Moonlight and Mistletoe

by Dawn Temple

  Somewhere, a portable stereo played Christmas carols. As Kyle stared into the boy’s world-weary expression, “Little Drummer Boy” faded into “Joy to the World,” and another memory, a rare, happy recollection, surfaced in his brain, providing him with a rebuttal to Tommy’s skepticism.

  “Ever hear the legend of St. Nicholas?”

  Tommy shook his head no. Kyle levered himself onto the lowered tailgate and waited, hoping the child’s curiosity would draw him to Kyle’s side. Sure enough, a few seconds later, the boy dropped down next to him, his feet dangling about a foot higher than Kyle’s.

  “Hundreds of years ago, this rich guy named Nicholas went to work for the church. During his travels, he met lots of people—mostly sailors and children—who needed help. So Nick used his wealth to buy food, clothes and toys for these people.”

  He glanced at his audience from the corner of his eye. The boy sat with his head tilted, his attention rapt. Satisfied to have pierced the kid’s tough-guy act, Kyle continued.

  “Before long, St. Nick’s generosity became legendary. To this day, people exchange gifts to honor his memory. We’ve turned the legend of St. Nicholas into Santa Claus, making him a symbol of the holiday spirit.”

  “Cool story, but Santa’s still just some made up dude in a funny suit.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” Kyle nodded, as though swayed by Tommy’s answer. They sat side by side for a minute, legs swinging. “So, what’s the deal with all the name tags?”

  He sensed more than saw Tommy’s shoulder lift in a don’t-know-why-I-bother shrug. “Making sure the little ones get what they want.”

  “Cool,” he mimicked the boy’s earlier bored tone. “Know what that makes you?”

  “What?”

  “Santa Claus.”

  “No way, man. That’s stupid.”

  “Think about it. The world’s population is a couple of billion, right?”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s not possible for one person to distribute gifts to all those people. That’s why the real St. Nick isn’t just one man or woman or even one kid. Santa Claus is really hundreds—heck thousands, hundreds of thousands—of people, all working together to deliver the Christmas spirit.”

  Tommy stared into the distance. Kyle could practically hear the cogs whirring in the kid’s brain. “So all the people who brought this stuff are Santas, too.”

  “That’s the way I figure it.”

  Dirt-colored hair rustled against the boy’s collar as he nodded his head. “That’s a good story, Mr.—”

  “Anderson, but you can call me Kyle.” He extended his hand, and even though he knew the answer, he asked, “What’s yours?”

  “Tommy. Tommy Hunter.” He slipped his small hand into Kyle’s and squeezed firmly.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Tommy Hunter.”

  The clang of church bells overlapped Kyle’s words. Tommy sprang to his feet, tucked the notepad under a pile of jigsaw puzzles and jumped to the ground.

  “I gotta go, Mr. Kyle. We’re supposed to meet back at the bus at five.” The boy’s wide brown eyes shot over Kyle’s shoulder, his smile growing to show the hole where his left incisor used to be. “Bye, Miz Shayna. See you next week!” Waving frantically, the boy raced off.

  Kyle craned his head over his shoulder. Shayna stood a few feet away, wearing that outrageously sexy red dress, her arms hugging her waist. Tears glistened in her golden-brown eyes, assuring him she’d heard a good portion of his talk with little Tommy.

  Behind her, the two remaining volunteers counted the cash in the donation bucket. Someone had turned off the music, he realized distractedly as she closed the distance between them.

  “That really was a great story, Kyle.” Despite her short stature, Shayna easily levered herself onto the tailgate beside him. “Where’d you learn it?”

  “A, um, teacher told it one year, when some of the kids started spreading rumors that Santa wasn’t real.”

  “How old were you?”

  “About Tommy’s age, I guess. Eight. Maybe nine.”

  “You see something of yourself in him.”

  “Yeah. A little.”

  The ladies at the table finished tallying the donations and called their goodbyes. Shayna waved back. The movement stirred her appealing vanilla scent. His mouth watered.

  God, could this woman get any further under his skin?

