Poles Apart

by Ueckermann, Marion

  No. Not over two dogs. Over a matter of trust. Over lies. And deception.

  “Miss Jones, welcome to my humble office. Please, sit down. South Africa? Now that’s a long way from here. What brings you all the way to Lapland?”

  Sarah stared at him as a fresh wave of anger engulfed her. Was he really going to sit there and continue the charade further? How stupid did he think she was? Making his voice sound different, older? She’d recognize those baby blues anywhere, no matter how much white facial fluff, or how thick the glasses he hid behind.

  Remaining standing, she glared and shoved her hands to her hips. “Are you really going to continue the pretense? I’m on to you. I know exactly who you are...or aren’t, Nick. Niklas. Or perhaps I should call you Claus?”

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  “You’re sorry? I’m the one who’s sorry. Sorry I ever met you. Sorry I ever fell for all your lies.” Ever fell for you.

  Sarah lunged forward. “Stop hiding behind all this.” She ripped the glove from his one wrinkled hand. That’s impossible. Can’t be. Let’s see you fake this one, ‘old man’. She yanked his long beard—the one stuck to his face. Really stuck. Santa’s head followed Sarah’s tugging. If he fixed this fake facial hair to his skin so well, how on earth did he get it off so fast the other night? Without a blemish to his cheeks or chin? Unless...

  “Au, that hurts.”

  Sarah let go, and Santa snapped back into his chair, thudding against the high wooden backrest. His spectacles toppled from his face and tumbled to the edge of his lap. Instantly, his feet shot out—an attempt to prevent the specs from rolling off and crashing to the ground? Oversized slippers collided with Sarah’s knees. She staggered backward then sprawled across the floor.

  Before she could scramble to her feet, strong hands grasped each arm, helping her up. But they didn’t let go. Sarah snapped her head from side to side. Left, and then right. You’ve got to be joking. Restrained by the elves? Could this day get any worse?

  “Let me go.” She wriggled to free herself, but their grip tightened. Did they plan to haul her off to elf jail?

  Raising her eyes to Santa, the only one with the power to grant her a reprieve, Sarah’s gaze locked with his aged eyes filled with confusion. Aged eyes? She stared. Yes, they were the same blue eyes she’d grown so fond of looking into this past week...except older. Much, much older.

  “Orvo. Olle. Let her go.”

  They obeyed the voice of authority.

  It was now, or never. She had to get out of there. What a fool she’d made of herself.

  Dashing for the exit, Sarah mumbled, “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” How had she gotten this all wrong? Treated poor Santa so badly when he’d gone out of his way to help her. Twice. And she’d thought so little of Niklas when all he’d done was shown her kindness. When would she ever learn to trust a man again? There had to be a logical explanation why Risto and Mila were inside Niklas’s home. She knew so little of what he did for a living, besides taking care of the families renting his cabins. Maybe he was a vet, looking after Santa’s dogs now that Mila’s time was close. Maybe Mila was already in labor.

  But those eyes... The ones she’d stared into the other times were younger. Then again, the first time she’d met Saint Nick, she’d been dead beat from her travels. And the second time...perhaps the firelight had played tricks with her eyes, making her see only what she’d wanted to see—Niklas Toivonen’s baby blues.

  Maybe she should just leave this entire subject alone, and see how it all panned out in the next two weeks.

  Trust once again.

  Seated on the porch of Sarah’s cabin, Niklas reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the letter she’d given him. Well, given Santa. He’d read Jonathan’s words so many times over the past week, obviously penned for him by his mother. While waiting, he’d read them once again and dream of ways to make the boy’s wishes come true—plus figure out how to tell Sarah the truth.

  Dear Santa,

  My name is Jonathan. I’m five years old. I’m sorry to bother you—I know you’re really busy getting ready for Christmas. Can I ask you for one thing, please? Will you bring my Auntie Sarah a Christmas love story? And love. I know your job is to take care of children’s wishes, but maybe there is something you could do for my Auntie’s heart.

  Thank you.

