Romancing Rudy Raindear (Sexy Secret Santas)

by Mary Leo

  “It’s almost seventy degrees outside. I hate it. Hotter than it’s ever been since me and your grandmother moved here back in the forties. I like cold and snow, lots of both. Never was one for hot sand and hot air. Takes the fun out of Christmas, and me and your gram were all about Christmas.”

  Rudy’s nose itched.

  He told himself it was nothing, to ignore it.

  The jingle bells rang on the door behind Rudy signaling that the customer had left. Now Rudy felt as if he could be more forthcoming with his grandfather. Lay it on the table, so to speak.

  Tell him the facts.

  “I want to buy the bakery from you, and run it myself.”

  A total lie, but once he moved Gramps to a suitable retirement home, which he intended to prepay so Gramps would have nothing to worry about except having fun and relaxing, the old guy would be too busy to ever know the truth.

  Gramps stared at him, leaning in closer across the table.

  “You’re nose is red, son. Bright red. Red enough to lead Santa’s sleigh.”

  Rudy covered his nose with his hands.

  This can’t be happening!

  “I’m getting a cold.”

  “That might be a cold if you was livin’ in New York City, but you’re in North Pole, Maine now, and you’re a Raindear. That ain’t no cold. Not here. Not in this town. I know exactly what that is.”

  “It’s noth—” Rudy sneezed five times.

  Gramps stood up, and pushed in his chair.

  “He got ya, didn’t he?”

  “Who?” Rudy asked, rubbing his nose with a white paper napkin.

  “You’re on his naughty list, ain’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Woo-hoo, this is gonna be a good one.” Gramps laughed, long and loud, until tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “It’s not funny. I can’t go around like this. I have important people I need to meet with. Things I have to do.”

  After awhile, Gramps gained control of his laughter. “Ain't nothin’ you can do about it, son, ‘cept stop your cheatin’ ways.”

  “I do not cheat!” Rudy’s voice went up an octave, and when it did, his nose actually throbbed.

  Gramps roared with laughter. “This is better than one of them comedies on TV. Heck, son, you got it bad.”

  Rudy stood. “How do you know so much about this? Did somebody come and talk to you about me?”

  “Didn’t have to.” Gramps walked back behind the counter then turned to Rudy. “I got me some first hand knowledge with that there red nose.” Then he tsked, shaking his head. “And I thought you was different, but you’re a chip off your grandpa’s block. Woo-hoo, I’m sure lookin’ forward the next couple’a weeks!”

  He laughed again, and Jenny came out from the back, dusted with flour, hair pulled up in a ponytail, looking so cute Rudy could eat her up.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, all smiles, ready to get in on the fun.

  “Rudy here’s got hisself on Santa’s Naughty List, and, well, he’s gonna have to tell you the rest.”

  Rudy wasn’t in the mood to tell Jenny anything, especially with his nose in its hideous condition, so he headed back upstairs to try and figure this whole thing out, without his grandfather’s laughter making matters worse.

  ***

  Four days had gone by since Jenny had seen Rudy. She was beginning to get worried even though Gramps had assured her “the boy just needs time to figure out how to handle his peculiar predicament.”

  Then he’d laugh.

  But sales at Sugar Plums had taken a real turn for the worse despite Jenny’s secret attempts to improve the flavor of the cookies Gramps was baking. It was time she took action.

  Mrs. Claus was depending on her.

  Not to mention that Christmas was fast approaching and if Sugar Plums had any hope of survival, she needed to find the ancestral recipe book that Rudy’s grandmother kept hidden somewhere in the building.

  Gramps, a nickname everyone in the town had given Mr. Raindear years ago, was losing his memory faster than Santa could zip up a chimney, and she simply couldn’t sit back and let the bakery die. He’d forgotten to add the pecans to his latest batch of pecan sandies, causing his best customer, Camden Kane, the owner of Candy Kane Inn, to threaten to cancel his standing order of five dozen cookies per day in December.

  So, there she was, knocking on Rudy’s door at said inn, sporting a red box of not-so-good cookies, hoping to convince him to help her find the recipe book and save Sugar Plums.

  According to Mary Claus, the Raindear family had been providing Santa with his favorite gingerbread cookie for well over a hundred and fifty years. A tradition Jenny was not about to let die simply because of a missing recipe book.

  Jenny knocked on the door again, and this time she heard a noise inside the room. “I know you’re in there, Rudy. You can run but you can’t hide. This town is way too small.”

  She waited. Nothing.

  From the time Jenny was nine years old, she had been Mrs. Claus’s little helper. A secret position all the women in the Bells family had shared at one time or another. Legend had it that Jenny’s great-grandmother, three times removed, had been their flower girl, dropping poinsettia petals at Mary and Santa’s wedding in the real North Pole on Christmas Eve. Ever since that momentous occasion, the Bells women had eagerly helped out whenever they were asked.

