Jonah

by Lori Wilde

  Jonah

  Texas Rascals, Volume 12

  Lori Wilde

  Published by Lori Wilde, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  JONAH

  First edition. October 30, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Lori Wilde.

  ISBN: 978-1393475910

  Written by Lori Wilde.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

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  Further Reading: Handsome Rancher

  Also By Lori Wilde

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The dratted Santa suit itched.

  A lot.

  In fact, Jonah Stevenson realized with dawning horror that the suit was infested with fleas.

  Vigorously, he scratched an ear. He had to get out of this blasted thing before the merciless bugs flayed his meat from the bone. He didn’t intend on letting children sit on his lap and risk passing the torture on to them.

  “I gotta go,” he muttered to the slender elf standing on the podium beside their sleigh, which consisted of an elaborately painted cardboard-and-plywood structure.

  “Go?” The young woman blinked at him. “What do you mean? The store opens in two minutes, and a mob of kids is waiting outside to see Santa. You can’t go anywhere.”

  If he wasn’t so uncomfortable, he might have taken the time to admire the way her short, ginger-ale-colored hair curled about her sweet gamin face. A face for which she had obviously been hired, but Jonah could think of nothing except stripping off his britches as quickly as possible.

  “Listen, lady, I’ve got something I have to take care of. The kids will just have to wait.” Jonah started for the exit.

  Miss Pixie sprang forward, arms outstretched, blocking his way. The jingle bells on her red-and-white striped elf hat jangled merrily as she moved. “I’m sorry, but you’re not leaving.”

  “Excuse me?” Jonah scratched furiously at his neck. What was this woman’s problem? He was certain the department store wasn’t paying her enough to act as his warden. “Are you telling me what I can and cannot do?”

  “I know what’s going on here, and I don’t approve.” She sank her hands on her hips and frowned. Stern condemnation glistened in her olive-green eyes.

  Worry rumbled through Jonah. Could she have somehow guessed his secret?

  “What are you talking about?” Jonah clawed at his beard. The buggers were eating him alive. He had to get out of this vermin-plagued costume.

  Now.

  “I know what’s going on, and I can help. My mother is a social worker.”

  “I don’t care if your mother is Margaret Mead, get outta my way.”

  “Margaret Mead was an anthropologist,” she corrected. “Not a sociologist. An anthropologist studies mankind. A sociologist studies social groups.”

  “Who gives a rat’s patoot?”

  “Anger.” She shook her head. “A classic symptom.”

  Openmouthed, Jonah paused long enough to stare at her. The woman was certifiable.

  He tried to sidestep around her, but she anticipated his move and went with him step for step as if they were waltzing.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she continued earnestly.

  Okay, maybe having fleas was nothing to be ashamed of, but Jonah didn’t wish to announce his plight to the entire world. He remembered a particularly humiliating experience that happened to him in fourth grade when his favorite teacher, Miss Applebee, had discovered lice in his hair.

  Jonah cringed. The suit had to come off. Not only because of the fleas, which were indeed reason enough, but because the besieged costume reminded him of his crappy childhood.

  He raised a finger and wagged it under her nose. “Get out of my way, sweetheart, or I swear I’ll walk right over you.”

  “The children are depending on you, Santa. You represent something pure and honest and wonderful. How can you shatter their dreams? Don’t those little kids mean more to you than alcohol?”

  “Alcohol?” He blinked at her.

  “I know a few of the store Santas that Carmichael’s hired this season are down on their luck. Men who can’t hold regular jobs because they have drug and alcohol problems. Men who just need a helping hand and someone to care about them. It’s not your fault that you’re an addict, but it is your responsibility to stop drinking.”

  Jonah threw his hands in the air. “You’re a lunatic, you know that? I’m not an alcoholic.”

  “Denial!” she crowed triumphantly. “Another classic symptom.”

  Swiveling his head, Jonah searched for redemption from this verdant-eyed zealot and got none.

  Instead, he saw at least three dozen shoppers and their ardent offspring bearing down on him at warp speed.

  “Santa! Santa!” the children chanted.

  Yikes.

  He had to escape. Jonah faked left, then went right and sprinted past the pixie.

  “Hey,” she cried, “you can’t expect me to face these excited kids alone. They want Santa.”

  People in hell want ice water. The phrase ran through his head, but he didn’t say it.

  The elf woman chased after him and grabbed the tail of his Santa jacket before he could bolt through the door marked ‘Employees Only.’

  “You’re not going anywhere, Santa,” she growled and dug in her heels. “And if you do, I’ll report you to the store manager, Mr. Trotter.”

  Jonah bared his teeth and willed the fleas to jump onto her. He tried to shake her off, but she held on with more tenacity than carpet lint on a wool jacket.

  “Look, Mommy, that elf is trying to hurt Santa,” a child said.

  Oh, great. Now they had an audience. “Let go,” Jonah said through gritted teeth.

  “No.” She narrowed her eyes and clung tighter.

  Jonah grabbed the corner of his jacket and jerked hard, intending on dislodging her. Instead, he ended up dragging her closer.

