12 Naughty Days of Christmas - 2016

by Jenny Plumb

  “That’s what I figure, and I figure I am here to protect you. Jesus probably doesn’t like little girls trying to do a man’s job.”

  “Are you hungry, Sheriff Bodey?” she asked politely.

  “I am, and please call me Victor, Jessica. I have spanked you and that makes us friends, I hope?”

  “No one has ever spanked me before, although a couple of my brothers have threatened me with a spanking. Just a warning, don’t mention spanking me in front of them. They’ll stomp you. It’s okay if they pick on me, but no one else is allowed to touch me in that manner.”

  The sheriff grinned at her. “If they’d done their job, I wouldn’t have had to spank you.”

  His words convinced her that he was serious. “That isn’t done these days. You can’t just grab a woman and spank her, Victor. You will get shot or arrested. Another thing, women can do anything a man can do. You might not like it, but that is how it is done.”

  “Do you still celebrate the birth of our Lord?” Victor asked.

  “We do, but it has become very commercial. People go overboard buying gifts for each other, and most children are quite spoiled on Christmas. I have twenty-seven nieces and nephews to buy presents for, and they expect something really nice from Aunty Jess.”

  “What about church?” Victor asked with a worried look.

  “My entire family is Catholic; we try to go to Midnight Mass together if we can, but with three of us on the police force, usually one or two of us have to work. My sister Amy is a nurse; she often works Christmas Eve so she can take off Christmas Day. We all try to go to Mom and Dad’s house sometime during Christmas day. My sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law all want to spend time with their families too. It’s crazy.”

  “How can everyone leave their animals and be gone so much?” Victor asked, confused.

  “You are thinking of animals as in horses, cows, chickens, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Some of my family and friends have pets, but they find someone to come in and take care of them, or they bring them along. Victor, stay calm now. We don’t use horses. Transportation today is much easier. We drive cars. Or we fly in airplanes. We also have trains. There are buses and taxis too. We can drive to my mom’s from here in less than ten minutes. Would you like to take a ride?”

  “No! It sounds dangerous.”

  “It can be. There are a lot of idiot drivers out there.”

  Victor jumped when her telephone started ringing. She took it out of her pocket, pushed a button and answered, “Hello.” She paused and listened. “I am home, Mama. Planning to take a bath and go to bed, but I need to make some dinner first.” She listened again, and shook her head before saying, “No, Mama, I haven’t finished shopping. I am tired when I get off my shift.” Jess listened some more, and then said firmly, “No, Mother! You do not say anything to either Tim or Mike. They are working longer hours right now too, and I don’t want anyone to think I am complaining. Please let me fight my own battles. I am capable of sticking up for myself when I feel it necessary. I don’t want special consideration just because I am a female. That is the whole point of equality. It means equal. It means I have to work long hours when asked. It is my own fault I don’t have my shopping done. Perhaps I will just stay up all night and go and get it all done.” She listened. “Mama, you have enough on your plate. You aren’t going to do my shopping for me. That just doesn’t cut it, especially when you have a job and work too.” She listened, and finally said, “I love you, Mommy. You have a good night.” She waited, smiled, and said, “I am always careful, darling. I love you.” She ended the call to find Victor staring at her in shock. “This is a cell phone. You talk to other people on it. You can call someone, or they can call you.”

  A Very Georgian Christmas

  By Vanessa Brooks

  Yorkshire, England.

  Mr. and Mrs. Weston....

  Glancing out through the mullion windows of his solid Yorkshire stone house, Oliver Weston watched the softly swirling snow as it settled over the moor. He absentmindedly broke the wax seal upon the letter he held. His gaze withdrew from the mesmerising flakes as he scanned the note. Picking up his unfinished toast whilst he read, his hand froze halfway to his mouth, his fingers still clutching the half eaten slice. He was completely absorbed by his letter and did not appear to notice the butter melting; it dripped down his wrist, staining the edge of his white ruffled cuff.

