Romancing the Holidays: Twelve Christmas Romances - Benefits Breast Cancer Research

by Crista McHugh

  Yes, she’d certainly remember this evening, maybe even write some lyrics. A tune even began in her head: The night the lights went out and Brandy wasn’t there.

  Somehow, she found herself leaning closer to RJ. It was like a magnet pulled her in. Their eyes were lock, and when his dropped to her lips, she leaned in a little closer, giving in to what she wanted.

  “What’s going on with you and Brian?”

  That certainly killed the mood. A little put out that he just hadn’t gone with the moment, she scooted a few inches away.

  “What’s going on with you and Brandy?” Was her comeback.

  “I told you.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “No, you didn’t. All that you hinted at was that you didn’t want to spend Christmas Eve together.”

  He poked at the logs in the fireplace with the fireplace poker. “Yeah, something like that.”

  Now she was aggravated. Why did RJ have to bring common sense onto the bearskin rug?

  There was enough alcohol still humming through her veins to tempt her into wondering what would happen if she challenged that common sense. And kissed him anyway.

  She grabbed hold of his shirt. He blinked in surprise and did not resist as she pulled him with her as she slowly eased back onto the rug.

  He hovered a few inches above her, his arms braced to either side of her head, trapping her long hair under one of his hands.

  “I think, you’ve had too much wine.”

  “Maybe.” She felt incredibly flirty.

  The moments ticked by as she waited for him to make the next move.

  “I’m going to be the kill-joy, and say let’s stop. This wouldn’t be fair to your boyfriend.”

  She didn’t release her grip on his shirt. She felt the warmth of his leg against hers and his breath across her cheekbone. With Brian, she never felt comfortable enough to hold his gaze for long, or maybe it was that Brian never sat still long enough to hold her gaze. With RJ, she couldn’t look away, and neither was he.

  “What if I don’t care what Brian thinks?”

  “You might think clearer in the morning when the wine wears off.”

  She let go of his shirt. RJ wasted no time moving to sit on the arm of the chair. It had the same effect as a bucket of cold water.

  Claire sat up. “You poured the wine. You turned on the sexy music and lit the candles.”

  “And?”

  She stared hard at him. “You set a romantic scene. Why?”

  RJ ran a hand through his hair. “I was getting comfortable for the evening with someone I…”

  She’d never seen RJ at a loss for words before.

  “Someone you what?” she asked.

  He got to his feet. “I think I’d better go to bed before I forget that I’m trying to be a decent guy.”

  Okay, so it wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear, but it was close; a general admittance that the bearskin rug might have been as tempting to him as it was to her. However, it still didn’t make Brandy a girlfriend of Christmas’s past.

  It wasn’t just the cooling air in the cabin that began to take away from the amorous mood that the firelight and candlelight had set. It was the full realization that she’d reach a point where she had no choice but to finally have the breakup talk with her boyfriend, once she returned home. It couldn’t be avoided any longer. But the jolly time of the year seemed like such a rotten time to break someone’s heart.

  RJ took a flashlight from the drawer in the cabinet and brought it over to her. Then he lifted the cushioned top of the ottoman to reveal blanket storage. He pulled out a white down comforter and set it on the arm of the sofa. “You’ll be warmer if you sleep on the sofa by the fire. I’ll take the guestroom.”

  “Goodnight,” she said.

  He didn’t make it two steps down the dark hallway before he suddenly stopped and backed up, holding his hands up shoulder-height.

  Claire initially saw only the bottom half of a man stepping out of the shadows, wearing sopping wet, red baggy pants, and running shoes on his feet.

  She let out a startled gasp.

  RJ held up a hand as if to let her know that everything was going to be all right.

  “Keep your hands up where I can see them,” the intruder said. He wore an army coat unbuttoned over the rest of his rumpled Santa suit. The dark-haired man had a day’s growth of beard on his chin and red rimmed eyes. He wiped his bright red nose along the sleeves of his jacket while holding a handgun steadily aimed at RJ.