  He saw a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her cute little nose and a tiny half-moon scar on her otherwise flawless forehead. Another time, another place and he would have admired her tenacity.

  But not here, not now, not with fleas feasting on his flesh.

  “Mommy, Mommy, make that elf leave Santa alone!”

  “You’re scaring my daughter,” a woman in the crowd protested.

  This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be drawing attention to himself. The whole point of this stakeout was to hide behind Santa’s jovial facade. His boss, Chief Truman West, would have Jonah’s hide if he blew his cover on the very first day.

  Jonah had known this was going to be an awful assignment. The chief made it clear that this stint as Santa was punishment for smashing up the mayor’s brand-new Lexus during his last undercover duty, never mind that it had been an unavoidable accident.

  For the past year, Jonah had worked undercover in Rascal, Texas, as part of a statewide task force to crack down on human trafficking from the Mexican border up through West Texas. Jonah was originally from El Paso, and no one in Rascal knew he was a cop. Even though he had totaled the mayor’s car in a high-speed chase, he hadn’t blown his cover. He’d been arrested and thrown in jail by his boss in a bid to keep his identity hidden.

  The local lowlifes he’d been hanging with lauded him
as a hero for stealing the mayor’s car, and he’d told them he’d gotten off with probation and had to serve community service as a store Santa.

  The fleas were gnawing on him as if they hadn’t had a meal since last Christmas. Jonah couldn’t help wondering if Carmichael’s, the only department store in Rascal, had stowed the mangy suit at a dog kennel. He couldn’t take any more of this.

  Something had to be done.

  Jonah clamped his hand over the pixie’s wrist and pried her fingers loose. Then, before she had time to get another hold, he bolted through the door.

  Once in the vacant storeroom, he ripped off the beard and scraped his face with the vigor of a poodle scratching at full throttle.

  Next, he snatched the bedraggled felt hat from his head and flung it to the floor.

  His fingers grappled with the big black buttons on the front of his suit, fleas hopping in all directions. He jerked off the padding strapped around his waist to simulate Santa’s bulk, kicked off his boots, and shucked down his pants, his mind on one thing only.

  Relief.

  What he hadn’t counted on was that relentless, do-gooding female elf with the persistence of an Attica prison guard.

  She burst through the door, catching him standing there in nothing but his briefs.

  SHE’D CAUGHT SANTA with his pants down.

  Edie Preston came to a screeching halt. Her mouth dropped. She had no idea that Santa was so muscular, so manly, so gosh-darn sexy.

  And she certainly hadn’t expected to find him almost naked in the storeroom.

  What she had expected was some flabby, middle-aged drunk sucking whiskey from a flask or popping a handful of pills, not a young, vital hunk-among-hunks in a very compromising position.

  He snapped his head around, and deep sapphire-blue eyes sliced into hers, forcing Edie’s gaze to the floor.

  “What is it?” His voice cut like slivered glass. “What do you want from me?”

  “I—I—” Her gaze hitched a ride from his sturdy ankles to his hard, firm buttocks.

  Her face heated hotter than a curling iron on the highest setting. She could not seem to find her tongue even though she was sure it lay in its usual place on the floor of her mouth.

  “If you’ve gotten your eyes full, could you leave me in peace?” He turned toward her.

  “I—er—didn’t mean...” she stammered, unable to wrench her gaze from the spectacular sight of Santa’s washboard abs.

  What was a man like this doing playing Santa at a strip mall department store? He should be modeling underwear or playing professional sports.

  “What am I supposed to do about those children?” She gestured helplessly toward the door.

  “Don’t know, don’t care.” He reached an arm over his head and clawed at the back of his neck.

  “Could I ask a question?”

  “I have the feeling you’re going to ask it no matter what I say.” He sighed. “So go ahead.”

  “Why did you run in here and take off your clothes?”

  “Fleas.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Fleas.” He scratched his chest; bright-red welts dotted his skin.

  “You have fleas?”

  “The suit did.” He nodded at the discarded garments scattered across the cement floor.

  Edie slapped a hand across her mouth. “Oh my, and here I was giving you a hard time.”

  “Yes,” he said. “You were.”

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. See, I’ve worked with store Santas before, and I’ve had some unpleasant experiences.”

  “Are you always so quick to stereotype?” His smirk told her he enjoyed her embarrassment.

  “No. Listen, I’m very sorry. Let me make it up to you. I’ll go find the manager and tell him about the suit.” Edie felt as small as a mustard seed. She usually prided herself on being nonjudgmental, but her reputation was riding on Santa’s sobriety.

  It had taken her a week of tall talking to get Mr. Trotter to agree to hire men from the local halfway house for seasonal employment and that was after she’d already gotten approval from the store owner, J. D. Carmichael himself. Her argument that the men worked cheap was what swayed him, not her speech about community responsibility.

  If Santa got soused, Mr. Trotter would hold her personally accountable. That’s why she’d jumped to conclusions about why he was running away, and she was ashamed of herself.

