“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 she’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.
“He’s improved a lot,” one of the husbands told her.
She stopped watching her son long enough to look at him and respond. “He has. I’m amazed how fast he’s picking things up, and how much he loves it. He’s not afraid of anything.”
“A Wayne Gretsky in the making,” the fellow joked.
“Well, my husband was a PGA pro so maybe he gets his athleticism from him. Certainly not me.”
She cut the conversation short as she didn’t like the way this man always found a seat near her, and how his knee would sometimes “accidently” brush her own.
After the hockey practice was over, she took Ty for lunch at his favorite fast food place, then they drove to his grandparents to spend the afternoon.
Annie Harris was a small woman, with short, graying hair that framed a still pretty, youthful face. Cindy was very fond of her mother-in-law, and John, David’s dad too—but she wished that they wouldn’t worry so much about her and Tyler.
After David’s death they’d offered to help her out financially, but she’d been adamant that she couldn’t accept their money, and needed to figure it out on her own.
She followed Annie to the kitchen, while Tyler and his Pa went to play with the train. They’d be at it for hours, which gave her time to catch up with her mother-in-law.
“How are Brooke’s wedding plans coming along?” Annie asked.
“Good. Her fiancé’s family lives in the Upper East Side, in Manhattan. The father’s in publishing. Anyway, they’re members of the parish for the St. James Church on Madison Avenue, and—get this—they want the wedding held there.”
“Oh, my. I bet it’s lovely, but the cost…” Annie shook her head as she poured them each a
cup of strong tea.
“Exactly. Brooke was concerned too. Our parents can’t afford a lavish wedding, and she certainly didn’t want his parents to pay for it. She called the church and spoke to someone who organizes the weddings. They suggested the Chapel. It has a seating maximum of sixty, so she was able to book that instead of the enormous church, and has restricted the invitations to fifty.”
“An intimate affair, instead of something over the top.”
Cindy sipped her tea, and smiled. “Isn’t that great? Brooke always finds a way to make things work.”
“What did Adam and his family think about that?”
“What could they say?” Cindy shrugged. “It’s going to be small, but elegant. The reception will be wonderful too. It’s at the hotel where everyone will be staying, only two blocks from the church. And then the following day, the groom’s parents have made arrangements for horse-drawn carriages to escort the wedding party to a special brunch in Central Park. The place is a secret. Might be Tavern on the Green! Isn’t that cool?”
“Very cool,” Annie laughed. “It sounds like a fairytale wedding, that’s for sure.” Annie said, watching her face.
“I know.” She looked out the window and didn’t say anything for several minutes. Fairy tales didn’t always come with happy endings.
“What is it?” Annie wrapped her hands around the tea mug.
Cindy hesitated, not wanting to sound like sour grapes. “Thing is, it’s all happening so fast. She only met him last winter and now they’re getting married. He’s a New York stock broker. Making tons of money, I imagine. They’re always doing exciting things on weekends, and jotting off on little trips.”
Annie gave her a sympathetic smile. “You’ve met him. What’s he like?”
“Adam’s a little arrogant for my taste, but he’s very sociable, has great wit, a hearty laugh, and seems genuinely in love with Brooke. I like him, I have to admit.”
A CHRISTMAS COLLECTION Page 38