  “Appreciate you leaving the garage door unlocked for me,” he said with a Southern accent. “Sugar-pie,” he said to Claire, “get over here with your boyfriend, makes it easier to shoot you both if I have to.”

  Chapter 6

  Their uninvited guest dried out before the fire, eating out of the box of crackers Claire had brought to him, after he’d demanded to be fed.

  “Get me another beer,” he said with his mouth full.

  “She’s not getting you another beer,” RJ nearly growled. “I’ll get it, Asshole.” With a protective hand to Claire’s knee, he stood up from the sofa where they’d both been ordered to sit.

  “I’ll come with you.” She made to follow.

  “Hold it. Hold it.” The Bad Santa used his gun to get his point across. “I’m no dummy. The two of you are not leaving this room, together.” With cracker crumbs stuck to his chin, he ordered RJ to sit. “Your girlfriend goes and gets me a beer and that’s that. Unless you want me to put a hole in her head, Asshole.”

  Claire made quick work of retrieving a beer from the refrigerator. She felt like a robot, walking over to the intruder to hand him the cold can and try not to touch his hand. But the creep made sure his big, fat hand closed over her fingers and he squeezed hard. “I’m liking those sexy socks of yours.” He winked.

  She had to forcefully pull her hand out from under his sweaty one. He laughed, popped the beer open, and guzzled it down.

  He belched his thank you. A cloud smelling of hops floated across to the sofa.

  “You look familiar,” he said to RJ, turning his head at an angle as if this would better help him to remember. “Have we met, before?”

  “You stole my dog.”

  “No, shit! Wow! It’s a small world.” Bad Santa laughed.

  “Where is Rosco?” RJ’s jaw clenched.

  They had to wait until the Santa finished off the second beer. “Hell, I don’t know. I just do the collecting. My Misses handles sales.” He stopped with a look on his face, like he’d revealed too much, but was soon distracted by his own curiosity as he looked around the cabin. “Nice place you got here.”

  Claire could feel the anger coming off RJ. She put a hand to his arm and whispered. “Let the sheriff’s department deal with him.”

  The rumpled red suit belched, again.

  “What do you want?” RJ asked.

  “You shouldn’t be rude to houseguests.” Bad Santa scolded, then gestured toward Claire with his handgun.

  RJ reacted by putting a protective arm across Claire and moving her slightly behind him. “Can you put that away?” he asked.

  The handgun moved to point directly at RJ. “That better?” Bad Santa said. Then he turned to Claire. “What kind of car do you drive?”

  “Why?”

  “Cause the cheapskate owner of an orange snowmobile with a Denver Broncos sticker on the side, couldn’t be bothered to leave a full tank for me. Now which car in the parking lot below is yours?”

  RJ had stiffened beside her at the mention of his hometown’s team.

  Could she lie and get away with it? “Subaru, older model.”

  Santa snorted a laugh. “Can’t see you in any of those granola wagons. There’s a white BMW in the lot. Bet that’s yours.” He grinned.

  Claire tensed. This man was going to steal her new car. “I said, I drove a Subaru.”

  “Sugar-pie, if I take your car keys and find they don’t open any Subaru, I’m not going to be very happy. And you�
�ll know because you’re coming with me.”

  She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. “The BMW is mine.”

  “Good girl.” The Santa glanced to his wrist watch. “I gotta make a phone call.” His eyes fell on her phone sitting on the end table and he reached for it.

  “There’s no cell service up here,” she said.

  “Yeah, right,” Santa said. But one look to the message at the top of her phone, and he tossed it back onto the table. Then he saw the land line. “Does that old thing work?”

  “Yes,” RJ said.

  “It’s unplugged,” Claire said.

  Keeping the gun trained on them, the Santa plugged the phone back in. Then he carried the phone to rest on his lap as he took his seat again. He dialed awkwardly, trying to cradle the handset between his cheek and shoulder, and keep the gun trained on them at the same time. Then he was speaking into the phone. “Yeah, Van ran out of gas. I may have some new wheels, but I’ve changed my mind on which direction we’re going to head. Drive this way and meet me.”

