The Secret of Santa

by Liz Isaacson

  “I’m going to make pancakes,” Ace said. “Do you guys want some?”

  “I can’t wait,” Ward said. “Ranger and I have a conference call in twenty minutes.”

  Ace pulled a bowl out of the cupboard in the island and walked over to the pantry in the corner of the kitchen. If he went next door, Bishop would probably have something on the counter for breakfast already. He fed Lincoln bacon and eggs, French toast with whipped cream and strawberries, and creamed wheat with raisins and brown sugar.

  Ace loved Bishop’s creamed wheat—which was supposed to be made with cream—far better than his brother’s oatmeal, which currently sat in a pot on the stove.

  Bishop hadn’t texted though, so Ace got out the pancake mix and took it back to the counter. He measured the powder and the milk, adding water to make up the difference, and cracked in two eggs. His mother had taught him that trick to make the pancakes a little bit more filling. They also cooked up cakier, and Ace really liked that.

  He set a pan on the stove next to Ward’s oatmeal and turned the flame on underneath it. “No grocery requests? You guys can’t text me while I’m at the store. It makes everything too hard.”

  “I’m sending my list right now,” Ward said, and Ace glanced at him to find him typing furiously on his phone. “I’ll send you some money.”

  “I will too,” Mister said, though his phone wasn’t anywhere in sight. “I emailed you my list last night.”

  Of course he had. Mister liked schedules and routines. He liked having a list of things to do, and checking them off one-by-one. He disliked anyone who didn’t fit into his schedule or who didn’t operate quite the same way he did.

  He’d come to live with Ward and Ace over the summer, because he really didn’t get along with Judge, one of his older brothers. Ace understood having problems with a family member, as there were nine Glover cowboys at the ranch. They each had their own opinions about things, and sometimes personalities and ideas clashed.

  The best part about Ace’s family, though, was that they always came back together. They forgave one another, even if it took a long time to do.

  Ace added butter to the pan, smiling at it as it sizzled against the heat. As it continued to melt, he found the syrup in the fridge and squeezed some into bowl to put in the microwave. There was nothing worse than hot pancakes and cold syrup.

  “Sent,” Ward said as he stood and brought his bowl into the kitchen. He set it in the sink with the other dirty dishes and added, “I’ll clean up tonight.”

  “Okay,” Ace said. They didn’t have assigned chores in their house, though Mister had freaked out a little when he’d moved in. He was a lot like Bishop in that he wanted things clean and orderly. But the three of them managed to keep their clothes clean, their fridge full of food, and the dishes done. One of them took the trash out every morning, and today, Ward did the job while Ace turned back to his batter.

  “That pan is going to be too hot,” Ward warned, tying the bag. “When are you leaving for the store?”

  Ace whipped back to the stove, taking the bowl of batter with him. The butter lay in a pool in the pan, and he poured some batter over the edge of the bowl. The batter hissed, and the butter spit, and dang it. Ward was right. The pan was too hot.

  Ace wasn’t a great cook, and he wasn’t sure why he’d thought he could make himself pancakes for breakfast. He should’ve grabbed one of those pastry pockets with ham and eggs from the freezer and flipped on the toaster oven.

  He reached to turn down the flame under the burner, hoping that would help keep the blackness on the bottom of the pancake to a minimum.

  Just another reason he liked Holly Ann so much. She could take any number of ingredients and turn them into something delicious. He honestly didn’t know how she did it. Probably magic.

  Ace smiled to himself, jumping when Ward barked, “What time?”

  “Oh, uh.” Ace turned away from the pancake that filled the entire bottom of the pan. “Probably right after lunch.” Cactus had a therapy appointment at one-thirty, and that gave Ace an hour of free time in town.

  He needed to text Holly Ann and ask about a late lunch with her. He wouldn’t last from seven-thirty to one-thirty, but Ace had no problem eating more than one lunch. One could be an early lunch and one a late lunch.

  “Okay,” Ward said. “You’ll be back for dinner?”

  “Yes,” Ace said. “Do you need some of the groceries to cook?”

