His for the Holidays

by LB Gregg, Harper Fox, Z. A. Maxfield

  Those blue eyes held compassion and amusement. “Calm down, boy.”

  Chandler reacted instantly to the quiet authority in his voice. Something about it made him sigh, like when a handsome firefighter says, “Help is on the way, sit tight.”

  “I’m Steve, by the way.” Steve held out a meaty hand. “Steve Adams. I know a fair bit about cars and I can take a look. Why don’t you go sit with your little buddy while I get a flashlight and a couple of other things, okay?”

  “Yes, Thanks.” Chandler took his hand and shook it, wilting with relief. “My name is Chandler Tracey and that’s Poppy. Porphyre, actually. Her mother was French and liked purple and—”

  “Was?” Steve’s brows drew together.

  “Poppy’s parents were killed in a car accident just after Thanksgiving. Poppy was the only survivor.” Chandler couldn’t stop himself from looking through the windshield at Poppy. Saying that still hurt like hearing the news for the first time.

  “Oh, man. I’m so sorry.” Steve gripped the frame of the car so hard his knuckles grew pale in the security lights. He glanced around the hood at Poppy’s impassive little face. “That must…”

  “We’re all mostly numb with shock, actually.” Chandler tried on a hopeful-feeling smile but knew it fell flat from the look on Steve’s face.

  “I can imagine. I’m…” He hesitated for a moment, then turned to look the car. “I’ll just get that flashlight.”

  “Sure.” Chandler nodded. “By the way, Poppy thinks you’re Santa Claus.”

  Steve turned. “What?”

  “Yeah. I think it must be your car. Poppy told me that you’re Santa Claus.”

  Chapter Two

  Steve concentrated on the task at hand, not on the handsome younger man. Not much, anyway. Chandler wandered toward him from the picnic area carrying a drink from the vending machine and the very diminutive Poppy on his hip. He was speaking softly to her as they walked. She’d put her head down on his shoulder. Every so often, he gestured to the sky and she tilted back to see what he pointed out.

  “See, that’s Orion there, that three stars in a row. On one side of him—on the right there—is Taurus. I always remember he has those three stars in a triangle there, a butt and two feet. The one above it looks like it’s the end of his tail. It’s easier to picture if you’ve seen someone draw the lines in between.”

  Steve returned his attention to the car. The battery still powered the lights and they didn’t seem dim. He’d checked the terminals and there was no corrosion. He got into the driver’s seat and took a brief glance around. When he was young, he’d once had a problem starting his mom’s automatic. He’d panicked, then realized he’d left it in gear. But Chandler’s Honda was definitely in park.

  After that, the logical problem was the starter. He’d try a trick or two he knew with that, and if that didn’t work… Well. By the time Chandler found somebody to come out here and tow him someplace where they could figure it out, Steve would be in Vegas, long gone.

  Not his problem really. He unfolded his large frame from the driver’s seat and looked back over the engine. Chandler was still talking to the kid.

  “That’s only in the winter sky, Poptart. Those three stars are Orion’s belt, and they aren’t there in the summer.”

  “Where do they go?”

  “Well.” Chandler shrugged. “The earth follows an orbital pattern around the sun, so they’re there, but you just can’t see them.”

  “How come?”

  Steve interrupted. “Think of the earth like big spaceship. The sky is our window. We’re making a big loop around the sun, so we see those particular stars when we come back around this way every year.”

  Poppy looked up and then stuck her head down again, nosing into Chandler’s neck to hide.

  “I think you’re going to need a new starter eventually, but I can probably get it going.”

  “That’s cool. How?”

  “When you turn the engine and you just hear click, but you know you have gas and the battery is working, try smacking this gently with something.” He pointed to the starter and asked,

  “Got a hammer?”

  Chandler frowned. “Oh, jeez. No. No hammers. Um. I think we’ll be fine. I borrowed this car and I don’t think we should hit it with hammers or anything.”

