Santa had been more of a terror than a pleasant experience for Abby. Therapy when she’d reached adulthood had remedied her irrational fear of Old Saint Nick. Forcing herself to work in close proximity with Santa at the mall two years in a row had assured Abby the odd phobia had disappeared for good.
As she continued to hum a tune, her spirit lightened slightly. But only slightly. Lately she’d clamored for something unreachable. An indefinable need that gnawed at her like a beaver chewed on wood. The teeth marks in her psyche hurt. She’d spent a year working side by side with Becca. So far the road had included pitfalls and anxiety, but they had built a healthy customer base.
Yet with every Christmas she spent alone, she found the holiday more arduous. Like a grizzly, she wanted to hibernate through the crazy Christmas season. This year in particular, she wanted to hide from everything she didn’t feel with as much depth as she should. Faith, love, hope, and charity.
Abby knew this Christmas season had to be different than all the rest. She needed to do something special. She’d decided to decorate her Victorian home like crazy, turning her house into a holiday showcase that wouldn’t fail to cheer her heart.
Realizing she wasted time daydreaming, she finished shelving books and descended the ladder. Satisfied with her work, Abby looked around the store and sighed. It felt good to be here among the scent of books, to hold them in her hands and savor contentment. Books remained dependable friends. They never left you and stayed at hand when needed. She headed back to the front counter.
“My, my, aren’t we cheerful?” Becca came from the back rooms. She smiled, her pretty, freckled face brightening. Of average height, Becca stood a couple inches shorter than Abby and several pounds thinner. In fact, Abby had often teased her about being a walking scarecrow.
Abby grinned. “You know what they say. ’Tis the season to be jovial.”
Becca swept her shoulder length curly red hair back from her face. “You’ve been darn right cranky the last week. Now you’re fluttering about the store like a hummingbird and singing Christmas carols. What gives?”
Abby shrugged. “I’m having a great day.” Then she smiled again. “Or a manic-depressive episode.” When Becca’s forehead wrinkled with a frown, Abby said, “I had a nice morning in my incarnation as an elf.”
Becca leaned on the counter. “What was special about this morning?”
“Santa Claus. I think I’ll enjoy working with him. He’s a sweet man.”
The curiosity in Becca’s eyes escalated. “Aha, so you’re in love with Santa Claus?”
Abby stepped behind the counter. “He’s a nice, old, soft man. Cheerful, fatherly. Hardly love material.”
Becca sighed. “Probably has love handles the size of Mount Everest.” Abby giggled and Becca joined her. “And stays at home Friday nights and plays cards with Rudolph.”
Abby laughed harder. “Stop. Besides, the customers are going to think we’re unprofessional.”
“Pfft! Go with it, Abby. Give yourself a break from being so contained all the time.”
The seriousness in her eyes gave Abby pause. “Sorry.”
Becca patted her hand. “I like seeing you happy, and I hate it when you try and stop yourself from enjoying life.”
Abby would have denied her friend’s assessment, but a customer came to the counter with a question. A few minutes later, a very tall man strolled into the store. She watched as he stopped at a rack of horror novels and perused the latest Dean Koontz hard cover.
Déjà vu flared within her. She shrugged the sensation away, but intermittently glanced at him, seeing things about him with each look that she hadn’t noticed before. Occasionally she stole glimpses of his profile. Strong, with a nose some might call large, his face gave new, tantalizing meaning to the word rugged. His expertly cut chestnut hair gleamed in the store lights and waved over his ears, long enough to cover the collar of the shirt he wore beneath his green sweater. His sweater covered broad shoulders and a wide chest and his jeans formed an intimate but not tight fit over his thighs, his hips, his...
Abby swallowed hard and stared.
The man had the best looking butt she’d ever seen.
Smiling conspiratorially to herself, she forced herself to look away. She wasn’t getting any work done ogling a poor, innocent shopper. A customer came to the front counter and distracted Abby for several minutes.