  Jonathan Olsen

  Hearing a car in the distance, Niklas raised his eyes, gazing into the distance as a small blue car broke the white surrounds. Sarah.

  He folded the letter and shoved it back into his pocket as he watched the car come closer. If only he could put off this task a little longer. But no doubt she’d be spitting mad when she stepped out of that car. There’d be no escaping the inevitable.

  Pushing to his feet, Niklas took a deep breath and braced himself as her car pulled to a stop. The driver’s door swung open.

  “Niklas?”

  He swallowed hard against his constricting throat, struggling to form words, afraid he wouldn’t find the right ones. He blew out a huff, wishing this whole situation would disappear like the vapor that formed in the air at his breath—there for only a moment before quickly fading.

  Man up. He forced a smile to his face. “Sarah. You’ve been out?”

  “Uh...yes. I...um...needed to get some groceries.” She shut the door behind her. “My cupboards are about as naked and enticing as that frozen lake out there.”

  What? No reprimand?

  Niklas started down the porch stairs. “Let me bring your shopping in. You get inside, out of the cold.”

  A laugh floated his way as she narrowed the gap between them. “There’s nothing to bring. Stupid me, I got to the store and realized I’d forgotten to take my purse. I’ll have to go again tomorrow.”

  “Seeing as your cupboards resemble Old Mother Hubbard’s, why don’t I cook you dinner tonight?”

  Her eyes widened. “You want me to come to your house?” She hurried up the steps to the front door.

  “Yes.” It could be a better place to tell her. To explain.

  She smiled. “I’d like that.”

  Unlocking the front door, she turned to Niklas, still rooted in the snow in front of the cabin. “You’re not coming in?”

  “I—”

  “Come in, please. Stay for coffee? It’ll warm you. Surely whatever you’ve got to do can wait a little longer?”

  What he had to do could wait forever. If only he had a choice. He didn’t. But it could wait until later. He’d enjoy what might potentially be his last visit with Sarah in this cabin.

  “Sure. Why not?” Niklas climbed the stairs.

  Sarah’s warm manner took the edge off the coolness inside. Thankfully. He could do something about the cabin temperature, but if she had shunned him now, there’d be little he could do to warm her to him again. Tonight, over dinner, could be an entirely different story though.

  Niklas leaned against the wall in the kitchen doorway as Sarah filled the coffee machine and switched it on. He shifted his gaze to where their snow pants and jackets hung side by side next to the front door, boots standing in a neat row beneath them. He’d love to see that sight daily. And the one in the kitchen. Niklas did his best to ignore the small green sprig constantly in his peripheral view. But no matter which way he looked, it was there.

  Squatting, Sarah leaned into the cupboard, retreating empty-handed. She pouted. “I thought I still had a box of biscuits in there.”

  “Don’t worry. Just coffee will be great.”

  “Just coffee? One can’t do just coffee.” She brought her hand to her face, resting her chin on her thumb while her index finger tapped across her lips. Her very kissable pink lips.

  Desperate to divert his attention, Niklas raised his gaze, stopping at the frown rippling Sarah’s brow. Any higher and he’d glimpse that mistletoe again. Then he’d be right back at those pink lips that he’d far rather taste than any kind of biscuit.

  “Hang on. I forgot Hann
ah packed a small container of homemade custard creams. They’re in the side pocket of my suitcase.” A grin lit her face. “Am I glad I hadn’t remembered they were there until now.”

  “Custard creams?”

  “You haven’t tasted custard creams?”

  Niklas chuckled. “No.”

  “Then you’ll be really glad, too, that I forgot about them.” She licked her lips. “Soft, crumbly, melt in your mouth...”

  Only one thing he wanted melting in his mouth. Niklas’s gaze returned to Sarah’s lips and remained there. He couldn’t help it.

  Seemingly, neither could Sarah.

  Breaking her gaze from his lips, she cleared her throat. “Uh... I should go and get those biscuits, shouldn’t I?”

  She eased past Niklas, pausing as she did to cast a coy look his way.

