by Jule McBride
Santa’s fingers tightened on Cyn’s shoulder. “I mean, really sing,” Cyn continued. As “Holly Jolly Christmas” had given way to “Frosty the Snowman” and “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” his smooth baritone had almost shocked her into silence.
“So, you like my fa-la-las,” he teased.
How did that terse macho drawl manage to produce such clear liquid notes on other occasions? “Don’t tell me,” she said drolly. “You have yet another secret life.”
He tensed beside her, breaking their stride, then relaxed again. “Other secret life.”
“Oh, you know—” She smiled at him. “You accompany the New York Philharmonic in your spare time.” His face became so serious that she was sure he was still hiding things from her. She desperately hoped he wasn’t. No matter how much she wanted Amanda to herself, she also found herself wanting to give Santa a second chance.
“Close,” he finally said.
Cold fear knotted in her stomach, making her realize how much she wanted to trust him—both with her and Amanda. “Close?”
“Backup for Pavarotti,” he said gruffly.
Cyn giggled in relief. “A backup singer? I thought that was for people like Diana Ross, when she was with the Supremes.”
“Ah, Cyn—” He grinned. “You’re showing your age.”
The way he said it made her feel that she was getting older by the minute—without a man. Without him. “I’m all of twenty-eight,” she protested.
His face became stern. “And you’re right.”
“About what?”
“I used to sing with the Supremes,” he said gravely as he swung open a fire door. Above them, the rest of the carolers passed through the upstairs doorway. As it slammed shut, Santa looked deeply into her eyes. “Can you still respect me?”
Her lips quivered with laughter. He put his arm around her shoulders again and began slowly taking the stairs. “Well,” she said, her voice growing husky. “I guess I can live with your wretched past, as long as you never dressed up in one of those spangle gowns.”
Santa turned and leaned his back against the stair rail, pulling her with him. His hands crept beneath her red blazer and settled on either side of her waist. She could feel their warm pressure through her blouse. “You think you could?”
She rested her fingertips against his chest. “What?”
“Live with it?” he asked softly.
One look in his eyes told her that he was no longer referring to his supposed past as a pop singer. She was pretty sure he didn’t mean live with it, either, but live with him. “We’ve gotten ourselves into a pretty complex situation.” She wanted to do whatever was right for Amanda, which meant not involving herself with Santa. Nevertheless, her fingers crept farther upward, over his pin-striped shirt.
Gazing into his eyes, she wondered what he’d been doing at Tiffany’s. She’d gone there to pick up a gift for him. It still wasn’t engraved, and she didn’t even know if she’d really give it to him. After all, she’d also bought him a tie.
“Yeah,” he finally said. “Things are complex, all right.”
“We’ll just have to see how things go,” she murmured. Between us.
He cocked his head and smiled. “Well, there are certain things I’ve come to feel I can’t live without.”
“Like what?”
His hands slid around her back in a tight, intimate circle, and he nipped her lower lip lightly with his teeth before covering her mouth with his own. Cyn shut her eyes, feeling languid in his arms, and teased him with the flickering of her tongue. After a moment, she forced herself to lean away. “They’re probably at ‘Silent Night’ by now.”
He chuckled. “Maybe we could kiss till ‘White Christmas.’”
“Surely, you don’t mean for the next two whole days,” she said raspily.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” he murmured, as if carols were the last thing on his mind. His palms roved upward on her back, pressing every last vertebra, then traveled down again, over her backside. Somewhere in the proximity of her thighs, he found her hand and his fingers twined with hers. “C’mon,” he nearly whispered. “You haven’t heard anything until you’ve heard me do ‘Silver Bells.’”
Silver bells, she thought illogically, as he pulled her up the stairs. Her lips still felt damp and swollen, and for an instant, she was sure the bells he meant were of the wedding variety.
When they reached the room, her parents, Amanda and the others—Evan, Bob, Clayton and the members of the marketing and promo departments—were all looking pointedly at her and Santa. So were the four little boys who shared the room.
