by Jane Porter
But then, Cormac had yet to meet someone who didn’t like her. This past week he’d received a flood of rather passionate emails from her team at Sheenan Media, asking him to keep her on, urging him to convince her to stay, detailing how important she was to the publishing group. They all loved her, and the emails mentioned her vision, her respect for others, her kindness. Her immediate team felt valued, and validated. She was a level-headed manager that got things done without stepping on toes.
After a half dozen emails, Cormac could recite Whitney’s virtues by heart.
Smart. Insightful. Thoughtful. Inspirational. Focused. A true leader. Generous. Sensitive. Professional. Compassionate.
She was a veritable saint.
He…not so much.
“Dad,” Daisy whispered, tugging on his hand. “Look.”
“Hmmm?”
“Look.” Her voice was soft and reverent.
Cormac opened his eyes, glanced down at Daisy and then followed her gaze. He immediately understood her wonder.
On the aisle across from them sat a big, white-bearded man with a big round belly. He had round cheeks to match his belly, and thick white hair that curled a bit around his forehead and nape. Swap the bearded man’s plaid flannel shirt and khaki trousers for a red wool suit and he’d look just like Santa Claus.
“Daddy,” she breathed again. “Do you know who that is?”
Cormac was so damn tired he could barely see straight but the awe in Daisy’s voice made the corner of his mouth lift. Despite all the tragedy in her life, she was still so innocent and full of hope and joy.
“Who do you think it is?” he answered.
She looked up at him rather indignant. “You don’t know?”
“I just wondered if you knew.”
“Yes. It’s Santa.” She leaned forward in her seat, studying him. “Where do you think he’s going?”
Cormac closed his eyes, settling back in his seat. “Bozeman.”
Daisy grabbed his forearm. “I’m serious.”
“Me, too.” He opened an eye. “This plane is going to Bozeman, Montana. Which means he’s going, too.”
“Why is he flying in a plane? Why isn’t he using reindeer?”
“Maybe his reindeer are on vacation. Or maybe he’s just more comfortable in an airplane than in an open sleigh. Montana is cold this time of year. There will probably be snow on the ground.”
She made a scoffing sound. “He lives at the North Pole. Santa and the reindeer are used to cold. They live in snow.” She leaned as far forward as she could and lifted her hand, just barely wiggling her fingers.
Cormac suppressed a groan. It was one thing to stare at the old man, but to wave at him? “Don’t,” he said, pressing her hand down. “Leave him be.”
“Why? He loves children.”
“He’s not Jesus, Daisy.”
“I know. But he’s Jesus’ helper. He brings gifts to kids who are good and loving.” Daisy gave Cormac a disdainful look. “And he’s going to bring you nothing because you’re not being nice.”
“I’m not being mean.”
“You are. Santa likes me. See? He’s waving back at me.”
Cormac turned his head and indeed, the white-bearded, red-cheeked, heavyset older man was smiling at Daisy and lifting his hand in acknowledgement as if he were the real thing.
Cormac struggled to hide his irritation. He could understand why Daisy was enthralled—a child’s innocence and imagination and all that—but the old guy, he should know better. He didn’t need to encourage Daisy.
“I want to talk to him,” Daisy said.
“The seatbelt sign is on.”
And just then the seatbelt sign turned off. Daisy shot Cormac a triumphant glance. “It’s off now!” She unfastened her seatbelt and tried to slide from her seat.
Cormac put out a hand to stop her. “Daisy.”
“I just want to know why he’s going to Montana.”
He counted to five, and then to ten. “Why don’t we let him be? It’s a long flight and I’m sure he’d like to just close his eyes and relax. In fact, why don’t we close our eyes, too, and get some sleep so that we arrive in Bozeman rested—” he broke off as he felt her small body shudder.
“Daisy?” He lifted her chin; tears were falling. “Why are you crying?”
“Because I need to tell him what I want for Christmas and you won’t let me.”
