by JoAnn Ross
“It’s a dirty job,” he said with a quick grin.
“And how fortunate for all the women of the town you’re willing to do it.” She turned and reached for a blue box of pasta.
“It’s not that way.” He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back as he reached over her head and plucked the box from the top shelf. “Actually, until you came along, I was living a pretty much celibate life.” He tossed the box into the cart. “Let me be more specific. Entirely celibate life.”
Holly glanced around. She’d never, ever thought she’d be discussing such things in public, let alone in the pasta and tomato sauce aisle of the North Pole Mercantile, but she had to ask.
“For the entire time you’ve been here?”
He nodded. “And the year before that.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t want to get personal.” She lowered her voice. Leaned toward him. “But since you brought it up—”
“No, I definitely don’t have a problem in that regard.”
She hadn’t thought so. “Still, that’s a long dry spell.” Even longer than her own.
“I was out of the country the first year,” he reminded her. “And, like I said, I don’t cheat.”
Having learned about his wife’s affairs, Holly understood the flare of heat he’d displayed when she’d accused him of hitting on her when he had a wife at home.
“The last year has been complicated. And, like you said, it’s been a long dry spell.” His pewter eyes swept over her face with all the impact of a caress. “One I’m hoping to change.”
“You never know.” She tossed her head in a flirtatious way that was so not typical for her. “Play your cards right and I might invite you over to dinner tonight. If you think you can get a sitter.”
“Sweetheart, all it would take is for the women in my family to know I had a date and they’d be standing in line to have Emma spend the night with her cousins.”
“Well, then. How do you feel about lasagna?”
“My favorite thing,” he said promptly. “So long as we’re having sugar cookies or peaches for dessert.”
Because it had been too long since he’d kissed her—at least since he’d parked the car in the lot twenty minutes earlier—he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers.
Mindless of the fact that she was in a public store, Holly allowed her own lips to cling. And cling. Until the unmistakable sound of a throat clearing behind them broke through the silvery mist clouding her mind.
“Sorry.” If he was at all embarrassed, Gabe didn’t reveal it. He moved aside. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Whetherton,” he said with a friendly smile.
Beady black eyes as sharp and dark as a crow’s took in the two of them. “Merry Christmas, Gabriel,” the woman, who looked to be at least in her eighties, said. “And it’s about time to see you spooning with a woman. Your poor mother has been despairing about you ever giving her another grandchild.”
Her gaze swept over Holly, as if checking out her breeding credentials. “You’ll do,” she decided before continuing down the aisle.
Rather than be embarrassed, or offended, Holly surprised herself by breaking into laughter.
Because she wanted some time to herself to explore the town, Holly asked Gabe to take the groceries back to the cabin for her.
“It’s less than five blocks,” she pointed out. “I walk a lot farther than that in the city. And it’s stopped snowing.”
His forehead frowned. “If you have any trouble—”
“Gabe.” She touched a hand to his cheek. “You’re not a Marine any longer. You don’t have to save the entire world. Besides, I’ll be fine. Really.”
“I need to split cord wood for the inn. I guess I’ll just work off some of my sexual frustration on some logs.”
“Don’t work it all off.”
He laughed, a rough, harsh sound edged with need. “Sweetheart, where you’re concerned, that’s not possible.”
Holly knew exactly how he felt.
Fifteen
The town was surprisingly charming. Oh, overdone, certainly, if you weren’t a fan of Christmas, but still, once you looked beneath the tinsel and trappings shouting out from the storefront windows, there were really lovely locally handcrafted items inside the shops. Many that would easily belong in the trendy galleries of Seattle’s Fremont and Pioneer Square neighborhoods or even Kirkland, known as the Monterey of the West, across Lake Washington.
Telling herself she wasn’t really becoming a Christmas shopper, that she was just paying back a kindness, she bought a lovely cashmere scarf, woven by a local artisan, in soft shades of cream, moss green, and gray, for Beth O’Halloran.