  His wife Harriett glanced up from her own correspondence, her husband’s sudden stillness alerted her to the fact something serious had gained his attention. “Pray, is it bad news, Mr. Weston?” she asked anxiously.

  “Hmm?” her husband responded absently.

  “Oliver, you are causing me concern, what is in your missive that intrigues you so?”

  This time her husband lifted his gaze and seeing her consternation, smiled at her reassuringly. “I am surprised is all,” he answered. “We have been included in an invitation, along with the rest of my family, to Merriton Hall for New Year. I thought Benedict Mortimer would never forgive me for my foolish behaviour with regard to his sister Imogene, but it seems that he has done so.”

  “Our sister too, now that she is married to your twin, Charles,” Harriet pointed out.

  “Mmm, yes quite so,” Oliver muttered as he reread the letter just to ascertain the facts. It was signed The Right Honourable Rose Countess of Stradock and Rose’s own unmistakably flourishing signature was at the bottom of the letter. He looked at his hand, still clutching his half eaten toast, with surprise; taking a bite, he chewed thoughtfully.

  “Well, well,” he said, shaking his head bemusedly. “I confess that I am astonished but singularly gratified by this invitation.” He noticed the melted butter staining his cuff and dropped the toast onto the plate with an irritated “tsk.” Picking up a serviette he dabbed at the yellow stain. “The invitation also includes your sister Helen and her husband Richard.”

  Harriett clapped her hands. “Oh Mr. Weston, what a gay Christmastide we shall have to be sure! Could I perhaps have an advance on my dress allowance so that I may look my best amongst such high society?”

  Oliver smiled indulgently, nodding affably. “I see no reason why not, Mrs. Weston, but I shall demand a forfeit from you.”

  Harriet made a pretty moue.

  “Fear not, nothing too strenuous m’dear, merely some kisses from your pretty lips.”

  Harriet jumped up from the table and ran around to where her husband sat and planted a kiss upon his cheek. Oliver pulled her in close, whispering against her ear. “No, I will exact payment later, when we are alone and I can put those plump lips of yours to good use.”

  “Mr. Weston!” she squealed, scandalised. Oliver chuckled and patted his wife’s well covered rear. For a farmer’s daughter she was easily shocked; it delighted him to tease her and watch as blushes suffused her pretty cheeks.

  Merriton Hall Sussex, England.

  The Earl and Countess of Stradock...

  Breakfast at Merriton Hall was, by the standard of the day, casual. The breakfast fare was served in silver covered tureens set upon a polished wooden sideboard. No servants or butler were present to wait upon the family, who enjoyed the privacy of simply being en famille. They ate with gusto, discussing anything left unsaid when a servant was present. The older two children joined their parents for breakfast, staying until Nanny came to fetch them, then Rose would take baby George and keep him for an hour or two, while the nanny gathered the older children taking them outside for their daily constitution about the grounds of Merriton.

  Rose had decided that it would be best to share the news of their New Year visitors with her husband during the general hubbub of breakfast, a time of day she thought her husband would be less likely to overreact.

  Rose glanced through her post and noted an invitation that had arrived solely in her name. Sliding it into her reticule she intended studying it later, when she was alone. Thankfully, her husband was distracted by
his pamphlet, while the children were too absorbed in their own bickering to even notice her furtive deed.

  The moment the words had left her mouth, Rose knew she had been mistaken in her supposition that Benedict would take the news of their impending guests better in front of the children.

  “WHAT? No. Absolutely NOT!” Lord Mortimer bellowed, leaping to his feet, startling the squabbling children into shocked silence. The dogs leapt to their feet, sensing their master’s sudden change in mood, they assumed danger approached, but their warning barks frightened the children who burst into tears. Benedict ignored the cacophony and focused his narrow-eyed attentions on his petite blonde wife; she gazed back at him contriving innocence.

  “Don’t think that wide-eyed look will save you,” he intoned sonorously, narrowing his eyes just as Rose rolled hers.