  “I’m not going to break anything. There’s a reason it works, and I’ll explain it if you want. Do you plan to drive straight through? Will you be stopping before you get where you’re going?”

  “I don’t think so. Who can say, though?”

  “A tap or two might get it started, and if you’ve got enough gas and don’t stop for anything, once you get where you’re going you can take it to a shop. Otherwise you should head back to Barstow or someplace like that. It’s a holiday weekend. You don’t want to be stuck in the desert all night with your little girl, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Get in. Make sure the car is in park and the emergency brake is on. I like my legs.”

  Chandler’s gaze dropped and an eyebrow rose. “Your—”

  “I like walking on them, anyway.”

  “No, I see. They’re very fine legs, Steve.” Chandler’s lips pressed together.

  “Go and turn the key.”

  “All right.” He let Poppy down. “Let’s get you into your seat.”

  Chandler spent what seemed like a long time settling the girl. Steve thought it was kind of sweet. He’d only seen folks act like that with babies, but maybe since she’d just come into his life, Poppy was his baby.

  Chandler shrugged when he pulled out of the backseat. “I’ll never get used to that car seat. What a nuisance. She doesn’t weigh nearly enough to be free of it, though. She’s very small.”

  “She seems pretty delicate, yeah.” Steve pulled the biggest screwdriver he had from his little tool caddy. He didn’t carry much with him because he had a pretty well stocked shop at home.

  “She’s lost weight since the accident.”

  Steve nodded.

  “We’re going to spend Christmas with my parents but since I drive a motorcycle, I borrowed this piece of junk from my neighbor Garvin, who’s in Hawaii right now, probably laughing his ass off. We’ll still have plenty of time to get there. They’ll…they know what to do with her.”

  “And you don’t? Looks like you’re doing fine. She’s a lucky girl.”

  “Well, I don’t know. I’m not really that good at things like…children.”

  Steve smiled. “No one is. It’s kids who train you, not the other way around. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Do you have kids?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Steve motioned for him to get in and turn the key. “Over the years. It’s seems like I’ve had a snotload of them. Lots of nieces and nephews, lots of friends with kids. I do the Big Brother program and for a while I wanted to try scouting but those bastards…” He frowned, remembering the ban on gay scout leaders. “The Girl Scouts like me, though. I give a car maintenance workshop each year, and I used my house to teach them how to prep surfaces and do minor drywall repair, then mask and paint.”

  Chandler gazed at him in awe. “Wow.”

  “I don’t have any of my own, though.”

  “No?”

  Steve grinned. “Usually when I get with someone there are no ovaries involved.”

  Chandler covered up a cough with his hand. “I guess I was figuring that out.”

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t have kids. Except Poppy now.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

  “I know.” Chandler smiled slyly.

  “Anyway, you’ll be great.” Steve jerked his chin toward the car. “She’s already got you twisted around her finger. You’re well on your way.”

  “Yeah.”

  Since Chandler didn’t seem to have much more to say, Steve moved on. “Get ready to start the car, Chandler. Wait till I give the signal, though.”

  Chandler got in
and lowered the window.

  “Okay?”

  “Ready.”

  “Go.”

  Chandler turned the key and Steve banged sharply on the starter with the hard plastic handle of his screwdriver.

  They had to do it three times, but finally the engine started up.

  “There you go.” Steve lowered the hood and let it fall, hearing it latch with a satisfying ka-thunk. “Are you heading east on the I-15?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, if you have to stop the car and it doesn’t start again, try thwacking the starter or even moving the car a little manually, let it roll back two feet and try again. Sometimes that works.”

  “Really?”

  “Sometimes. Even if it does start, take it to a mechanic as soon as you can. Vegas would be a good bet.”

  “Do you think anything will be open this weekend?”

  “Yeah, sure. Besides the fact that Nevada is a den of iniquity and Christmas probably only causes a minor slowdown in traffic at the slots, people’s cars break down every day, all year round. It shouldn’t take long to replace that starter if they can get the part, and they shouldn’t have trouble. It’s not like it’s an unusual make or model. You’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks so much, Steve.”