“I think we’re in trouble,” Santa whispered. He gave her a surreptitious pat on her rear end that turned her cheeks scarlet.
She playfully slapped his hand. “If you don’t quit, you really will be,” she whispered back as she glanced around the room. The boys looked clean, neat and well fed but, even so, Cyn felt suddenly sad. Paxton held out a large sack of gifts, and Amanda bounced up to each boy and delivered wrapped copies of Little Amanda’s Perfect Christmas. Each boy also received a second gift, which Cyn had wrapped—footballs, catcher’s mitts, baseballs, hockey pucks.
She glanced at Santa. They hadn’t talked about his childhood for years now. Still she knew that part of Jake Jackson’s history also belonged to Santa. He’d lived in foster care and had been in homes that were probably very similar to this one. He caught her gaze, saw her sudden sadness and seemed to know what she was thinking. His smile looked a little wan. Then he winked.
“Ready to sing the next carol?” Paxton asked as he closed the gift sack.
Analise smiled. “Now that Santa and Cyn have finally come from wherever in the world they were...”
“Now, now, Analise—” Santa caught Cyn’s hand and squeezed it. “Save your breath for the songs.”
“Let’s sing ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem.’” Paxton leafed through his caroling book. “Will you please start us off, Santa?”
“‘O Little Town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie...’”
Once again his voice swept Cyn away. The notes were so true and perfect that the very air of the room seemed to expand, as if to make space for them. Everything seemed fuller somehow, including her heart. Maybe that could expand, too, and make room for Santa. Everything—from the kids’ smiles, to the wrapped packages they’d delivered, to Amanda’s Kelly green dress—seemed suddenly brighter.
“‘In thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light.’”
Outside, the night sky was dark and cold and clear. Great puffs of white steam rose from grates in the sidewalks. Across Central Park, twinkling stars nestled in clusters around the spires of skyscrapers, and all around her, the lights of Manhattan burned bright. Beneath the window in the Harrison House, a horse stamped its hooves and then, at the urging of a carriage driver, began its regular route around the park.
Just at that moment a light snow began to fall again, making the world seem fresh and clean and innocent. And yet, Cyn thought suddenly, if Santa was right, there was a kidnapper in their midst. Someone who knew Amanda. Someone who was pretending to be her friend.
Suddenly the words swam in front of Cyn’s eyes. As if sensing it, Santa’s arm gracefully nuzzled around her waist again. Her cheek brushed against his shirt as she gazed at his strong profile.
She wasn’t sure but thought that Santa, who had no family of his own, might want one, even if he wasn’t the sort of man to openly say it. She knew he wanted Amanda. But could she give him her whole family? Would she?
She raised her voice a notch. It wasn’t nearly as good as his, but the two melded together as surely as their lips did when they kissed, or as their bodies did when they made love. They finished the song, gazing into each other’s eyes. “‘The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight....’”
* * *
“GOODBYE!” Cyn called repeatedly. “And thank you.”
“See you
soon.” Santa waved with one hand and held Amanda’s with the other.
“Merry Christmas and everything,” Amanda murmured sleepily.
Outside, the air smelled like burning wood and freshly cut pine. A film of icy snow coated Fifty-ninth Street, and it shimmered under the white lamplights, as if the pavement had been strewn with diamonds. Just across the street, Central Park was blanketed in snow. Everything looked so clean and crisp and white that Cyn couldn’t help but think of Santa’s shirts. “Drive safely,” she called again.
As the last caroler returned a final wave, she sucked in a deep breath—it was so cold it hurt her lungs—then blew it out, watching it cloud the air. For a moment, she, Amanda and Santa merely huddled together on the stoop of the Harrison House. Finally Cyn snuggled her hands deep into the pockets of her down coat and chuckled.
“Hmm?” Santa glanced at her, raising his brows.
“It actually smells clean out here,” she said wryly. “For once.”
“Not the usual in the city,” he said smiling. “I’ll grant you that.”
“And cold.”
“Then I guess we’d better hold hands,” Santa said.
