamon-tinged perfume she’d been wearing that night. The way that scent had filled his head when he’d done the unthinkable and kissed her—a perfect stranger—before walking out of her life forever.

  Well, not forever. Just until now.

  Suddenly, she gasped. Against all odds—against time and space, considering they’d met in another world, far removed from this small California town—she had recognized him by nothing more than his voice and his eyes.

  “Yemen. 2008,” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  “You brought in that village boy; he’d broken his leg.”

  “Yeah. After you patched him up, I bought you a cup of coffee.”

  “The coffee was free…Lieutenant Boudreau,” she said with a wry smile.

  “It was the thought that counted—Jessica.”

  She hesitated, her lashes lowering over her eyes. “You kissed me.”

  “You kissed me back.”

  Oh, yeah, she had definitely kissed him back. And that kiss had gone down as legendary in his personal annals of kissing.

  It had been crazy, one of the most impulsive things he’d ever done—leaning over, sinking his hands into the thick, dark hair of a beautiful stranger, and tugging her against him. Their mouths had met and opened easily, hungrily. They’d been oblivious to time and place—at least until reality had come back with one hell of a bang.

  They were silent for a moment, remembering. Wondering. Asking a million questions and answering them, without ever saying a word. Where have you been? Why do you remember this? Did it mean as much to you as it did to me?

  Finally, she sighed. “And then the world blew up.”

  “It sure did.”

  That one cup of coffee, the brief conversation, the shared laughter, and oh, God, that kiss, had inspired memories and dreams in Tanner ever since. He’d wondered, many times, what might have happened had the Doctors Without Borders clinic not been overrun by wounded villagers fleeing the kind of massacre that would give a grown man nightmares. Whether they’d have had time to learn more about each other. To at least exchange their full names.

  But the moment had passed. Blood and violence had landed on them both like a truck-load of cement. He’d raced to get back to his unit, she had begun saving lives. Their paths had firmly diverged.

  Now they’d come back together again. As if they’d always been meant to. As if the search he’d been conducting since arriving home on leave—the needle of the name Jessica in the haystack called the southern California medical industry—had been rewarded.

  She was here, the woman he’d never forgotten, sitting right on his lap, as if deposited there, the one gift he’d been waiting years to receive.

  Torn between wanting to sink deeper onto this man’s lap and wrap her arms around his neck, and wanting to leap up and hurry out of the social hall before she made even more of a fool of herself, Jess chose a third option: Play it cool.

  Easier said than done, considering she’d already been decidedly uncool. How hard would it have been to pretend it had taken her longer than twenty-point-four seconds to recognize him? Maybe then he wouldn’t suspect she’d spent a lot of hours over the past three-and-a-half years thinking about him. Thinking. Wishing. Wondering.

  Only one thing kept her glued in place—it had taken even less time for him to recognize her. So maybe he’d been doing some thinking, wishing, wondering, too.

  Which seemed ridiculous. This big, incredibly powerful, intimidating-looking military man could probably have any woman he wanted. Not just because he was so damned gorgeous, with those chocolate brown eyes that crinkled at the corners, that dark brown hair, the flash of dimple in his cheek when he laughed—but because, at least from the little she knew of him, he was funny, generous, honorable, and, strange as it had seemed at the time, even gentle. Would any other bad-ass Navy SEAL have taken time out to pick up a village kid and bring him to the local clinic, carrying him in his arms and shouting for help because the boy had broken his leg?

  Not many. But this one had.

  Something compelled her to admit, “I’ve looked for you.”

  “Ditto.”

  That voice. So deep and smooth. It had filled her dreams for a long time.

  She nibbled her bottom lip. “I actually Facebook stalked you, even though I only ever knew your last name.”

  “My first name’s Tanner,” he said.

 
Tanner. A nice name. Sexy and masculine. Like him.

  “And I’m not on Facebook. I wish I’d thought to do that, though.”

  “All the cool kids do.”

  He flashed her one of those sexy smiles, the eyes twinkling as merrily as Saint Nick’s.

  “I’ve been staking out VA hospitals all week, hoping to spot you.”

  Her brow shot up. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. This is the first time I’ve been home in a few years. Thought you might have come back to SoCal too—you said you probably would when your volunteer tour was up, and that you wanted to work with veterans.” He looked around the crowded room. “I guess you still are.”

  “Just from earlier wars,” she said, seeing her patients as he must see them—bent with age, arthritic, white-haired, but still so proud, still wearing that invisible badge of honor that said they’d served their country and would do it again in a heartbeat. Then, wondering what had brought him back, and whether he was here for good, she asked, “What about you? Have you been discharged? What do you do now?

  He shook his head. “Still in the service. I’m just home on leave, visiting family. I ship out again the morning after Christmas.”

  Disappointment stabbed her. Two more days, and then he’d be gone again. Out of her life almost as quickly as he’d entered and exited it the last time. Were they destined to cross paths, then move in different directions, never having a chance to see what these sparks, this instant connection between them, meant? Had she found the man of her dreams again, only to watch him march back into battle?

  Man of your dreams? Who are you kidding?!

  Considering all she’d seen during her years overseas—the wars, the violence, the blood—the man of her dreams should be a quiet college professor who spouted poetry and wouldn’t lift a fly-swatter against an insect. Not a guy like this. Not a guy who lived for the thrill, who put his neck out every single day. Jess had known enough about the military to have recognized that he was a SEAL. There weren’t many jobs more dangerous than that one. He’d probably take fewer risks wrestling alligators for a living.

  She was thirty-four years old, professionally established, with a great job and a home, and should be thinking only of finding someone stable—someone who didn’t get shot at for a living—to share that life with. But she had to admit it: He was the only man she’d wanted for a very long time.