  “You’re entirely welcome. Goodbye, Chandler.” He leaned down and found Poppy staring at him. “Bye, Poppy.”

  “Bye, Santa. You’ll come Christmas Eve?”

  He nodded. “Count on it, honey. But you’ll be asleep, right?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “’Cause you know Santa can’t come down the chimney unless you’re asleep?”

  She waved at him. “’Kay. I will be. Bye!”

  “Drive safely!” Steve watched them drive off. For a minute he worried. What if they had to stop? What if Poppy got carsick or something and they had to stop but the car wouldn’t start back up?

  Steve shrugged off his worry and hoped for the best. Chandler didn’t look like an idiot. He’d try smacking the starter himself now that he knew where it was. Plus, he was heading out on the I-15. If they had car trouble Steve would be on the same road, so he could conceivably help, eventually. He made for his car to head out but got stopped when a supercab pickup full of frat boys pulled in beside it. They wanted to know every detail about the Super Bee and he obliged them, opening the hood and giving an impromptu lesson on muscle cars of the late sixties.

  The Super Bee was considered a budget car at the time it was made. It was all his dad could afford since he’d just had a new baby, but he’d kept it pristine, documented all the work over the years, then given it to Steve when he turned thirty.

  Best. Birthday. Ever.

  When the boys moved on to the bathroom for the reason they’d stopped in the first place, Steve fired up the Bee and edged out onto the highway. He figured he was about twenty minutes behind the little Honda carrying Chandler and Poppy. He wasn’t about to go too much over the speed limit to catch up, though, not when he was driving a bright red shiny thing and the highway patrol were like magpies with bubble lights. Half the time they stopped him just to get a closer look. He didn’t blame them. While it wasn’t as sexy as a Charger or as sleek as a Barracuda, he loved his car with a nearly unholy passion. It stood to reason others might want to see her for themselves.

  Steve figured he’d mosey along, doing the speed limit, and if he happened to be keeping an eye on the side of the road for a Honda whose driver—a sweet twenty-something with the world’s most adorable kid—might be in need of a little more service, well. Really. He was a car guy; helping others was almost his duty.

  * * *

  Garvin’s car, which was unfamiliar and felt awkward to drive anyway, since Chandler was used to a motorcycle’s agility, began to rumble noisily and tilt. It seemed to lurch all over the road and it took everything he had to steer it slowly to the shoulder, where he let it idle.

  His heart did a terrible Irish clog dance in his chest as he smacked the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “Shit.”

  A quick glance in the mirror showed Poppy, white with fear, had her hands on her ears again.

  “Sorry, sweetheart it’s only a flat tire. We’re okay, and I’m working on the cursing thing. Really, I am.” He pulled the keys from the ignition. “I’m going to go take a look at what we’ve got back there.” He turned on his flashers, then checked for traffic before he exited the car.

  The tire was not merely flat, it was gone. There was simply a rim on the car wearing what looked like a frayed rubber miniskirt. A quick scan of the trunk reminded him he had no clue what he needed to be looking for, so he got out his cell phone and called for roadside assistance.

  When he got back into the car he turned to face that backseat. Poppy looked to him for some sort of reassurance, he assumed, and he had none. “They’re sending a tow truck.”

  “Okay.” She nodded.

  “I should have rented a car instead of borrowing this one from Garvin.”

  She nodded at him again.

  “I can’t exactly take you to Grandma’s on the motorcycle.”

  “It’s all right.”

  They sat in silence for a while.

  “Maybe Santa will come and fix our car again?”

  “I doubt it, honey. This time there’s a flat and, from what I could tell, Garvin doesn’t carry a spare. I can’t believe I didn’t check that.” He took out his phone and made a note to get a book on basic car maintenance and repair.

  “Maybe Santa will bring one.”

  “Maybe. But this time of year Santa’s probably pretty busy.”

  “Probably.” She gazed out the window and yawned. “I expected him to be fatter. They always make him look fat on television.”

