The First Love Cookie Club

by Lori Wilde

  Many people were dressed in Victorian period costumes. Sarah spied Beefeaters and London bobbies and characters from Dickens’s novels— Scrooge and Marley and Tiny Tim; Miss Havisham and Oliver Twist and David Copperfield. Children rode their fathers’ shoulders. Moms carried gaily decorated picnic baskets. Teenagers, forever cool, looked bored and texted on their cell phones. “Santa! Santa!” tots cried excitedly as their float motored past.

  Jazzy leaned across her father’s lap to whisper in Sarah’s ear. “You gotta wave.”

  “Huh?” Sarah looked startled.

  “She’s a social butterfly,” Father Christmas said, waving madly to the crowd. “Jazzy knows these things. You better wave.”

  “Oh, yes, right.” Feeling like a dunderhead, Sarah forced a smile, mentally cursed Benny for getting her into this, and waved like a Miss U.S.A. contestant.

  “Perfect,” Jazzy approved.

  “You’ve got your very own Miss Manners,” Sarah told Santa.

  “She does keep me on my toes.” He draped an arm over Jazzy’s shoulder and a sense of longing so strong, it tasted like dark chocolate against her tongue, took hold of Sarah. How many times had she wished for this kind of loving, attentive relationship with her own father?

  “Look, look, it’s Isabella with Santa,” a child in the throng called out.

  How surreal, riding in a float with Father Christmas and the main character from her book. Sarah felt as if she’d stepped inside the pages of The Magic Christmas Cookie and she sort of liked it. Did that make her nuts?

  Jazzy was standing up on the seat between Sarah and Santa, basking in the adoration of the crowd. The child was brighter than sunshine and she had Sarah wishing she’d worn shades.

  Santa canted his head. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

  “I get that a lot. I must have one of those faces.” What was she supposed to say? You probably remember me as the chubby, desperate chick who embarrassed the hell out of herself at a wedding one Christmas Day.

  “No.” He stroked his obviously fake white beard, patting it into place. She wondered if the thing was itchy. It looked itchy. “I’ve seen you before, I just can’t place where.”

  Was she going to have to get into this now? With Father Christmas on a Dickensian float, in the middle of the Twilight town square? Talkingthrough the spindly legs of the Shirley Temple look-alike standing on the seat between them.

  Come on, just admit who you are. Someone around here is bound to recognize you sooner or later. It’s going to come out.

  “It’s your eyes,” he said. “They’re an unusual shade of blue. Almost purple. The color of a mountain range.”

  “Why, Santa Claus, are you hitting on me?” she asked, not because she really thought he was hitting on her, but just to shift things and put him on the defensive.

  He stared at her for so long, with a bemused expression in his eyes, that Sarah wriggled in her seat. “Why Miss Cool, what kind of Santa would do that in front of his daughter?”

  “I had no idea Santa even had a daughter.”

  His grin widened. “They don’t call me Father Christmas for nothing.”

  “And how does Mrs. Claus feel about that?”

  “There is no Mrs. Claus.”

  “Oh my, got run over by a reindeer, did she?” Sarah quipped. Sometimes, when she felt out of her element, she used wit to balance the scales. Her sense of humor threw some people, but not Jazzy’s daddy.

  “Splat!” He shook his head, pulled a mournful face, and smacked his palms together. “Grease spot in the road. Those low-flying reindeer are hell on wives.”

  “Grandmas too, from what I hear.”

  “You better watch out …” His smile was purely wicked now. He was flirting with her.

  “Because Santa is omnipotent, all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful.”

  “Precisely.”

  Sarah clicked her tongue. “Must be such a burden.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Poor Santa. You’re responsible for everyone’s happiness.”

  Dramatically, he splayed a white-gloved palm over his chest. “It’s my cross to bear.”

  “How about if you skipped one year. Took a long vacation to Fiji. Gave the world some tough love. Let them figure out the meaning of Christmas all on their own?”

  “Ah,” he said. “You’re one of those.”

  “What? An independent thinker?”

