by Judith Yates
She pushed this niggling kernel of doubt from her mind. Paul hadn’t actually done anything to undercut her trust, Amy reminded herself. Business demands popped up even at the most inopportune times—as she knew all too well.
Finally, the red pickup rolled into sight. “Hallelujah,” Amy sang out, her heart leaping with excitement. She flew out of her room, making it down the two flights before Paul reached the inn’s front steps.
“Safety Santa comes through. I was afraid you were having second thoughts,” she teased in an attempt to put a lid on her eagerness. A thirty-one-year-old woman shouldn’t act like a giddy teenager, no matter how much she felt like one inside.
“O ye of so little faith.” He slid an arm around her waist.
Paul’s eyes devoured her as he lowered his mouth to hers. The frigid air still clung to his hair, his skin, his overcoat, making her shiver in his embrace. But his lips tasted warm when he kissed her, and her internal body heat shot up like a rocket.
They finally broke apart when they heard Bernadette enter the hall, pointedly clearing her throat.
“I just caught the latest weather report on the radio. Looks like that storm front has picked up speed,” Bernadette said. “You two should have something to eat and then get a move on. Maybe you can get to all the houses before the storm hits.”
Amy agreed. One thing she really hated was driving in bad weather. Also, she didn’t want a single Tremont child to miss his Safety Santa visit. After helping at the firehouse with the preparations for the big night, Amy had gotten into the spirit of the safety program.
She was in high holiday spirits, as well, following days of lending a hand with decorating the Blue Sky for the holidays. Christmas music filled the common rooms, while eggnog and mulled cider flowed and Martin kept cooking up delectable cookies and candies. The good cheer among the inn’s guests and the townspeople was contagious. Amy hadn’t felt such excitement about the Christmas holidays since she was a little girl.
Bernadette had their dinner served in the dining room right away, and they ate quickly. As they finished up their coffee, Paul called Bernadette over to the table. “Did a special delivery package come here for me?”
“Something came yesterday, as a matter of fact. It’s in my office,” she told him. “What is it?”
“Just a little surprise for my friend here.” He winked at Amy.
“What kind of surprise?” Amy asked, the gleam in Paul’s eyes a little too sly for comfort.
“Guess we’d better hurry and see.” He stood up and held out his hand to her. “Shall we?”
As they swept past the front desk, Amy grabbed the box containing the Santa costume. Inside Bernadette’s office, Paul found the large, padded packet on a side worktable. “Here you go.” He held out the package. “Open it.”
She held out the box. “Don’t you think you should be changing into this?”
“No, you go first.” Taking the box from her, Paul handed her the package.
Mystified, she tore it open. “What on earth?” she gasped as she pulled out a one-piece Lycra pantsuit in leaf green. Fluffy, white fake fur trimmed the collar and edged the sleeve and pant hems. Next came a green stocking cap with a thick, white pom-pom at the tip. Paul had to be joking.
He looked immensely pleased with himself. “I had it rushed from a costume house in New York. I’m pretty sure I guessed the right size,” he added, his admiring eyes traveling the length of her body. “Don’t you love it?”
“Very funny, Paul. But you certainly don’t expect me to wear this thing, do you? I’m not supposed to be in costume.”
“You agreed to be my helper didn’t you?” he said, his arms opened wide. “Who ever heard of a Santa’s helper dressed in blue jeans and a parka?”
“I never agreed to—you never said that—ah, come on Paul, an elf costume?”
“Why should I be the only one stuck with a pom-pom dangling from my head? Besides, you’ll look fantastic. Promise.”
Muttering, Amy led a gleeful Paul upstairs to her room so they could transform themselves into their holiday personas. At least no one from Washington would ever know about the elf suit. She took comfort in that.
Since the Santa costume was more intricate, she offered to help Paul first. She spread the cherry red Santa pieces out on the bed while Paul stripped down to his jeans. Wrapping the special padding around his middle, she couldn’t keep her eyes off his sinewy shoulders and taut, muscular back. It seemed such a shame to bury his hard body beneath cushy mounds of fake flesh.