  “Ah, that is more like the Rose I know and love.” He wagged an admonishing finger at her. “You went behind my back to arrange this visit, knowing full well what my answer would be had you asked my permission and you jolly well should have asked!” He slammed the flat of his hand down upon the table and the entire breakfast porcelain jumped, whilst the silverware rattled, the children wailed, and the dogs bayed. The door opened and a nervous nanny appeared with baby George cradled in her arms. She took in the master’s stormy countenance and called the children over to her. They dashed to her side and clung to her skirts, fearful of their father’s ire. Nanny glanced over at Rose for instruction and Rose waved her away, instructing her to take the children from the room. As the children left, the dogs took their opportunity to escape the overcharged atmosphere, rushing out. They very nearly toppled Nanny over.

  Benedict seemed not to notice that everyone had left, so intent was he on his argument.

  “You know, he knows, just about everyone knows, why I will not have Oliver Weston under my roof!” he bellowed at Rose.

  “But he is Charles and Claudia’s brother and now Imogene’s brother-in-law. We cannot invite them here without asking Oliver and Harriett! Surely you see that! After all, you are the English Lord, always so full of what is correct, regarding English etiquette, etcetera, etcetera!” she replied crossly, her American accent coming to the fore in her distress.

  “Oliver Weston married my sister as an imposter and—”

  “Yes, but now your sister is married to your friend, our brother-in-law, Charles! Imogene accepts Oliver into her household. It was she that he deceived, not you and yet she accepts him, as you need to do without all this blustering. Lawks a mercy, give me strength!” Rose spun away from the table and flung up her hands in frustration.

  Benedict moved with surprising agility for such a large man. Rose barely had time to blink before her husband was around the table, her wrist secured within his grasp.

  “You will accompany me to my study.”

  “Benedict, I am the mother of three children, a matron now, in fact. Your behaviour is not at all appropriate. Release me this instant!” she hissed vehemently.

  Her husband snorted. “You don’t look a day over the eighteen years you were when I married you. I wouldn’t care if you were a grandmother of three, you deserve to be soundly spanked, and so you shall be!”

  Rose squealed, although secretly she was thoroughly enjoying her husband’s masterful reaction to her underhandedness. He hadn’t shown any inclination to spank her in quite a while, but then, she hadn’t given him any cause to do so. Even now, this unexpected treatment of her person was a surprise. She quite genuinely believed that this kind of husbandly discipline was a thing of the past. After all, she was an established matriarch and, as such, it was refreshingly exciting to rediscover Benedict’s dominion.

  “I have a meeting with Cook to go over Christmas and New Year menus, I cannot simply dispense with my duty and disappear into your lair,” she protested weakly.

  Benedict tightened his hold on his wife. “I beg to differ, you can and you will.” He tugged open the door. Roberts, their butler, stood aside bowing his head in deference to their sudden appearance. His eyes widened as the master strode past with the mistress in his inexorable grip.

  “Roberts, inform Cook that Lady Mortimer will be delayed, she will ring for her when she is ready.” He carried on in the direction of his study, his wife securely in hand.

  “Certainly, milord.” The butler watched solemnly as his employer towed his diminutive wife along the polished hallway, her silken slippers sliding in an attempt to keep up with her husband’s stride. Roberts remained stationary until they disappeared around the bend in the passage, then he entered the dining room, snapping his fingers at the footman standing either side of the doorway. The liveried servants cleared away the breakfast debris accompanied by the faint but distinguishable song of a female wailing in distress.

  The Santa Wrangler

  By Megan McCoy

  Did Ben know who she was? He didn’t act like it. Nope, he sat there, cool and calm, and if he remembered baring her butt and blistering it as red as the berries on that holly branch decorating his desk, he was an excellent actor. Heather Ryan knew she needed to focus on the interview. It didn’t matter who he was, how hot he was or how her cheeks burned in mortification, she needed this job. Getting fired right before Christmas sucked. Well, it sucked anytime of year, but this was a really bad time. She desperately needed this job, even if it was only a temp job. It was easier to get a job when you had a job, and once she got this one, she could start looking for something long term.