  “Yep.” Ward lifted the bag. “I invited Ida and Brady, remember? And Etta is bringing her new boyfriend.” Ward glanced at Mister. “Ranger and Oakley are coming. Dinner is at six. I need the stuff back here by…say, four-thirty.”

  “We’ll be back by then,” Ace said, though they’d have to really race through the grocery store. Cactus would be in therapy until two-thirty, and with a half-hour drive back to the ranch, that only left them a little over an hour to shop for all the groceries seven grown men—two of whom were married—needed for the next week.

  His phone chimed again, and Ace pulled it out of his pocket. He’d ignored Ward’s text, so he saw that one, and then he’d gotten one from Sammy. Bear’s wife had sent him a link to her grocery list, and a moment later, his SendCents app cha-chinged, indicating that he’d been paid.

  Sammy’s name sat on that too, along with a note that read, Thank you, Ace. If it’s not enough, let me know, okay?

  He tapped on the link to see her list, and Ace’s thoughts scattered for a moment. The list was huge, but at least Ace knew where all the kid-friendly foods were now. When Lincoln had joined the family upon Bear and Sammy’s marriage, the grocery list had changed quite a bit. Ace had literally walked up and down every aisle, trying to find the fruit roll-ups, the perfect flavor of Pop-Tarts, and creamy peanut butter mixed with grape jelly in the same jar.

  He didn’t understand creamy peanut butter on a fundamental level, but he wanted Lincoln to be happy, so he took the time to get the right things on the list.

  He sent her a thumbs-up and started to navigate back to his main list.

  “That’s burning,” Ward called over his shoulder. The back door slammed a moment later, and Ace jerked his head up.

  “Dang it,” he hissed, tossing his phone onto the counter and yanking open the drawer to find a spatula. Steam poured from the pan, and he obviously hadn’t turned down the flame enough. He slid the spatula under the pancake and flipped it.

  Pure blackness stared back at him.

  A sigh leaked out of his mouth, and Ace reached to turn off the burner completely.

  Mister stepped next to him, his chuckle low and growing with every passing moment. Soon, he laughed fully, and Ace raised the spatula as if he’d hit Mister with it. His cousin danced away, still laughing a little bit. He didn’t like getting his clothes dirty, that was for sure, and today, his jeans looked brand-new and he’d paired them with a light blue, long-sleeved shirt with a dark blue paisley pattern on it.

  Ace had never seen such a shirt in his life, but he did like it. Mister had shown him where he’d been buying his shirts, and Ace could admit he’d bought a couple of the “men’s western fashion wear” items from Modern Cowboy.

  He should wear one to town today, in fact. Especially if he was going to see Holly Ann for even a few minutes.

  While his stomach grumbled, Ace sent a quick text to her, asking about her availability between say, 1:40 and 2:20 p.m. Then he removed the pan from the burner and left it next to Ward’s pot of cold oatmeal. He wasn’t about to eat that, and he went to the freezer for that breakfast pocket with ham and egg.

  “Thanks,” Cactus said as he opened his door. Ace simply nodded and watched his cousin walk into the office building. The first time he’d brought Cactus to begin his therapy, Ace had gone all the way inside with him. He’d waited in the waiting room and everything. He didn’t need to do that now, though, and he usually played games on his phone or left comments on Ranger’s app, Two Cents.

  Today, though, Cactus had
barely disappeared through the door before Ace pulled away from the curb. Holly Ann had said she was in “testing mode” that day, and he could definitely come over for a late lunch at 1:40. She’d even feed him, though she’d told him at least three times that it could be disgusting.

  I’m trying new recipes, she’d told him. They might not be good.

  Ace didn’t care. He’d be her taste-tester any day of the week, and if she made something that didn’t taste good, he’d eat his own boot. After all, someone didn’t open a catering company if they couldn’t cook.

  He’d eaten Holly Ann’s food before, and she was very good in the kitchen. He also admired that she continually tried new things, stretching herself and growing, getting better at her craft.

