Secret-Santa Cowboy: The Buckskin Brotherhood

by Thompson, Vicki Lewis

  “Georgie Warner,” Fiona prompted him. “His mother is—”

  “Mrs. Warner?” He closed the tailgate and hoisted the bag over his shoulder.

  “Correct.” She laughed. “But it might not always be the case.”

  “Just let me know. Ben thinks it sounds better if Santa addresses the adults by their last name. But he’s on a first-name basis with the kids.”

  “Makes sense.” She smiled. “Ready, Santa?”

  “Ready, Galadriel.” Such a sunny, relaxed smile. He’d seen it a few times during the party after the auction and again when he’d driven her home that night. Not so much during their awkward date.

  Mrs. Warner had brought Georgie out on the front porch. She looked young, maybe because her brown parka was way too big and her dark hair was pulled up in a high ponytail.

  Georgie wore a Western-styled Santa suit complete with cowboy boots and a kid-sized Stetson. She bounced him up and down in her arms and sang to him as Leo and Fiona approached. It wasn’t working. The dark-haired little boy regarded them with suspicion.

  In response, Leo toned down his jolly greeting and paused at the foot of the porch steps. “Merry Christmas, Georgie and Mrs. Warner. I brought my favorite elf from the North Pole, Galadriel.”

  “Thank you so much for coming. See, Georgie? It’s Santa and his elf. I’ll bet she helps make the toys!”

  “Yep, I do, and guess what’s in the sack, Georgie? Toys for you.”

  He buried his face against his mother’s neck. He knocked the hat askew, but the string under his chin kept it on his head.

  “He’s been so excited about having Santa visit,” his mom said. “I guess the reality is a little overwhelming.”

  “We don’t have to push it,” Leo said. “We can just leave the gifts with you.”

  “Let’s give him a little more time.”

  Time was in short supply, but that wasn’t this young woman’s fault. “Sure thing.”

  “I’m so grateful for the generosity of the community. I was laid off this summer and haven’t found anything else that pays enough to afford a sitter. I love having more time with Georgie, but my savings won’t last at this rate.”

  “That’s gotta be tough.” He lowered the bag to the porch steps. “Galadriel, if you’ll unpack the bag, I’ll stay right where I am so I don’t startle Georgie.”

  “Got it, Santa.”

  “What kind of work do you do, Mrs. Warner?”

  “I’m a receptionist, but I’d consider most anything that would cover my expenses.”

  “If I hear of an opening, I’ll let you know.” He already had some ideas. Henri might have even more.

  “Thanks so much.” She tilted her head toward a worn wicker chair on the porch. “I cleaned that chair before you came.”

  “Then Galadriel can put them on the chair, if you’d rather.” He glanced at Fiona and she gave a quick nod.

  “That’s fine, but I was so hoping I could get a picture of Georgie sitting on your lap. A friend gave me this suit when her son outgrew it. Georgie will be too big for it next year, so if you’d sit there, maybe we can make it work.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s worth a try.” Treating the little kid like a skittish horse, he avoided looking at him as he climbed the steps. “Galadriel, would you please get out the little surprise we have for Georgie?”

  “You bet, Santa.”

  “Did you hear that, Georgie?” Mrs. Warner jiggled him some more. “Santa brought you a surprise.”

  Georgie ignored his mother and twisted in her arms to keep track of scary Santa. Leo sat in the wicker chair and gave the little boy a quick glance. The kid hid his face again.

  Fiona climbed the steps, the moose in hand, her expression doubtful. Crossing to the chair, she gave him the moose with a look that clearly said good luck. Then she positioned herself by his side, her arm across the back of the chair.

  “Oh, that’s even better.” Mrs. Warner came toward him holding Georgie. She’d managed to get his hat on straight but he’d started to squirm and whimper. “Santa and his favorite elf. Georgie, want to sit with Santa so momma can take your picture?”

  The little boy struggled harder and shook his head.

  Leo held up the moose. “This is for you, Georgie. It’s Merlin the Moose. He wants to be your friend.”

