“Nope.”
She collapsed against him, warm and fuzzy in her footed jammies and red fleece robe. “I’m sorry, Daddy. Can we write to Santa?”
“Really?” It was the first time she’d mentioned Santa since Madison’s unwelcome revelation. “Why?”
“We should tell him what we need. Burn the note in the fire, like we always do. It’s fair to give him a chance.”
“To prove he’s real?”
“I guess.”
“Will you be upset if nothing happens?”
She gazed at the white world outside the bakery windows. “Maybe. But I want to try.”
“Okay.” He rose to get a notebook and pencil, then sat back down and flipped open a fresh page. “Do you want to write it?”
“Yes.” She took the pencil. “Will you help me spell?”
“Sure.”
“Dear Santa,” she said out loud, laboriously writing each letter as neatly as she could. “How do you spell Santa?”
Fifteen minutes later, Piper had written her letter.
Dear Santa,
If you are real we need your help. Maybe you can use real people to make us some Christmas magic. We need the holiday show to go on tonight. We need Christy’s dad to come and her mom, too. Can you please help her see how much we love her and Madison? We can give you all the cookies you want and carrots for the reindeer. I love you, Piper Rose.
She pushed the paper over to him. “Now you write something.”
Dan took the pencil. He tapped the eraser up and down. Then he printed ‘Dear Santa’ carefully while he decided what to say.
Dear Santa,
We could all use more love. Piper, Madison, Christy and me. If you can help us make one family out of two this Christmas, we would be very grateful. Love, Dan Rose.
Piper cast a skeptical eye over his effort. “That’s it? I wrote more than you and I barely know how to write.”
“Read it to me. Sound it out, one letter at a time.”
She did, stumbling a bit over ‘grateful.’ “I guess that’s pretty good.”
They took the letter back to the wood-fired bread oven, and Dan opened the firebox. “Toss it in.”
Piper did, and they watched the edges of the paper darken and curl, then burst into flames. In seconds the fire consumed their words, leaving nothing but a wafer of ash and a thin drift of smoke. “There it goes,” Piper whispered, a wistful look on her face. “Please be real, Santa.”
***
The bells above the bakery door jingled for the first time all morning when June Hoard entered at 10:30 a.m. She flung back her hood, knocking a rim of snow to the mat, and stomped her boots, dislodging great white clumps. Dan was still sitting at one of the front tables, catching up on paperwork and wishing that the snow would stop. None of his employees had appeared, so he rose to take her coat and settle her at her usual table before making her a double shot, low-fat mocha. He delivered her coffee and a trio of muffins in a basket. “No charge for the muffins,” he said, “I only made a few batches, but you’re my sole customer. Eat six. No sense wasting them.”
“One’s plenty, Dan. People will be along any minute to compare snowfall totals. It’s lightening up.”
Dan glanced out the window. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”
“You haven’t lived in these mountains for fifty years like I have. Trust me. It may still be snowing, but the sky is lighter. We’re at the tail end of the storm.”
Hope rose in his breast. “Really?”
“Is that a fleck of desperation I see in your big brown eyes?” June asked.
“Oh, yeah.” He told her what he had planned for the holiday show.
She slapped him on the arm. “You are such a romantic. Who knew? It’s a risk, though. Christy commits too easily to unrelenting positions. Then she’s too proud and too stuck to back down.”
“Tell me about it. But I kind of admire her stick-to-it-iveness. She’s not wishy-washy.”
“You’ve got it bad.” June sipped her mocha. “Oh, man that tastes good. You’re smart to use the girls. That’s her weak point. She’ll let her pride go for them. But her parents—I hope it works. I’ll tie a wish for you to my fairy tree.”
“Fairy tree?”
“It’s a secret. But the fairies might see fit to help. They’re good with weather. I’ll do it as soon as I’ve finished this wonderful coffee.”
“Thanks, June.” He leaned down to hug her. “I need all the help I can get. Who knows where Christy’s dad is. He was supposed to arrive last night, but only got as far as Auburn.”