Once she’d done that, well, of course she needed to find something for Emma. Which was when she decided to check out Santa’s Workshop.
The building was housed in what appeared to be an old brick warehouse at the end of North Pole Lane. The minute she walked into the gift shop, Holly decided the place definitely lived up to its name. The floor-to-ceiling shelves were filled with dolls (cloth and baby dolls, with not a Barbie or Bratz to be seen), stuffed animals, and what, although she was no expert, even she could see were beautifully crafted wooden cars, trains, airplanes, and boats.
“Welcome to Santa’s Workshop.” A woman, wearing a red wool blazer over a cream ribbed turtleneck and an ankle-length, slim green and red plaid wool skirt, greeted Holly with a remarkably familiar smile.
“You’re Rachel O’Halloran.”
“Got it in one.” The dimples that had been a dead giveaway deepened. “And you’d be Holly Berry.”
“News travels fast.”
“Honey, around here, it’s like lightning. By the time you got back from cutting that Christmas tree this morning, everyone in Santa’s Village probably knew your height, weight, hair color, and what you did for a living. Speaking of which, I like your books, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you. Sometimes life is just so damn cheery here, I enjoy diving into a good, gory murder. Especially on those days I feel like murdering my own kids. I have three, all boys, which can be a challenge, just like their uncle.”
“Gabe was a challenge?”
“Since everyone already knows about you, including, now that you’ve gone shopping, that you prefer the yellow packet artificial sweetener over the blue, and that you’re cooking my brother lasagna tonight, and it’s obvious that he’s taken with you, it’s only fair that we women stick together. God knows, he’s never been all that talkative, so I doubt he’s shared that much with you.”
Holly was beginning to understand exactly why Gabe wasn’t all that chatty. Especially if his other sisters were at all like this one. “He told me about his marriage breaking up.” The minute she’d heard the words leaving her mouth, Holly wished she could have called them back. Although obviously his family knew at least some of the circumstances, she felt as if she’d betrayed a confidence.
“Did he now? Well, that shows Mother’s right. As usual. The boy’s definitely serious.”
Holly was equally uncomfortable that she and Gabe had been a subject of discussion. One of the things she liked about being a writer was it allowed her to live a very private life.
“He’s not exactly a boy,” she felt obliged to point out on his behalf.
“Well, that’s certainly true enough,” Rachel allowed. “Going into the Marines really changed him from that hell-bent for trouble kid who wrecked that car he’d borrowed from Kendall motors when he was fifteen—”
“Gabe stole a car?”
“Well, he was planning to take it back,” Rachel assured Holly. “It wasn’t exactly his fault Margaret Whetherton was such a horrible driver. She’s always been a menace. You’ve no idea how relieved everyone in town was when her doctor grandson came down from Bellingham and took the keys to her Caddy away. Now we all take turns driving her around so she won’t feel tempted to get back behind the whe
el.
“Anyway,” she continued, amazing Holly when she didn’t so much as pause for a breath, “Gabe wasn’t a bad kid. He just wasn’t happy about leaving L.A.—not that any of us were, but at least we girls had each other—and having your dad be town sheriff, as bad as it was for us, because of all the boys who were afraid to try to so much as get to second base for fear of Daddy shooting them, had to have been worse for Gabe because there was so much expectation put on him. Like what they say about being a preacher’s kid. If you know what I mean.”
She stopped. And flashed another of those smiles. When the pause lasted longer than a second, Holly decided she’d just been invited to respond.
“I can see how that would be the case. I was an only child. So I always felt like I had to be perfect at everything.”
“That’s exactly how I felt.” Rachel nodded her dark brunette head. “Although, of course, I wasn’t an only. But birth order has onlys and eldest, which is where I fall in the family, pretty much fitting the same model. So, are you here to visit? Or to buy something?”
“I was hoping to find something for Emma.”
“What a lovely idea.” She flashed another of those Gabe replica smiles. “Especially since she believes you’re going to be her new mama.”
