Under The Kissing Bough: 15 Romantic Holiday Novellas

by Kathryn Le Veque

He played with the handle of the mug, and stared out over the patrons of the bar for so long, Wes figured he hadn’t heard his question, and went back to his dinner and watching the bar for any signs of trouble.

  “You know when someone’s lying to you?” Cleetus finally asked.

  “Most times, yes. Especially suspects.” Wes wondered where his friend was going with this.

  “Well, yeah. They always lie. I mean when it’s someone you like and you can’t make them tell you the truth?”

  Wes wiped his mouth and pushed his nearly empty plate slightly away. “Miss Sylvie been lying to you?”

  “Not exactly.” Cleetus paused and stared down into his mug. “More like hiding something.”

  Jeez. Getting information out of the guy was harder than grilling a suspect.

  “What do you think she’s hiding?”

  Cleetus shook his head like a big bear. “You got me. It just feels like it’s something bad.”

  Wes resisted the urge to grab him by the collar and shake him. Time to use another tactic. “How about you tell me what happened?”

  “Made my last stop as always, by checking on Ms. Twylla, over at the Dye Right. Sylvie was taking a little longer than usual to get ready to leave. We walked over to the café and had dinner. Just as we were finishing, her phone rang. It played The Grinch song, which kinda surprised me, coz she’s always so nice to people. Can’t imagine her thinking anyone was as mean as the Grinch.”

  A loud shout came from over in the area near the pool table. Instinctively, he and Cleetus both looked that direction, checking for a potential problem. The bikers were laughing, and slapping one of their group on the back.

  “Must’ve made a good shot.” Wes relaxed once more, then returned to their discussion. “So who was on the phone with Sylvie?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know.” Cleetus shook his head again. “She looked at the phone. Made a sad little face, then hung it up without talking to the person. You know, like people do when they’re busy working or driving or something.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Sylvie.”

  “No. That’s what got me wondering. I let it slide until we got back to her place. I asked her if there was anything she wanted to tell me about the call.”

  “What did she say?”

  He shrugged. “That the person on the phone wasn’t important to her anymore.”

  Hmm. Apparently little Sylvie might have a past she was running from. He understood that. Wasn’t he doing the same thing?

  “You think it’s an old boyfriend?”

  The big guy’s shoulders slumped, and he looked morosely into his mug of root beer. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Suddenly, it occurred to Wes that Sylvie might be Cleetus’ first serious girlfriend. Great. Man, he hoped she didn’t hurt his friend. He wasn’t sure he could walk the giant through his first heartbreak. “Hey, she said it was someone not important to her, right?”

  “Right.”

  “That means no matter who this guy is, or whoever was on the phone, Sylvie has put them in her past. Which means she’s ready to move on, and she’s chosen you to do that with. Lucky you.”

  Cleetus’ face brightened. He sat straight up, smiling. “You’re right. I am pretty lucky.” His smile faltered a little. “I just hated seeing that sad look on her face.”

  “Be patient. I don’t know a lot about women, but I’ve always thought if you wait long enough, they’ll tell you what’s bothering them.” He chuckled. “Of course, you can see how many girlfriends I have. I might be full of shit.”

  “Yeah, you usually are.” Cleetus laughed.

  Wes laughed with him, glad to see his friend back to being himself. He also hoped he was right, and Sylvie’s past wouldn’t come between the two.

  CLOSE TO SANTA’S HEART

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Monday morning, Sylvie stood in front of her bathroom mirror, picking at the spikes in her hair so they stood up around the little green felt hat Twylla had made to go with her elf costume. She’d secured it to her head with lots of bobby pins. Covering them with the spikes of her red hair would help convince the folks at the retirement city that she just might actually be Santa’s elf.

  Her hand shook, and she set the hair pick back on her bathroom counter. Squeezing her fingers together, she tried to calm her emotions. Ever since she got up this morning, she’d been as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

  “You can do this, Sylvie,” she told the elf-like creature in her mirror. “It will be fun. All you have to do is smile and be yourself. You like old people. You like talking with them. You like Christmas. You like Cleetus.”

