by Mimi Barbour
Tyler had the same waves, she thought, smoothing down the errant curl.
A golf pro at heart—a country club golf instructor by necessity—David had just finished work the night he was killed. He’d been one of the last to leave the shop, which put him on the Turnpike driving home during rush hour traffic.
Oh, how she wished he’d closed the shop early. If the storm clouds had rolled in, or it had been a month or two later when darkness shortened the amount of time to play. How different her life would be now. She would still have his warm body to snuggle up to at night, and Tyler would have his father to guide him through life.
“Are you sad, Mom?” Tyler asked, wiggling off the chair. “Let’s go shopping for Pa, and Nana. That will make you happy.”
David’s parents had taken their son’s death hard. As heartbreaking as it was for her, it was doubly difficult to be around them and to pretend that she and Tyler were doing all right.
She stood up and hugged her son close. “I am happy. What should we buy your grandparents? Got any ideas?”
“I think they’d like a puppy, don’t you?”
Cindy snickered. “That would be the last thing they’d want. I know a little boy who might like one though.”
“Me?” He pointed at his chest, and nodded vehemently. “I sure would! Hey—maybe I could ask Santa for one.”
“That’s a good idea,” Cindy said. Much better than a pony or a daddy. “Not sure if he can deliver a puppy, though. Puppies wriggle around a lot. He might jump out of the sled as they swoosh across the sky.”
“He could tie the puppy in so it would be safe. I’ll ask Santa’s helper that.”
“First I want to buy those presents. I was thinking of a nice gourmet coffeemaker that makes cappuccinos and hot chocolate, instead of that old pot they use.”
“Still think a puppy is better,” Tyler said, tugging at her hand. “They could have one, and I could have one.”
Cindy smiled and shook her head at the idea of Pa and Nana chasing after two rambunctious puppies and their grandson. “I vote for the coffeemaker, and when you visit you could have some hot chocolate too.”
Tyler licked his lips and rubbed his tummy. “Okay. Puppy for me. Coffeemaker for them.”
“Why don’t we go see Santa’s helper again, right now, and we can buy the bulky machine on the way out? Then I won’t have to drag it around the stores.”
Cindy and Tyler went down the escalator, and the sound of the Christmas music didn’t depress her as much as it had before. “What’s your favorite Christmas song?” she asked Tyler. “We could buy a new CD while we’re here. Some fun, happy music for Christmas day.”
“Yeah! And Nana and Pa will be with us and we can all listen to it together and open presents!” He jumped up and down with excitement. “That’s a good idea. How about, Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, and Frosty the Snowman, and Here Comes Santa Claus? Can we buy that?”
“Sure. I don’t see why not. I’m also going to buy my parents a new Blu-ray system so they can watch movies and play some of their favorite music on Pandora.” She grinned. “That takes care of the grandparents, and now I just have one more person to buy for.”
“Who’s that?” Tyler asked, his eyes wide and sparkling.
“My most favorite person in the world,” she answered. “You.”
He grinned, and his happy face was such a contrast from before. The temper tantrum that he displayed in front of Santa had become quite familiar lately. Every little thing seemed to set him off.
Tyler pulled on the sleeve of her jacket to get her attention.
“What, hon?”
“Let’s hurry. There’s a line-up already, and I want to see Santa’s helper before he runs out of puppies.”
“Let’s go then.” The thought of seeing this Brad guy again had her feet moving quickly too. It felt so great to hear Tyler’s belly-laugh, and to be amused herself. A rare pleasure, she thought, to forget everything for a few minutes and just be silly—especially with someone attractive and young—and male.
He definitely intrigued her. What kind of man would be a substitute Santa so kids wouldn’t be disappointed?
The best kind of man, she decided.
Chapter Four
“Santa, Santa—I know what I want now. A puppy!” Tyler shouted in glee. “Can you bring me one, please?”
It seemed that he’d forgotten he wasn’t the real Santa, but Brad nodded and stroked his beard. “Why, that would be a wonderful present. I will do my very best. What kind of pup would you like? A small dog or one that will grow as big as you?”
