by E. E. Burke
Sum draped the cloak over his arm. He gestured in the direction of the back counter, where stools were set up for shoppers who wished to tarry and indulge in pastries or a sandwich. “All the baked goods have been purchased, or I would offer you something to eat.”
“Thank you, I’m not hungry.”
“Coffee or tea? I could make either.
“No, thank you. I’m not thirsty.”
Not easy to please, apparently. But what beautiful woman was? He could be smitten if she sent him one tiny signal that she shared this insane attraction.
He waited until she sat down before he slipped onto a stool next to her, and his knee brushed against her skirt.
She twisted to one side to open space between them. Modesty. Or she might fear he would pounce. He found her skittishness charming.
“Just who are these orphans? They must be important to have compelled you to enter my lair…I mean, store.”
Her lips didn’t so much as twitch.
He adopted a droll tone. “Rumor has it, you have a sense of humor.”
“I do, when something’s funny.”
He smoothed his mustache to wipe away a smile. She probably wouldn’t appreciate him saying he found her amusing, as well as alluring.
Her gaze became very direct. Her dark eyes were nearly black, and yet her skin glowed with pale opalescence. Exquisite. “I won’t waste any more of your time.”
“You’re not wasting my time—”
“Have you ever been to a poor farm, Mr. Sumner?”
She was about to play on his heartstrings with a sad tale. Thus far this season, he’d heard no less than a dozen pathetic stories and had spared all the good will he could afford. She should’ve shown up earlier. But he would listen to her plea, especially if it meant she would stay longer.
“No, I haven’t been to a poor farm, if by that you mean one of those places they put orphans to work. I presume you have?”
Her expression grew somber. “Yes. Fortunately, I never had to live on one. After our parents died, my brother and I moved in with an elderly shopkeeper and his wife. I suspect we would’ve ended up on a poor farm had David not gone to work to support us.”
Sum frowned at the surprising revelation. He’d heard her brother had reopened his parents’ business, but he hadn’t known the couple died early. “How old were you when they passed away?”
“They were killed in a fire when I was four and David was ten.” She looked down at her lap, fiddling with the fringe along the bottom of her purse.
Sum had a burning desire to know more about her past, but he wouldn’t probe if it made her uncomfortable. She appeared achingly young and vulnerable, and he had a sudden urge to put his arms around her. He was sure that gesture wouldn’t be welcomed. “That explains why you have a heart for orphans.”
She looked up with surprise. “I hope you share my concern, Mr. Sumner. I’ve committed to providing gifts for fifty orphaned children. That’s why I’m asking for your contribution.”
Contrary to what she might’ve heard, he did have a heart. She might have better luck than most with breaking it, if he wasn’t careful. “Of course I share your concern. Only a hardhearted brute wouldn’t.”
Miss O’Brien rewarded him with a warm smile. “I’m relieved to hear you are a man of compassion. Victoria felt sure you would help.”
Another surprise. He hadn’t imagined the wealthy Boston Brahmin-turned-shopkeeper’s wife had a soft spot in her heart for him. Two years ago, he’d flirted with her when she’d ventured over to his store, and then tweaked O’Brien’s nose when he’d charged in to claim her. “How nice to know Mrs. O’Brien speaks well of me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. My sister-in-law only said she expected you to match my brother’s contribution.”
Clever girl. She’d thrown down a gauntlet, O’Brien’s generosity.
Sum wouldn’t be bested. “How much do you need?”
“My brother is donating generously. He’s providing gifts for five children. Would you be willing to do the same?”
He would, except he had no excess inventory. He couldn’t afford to give away goods, and he had no extra cash on hand. Being woefully behind on repaying his debts, he didn’t dare give freely.
“Mr. Sumner? Can I count on you for a contribution?”
He forced a smile, inwardly chiding himself for walking into an ambush. She’d used unfair tactics to distract him, her lovely face and form, and her delicious scent. “You’ll need more than clothes and gifts for ten children.”