Leaving Paul to deal with the rest of his costume, she took the elf suit into the bathroom. As she pulled the snug knit fabric over her body, she realized how warm it would keep her on this very cold night. In her mind, that was the only good thing about the silly outfit.
“Don’t say a word,” Amy warned when she emerged from the bathroom.
Paul, practically entombed in his roly-poly costume, greeted her with a wolfish whistle, instead.
Ignoring him, she putted a pair of warm boots from the closet and then plunked herself down on the edge of the bed. “I feel like Batwoman decked out for St. Patrick’s Day,” she complained, yanking the first boot over her foot.
“Well, you look fantastic.” Paul waddled to her side, giving the unitard’s body-clinging fit his undivided attention. “Downright sexy, really.”
His hand skimmed slowly over her hip and thigh, causing a distracting spurt of fluttering in her lower body. She closed her eyes for a pleasurable moment. She couldn’t, however, close her mind to the jarring image of beardless Santa and his sickly green elf side by side on the bed.
She brushed away Paul’s hand. “No fraternizing with the help, Santa.”
Amy helped him apply the fluffy white eyebrows. A flowing wig and beard completed his transformation into Safety Santa. After adjusting his fur-trimmed cap, she stepped back, amazed. She would never have recognized Paul under that suit. “You are Santa Claus,” she told him.
Bellowing out a deep ho-ho-ho, Paul tossed the costume’s huge toy sack over his shoulder. He turned to her with a wink and a grin. “Let’s hit the road, sweetheart.”
She threw her coat over her costume and followed him out. On their way downstairs, they were stopped several times by passing guests wanting to wish Santa a Merry Christmas. Paul greeted every one with handshakes and a very cheery Merry Christmas. For a man who had initially balked at the job, Paul was throwing himself into the role with surprising gusto.
When they reached the main hall, Bernadette whooped with delight, attracting all sorts of attention from the parties milling about the common rooms. She fussed at Paul’s beard and hat. “I never thought I’d see the day!” she exclaimed, giving Paul a big kiss on the cheek. “Now, wait a minute while I get my camera.”
By the time the two of them were able to extract themselves from the inn, it was still only flurrying and nothing was sticking.
“Maybe the snow will hold off after all,” Paul said as they approached her car.
Two volunteers at the firehouse had helped load dozens of wrapped gifts into the trunk and back seat early this afternoon. To sign up for a visit from Safety Santa, parents had brought nonperishable food or cash donations for the area food bank to the firehouse along with small, prewrapped toys for Santa to give to their kids after the safety check.
“Don’t even think about driving,” Amy remarked when Paul opened the door on the driver’s side. “You’ll never fit behind the wheel.”
He looked down at his new belly. “Guess you’re right.”
“A map and a list complete with children’s names are in the glove compartment. You can navigate,” Amy said as she turned on the ignition. “Did Bridget instruct you on what to do?”
“Went through it with me on the phone, step by step.”
Their route began in the heart of Tremont, with five houses in the town center alone. By the third stop, Amy and Paul had their routine down pat. With the appropriate gifts already loa
ded into Paul’s sack, Amy parked her car at a safe distance so as not to be seen. Then she led the way to each front door, shaking a strap of sleigh bells to signal Santa’s arrival.
The children’s reactions to them ranged from fear to timid wonder to giddy elation. In most instances, Paul won over the frightened ones with an easygoing rendition of Santa cheerfulness and by eliciting their help when he checked the fireplaces and peered up the chimneys. The same technique worked in calming the few kids having trouble controlling their excitement. He had them eating out of his hand. As someone who worked with children every day, Amy was impressed.
Snow was falling lightly when they headed toward the outskirts of town. The houses and farms they had to visit were spread out over the countryside. Miles separated each stop.
The drive on winding, often narrow roads was hampered by poor visibility as the snow intensified. Still, Amy clamped her hands on the steering wheel, breathed in deep and pushed on. After experiencing such fun and joy at each home, she and Paul couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing the children still waiting.