  Without thinking, he stretched out his arm, touching the other side of the doorway, blocking her thoroughfare. When she didn’t protest, Niklas slipped the other arm around her waist, drawing her closer.

  She should put a stop to this, but she had no desire to do any stopping. Not under the mistletoe. With Niklas.

  Sarah’s breath hitched as the hand that had blocked her path moments before travelled up her back, fingers soon losing their way in her hair, willing her face nearer. Niklas’s aftershave wrapped around her, and she closed her eyes for just a moment as she breathed in deep, savoring the woodsy aroma. She shivered. Was it that cold in here? She should ask Niklas to light a fire. Oh right, he’d already done that...deep within her.

  His blue gaze held hers. Irresistible.

  “You do know we’re both underneath the mistletoe?”

  She thrilled at the huskiness in his voice. Not trusting herself to speak, she moved her head up and down.

  “And...you are familiar with the mistletoe tradition?” A smile eased onto his lips, his mouth inches from hers.

  Stop talking. You’re torturing me.

  Once again, Sarah nodded.

  “And yet you’re still standing here?” He glanced upward. “Under the mistletoe...with me.” Another inch and their noses touched. “Does this mean that—”

  Sliding her hand behind Niklas’s head, she helped him journey the remaining distance, silencing him with her kiss. Enough talking.

  Research. This is just research.

  Right...

  Chapter 10

  Sarah’s couch had never felt so cozy as today. Niklas didn’t want what had started under the mistletoe to end, but he had a dinner to cook and a dog about to go into labor waiting at home.

  He gazed down at Sarah lying in his arms, head resting against his chest, and her feet curled up on the couch. Could she hear his accelerated heartbeat? Leaning forward, he kissed the top of her head. “Any regrets about hanging that mistletoe?”

  Sarah tipped her head and turned to look at Niklas. Smiling, she reached up and slid her arm around the back of his neck. “Only one. I wish you’d noticed it sooner.”

  “Oh, I noticed. Right from the day you hung it there.” He smoothed his hand over her hair. Like velvet. “I should go, if we’re to eat tonight. I also need to check on Mi— My sauna.” That was close. Earlier he’d been convinced she knew the truth, yet she hadn’t mentioned a thing—seemed blissfully unaware. Soon enough though, she would know. In fact, the moment she walked through his door.

  Wanting to savor the afternoon for a few more moments, Niklas chose to remain silent on the matter a little while longer.

  “You planning another crazy dunk in the ice hole?” Sarah wrinkled her nose.

  “Maybe. You want to try?”

  She shook her head. “Not on your life.”

  “Some things are actually not that difficult, Sarah. Once you do them, you’ll be surprised how liberating and exhilarating they can be.”

  “I will take your word for it.” She pushed herself up into a sitting position and combed her hair with her fingers. “Why don’t I come with you now? It’s not that long until dinner. I could help you cook.”

  “You don’t need to write?”

  She smiled. “I’ll catch up tomorrow.”

  “All right.” Seemed there’d be no postponing Sarah knowing about the dogs. By God’s grace, perhaps they’d work things out.

  Niklas took a slow drive back to his house, relishing the feeling of Sarah’s body pressed against his as she sat behind him on the snowmobile, her arms holding tight around his waist. At the same time he loathed what waited for him. Truth. It could hurt, and he had no desire for Sarah to go home hurting, or hungry. But how could he spare her? If he’d only walked to her place, they could’ve taken a slow stroll home through the thick snow, hand in hand, putting off the inevitable for longer.

  Risto barked as the front door opened. He bounded over to Niklas and sprung against his chest. Wrapping the dog in a bear hug, Niklas laughed.

  Soon as Risto was free, he ran circles around Niklas and Sarah, herding them toward the whelping box where Mila lay panting. Beside her a newborn pup gave soft grunts as it blindly sought its mother.

  “Mila, at last you’re in labor.”

  “What?” Sarah rushed to the whelping box. She glanced up at Niklas, eyes wide. “Something’s happening.”