  Georgie stopped struggling and turned to stare at the moose. Making a soft cooing sound, he reached out a chubby hand.

  “He wants it,” his mother said. “I’ll give him to you and you can give him the moose.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” It should have worked. He took the child into his arms, settled him on his lap and gave him the moose. Georgie’s mother pulled her phone from her pocket.

  But once Georgie had the moose, he began to kick to get free.

  “Easy sport.” Clark held him tighter, not wanting him to fall. The little boy tried to stand up and kicked harder. His pointed leather boots landed a punishing blow in a very sensitive spot. Leo gasped in pain.

  “Up we go!” Fiona plucked Georgie neatly from his lap and held the wildly kicking kid in midair. “Mission accomplished, Mrs. Warner?”

  “I got it! Great picture! Want to see it?”

  “I’d love to,” Fiona said, “but Georgie wants you, Mrs. Warner.”

  “Right. I’ll take him, now.” She shoved her phone in her pocket and grabbed him from Fiona. “Settle down, son. That’s a good boy.”

  Fiona turned to face the wicker chair. “You okay, there, Santa?” She positioned herself so he had some privacy to catch his breath. “Just got an urgent message from Mrs. Claus.” She held up her phone.

  “Thanks.” He sucked in air and pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll… respond…in a sec. The presents…”

  “Are stacked on the porch. I’ll grab the bag.”

  He nodded and made his way toward the steps. “Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Warner.” He winced as he started down them. “And little Georgie.”

  “A Merry Christmas to you, Santa! I’ll include this picture with the others when I send them to Ben on Christmas morning. You’ll love it. It’s a keeper.”

  “I’m sure.” He walked to the truck with as much dignity as he could muster.

  “Want me to drive?” Fiona murmured.

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Go on around the truck. I’ll get myself in.”

  “Thanks.” He made his way to the driver’s side, pulled himself into the seat and settled down with a groan. “That kid has a kick like a mule.”

  “I’m so sorry. I—”

  “You saved the day.” He closed the door, buckled up, and started the engine. “If you hadn’t picked him up, he would’ve scored again.” He pulled away from the house. “Next?”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Hey, the show must go on, and the pain’s letting up.”

  “Then continue down this road and take a left at the next four-way. Continue on for about three miles, take another left, and it’s the first dirt road on the left.”

  “You’re a lifesaver, Fi.”

  “I’m glad I’m here. Nobody should try to do this alone. It’s a two-person—hey, Clark, I think we have snowflakes hitting the windshield.”

  “I thought I might be seeing spots in front of my eyes from the Georgie attack.”

  “Nope, it’s snow, magical snow. Did you do that?”

  “No, ma’am.” He shifted in his seat. “Not much Christmas magic going on over here.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?”

  “I’m sure. Can’t have Santa chauffeured by an elf while he relaxes like some fat cat.”

  “Well, you are fat.”

  “I’m not fat. I’m fluffy.”

  “What’s your padding made of?”

  “Synthetic filling. You put it on like a vest with the opening in the back and tie it around the neck. Instant chubby.”

  “Sounds efficient. Are your glasses for seeing or for show?”

  �
��Part of Ben’s costume. He liked the look of the wire-rimmed specs, but the glass is clear. After the Georgie experience, I’m tempted to take ’em off. The next kid might try to punch me in the face.”

  “Let’s hope not.” She grinned. “Betcha didn’t know this job requires a goalie mask and a cup.”

  He laughed. “I did not.”

  She turned to him. “Since you’re recovered and we have a way to go, I’m calling in my raincheck from our earlier conversation. You said your parents wanted you to be famous. What for?”

  He hesitated. Probably should reveal that sometime. “Acting. I was something of a child star. Did some teen movies, too. Hated it. Took me a while to realize I had a choice in the matter. I left when I turned eighteen.”

  “That doesn’t sound like fun.”

  “Believe me, it wasn’t.”

  “Were the teen movies comedies?”

