Breakfast With Santa

by Pamela Browning

“If we’re going to start talking about body parts, I have some favorites of yours that I’d like to nominate for lamphood,” he said.

  After Tom had dozed off, Beth willed herself to stay awake so that she could cherish this remarkable day until its very end. But she fell asleep well before midnight in Tom Collyer’s arms.

  TOM AWOKE IN BETH’S BED on the day after Christmas with a cramp in his arm and an unsettling feeling that time was running out.

  As he lay beside her with the dawn light piercing the slit in the curtains, Beth slept beside him. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, and her hair tumbled over his arm. She might have been an angel straight from the top of the Christmas tree, and he felt bewilderment that he was soon to lose her to another man.

  To Mitchell.

  Once her son returned, Mitchell’s claims on Beth would be more important and far-reaching than Tom’s could ever be. Gloomily, he tugged his arm out from under Beth, massaged his numb shoulder and watched while she smiled and turned away, snuggling close to him under the covers.

  The thing was, he didn’t want to give Beth up. He wanted to be around her as much as their busy lives allowed. He wanted to have long conversations with her on the telephone, to invite her to his house for drinks and dinner, to take in a movie in Austin on the spur of the moment if they felt like it. How much of that would be possible once Mitchell was back in the picture? Probably very little.

  “Tom?”

  Beth was awake now, and his hand curved easily around her breast. “Mmm?” he said, picturing last night in his mind: the wind howling outside the window as they’d made love, the softness of her skin against his, later, the sweetness of sleep.

  “You said you’d show me Divver’s ranch today,” she murmured. “Want to get an early start?”

  “Might as well. I told him I’d feed the horses while he and his family were out of town.”

  She kissed him before she slid out of bed. “Give me a couple of minutes in the shower.”

  He stared up at the ceiling as he listened to her opening and closing cabinet doors, turning on the water, yanking the shower curtain across the rod.

  This was Monday, and Mitchell was due back on Wednesday. He felt a pang of sadness for what they were about to lose: privacy, and pleasure wherever and whenever they wanted it.

  Well, he’d have to adjust, that was all. No matter what he had to put up with, Beth was worth it.

  THE TWO-STORY CLAPBOARD HOUSE where Divver, Patty and Amy lived was over a hundred years old. Divver’s great-grandfather had homesteaded in a small cabin up Big Horse Creek and built a larger home for his family when he became more prosperous. At one time, the Holcombs had run a large herd of cattle, but Divver and his sisters had sold much of the ranchland to the developer of Hillsdale. Divver preferred horses to cattle anyway, and he’d achieved some success with his breeding program and rodeo school.

  Tom related the history of the house to Beth later that morning as they got out of his pickup and started walking toward the bunkhouse.

  “How long have you and Divver Holcomb been buddies?” she asked.

  “Most of our lives. He and Johnny—” He stopped talking in midsentence, uneasy and reluctant to discuss the past.

  “I don’t think I know a Johnny,” Beth prompted. “Does he live around here, too?”

  “No,” Tom said curtly. Fortunately, they were walking past the old cookhouse, which was now a utility storage area, and he was able to point out where he and Divver had constructed a lean-to at the age of twelve, and done a fairly good job of it, too.

  They kept walking, the subject of Johnny Snead effectively quashed. He couldn’t expect Beth to be aware of the taboos; she hadn’t lived here then.

  Divver’s big yellow dog galloped up and sniffed hopefully at Tom’s hand for treats. Glad for the diversion, he dug a dog biscuit out of the supply in his pocket and fed it to her.

  “Her name’s Dallas,” he told Beth as she stooped to pet the dog. “Divver and his daughter brought her home when they found her sick and wandering in the city, so that’s how she got her name.”

  “She looks part Lab,” Beth said.

  He nodded. “Probably. She’s a good mutt.”

  Dallas, primed for more treats, followed them toward the former bunkhouse. “This is where we have our offices and a couple of classrooms,” he told Beth, opening the door so she could precede him inside.