By the time they reached the final home on the list, the fast-falling snow was forming a worrisome glaze on the ground. Jack and Mary Frame greeted them with surprise and gratitude.
“We thought for sure you’d given up. The radio is predicting eight to twelve inches,” Mary Frame whispered to Amy as Paul ho-hoed his way into the living room. “But now that you’re here, maybe the boys will stop fighting about Santa Claus.”
Paul stood in the middle of the room, shaking his head. He turned to Amy. “Well, well, my little elf, look what we have here.”
Amy followed his gaze from one side of the room to the other. On the floor by a Christmas tree sat a moptopped little boy in fire-engine red Dr. Denton’s, crying his eyes out. He couldn’t have been more than three. Across the room sat a seven- or eight-year-old, in pj’s and robe, looking very sullen as he stared down at the floor. She could see that Santa and his elf were in trouble now.
Paul tried to comfort the little one, but he wouldn’t stop crying. Finally, Paul—with some difficulty—lowered his bulky Santa body down on the floor next to the child. This machination definitely got the boy’s attention.
“That’s better,” Paul noted as the little boy’s sobbing gradually ceased. “Tell Santa why you’re sad?”
“He glared at his older brother. “Joey says you’re not the real Santa!”
Joey looked stricken as all eyes turned to him. “And you’re nothing but a crybaby tattletale, Andy,” he lashed out.
Andy started bawling all over again. Paul stayed beside him, gently patting his small back. “Well, Andy, Joey’s right. I’m not the real Santa.”
“You’re not real?” wailed Andy. Big brother Joey sat up in his chair, taking note.
“Oh, I’m real all right. Just touch me.” Paul held out his fur-trimmed sleeve. “Feel real, don’t I?”
Andy nodded.
“But I’m Safety Santa—sort of a high-ranking helper to the real Santa.” He looked up at the older boy, offering him a chance to save face. “You know about Santa’s helpers, don’t you, Joey?”
Joey nodded solemnly, appearing much less embarrassed than he had minutes earlier. “Like the Santas in the stores are just helpers, too.”
“That’s right. Because the real Santa is so busy making toys and getting the reindeer ready, he needs all the help he can get,” Paul explained. “And I’m helping make sure all the fireplaces and chimneys are safe for him on Christmas Eve. Wouldn’t want Santa thrown off his delivery schedule by any mishaps.”
“But you look just like Santa,” protested Andy.
Paul glanced up at Amy, his eyes pleading for mercy. But she urged him on with a encouraging wave of her hand. He was doing just fine on his own. For a man who, apparently, had little close contact with children, Paul had an innate manner with them that was marvelous. He didn’t fawn over them or talk down to them; he was just himself.
“You think I look just like the real Santa, eh?” Paul reiterated in an obvious attempt to collect his thoughts. “That’s because I’m his first cousin, and resemblances run strong up in the North Pole. That’s why all us Santas look alike.”
Amy noticed Joey was sitting forward in the chair, his attention absorbed by Paul’s explanation. Clearly he’d bought the story hook, line and sinker—just like his little brother.
“So, what do you say, guys?” Paul said, glancing from one hopeful little face to the other. “Let’s have a look at that fireplace.”
Both boys cheered and dashed across the room to the fireplace. Their parents headed for the kitchen to get cookies and hot cocoa for everyone. And Amy followed them, offering to help.
“Uh, Miss Elf?” Paul called after her. “Santa needs a hand here.”
She turned to find Paul struggling to get up off the floor. All that bulky padding kept throwing him off-balance. “Allow me, Santa,” she said, hurrying over to him. She held out her hands and guided him back to his feet. The boys scampered off to the kitchen to check on the cookies.
Soon Paul’s hands were around her waist and he nudged her close to his pillowy chest. The look peeping out from beneath his furry brows steamed with unSantalike intent.