  “Before you go, would you mind doing me a favor?”

  “A favor?” Oh heavens, what did this sexy man want from her?

  “Could you scratch right here?” He twisted his arm around his back. “Right below my left shoulder blade. I can’t reach the spot, and it’s driving me crazy.”

  “Uh...” Touch this man? Her fingers ached to obey his request, but her brain urged her legs to run right out the door.

  “Come on, lady, have a heart.”

  “It’s Edie.”

  “What?”

  “My name’s Edie. Edie Preston.”

  “That’s great.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jonah. Could you be a doll, Edie, and help me out here?”

  She started to chew a fingernail but stopped herself. She’d almost broken the habit except when she was under a great deal of stress.

  “Please,” he begged.

  “Well...”

  “If you don’t want to touch me, then find me something to scratch with. A stick, a coat hanger. Have mercy, ma’am. Please.”

  Please.

  The magic word Edie could never resist. He certainly seemed sincere. She took a deep breath.

  “Okay, I’ll do it.” She stepped forward and tentatively reached out a hand.

  His flesh was taut and warm. He arched his back. “Higher.”

  Edie splayed her fingers over his warm skin. An odd shiver zipped through her.

  “A little to the left.”

  Her heart thumped. She was actually touching this incredibly hot man. Unbidden, her gaze slid down his back to the curve just above the waistband of his underpants.

  What she saw was so delightful Edie snapped her eyes away and focused instead on a tower of boxes stacked in the corner.

  “No,” Santa turned Greek god said. “Too far. Back, back. Ah! There, that’s the spot.”

  Edie raked her hand back and forth, keeping her eyes firmly averted.

  “Harder,” he said, his voice guttural. “Faster.”

  Geez, she needed a flame-proof suit to combat the fire building inside her.

  “Yes!” He groaned. “Don’t stop.”

  Jonah bent forward slightly. Edie stood right behind him, furiously scratching his naked back.

  “You got it, baby!”

  At that moment, the storeroom door flew open. Edie and Jonah turned in unison to see Jebidiah Trotter standing in the doorway, a gaggle of rowdy kids visible behind him.

  “Just what,” Mr. Trotter demanded, “is going on in here?”

  “I can explain,” Edie said.

  Mr. Trotter slammed the door behind him, crossed his arms over his chest, and leveled her a condescending stare. “I suggest you begin immediately, Miss Preston, and tell me why I shouldn’t fire both of you this very minute.” He threw a disdainful glare in Jonah’s direction.

  Edie raised her palms, then pulled them downward in a calming gesture. “You’ve got a store full of kids waiting to see Santa. If Santa doesn’t appear, their mothers will get upset.”

  She didn’t care for Carmichael’s new manager, but she prided herself on getting along with most anyone. However, Mr. Trotter was difficult to please and wielded a heavy-handed management style, preferring punishment over positive reinforcement.

  Trotter tilted his nose upward. “Be that as it may, I will not have you and your Santa playing sex games in my storeroom. Especially when you’re supposed to be working.” He tapped the face of his wristwatch.

  Sex games with Santa?

  Edie darted a quick glance at her nearly
naked partner-in-crime and gulped. Until today, she had never considered Santa Claus the least bit sexy, but Jonah had changed all her preconceived notions.

  Jonah stepped between Edie and Mr. Trotter, a thunderous expression on his face. “Listen here, Trotter, your Santa suit was infested with fleas. That’s why I’m in my underwear. That’s why I have welts on my body, which Miss Preston was so kindly scratching for me. If you don’t get me a new suit pronto, and lay off threatening the lady, I’ll be forced to report this incident to the public health department.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” Trotter sniffed.

  If she squinted just right in the glare of fluorescent lighting, Trotter looked exactly like the Grinch who stole Christmas—snooty nose, sour expression, virtually hairless—with an attitude to match.

  Edie slapped a palm over her mouth to keep from giggling.

  “Try me,” Jonah growled, leaning forward in a menacing stance.

  How anyone could appear menacing in his undies, Edie didn’t know, but Jonah was pulling it off with the pugilistic aplomb of a heavyweight boxer.

  “Oh, and I believe you owe Miss Preston an apology.”

  “An apology? What for?” Trotter’s brows plunged together in an angry V.

  “Insinuating that she’s the type to have a sordid affair in the storeroom.”

  Trotter snorted. “I will not apologize.”

  The two men stared each other down, eye to eye, toe to toe. Jonah clenched his hands.

  Trotter’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

  Neither blinked.

  Edie’s heart skipped a beat, and her tummy tightened. Jonah was standing up for her! No one had ever championed her like this, and while she found it thrilling, she was also terrified Trotter would fire them both.

  She needed her job to pay for next semester’s tuition, and she was certain Jonah hadn’t taken the position as store Santa simply for the fun of it. She had to smooth things over.

  “It’s all right, Jonah,” Edie soothed. “I know how things must have seemed—with you in nothing but your tighty-whities and me running my hands along your...” She hesitated on the word body. “Why don’t I go out and entertain the children before we lose customers?”