“How do we even know he’s the real Santa? Maybe he’s just an elf—”
“He’s not an elf! He’s Santa Claus. Look at him.” She jabbed a finger in the old man’s direction. “He has blue eyes and pink cheeks and a big white beard.”
“Then where is his red suit?”
“At the North Pole with the reindeer!” Daisy was losing patience. “Now, will you please let me talk to him?”
Cormac held his breath as Daisy slipped past his legs and stepped into the aisle to stand next to the old man’s side.
The man’s blue eyes twinkled at her. “Hello.”
She smiled shyly. “Hi.”
“How are you?”
“I’m good.” She hesitated and her smile faded, her expression growing serious. “I need to tell you something.”
“I’m all ears,” he said, leaning towards her.
Daisy stood on tiptoe and cupping her hand near her mouth, whispered in his ear.
“I see,” the old man said after a moment.
Daisy whispered something else in his ear.
The old man looked thoughtfully at Daisy, then Cormac, and back to Daisy again. “We will see what we can do.”
“Thank you, Santa.” She kissed his cheek and then scooted past Cormac’s knees to take her seat.
“I told him,” she said smugly, buckling her seatbelt. “I told him what I wanted, and he’s going to see what he can do.”
“And what did you ask him for?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I’m your dad. Can’t I know?”
“No. Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.” She tightened the seatbelt and then sighed, pleased with herself. “But it’s going to be good. In fact, it’s going to be the best Christmas ever.”
“Daisy, honey, he didn’t promise anything. He just said he’d see what he could do.”
“Yes, but he will. He’s Santa Claus.”
*
Whitney shivered, chilly despite her long, down-filled coat, as she walked from the Graff to the Crookshank Building. It was a blustery Friday morning, and the ever-present wind whistled and snapped, grabbing at the line of lights the city crew was valiantly attempting to hang the length of Main Street.
Thanksgiving was just six days away now and downtown Marietta was being decked in holiday finery in preparation for the parade that would take place a week from today, heralding the arrival of Santa Claus and the official start of the Christmas holidays.
The weather forecast said it could snow next week, too. It was definitely cold enough for snow today, but the big Montana sky was a stunning deep blue without a cloud in sight.
After getting her coffee from Java Café, she paused in front of Copper Mountain Chocolates to once again admire the fat chocolate turkeys and foil-wrapped leaves. Josie had told her that they served the best hot cocoa at Copper Mountain Chocolates, but Whitney had yet to go in. But she’d have to soon. Chocolate was her weakness. She wouldn’t be able to resist forever.
Fortunately, things were progressing nicely at the Crookshank Building. Josie was already on site when Whitney arrived, with stone and tile samples for Whitney’s approval. There were four different sets of bathrooms—a public one on the ground floor, and then employee bathrooms on each floor –plus the kitchen on the third floor for the staff but Whitney wasn’t a fan of the stone Josie was proposing for the counter tops in the bathrooms and kitchen.
“It’s not the most attractive granite,” Whitney said. “It reminds me too much of the 80s and 90s.”
“It’s durable though.”
“M
aybe, but I can’t imagine Cormac would like to look at it for the next ten years. Do we have time to visit the stone yard in Bozeman?”
“Absolutely,” Josie answered. “Let’s go.”
Josie drove and they chatted as they headed towards Bozeman. Josie shared that she’d grown up in Clyde Park twenty-some minutes north of Livingston on the 89, but her family had moved to Bozeman when she was in high school so her younger brother could get the medical help he needed and she was glad she was able to work in Park County and Crawford County with the design firm. “I love it out here…Livingston, Marietta, Paradise Valley. My kind of place.”
“I grew up in Bozeman, too,” Whitney said. “But haven’t lived here for almost ten years.”
“You were in Denver, right?”
“It’s a great city. A very livable city.”
“Marietta must feel really small for you.”
“It does. But it’s okay. I’m only here through the end of the year. In January I’m moving on to something else.”