“We’re holding hands.” Amanda sounded as grouchy as she looked tired.
“I mean, your mother’s hand.”
“Oh,” Amanda said. “Okay.”
Santa chuckled as he sidled close and dipped a hand into Cyn’s pocket. When she shot him a playful, censuring glance, Santa said, “Well, Amanda said it was okay.”
Cyn smiled as he started to pull her down the steps. She realized he was headed across Fifty-ninth. “The car’s over on Fifty-eighth!” she protested.
“True.” Santa nodded just as they made it across the street. “But look at Central Park.”
She laughed as she stepped onto the sidewalk. “What else is there to look at?”
“More virgin snow,” he said persuasively.
“What’s virgin, Mommy?” Amanda asked.
Cyn watched Santa bite back a grin. “Thank you, Mr. Santa Claus,” she said.
Santa gazed over the top of Amanda’s head and rolled his eyes. Then he looked at Amanda. “Virgin snow is the best kind for making snow angels, sweetheart.”
Cyn never would have guessed it, but fatherhood suited the man. “Not a bad answer, Santa,” she admitted. Looking at him, she knew he was suited for more than just parenthood. Under the streetlamp, his slicked-back hair gleamed with streaks of light. His seductive smile lifted the corners of his eyes, so they crinkled with tiny lines. His lack of concern about how his camel coat blew open with the wind made him look dangerously cavalier.
“What’s snow angels?” Amanda asked.
At that, Cyn laughed outright. “I think you’ll find the questions never end.”
Santa swept Amanda into his arms, then headed down the stairs, leading into the park. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
“It’s dangerous out here!” Cyn exclaimed, scurrying after them. “And Amanda’s pretty sleepy.”
“I am not!” Amanda shrieked. The tone alone made it clear that it was hours past her bedtime.
“And we’re not going to the reservoir or the pond,” Santa reminded, over his shoulder. “Just to the first patch of snow.” When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he swung Amanda around, then deposited her on the ground with a flourish.
“It may be virgin snow, but it’s still New York City,” Cyn protested. She glanced around, realizing with relief that they were still under a streetlight. “Are you two actually going to wallow around on the ground?”
Santa shot her a mock contemptuous grin. “Now, Amanda, the first thing you have to do is hold your nose.”
Cyn’s shoulders began to shake. “Don’t listen to him! You don’t have to hold your nose!”
“Sure she does,” Santa said. “It’s New York snow and all. Remember?”
Cyn rolled her eyes.
Amanda dutifully pinched her nose, and when she spoke, she sounded as if she had a cold. “Mommy don’t do it right.”
“I simply can’t believe this,” Cyn managed to say, but she obediently held her nose, too.
“Now, you fall flat on your back,” Santa continued.
Santa sounded as if he were doing a commercial for cold medicines. Cyn giggled. This, she thought illogically, is the father of my child. In her wildest imagination she’d never have guessed that Jake Jackson would reenter her life. She certainly hadn’t imagined him standing in Central Park on a snowy night, looking utterly dapper except for the fact that he was holding his nose. She clamped her chattering teeth together.
“Angels are serious business,” Santa said in a low, lethal voice.
“Yeah, Mommy,” Amanda said, looking like an angel herself. Her cheeks were rosy and a white knit cap pressed her curls against her forehead.
“Pay attention now,” Santa said, as if he were about to present the world’s greatest magic trick.
Cyn watched in astonishment as all six-foot-plus of Santa stood at rigid attention, then fell backward. If he weren’t so handsome, he would have looked like an ironing board falling over.
Amanda was so awed that she quit holding her nose. Her brows knitted together as Santa began to sweep his arms in great, wide arcs. Finally she said, “That’s fun.”
Santa’s belly laugh filled the air. “I think I broke my back.”
Cyn laughed and strode toward him, feeling Amanda follow close on her heels. She stopped when her toes touched the flat soles of his shoes. “Told you so,” she said.
He groaned. “Did you come to help me up or to gloat over my carcass?”