  This latest request was no exception: Save Santa’s favorite bakery. Which at any other time wouldn’t have been such a difficult task, but in this economy, with the way North Pole, Maine had been sliding downhill, saving Sugar Plums bakery seemed almost impossible.

  Until Rudy showed up.

  “You might as well open the door and save me a trip downstairs to get the keycard. You know Camden will give it to me. Everyone wants you to help save your grandfather’s bakery.”

  The door opened and a scraggly Rudy appeared. He needed a shave, and he looked tired, but his nose was none the worse for wear.

  “Maybe it’s time to let the bakery fade into the past.”

  Jenny shoved the box of cookies into his belly. He winced. She walked past him into the shambles of what was once a festive suite, complete with yards of garland, twinkling lights, red and gold furniture and a glorious completely decorated live Christmas tree standing in front of the large window that looked out on the town square.

  “I’ll ignore that and chalk it up to pre-Christmas jitters. Taste these cookies and tell me what’s missing.”

  He chuckled. “Like I could—” but he stopped mid-sentence, and instead let the door swing shut behind him.

  “This room comes with maid service. Perhaps you should call one.” She removed a large bag of rancid smelling food from a red leather chair and sat down.

  “Are you always this bossy?”

  “Only when I’m dealing with someone who obviously can’t think straight.”

  “Define straight?”

  “Have you looked in the mirror recently?”

  “It’s early. I just woke up.”

  “It’s almost three in the afternoon. If you just woke up, there’s a problem.”

  “I’m on vacation.”

  “And your idea of a vacation is to ignore your friends and family and hole up in the most expensive room in town?”

  He tossed the box of cookies on the cluttered dresser and sat down on the unmade bed. His black T-shirt bore remnants of his last meal, along with large grease spots. His white pj bottoms had so many wrinkles they looked as if he hadn’t been out of them in days.

  “I work hard. This is the way I like to—”

  Again he stopped himself and looked over at the tree. “I hate Christmas.”

  His nose turned pink.

  “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “You’ll think I’m nuts.”

  “Try me.”

  He sighed. “Okay, but it’s going to sound crazy.”

  “I doubt i
t.”

  His hands gripped the golden colored blanket. “Every time I even tell the whitest of lies, my nose turns red. It’s like some kind of barometer or something.”

  “And?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “You’re leaving something out.”

  “No, I’m not.” He sneezed. “Okay. Yes. Gramps had it right. I’m on Santa’s Naughty List. There. I said it. Gramps and me, we’re both loony.” He stood and walked over to gaze out the window.

  She laughed, thinking how she wished she could tell him about Mrs. Claus and the Bells women, but that was something she could only tell to someone she knew would never, under any circumstances betray her trust. If that person betrayed her, she would lose her connection to Mrs. Claus forever.

  He turned back to her, disappointed stained his face. “I knew you’d think I’m crazy. You should probably leave.”

  She stood and went over to him. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise. It’s just that being from the Bells family nothing that happens in this town strikes me as crazy. Especially this time of year.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “What does that mean?”

  “I can’t tell you. It’s a secret, but if you’d just taste the cookies and tell me what’s missing, someday . . . maybe . . .”

  She grabbed the box of cookies off the dresser and handed it to him. He hesitated for a moment, staring into her eyes. She wanted to kiss him in the worst way, but now was most definitely not the time, so she went back and sat down in the chair.

  Box in hand, Rudy crashed on the bed and dug around inside the now open box, pulled out a gingerbread girl and deliberately bit off its head while staring at Jenny.

  Ouch!

  Jenny had a crush on Rudy ever since they first kissed under the mistletoe in Sugar Plums when they were five years old.

  It was Rudy’s idea, of course. Back then he continually tried to kiss her or see her panties. She liked to wear red ones, with three rows of ruffles on the backside just in case she ever gave him the pleasure, which she almost did on one occasion. It was Christmas Eve and they were helping Gramps pack up an extra large order of gingerbread boys and girls for the party in the town square. Jenny was all set to pick up the back of her skirt and shake her ruffled booty when Rudy’s gram walked in and spoiled the moment.

  That’s when she remembered seeing red ruffled adult panties at Always Christmas department store. She just might have to make a quick stop.

  She waited as he chewed and swallowed. “The sugar’s wrong, or missing. I can’t exactly tell, but this cookie is really bland.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  He shook his head. “Not this one. This one needs exactly the right ingredients.”

  She stood. “Then you need to get dressed and come help me find your grandma’s recipe book. It’s in the house somewhere, but Gramps can’t remember where she hid it.”

  “You don’t understand. When my grandmother hid something, it was hidden forever. It’s a waste of time.”

  She walked in closer, ready to do some major teasing. Knowing perfectly well that under all of Rudy’s newfound bravado still lurked the little boy who wanted to see her red, ruffley underpants. “Do you want to know my secret?”

  “Baby, I’ve been trying to know your secrets since we were five.”

  She ran her index finger down the bridge of his nose and across his lips. “Then Mr. Naughty, come help me find that book to save your grandpa’s bakery and you’ll learn all about me.”

