How Santa Gets His Christmas Spirit Back…
James Claussen has played Santa for years, but now that he’s a widower, he’s lost interest—in everything. So his daughter, Brooke, kidnaps him from the mall (in his Santa suit!) and takes him to Icicle Falls. She’s arranged a special Christmas at the lodge owned by long-widowed Olivia Wallace and her son, Eric. And yet…Brooke wants Dad to be happy, but she’s not ready to see someone else’s mommy kissing Santa Claus.
Single mom Missy Monroe brings her kids to the lodge, too. Lalla wants a grandma for Christmas, and her brother, Carlos, wants a dog. Missy can’t provide either one. What she’d like is an attractive, dependable man. A man like John Truman… But John’s girlfriend will be joining him in Icicle Falls, and he’s going to propose.
Of course not everything goes as planned. But sometimes the best gifts are the ones you don’t expect!
Praise for Sheila Roberts and her Christmas novels
“This amusing holiday tale about love lost and found again is heartwarming. Quirky characters, snappy dialogue and sexy chemistry all combine to keep you laughing, as well as shedding a few tears.…”
—RT Book Reviews on Merry Ex-mas
“Merry Ex-mas is the absolute perfect holiday book! It has everything great women’s contemporary fiction should have—a great storyline filled with romance, humor and a bit of mystery tucked in here and there, fabulous personable characters filled with charm…”
—Sharon’s Garden of Book Reviews
“An engaging humorous tale of three sets of ex-couples coming together over the holidays. The ensemble cast makes for a fun frothy frolic as the ghosts of Christmas past reunite…”
—Harriet Klausner on Merry Ex-mas
“Roberts’ witty and effervescently funny holiday novel will warm hearts. Realistic characters populate the pages of this captivating story.”
—RT Book Reviews (Top Pick) on On Strike for Christmas
“Roberts’ charming holiday-themed contemporary story set in the Seattle area offers hope, comfort, and a second chance for those who believe, and a nudge to change the minds of those who don’t.”
—Booklist on The Snow Globe
“Within minutes of cracking open the book, my mood was lifted.… The warm, glowing feeling it gave me lasted for days.”
—First for Women on The Snow Globe
“This lighthearted and charming read will appeal to fans of Kristin Hannah’s magical, light romances and readers who enjoyed Roberts’s previous holiday offerings.”
—Library Journal on The Snow Globe (starred review)
“Witty characterizations, slapstick mishaps, and plenty of holiday cheer.”
—Publishers Weekly on The Nine Lives of Christmas
Also by Sheila Roberts
Life in Icicle Falls Stories:
BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE
MERRY EX-MAS
WHAT SHE WANTS
THE COTTAGE ON JUNIPER RIDGE
THE TEA SHOP ON LAVENDER LANE
SHEILA ROBERTS
The Lodge on Holly Road
For Sandy Hamilton, aka Santa Colorado
Dear Reader,
Can you remember the thrill of coming downstairs as a child on Christmas morning and rushing to see what Santa left for you under the tree? I can! Good old Santa Claus, a kid’s best friend. And you see him everywhere: at shopping malls, in parades, at family holiday gatherings. There he is, ho-ho-ho-ing, handing out treats and generally making everyone feel good.
Except everyone doesn’t always feel good during the holidays. Strained relationships, hard times, grief and loss can steal our holiday joy. With that reality in mind, I got to wondering what would happen if Santa were to lose his Christmas spirit. What if a man who once loved to play Santa Claus was coping with grief and didn’t want to be jolly anymore? And what about the people he’d find himself interacting with? What if they were having problems, too? If several people who were facing holiday challenges all found themselves gathered together in one spot for Christmas, how would they cope?
Well, just to see, I gathered a bunch of people together at the Icicle Creek Lodge in Icicle Falls and asked them to help each other figure out how to have a merry Christmas. I hope I succeeded and I hope you’ll enjoy this holiday tale of love and laughter.
You can always find me on Facebook. And please visit my website, www.sheilasplace.com, to find out more about Icicle Falls, the Hallmark Channel original movie based on my Christmas novel, The Nine Lives of Christmas, my contests and more. And let me know what you do to make Christmas special.
Merry Christmas to you, your family and friends!
Sheila
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Recipes from Olivia
Chapter One
Jolly Old Saint Nicholas
The toddler wasn’t simply crying. Oh, no. These were the kind of earsplitting screams that would make the strongest department-store Santa want to run for his sleigh. Her face was a perfect match for James Claussen’s red Santa suit, and both her eyes and her nose had the spigot turned on full blast.
What was he doing here, sitting on this uncomfortable throne, ruling over a kingdom of fake snow, candy canes and mechanical reindeer? What had possessed him to come back to work? He didn’t want to be jolly, even imitation jolly.
“Come on, Joy,” coaxed the little girl’s mother from her spot on the sidelines of Santa Land. “Smile for Mommy.”
