All I Want for Christmas

by Denise A. Agnew

  “How did you know?”

  “Because I’ve met men like you before.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “It is.”

  When she didn’t elaborate, he put his spoon down. “Are you afraid of me, Abby?”

  Nick’s question floored her and it took her several moments to formulate an answer. “Should I be?”

  “I’m asking the questions.”

  “You’re the one being interviewed.”

  He closed his eyes as if to gather strength, then he sighed and opened his eyes. “I need to know one thing before we take this interview any further. And if you answer yes to my question, then I’m withdrawing my application. Agreed?”

  Nick’s straightforwardness slammed into Abby and it took her a moment to speak. “Agreed.”

  “Was there a man in your past that broke your heart?”

  She’d thought his earlier question had been blunt.

  “No,” she said, a little breathless. “No.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  “Why did you want to know if a man had ever broken my heart?”

  “Come on,” he said, rising from the table. “Why don’t we go into the living room and finish the interview in there?”

  As Nick settled onto the couch, and she sat on the love seat, Abby realized that Nick Claussen wasn’t easily fooled.

  “Abby?”

  “What? I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  He smiled. “I was going to answer your question from a moment ago. You’re very defensive with me.”

  Her lips felt dry, and she swallowed hard. “It’s your imagination. I’m simply not willing to jump headlong into a relationship with a man.”

  “There’s a difference between cautious and some of the signals I’ve been getting from you. For example, if I told you you’re sexy as hell and I want to get to know you better, you might poke me in the eye with a sharp stick or call the cops.”

  Under her legs, the tan leather loveseat felt cold. She shifted uncomfortably. “That’s ridiculous. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Okay. You’re sexy as hell, and I’d like to know you better.”

  No, Abby didn’t want to poke Nick in the eye, but a flush heated her cheeks. She knew he could see her reaction if he looked closely enough, and nothing seemed to escape Nick Claussen’s sharp attention. Abby could have explained why she didn’t believe him when he said she was sexy, but that wasn’t why she’d come here.

  “Can we get the real interview going now?” she asked.

  “Fire one when you’re ready.”

  “Tell me in twenty words or less why you want the job at my bookstore. And no bull, Nick, or I’ll know it.”

  He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his legs and clasping his hands together. “A few weeks ago I realized that I didn’t feel like the man who used to be able to plow through sixteen-hour days without faltering.”

  “So you just needed a vacation.”

  “It’s more than that. Vacations don’t rejuvenate me anymore. When I went to my parent’s home for Thanksgiving, it hit me. I looked at my brothers' and sisters' lives, and I saw how content they were. I sat at the table eating turkey and realized I was too busy thinking about my next deal, about going to the office and working on the holiday. Imagine thinking about that instead of enjoying your family.”

  Nick’s expression darkened, as if something more terrible than being a workaholic had damaged him. Abby’s gut clenched with sympathy. She could imagine what he felt. “Did you go to work that night?”

  “Yeah,” he said, disgust tingeing his voice. “I went straight to the office that night and worked six hours.”

  “If it makes you happy—”

  “It doesn’t. Not anymore. It doesn’t take away the—” He cleared his throat. “I need a change. That’s why I’m here.”

  “You’re looking for stability?”

  He looked at the floor. “I guess you could say that. I’ve been on a roller coaster. Making deals, managing large budgets, going to fancy cocktail parties. It used to be my own personal nirvana.” He hesitated, then looked at her. “Now it’s like I’ve been on drugs all this time, and I’m building up an immunity. No more highs, no more anticipation. No more rush.”

  “An early mid-life crisis?”

  “Well, I’m thirty-two. Close enough to mid-life.”

  “Why did you choose Russel?”

  “I’d been here before several times skiing with Candace, and Pete Mulligan and his wife.”

  “Candace?”

  “A friend back in Denver.”

  A friend. What woman could be just friends with Nick?

  Shifting, he leaned back on the couch. “I like the mountains. Up here I feel great, even if only for a weekend. When I told Pete I was looking for someplace to chill for a while he recommended hiding here. He knew that I liked kids and suggested that I do the Santa stint over the holiday season.”

  “You are great with the kids,” she said, willing to give him credit for his skills.

  “Thanks. I have five nieces and four nephews, and I’ve played Santa for them numerous times.”

  Warm feelings stirred within Abby. She slammed them down, willing herself not to soften more than she already had.

  Hooking his ankle over his other knee, Nick said, “This apartment is furnished and the price is right for six months.”

  She looked around and wrinkled her nose slightly.

  He grinned. “What’s that look for?”

  “What?” she asked innocently.

  “You wrinkled your little nose like a rabbit.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think of your apartment. It’s your business. You have to live here.”

  A crooked grin edged his mouth. “It’s stark, but my brain is too cluttered as it is.”

  “And you think it will take six months for you to feel comfortable going back to work in Denver?”

  “I realize you may want someone long term at the store.”

  Abby grinned. “You’re supposed to be convincing me that I should hire you.”

  His answering smile was rueful. “Yeah, but I want to be honest with you. One thing I hate is being lied to.”

