by Liz Flaherty
The last few rays of sun cast a pink glow on the oval track of trucked-in snow, breaking up the expanse of brown grass. Ordinarily, at least ten inches of packed snow would blanket the area beside the golf-course clubhouse Grizzlyco always rented for their Christmas party, making it the perfect venue for reindeer sleigh rides. But there was nothing ordinary about this year, especially without Oliver playing Santa Claus.
It felt wrong, setting up for a party without Oliver’s hearty “Ho, ho, ho,” booming in the background as he warmed up for his favorite role. Her uncle barely had the energy to get out of bed these days, much less spend a strenuous evening handling reindeer and wrestling children on and off his lap.
Aunt Becky pulled one of the pop-up Christmas trees from the back of the truck and stopped to look across the clearing, where a man was attaching grooming equipment to the back of a snow machine. “The snow track looks good.”
“It does. I’m amazed Grizzlyco took on the expense of trucking in snow.”
“Lucky for us, this is their premier event of the year, and the sleigh rides for the kids are a big draw.” Becky frowned. “And speaking of draws, have you seen the guy who’s supposed to play Santa?”
“Not that I know of.” A few people had been milling around the kitchen and decorating the party room when she went inside earlier, but she hadn’t seen anyone who looked like a would-be Santa. Of course, it was hard to picture anyone else in the role except Oliver.
Becky clucked her tongue. “He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. I’ll take this tree inside and see if he’s arrived.”
Marissa unloaded the other tree and Santa’s throne. On her final trip indoors, she found Becky pressing the cell phone to her ear, a look of panic spreading across her face. Was Oliver okay? Marissa stepped closer to listen to the conversation.
“Yes, it’s today. What’s all that noise? Are you in a bar?” Becky paced back and forth as she waited for the reply. “No, thank you. And don’t bother showing up for the next one, either. Yes, well, I’m sorry, too. Goodbye.” Becky tapped the phone and met Marissa’s eyes. “No Santa.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“That’s what I get for hiring someone’s nephew as a favor. He sounded half-sloshed.” Becky gazed upward. “Now what do we do?”
“I don’t know.” Marissa thought for a moment. “I guess we’ll have to draft Dillon.” Although how they were going to turn their sixteen-year-old assistant, with a voice that tended to unexpectedly switch octaves, into the jolly old elf himself was hard to imagine.
“Dillon?”
“Who else? Maddy or Jasmine? All they do is giggle.”
“True.” Becky shook her head. “I’ve got one or two possibilities. Let me make some calls while I set up Santa’s throne.”
“All right.” Marissa unpacked the tree she’d brought in. “I’ll make sure the reindeer rides are ready to go.”
Becky nodded, already flicking through the contacts on her phone. Marissa picked up the empty tree bags and carried them to the truck.
Hiring a Santa was never a consideration before, with Oliver so perfect for the role. He kept his white beard all year round in preparation for the Christmas season. How long had he been going downhill? It had been too many years since Marissa had made it back to Alaska to visit. Oliver had seemed fine last February when he and Aunt Becky had come to see her in Louisiana—maybe a little thinner, less energetic, but then he was getting older. Still, she should have realized something was wrong.
If she hadn’t been so busy assisting Jason with that fund-raiser while they were visiting, she would have. Or maybe not. If she were any good at picking up subtle clues, Jason couldn’t have conned her and left her jobless and under suspicion of fraud. Once the River Foundation closed, ending her work there, she’d come slinking back to the reindeer farm outside Anchorage where she’d grown up. She’d never expected to find Oliver so pale and weak. Why had they kept it from her? At least the train wreck in her own life brought her home, where she could help Becky get through the Christmas season.
Marissa stopped to check on the reindeer and the three elves who would lead them around the tracks. The teenagers clustered together under the light pole where children would be lining up for rides. “You guys all have your boots and costumes, right?”
“Do I really have to wear the thing with the bells?” Dillon scratched the back of his neck.
“Of course. It’s all part of being an elf. You’re lucky. When I was your age and doing this job, I had to wear elf ears, too. The only reason you don’t is that people kept asking if I was a Vulcan.”
Predictably, the girls giggled. Dillon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “We just have to lead the reindeer and pull the kids, right? We don’t have to talk to the kids or anything?”
Hmm. Not the best candidate to embrace the whole Santa Claus persona. Surely Becky could come up with someone better. Marissa gave Dillon an encouraging smile. “Just look friendly and lead the reindeer around the track. Becky will handle getting the kids in and out of the sleds. Okay?”