“What?”
“Uh-oh.” Gabe’s sister had the grace to flush. “I guess I let that cat out of the bag. So, Gabe didn’t tell you about her Christmas wish?”
“No. It didn’t come up.”
Holly couldn’t decide whether she was glad or not that he’d neglected to share that little bit of information. Then decided it could’ve only made this morning’s tree hunting expedition uncomfortable. But it did explain why the little girl had been so eager for Gabe to kiss her. Obviously she’d been doing a little matchmaking.
Which wasn’t all that surprising, Holly decided, remembering how many of the men she’d tried to set up her mother with over the years. Including her fifth grade teacher, her pediatrician, and the guy who came by their house every month to read their electric meter.
“Well.” Rachel tilted her head. “I guess, staying at the inn as you are, you would’ve figured it out pretty soon. Let me show you some of the stuffed animals Emma was looking at when she visited last week.”
Holly was trying to decide between a fluffy panda bear and a pink and purple polka dot elephant when the door at the back of the room, which she guessed led into the actual workshop, opened, and a tall, lanky, silver-haired man wearing cowboy boots, jeans, and a western snap-front shirt entered the gift shop.
“Well,” he said on a western drawl that possessed just a bit of twang. “If it isn’t Holly Berry, come to pay us a visit.”
She’d begun, just a bit, to buy into the tourism aspect of the town, but if this was the guy they were putting forth as Santa Claus, someone obviously needed to call Central Casting.
“And you must be Sam Fraiser?”
“That’s me.” He held out a huge hand that was nicked and scarred from a lifetime of carving wood. “Welcome to Santa’s Workshop.” He glanced down at the two stuffed animals she was holding in her hand. “Go with the elephant.”
“I guess you know that because, deep down, you’re Santa Claus?”
“That and the fact that the colors match her bedroom,” he said.
“And you’d know that how?”
“Because she’s one of those little girls who wakes up at the crack of dawn and can’t wait for her family to come over before checking out her Christmas presents. So, she and Gabe worked out a deal. Instead of hanging her stocking on the family room fireplace mantel, they put it in her room. That way, she’s allowed to look through it on Christmas morning while she waits for the adults to get things ready.”
He winked. “Last year I put in a coloring book and a set of crayons that kept her busy for a while. This year I’m thinking about a Game Boy. They come in pink now, you know. And there’s a Powerpuff game I think would keep her occupied until Gabe gets up.”
“Whatever happened to handmade wooden toys and baby dolls?” Holly waved a hand toward all the shelves.
He slipped his hands into the front of his jeans. Rocked back on the heels of his Tony Lamas. “Do you have any idea how many children there are in the world?”
“No.” She folded her arms. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“A bunch. So, sometimes the only choice is to outsource.”
“Of course.” She gave him a long look. “You know, you don’t exactly look like a jolly old elf.” In fact, now that she thought of it, he was a dead ringer for Paul Newman. The older, still sexy one, not Hud.
“Yeah, I know.” He rubbed a shaven jaw that was nearly as broad as Gabe’s. “My wife put me on a low carb diet a few months ago. Said that with obesity becoming such a serious problem among not just adults, but children, it’s important for Santa to set a good example.”
“Your wife sounds very wise.”
“She’s smart as a whip,” he agreed. “Has kept me on my toes all the years we’ve been together. And while I occasionally miss potato chips, and still have cravings for Mrs. Fraiser’s apple cobbler, I’ve gotten used to it. For the children’s sake.”
It was a good act. But that’s all it was. An act. And for some reason she couldn’t quite understand herself, although she felt a little ridiculous arguing the subject, especially in front of Gabe’s sister, who was watching with undisguised interest, Holly couldn’t just let his claim go unchallenged.
“You’re not really Santa Claus.”
Blue eyes narrowed even as the friendly smile stayed on his lips. “You’re sure of that, are you?”