“Waaah,” Joy responded.
I understand how you feel, James thought. “Joy, that’s a pretty name for a pretty girl. Can you give your mommy a big smile?” he coaxed.
“Waaah,” Joy shrieked, and began kicking her feet. The black patent leather shoes turned those little feet into lethal weapons. Come tomorrow he’d have a bruise on the inside of his left thigh.
“Ho, ho, ho,” James tried, but the shrieks only got louder.
Okay, this was as good as the picture with Santa was going to get. He stood and handed off the child, who was still kicking and crying, barely dodging an assault to the family jewels in the process. The jewels weren’t so perfect now that he was sixty-six but they were still valuable to him and he wanted to keep them.
Shauna Sullivan, his loyal elf, sent him a sympathetic look and ushered up the next child, a baby girl carried by her mother. Rosy-cheeked and alert, probably just awake from a nap, the baby was dolled up in a red velvet dress with white booties on her feet and a headband decorated with a red flower. She was old enough to smile and coo but not quite old enough to walk or, thank God, kick Santa where it hurt.
This baby girl reminded him of his daughter, Brooke, when she was a baby, all smiles and dimples. Big brown eyes that looked at him in delighted wonder. Oh, those were the days, when his kids were small and Faith
was still...
Don’t go there.
“And what would this little dumpling like for Christmas?” he asked, settling the baby on his lap.
For a few seconds it looked as if she was actually concentrating on an answer. But then a sound anyone who’d had children could easily recognize, followed by a foul odor, told him she’d been concentrating on something else. Oh, man.
“Smile, Santa,” Krystal, the photographer, teased, and the smelly baby on his lap gurgled happily.
James had never been good with poopy diapers but he gave it his best effort and hoped he looked like a proper Santa.
Finally, they were down to the last kid in line. Thank God. After this, Santa was going home to enjoy a cold beer.
That was about the only thing he’d enjoy. Oh, he’d turn on the TV to some cop show, but he wouldn’t really watch it. Then he’d go to bed and wish the days wouldn’t keep coming, forcing him to move on.
He especially dreaded the next day, December 24. How he wished he could skip right to New Year’s Day. Or better yet, go backward to New Year’s Day two years ago, when he and Faith were planning their European cruise.
Stay in the moment, he told himself. Stay in character. He put on his jolliest Santa face and held out a welcoming arm to the next child.
This one was going to be a terror; he could tell by the scowl on the kid’s freckled face as he approached. He was a big, hefty burger of a boy, wearing jeans and an oversize T-shirt, and could have been anywhere between the ages of ten and thirteen. Logic ruled out the older end of the spectrum. Usually by about eight or nine, kids stopped believing.
“And who have we got here?” James asked in his jolly I-love-kids voice.
Normally he did love kids and he loved playing Santa, had been doing it since his children were little. He’d always had the husky build for it, although when he was younger Faith had padded him out with a pillow. No pillow necessary now. And no need for a fake beard, either. Mother Nature had turned his beard white over the past few years.
These days he wasn’t into the role, wasn’t into Christmas, period. Santa had lost his holiday spirit and he was starting to lose his patience, too. Very un-Santa-like. He should never have agreed to fill in today, should have told Holiday Memories to find another Santa.
His new customer didn’t answer him.
“What’s your name, son?” he asked, trying again.
“Richie,” said the boy, and landed on James’s leg like a ton of coal.
“And how old are you, Richie?”
“Too old for this. This is stupid.” The kid crossed his arms and glared at his mother.
“So you’re twelve?” James guessed.
“I’m ten and I know there’s no such thing as Santa. You’re a big fake.”
Boy, he had that right.
“And that’s fake, too,” Richie added.
James was usually prepared for rotten-kid beard assaults, but this year his game was off and Richie got a handful of beard before James could stop him. He yanked so hard he nearly separated James’s jawbone from the rest of his skull. For a moment there he saw stars, and two Richies. As if one wasn’t bad enough.
“Whoa there, son, that’s real,” James said, rubbing his chin, his eyes watering. “Let’s take it easy on old Santa.”
Now Richie’s mother was glaring, too, as though it was James’s fault she’d spawned a monster.
“Look, Richie,” he said, lowering his voice. “We’re both men here. We know this is all pretend.”
And Christmas is a crock and life sucks. So deal with it, you little fart.
James reeled in his bad Santa before he could get loose and do any damage. Good Santa continued, “But your mom wants this picture. One last picture she can send to your relatives and brag about what a great kid you are.” Not. “Can you man-up and pose so she can have a nice picture of you for Christmas?”
Richie scowled at him suspiciously, as if he was up to some strange trick.
James sweetened the holiday pot. “I bet if you do, you’ll get what you want for Christmas.” Now the kid was looking less adversarial. James pressed his advantage. “Come on, kid. One smile and we can both get out of here. Whaddya say?”