  “How come you’re so sure he’s Santa?”

  “My dad told me you can always tell the real Santa because he’s got real Santa eyes. All the Santas in the mall are only there for pictures and stuff. The real one doesn’t come until it’s Christmas.”

  “I see.”

  “And that man had Santa’s eyes, just like in the book. They were exactly the right color.”

  “That was a good blue.” Chandler remembered Steve’s eyes too. “That kind of blue is pretty rare, all right.”

  “And he had a nose like a cherry.”

  “That’s likely because it was cold out. Your nose is getting a little pink too.”

  She scrubbed at her snub nose with a small fist. “Uncle Chandler? Why do they call it a toe truck?”

  “Because it has that thing on the back that can pull cars.”

  “That’s more like an elbow, though, than a toe. Toes are small and wiggly.”

  * * *

  Steve’s heart skipped a little when he saw the tow truck. He’d been kicking himself for not giving Chandler his card, at least. Maybe someday if Chandler could get away alone…

  He pulled in behind the tow truck and got out of his car.

  As he walked to where Chandler held Poppy on the side of the road, the tow driver acknowledged him and held out his hand. “Sweet ride, man. Kevin.”

  “Steve.” He shook hands and nodded his head. “Thanks.”

  “Ever think of selling her?” the man asked. “I know some folks—”

  “I’ve made arrangements to be buried in her.” The car coveters could be pretty persistent. To Chandler, who was grinning at him with a sweet stain of pink on his cheeks, he said. “What have we here?”

  Poppy waved. “Hi, Santa.”

  “I’m ashamed to say that the tire blew and we didn’t have a spare.”

  “Dude,” Steve began, but Chandler cut him off with a time-out gesture.

  “No way, don’t look at me like that. It’s not my car. Even I know better than to head out with no spare.”

  Steve looked to Kevin and back to Chandler.

  “Normally. I didn’t think to check whether my friend Garvin kept one.” Chandler bit his lip.

  “Ah.” Oh my. Someone had p
retty white teeth. “Now what?”

  “Now we go wherever—” Chandler’s gaze traveled to the tow driver’s name patch, “—Bob takes us.”

  Poppy shook her head. “I don’t want to go in the toe car. I want to go with Santa.”

  “Uh…it’s Kevin. I borrowed the shirt from Bob.” Kevin tried his charm on the girl. “I have plenty of room and it’s kind of fun to drive my truck. You’re up real high.”

  “No.” Poppy pressed her lips together.

  “We have to go in the tow truck, Poppy. You want to see inside it, don’t you?”

  Steve couldn’t help but notice that Chandler’s charming attempt at coercion was striking out with his niece as well.

  “No.” She shook her small head.

  “Where are you going, Kevin?” Steve asked. “I can take Chandler and Poppy with me and meet you there. Poppy likes my car, don’t you, sweetie?”

  Poppy nodded brightly but Chandler demurred. “I can’t possibly expect you to go so far out of your way…”

  “It’s no trouble. I like to be of service.” Steve stopped that train of thought right away.

  “Although now that I said it that way, that sounds kind of creepy. But I do like to help people out. It’s nice to be needed or something.”

  Poppy gazed at him with hero worship but Chandler’s eyes were on Steve’s mouth while the side of his own edged up in a secret little smile… There was no mistaking that look. “So you’re a good Samaritan?”

  Steve felt his cheeks heat. “Um. Yeah. Well, I guess you could say that.”

  “Is there a way to secure Poppy’s car seat in the back of your car?”

  “Actually, yeah, I installed a lap belt in the middle when my sister had kids. It’s not as good as one of those new tie-down things car manufacturers install, but it meets the car-seat manufacturer’s requirements.”

  “It’ll do. Show me.”

  Steve helped Chandler transfer the seat to his car and showed him how to put it in and thread the seatbelt through to tighten it down. They buckled Poppy into her safety harness.

  Steve asked, “Poppy, did you know that race car drivers have five-point harnesses too?”