  ” ‘Grinch’ is the word that comes to mind.”

  Sarah thrilled to the heated thrust and parry. This was too weird. She was having fun exchanging repartee with Santa. Who would have thought he could keep up? She wondered what he looked like underneath that red and white suit. “Gotta admit, Christmas isn’t my favorite time of year. I’ve been in Fiji on December twenty-fifth, it’s phenomenal. Island life, mon. You ought to give it a try sometime.”

  He looked as if he was itching to let loose with something snappy when he was interrupted by his daughter.

  “Daddy, Daddy.” Jazzy tugged on Santa’s cap. “There’s Auntie Raylene.” She raised her voice, bounced up and down and waved even more enthusiastically, which Sarah would have sworn was physically impossible. The kid was Pollyanna, Pippi Longstocking, and Miss Merry Sunshine all rolled into one. “Hi, Auntie!”

  Happy for the interruption, Sarah swung her gaze in the direction of Auntie Raylene. She had dyed blond hair, teased up big, and she wore a green skirt too short and tight for her age, but she still looked hot. Sarah realized she knew the woman.

  Raylene Pringle used to be one of her Gramma Mia’s friends. Once upon a time Raylene had been a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader renowned for her flashy affairs with famous football players. Later, she’d parlayed the experience into a modeling career, gotten rich, came back home and married Earl, her high school sweetheart. Gram had said that Sarah was too young to hear Raylene’s stories, but whenever she’d come to visit, Sarah had lingered in the hallway trying to eavesdrop on Raylene’s juicy conversations with Gram and their friends.

  Then as if thunderstruck, Sarah remembered something disturbing. Raylene Pringle was Travis’s aunt, and Jazzy had just called her Auntie Raylene. Did that mean … ?

  She had no time to finish the thought because Father Christmas held up a hand and exclaimed, “I’ve got it. I do know who you are. You’re little Sarah Collier all grown up.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Travis stared into the eyes of the woman who had once professed her undying love for him. Yeah, well, okay, back then she’d been a girl. But her mesmerizing eyes made his pulse pound harder, and the earth tilted crazily on its axis. It felt like some surreal moment from those fairy tale stories Jazzy loved for him to read to her, where the guy kisses the sleeping beauty or scales an ivory tower or slays a couple thousand dragons to get the girl of his dreams.

  He thought of his mother, how she used to tell him that when he found the right one, he’d know it, deep in his heart. Then she would make a small fist and lay it over the left side of her chest and stare into his eyes. “The way it is with your father and me. When you find your soul mate, you’ll have no doubts.”

  He knew he hadn’t felt it with Crystal. With his ex-wife, it had been about sex, plain and simple. But here, now, looking into Sarah’s eyes, he felt … gobsmacked.

  What in the hell was this feeling? He was cold and hot all at the same time. Achy and euphoric, like he had a high fever.

  Her lips were temptingly close, and all he could think about was kissing her. Thank God Jazzy was there, coming between them, chattering nonstop. Or, compelled by a force he couldn’t control and didn’t understand, he might have actually kissed her.

  When Sarah had been a teenager, Travis had never thought about her in a romantic way. He’d liked her, sure, and they’d been friends. She’d been curious and inquisitive, intrigued by things he was interested in—nature, animals, fishing—but she’d just been a cool kid.

  But she was a kid no more and right now, he sure as sh
ootin’ was thinking about her in that way.

  Little Sarah Collier had grown up very nicely. She was slimmer, but still curvy in all the right places. He liked curvy. Her eyes were sharp and smart and uniquely blue. That’s how he’d finally placed her. Those unusual eyes. Her skin was lily white, as if she never went out in the sun, and her honey brown hair was thicker, longer, plaited in a braid that landed past the middle of her back. She smelled so good, like pie made from tart green apples, unexpectedly homey but with a strong sprinkle of sass. Travis felt all kinds of feelings— surprise, desire, confusion, and, let’s face it, delight. He was delighted to discover that Sarah was Sadie Cool.

  And here was the amazing thing.