  Therein lay the problem. She liked Cleetus—a lot—and wanted to make him proud of her. He adored being Santa at all the town’s events during the holiday season. She read it in his eyes, and how much taller—if that were possible—he stood when he talked about it. So, it was very important that she do a good job today. Ever since she’d met him, she wanted him to be proud of her.

  Even more so since that phone call came in Saturday night, and she’d had to keep from pouring out the whole sad, sorry excuse for her life before she’d come to Westen to him. She’d hurt him when she’d dodged his questions, but she’d made herself a promise when she left Bartell’s Levee all those months ago that she wouldn’t look back with regret. Instead, she’d make a positive, happy future from that moment on.

  The doorbell rang.

  She looked at the time on her phone and smiled. Three o’clock. Right on time.

  With a quick tug on the hem of her outfit, she scooped up her phone and went to peek out the front window. There was Cleetus’ big truck. Standing on her tippy toes, she peered through the peephole and grinned. Santa was standing on her front porch, holding the screen door open, and dressed complete with his red suit, hat, and a very nicely fitting white beard.

  She grinned and opened the door. “Hello, Santa!”

  He stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth open in shock. Her nervousness shot up like a rocket, as he slowly looked her over from her head down to her toes, and back up again.

  Had she made a mistake?

  “Is it okay?” she hesitantly asked.

  He closed his mouth and nodded.

  “Cleetus?” She stepped back so he could come inside out of the cold weather that had come in with the new cold front and promised snow.

  A slow grin spread over his face, and she swore his eyes twinkled just like Santa’s did in the poem, ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas. “You’re about the cutest elf I’ve ever seen. Way better than those lady elves in the movies.”

  Her anxiety fled as suddenly as it had come upon her. Heat suffused her from her toes straight to the roots of her nearly-flame-red hair. “I designed it and Twylla sewed it for me. You don’t think it’s too much?”

  He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I even like those red-and-white stockings and little green boots.”

  “I wanted to match you, but I’m pretty sure no one would believe I was Mrs. Claus. So elf it was.” Now it was her turn to grin. “You gained a little weight overnight,” she teased as she patted the front of his suit.

  It was his turn to blush, his cheeks getting pink. “I didn’t want to disappoint the kids the first time I was Santa a few years ago, so I had Mom sew in extra padding when she made my suit.”

  She’d met his mother and father right after the gas explosion had nearly killed her and Cleetus a few months back. Polly and Henry were very sweet and kind—and both very tall, just like their son. Since then, she’d been welcomed into their home every Sunday for dinners, including yesterday. Those fun meals included several aunts and uncles and cousins, and sometimes one or more of Cleetus’ deputy friends. The warmth and happiness from his family and friends made her feel like a welcome member of the clan.

  “Your mother did a great job. Makes you seem squeezable.” She slipped her arms around him to prove her point. She hugged him close
and lifted her face to smile at him.

  Immediately, he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close, heat filling his eyes. He pulled off his fake beard with one hand, and slowly lowered his mouth to capture hers in a warm kiss. Just as her body started to tingle with desire for the big man, he eased his mouth from hers.

  “I’d sure like to stay and kiss you all afternoon, Sylvie, but the folks over at the retirement center are waiting for us to kick off their holiday party,” he said with a wink and released his hold on her. “You know those folks go to bed early.”

  As much as she wanted to stay snuggled up with him, he was right. One thing she learned from her grandmother living with them when she was little, was that most elderly liked to be home and settled in when the sun went down. December in Ohio meant four p.m.

  “Let me grab my coat and bag. I made little bags of treats to hand out.”

  “Great. We’ll hand them out with the presents the staff at the center already got for the members.” He held the door for her to pass through when she was all bundled up. Holding onto her hand, he helped her climb up and inside his truck, just like he would have into an old-fashioned wagon from hundreds of years ago.