  To keep from reaching for her, from stretching her out in the back of this truck and finding out just how far into her skin he could get, he clutched the edge of the tailgate and stared straight ahead. All around them, the town was rolling up the streets and turning in, the quiet of the early evening a welcome contrast to the afternoon’s commotion.

  His fingers began to cramp, but he didn’t release his grip on the tailgate. Maintaining his distance, keeping his cool, was crucial. If he crossed that line and touched her again, he wouldn’t be satisfied with a kiss.

  “Actually, he reminds me of this kid who lived in the home—our home—for a few months. Curtis Devon. Curt was a scrapper, always ready, willing and able to throw the first punch.”

  “That does sound like Tommy. Did you two get into trouble together?”

  “No. Curt was a couple years younger than me. I usually ended up hauling him to the house after some bigger kids had kicked his butt.”

  “What did your folks say about that?”

  “My folks? Oh, I ah, wasn’t living at home at the time.”

  Shayna’s brow rose, but thankfully, she didn’t pursue the whereabouts of his parents. “So what happened to Curt?”

  “One night his dad got more drunk than usual and broke Curt’s nose and a couple ribs.”

  “Poor baby. Was he okay?”

  “Eventually.” Kyle’s fingers released the tailgate and furled into fists at his sides. Even after all these years, the memory still sparked a vicious anger. “That was the last time the old man ever laid a hand on his son again. I talked Curt’s caseworker into pressing charges. I even testified. The SOB got eight years.”

  “I’ll bet that’s the real reason you became a lawyer. Sounds like the system worked that time and you must have been impressed by the lawyer who helped Curt escape his father.”

  It was a damn fine theory, one Kyle had considered himself a time or two, not that he intended to tell her. She saw through him too easily as it was.

  “Nah. It was the money.” He lightened his tone, hoping to steer the conversation to more comfortable ground. But Shayna apparently had other plans.

  She put her hand on his knee and squeezed reassuringly. The electric spark, always there whenever they touched, hummed as an undercurrent to a powerful sense of support and kindness. “So, how long were you in the system?”

  He should have known she’d piece together the truth he was trying to keep hidden.

  She asked the question so softly, her words sounded like a natural element of sundown, as expected as the stars, so natural in fact, he never considered not answering her.

  “My mom was a junkie, and my dad was a two-bit criminal. I was bounced in and out of foster homes for about ten years. Till I turned fifteen.”

  “Fifteen? That’s awfully old for an adoption.”

  “I wasn’t adopted. After the convenience-store thing, I finally realized that if I didn’t get away, I would end up like my old man, stealing cars and dealing. I started searching for a way out and learned about a scholarship to an exclusive boy’s school. I don’t look back.”

  “We all look back. It’s only natural.” A crisp breeze blew across the darkening parking lot. Shayna shivered, her shoulder brushing his. Without conscious thought, he threw his arm around her and pulled her in close to his side.

  “I saw you stick a wad of cash in the donation bucket,” she said softly against his chest. “Thanks.”

  “Like you said, it’s important.”

  After a couple minutes of pleasant silence,
Shayna pulled away and turned, sitting sideways on the tailgate, her knee folded against the side of his thigh.

  “I talked with a friend of mine today about the paperwork you brought. He…gave me quite a bit to think about. He agreed with you about talking with a lawyer before doing or saying anything I’d regret.”

  “Smart friend.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t help wishing he had agreed with me that it’s all a pile of malarkey, and I have every right to be pissed.”

  “No one said you can’t be angry, Shayna. But you’ve got to find a way to work around your emotions and make logical decisions.”

  “Yeah. Travis said that, too.”

  Travis, husband to pregnant friend Lindy. Kyle had met them both at the ground breaking and again last night. Neither had bothered to hide their suspicions. Or their support for Shayna.

  “Sounds like you’ve got good people in your court.”

  “I do, and speaking of which, I’ve gotta get Travis’s truck unloaded and back to him so I can get home and check on Brinks.”

