Lone Star Santa

by Heather MacAllister

  Her mother put a sympathetic arm around her waist. “I’m sure Mitch appreciates it.”

  “It would be nice to hear it from him,” Kristen grumbled.

  “I wonder if we should worry.” Carl unlocked the car.

  “I’m going to call him.” Kristen eased into as near a sitting position as she could get and got her cell phone out of her purse.

  She had to call him three times before he’d answer. “Are you all right?”

  There was a hesitation during which time Kristen’s heart skipped a beat. “I needed to get away. To think.”

  Her father hadn’t started the car yet. “Ask him if he got—”

  Kristen held up her hand. “What happened?”

  “I found a hidden operating system with financial records and instructions to Jeremy for exactly how he was supposed to present this to the FBI on Monday.”

  “Oh, Mitch.” Hidden operating system she mouthed to her father, who nodded. “Where are you?”

  “Kristen… I shouldn’t be around anybody right now.”

  An icy dread gripped her. She’d never heard him like this. “Mitch, tell me where you are.”

  “Goodbye, Kristen.” He disconnected.

  Kristen didn’t bother calling him back because she knew he’d turn off his phone.

  She looked up to find both parents watching her. “Jeremy is going to the FBI on Monday. Mitch sounds horrible and he wants to be alone.”

  “Which means he shouldn’t be,” her mother said.

  “Any ideas where he is?” asked her father.

  “Not an idea.” Kristen smiled. “A hunch.”

  PANTING, KRISTEN STOOD in front of the giant Santa Claus. The whole thing was covered in lights and he rotated while he waved with both arms. Surrounding him were various toys and a huge list with names that curled over the edge of the platform. The four-foot-tall boxy platform had been painted and covered with toys and lights that disguised the fact that there was room for an operator and machinery within. The float actually looked more spectacular from a distance because this close, she could see the wiring and construction details. But it was still impressive. And big. And bright. And hollow, which made it a pretty good place to hole up and think.

  Kristen’s breathing slowed as she recovered from running all the way from the far reaches of the mall parking lot.

  Her parents had dropped her off at home where she’d peeled herself out of her dress and body shaper, changed into jeans and a red sweater with holly embroidered around the neck, driven like a mad woman on the side streets, and still managed to beat the parade here. Not by much, though. She could see the glow in the distance and faintly make out the drums from the marching bands.

  The crowd was thick on the streets surrounding Town Square because people wanted to see the floats take their place in the Santa’s workshop display. The only reason Kristen had been able to cross the barriers had been because Mitch’s mother had stationed Nora Beckman at the end of the parade to direct them into place. Kristen told her Mitch was operating the Santa and she was bringing him something to eat.

  And so now here she stood, shivering slightly as the wind picked up a little. She couldn’t find the surveillance camera, but she knew there was one and she also knew Mitch could see her in all this light. She walked over to the door in the dollhouse, trying not to attract the attention of anyone but Mitch.

  Looking up at the Santa, she held out a sack. “I come bearing grease.”

  Silence. Or rather silence other than crowd noise, a high school band playing Deck the Halls, generators, motors and a car horn or two.

  Kristen waved the bag from side to side. “It’s batter-fried fruitcake and it’s still warm. Come on, Mitch. You want some. You know you do.”

  She could open the door herself, but she wanted him to. She’d come this far. He had to make the decision to talk with her or not. Holding up the other sack, she said, “Hot chocolate to wash it down. My hands are full. Please open the door.”

  She waited and was prepared to wait a very long while, but was glad she didn’t have to as the door to the dollhouse swung inward and Mitch ducked out.

  Kristen had forgotten about the shorter, lighter hair. He’d removed his blue contacts, though, and regarded her with dark, pain-filled eyes.

  She should have brought tequila.

  “So what role are you playing now?”

  Kristen actually took a step back at the venom in his voice. Talk about misdirected anger.

  “I’m debuting the role of the concerned girlfriend who brings her boyfriend fried fruitcake.”

  “Why?”

  “A question I asked myself as I bought it. And you know what the answer is?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  Not even a smile.

  “May I come in?” she asked.

  Again, he shook his head.

  “Even if I leave the fruitcake outside?”

  “This isn’t something you can tease me out of.”

  She knew that. “Remember how you owe me? I’m collecting.”

  His chest, encased in creamy soft cashmere, rose and fell. He ducked back inside. “Bring the fruitcake.”

  Smiling to herself, she followed him.

  They had to bend over for a few feet while they walked beneath the platform, but when they reached the center, where an opening had been cut to allow easier access to the mechanics, they could stand up because they were actually inside the base of the hollow Santa Claus.

  The lights shined through the thin skin. They were mostly the pinky red of the Santa statue and a multicolored glow from the pile of toys next to it.

  “It’s like being inside a kaleidoscope,” Kristen whispered.

  “I guess,” Mitch allowed.

  So he was going to be difficult. Looking around, Kristen saw the control area and the video monitors at one end beneath the toy pile. Mitch had been sitting on a folding chair and using the packing quilt for cushioning.