Richie grunted and managed half a smile and Krystal captured it. “But you’re still a fake,” Richie said.
And you’re still a little fart. “Ho, ho, ho,” James replied, and rocketed the boy off his leg, sending him flying.
“Hey, he shoved me,” Richie said to his mother, and pointed an accusing finger at James.
“Trick leg,” James said apologetically. “Old war injury. Merry Christmas,” he called and, with a wave, abdicated his holiday throne.
“Okay,” he said to Shauna, “I’m out of here.” Thank God today was over. He was never doing this again. He didn’t care if every Santa on the planet was home with the flu.
“You can’t go yet,” she protested, and began looking desperately around the mall.
After a ten-hour day? Oh, yeah, he could. “No kids, and it’s ten minutes till the end of our shift. We’ll be okay to leave. Right, Krystal?”
Krystal frowned. “Well...”
It was nearly five o’clock. All the moms and kiddies were now on their way home to make dinner. The next Santa crew would arrive soon to deal with the evening crowd. All they had to do was put up the Santa-will-be-back sign. What was the problem? Maybe Shauna and Krystal felt guilty about stealing a couple of extra minutes from work.
Not James. He’d worked hard all his life and he had no qualms about stealing a few minutes for himself now. For over forty years he’d been a welder at Boeing. Then he’d come home and work some more, putting that addition on the house, mowing the lawn, cleaning the garage, repairing broken faucets.
Of course, he’d also realized the importance of playing—backyard baseball with the kids, Frisbee at the park, board games on a rainy Sunday afternoon. And real life had taught him that you had to take advantage of everything good, even little things like getting off ten minutes early. Because you never knew what cosmic pie in the face was waiting for you around the corner.
“Come on, ladies,” he said, putting an arm around each of them and trying to move them in the direction of the Starbucks. “The eggnog lattes are on me.” They still balked. He’d never known the women to turn down a latte. He glanced from one to the other. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“It’s a surprise,” Shauna said.
James frowned. He hated surprises, had hated them ever since Faith got sick.
“It’s a good one,” Krystal said as if reading his mind.
And then he saw his daughter hurrying down the mall toward him and the heaviness settling over him was blown away. There she was, his brown-eyed girl, all bundled up in boots and black leggings and a winter coat, her hair falling to her shoulders in a stylish light brown sheet. Once upon a time, it had been curly and so cute. Then suddenly she’d decided she needed to straighten her hair. He never could understand why the curls had to go. But then he’d never understood women’s fashion.
He’d also never understood why she thought her face was too round or why she thought she was fat. Her face was sweet. And she was just curvy. As far as he was concerned she was the prettiest young woman in Seattle. That wasn’t fatherly prejudice. It was fact, plain and simple.
“Daddy,” she called, and waved and began to run toward him.
Krystal had been right. This was a good surprise.
“Hello there, angel,” he greeted her, and gave her a big hug. “Did you come so your old man could take you to dinner?”
“I came to take my old man somewhere special for Christmas,” she said. “Thanks for not letting him get away,” she told his holiday helpers.
“No problem,” said Shauna. “Have a great time.�
��
“For Christmas?” James repeated as Brooke linked her arm through his and started them walking toward the shopping mall’s main entrance.
They were going somewhere for Christmas on the twenty-third? Did that mean she wouldn’t be spending Christmas with him and Dylan? It was their first Christmas without Faith (well, technically their second since she’d died on December 24 the year before). He’d assumed he and his son and daughter would all be together to help one another through the holidays.
But she was an adult. She could do what she wanted. Maybe she’d made plans with friends. If she had, he couldn’t blame her for wanting to escape unpleasant memories. Maybe she’d found someone in the past couple of weeks and wanted to be with him. She shouldn’t have to babysit her dad.
“Don’t worry, Daddy,” she said. “I’ve got it all under control.”
He didn’t doubt that. Like her mother, Brooke was a planner and an organizer. She’d organized their Thanksgiving dinner, gathering his sister and his cousin and her husband, assigning everyone dishes to bring.
But what was she talking about? “Got what under control?”
“You’ll see,” she said with a Santa-like twinkle in her eyes.
Oh, boy, another surprise. “What are you up to, angel?”
“I’m not telling, but trust me, you’ll like it.”
He wouldn’t like anything this season but he decided to play along. “Okay, lead on.”
He hoped she hadn’t spent too much money. Kindergarten teachers didn’t make a lot and he hated to think of her spending a fortune on some fancy meal. He’d be happy enough with a hamburger. Anyway, he’d rather eat in the car than go into a restaurant dressed in his Santa suit.
They were out of the mall now and at her trusty SUV. She complained about her gas mileage but he was secretly glad she had this vehicle. It had all-wheel drive and handled well in the snow, so he didn’t have to worry about her when she was driving in bad weather. Seattle rarely got much of the white stuff, but they’d had a couple of inches earlier in the month and the weatherman was predicting more by New Year’s.
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