  “The staff at the senior center get gifts for the members who come to the party?”

  “Actually the whole town pays for the gifts. It’s part of the Yuletide Jubilee.” Cleetus spoke as he drove. “The community hosts the Yuletide Jubilee every year, to raise funds to support activities like the Senior Center, the local animal shelter, the youth basketball and baseball teams, and food delivery for the elderly. The kids at the elementary school put on a play all three nights of the jubilee, and tickets for the pageant go toward after-school activities for the kids at the school.”

  “That’s a lot of things for the proceeds to support. How much money does it raise?”

  He turned onto the main street of town and headed east past the Westen Inn. “It varies. The mayor’s office and the county treasurer handle the money. Each person who runs a booth in the Jubilee has to pay a fee, and then twenty-five percent of their proceeds have to go into the town funds. The rest, they get to keep.”

  “Who are the people who run the booths?”

  “All the businesses in town buy one. The quilting and knitting clubs. The nurses over at the hospital make all kinds of crafts and sell them. Some of the men in town make leather crafts and woodworking. There are craft vendors from all over the state that come for the three days, too. Even Doc Clint puts up a booth to sell some of the chairs and tables he makes.”

  “Doc Clint makes furniture?”

  “Yep. He has a woodworking shop out back of their house. Been teaching his stepsons, Brian and Ben, how to work with wood.”

  She scrunched her brows down. “Aren’t they only about ten? Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Used to be everything was dangerous with the twins.” He chuckled. “But since Clint married their mom, they’ve settled down. Besides, Clint says he’d rather teach them how to safely use tools and build things with their hands, than have them sitting around playing video games all the time.”

  “So, if the Yuletide Jubilee isn’t for two more weekends, how did the Senior Center’s staff get the money for the gifts already?”

  “That’s something you’ll have to ask Ms. Libby about when you see her. Every year, she works some magic, and makes sure all the older folks get something special at the luncheon.”

  Before Sylvie could ask him more questions, they pulled into the parking lot of the Senior Center, which was packed with cars. Cleetus drove around back to the service entrance, where a reserved sign blocked off a spot by the door. Parked next to it sat the catering van from the Peaches ‘N Cream Café.

  “Miss Lorna always caters the luncheon,” Cleetus answered Sylvie’s question before she voiced it, as they climbed out of the truck. He paused a moment and slipped on his fluffy white beard once more, then settled his hat on his head. Now he truly looked the part of Santa.

  “It’s a tradition, then?” She was learning that many things were a tradition in her new town.

  He took her hand, and they headed into the Senior Center. “When I asked Lorna the first year I was Santa, she told me originally the luncheon was potluck, but a number of the members came down with food poisoning from something someone brought. For safety’s sake, she and Pete volunteered to make the meal at no cost, so they’re careful no one will get sick again. She said you can’t be too careful with older folks.”

  The center’s gathering room, which also functioned as a cafeteria, bustled with activity like a beehive. Staff and volunteers set silverware, cups, and napkins at round tables decorated in white, gold, green, and red for the holiday season. Each table had a Christmas floral arrangement that someone from that table would get to take home. A decorated Christmas tree stood at least ten feet tall beside a huge, wooden chair sitting in the center of the room. Next to it were two bags filled with wrapped gifts.

  Lorna Doone, near the door that lead into the kitchen area, gave orders like the queen bee. She’d donned a red holiday apron, and had sprigs of mistletoe tied in red ribbons pinned into her signature upswept crayon-yellow hair.

  “We’ll leave the pasta salads in the fridge until right before service,” the café owner said to the tall, willowy blonde and the short, dark-haired, middle-aged woman in scrubs standing beside her. “I don’t want them on the plates until last. The colder they are, the less likely we’ll have anyone get sick.”

  Sylvie knew the blonde. Libby Reynolds, the county social worker and newly-married wife of the town’s fire marshal, took notes and nodded her head as Lorna spoke. “Do you want the hot food out now?”