  Kristen retrieved the quilt and spread it on the grass beneath the Santa Claus. Sitting, she patted the area beside her and set out the two cups of hot chocolate.

  Mitch didn’t move.

  Kristen flattened one of the white paper bags and set the two cardboard sleeves containing the fried fruitcake on top.

  Mitch didn’t move.

  She pried the lid off a cup of hot chocolate and took a sip. It had cooled to really warm. She swirled it around to mix the chocolate that had separated on the bottom and took another sip.

  “Okay, Mitch.” He stood slightly behind her and she didn’t turn her head. “This is my best shot. I’ve got nothing else.”

  The silence continued. Kristen couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking. He’d already known Jeremy and his father were guilty and, yes, that would take a while to get over. But why was Mitch shutting everyone out? Especially when they’d all worked so hard? Especially when she’d worked so hard?

  “How can I get you to talk to me?” she mused aloud. After another sip of warm chocolate, she said, “I know. I’ll tell you all about how I put up with Jeremy’s insufferable arrogance and need for approval, his insolent remarks and crude suggestions, not to mention his wandering hands, for over an hour so you would be undisturbed. Or if that doesn’t do it for you, think of your worried parents who had to leave the party early so they could get the parade started on time. Think of them wondering why they hadn’t heard anything and if that meant you’d been caught.”

  Mitch sat heavily. Kristen had to grab his cup to keep it from falling over. She took the opportunity to mix up the cocoa a little.

  “Jeremy was my friend,” he began quietly. “I’ve been thinking about it and I genuinely believe he was my friend. And that makes what he’s done worse.”

  Kristen took off the lid and handed him his chocolate.

  He sipped it and went on, “We lived together. We went to school together. We studied together. We started our own business and lived together a
gain until we could afford our own places. We knew each other as well as any two human beings can. He was the closest I had to a brother. Yeah, I knew that he had faults, but so do I.” He sipped at the chocolate again. “I know you told me what was going on, but I wanted to believe that Jeremy didn’t know what he was doing. That maybe his father had forced him into it, somehow, or that it was an occasional thing.” Staring at nothing, Mitch shook his head. “I thought I couldn’t be that wrong about someone. But he’s just evil. Accepting that changed me. I’m not the same person I was.” He met her eyes. “I won’t ever be that person again.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re evil for trusting him.”

  “But it means my judgment of people is skewed. Why couldn’t I sense that he’s completely amoral?”

  “He never showed that side to you. Think about it. You brought out the good in him because you expect people to be good. His father obviously brought out the bad in him. Jeremy is weak. He waits for others to define him. Their opinion of him becomes his opinion of himself.”

  Mitch didn’t say anything, but Kristen could tell he was listening. “You expected him to be honest and aboveboard in his dealings with people, especially with you. To you, it’s a given. That’s the way you are. You certainly weren’t going to say ‘Jeremy, you were honest in this transaction. That’s great. I really admire you for that.’ But that constant praise is what he needs. I’m sure his father knows that and exploited it. Jeremy wants his father’s approval. It’s not too much of a leap to figure out what happened.”

  Kristen waited so Mitch could make the leap for himself.

  And he did, as she’d known he would. “The extra money bought him the cars and clothes and women to get even more approval.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re pretty good at analyzing people.” Mitch swirled his cup.

  “It helps me bring characters to life.”

  “For your acting.” He swallowed the rest of the chocolate and replaced the lid.

  “Yes.” Kristen didn’t bother finishing the rest of hers. It had gone cold. “I sense that you don’t approve. Am I right?”

  He turned his head and took in her jeans and sweater. “I’ve never seen you when you weren’t acting. For all I know, you’re acting now. Are you?”

  “I’m acting that I’m not impatient with you. I’m acting as though it didn’t hurt when you turned the anger you feel for Jeremy and yourself toward me. I’m acting as though I’m looking forward to trying that fruitcake.”

  She reached for it and took a big bite. The sweet crispy batter gave way to the still-warm interior, a rich mixture of candied fruit and nuts with a faint taste of brandy. “Mmm. This is wonderful!”

  “And you’re acting as though you enjoy that fruitcake, though I’ve seen better performances from you.”

  And then Mitch bit into his own fruitcake and surprise flashed over his face. “It is good.”

  Kristen nodded as she swallowed. “Whodathunk it?”

  “See? I can’t tell when you’re acting and when you’re not acting. I think I’m in love with you, but I don’t know the you I’m in love with.” And he took another bite of fruitcake.

  Wait a minute. Back up. Had he…? Kristen mentally replayed his last comment. It sure sounded as though he’d told her he loved her, but instead of looking into her eyes and following up with a romantic kiss, he was eating fruitcake. “Did you just tell me you loved me?”

  “Depends. Which Kristen are you?”

  “All of them. And more you haven’t met yet.”

  “That doesn’t sound healthy.”

  “He says as he eats five thousand calories of fat.”

  “Which you brought to me.”

  “No one forced you to eat it.”

  He didn’t respond. She was so not feeling the love.

  “Mitch, you’re an accountant who owns his own business. I’ve never seen your business. I’ve never seen you interacting with clients, but I know you. The financial stuff is what you do. It isn’t who you are. But what you do does give insight into who you are. Acting is what I do. It isn’t who I am. But my performances give you insight into who I am.”