  A high-pitched, angry voice could be heard on the other end of the line, along with some barking dogs.

  One look at RJ, and Claire knew what he was thinking.

  “I’m in Cle Elum, that’s where.” Bad Santa wore a frown as he continued to listen. “Wait ‘till morning then, if you’re afraid to drive it at night. Once you get past Cle Elum, take the exit to Roslyn.” He proceeded to give additional directions, then ended the call with a, “The sheriff’s department is everywhere, so don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself. And get those dogs to shut up!” He hung up the phone. Looking like he’d wrapped up business for the day, Bad Santa leaned back in the chair, getting comfortable. “There, that’s all worked out. Now I just need a little travelling cash. Bring me your handbag,” he said.

  She brought it to him and dropped it at his feet.

  He dumped out her handbag onto the rug. Then held up her car keys and wallet. He pulled out her credit card and cash. Then he instructed RJ to toss over his wallet.

  “All I want for Christmas is other people’s money,” he sang as he pulled cash form the wallet. “Won’t get me far, but it will get me somewhere.” He looked about the cabin, again. “Now, what to do with you two.”

  * * * *

  Morning sun streamed in through the window in the front door. Claire’s breath clouded in the chilled air. She was stiff from the long, uncomfortable night on the bearskin rug, with her legs and wrists bound together by the string of Christmas lights the Santa had improvised with to tie them up.

  The Bad Santa had thought it funny to plug in the lights that kept them captive. She hadn’t at first. Now, she had to admit that the small amount of warmth from each tiny bulb had helped somewhat, during the long, cold night. But not as much as the body heat coming from RJ who was stretched out next to her, tied up in a similar fashion.

  Snoring came from the sofa where the down comforter covered a big lump that had feet sticking out the end.

  “You okay?” RJ moved beside her.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “But I’m freezing and hungry. I guess we should be glad that that’s the worst of it, so far.”

  “Agreed.” RJ had spent some of the night trying to work the Christmas lights loose. He cursed behind her. “Damn crook looks nice and comfortable.”

  On the end table, near the Santa’s head, Claire’s cell phone began to vibrate, and the face lit up.

  “I bet that’s my mom calling,” she continued to keep her voice low.

  RJ lifted his head from the rug to look over her shoulder. The Bad Santa woke up, blinking his eyes as if not recognizing his surroundings. He sat up quickly, stretching his arms over his head and yawning, loudly. All the while, Claire’s phone vibrated and blinked on the end table.

  Their captor looked at Claire and RJ. There was no cheerful Santa this morning. He scratched his chin and frowned. The phone vibrated, again, catching his attention. He picked up the cell phone.

  “Mom,” he said, reading the caller ID. “Isn’t that cute.” He looked over at his hostages. “Whose phone is this?”

  “Mine,” Claire said.

  Bad Santa swiped his fat finger across the face of her phone and put it to his ear. “Hey, Mom. Merry Christmas.” He paused, as if listening to the response. “What do you mean, who is this? I’m your long, lost son and I want a spanking.” He laughed. “Do you want to speak to your daughter?” He listened for a moment, then said, “Well, you can’t!” Bad Santa disconnected the call. “You got a data plan?” he said to Claire.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I do, now.” He put the cell phone in the pocket of his army jacket.

  “Creep,” Claire said under her breath.

  “Easy, there,” RJ said near her ear. “He’ll be out of our lives, soon.”

  “Time to roll.” Bad Santa was on his feet, yawning and scratching at his beard. “My Misses should be showing up, soon.”

  Claire stifled a gasp when he pulled a pocketknife from his pants pocket. The Bad Santa deftly cut through the string of Christmas lights.

  RJ helped Claire to her feet, both working out the stiff kinks. They were allowed to use the bathroom, one at a time. And then to Claire’s disbelief, the Santa made the two of them stand in the hallway while he left the door open and used the facilities, all while keeping the handgun trained on them.

  “Unbelievable,” RJ muttered, both he and Claire trying to look everywhere but the open doorway to the powder room.

  They were ordered to don their ski jackets, hats, and boots.