  “Honesty is commendable in an employee.” After considering the six-month situation, Abby asked, “Who is doing your job at Claussen Resorts?”

  “My older brother Mason. He thrives on the hectic life, but he seems to balance the craziness with a family life. His wife and kids keep him sane.”

  She stood and ambled to the sliding glass doors. Outside, the cold night covered the mountains in the distance. Stars winked at her from a jet-black sky. “Your view is beautiful.”

  “Sure is,” he said softly.

  Something in his voice made her turn toward him. Nick’s gaze told all. She knew he wasn’t talking about the panorama outside the window, and her heart raced, her breath constricted until she remembered to exhale.

  Surprise held Abby immobile. She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t anticipated feeling moved by what he’d said, or by the personal information he’d revealed.

  She wandered back to her seat. “From what you’ve told me you’re a hard worker. And Becca likes you. I trust Becca’s instincts more than anyone’s...maybe even more than my own.”

  Nick cocked his head to the side slightly. “Does that mean I’m hired?”

  “If Becca also agrees. But that was sure a hell of a lot more than the twenty words I asked for.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “I believe you.”

  He gave a mock sigh of relief. “Good. That was the hardest interview I’ve ever had.”

  Abby couldn’t resist smiling, not only because of his humor, but because he’d been forthright. “Don’t think this means I’ll be soft on you.”

  Something honest, stirring, and warm shone in his eyes. “Oh, but I think you would be soft on me.”

  With a quick intake of breath, Abby stood and reached for her co
at. “I think you’re feeling much better.”

  Nick got up also. “I am. You don’t have to go yet.”

  “You need to get some rest, especially if you plan on coming to work tomorrow. One o’clock sharp.” Flustered, she struggled with one arm of her coat.

  He reached behind her to help. “I’ll be there.”

  Nick followed her to the foyer, and when Abby would have opened the door, he touched her arm and turned her back. “Thanks, Abby.”

  “For what?”

  “For taking care of me and giving me a chance. After that charade with the decorations I thought I was a goner.”

  She glanced around the foyer. “I can see you’re not into decorations.”

  “I didn’t want commercialism to be a part of my Christmas. I’m going for the bare minimum.”

  Abby sniffed and tightened her wool scarf around her neck. “I’m going for the most outrageous, most commercial Christmas you’ve ever seen.”

  “You don’t seem like the type to buy into that shop-till-you-drop mall-frenetic, overdone hooey—”

  “Do me a favor and shut up, Claussen. If you don’t, I might fire you before you even have a chance to start.”

  Keen satisfaction filled Abby when Nick looked stunned by the vehemence in her tone.

  After a moment, he nodded. He reached out to cup her face. “You’re one hell of a woman, Abby Manners. And I mean that more ways than one.”

  Taken aback by his gentle, arousing touch, she stepped back and reached for the door. She opened it with haste, stepping outside and turning to look at him.

  “Let’s get something straight right now. If you’re going to work at Elf Books, there’s a line you can’t cross.”

  His expression went from intent to pain. He held his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Nick. Just don’t do...it.”

  Feeling disoriented, she left.

  Nick’s telephone rang at ten o’clock that night and woke him from a deep sleep. Groggy, he grabbed the receiver. Then fear stabbed through him. It had been a night like this, not long before Christmas two years ago when he’d received the worst news of his life. His heart thumped like a mad drum, skittering and shuddering before he retained control.

  “Hello,” he croaked into the receiver.

  “Hi, darling, how are you?”

  He let out a sigh. “Candace.”

  “Don’t sound so enthused.”

  He turned on the bedside light and squinted. “Sorry.”

  “You sound funny.”

  He sank back on his pillow. “I was asleep, and I’m fighting off a cold.”

  “Asleep? You’re never asleep at this time of night.”

  “I’m specializing in early-to-bed, early-to-rise these days.”

  She made a skeptical noise. “Obviously living in podunk U.S.A doesn’t appeal to you. You haven’t had a cold since I met you.”

  “Life was catching up with me in the big city, Candace. If I’d stayed in that job much longer, I might have had more problems than a cold.”

  She sighed. “Well, I wanted to let you know I’ll be seeing you during the week of Christmas.”

  Exasperation filled Nick. Candace could switch gears with all the speed of a racecar driver in the Indianapolis 500. “I thought you were going to the Bahamas for Christmas.”

  “That was before I realized that you were going to run off to that tiny mountain town.”

  “It’s not that tiny. We have a mall.”

  “Does it have a Cartier or a Gucci?”

  “No. It’s kind of refreshing.”

  Nick thought he heard a choking sound, then Candace said, “Are you still doing that Santa gig?”

  Somehow she managed to make it sound like he’d joined a rock band full of delinquents. “Yep. Santa and Pixie.”

  She sighed. “Pixie?”

  “She’s Santa’s helper.”

  “She?”

  “Abby Manners. She’s the owner of the bookstore in the mall.”

  “But you said her name was Pixie.”

  The whininess in her tone geared him into high alert. “It’s a nickname.”

  “Oh. I see. Well, at least I can report back to your mother. She’s worried about you.”