“Of course.” Oddly, since it didn’t make any difference in the grand scheme of things, she was beginning to get frustrated. “I’m an adult. I know Santa doesn’t exist. That he’s merely a lovely myth told to children. Partly to get them to behave.”
Fraiser rubbed his chin. “That sounds vaguely familiar. Maybe you’ve watched Miracle on 34th Street recently?”
“I don’t watch Christmas movies.”
“Actually, I know that,” he said. “Which is a shame. But I was merely pointing out a similarity.”
“Look,” Holly said in an exasperated breath. “I think it’s lovely that your family has run this toy shop for so many generations and that the things you make here bring children pleasure. I also think it’s great the way the town reinvented itself to bring in tourism.”
“Is that what you think we did?”
“Winnie Jenson, the clerk at the checkout at the market told me that the post office does a huge business postmarking Christmas cards with the Santa’s Village, America’s Most Christmassy Town postmark.”
“That’s true,” Rachel entered into the conversation. “But it doesn’t bring in revenue. It also causes more work, which is why—”
“So many people in town volunteer to help out,” Holly interjected. “Mrs. Jenson already told me that. And, as I said, I think it’s a great marketing idea. But I don’t play games, Mr. Fraiser. I’m a realist.”
“Yet, you tell tales for a living,” Sam Fraiser pointed out.
Damn. He had her there.
He smiled. “Take the elephant,” he suggested gently, effectively declaring the topic closed. “She’ll love it. Meanwhile, it’s been lovely finally meeting you in person, Holly Berry.”
It wasn’t until the elephant had been rung up and wrapped in paper with a smiling, red-cheeked bearded Santa printed on it, and Holly was a block away, that his words sunk in.
“What did he mean, finally?”
The question puzzled her until she’d turned onto Dasher Drive, headed back to the inn. From what Gabe’s sister had said, the gossip line worked at lightning speed in Santa’s Village. Obviously Fraiser had heard about her arrival in town.
That settled to her own satisfaction, Holly began thinking ahead toward the evening.
Sixteen
Anticipation, Holly thought, as she bathed in the o
versize tub—after stealing a nap so she’d be rested for the evening ahead—then smoothed on the peach-scented lotion Gabe had first mentioned wanting to taste, could be a bitch. It wasn’t as if she were some virgin bride getting ready for her wedding night. She’d had sex lots of times before.
Okay, probably not nearly as many as he’d undoubtedly had. But how hard could it be? She not only wanted his hot, rock-hard Marine body, she liked him. Which was, to her mind, even more important than chemistry. So why were her nerves so tightly tangled they felt on the verge of snapping?
Her cheeks were flushed, more from emotion than the warm bath, and her hands were shaking so hard she’d nearly poked her eyes out with her mascara tube.
Somehow they made it through the dinner, which hadn’t been that much of a problem. Anyone could throw together some lasagna, after all. She’d learned to make the dish when she was only a few years older than Emma, during a time when her mother’s depression had kept her in bed for days at a time.
“If you want,” he said, as they sat in front of the fireplace, sipping on the brandy he’d brought over with him, “I can come over tomorrow and help you trim the tree.” A tree that was currently sitting in his garage because he’d warned her that if she’d taken it inside with all that snow and ice on it, she’d end up with it snowing inside the cabin.
“I’d think Emma would want to help.”
“She’s the one who brought it up.”
“Ah.” Holly nodded. Took another sip and wondered if bringing up the topic of Emma’s Christmas wish would ruin the sex part of the evening.
“Rachel told me she told you about Emma.” He’d put his arm around her shoulders and now smoothed a hand down her hair. “I hope it isn’t going to make things uncomfortable for you.”
“No.” She’d thought about it a lot while soaking in that bubble bath. “I’ll be careful that she doesn’t get her hopes up and make it clear that you and I are merely friends—”
He lifted a brow. “Is that all we are?”
“Well, friends with benefits, which she doesn’t need to know about. Don’t worry, Gabe. I understand how vulnerable she is. And how much she wants a complete family.”