  Ace could admit that sometimes he felt stagnant. He knew how to fix tractors, balers, or harvesters. He knew how to plant a field, and how to tell if it was growing well and correctly. He knew how to fix the crops if they were suffering. He knew how to prep dirt, and how to test it for acidity, and how to care for it so it would produce for him over decades.

  He loved his agricultural work on the ranch, but even he could admit he was bored sometimes. That was why Ace volunteered to do all the grocery shopping for anyone who wanted him to. It was why he’d been volunteering through the church for anything and everything over the years—including the Christmas Festival. It was why he was the Glover who signed up for the painting classes, the paper-making workshops, and the publishing seminars offered through the Three Rivers community outreach program.

  He’d never actually painted a picture, made any paper, or published anything. But he sure liked learning how to do different things.

  His heart beat a little faster as he turned onto Holly Ann’s street, and he glanced at the clock. About one-forty, just like he’d predicted. He pulled into her driveway and started to ease off the brake as he was hardly moving anyway.

  Behind him, someone leaned on their horn, and Ace yelped and flinched, his foot slamming onto the gas pedal.

  The truck lurched forward before he could stop it, and a horrible, deafening, crunching sound filled the air while he jammed his foot on the brake.

  When he came to a stop, he blinked, his adrenaline surging through him, sharpening his awareness and his eyesight.

  The silence hurt his ears, and he groaned as he realized he’d driven right into Holly Ann’s closed garage door. Not a bump. Not a little dent or ding. The whole thing bowled in, the front of his truck bending the metal door inward in a terribly unnatural way.

  He got out of the truck, noting that his door didn’t open very far before it met the garage door, and he surveyed the damage.

  “This is bad,” he said to himself.

  “I’ll say,” Holly Ann said in her sexy, low, twang.

  Ace whipped around to find her walking toward him, a definite frown between her eyes.

  Chapter Four

  Holly Ann put her hands on her hips, feeling the grainy flour on her apron. “You ran right into my house.” She looked at Ace, fighting a smile. “What happened?”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, pure worry in his eyes. “Someone honked, and I got startled, and….” He turned back to the garage. “I hit the gas instead of the brake.”

  He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, and not just when he sat behind the wheel. Holly Ann had no idea how to fix something like this. She knew she needed to get her car out of her garage for a meeting at four o’clock, but she didn’t think the door would be moving.

  “Let me back up, and we’ll see how bad it is,” Ace said. “I’ll fix it.”

  Of course he would, and not only because the man had more money than most professional athletes. Anyone who drove their truck into someone else’s garage door would pay to fix it.

  Ace jumped behind the wheel and backed up, leaving his door open as he did.

  Holly Ann stood in front of his truck now, staring at the garage door. It looked like a giant had taken his fist and jammed it right into the house.

  Ace came to her side and sighed. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “It was an accident,” Holly Ann said. “Everyone has accidents.”

  Ace’s fingers fumbled over hers, finally aligning a moment later. She blinked as a rush of heat flowed up her arm and into her face. Her vision turned white, and she couldn’t believe the way her body reacted to his. She smiled at him and everything.

  “I do need to get my car out of the garage for a meeting at four,” she said.

  “There’s no way that’s happening,” he said miserably. “That door has to come off. It’s not going up or down.” He sighed and looked at her.

  She met his eyes, and it suddenly didn’t matter that she couldn’t go to her meeting at four. Yes, it does, she told herself as she swam around in the dark, oceanic depths of his eyes. She closed hers, and her brain gained control over her hormones.

  She couldn’t miss the first planning meeting for the festival. Their calendar of events would be scheduled, and they had to get that to the printer today, so it would go out in the mid-month utility bills, as well as up on the website for those looking to schedule all of their family activities for late November and all of December.

  “I’ll get you a rental,” he said. “I’m starving. Can you feed me while I get you a car?”

  “When aren’t you starving?” she teased.

  His mouth curved up into a slow smile, and she watched it lift centimeter by centimeter. She jerked her attention away from that mouth that had kissed hers many times and took a step around him.

  “I’ll make a few calls while we eat.” He dialed someone before they even reached her front door, and he said, “Yes, I need a rental car delivered by three-thirty. Is that possible?”