“Yes, we need gifts for fifty. Could you manage more than five? I have a list.” She eagerly dug into her purse.
He couldn’t manage two. But…if he could figure out a way to get other people to pitch in to meet her quota, then that would solve her problem and make him look like a hero.
Sliding off the stool, he began to pace. Thinking was easier when he moved. “There’s not much time left.”
“I know, I should’ve started earlier,” she bemoaned.
“Don’t lose hope. We’ll come up with something.”
“We?” She withdrew her hand from her purse. “I haven’t formed a committee, nor do I recall asking you to be on one.”
“Good. Committees take too long. If your volunteers are as difficult as those fools in charge of the Christmas parade, you’ll never get anything done.”
He came to an abrupt halt as his mind latched onto an idea. Oh, it was a good one. Not only would she gain the necessary contributions, but he would garner additional publicity, even more than what he’d hoped for in agreeing to don a costume and play the part of old St. Nick.
“The parade,” he murmured. “Yes. That would be perfect.”
“Parade? Perfect?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m not following.”
“This year, I’m sponsoring Santa’s sleigh and dressing the part. What if, instead of giving gifts, Santa Claus requests contributions to his list, all of which will be delivered to the orphans by Christmas Eve.”
Miss O’Brien’s lovely lips parted and her eyes widened with surprise. “Oh! Oh, Mr. Sumner, that’s brilliant!” She clapped her hands together like a delighted child, and then leapt off the stool and threw her arms around his neck. “How can I ever thank you?”
Oh, he could come up with several suggestions.
He leaned down to hug her and ended up crushing her soft breasts against his chest. Every muscle in his body tensed, as desire buried him in an avalanche. Throwing caution to the wind, he picked her up and twirled her around. Before he released her, he stole a quick kiss.
“We’ll get your orphans gifts, Miss O’Brien. I promise you.”
Her dazed expression remained, as her cheeks bloomed with color and her hands floated up to her mouth. At least she didn’t slap him.
His heart pumped liquid fire through his veins, the brief touch only whetting his appetite for more. He vowed to get a longer, deeper kiss before Miss O’Brien waltzed out of his life again, and he knew just how he would engineer it.
“You…you…” she sputtered.
“Kissed you? Yes. That’s what a man does with his wife.”
She scurried backwards, the high color draining from her face. “What are you talking about? I’m not your wife.”
“Not mine, Santa’s. You, my dear, will be Mrs. Claus.”
Chapter 3
Three days later, Mr. Sumner showed up to escort Maggie to a meeting of the Christmas Parade committee, where they would present his idea. Not the part about Mrs. Claus. The flirtatious rascal would never convince her to be his temporary wife, pretend or otherwise. The whole town would think she’d set her cap for him.
The day had dawned sparkling bright—the kind of winter morning when the sun lights up a clear blue sky and temperatures drop down low enough to freeze smiles into place. Just walking the short distance to the offices of the Fort Scott Monitor and Tribune turned her hands and feet into blocks of ice.
Mr. Sumner ap
peared unfazed by the cold and talked the entire way.
Maggie hadn’t realized he could be so chatty, although it ended up being a good thing because she was nervous and it spared her from having to converse much. “Are you sure they’ll approve your recommendation?” she asked as they neared the brick building at the corner of Wall Street.
“If we’re in agreement, I don’t see why not.”
Maggie hesitated, and not for the first time. David hadn’t liked the idea of his competitor’s personal involvement in her project, but he’d gone along with it for her sake. She couldn’t let him down by doing anything that would embarrass him, such as posing as Mr. Sumner’s parade wife. “I’m agreeable to your Santa collecting gifts,” she clarified.
When they reached the newspaper offices, Mr. Sumner indicated a bench in the front hallway. Taking her cloak, he hung it on a nearby hall tree and then sat next to her.
“We’re to wait here until we’re summoned.”
Maggie couldn’t resist returning his impudent smile. The parade committee included Fort Scott’s most influential citizens and some of the members acted like royalty.