  “I imagine that monster’s got a nasty way of showing his displeasure if you leave him alone too long.” Kyle slid off the tailgate, amused by the sound of the brads on his new jeans clicking against the truck’s steel.

  “Darn dog misses you,” she complained.

  “What can I say? I, too, am good with kids and animals.” He offered his hand to help her down. He tugged and she jumped, the combination nearly sending them both to their butts.

  Kyle widened his stance and stabilized them, bracing his hands around her waist to keep her from upsetting his balance again. Her hands flew forward, palms out, and got wedged between their upper bodies.

  A streetlight shone through the white canopy, casting a soft glow beneath the tent. Mere inches separated their lips. Shayna shifted closer, the fingers of one hand slipping between the buttons of his shirt. Her fingertips grazed his chest.

  He sucked in a breath as his hands slid down from her waist, cupped her full hips and pulled her body into alignment with his. The fit was exquisite.

  She stared up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted. When the tempting tip of her tongue darted out, Kyle knew it was useless to resist. He moved one hand to the back of her neck and tilted her face up fully to his.

  “I’m powerfully attracted to you—” he echoed her words from earlier “—and even though the timing sucks, I am happy about it.” He flexed his hips, grazing his desire against her tummy. “But I don’t want to do anything that you’re going to regret.”

  When she grabbed his belt loops and eliminated every whisper of space between them, Kyle’s happiness grew even further. Before he could stop himself, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.

  Chapter Eleven

  Oh, wow. Oh, wow. Oh, wow, wow. Wow!

  Holy cow, did this man know how to kiss. Although, kiss was too mild a word to describe what Kyle’s mouth was doing to hers.

  Assault? Absorption? Heaven?

  Whatever you called it, Shayna wanted more.

  Obviously, Thanksgiving had only been a sampling of Kyle’s talent. Straining onto her tiptoes, she dove deeper into the heady sensations. The firm, warm pressure of his lips, the sexy softness of his skin, the caress of his fingers along her nape.

  Kyle’s tongue demanded entrance. She eagerly granted him access. This, her mind sang out, was what she’d been waiting for, why no one had ever truly threatened her self-control.

  And this was what made him so dangerous. As his lips and tongue and hands continued to churn her desire to unknown heights, a tiny, barely functioning corner of her brain fretted over this man’s effect on her. Not just the physical, although heaven knew that was exquisite. What worried her the most was the way he kept sneaking past her emotional defenses.

  When he finally wrenched their lips apart and separated his body from hers, Shayna felt shaky, like a banjo string plucked good and hard and left to sing itself out. She staggered back a step, her backside bumping into the truck. Her breath came in ragged gasps. His did, too.

  He closed the gap between them and brushed his lips against her forehead, his arms wrapping securely around her body. “I want so badly to ask you to invite me back up that mountain, but I think we both know that wouldn’t be smart.”

  “Not smart, but certainly fantastic.”

  Kyle heaved a sigh, his breath whooshing through her hair. “I’m trying to be strong here, and you’re not helping.”

  “That’s because you’ve got me feeling weak.” She let her head fall back, causing his lips to skim down her face and settle on her throat. A delicious shiver charged up her spine. “How about one for the road?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” His lips reclaimed hers with a gentleness that took Shayna’s breath away. This kiss was slower, longer and a hundred times more devastating than the first.

  When he finally ended it, he trailed his lips across her cheek to her ear. “I need to stand here just like this for a few minutes before I’ll be able to walk without pain. Then, I’ll help you off-load this impressive haul.”

  “Then what?” she asked breathlessly, half hoping, half dreading he’d suggest coming home with her again.

  “Then I’m going back to the boarding house to take a cold shower and lie awake all night kicking myself for being such a gentleman.”

  Kyle had never actually taken a vacation. Dysfunctional families didn’t go camping or take trips to Disney World. Scholarship-dependent college kids didn’t do spring break in Mexico. Obsessed junior associates didn’t indulge in long weekends in Tahoe. He’d never learned how to take it easy.