Later, from the corner of her eye, she saw someone arrive at the counter. She turned with a smile.
And her breath jammed in her throat like a fishbone.
The good-looking stranger placed three hardbacks and an audio book on the counter.
“Hi. I’d like to get these books and the angel calendar you’ve got hanging on the wall behind you,” he said in a deep voice that rolled over her with a liquid, husky undertone that reminded her of brandy and fires in a hearth.
Abby stared, unable to reply. Something familiar and disconcerting nagged at her memory. Where had she met him before? Was he a famous movie star? Certainly he possessed a rough handsomeness that would work on the big screen.
She took a deep breath and managed to croak, “Find everything you need?”
“Yes, thank you.” He gave a wide, knee-buckling grin that added to the striking depth of his eyes and made her heart beat a little faster.
Abby noted he’d picked the new Dean Koontz, a Christmas cookie cookbook, a techno thriller, and a mainstream novel. “Christmas shopping?”
He nodded. “You’re right. One of them is for me, though.”
“Let me guess. The techno thriller?”
A heart-stopping grin curved his lips. “The Christmas cookies.”
“Oh,” she murmured, feeling foolish for assuming. “I see.”
She rang up his purchases, bungled the first time and had to do it again. “Sorry.”
The man didn’t appear the least perturbed. “No problem.”
As Abby loaded his books and calendar in a bag, she asked, “Do you like angels?”
“What?”
“The angel calendar.”
Abby watched the way his mouth tilted. “It’s for my niece Jenny. She’s ten this Christmas and into everything angels.”
“A child after my own heart. I love angels.”
“Then I’ll have to introduce you to her sometime.” He leaned against the counter, his gaze catching and holding hers.
His blue eyes defined arresting. Nicely spaced, with thick lashes, a myriad of emotions reflected in their depths. Good will and humor and maybe even teasing. Seconds later the teasing transformed into another meaning she couldn’t mistaken.
Have mercy, his eyes are smoldering! If he looks at me that way much longer, I’ll become a pool of mush on the floor.
He scrutinized Abby until heat washed into her throat and up to her face. She couldn’t help but stare back.
Hell, he wasn’t just tall. He wasn’t just handsome. He was every cliché she’d ever heard.
Drop dead gorgeous.
To die for.
She almost made herself sick with the adages. And he baked Christmas cookies? Something she couldn’t do. How thoroughly, sickeningly, perfect could a man get?
Wait a minute. Cobalt blue eyes. No wonder he looked familiar.
“Something wrong?” he asked, his voice serious.
Abby jerked from her stunned silence. “I know you.”
His gaze performed another lingering assessment. Purely masculine appreciation carried into his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he grinned.
“Pixie?” he asked.
2
“How...” Abby started to ask, her breath sucking in so quickly that it came out as a cough. “Excuse me.”
“You okay?” Nick asked, his eyes darkening with concern.
She cleared her throat and smiled, embarrassed. “I’m fine thanks.”
“I’m flattered.”
“What?”
“A woman’s never gotten choked up over me before.”
She laughed. “You’re Santa,” she said, accusing rather than confirming.
“That’s me.” He put his hand out to her. “Nick Claussen.”
She shook his big hand and enjoyed the heat in his slightly rough palm and firm grip. “Nick Claussen, eh?”
“Yeah, pretty cool, isn’t it?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Saint Nick. Santa Claus. Nick Claussen.”
Unable to hold in another laugh, Abby let it rip. She noted how his glance strayed to her mouth. Her lips tingled. As if he’d touched them. The notion sent heat like a slow tide into her body, starting at her stomach and unfurling outwards.
“How did you know I worked in the bookstore?” she asked.
Nick lowered his voice. “I didn’t at first, but I looked at the name of your store. Elf Books and you’re an elf...” He shrugged. “That and Pete Mulligan. I ran into him, literally, and he told me your nickname is Pixie.”
She cleared her throat. “I ought to skin him alive.”