“That’s not so far away.”
“Far enough when all the roads are closed.”
“Can you get a signal on your phone?” June asked.
Dan fished it out to check. “Yeah. It’s back on. Only two bars, but that’s something.”
She held out her hand. “Mine’s still dead. I have a dear friend outside of Auburn. I’ll call him.”
“Okay.” He gave her the phone and she started punching numbers. “Why?”
June held up a finger, signaling him to hold on. “Hello, Butch, this is June Hoard. How are you doing?”
Dan felt like he was going to scream by the time Joan got through the greeting routine.
“Butch, have you still got that little squirrel?”
Dan had to close his eyes to keep from rolling them.
“Oh, good. Well, let me see if I can tempt you to help a friend of mine. He’s got it bad for Christy Monroe, and his whole plan to woo her is in jeopardy due to the storm. We need to find Jack Monroe and get him to Snow Creek a.s.a.p. I thought of you and your squirrel the instant Dan told me what had happened.”
Dan struggled not to roll his eyes. Seriously…a squirrel?
“Yes. The baker from New York.” She silently mouthed, He likes your doughnuts.
“Tell him I’ll make him a two dozen a week all winter, and throw in the holes for his squirrel if he’ll help.”
June grinned. “The Squirrel is a small British helicopter.”
Dan was so relieved he flopped into the chair next to June and ate a lemon poppy seed muffin in under a minute as he listened to June tell Butch what she wanted him to do. When she was finished, there was silence as Butch replied.
“Perfect,” June said when he’d finished. She hung up and patted the table with both hands. “Butch will use his network of buddies to find Jack. If he’s in the area, they’ll get him, then fly him up here in the Squirrel. It stopped snowing there an hour ago, so this should work out.”
Dan just might have a chance to win Christy’s heart after all.
Chapter Seventeen
The snow stopped at 11:49 a.m. The clouds started to break at noon. They were gone half an hour later, and Dan called Dr. Tapia.
“Do we have a go for tonight?” he asked without preamble.
“The holiday show will proceed as scheduled. You’d better get over here right away. We have a…development.”
“What kind of development?”
“What to my wondering eyes has appeared but a jolly old elf,” Dr. Tapia misquoted.
“Santa Claus is there?”
“So it appears. And he’s yelling for you.”
“I’ll be right there.” He clicked the phone down. “Piper!” he bellowed, “The show’s on and Santa is at the school. Hurry!”
***
Christy met the news that the holiday show was on with resignation. The upside was that it would be over with tonight. Why that made her a little disappointed didn’t warrant careful examination. “Looks like the show will go on,” she told Didi when Ardith hung up.
“You knew it would.” Didi grinned like an elf who’d been hitting the eggnog a little too freely.
“I know. I’ll pick up Madison and head over to the school.”
Didi’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. She glanced at it, then back up at Christy with narrowed eyes. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with w
hat I’m wearing?” A blizzard had been raging when she left the house. She’d dressed sensibly in grey wool trousers and a black cashmere sweater.
“It’s not very festive. You should wear that red dress.”
“I was going to, but now I don’t have time to change.”
“Of course you do. Everyone will be running late because of the storm. And it looks so good on you. Makes your skin glow. Make Madison proud of you.”
That was probably the only argument that could sway her. She checked her watch. “Well, maybe there’s time. If I’m quick.”
Didi shooed her off. “Go now! See you tonight!”
***
Dan entered Dr. Tapia’s office, Piper at his heels, and found Santa Claus—red suit, black boots, white beard and all—and Jack Monroe seated with their feet up on the principal’s desk. Dr. Tapia cast him a panicked look when Santa pulled a cigar from his fur-edged pocket and prepared to light up.
Piper snatched the cigar out of Santa’s hand. “Are you real?”
“Don’t I look real?” Santa patted his considerable belly.
“You may be real, but you aren’t the real Santa.” She thrust the cigar up as evidence. “Santa wouldn’t smoke a stogie in a school.”