“You’ve got to be the sexiest elf this side of the North Pole,” he murmured. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night long.”
As he lowered his bearded face to hers, her skin felt as if it were being caressed by an airborne cloud. But his lips had an earthier effect, warm and insistent and making her feel ten times more heavenly.
Amy had a vague sense of whispers buzzing behind them, but she was enjoying this kiss too much to investigate. But within seconds, the giggling of two young boys became too boisterous to ignore.
“Mommy! Daddy!” they squealed in unison. “Santa’s kissing the elf!”
After a good-humored round of cocoa and cookies, the Frames sent Amy and Paul off with thanks, best wishes and a couple of well-timed winks. They also extended an offer of refuge if the roads proved too dangerous. But Amy was just as eager as Paul to get back to the inn and their civilian clothes.
“Looks like we’re in for a fun ride home,” she said as they approached her car at the end of the Frames’ driveway. The snow was falling at a steady clip. On the ground, the crusty mix of snow and ice crunched beneath their feet.
“I’ll drive,” Paul said, opening the passenger-side door for her.
She glanced at his oversize middle. “How?”
“By taking this damn belly off.” He began unbuttoning the bright red Santa coat.
“You’ll freeze doing that.”
“Only for a minute until I remove the padding. Then, between this coat and the car heater, I’ll be fine. Here.” Paul gave her the coat to hold. He was wearing only a cotton T-shirt beneath the padding. “Besides, you’re not used to driving in these conditions, and I know these roads.”
She could see his point. She also could see the snow falling on his bare arms as he unwrapped the padding from around his chest. The flakes streamed down his muscled arms, forming icy patterns on his skin. To make matters worse, the wind picked up and began whipping through the evergreens along the road. As Paul’s entire body shook and his teeth chattered, Amy could practically feel the fierce bite of cold herself. She jumped into the car to start it, turning the heater on full blast.
When he was ready, she helped him with the jacket. Throwing the padding and beard into the back seat, Paul climbed behind the wheel and warmed his bands with the heat blowing from the dashboard.
“I’d say we’re about ten miles from town,” he said, shifting the car into gear. “Just hang on and we’ll get there.”
Paul’s command of the road reassured Amy, and her car’s steel radial tires served them well for the first several miles. Soon it was snowing harder, until visibility was reduced to a white blur. The stretch of repeated hills didn’t help as swishing their way up one side became as risky as sliding down th
e other. Watching Paul’s fierce concentration as he steered, Amy bit her lip and gripped the door handle so hard her fingers felt numb.
“Guess my spanking-new radial tires aren’t really meant for all weather,” she muttered tensely.
“Not the tires’ fault. With these kinds of conditions, chains and four-wheel drive are your only hope.” Paul tore his eyes from the windshield for a quick glance at her. “Don’t worry, we’ll be okay.”
“I know.” If Paul believed this, then she did, too. She respected his word. Somewhere along the line, her faith in him had sprouted and grown to the point where she trusted even her life to him. If anyone else was driving in this storm, she’d be a certified basket case right now.
“You’ve been an awfully good sport tonight,” he said, his eyes now glued to whatever he could see of the road ahead. “About the elf costume and traipsing through all those houses.”
“Are you kidding?” Letting go of the door handle, she turned to him. “You definitely get top honors tonight. You didn’t want to be Safety Santa in the first place.”
“It wasn’t so bad after all. Not that I’d want to do it again, you understand.”
She chuckled as the car began crawling down yet another hill. “Then I guess I’d better not tell anyone how much you seemed to be enjoy—”
Suddenly the breath was knocked out of her by a violent swerve to the right. The next thing Amy knew the car was skidding downhill. Her body stiffened against the jostling of helter-skelter swerves and shifts. Shouting at her to hold on, Paul worked to control the car, but the skid seemed endless. Her head began spinning faster than the car and her heart was in her throat. After a series of jerks, jolts and bumps, the car finally plowed off the road, stopping with a hard, forceful thud.
“Amy, are you all right?”