  Nick doubted his mother had confided in Candace, because his mother didn’t like Candace and couldn’t understand why he dated her. Now that he was away from Denver he wondered that himself. “She’s your average mom. Worries too much.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Why?”

  “This...this going off to the country. This desire to change everything, to pretend you’re someone else. I don’t mind saying it’s very unnerving.”

  “It wasn’t meant to unnerve anyone. My family supports me, and they understand I need to do this for my own health. Mental and physical.”

  He could imagine the soft pout on her full lips, and at one time he would have kissed the pout away. Instead he thought of Abby’s lips, and how he wouldn’t mind sampling them, warming them.

  “Nick, are you listening to me?”

  “Yeah, I’m listening.”

  “I’ve got a great idea. I’ll come up to Russel for a couple days and afterward you can come back with me to Denver for Christmas. Things will be back the way they should be.”

  His head pounded and he didn’t know if his cold had gotten worse, or the stress of deflecting Candace had affected him. “I don’t want it to be like old times. That’s why I moved away.”

  She sighed heavily. “Nick, I’ve got some news to share with you. I think you’ll want to know.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not going to tell you over the phone.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I need to talk to you in person.”

  He glanced at the clock again. He wasn’t up to games. “Candace, maybe it would be better if you didn’t come to Russel.”

  She gasped. “What?”

  Nick didn’t relish hurting her feelings, but her tenacious hold needed severe loosening. “I don’t know what my plans are for Christmas anyway. So maybe it would be better if you didn’t come here.”

  “Are you giving me the brush off?”

  Nick’s jaw muscles tightened and the back of his neck knotted up. He rubbed the offending area on his neck.

  “There’s a good chance I’ll go down to my parent’s house on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. So I’ll probably see you then.”

  “Probably?” she said with a vitriolic bite. “Nick, that’s another sign something is wrong with you. You’re always steady and reliable. Now you’re wavering in the wind like a lost helium balloon.”

  “What have I been saying? My job stress level was way up before I came to Russel. In Denver I was working too many hours for too long. I need stability. Working at Claussen’s and living in Denver isn’t doing that for me right now. I need to find out whether I’m over...what happened to Deena.”

  The silence lasted so long he thought she’d never answer. Finally Candace said, “I’d call walking out on everything you know upsetting to your stability.”

  Nick glanced at the clock. “I’ve got work in the morning, Candace, and I need sleep. Can we continue this conversation another time?”

  She uttered a long-suffering groan. “All right. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

  Once he’d hung up, Nick turned off the lights and sank into the pillows. Sleep eluded him as he thought about how he’d handled his relationship with Candace. He’d delayed the inevitable. Their connection had fallen apart way before he’d expressed the need for drastic changes in his life. If he’d been thinking clearly he would have terminated the relationship by now. He knew he needed to call her back and apologize for not speaking plainly. He would have to tell her that he shouldn’t have dated her when he’d never recovered from Deena’s—

  No.

  He couldn’t think about Deena right now. Not while the wound still seemed fr
esh. Not when he could think about Abby and the pain dissolved.

  Nick turned on the bedside light again and walked to his dresser. He opened the top drawer. Reaching inside, he felt the small velvet box. As he brought the box into view, the black, soft texture reminded him of another day six years ago when Deena had walked down the aisle of the church with him. At that moment she’d become his wife, and he’d been a damn happy bastard. Four years later she’d died. All his dreams for starting a family with the woman he loved had expired with Deena’s death.

  Taking an unsteady breath, Nick opened the box. Nestled inside was the plain white gold band she’d given him. He looked at it for several seconds, then snapped the box shut. Each time he looked at this ring...each time he closed the box, he reopened and then sewed up his wounds. He should have learned that nothing would change. Deena wouldn’t come back, and his ache would never quite go away.

  He knew living in Russel, working as a Santa and meeting Abby had already given him a fresher outlook on life. Maybe he’d made more progress than he’d first believed. He crawled back into bed.

  Eventually a foggy sleep overtook Nick, and his dreams were laced with images of a tall, curved woman dressed as an elf.

  6

  “Homemade chicken soup?” Margaret Claussen asked her son over the phone the next morning. “She made you homemade soup?”

  Nick winced at his mother’s excited tone. Sweet, loving mom hadn’t tried to fix him up with dates in the last two years, but often he caught her hopeful expression and the wishful tone in her voice.

  “No, mom. It was canned soup.”

  “But it was still soup.”

  He grinned, and shifted the phone to his right hand. “Yeah, still chicken soup.”

  “She sounds delightful. I’d love to meet her.”

  “You can if you and dad come up after New Year’s Eve.”

  A loud crash sounded in the background, and his heart did an alarmed jump.

  “Double darn!”

  “Mom?” he asked, worried. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine, honey. Buster Keaton knocked over my plant again. I swear that dog is cruising for a bruising.”

  He chuckled. One thing he loved about his mother was her combination of modern and old-fashioned ways wrapped in a petite, dynamo package. No one messed with Margaret Claussen, least of all the family golden retriever.