“Sure about that, are you?” Santa shot back. “What about a pipe?”
“Nope. The real Santa would know the school rules. They’re the same everywhere.”
Santa squinted at her. “Did you know that teachers used to smoke during classes?”
Her mouth fell open. “They did not!”
Jack Monroe dropped his feet to the floor with a thunk and leaned toward her. “He’s right. I went to this school when I was a kid, and my fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Williams, used to chain smoke while we wrote essays.”
“I told you,” Santa said.
Dan took the cigar out of Piper’s clenched fist. “But you know perfectly well that there’s no smoking in schools anymore.” He dropped it into Santa’s lap then held out his hand. “Save it for the day after Christmas. Nice to meet you, Butch. Jack.”
Santa tucked the stogie inside the fur trim of his cap. He chuckled a pretty authentic ho-ho-ho.
Santa, or Butch, or whoever he was, dropped all four feet of his chair to the ground and set his meaty hand over Piper’s. “Do you think my name is Butch?”
“Yep.”
“You mean to tell me you don’t believe in Santa?”
“Madison told me there’s no real Santa. Parents leave the presents. Her mom said it was true, and then she told me.”
“Now who might this Madison be, and what kind of scrooge has she got for a mom, telling a little girl Santa isn’t real? Sounds like an unreliable sort to me.”
Jack leaned forward. “Madison’s my granddaughter. Her mom is my baby girl. Christy. Who I was telling you about.”
Santa shook his head. His beard made a scratching noise as it rubbed over his velvet-covered chest. “This is worse than you led me to believe. A cigar fairy dies every time someone tells a child Santa isn’t real.”
Piper crossed her arms and looked down her nose at him like the schoolmarm in the multi-purpose room mural. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, I’m exaggerating. A cookie fairy gets a headache. A really bad headache.”
Dan had things that needed to get done. “You got Jack here. That qualifies you as Santa in my book. Piper, meet Santa. I told you he was real.”
She gave him the same disbelieving look Santa had gotten.
“Go with it,” he ordered. “Jack, did you talk Kayla into helping?”
“I did.” His eyes snapped. “Charming as always with the ladies.”
Santa and Jack erupted in a ho-ho-ho fest, but they got to their feet and gathered up Jack’s luggage, so Dan kept his mouth shut.
“You mind if I hang around for the show?” Santa asked.
“Not at all,” Dan said over his shoulder.
“I’m thinking we can use a Santa in the skit,” Jack said.
“Are you changing things?” Dan asked in alarm.
“Maybe a little,” Jack conceded. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
“Happy to listen to requests from the tots after the show, if it would help,” Santa offered before Dan could respond.
“Uh, sure. Jack, I have a hidey hole arranged for you and Kayla. I’d like to get you there before Christy arrives. Butch can wait with you.” He glanced up at the clock above Dr. Tapia’s desk. “Which should be any minute now.”
Jack swung Piper up onto his shoulders. She giggled and grabbed his collar. “Lead the way. Did I tell you my idea about having a small explosion to distract the audience when I come on stage? Then, poof! There I’ll be. No one will see it coming.”
“If we get you hidden quickly, no one will see it coming without the explosion. Piper, can there be small explosions at elementary school holiday shows?”
“Not on purpose.”
“Spoilsports,” Jack mumbled. “Does Christy know what a pair of safety buffaloes you two are? She’d like that. A lot.”
“She thinks we’re wild.” They reached the janitor’s secret hideout. “In you go.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Piper said. “If this works, he’ll be my grandpa, too. Might as well get to know him.”
Dan wasn’t sure that was such a great idea, but there wasn’t a lot of time to argue. “Okay. I’ll send someone to get you when we need you.” He glanced at Jack. “There’s a backpack full of water and snacks by the recliner.”
“Bet they’re healthy snacks,” Jack grumbled.
“Pretty much. But there are some brownies, too. Don’t let Piper eat them all at once.”