Mr. Sumner squeezed in next to her on the bench, which had armrests carved into the shape of lion’s claws. Somehow this seemed fitting, given her companion’s predatory nature. After last night, she would be on guard for any unexpected attacks, such as that kiss he’d given her. To her mortal shame, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. What had possessed him? Or did he go about kissing every lady he met?
She removed her gloves and flexed her fingers. “My hands are still frozen. It’s hard to believe it can be so bitterly cold when the sun is shining.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” he noted.
Indeed. Gordon Sumner appeared to be a gentleman. But gentlemen didn’t kiss ladies without permission.
As a distraction, Maggie arranged folds in the sumptuous velvet skirt. She’d put on her most festive outfit, with a pine green jacket trimmed in red braid, and a matching figured bonnet. Mr. Sumner had complimented her so effusively she’d gotten embarrassed. Resisting the charmer would be easier if he weren’t so amusing, not to mention handsome as sin.
He’d unbuttoned his double-breasted overcoat to reveal a fashionable gray suit with a contrasting waistcoat. The points of his starched white collar were neatly turned down, and he wore a colorful four-in-hand tie. Looking savage, as David would say, to impress the committee, no doubt about it. Then again, she couldn’t recall a time Mr. Sumner didn’t look impressive.
Her gaze drifted upward to his lips, framed by a cinnamon-colored mustache. Their kiss had lasted no more than an instant, yet in that moment something inside her shifted, and she had the strangest impression her life had changed direction, like a train switching tracks. Ridiculous, because nothing had changed, the kiss hadn’t meant anything, even if it had made her lips tingle. That must’ve been on account of his mustache. She hadn’t expected it to be so soft. And the tickle surprised her.
Drat, the tingling had started up again.
He smiled.
She met an admiring blue gaze and blushed. He’d caught her staring.
Flustered, she blurted the first thing that came to mind “Are you cold?” She formed a core with her hands and blew into it. “I should’ve brought thicker gloves.”
“Give me your hands,” he commanded.
Instead of waiting to see if she would comply, he reached over and took what he wanted, sandwiching her chilled fingers between his palms, creating a gentle friction. After a moment, delicious warmth suffused her hands. The heat crept up her arms and spread throughout her entire body.
“Thank you. Much better now.” She tried to remove her hands. He wouldn’t let go.
“You’re still cold.”
That wasn’t why she was shivering.
“I’m not cold. Not anymore.”
One of the men who worked for the newspaper strode down the hallway. He glanced over, eyeing them with a quizzical expression. Alarmed, she tugged her hands free and then flattened them on the seat. Whatever Mr. Sumner was up to, she wanted no part of it.
In fact, he’d surprised her when he’d suggested the gift collection idea and then offered to help her implement it. What could he possibly gain, save getting more coverage in the newspaper? “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
He rested his hand over hers. “Warming you up?”
His touch did more than warm her; it sent alarming quivers across her skin and made her heart jump. The dratted man put her off balance. Somehow, she had to find her way back to equilibrium. First, she had better acknowledge reality. He wasn’t her beau, and she would never be his bride, pretend or otherwise.
She removed her hand from beneath his and curled her fingers in her lap. “What I mean is, why are you helping me? Not out of sympathy for the children.”
“You don’t think I’m sympathetic?” His tone implied she’d wounded him, though it was difficult to tell if he was teasing or serious.
“I only wondered if you might see this as an opportunity to polish your reputation.”
“So you believe me to be mercenary, as well as heartless.” This time there was no mistaking his reaction. He looked puzzled, even a little hurt.
Her conscience took her to task. “Forgive me if I misread your intentions.” That wasn’t good enough. She had insulted him. “You’ve been very kind, and I do appreciate your help.”
“My pleasure.”
He spoke in a smooth baritone, low and resonant, like the purr of a very large cat. He hadn’t curled up beside her, but he sat very close…close enough to make her heart beat faster, and her breathing quicken.
Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floors. Mr. Marble, the newspaper editor, approached. He had a pencil tucked behind his ear. “Mr. Sumner, Miss O’Brien. The committee is ready to discuss your proposal.”
“Excellent.” Her companion stood and offered his assistance. Maggie allowed him to tuck her hand into the crook of his arm because that was the polite thing to do. Had she been able to avoid touching him, she would have. The effect was far too stimulating.
They entered a large, dim room, made darker because of the wood paneling on the walls. Heavy curtains had been drawn over the windows to keep out the cold. Light from a chandelier illuminated an oval table and twelve committee members sitting around it.
The gentlemen stood as she entered. Feeling ridiculously shy, she clung to Mr. Sumner’s arm. She knew every person sitting at that table, had known most of them all of her life, but that didn’t make her any less nervous. David was the one who had business dealings with grownups. She was more comfortable in front of a roomful of children.
“Good morning, ladies and gentleman.” Mr. Sumner sounded confident and at ease, as if he presented in front of important people all the time.
Mr. O’Connor, who insisted everyone call him Buck, gestured to two chairs. “Mr. Sumner, Miss O’Brien, please sit down.”
The elder businessman cut an intimidating figure at well over six feet, with rugged features, flowing white hair and sharp gray eyes. His wife, seated next to him, had rich brown hair lightly marked with gray and an ageless kind of beauty. Although petite, she had an authoritative air, which made her nearly as intimidating as her husband.
Mr. Sumner pulled out a chair. He laid his hand on Maggie’s shoulder in a brief, comforting touch, before taking the seat next to her.
Mrs. O’Connor sent her an encouraging smile. “Good to see you back in town, Miss O’Brien. How long will you remain in town?”
Before Maggie could respond, an older woman with a pointed stare interrupted. “We understand you wish to collect gifts this year instead of giving them away.”
The disdainful tone sent Maggie’s hackles up. Oh, she had seen that one in the store a few times, although the rich lady didn’t purchase readymade items. Mrs. Mueller ordered her dresses from Eastern designers, along with fashionable hats, including the one she had on, which feature
d stuffed birds pasted to the side. She and her hat were equally gruesome.
“That’s right, Mrs. Mueller, we wish to collect gifts for a charitable purpose.” Mr. Sumner spoke before Maggie could make her tongue move. His wry smile made her wonder whether he shared similar feelings about the woman and her hat.
He’d remarked earlier that they might meet resistance from the town’s wealthiest patron, who’d come up with the idea for the Christmas parade and considered it her personal project. Even her nickname, Old Ironsides, implied trouble.
“Miss O’Brien, would you like to explain our cause?” With that, Mr. Sumner gave her the floor.
“Yes, of course.” She dug into her bag and retrieved the list. “I have the names of fifty orphans across Bourbon and Linn counties who won’t receive gifts for Christmas unless we provide them. Most live on poor farms. Have any of you ever been to a poor farm?”
Mrs. Mueller’s nostrils flared like she smelled something offensive. “No, I’m not in the habit of sticking my nose into other peoples’ business.”
Only telling them what to do.
With effort, Maggie put on a pleasant face. “But mankind is our business, is that not what Mr. Dickens wrote in his fine tale? These children’s lives are miserable. They work like slaves, they’re barely fed and clothed, and provided with no education. It breaks my heart.”
Her voice wavered with emotion. She longed to improve the plight of orphaned children in Kansas, and this small, yet meaningful step could draw attention to the problem. “Giving them Christmas presents isn’t nearly enough, but it’s a start.”
The matron glanced around at the somber expressions, and then cleared her throat. “That does sound like a very serious problem, but it’s not something we can solve with a parade. Our Santa is supposed to bring gifts, not take them. If he doesn’t distribute presents, the local children will be disappointed.”
Charlie Goodlander leaned back in his chair, his substantial weight making it creak. He twirled one end of a walrus mustache, looking thoughtful. “Of course we love our traditions, but what Mr. Sumner and Miss O’Brien are suggesting is for a good cause.”