“A puppy kind of dog. I want him to sleep with me.”
“And how does your mother feel about that?” He glanced at the knock-out mom in her snazzy red jacket and skinny black jeans. His eyes traveled up and down the length of her. She must be five ten, he figured, and most of that height was all legs. Hell, they went all the way up to heaven and back. And those amazing eyes of hers could draw someone in and suck every thought from his brain. Hell. This woman was the whole package.
Too much so, for a workaholic like him.
“I’m warming to the idea,” Cindy answered.
“A little Schnauzer would be nice,” he suggested, looking from one eager face to the other, “or one of those white balls of fluff.”
“What do you think, Ty-baby? One of those Scotty dogs with the mustache, or a Maltese fluff ball like our neighbors have?” The sexy mom, Cindy Harris, seemed animated by the idea. “Better yet—what about a beautiful doe-eyed Cocker Spaniel? Lady from the movie Lady and the Tramp.”
“Not a girl dog, Mom,” Tyler said with a pout.
Cindy clapped her hands in excitement then brought them up to her flushed face. “Oh, I haven’t had a dog since I was a little girl. She was just like Lady.”
Brad chuckled, then made a “ho, ho, ho” sound. “I think your mother has made up her mind. A Cocker Spaniel it is.”
Tyler threw his arms around Santa’s neck and gave him a huge hug. “Yes, yes, yes. Save one for me. Pretty please?”
“Sure, Tyler. I will give it my best shot.” He patted the kid’s head, liking him much better this time around. “You be a good boy for the next three weeks, and listen to your mom. Then we’ll see what Santa brings. Now, smile for the camera.”
After the picture, his eyes connected with Cindy’s. She was much too young to be a widow. Too young to sleep alone, to raise a child without a dad around. And too young for that kind of heartache.
“What can Santa bring you?” he asked, more gently then he’d intended.
Her cheeks grew rosy. For a quick second Brad saw her brilliant blue eyes flash with interest, and quickly fade again. “What I want, you don’t have.”
“Right.” He helped Tyler off his lap, and stood up for a second. He used the excuse to stretch out his bum knee, which brought him into closer contact with Cindy. He whispered, “Beautiful woman like you, and no lucky guy around?”
Her head shot up. “It’s only been a year. Fifteen months, to be exact.”
“Well, the boy seems fixated on you finding him a daddy. You should probably start looking.” For her own good.
“I beg your pardon?” Her chin inched upward. “This is really no concern of yours.”
He’d watched his brother drown himself in depression, refusing to get help and move forward after he’d come back injured from war. Brad’s words of advice had fallen on deaf ears with Regan, but he wanted to save this pretty woman if he could.
“You’re right. I’m just saying you can’t grieve forever. You should pick up the pieces of your life. If not for yourself, then for your son.”
She glared at him, her hands fisted on her slim hips. “Do not presume to tell me what to do for my child.”
He raised a brow and fought a smile. She and Tyler had the same stubborn angle to their jaws. “Santa knows best.”
She turned on her heel, taking her son by the hand. “Let’s go, Ty.” Cindy kept
her eyes averted when she spoke again. “Tyler, tell Santa thank you.”
“Thank you!”
They left, and Brad returned to his seat. He waved the next youngster forward, wondering if he had been a little too abrupt. But hell—she looked like something he’d want to unwrap under his Christmas tree. A woman like that shouldn’t be alone. She should be curled up in someone’s arms and given a lot of love.
Well, it was none of his business. She was right about that—but if the circumstances were different, he wouldn’t mind being her “daddy” for a night or two. Too bad he couldn’t have gotten her number.
It was most unlikely that he’d ever see her or her son again. With any luck Regan would clean up his act and be back playing Santa tomorrow, and Brad could do what he did best, connecting prospective homeowners with the house of their dreams.
Still, as the night wore on, he couldn’t erase the beautiful widow from his mind. The thought of her unhappiness on Christmas morning, and that of her son’s, left a sour taste in his mouth. It had nothing to do with those mile long legs, or the hopeful expression in her cobalt eyes. Not one blasted thing.