  Moving closer, Niklas rested his hand on Sarah’s shoulder and looked into the box. “Pup number two’s on the way.” Time to get rid of daddy dog. “Sarah, would you mind taking Risto to my room and locking him inside? I need to get a fire going in here. Fast.”

  “He’s not allowed to stay for the confinement? He’s the dad.”

  “No. His presence will only upset Mila.”

  “All right. You know what you’re doing.” She slipped her hand under Risto’s collar. “Come, boy. Let’s see what’s down this way.”

  Risto glanced back at Mila, giving a cheering bark before obliging Sarah a stroll down the passage.

  By the time she returned, Niklas had discarded his snow clothes. The fire he’d built roared in the hearth, and the second pup had been born. He’d tied blue thread around the puppies’ necks—one puppy with light blue, the other one with dark—and covered their small, writhing bodies with a soft blanket.

  “Boys?”

  Niklas nodded. “Yes. Healthy, and both a good size, too.”

  Sarah stripped off her jacket, snow pants and boots then knelt beside Niklas. The side of her body brushed up against his. “I’m sorry I took so long. Risto didn’t want to settle, so I sat with him awhile.”

  “Thank you.” Niklas planted a kiss on Sarah’s cheek just as Mila began to pant faster once again. He turned his attention to the dog. “Another on the way, girl? Slow down, take your time. We’ve got all night.”

  “Will she be in labor long?”

  Niklas encased her hand with his. “It’s difficult to say. Could be a few hours...could be many. Probably the latter. Golden retrievers are notorious for taking a long time to give birth. And this is her first litter, so I doubt it will go fast.”

  Drawing her into his embrace, Niklas pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I—I need to explain about—”

  “There’ll be time later.” Shifting her gaze from the birthing mother to him, she raised her brows. “I think puppy number three is about to be born.”

  “But you need to underst—”

  “I do understand. You’re doing what you have to. It’s your job.”

  Not yet. Being Santa would only come when his father was no longer able to. But was she even speaking about that?

  She was right, though. There’d be time later.

  The third pup slid from the birthing canal, cocooned in the transparent membrane. Mila immediately set about removing the sac with her tongue and cutting the umbilical cord with her teeth.

  Niklas ruffled the fur at her neck. “Hyvää koira.” He glanced at Sarah. Her face was ashen. “Are you all right?”

  Her head moved up and down, ever so slightly, in her wordless response. Her pallor told an entirely different story.

>   “Have you ever seen a birth, Sarah?” The manner in which she responded confused Niklas— raised shoulders combined with slight side to side and up and down head movements, neither a yes or a no. “Why don’t you lie down on the couch? Watching a birth for the first time can be distressing.”

  “Can I lie beside the fire where it’s warm?”

  “Of course. Would you like a blanket?”

  Nodding, she crawled to the spot Mila so loved and curled up on the reindeer rug. It didn’t take long for her to doze off.

  Mila birthed one more pup then rested. She wasn’t finished though. There were still several pups inside her, waiting to be born. It was good she rested. Sarah, too. It gave him time to prepare dinner. What should he make?

  Niklas checked his cupboards—fortunately somewhat fuller than Sarah’s. He opened the refrigerator and scanned the shelves, noting what dishes he could cook with the ingredients on hand. Kasvissosekeitto. It was the perfect night for cream of vegetable soup. Quick and easy to make, and it could sit on the stove for hours. Who knew what time Sarah might waken? The assortment of potato, carrot, cauliflower, peas, onion, mushrooms and lentils should help perk her. And the fresh buns Äiti had baked and given to him that morning would finish the meal well.

  The thought of one of his favorite dishes sent his saliva glands into overdrive. He swallowed and pulled the large pot from the shelf above him.

  The soup simmering on the stove, Niklas assisted Mila further with the birth of each pup while Sarah slept off her malaise. By nine pups, the dog began to tire. Removing the membrane sacs became more and more cumbersome. Niklas helped so as not to lose any of her litter. Those sacs needed to come off speedily.

  The birth went much faster than he expected. Poor Sarah slept through it all. Just as well, perhaps. He couldn’t deal with two females requiring his attention.