  “She needs to put more clothes on before we go outside,” RJ said.

  Bringing attention to her attire only invited the Santa to take his time looking her up and down. “She looks fine to me.” He grinned.

  RJ stepped between her and the leering Santa. “Her backpack is right over there by the stairs. Let her put something more on.”

  “Okay. Fine. You’re such a party-pooper. But she stays right here.”

  If Bad Santa thought he was going to get a show, of her changing clothes, he had another thing coming.

  RJ used his body to provide a shield between her and Bad Santa. She quickly unzipped her bag and pulled on warm clothes over the top of what she was wearing. While she dressed, the Bad Santa darted his head around RJ to get a peek, with RJ countering with a move that blocked the crook’s view. All, in all, it was just a game to the Santa, and he’d laughed.

  Warmer now, in layers of long underwear, jeans, ski sweater and down vest, she moved to stand beside RJ, giving his hand a squeeze to let him know that she was ready.

  With the gun still trained on them, they pulled on ski jackets, hats, and boots. Then the Bad Santa side-stepped over to the kitchen window.

  “Looks as quiet as a Christmas morn,” he said, with a look outside. His eyes fell on RJ’s gym bag. “Whatcha got in there?”

  “Sweaty gym clothes.”

  The Bad Santa looked for himself. Then glanced to RJ’s six-foot athletic frame, sizing him up as he patted his thick waistline. “Think we wear the same size boxers?”

  “Are you shitting me?” RJ was losing patience.

  “Answer the question, Asshole.”

  “Try ‘em on and see for yourself.”

  “Geeze you’re not a morning person.” Santa paused. “What size socks?”

  “For Christ’s sake! Take everything. I don’t care.”

  She put a reassuring hand on RJ’s arm. They didn’t need a knock-down, drag-out fight with a man holding a gun.

  “What’s the plan,” she asked, as the Bad Santa continued to inspect the contents of RJ’s gym bag.

  “The plan? That’s for me to know and you to find out.” As if a manhunt in place to search for this criminal was not a pressing concern for him, the Bad Santa pulled RJ’s shaving kit from the bag. He unzipped it and held up a slim, black tube. He twisted off the top and sniffed. “What’s this?”

  “Lotion.”
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  “No wonder you got nice skin.” Bad Santa squirted some of the white lotion into his hands, then rubbed it all over his face, leaving white streaks on his forehead and cheeks. Satisfied with that, he proceeded to take from the refrigerator the remaining cans of beer, a package of cheddar cheese, a tube of refrigerator cinnamon rolls, and a jar of green olives. He dumped these into the gym bag, zipped it closed and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Ho. Ho. Ho.” He grinned through his darkening beard and gestured with his handgun to the door. “Let’s go.”

  The glare of snow blinded them as they stepped outside. RJ keeping a tight hold on Claire’s hand, and keeping himself between her and their captor. All was quiet in this winter wonderland. The pine trees stood with snow holding down their branches. Sunlight glistened off the ice crystals on the frozen snow.

  Walking was difficult, as they broke through the top, frozen layer of knee-deep snow and made their way from the cabin to the road, marked only by an indent of snowmobile tracks from the day before.

  They passed several cabins with smoke curling from their chimneys. Claire could not remember which cabin belonged to Judy and Earl. Still, she silently wished for one of them to be looking out their window at this early hour.

  Their progress was slow down the steep road that twisted through the pine trees. RJ’s firm grip on her hand kept her steady. The buckles on the Santa suit jingled behind them. The wearer began to sing as they walked.

  “I saw mommy doing Santa Clause, again, and again, and again.”

  RJ came to an abrupt stop. “Seriously?”

  “What? You don’t like my rendition?”

  “Come on,” Claire urged RJ. “Just ignore him and keep walking.”

  Off in the distance, helicopter blades beat the air.

  “What’s that?” Their captor had stopped singing.

  RJ exchanged a look with Claire. She saw the hope of rescue in his eyes, but he kept his expression neutral as he said to Bad Santa, “Maybe it’s the real Santa coming to kick your ass.”