  She took in the head of the deer and the snake skin hanging over the old fireplace, as well as Divver’s old desk, a family heirloom. After Tom told her about all the nights he and Divver had spent here in front of this fireplace on bedrolls when they were kids, she went to peek into the other rooms, which opened off the bigger one.

  “This is a classroom,” she said, noting the chalkboards, and he nodded. He knew she was wondering about the big oval table in the middle of the room.

  “We didn’t spring for desks. Kids who haven’t been a success in school often don’t respond to a classroom setting, so we and our educational-experts team decided on oval tables, where everyone is equal and can feel comfortable contributing to a discussion. The training we’re going to do here at the ranch is interactive. Some of these kids have never spoken up in a classroom, but they’ll get a chance to do that here.”

  “Isn’t most of what you do going to be practical, hands-on experience? You know, roping and riding?”

  “We’ll also talk a lot about safety issues and proper conduct, and a classroom is best for that. Come on over here and I’ll show you the kitchen.”

  After the tour, they stepped out into the warm sunshine. Today, he felt young and carefree in a way he hadn’t in years and certainly not in the past few months when he’d been working so hard to get the ATTAIN program up and running. He slid an arm around her waist. “How about going for a trail ride? Old Red’s the calmest mount in the stable. Even a novice could handle him.”

  She arched an amused glance out of the corners of her eyes. “All right.”

  While Tom saddled Old Red and his own horse, Ironsides, Beth went from stall to stall visiting with the other horses. When it was time to mount Old Red, she surprised Tom by swinging her leg smoothly across the horse’s back and tucking her feet into the stirrups, heels down as recommended.

  “Hey,” he said, grinning up at her. “You’re pretty savvy in the horse department.”

  “Did I mention I used to be good at riding? In return for the privilege of exercising horses, I mucked out stalls at a stable near where we lived. It got me out of the house on Saturdays, and my grandmother liked that.”

  He mounted Ironsides, and they began to ride across the wide fields toward Big Horse Creek. Tom pointed out a trail where whitetail deer often walked down to the water to drink, and as they passed a thicket, a flock of wild turkeys rose into the air and flapped away. Soon they heard the creek burbling as it coursed over rocks and lapped at its steep banks, and they picked their way along the path beside it.

  This was beautiful country, with rolling hills and abundant wildlife, and Tom liked sharing it with Beth, who showed no fear in urging Old Red across the creek and who grinned back over her shoulder at him when he suggested that next time she deserved a more lively horse. “You could ride Daisy. She’s a spirited mare. Old Red’s good for beginners, like some of the kids in the ATTAIN program.”

  “It’s great that you’re going to teach those kids to ride.”

  “It’s part of our program. We’ll spend time with them—trail rides, camping, learning appreciation for nature. Many of these kids don’t have much chance to interact with men. That’s why at-risk teens sometimes turn to gangs for male companionship. Divver and I intend to be good role models for our students.”

  Beth nodded. “One of the most difficult things about my being a single mother is that there’s no male role model for Mitchell.”

  “What about his father?” He had wondered more than once about Mitchell’s desperate request for Santa to bring him a daddy, espe
cially since he already had one.

  “Mitchell isn’t with Richie often,” Beth said.

  “Because your ex-husband doesn’t want him around?”

  “Richie loves Mitchell, I don’t doubt that. But Richie has a new family. He’s committed to Mitchell for Christmas and a few weeks in the summer, and that’s it. He hasn’t suggested seeing him more frequently, and I—I admit that I would rather Mitchell be with me. Richie doesn’t have the best judgment in the world.”

  Ironsides had been picking up speed, trying to break into a trot. Tom reined him in because he sensed that Beth wanted to talk. Plus he was curious; he wanted to sound out Beth’s true feelings for her former husband.

  “Tell me about it,” he said, and that was all it took for Beth to pour out the story of Richie’s buying Mitchell an electric scooter.

  “I agree with Richie on one thing,” Tom said. “It’s no good wrapping a little boy in cotton batting. You can’t keep him from getting hurt some.” Fresh in his mind was how he had pegged her as an overprotective mother on that first day at the pancake breakfast.