Josie shot Whitney a swift side glance. “You’re not staying?”
“No. This is just temporary.”
“Mr. Sheenan knows that?”
Whitney nodded, ignoring the bubble of regret, and asked Josie about her younger brother, the one who needed medical care, in an attempt to change the topic.
Josie’s smile faded. “He died when he was nineteen. We thought we’d have another ten years with him if we were lucky, but….” Her shoulders lifted and fell. She glanced at Whitney. “He had Duchenne muscular dystrophy.”
“I don’t know much about muscular dystrophy.”
“It’s awful.” Her voice dropped, thickening. “Muscular dystrophy is never good, but Duchenne is the worst. Because the gene mutation is in the X chromosome it affects primarily boys. And it’s always fatal.”
They didn’t talk much more until they reached the stone yard, and then they were totally focused on the slabs of granite and marble.
Whitney selected a stunning chocolate-veined Brazilian granite that looked like polished mahogany for the bathroom and kitchen counters. “I think this would look excellent with white subway titles in the kitchen and paired with travertine in the bathrooms,” Whitney said. “What do you think?”
“I like the idea of a Tuscany travertine. The tumbled stone look would suit the building.”
With the selections made, they stopped for lunch in downtown Bozeman and then headed back to Marietta. Josie pulled up in front of the Graff to drop Whitney off, but Whitney hesitated before getting out of the car.
“I’m sorry,” she said, searching for the right words. “Sorry about your brother. That must have been so devastating for everyone.”
“Michael taught us a lot about love and life,” Josie answered. “I wouldn’t be who I am without him, and I wouldn’t have become a designer if it weren’t for him. He made me interested in design, making things accessible for him. So in a way, he’s still with me every day.”
“I like that,” Whitney said.
Josie smiled. “Me, too.”
Whitney got out of the car and waved goodbye, then quickly climbed the steps to the Graff’s entrance. She nodded at the doorman as he opened one of the glass doors for her and was immediately struck by the smell of Christmas.
It didn’t take her long to spot the source of the wonderful fragrance as a massive fir tree filled the center of the lobby floor.
The Graff’s handsome lobby was already striking with its impressive columns, dark gleaming wood walls, and polished marble floor, but it was even more wonderful with the addition of the tree.
A team of three was in the middle of decorating it, too, hanging glittering glass ornaments between the yards of dark red velvet ribbon.
There was something truly magical about a soaring Christmas tree, and even though Thanksgiving was still a few days away, she felt a little bit of holiday magic now.
There was nothing like Christmas in Montana. She’d always loved the sparkling snow, the frozen ponds for ice skating, the sleigh rides, the trip to the local Christmas tree farm to cut down one’s tree.
“Pretty tree, isn’t it?”
Whitney turned her head to look at the stocky older man standing at her side. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners and his round cheeks were ruddy from the cold, making his blue eyes even brighter. “Breathtaking,” she agreed. “Smells heavenly, too.”
“You can’t go wrong with a Noble Fir.”
“I can never tell firs and pines apart. Can you?”
“Well, of course. That’s my job.”
“Is it?”
“Mmm. Joy. Hope. Christmas. You know. The works.”
“Well, if it’s the works, you can’t forget world peace.”
“Never. That’s right there at the top.” He smiled at her.
She smiled back, not sure if he was a local or a guest at the hotel but he had a very endearing quality. “It’s nice to know there are still people who take their work seriously.”
“I like my job so it helps.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m Santa Claus.”
Her lips twitched. “Aren’t you out and about just a little bit early?”
“I never put on the red suit until after Thanksgiving.”
“That makes sense. I think it’d be difficult to wear it 365 days a year.”
“Especially during summer. Far too hot.”
“I thought the North Pole had snow all year long?”
“It does, which is why I try to take the missus to Hawaii each year. Just a week or two, not any longer.” His white bushy eyebrows lifted. “I’ve a Christmas tree joke for you, written by my friend, Zoey. She’s eight.”