“Hey, it’s not his fault. I begged him to tell me.”
As if happy that Abby participated in his game, he treated her to another of his cocky smiles. She really did like the way his lips moved, she thought. Mobile and well shaped, his mouth must be designed for grins, laughter, and...kissing.
Oh, Lord. I’m losing it.
“That’s right,” Nick said, as if he’d read her mind and established that she’d flipped. “I was looking for you because I wanted to thank you for the help this morning. But Pete got away before I could find out your real name.”
When she recalled how he’d handled Tisha’s sadness, Abby warmed to him. His benevolence had made Santa a pleasant obsession for her this afternoon.
Nick settled his purchases onto the counter as if he meant to stay awhile. “Are you going to be my elf for the rest of the month?”
“Clear through the season.”
“That’s great. I’m looking forward to it.”
A twitter of excitement ran through her. Abby allowed the enjoyable sensation to grip her and widened her smile until she realized her expression must resemble a circus clown.
The sensual heat in his eyes jump-started her heart and loosened her normally well-tended defenses.
“I noticed your help-wanted sign out front. I want to apply,” he said as he rubbed his hand over his chiseled, slightly square jaw.
“It’s just a clerk position.”
“I don’t mind.”
“There’s a lot of inventory work, stocking shelves, lifting heavy boxes.”
“I’m strong. Lifting heavy boxes is no problem.”
Abby glanced over his broad shoulders and long arms. Curiosity made her want to see him in action. Lifting. Stretching. She gulped.
Nick looked at the two computerized cash registers at the front counter. “I’m assuming inventory is mostly computer work?”
“Yes.”
“I’m great with computers.”
Becca came behind the counter. “Did I overhear that you’d like to apply for the clerk position? I’m Becca Medino, partners with Abby.”
Nick introduced himself and shook hands with Becca. “You heard right. Are there only two of you to run the store?”
“Don’t sound so skeptical,” Becca said, her eyes sparkling. “Abby and I work our cans off, but I’m going to be away visiting relatives just before Christmas and Abby will need extra help.”
“I can manage,” Abby said before she could think.
Suddenly the idea of working with this attractive man morning and afternoon worried her. Nick Claussen would be too much of a distraction.
Becca gave her a surprised look, but quickly recovered. She pulled an application form from a slot beneath the counter and handed it to him. “Here you go. Get it back to us as soon as possible. We have quite a few applications and will be making a selection soon.”
“Will do.” He glanced at Abby again. “I’ll have this back by tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
Abby opened her mouth, but before she could reply, Becca said, “That’ll be fine.”
Another customer arrived at the counter and took Becca’s attention. Abby’s muscles tensed. Why was Becca so interested in getting Nick’s application?
“I should have asked if the clerk position is for the afternoon,” Nick said, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets.
“Yes,” Abby said reluctantly. “But there may be some morning hours required when Becca goes on vacation. What about your Santa Claus commitment?”
He shrugged. “Pete is pretty flexible. I’ll have to see what I can work out.”
Damn the man. He acted like the job had already been offered to him. Confidence oozed from Nick, and this self-assurance irritated her because it was in pointed contrast to her own uneasiness.
Nick retrieved his books and sent Abby another arch smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Pixie.”
He strode out of the store without another comment.
When Becca finished with the customer, she placed a hand on her hip and grinned at Abby. Knowing Becca too well, Abby sensed her friend had a plan.
“Okay, what are you grinning at?” Abby asked. “Thinking about the nice anniversary dinner you’re going to have tonight?”
Becca chuckled. “Actually, no. I was thinking about Nick Claussen.”
“Shame on you, Becca Sue Medino. What would Sam think?”
“Sam has nothing to worry about. But, by the way Nick was looking at you, I’d say you’re the one that should worry.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Becca folded her arms over her chest. “The man was absolutely captivated by you. Couldn’t you tell?”