  “I won’t deliberately put my son in harm’s way. No mother would.”

  “Boys will be boys, Beth.”

  They rode along the narrow creekside path, and when Beth spoke it was with utter sincerity. “Tom, if it weren’t for Mitchell, I’d be all alone in the world. I—I couldn’t face that. He’s everything to me. Do you understand?”

  He studied her as she kept her eyes focused ahead on the path. “Yes, probably,” he said.

  She glanced at him and smiled wistfully. “I hope so.”

  He slapped the reins against Ironsides’ neck. “Hey, let’s challenge Old Red to keep up. Follow me,” he said, taking the lead as Ironsides gratefully transitioned into a trot.

  Even though he disagreed with Beth’s approach to discipline, he had to admire her intention to be a good mother. He understood now, more than before, why she preferred to err on the side of being too permissive rather than too strict. He personally couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be alone except for a little boy. After all, he had Leanne, Eddie and their brood to care about him and also his brother, Bruce, though he lived far away.

  It was too bad that Beth didn’t have more family. She was a lovely woman, sweet and sincere, hardworking and intelligent. Lately, because of his work with kids, he’d given a lot of consideration to parenting skills and had decided that too many parents didn’t take their jobs seriously. Some never showed up for parent-teacher conferences; others didn’t realize the value of a family’s eating dinner together every night; and a lot of people put themselves first, never mind that their kids deserved priority. Beth wasn’t one of those. She was the kind of parent who would always be there for her child, who made him the center of her life. Tom respected that.

  In a short time, Beth McCormick had become more important to him than anyone else. He was surprised at how close they’d grown, yet he was comfortable with it, with her. He knew without a doubt that he wanted to find out where this relationship was going. He wanted to make it work.

  Chapter Eleven

  On Wednesday after she’d picked up Mitchell at the restaurant near Fort Worth, Beth was still unloading his Christmas bounty from the back of her minivan when Tom arrived at her house.

  “Hey,” he said as he stepped out of the truck.

  No matter how often Beth saw him, every time seemed like the first. Her heart would speed up and her mouth would go dry and she’d find herself thinking about the pleasurable intimacies they conducted in private.

  “Hi,” she said, raising a hand to shade her eyes from the sun slanting across the hills in the distance. Then they just stood there, grinning at each other like fools and unaware of anything else.

  Except that now Mitchell was home, and Beth was distracted when her son yanked at the edge of her jacket and asked, “Who’s that?”

  It hadn’t seemed important to discuss beforehand how she would present Tom to Mitchell, but now, as Tom walked toward her in that loose-jointed way of his, she wished they had. She’d accepted this wonderful man’s presence in her life—and in the back of her mind, though she knew there could be a problem, she had assumed that Mitchell would, too. Yet Mitchell’s forehead was knotted in a frown, and the boy’s posture was anything but welcoming. She had to remind herself that even though Mitchell had actually met Tom before, Tom had been dressed as Santa at the time. The disguise had been so complete that she was certain Mitchell wouldn’t recognize him now.

  “That’s a friend of mine,” she answered.

  “Oh,” Mitchell said.

  Tom wore his broad Stetson and was dressed for working at the ranch in jeans, a Western shirt and a worn suede vest. She wanted to rush to embrace him, but, mindful of the two curious eyes watching, she moved forward at a sedate pace and held out her hand. When Tom’s hand was securely in hers, when she’d managed to telegraph silently to him that she wanted to take this slow and easy, she turned back toward Mitchell.

  He was still frowning, but not so much with displeasure as with concentration. Her son was a handsome boy, and she never ceased to marvel at the expressions that flitted across his features. Especially now, when she and he had been apart for so long. When she had missed him so very much.

  “Mitchell,” she said carefully, “this is Tom.”

  “Hello,” Mitchell replied uncertainly.

  Beth smiled at Mitchell. “Let’s finish taking your toys in.”

  “Can we open the presents Santa left here for me?” he asked.

  “You might want a snack first,” Beth suggested. “Then the presents, okay?”