“Two more kids, Santa,” the photographer said with a tired smile. “You did good.”
“Thanks.” Brad was stiff from sitting so long, and his right leg throbbed painfully. He had bursitis, an inflammation of the knee due to chronic stress—between playing college basketball and running marathons in the past few years, he’d done some damage to his cartilage, and now paid the price.
The last of the kids had gone and the mall was officially closed. “Will we see you tomorrow?” Kelly asked as they unplugged the lights.
“God, I hope not,” Brad said.
Her laughter followed him as he limped out to his car in the chilly night air. He wished he’d taken the time to change out of his Santa suit, but he was tired, hungry and worried about Regan. What condition would he find him in? How many times could he do rehab and after only a few short weeks, relapse again?
Hell. He’d love an ice cold beer the moment he got home, but he’d gotten rid of all the alcohol in his apartment when Regan came to live with him. Not that it stopped Regan from drinking. But at least Brad wasn’t providing it. That was something.
There was a little snow on the roads, and he spun out as he backed away from the now half empty parking lot. It took him a good twenty minutes to drive home and he was in no mood by the time he arrived.
He unlocked the door to his apartment and saw his brother half asleep on the sofa with the TV blaring. Two large bottles—one coke, the other Bourbon, and a cold, congealed pepperoni pizza littered the coffee table. An ashtray had tipped over, and cigarette butts were lying on his beige Berber rug.
“Hey, if it ain’t Santa! Come—have a drink,” Regan said, slurring his words. “You got me a present? More bourbon, I hope.”
“Shit, Regan.” Disappointment hit him like a kick in the stomach. He closed the door behind him and faced his brother. “Do you have any idea what I did for you today? I put on this costume and worked a twelve-hour shift at the mall. Called my office and cancelled some lucrative appointments. While you sat in my home and did this…”
“I left you some pizza. Probably cold now.” Regan pushed himself up into a sitting position, bobbing back and forth like a child’s top. “Damn. What are you looking at?”
“I’m looking at my asshole brother.”
Regan laughed, then started to choke. “Whoa. I’m feeling a little woozy.”
“No wonder.” Brad picked up the bottle of bourbon and waved it in his face. “It’s damn near empty, and you must have gone out and bought it. It wasn’t in the house.”
“Yeah? So what? I was thirsty. Stop glaring at me, will ya?” He coughed. “Have a drink and some pizza. You’ve got a microwave. Heat it up.” He ran a hand through his long, straggly hair. “Man—and take off that costume. You look like an idiot.”
“What am I going to do with you?” Brad sat down on the chair facing the sofa, and put his head in his hands. “You’ve been to rehab. Twice. I can’t take care of you.” By letting his brother stay in the apartment, he was enabling him, and he’d be damned if he’d continue to do that.
His gut clenched. It was time to take a stand.
“You need to sober up or leave. If you drink, you need to find another damn place to stay.” He glared at his brother. “You still have your job if you can get to it in the morning. I saved your ass today, but I’m plum dry with ass-saving. The rest is up to you.”
Regan bowed his head. “I’m trying.”
“No,” Brad said. “You aren’t.”
He got up, took the pizza and bourbon with him and filled a glass with ice. He poured about three fingers of bourbon into his glass and tossed it back. Then he put the unappetizing-looking pizza on a microwave plate and zapped it.
He hoped his brother made the right decision. He was fresh out of good deeds.
Chapter Five
Money was tight. Cindy was a second grade teacher in New Jersey—and had eight years experience—but her salary was still less than fifty grand a year. Her husband had left her a hundred thousand dollar life insurance policy, but they lived in a half-million dollar house. There was no question that she’d have to re-mortgage her home until she could find a buyer, and lower her monthly payments once again.
She also had to be extra lean during the holiday season this year. The gifts for the in-laws and her own parents were small enough, but her sister Brooke’s wedding on New Year’s Eve meant Cindy had to spend money she didn’t have to buy a bridesmaid dress, a wedding present, and a suit for Tyler who would be the ring-bearer. She’d been budgeting for this wedding for the past six months, but the holidays were expensive enough without any additional expense.