  “That’s how they were billed. I didn’t find them funny.”

  “I wonder if I saw one of them.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Your laugh is so familiar. I’ve heard it before and I can’t figure out where since I don’t know anybody in town named Clark. Is that your real name?”

  “Yep, sure is.” He might need to quit laughing. Wasn’t easy when he was with her. She tickled his funny bone.

  Was he nervous about how she’d react when he told her who he was? Hell, yes. But they weren’t there yet, and he had questions. “What were you supposed to be a professor of?”

  “I toyed with the idea of becoming an Egyptologist.”

  “Yeah?

  “I was fascinated by the pyramids.”

  “Were they built by aliens?”

  “I so wanted to believe that when I was a kid, but I don’t, anymore. The fact that convinced me was learning how they moved the stone.”

  “I’ve always wondered.” He was loving this discussion. Sure would be fun to have talks like this cuddled by a fire. Talking and kissing.

  “Turns out if you dampen sand, you reduce the friction and you can pull a loaded sledge way faster and easier than across dry sand. They’ve found evidence that’s exactly what they did.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. It’s an amazing feat of architecture. But that’s one key to the puzzle. They’re finding new ones all the time.”

  “So why didn’t you go into it?”

  “Papyrus.”

  “The first paper?”

  “Ah, but it’s not! Then I found out the Chinese had paper way sooner. They even had—get this—toilet paper!”

  “Well, shut my mouth.” And then kiss me.

  “Surprised the heck out of me, too. Anyway, I got hooked on the history of paper and then studied the environmental impact of it. I’ve always loved anything involving paper—books, stationery, journals. Selling recycled products so we can have the joy of it without wrecking the environment makes me happy.”

  “So the Chinese were the first. Who came next?” He already knew the answer. She’d told him during the drive home after the bachelor auction. That was when he’d vowed to get to know her better.

  She launched into her favorite topic and he smiled. This was the Fiona he’d been looking for.

  Chapter Six

  Fiona had gradually pieced together Clark’s unfortunate past. Manipulated as a kid, Clark had rebelled the minute he’d come of age. Sounded like he might be estranged from his parents. She couldn’t tell what the deal was with his sister Penelope, although he’d spoken of her with great affection.

  He’d had it way rougher than she had. Her parents were disappointed but not controlling. Clark’s story of being an instrument of his parents’ ego could have made some men bitter, yet Clark had retained an innate kindness she admired.

  And bonus, he could laugh about being kicked in the balls. He’d also liked her factoid about the pyramids and had asked good questions when she’d rattled on about paper.

  Eventually she ran out of gas on that subject and switched topics. “What did Georgie’s mother mean about sending pictures to Ben?”

  “Since he doesn’t get to see the kids open stuff, the parents send him pictures from Christmas morning.”

  “Oh, you know what? Beth said something about those pictures. I just forgot. That’ll be fun to see. Except for the one of Georgie on your lap.”

  “Maybe she took it the second before he nailed me.”

  “She must have. She seemed oblivious to what he’d done. By the way, are you going to try and find her a job?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I have some contacts.”

  “I wish I knew of something. I don’t need anyone and neither does Beth. I wonder if she has any food service experience? There’s Cup of Cheer, Gertie’s and the Moose.”

  “I thought of those, too. I need to talk with her again. This wasn’t the time to get into details.”

  “Especially after—”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He turned down a dirt road. At the end of it, light glowed through the bare branches of trees. “What’s the intel on this one?”

  She consulted the list. “Two boys, eight and six, Jay and Davey Hillman. Parents are Mr. and Mrs. Hillman. The dog’s name is Scooby. He’s friendly.”

  “I’ve met Scooby in town. Awesome dog.” As he pulled the truck in front of a house with lights shining from every window, a gigantic German shepherd leaped from the porch, barking on the way around to the driver’s side.

  She sucked in a breath. “That’s a friendly dog?”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s fine.” Clark opened the door. “Hey, Scooby! How’re you doing, boy?”