  The look on Sarah’s face told him she was feeling pretty much the same emotions. They stared ateach other, both breathing in short, rapid, tandem breaths.

  It was a very strange moment. It wasn’t every day a man discovered his daughter’s favorite author was the girl who’d grown up next door to him. A girl who’d once interrupted his wedding to tell him that he was her destiny.

  Destiny, fate, providence. Somehow, it felt precisely as if that’s what this was.

  Sarah raised a hand to her cheek. “Why … why are you staring at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

  Yes, an amazing pair of lips.

  She made him think about soft mattresses and long winter nights, and for a guy whose mind had been centered almost solely on his daughter for the last four years, it was damn disquieting.

  “No,” he said in a hoarse croak. “Nothing on your face. You look great.”

  Her cheeks tinged pink and she turned her head away, waving to the crowd on her side of the sleigh.

  And there it was again, the intense urge to kiss her. He fisted his hands, desperate to quell the sensation. Sarah was only in town for a short while. She was from the big city and he was just a smalltown guy.

  What’s so bad about a weekend fling? Just a good time between old friends. As long as you keep it light. …

  Absolutely not. He wasn’t about to start something with her. For one thing, there was Jazzy to consider. How wrong would it be for him to get involved with his daughter’s idol? And for another thing, he had a very strong feeling that if he evermade love to Sarah Collier, one long week with her would never, ever be enough.

  Sarah wasn’t clear on how she made it through the rest of the parade. She smiled and she waved and the entire time she kept thinking, I’m sitting next to Travis Walker. Here sits the man I most wanted to avoid, and my shoulder is touching his.

  Travis had said nothing else to her after he’d announced that he remembered who she was. What was he thinking? She cringed inwardly imagining the scenario playing out in his head. Was he mentally rolling his eyes to discover that he’d gotten stuck on the same float as the semi-stalkery teen who had burst in on his wedding to declare he was her one true love?

  Sinking lower into the seat, Sarah kept her face toward the crowd and away from Travis, ignoring her rapidly pounding heart and the sweat pooling at the collar of her sweater.

  Finally after what seemed an eternity, but in actuality was only about half an hour, the parade arrived back at the high school football field. The minute their float stopped, Sarah was up out of her seat, on her feet and headed for the exit.

  Which just happened to be on the other side of Travis’s long, strong legs stretched out across the sleigh. She paused, dithered. Why didn’t he move and let her pass? Was he teasing her?

  Then she saw why and felt like a dodo for taking it personally. He was adjusting Jazzy’s cap, making sure the flaps covered her ears. “There you go, sweetheart,” he said. “Gotta keep those ears warm.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” Jazzy said with exasperation. “I’m fine.”

  “Yes, you are,” he said.

  The look on his face was so tender it tugged at Sarah’s heartstrings. Quickly she glanced away, saw a couple of high school boys pushing a portable staircase up to the float. Travis stood and handed Jazzy down to his Aunt Raylene, who was waiting on the ground.

  Still, Travis did not climb down. She’d forgotten how slowly things moved in Twilight. She took a deep breath. Patience, patience.

  He stood with hands braced to his back, eyes on the sky. “Well, hell,” he said, sounding far more like the Texas cowboy he was than the Victorian Father Christmas he was pretending to be. “Will you look at that.”

  “What?” Sarah squinted up into the darkness.

  “A little bit of Christmas magic.”

  “Huh?”

  He raised a white-gloved palm, caught a big, fat, soft snowflake. It melted as soon as it hit his hand. “It’s snowing. You know how rare that is? We only get snow once or twice a year if that, and here it is, snowing on the day you’ve returned home, Sarah Collier.”

  “Twilight is not my home,” Sarah said stiffly.

  “Uh-huh.” Travis just smiled behind that ridiculous Santa Claus beard as a dusting of snowflakes floated around him. He looked like a scene from a Hallmark commercial.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Okay, she knew she was being difficult, but something about his smug smile rubbed her the wrong way.

  “It doesn’t mean a thing. How are your parents by the way?”