Abby made a little noise of disbelief as well. She had never captivated men. Ever. “You’re certifiably nuts. He’s just one of those men that flirts because he thinks he can get what he wants if he turns on that Harrison Ford smile.”
“Hmm. I suppose that could be, but he seemed nice and sincere.”
“Seemed is the operative word here. Why did you tell him to hurry and turn in the application? He’s the first applicant and we just put the sign up.”
“Because he seems like the kind of guy we could use around here.”
Abby sighed and gazed at the twinkling lights on the small tree on the counter. “Becca, what type of man is Santa Claus in the morning and wants to be a bookstore clerk in the afternoon?”
Pushing a strand of hair back from her face, Becca shrugged. “I don’t know. But earlier today you were sighing over how great Santa was and now that you know who he is, you don’t like him. What changed?”
Unwilling to probe her feelings, she ignored Becca’s question. “We just don’t want to get his hopes up if we find a better applicant. Besides, we might find a woman who is more qualified.”
“True.” Becca grinned. “On the other hand, a handsome hunk might draw in more female customers. And it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for you to get to know—”
Abby held one hand up. “Wait a minute. We already draw customers because we have great service and a good selection of books. We don’t need some overgrown Hercules to draw women into our store.”
“Overgrown Hercules?”
“Yes. Tarzan. I mean didn’t you see how broad his shoulders were and how tall—” Abby cut herself off.
Becca’s smile grew. “I noticed, and apparently you did, too.”
“Humph. Besides, he’s...”
Becca’s eyebrows rose. “Yes?”
“He’s too damned good looking.”
“Oh, come on. The man’s not perfect by any means. That’s what makes him so scrumptious. Did you see that little bump on the bridge of his nose? And that hair. So unusual. Longish. Thick and wavy, too. A woman could really sink her fingers into it. And he’s got that tiny scar at the edge of his mouth.”
“Actually I didn’t notice the scar, but I suppose that puts him right up there on the drool meter,” Abby said dryly.
Abby didn’t want to
think about him, or the fact that she’d been ogling him moments before he’d arrived at the counter that afternoon. She didn’t want to think about how intimate her nickname sounded on his lips.
Abby turned back to her work, determined not to let Santa Claus obsess her thoughts.
Later in the afternoon, Abby noticed that one customer lingered in the store for a considerable time. Normally this didn’t matter to her or Becca. People could sit in a comfy chair with coffee and read a little of a book they might purchase.
But this man made her twitch. Tall, lanky, and a little unkempt, his eyes had an unfocused look that suggested drug abuse. Abby observed him surreptitiously, uncertain if he’d been surveying the store to shoplift, or if her reaction to him amounted to overreaction. Because someone didn’t concentrate on personal hygiene didn’t mean they would do anything criminal.
“I’m not going to leave you here alone,” Becca said when Abby tried to urge her to go home and enjoy her evening.
“It’s your fifteenth anniversary. You’ve already been here too long today as it is. You should have taken the day off.”
“I probably would have, but since we don’t have the clerk position filled yet—”
Abby waved a hand in dismissal as she finished what she was doing on the computerized cash register. “Pooh. Go home. I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t feel right about that guy.” Becca slanted a glance at the man. “He’s been here a long time.”
Abby summoned a smile. “And you call me paranoid? A lot of customers stay in the store a long time. There are other people here, so I’m not alone with him. Go home and have a good time.”
Becca relented when she obtained a promise from Abby that she’d call a security guard if she became worried about the loitering man. Several minutes later the man left without buying anything.
Abby exited the store an hour after closing time. Her eyes felt gritty as sandpaper and her bones ached. Paperwork waiting in the back room would have to wait.
She worried about walking to the car by herself, but she could always ask one of the security guards to accompany her if she felt uncomfortable. Tonight awareness gathered at the base of Abby’s spine and tickled her neck like millipede legs. Abby put her shoulder bag strap over her neck so that it went across her chest. She clutched her keys in her right hand, one large key protruding as a weapon.
All I Want for Christmas Page 2