She got up from the table where she’d been paying a stack of bills, and refilled her cup of coffee. She’d just sat down to finish writing the last of her checks when she heard the pitter-patter of feet coming down the stairs.
“Hey, little buddy. Come give me a kiss.”
Carrying his favorite teddy under his arm, he bounded over to her and kissed her cheek. “Ono wants French toast for breakfast, and so do I.”
“He does, does he?” Cindy pinched the teddy’s tummy. “Sounds pretty good to me, too.” She stacked her bills together and put them on the counter so she wouldn’t forget to pop them in the mail.
She poured a small glass of juice for Tyler and turned on the TV, finding SpongeBob, his favorite morning show. With him occupied, she grabbed eggs, milk, and an older loaf of bread from the fridge and got a bowl out to mix the eggs. She added a dash of cinnamon to the mix and let the bread soak while the pan heated up.
She added the bread to the hot oil and browned two slices for Tyler and another two for herself. “Would you like syrup, hon, or grape jelly?”
“Syrup. Ono likes that best. Me too.” He left the loveseat in the family room and took his seat at the table, putting Ono on the empty chair next to him.
“Can we go back to the mall?” he asked. “I wanna see Santa again. I thought of another present I’d like. A playmate for Ono.”
“Not today, my friend. You have hockey practice this morning, then we’re going over to Nana’s and Pa’s house.” She smiled and ruffled his hair, loving the soft texture. “And Ono has lots of playmates. Your bedroom is stuffed with toys, and both grandmas have their basements full too.”
“But I want to make sure Santa saves the puppy for me.”
“You’re a very good boy, so I’m sure he will bring you what you want.”
“Then why can’t he bring me a daddy, like I asked for?” Tyler’s bottom lip trembled.
Cindy sighed. “Nobody can do that. In order for you to have a daddy, I would have to marry again, and I just haven’t met anyone as wonderful as your father.” She smiled, but it was an effort. “We just have to be patient, honey. I will one day. I promise.”
She had thought about Santa’s words when s
he’d gone to bed and had reluctantly agreed that he might be right. Perhaps it was selfish of her to want to hold on to her memories of her husband, and not put Tyler’s needs ahead of her own.
He cut off a piece of toast and put it on a napkin for Ono. “What are we going to do at Nana’s? Can I play with the train set there?”
“You sure can.” Pa had built an elaborate train set that wrapped around the four walls of one entire bedroom. He got as much enjoyment from the setup as his grandson.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday, right?” Tyler had a thoughtful expression on his little face. “Maybe we could go back to the mall then. Santa’s helper might be there. You liked him, I know. Maybe he could be my new daddy.”
“Tyler, stop it. We know nothing about this man. He could be married already and have sons of his own. Please don’t start seeing daddies everywhere you look.”
She sat down at the table and cut into her own piece of toast. “After the holidays are over, I’ll keep my eyes open.” She waved her fork into the air and grinned. “Maybe at Aunt Brooke’s wedding I’ll meet someone. It’s going to be a fairytale wedding—why not?”
Tyler wiped his teddy’s mouth. “Why not?”
After breakfast, Cindy took her shower and thought about her promise to Ty. She realized that it didn’t terrify her as much as she’d expected. Perhaps she was warming to the idea of meeting someone. Maybe the time had come.
Cindy took Tyler to hockey practice and sat with the other parents in the cold arena, drinking some hot cocoa from a Styrofoam cup. She’d brought him here about six months ago and put him in the baby’s class, but already Tyler had graduated to the four-to-five-year old Tot program where they learned to skate, with the emphasis on figure skating and hockey as a primary goal.
She watched him perform his two foot jump with a mother’s pride. He turned, finding her in the crowd, and gave a small wave. She waved back.
Tyler had never shown any fear, and had loved the sport right from the start. He was a child prodigy, she was sure.