“Aye-aye, Cap’n.” Jack saluted.
“I’ll have a brownie,” Santa said.
Dan pulled the door closed behind them, but not before he heard Jack address Piper. “Are you sure Christy likes him? He seems kind of bossy.”
He kept the door open a crack.
“So’s she. It works.”
“Good point. Want a brownie?”
He shut the door and made his way to the multi-purpose room.
***
Christy peered out from the stage wings at the rapidly filling auditorium. Dan sidled up behind her. “Five minutes to curtain call. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
He lifted his stainless steel water bottle and clinked it to hers. “Here’s to the best holiday show ever.”
“When it’s over it will be the best holiday show ever.”
Dan sighed, and she felt bad for resisting his attempts to be friendly in an appropriate, unthreatening fashion. Then she got mad for feeling bad about getting exactly what she’d asked for. When Dan was distracted by a boy she didn’t recognize dressed in Gavin Crawford’s elf costume, she got even madder for wanting him to stay with her.
This was the end for them, or as much ‘them’ as they’d managed to become. She wanted him beside her for what little of the fairy tale remained. Oh, lord. Her brain was failing if she was thinking of her life in terms of fairy tales. She was being hopelessly contradictory. Maybe even confused, and she didn’t do confused. She felt awful when she should be relieved she wouldn’t have to see Dan every day.
Crap.
Crap, crap, crap.
She wasn’t relieved. She was upset. A big hole loomed in her heart, and it wasn’t the holiday show she was going to miss tomorrow morning.
But then someone yelled, “Two minutes to curtain!” and Lucy Cornish said Alex Torquist was about to barf in the manger due to bad donkey breath, and there was no more time to think. The holiday show was about to begin.
***
Dan retrieved Piper from Jack Monroe, made sure Kayla was ready—which was debatable, given the puffiness of her eyes—and dove back into the bedlam backstage. He heard the word ‘barf’ and triangulated instantaneously to find the source. He reached Alex Torquist the same instant Christy did, in the line of kindergartners behind Dr. Joe and t
he animals. She plucked Alex from behind the donkey while Dr. Joe apologized for the beast’s kimchi breath. Something about someone’s Korean picnic being too tempting for a donkey to pass up. Christy caught Alex under his armpits, lifted him out of line and handed him to Dan, who whisked him outside just in time. Christy appeared a second later with a bottle of water, a napkin, and a peppermint. “End of the line,” she told Alex when he was fit for company again, “And stay far away from that donkey.”
The kid nodded, and Dan hauled him back inside where he deposited him at the end of the kindergarten line. He high-fived Christy, who hesitated before giving his raised palm a half-hearted slap. “Crisis number one done and dusted,” he said.
That got him a little smile. It was nuts how much better that tiny crack in her armor made him feel.
“How many more can there be?”
They surveyed the warm-up room together. Children, farm animals, the twin Babies Jesus with Mom and Grandma in attendance, Nutcracker mouse soldiers battling with cardboard swords, boys in coconut bras and grass skirts—was that a harpoon in Artie Richmond’s hand?
“Whoa. Harpoon. Two o’clock.”
Christy moved as he spoke. They flanked Artie, and Christy put her hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper in his ear while Dan removed the weapon from his sweaty paw. He used the radio to ask for Dr. Tapia’s assistance.
“Hey!” Artie made a grab for the weapon before Christy could pull him back. “That’s mine.”
“It’s school property until the show is over. Your parents can claim it from the principal’s office tomorrow.”
Dr. Tapia appeared in the door. One look at the harpoon and he went as pale as Frosty himself. Dan handed it to him over the heads of a crowd of girls dressed like glowing lamp wicks.
“Arthur, I will see you tomorrow at eleven o’clock sharp with both your parents.” Dr. Tapia gave the boy a disappointed scowl and hurried off, the harpoon raised above his head and the reach of any children.
Dan caught Christy’s eye. “What was your question? How many problems could there be?”
Love on Main Street: A Snow Creek Christmas Page 18