“Oh,” she teased lightly. “I kind of like you that way.” And she did. His hair had flattened at the back and lay against the snow, as if against a pillow.
“What?” he asked. “Completely out of commission?”
She grinned, stretched her hand down and made a show of pulling him up. “You could help!” she exclaimed breathlessly, backing up as he walked into her. He casually put his arm around her.
“Wow,” Amanda whispered, staring at Santa’s imprint in the snow.
“Make a few, Amanda,” Santa said softly.
“Go ahead, honey.” Cyn leaned against Santa’s chest and glanced toward the stairs. “We’ve got to get you home soon.”
As sleepy as Amanda was, she was suddenly whirling like a dervish from one clean spot to the next. Within a few moments the ground all around Santa’s imprint was covered with tiny Amanda-sized angels.
“We better go,” Santa called after a few minutes. “We can make some more on the roof tomorrow.”
To Cyn’s amazement, Amanda didn’t even protest but ran into her arms. She settled her daughter on her hip. As she ascended the icy stairs, she glanced over her shoulder, wondering why Santa had lagged behind. She realized he was right behind her, and she was pretty sure he’d remained there in case she might fall. What a guy, she thought, suddenly smiling.
At the top, they paused and surveyed the scene below. At least twenty tiny angels, with shining, glistening wings, took flight around Santa’s large one. “It’s strange,” Cyn found herself murmuring, “but I feel like we’re looking down on heaven.”
“Heaven’s in the sky, Mommy,” Amanda corrected impatiently. “You said so.”
“But sometimes, honey,” Santa said gently, “you can actually find little pieces of heaven on earth.”
Cyn glanced quickly at Santa. He was gazing down at Amanda, with clear eyes that looked full of love. After a moment he turned and headed toward the street. She began to follow but the snow angels caught her eye again. They seemed to beg the question of whether she could share her own angel, her baby.
“Santa’s sleigh awaits, ladies!” Santa called.
Whatever emotion she’d just seen in Santa’s eyes now seemed tempered by the humor in his voice. She whirled around and gasped. Santa was waving at her from inside one of the Central Park carriages. “We’ve got to go home!” Home. Does he really w
ant it to become both his and mine?
“He’ll take us,” Santa yelled.
“But the car—” She lowered her voice as she neared him. “And I’m not even sure it’s legal to go...”
“It’s not, but I gave the man a heap of money.” Santa leaped down lithely, then helped her and Amanda inside. “I’ll get the car tomorrow,” he continued as he climbed in next to her.
The driver called, “Go, Prancer!”
“Do you think his name’s really Prancer?” Cyn whispered as the carriage moved forward.
Santa chuckled. “He looked more like Vixen to me.”
“I want Rudolph,” Amanda murmured, making Cyn smile.
For New York, the snowy night was quiet, and when the horse neighed in the silence, Cyn felt as if she’d been transported to another century. Amanda nestled against her and her eyes drifted shut. She seemed to breathe in rhythm with the steady clip-clop of the horse’s hooves.
“Here, Santa,” Cyn said softly. She disentangled Amanda’s arms from her neck and shifted in the carriage seat. “Why don’t you hold her?” Your daughter. Our daughter. “I think she’s asleep.”
Their gazes met and held in the dark confines of the carriage. Shadows flitted over Santa’s face. “Are you sure?”
“She’s a little heavy for me,” Cyn lied.
He’d held Amanda many times, but this was different. Cyn wasn’t giving her child to him because he was her bodyguard, but because he was her father. “C’mon, Amanda.” He carefully lifted her from Cyn’s lap. Amanda sighed deeply and curled against his shoulder.
The carriage seat was small—made for cuddling—and Cyn scooted next to Santa. She leaned against him and rested her cheek against his chest, feeling as comfortable as Amanda. She sighed softly as he put his arm around her. “I’ve lived in New York all my life but I’ve never been in one of these carriages.”
“First time for everything,” he said. Cyn couldn’t really see but felt his arm curl around Amanda’s back. His hand appeared over the top of her knit cap, and he smoothed her bangs.