  “Okay.” Her son grabbed a plastic bag full of action figures and headed toward the house.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I dropped by,” Tom said to Beth in a low tone. “I missed you.”

  She’d only been gone since right after breakfast, but Tom had spent last night with her, and she’d wanted to stay in bed with him a little longer this morning. “I missed you, too,” she said as Tom pulled her around the side of the minivan where they were out of Mitchell’s line of sight and kissed her thoroughly.

  “Um,” she said, aroused in spite of herself, “we’d better go inside.”

  He nuzzled the side of her neck. “Lord, but you smell good.”

  She pulled away and hauled a plastic crate out of the back of the minivan. “Check out Mitchell’s scooter,” she said on her way past Tom.

  He studied the scooter, which was collapsed flat. “It’s something a kid would like,” he commented in as noncommittal a tone as he could manage, though he agreed with Beth that Mitchell was a little young to be entrusted with such a toy. “Want me to put it in the garage?”

  “Sure. Then come inside and have a cupcake with us.” She grinned over her shoulder at him.

  When she went to check on Mitchell, she found him dumping his new action figures under the Christmas tree, where they joined the gifts that she had carefully chosen and wrapped.

  “You didn’t tell me you got a tree,” he said in an awestruck voice.

  “Well, maybe I forgot,” Beth said.

  “Can we turn on the lights?”

  “Sure.” She flipped the switch on the wall that made the tree lights spring to life.

  After gazing at the tree entranced, Mitchell glanced over at her. “Mommy, is that man going to stay here?”

  “He’s going to have a snack with us. I made your favorite green cupcakes last night.”

  “Oh, boy! I love green cupcakes! Starla said to ask you if you’ll give her the recipe for them.”

  The cupcakes were pistachio, and Beth had no intention of sharing the recipe with a rival for her son’s affections. “We’ll see,” she said tersely as she heard the front door swing open.

  “Where is everyone?” Tom called, stomping his boots on the doormat.

  “In here.” She started for the door.

  “Does he have to stay and eat cupcakes with us?”
Mitchell demanded.

  Beth cringed. She knew Tom had heard. “I invited him,” she said. Mitchell scowled.

  “Join us in the kitchen when you’re ready,” she told him, keeping her tone light. She left Mitchell staring after her as she and Tom headed in that direction. She supposed that she should have warned Tom to stay away until Mitchell had acclimatized himself to being with her again; he was always difficult after he returned from his visits to Richie’s house.

  “Help yourself,” she told Tom, gesturing at the tray of cupcakes before opening the refrigerator and taking a glass from the shelf so she could pour Mitchell a glass of Cherry 7-Up.

  “Do I get some of that?” Tom asked.

  “If you like. Or coffee, if you’d rather.”

  “I’d prefer coffee. Don’t bother—I’ll make it myself.” Tom, of course, was at home in her kitchen by this time.

  Mitchell came running with a clatter. He stopped abruptly at the kitchen door and took in the spectacle of Tom measuring coffee into the coffeemaker. His mouth dropped open for a moment before he clamped it shut.

  “Mom, is he supposed to be doing that?”

  Beth’s eyes met Tom’s. He regarded Mitchell without saying anything, then took the pot and filled it at the sink before emptying water into the coffeemaker’s reservoir, leaving her to handle the question.

  “Yes, it’s okay, Mitchell. Would you like your 7-Up in your Shrek mug or a glass with ice?”

  “In my mug. You told me never to mess with the coffee machine.” Mitchell went and climbed on his customary chair. He swung his feet so that one of them would strike the table leg.

  Flustered, Beth avoided Tom’s eyes. “That’s right,” she said. “It’s dangerous to play with the coffeemaker. Tom is an adult, and he’s making coffee for us.”

  Mitchell didn’t say anything, just accepted the mug of soda from Beth and stared at Tom. He continued to kick the table leg.

  She brought the cupcakes to the table, as well as mugs for her and Tom. Tom waited until she made a slight motion with her head before he sat at the table with her and Mitchell.

  “I guess you got some really nice toys for Christmas,” Tom said to Mitchell by way of starting a conversation.