  She shrugged. “Fine. I don’t see them much. You know, same as always, important heart surgeons, too busy for family life. How is your dad?”

  A clouded look crossed Travis’s face, and he lowered his voice. “He passed away.”

  “Oh.” What was she supposed to say to that? I’m sorry seemed so inadequate. Sarah had never been good at comforting people. Her inclination was to treat them the way she’d want to be treated. Leave them alone and let them sort things out. “Um … I hate to hear that.”

  “It was several years ago,” he said neutrally as if he’d already processed and dealt with it.

  “So you’re good now?”

  He looked down at Jazzy, who was in excellent hands with a group of doting women. “I’m good.”

  Sarah shifted her weight. Time to leave before they got into a full-blown conversation and it led somewhere she did not wish to go. Sarah stepped past him, angling for the stairs. He extended his hand to help her down, but she pretended she didn’t see his offering and forged ahead on her own.

  What she hadn’t taken into account was how quickly the swirling snowflakes melted as they hit the ground. This was North Central Texas and even though it might be snowing, the rich soil was still warm. No matter how fast it fell, the snow would not be sticking around. Combine the slick wetness with metal steps and three-inch-stiletto fashion boots and you had a recipe for disaster. Which Sarah realized two seconds too late.

  Her boot hit the wet patch and her foot slipped.

  “Oh!” She gasped, flailing her arms to help regain her balance, but then her other boot heel caught the skid and Sarah knew she was going down.

  The group of women at the bottom of the stairs all reached out for her, even little Jazzy. In her Isabella costume, she looked like Sarah’s own heroine waiting there to catch her as she fell.

  But she didn’t fall.

  Instead, two strong arms went around her, hauling her back up onto the floor of the float. Travis’s hands were locked under her breasts and his warm breath fanned the hairs along her temple. She hated to think how stupid she looked. Not that it was the first time she’d looked stupid in front of him.

  “You okay?” he murmured.

  She tilted her head and looked into those gorgeous gray eyes that had graced many of her teenage fantasies and gulped. “Peachy,” she mumbled.

  He released his arms from around her waist. Thank God, because she was terrified he’d discover that her nipples were suddenly hard as little pebbles underneath her camisole. She knew she was terrified by this unwanted turn of events.

  But his hand remained at her back, steadying her. His touch sent a ripple of sensation running up her spine. His gray-eyed gaze attached to hers
in a thoroughly wicked light.

  The song “Santa Baby” (the Eartha Kitt version of course; every other rendition paled in comparison) ran irreverently through her head. She sank her top teeth into her bottom lip, struggling to hold on to some semblance of self-control. But her old schoolgirl daydreams came raging back with the added fuel of adult knowledge.

  She wrenched away from him, unable to handle the tumult of feelings pushing through her. Be detached, be calm, be collected. You’re Sadie Cool, act like it.

  “Well,” she babbled. “Well, thank you.”

  Yes, that was so cool.

  One side of his mouth quirked up and a mischievous expression crossed his face as if he was imagining what she looked like naked. “Don’t mention it.”

  Sarah felt heat color her cheeks, and she ducked her head. Couldn’t very well let the guy know he’d stirred a physical reaction in her. She couldn’t bear it if he thought she still had a crush on him. Because she didn’t. Absolutely did not. She was a grown woman, a successful children’s book author, and he was …

  A very buff cowboy Santa Claus with snow in his beard.

  Wistful longing tugged at her solar plexus. Not good. Time to clear out of here. No more Christmas magic nonsense. Somehow she made it safely down the stairs only to be enveloped by the women who’d been waiting to surround her.

  “Welcome,” one of them said. “We’re the members of the First Love Cookie Club and we invited you to Twilight, Miss Cool. Thank you so much for coming. It’s so good to have you home.”

  Then they all started talking at once and she realized that many of them had been her grandmother’s friends, even though she couldn’t remember everyone’s names. They hugged her and reintroduced themselves and hugged her some more. They smelled of Chanel No. 5 and vanilla and cinnamon and lavender soap.