Dillon nodded and adjusted Peppermint’s harness. At the other end of the clearing, the snow machine made a second pass along the track, leaving a packed trail with twin grooves in the snow. At least something was going right. Marissa had figured the trucks would just dump the snow, but whoever had hauled it in had taken the trouble to find a cross-country ski groomer and condition the trail. That would make the reindeers’ job, as well as that of the reindeer handlers’, much smoother.
Marissa walked over to the edge of the oval and waved down the driver. He stopped the snow machine in the shadow of a tall spruce, cut the engine and lifted the helmet from his head.
She stepped forward. “Thanks for grooming. It looks great. We appreciate the extra effort.”
“Bo?”
She froze at the sound of the familiar voice. Great, just great. What were the odds of running into him here? If they had to meet, she would have liked it to be on her own terms, not when she was already frazzled. But it had to be Chris. Nobody else ever called her Bo, short for Rainbow, because he said her smile was like a burst of sunshine after a rainstorm. At least he used to say that, a long time ago.
She swallowed. “Hello, Chris.”
“Why are you here?” He stepped out of the shadow. The light from the pole bounced off auburn hair, disheveled from the helmet. His beard was neatly trimmed, not wild and curly the way it tended to be at the end of fishing season, but he still had the same broad shoulders, the same crooked smile. Maybe a few more lines around his eyes. Darned if he didn’t look even better than he had ten years ago.
“I’m helping with the party.” And that’s all he needed to know.
“I mean in Alaska. I thought you’d gone for good.”
She nodded. “This is just temporary. I’m between jobs and Becky needed help for the busy season.”
Chris studied her face. “I see.”
He looked as though he did see. Scary thought. The Ponzi scheme Jason had been running was all over the networks, but Chris usually didn’t pay a lot of attention to national news. He wouldn’t know she’d been working at the River Foundation Jason had founded, much less that she and Jason had been dating. At least she hoped not. The fewer people who tied her to Jason, the better.
“No luck, Marissa,” Becky called as she hurried toward them. When she realized who Marissa was talking to, her face lit up. “Chris!”
“Becky, how are you?” He opened his arms to hug the small, plump woman. “I thought I’d find you here. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you. So you trucked in the snow?”
“Yes. My snowplowing business isn’t doing so well this winter, so I jumped at the chance to earn a little extra hauling it down from the mountains.”
Becky stepp
ed closer to the track. “It looks great. Where did you get the grooming equipment?”
“I borrowed it from the Nordic Ski Club. They’re not using it. So, where’s Oliver? I’d like to say hello.”
Marissa didn’t want to get into explanations. “He couldn’t make it today. He’s not feeling well.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It won’t be the same without him playing Santa.”
“No. In fact...” Marissa could all but see the light bulb go on over Becky’s head as her aunt said, “We’re having a little problem.”
Marissa gave her own head a brief shake. No, no, no. The last thing she needed was to spend a whole evening with Chris. Not with their history. Even if it meant forcing Dillon into the role. In fact, she’d play Santa herself before she’d let Chris worm his way back into her life.
He glanced at her in time to see her trying to wave Becky off, and the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled. Uh-oh. She knew that look.
Her aunt bumbled on, either completely missing Marissa’s signals or ignoring them. “Our substitute Santa backed out at the last minute. It looks like you’re about done with the snow. Would you be willing to fill in for Oliver?”
Chris raised his eyebrows. “You want me to play Santa?”
“Chris can’t do Santa.” Marissa tried to keep her voice matter-of-fact. “He doesn’t like children.”
He frowned at her. “That’s not true. I have nothing against kids.”
“But you said—”
He turned to Becky. “I’ll do it. Where do I get a costume?”
“We’ve got everything you need. Marissa will get you fixed up.” Becky beamed at him. “Thank you, Chris. You’re a lifesaver.”
“No problem. I just have to finish this pass and send my guys home with the equipment.” He caught Marissa’s eye, and there was a challenge in his gaze. “I’ll be back.”
She met his stare without blinking. “I’ll be here.”
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Chris slouched in his chair while Marissa smeared petroleum jelly around the edges of his beard. “Is this really necessary?” he muttered.
She smirked. “Unless you want white dye all over your skin. Trust me, when I wipe it off, you’ll be glad.”
“Why can’t I just wear the fake beard, like everyone else?” Sure, Oliver had a real beard, but then his was naturally white.
“Real is better. We might as well take advantage of yours.”
“Great.” What had he gotten himself into? He didn’t dislike kids, no matter what Marissa said, although it was true he had little experience with them. But when he’d seen how much she hated the idea of him playing Santa, he couldn’t resist yanking her chain. Besides, Becky was in a bind and he was fond of her and Oliver, in spite of everything. They weren’t the ones who’d dumped him.