  “So I’d basically be wrangling Santa?” she asked carefully, trying not to look into those steel gray eyes, staring at his mouth instead. No, that didn’t work. His kiss had been memorable, just like the spanking he’d given her.

  “Santas, multiple. I have a chain of ten stores in this area and I’m having Santas in all of them for the first time. My store personnel are all busy with the holiday season and the extra work that involves and I need someone to make sure the Santas all show up for work, the photographers are there, the elves to pass out candy, the backdrops are set up and,” he continued to talk about the job duties while she kept trying to focus. How soon could she leave? Her head swam and her ears buzzed as she remembered that day.

  The day he’d bared her bottom and spanked her until she sobbed like a baby. Then he’d refused to let her pull her pants up; but instead sat her on his lap, and held her there until she finally fell asleep. When she woke up, he’d been asleep too, and she’d slipped off his lap, run out of the room, holding her pants up with one hand and hadn’t seen him again till now.

  “Heather, are you paying attention?” he asked sternly.

  She nodded, too emphatically. “I am. This is a temp job, then, right?” She stood up. “I really am looking for something permanent.”

  “Sit,” he commanded.

  She looked at him and didn’t know why she sat. What? She wasn’t a puppy. Yet, she sat there quietly and waited.

  “Yes, obviously because of the season, this is a temp position, but I’m always looking for good people for management and I hire from within, if at all possible. If you do a good job with this, there are a lot of opportunities in my company.”

  Heather crossed her legs. Okay. She understood that. Plus, it would be a paycheck until she found something else – if it didn’t work out.

  “I can wrangle Santas,” she said, looked him right in the eye, ignoring the butterflies in her belly. Did he have to be so darn handsome? Steel gray eyes, dark hair and eyebrows, tall, well muscled, geeze. He should have everyone in the world wanting to work for him.

  “You do have a lot of managerial experience,” he said, scanning her resume again.

  “I’ve run a small real estate company since I was eighteen,” she said. “I worked for two bosses, and unfortunately, they closed the company when he had a stroke and her mother died in the same week. They sold it to someone else who apparently didn’t need me.”

  He made a note on her resume, which made her nervous for some reason, m
ore nervous, extra nervous.

  “Are you afraid of snakes?” he asked, turning those eyes on her again. Obviously, he had a direct line to the butterflies in her stomach.

  “No?”

  “Was that a question?” he asked. “What is your opinion on dog poop?”

  “I have none?” What? Had she ever handled dog poop in real life?

  “Okay, for one night we’re doing pet pictures with Santa at a couple stores, and I need to make sure that my wrangler won’t run screaming.”

  “I rarely run screaming,” she said. That was true. She couldn’t think of one instance where she had. She must have had a charmed life.

  “That sounds like a challenge.” He smiled at her and she felt her stomach flip, shivered, and didn’t know what to say.

  Heather’s heart raced. Did she even want this job? Did it matter? She needed the money. Her last job had been interesting and quiet, and this one would be fun, challenging and paid well. Something different was always good. Really, though, she just wanted to work for Ben. Even if she thought this job would suck, she wanted to work with and for him. She might as well admit it. She’d figured out that you could lie, if you wanted to, but it never worked out when you lied to yourself. She’d had a crush on him since college.

  “Good. Then meet me here tomorrow at eight and we will go visit all the stores. Bring a notebook or tablet so you can take notes. I’ll introduce you to all the managers and show you where the Santas will be set up. Then after that, we’ll meet with the set staging company, and you’ll be overseeing all that, and also the woman sending out the photographers. Wear your walking shoes. Now, go down to HR and get your paperwork done. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, right here, and don’t be late.”

  He got up, gave her a little wink, and walked out of the room as she realized that more than likely he did know who she was, he remembered what she did, and also, that she had a job and would be able to pay her rent. Heather had no idea if she was happy or mortified. Both, she could be both.