  It was Monday. He should be at the office, working his way up that damned corporate ladder. But he didn’t want to return to California until he finished his business with Shayna, and he couldn’t finish his business with Shayna until after she consulted her attorney. That could be anywhere from a few hours to forever. So what the hell was he supposed to do with himself until then?

  He knew what he wanted to do. What he’d nearly done last night.

  Unable to stomach another huge, drawn-out breakfast with his festive housemates, Kyle dressed in his new suit, slipped out the back door and headed for the local diner. Images of Shayna had haunted and taunted him all night, and now, his exhausted body and brain craved large amounts of thick, strong coffee.

  What the hell had prompted last night’s uncharacteristic show of chivalry? He’d had a warm, willing woman in his arms, a woman he’d been craving, and rather than pursue her blatant eagerness, he’d planted a chaste kiss on her forehead and hauled his stiff body to bed. Alone.

  It was the right thing to do, he knew, but it damned sure hadn’t been easy. No matter how much he desired her, he had to stay away from her. Bible-belt girls like Shayna grew up dreaming about happily every after. White weddings and picket fences. Kids and puppies. That kind of heartfelt commitment wasn’t in the cards for him.

  It didn’t take him long to reach the diner, yet at least a dozen people acknowledged him. The way these people made pleasant and friendly contact with a stranger on the street unnerved him. In Los Angeles, if you were forced to cover any distance on foot, you damned sure didn’t voluntarily draw the attention of other pedestrians. God only knew who would try to talk to you or accost you.

  The diner was loud and crowded, but he lucked into an empty booth by the large plateglass window. He grabbed a seat and ordered a pot of coffee from a passing pink-uniformed waitress. A check of his watch showed 8:47 a.m. He cringed. Normally, he’d be three hours into his workday by now.

  “Morning, Santa.”

  Surprised by the friendly greeting, Kyle looked up. Way up. Danny Robertson, holding a tray of steaming mugs, smiled down. “Good morning,” Kyle answered carefully, waving a hand toward the empty seat across from him. Danny had been cautiously friendly after his initial warning Friday morning, but if he’d found out about Kyle and Shayna’s public make-out last night, things could get ugly.

/>   Robertson leaned his hip against the vinyl booth seat, gesturing with the tray of hot coffee. “I can’t stay. Just wanted to say thanks for stepping in Saturday. You did every parent in town a huge favor. If Santa hadn’t shown up, we would have to dress our little angels—again—and take ’em to the mall.” He shivered dramatically. “I hate the mall.”

  Assured his visitor didn’t intend to take a swing at him, Kyle grunted humorously. As he recalled, Robertson had escorted two small girls to visit Santa, “Well, with daughters, you don’t stand a chance in hell of avoiding it.”

  “Don’t I know it.” He jostled the tray, resting it on one leg. “You plan on reprising your role for the parade this Saturday?”

  The parade gig came as a complete surprise. “I haven’t been asked.”

  Robertson jerked a shoulder. “Shayna’s probably waiting to see if Elmer’s back heals. She’d hate to insult him by assuming he wouldn’t be up to the task.”

  “Probably so,” Kyle agreed, not believing the excuse for a second. More likely, she wanted Kyle gone badly enough to resume her Santa search from scratch.

  Danny stood and extended his free hand. “Well, thanks again, man.”

  Kyle accepted the handshake. “No problem.”

  Robertson left and the waitress, Millie according to her name badge, returned, carrying his coffee and a newspaper tucked under her one arm. “What can I get ’cha, hon?” Millie asked absently, her gaze focused out the big glass window.

  All he really wanted was the coffee, but since he didn’t have anything else to do, he ordered blueberry pancakes and a large glass of milk.

  “Anything else?” Millie asked, finally dragging her eyes back inside. “Oh, hey! You’re the guy from the paper.” She unfolded the paper she carried and opened it to the front page. “See?”

  He focused on the five-by-seven full color photo of himself and Shayna. She looked incredibly sexy. He, on the other hand, looked tortured. Just remembering the feel of her in his lap had him tightening. She’d rubbed all those supple curves against him until he’d been highly unfit to be in a room full of kids.