  “Pete has everything ready to plate. The roast beef and turkey are sliced in pans with their juices to keep them moist, inside those two red thermal food carriers.” Lorna pointed to what looked like duffle bags. “Rolls are in the blue one, and the green one has a roasted veggie medley of carrots, cauliflower, turnips, broccoli and peppers.”

  “No zucchini or squash?” Libby asked with a grin.

  Lorna arched one brow at her. “Girl, you know I hate all squash except pumpkin.”

  “Some of our guests might like them,” the brunette said with a half-grin, clearly teasing the café owner.

  “Carol Bailey, don’t make me regret helping with your luncheon every year.” Lorna gave her a cross look, then her face beamed in laughter with the others. Suddenly, she turned and stared straight at Cleetus and Sylvie. “About time you got here. It’s not good for Santa to be late!”

  All the bustling in the room stopped. Everyone turned to stare at them.

  Applause started to their left and flowed through the room.

  Once again, Sylvie found herself flushed from head to toe, this time in embarrassment. All the smiles on the workers’ faces eased some of her discomfort at being the center of such admiration.

  “Don’t you two look cute together?” Libby made her way through the crowd and gathered Sylvie into a hug.

  “I had no idea you were bringing a real-life elf with you, Cleetus,” the shorter lady said, grinning at him, then holding her hand out to Sylvie. “I’m Carol Bailey, the center’s director, and also chief nursing administrator.”

  Sylvie shook the woman’s hand. “Sylvie Gillis. I didn’t know this was a nursing home.”

  Carol laughed. “It’s not, but given the ages of our members, the town elected to have nurses on staff every day, just in case it was prudent. Doc Clint’s nurse, Harriett, suggested it, and she volunteers on the weekends.”

  Harriett was a legend in the town. Sylvie had heard so many stories about the taciturn nurse before ever meeting her, that the first day Harriett walked into the Dye Right and asked for a wash and cut, Sylvie nearly passed out with fright. The nurse took one look at her, pushed her into the chair and got her a glass of water, telling her, “Don’t faint. I’ve only got thirty minutes to get my hair done.” Then she’d given her a wink.
/>   From that moment on, Sylvie adored Harriett.

  “Is she going to be here today?”

  “Harriet usually comes in with a big box of homemade cinnamon rolls after the Doc closes the clinic for the day,” Lorna said. “They’re a crowd favorite. Speaking of crowds, everyone get back to work. The seniors will be arriving any minute,” she called out to the room, sending them back into worker-bee mode once more. She focused her furrowed brows on Libby. “Why don’t you and Santa show his elf the list of gifts and bring her up to speed on how that works, while Carol starts getting folks ready to come in. I have a kitchen to finish getting organized.” She took two steps, then stopped and turned back to the room. “As soon as everything is in place, I need people to help load and delivery plates in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the group called out, like Marines responding to their drill sergeant.

  Sylvie giggled as she hurried after the long-legged Libby.

  “Don’t let her hear you,” Cleetus whispered as he strode along with her. “She takes the senior luncheon very, very seriously.”

  “I do,” Lorna said from the kitchen doorway. “And Santa should, too.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cleetus said over his shoulder, then winked at Sylvie, making her laugh harder.

  Over the next two hours, they had a grand time. First, the room filled with Christmas carols, recorded by artists like Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole. Finally, the doors opened wide and the slowest rush to chairs in the history of group luncheons occurred. Wheelchairs were positioned at tables. Staff members walked along with people using canes and walkers. Sylvie and Cleetus jumped in to seat members, with smiles and laughter over their costumes.

  Next came a small speech by Carol, about how much the staff had meant to the center, and she handed out holiday bonus checks. By the enthusiasm of the older people in the room, Sylvie suspected they had a hand in making those bonuses a little larger than if the county supplied them alone.

  After the speech, Lorna and her helpers served up a lovely dinner to each table, careful to be sure no one was missed. During the meal, Cleetus took his seat in the chair next to the tree, Sylvie standing beside him.