  Holly Ann didn’t know anyone who would tell Ace Glover no. He spoke in an eloquent tone, and there wasn’t anything money couldn’t buy. Was there?

  She continued into her house and kitchen, getting down a couple of bowls and two small plates. Ace’s voice filled the house, but she couldn’t make out the words as he stayed in the lobby, which had a two-story-tall ceiling and made everything echo.

  She stirred the beef and kale stew, the scent of salt and cumin rising up to meet her nose. She hoped this new recipe would make the cut for her winter menus, because she really loved making it, and it could feed a large crowd.

  She’d ladled one bowl of soup and picked up the second dish when Ace entered the kitchen. “They’ll have a car here for you by three-thirty.” He sighed as he sat at the bar. “I’m so sorry. I’ll call someone to come replace that door.”

  Holly Ann filled his bowl and turned back to him. “It’s okay, Ace.” She smiled at him. “I know you’ll take care of it.”

  He returned her smile and looked at the soup. “What is this? It smells great.”

  “This is a beef, carrot, and kale stew,” she said. “With a hint of heat, and a little cumin.” Nutmeg too, but that was a super-secret pinch of spice she didn’t tell people about. Not even Ace.

  Holly Ann kept her smile fixed on her face, because she actually had a few things she hadn’t told anyone—not even Ace. She bent to pull the sweet buns from the oven. “It’s a rich dish, so I made these sweet potato buns to go with it. The idea is to eat them together, if you’d like.” She dipped her pastry brush in the bowl of melted butter and brushed the buns. A gorgeous, peachy color bloomed under the butter, and Holly Ann smiled at the bread.

  “I love bread,” she said, using a pair of tongs to serve Ace a sweet potato bun. She pushed the small plate toward him, noticing how his eyes widened. “What?”

  “Sweet potato buns? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  Holly Ann grinned, because that was such a great compliment. He probably didn’t even realize it. “That’s the idea,” she said. “People hire me because my food is unique, but familiar. Something they haven’t thought of but would really like to try. And always delicious.”

  She put a bun on a plate fo
r herself and nodded to him. “Go ahead.”

  “Come sit by me,” he said, and Holly Ann pushed her bowl and plate across the counter to the spot next to him.

  “I want to see your reaction,” she said, edging toward the corner of the countertop.

  He picked up his spoon and focused on the stew. He stirred it around for a second, and then scooped up a bite. He put it in his mouth, a hint of steam rising from the spoon a moment before he did. His eyes drifted closed and a groan emanated from his throat at the same time.

  Pleasure filled Holly Ann. She loved feeding people, and she loved watching them enjoy her food.

  “It’s amazing,” Ace said, his eyes opening again as he dug into his bowl for a second bite. “Fantastic. It’s perfect for fall and winter.”

  “Thank you,” Holly Ann said, finally moving to sit beside him. She ripped off a piece of her sweet potato bun and dipped it in the stew for her first bite, and a new dimension came to the stew. She’d been tasting it while she made it, so she knew what the stew alone tasted like. “The bun takes it to a new level,” she said.

  Ace pulled off a chunk of his bun and ate a bite of soup with it. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “It’s like that sweet potato is now in the soup.”

  “It doesn’t have a starch,” she said. “The bun is supposed to be the starch.” She wasn’t sure she could call it a stew if there were no potatoes, but sometimes people counted carrots as a starchy element. In her book, though, carrots would never be potatoes. But a sweet potato bun certainly counted.

  “I love this with my whole soul,” Ace said.

  Holly Ann giggled. “I’m glad.” They ate for a few minutes, and when Ace finished, he picked up his phone and started tapping and swiping. “Oh, Two Cents says The Door Dude is a good choice for garage doors. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds like a guy who dropped out of college,” Holly Ann said.

  Ace chuckled and lifted his phone to his ear. Their eyes met again, the air crackling between them. Holly Ann ducked her head and dipped her spoon into her bowl again. She had so much to tell her dad at dinner that night, and she couldn’t wait to get his opinion on everything.