  He’d been staring straight ahead, but now he shifted on the quilt until he could look directly into her eyes.

  Kristen let him look and didn’t try to express any particular emotion. Let him see that she was sincere, that she understood and sympathized, but that she had her limits. “Do you remember that first time at Noir Blanc?”

  He nodded and she saw a faint smile.

  “I told you who and exactly what I was. Do you remember what I said next? I said it was a relief not to have to pretend with you.” She let that sink in. “And I never have.”

  “Tutti-fruitti,” Mitch said.

  “Oh, please. You weren’t fooled. And you know why? Because you know me.”

  His gaze softened, but it wasn’t with love. If Kristen was not mistaken, she saw regret.

  “But you don’t know me anymore. I’ve changed.”

  Bingo. Regret.

  “We all change in some ways. I’ve changed, too. I thought I’d wasted the last six years of my life. I thought I’d failed at everything. I thought life had left me cynical and hardened. But it left me with insight and experience—and the ability to recognize a good person when I meet him.”

  “Isn’t that the School of Hard Knocks?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Guess so.”

  He smiled, too, but his faded quickly. “I…trusting…” He looked away. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, I’m not going to point out that trusting me is not the same as trusting people in the business world, but yes. It’ll take you time to get over this. But you will. Mitch, you’re an investor. When you invest, you expect a payoff. If your investment turns out to be a dud, you cut your losses and move on. You invested everything with Jeremy—business and personal. He’s a dud and you feel you’ve lost everything. But you know something?” She scooted closer. “You’d started to diversify and you invested in me.”

  She wrapped her arms around him. “And I’m about to pay off big time.”

  She kissed him, their knee-to-knee position preventing any closer contact.

  For now, it was enough. Kristen moved her mouth over his, the stubble scraping her chin enough to sensitize it and make this kiss different from any of their others.

  He let her kiss him, but there wasn’t much reciprocity going on. She pulled back, keeping her arms around his neck.

  “Is this another attempt to restore my manhood?”

  “If you’d quit losing it, I wouldn’t have to keep helping you find it.”

  There went the half smile. “I thought you enjoyed the search.”

  “Oh, the searching is loads of fun, but I’m ready to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.”

  “Wrong holiday.”

  She slid her arms from around his neck. “You know, all the build up to Christmas, the parties and the parade and the holiday food and the music, all heighten the anticipation, but eventually, Santa’s got to come down that chimney.”

  Mitch’s eyes had darkened and his breathing had picked up. He swallowed.

  As direct as she could be while wearing clothes.

  And still he sat there. She’d just have to be more direct, then. Kristen swept their food off the quilt, crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head.

  She was wearing a red bra made of lace and very little else.

  Mitch’s lips had parted, his expression a battle between desire and restraint.

  “Now, you can leave Santa milk and cookies, but I like to leave him these.”

  Bending backward so she could reach into her jeans pocket, she withdrew a couple of condom packages and tossed them on the quilt.

  Mitch stared at them and then met her eyes.

  “So, hey, Santa,” she said softly. “What do you say?”

  He leaned forward onto his hands and crawled
toward her. And kept crawling until she fell back onto the quilt and his arms and knees were on either side of her. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said just before he kissed her.

  He kissed her while running his hand along the length of her thigh, up her side, and along her inner arm. He kissed her while fisting his hands in her hair—hers and the fake stuff.

  “Not good?” he asked when he felt her flinch. “Is it the beard?”

  “The beard adds another sensation.” She smiled and ran her fingers over his jaw. “But the thought of you coming away with a fistful of hair took me out of the moment a bit.”

  “Ah.” He moved his hands to cup her face and his smile grew. “That was such a typical Kristen thing to say. I guess I know you after all.”

  “Not entirely.” She looped her arms around his neck. “But I’m hoping we’ll fix that soon.”

  She drew him to her, his head haloed by revolving pink lights. But when she thought he was going to kiss her lips, he bent and kissed her cleavage.

  Surprise made her gasp.

  “No? Yes?” he asked between kisses.

  “Oh, by all means, carry on.”

  As though he’d needed an invitation. Mitch kissed her throat, her neck, and her eyelids. He licked her collarbone, her ear lobe and the top curve of one breast. The contrast between the mild scratching from his beard with the caressing softness of his sweater had her shivering.

  “I—” Her breath caught as he tugged at her lower lip with his teeth. “I feel I’m not doing my fair share, here.”

  “You showed up. You brought condoms,” he said roughly. “Trust me, that’s more than enough.” He kissed the crook of her elbow.

  A very unsophisticated giggle escaped. “I—you’re very…creative.”

  “I’m exploring you.” His hand settled at her waist and his thumb caressed her skin. “I’m getting to know every part of you. I’m learning how you respond to my touch. I’m learning where you like to be touched. I’m learning how you like to be touched.”

  Her eyes widened. This was…this was…

  Mitch parted her lips and delved deeply inside her mouth. Kristen heard herself moan. He’d drawn it out of her before she sensed it.