  He reached out to pull her in closer, but she managed to slip from his arms. “Not until we find that book . . . and certainly not until you take a shower.”

  A sly sexy smile creased his lips. “Will you join me?”

  “The book first, remember?”

  “Give me ten minutes,” he said and headed for the bathroom.

  “I’ll tell housekeeping they can come by and clean up your room. Meet you at Sugar Plums.”

  She left his room feeling as though she was finally on the right track to accomplish what Mrs. Claus had asked her to do.

  At least she hoped so. There was no telling if Rudy would come through, especially since he was on Santa’s Naughty List.

  But first she needed to make a quick stop at Always Christmas.

  Chapter Three

  Rudy and Jenny had spent the remainder of the day searching every drawer, cupboard, desk, trunk and dresser in the house, which included everything shoved into one side of the attic. They even looked behind pictures hanging on the walls to make sure there wasn’t a hidden safe. Jenny was relentless and Rudy could hardly keep up.

  The thing was, he really did want to find the recipe book, if for no other reason than someday he’d like to bake again, when he had kids of his own. A fact he could never admit out loud, even to himself. Up until he found Jenny again he truly believed if what you did for a living couldn’t make you rich, you needed to find another calling.

  Rudy had put his dreams aside soon after he and his family moved away, but now, being in North Pole, spending time with Jenny, and seeing Gramps, he had come to realize how much he missed this crazy town.

  In their search for the recipe book they’d found baby clothes that probably belonged to Rudy, his dad, Gramps and other family members, old pictures of his grandparents when they were young, fur coats that were probably hidden away when they became politically incorrect, old shoes, hats, gloves, fancy aprons, a reel-to-reel tape recorder, a few porcelain-faced dolls, three percolators, a rotary Princess phone, and his grandmother’s wedding dress.

  But no recipe book of any kind.

  “It’s just not here,” Rudy said plopping himself down on the living room floor.

  The room looked exactly as it had when his grandmother was alive, overloaded with all things needlepoint. Rudy had vivid memories of his gram spending all her free time on one project after another. On every surface and in every corner of the tiny room sat pillows, purses, wall hangings, Christmas stockings and even an entire stuffed needlepoint choir.

  Gramps hadn’t moved a thing.

  “I’m not giving up yet. I think we should take another look through the things in the attic. It’s got to be there. We’re just not seeing it.”

  “Did you ever consider that maybe it was accidentally thrown away?”

  Jenny sat on a chair across from him. Her face was smudged with dirt, and thick strands of her rich dark hair had fallen out of the clip. A light sheen of sweat covered her skin and the more Rudy stared at her, the more he wanted to make love to her, right there on the living room floor. Jenny was simply the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

  Unfortunately, Gramps slept only a few feet away. Not the best place for a tryst, but not completely impossible with a little discretion.

  “Have you not been paying attention?”

  He felt the smirk on his face all the way down to his toes. “Oh, yeah, I’ve been paying attention.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Can you ever think of anything else?”

  “Not when you’re around.”

  “I must look like hell.”

  “You never looked more beautiful.” He moved closer to her chair.

  She stood and walked a couple feet away from him. “Our deal was we have to find that book first, and I’m keeping you to it. Your grandparents never threw anything away, that’s now obvious. So, it’s here. We just haven’t found it yet.”

  Rejected once again, Rudy leaned back on his elbows. “So what if we don’t find it and the bakery has to close. Would anybody really care? I mean, let’s face it Jenny. Most department stores across this country have outlawed even saying Merry Christmas to a customer. And some towns have made it a crime to display Christmas decorations. It’s a dying holiday, at least the way it used to be.”

  “True for other towns and cities, but this is North Pole, Maine. If we’re not about Christmas we’re just another small town. Like all the others. We’re not special anymore.”

  “
I never knew you cared so much about this place.”

  “It’s my home. It’s where I grew up. It’s where my memories are kept. I love this town, don’t you care what happens to it?”

  “I—” He stopped himself. If he didn’t say what was in his heart, his nose would probably light up the entire room. He took a breath and let it out, slowly. He was skating on extremely thin ice. “Yes, I care about the town, the people, Gramps, and you. Especially you.”

  “Then if that’s true, we can’t give up. Besides, your grandfather bakes Santa’s favorite gingerbread cookie in the entire world.”

  Rudy doubted it, even though she seemed adamant. “Yeah. Right. In the entire world. Be careful or your nose might turn red. This thing might be contagious.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “My grandfather’s gingerbread cookie is Santa’s favorite.”

  “Yes.”

  He sat up. “And you know this for a fact?”

  She nodded, smiling.

  Rudy got it. She was teasing him. He laughed. “Too bad that’s not true or Gramps could be rich. This whole town would be rich.”

  She stared at him, deadpan.

  He said, “Come on. You can’t know that.”

  “Can’t I?”

  He stood and walked over to her. “Are you saying the recipe book contains Santa’s actual, all-time favorite cookie in the entire world? And you know this, absolutely. How?”