  The dog woofed and wagged his tail as Clark stepped down and rubbed his head and behind his ears. “Who’s a good dog? Who’s the best dog ever? You are!” He scrubbed his gloved hands down Scooby’s neck and along his spine, digging his fingers into the thick coat as the pooch wriggled in delight.

  The lovefest going on between dog and man brought Clark into sharper, sexier focus. Did he have good pecs and a six-pack under that loose material and the Santa belly? Possible. Whenever he braked the truck, his thigh had tightened enough to glimpse muscle definition. Not that she’d been looking.

  Yeah, right. She’d been paying more attention than she wanted to admit. Those broad shoulders filled out the Santa jacket nicely. The costume couldn’t completely disguise his narrow hips and what was likely a firm backside. He might very well have a great body to go with his manly chin.

  “We’ll meet you by the tailgate,” Clark called over his shoulder.

  “Be right there!” Sitting in the cab musing about what was under Clark’s Santa suit wasn’t in her job description, now was it? Opening the door, she jumped out, phone in hand, and hurried to the back of the truck.

  He’d already pulled down the tailgate and located the bag.

  Scooby bounded toward her, clearly ready for her to continue what Clark had started. She put a tentative hand on his head.

  “He’s very gentle.” Clark swung the bag over his shoulder.

  “I’m not afraid. I just don’t know much about dogs.”

  “He can tell. That’s why he’s standing there quietly. Very intelligent animal. Well-trained.”

  She stroked the dog’s massive head as he gave her a solemn, brown-eyed stare. “Hey, Scooby. You’re a very sweet dog.”

  “He’d let you do that all night.”

  Would you? She glanced up and caught him smiling at her. Whoa. If he’d deployed that sexy smile onscreen, no wonder his parents had seen dollar signs.

  He cleared his throat. “We’d better get moving.”

  “Lead the way.” Her stomach continued to flutter as she walked with him toward the house. Scooby switched his allegiance to Clark, trotting along right by his knee.

  The boys came out wearing denim jackets, jeans tucked into cowboy boots and stocking caps pulled over their ears. Their parents, wearing similar outfits, followed their sons and stationed themselv
es behind the boys at the edge of the porch. Tall family. The kids looked a couple of years older than their ages on the list.

  “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!” Clark called out.

  The father pulled a harmonica out of his breast pocket and began to play as the mother and two boys sang We Wish You a Merry Christmas.

  Clark paused, so she did, too. Scooby sat, ears pricked forward.

  The little family poured so much enthusiasm into their song that Fiona’s throat tightened. They might need some help from Santa this Christmas, but they’d give back as best they could.

  When they finished, she clapped enthusiastically along with Clark. The kids executed bows and the proud parents grinned. Greeting the boys by name, Clark introduced her before they launched into distributing the gifts.

  Jay, the oldest, whooped as he held up what was clearly a wrapped football. “I know what this is.” Excitement rang in his voice.

  “But you can’t open it until Christmas,” Clark said.

  “I know. Mom and Dad told me that, too, but with this wrap job, it’s obvious.”

  His little brother gave him a challenging glance. “But you don’t know what color it is.”

  Jay laughed. “It’s brown. They’re always brown.”

  “Maybe not.” Davey stuck to his guns. “You never know. You could be so surprised when it turns out to be yellow.”

  “Yeah, squirt.” Jay gave him a tolerant smile. “A yellow football would be a surprise, all right.”

  Clark gave each of the boys their stuffed moose and the two immediately started butting the two plush animals’ heads together in a mock battle.

  Their father laughed. “Like I didn’t see that coming. Hey, Santa, Scooby sure did take a shine to you.”

  Fiona checked on Scooby’s whereabouts and he was sitting right beside Clark, gazing up at him with adoration.

  Clark reached down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “I’ve taken a shine to him, too. You have a great dog.”

  “He’s amazing, and he likes people, but I’ve only seen him act this devoted toward one other person besides us, a guy we meet sometimes in town. Scooby bonded with him right away. He’s a wrangler who—”