“I’d love to hear.”
“What do you get when you cross a Christmas tree with an iPhone?”
Whitney shook her head. “I give up. What?”
“A pine-Apple.” He laughed, a big belly laugh that made her giggle. “A pineapple,” he repeated in case she hadn’t got the joke.
But she had, and she laughed as his bushy brows waggled. He seemed delighted with the joke and her response, and he laughed once more, a deep belly laugh that made Whitney feel like a child again, in the best sort of way.
“I’m Whitney Alder,” she said, extending a hand.
“Kris,” he answered, giving her hand a vigorous shake. “Krinkles.”
“Krinkles?” she repeated, not sure she’d heard him right. “Not Kringle?”
“No, and people always ask me that. But it’s Krinkles like wrinkles.”
She was smiling so hard her cheeks ached and her chest was filled with warmth. There was something about him that made her happy, and hopeful. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Krinkles.”
“It was nice to meet you, too, Whitney.”
She had a sudden urge to hug him, but she stopped herself in the nick of time—no pun intended. “Hopefully I’ll see you again.”
“Well, I’m in Marietta for the holidays.”
“Wonderful. See you soon.”
At the wall of brass elevators, Whitney pushed the up button, and glanced behind her at the massive Christmas tree still being worked on, checking to see if Kris was still there but the older man was nowhere to be seen.
Her lips curved remembering his silly joke about the iPhone and the Christmas tree and she didn’t know what it was about him that made him so likeable, but he felt solid and familiar and reassuring, too. As if he were someone she’d known her entire life. For the first time since arriving in Marietta she felt calm and steady.
For the first time in ages she felt good.
The elevator doors opened and she stepped forward right as Cormac Sheenan stepped out and they nearly collided.
Cormac took her elbow to steady her. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” she answered, startled and a little bit breathless. She’d forgotten how tall he was and she tipped her head back to see his face. “I didn’t know you were in Mar
ietta.”
“Daisy and I arrived today.”
“Daisy’s here?” she asked, excited.
“In Marietta, yes, but I dropped her off a little bit ago at Trey and McKenna’s to play with TJ.”
“I didn’t think you two were coming until after Thanksgiving.”
“Daisy started Thanksgiving break today so we flew out early so I could get her enrolled in preschool here.”
A man stepped around them, wanting to enter the open elevator. Whitney and Cormac both stepped away and the elevator doors closed.
“You’re both staying at the hotel?” Whitney asked.
“While Heath wraps up the remodel on my house,” Cormac said. “I don’t know if he mentioned it to you, but the house wasn’t kid friendly but Heath thinks he’ll have us in before Christmas.”
He’d bought the house overlooking the Yellowstone River after they’d stopped dating so she’d never seen it, but April and Daryl had been there and April had said it was an incredible place with soaring log ceilings, and floor to ceiling windows along the front of the house giving stunning views of the river valley nestled between the jagged Absaroka and Gallatin mountain ranges.
“Aren’t a couple of your brothers out that way?”
“Brock’s spread, Copper Mountain Ranch, is there, and our family ranch, where I grew up is another ten minutes south. But we’ve leased the ranch house to a writer from New York. Trey heads that way every day to take care of the cattle, but he and McKenna live in town, just a few minutes from here.”
It was the second time Cormac had mentioned Trey. Trey was the one brother she’d never met as he’d been in prison when she and Cormac were dating.
“And that’s where Daisy is now? At Trey’s?”
“Yes. I don’t think you’ve met him.”
“No. He was…away.”
“Four years of away, but he’s back, which is good because TJ is wild. He needs a father that knows how to handle him.”
“And Trey can handle him?”
“Oh yeah. TJ is a miniature Trey so it’s definitely lively at their house. I just hope TJ and Daisy will get along. McKenna has promised to keep a close eye on Daisy and said she’ll call if Daisy seems overwhelmed in any way.”