Marissa held a spray can near his face. “Ready?”
“I guess.”
“Keep your eyes and mouth closed.” With a hiss of aerosol, she started turning his beard white. A little tickle followed her progress. She paused to shake the can. “Hang on. It’s not easy to cover all these red whiskers.”
He scowled and looked up at her. “My beard is brown.”
A hint of amusement glinted from those green-blue eyes of hers, the exact color of the Kenai River on a sunny day. “Sure it is. Close your eyes and don’t talk, unless you want a mouthful of dye.” She took so long he wondered if she was stretching out the process on purpose, but finally, she finished.
He reached for his beard, but she slapped his hand away. “Let it dry.”
“This stuff does wash out, right?”
Marissa snickered and started smearing petroleum jelly across his forehead.
“You have to do my hair, too?”
She pushed a stray lock away from his face. “No, the wig and hat will cover that, but Santa can’t have red—excuse me, brown—eyebrows.” She used to tease him about his hair when they were together. She’d run her fingers through the thick waves and say she was jealous.
Her own hair was perfectly straight, a warm brown that glowed even under the fluorescent lights of the closet they were using as a dressing room. He knew if he reached out to stroke it, it would feel like satin ribbons under his hand. She’d changed surprisingly little in ten years. Only the easy smile, the confident optimism, was missing, but that might have more to do with the way they’d parted than the years that had passed.
She was still beautiful, no doubt about that. He’d been drawn to her from the first moment he saw her, laughing as she helped a group of schoolchildren release salmon fry into Chester Creek. He’d interrupted his hike to listen to her explain the salmon’s life cycle. Once the teacher herded the children back onto the school bus, Chris saw his chance. He’d helped Marissa pack some gear into her car, and struck up a conversation. By the time she’d closed the trunk, he was hooked.
Smart, energetic and laugh-out-loud funny when she wanted to be, Marissa had fascinated him. A year later, she’d let him put a ring on her finger. But at twenty-four, Marissa was a woman who knew what she wanted, and wasn’t about to let a little thing like love interfere with her carefully laid plans. A month before the wedding, she’d called the whole thing off.
Maybe he’d dodged a bullet. He hadn’t had a relationship since Marissa that lasted even six months. Sometimes he suspected she’d done him a favor when she broke the engagement, saving them both the agony of a bitter divorce. He wondered how those plans of hers had worked out. Last he heard, she was doing some sort of research on the Gulf Coast. A quick glance reaffirmed the absence of rings on her hands, so maybe the devoted husband and two-point-four kids hadn’t materialized. Not that it mattered to him one way or another. Their relationship was ancient history.
“Eyes closed.” Two puffs on his eyebrows and she started wiping the grease off his skin with a tissue. “Okay, that does it for the dye. So, here’s the routine. I’ll organize the kids and bring them to you one at a time. You set them on your lap, ho, ho, ho a little and ask what they want for Christmas. Then I snap your picture together, you give them a candy cane and we send them on their way.”
“Okay.” Chris nodded. “That sounds straightforward enough.”
“Be enthusiastic, but not too loud. And if they start screaming, don’t force them onto your lap.”
Was she serious? “Screaming?”
Marissa nodded and dipped a fluffy brush in a powder pot. “Imagine if somebody told you to sit on a bearded stranger’s lap. It can be scary.” She reached for his face with the brush. “Hold still.”
Chris pulled away. “Santa wears makeup?”
“Just a little powder so your nose won’t shine in the pictures. Man up.” She tickled his nose and cheeks with the powder. “There. I’ll leave you to get into your costume. The pants are waterproof.”
“I’m afraid to ask why.”
“Like I said, sometimes the kids are scared.”
“So they pee? What are they, puppies?”
She gave a maniacal laugh. “You should hear some of Oliver’s stories. A friend of his from Santa school had a diaper leak all over his lap.”
Now that was disgusting. The only child Chris had spent much time around was his little sister, and he couldn’t remember her doing anything along those lines.
He grimaced. “You know, I never graduated from Santa school. I don’t want to get in trouble for practicing without a proper license or anything.”
“Too late now. The children are counting on you.” Her grin was pure evil. “Besides, you promised Becky. Get dressed. I’ll check back in a few minutes.”
Fifteen minutes later, Chris examined himself in the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Amazing. Santa Claus looked back at him, blue eyes twinkling beneath white eyebrows. Padding
filled out the plush red costume under the wide black belt. Fortunately, he’d worn black snow boots, because he never would have fit his feet into those patent leather booties.
He looked the part. Now the question was could he play the part? No one had ever taken him to see Santa when he was a kid, so he didn’t have that experience to fall back on. He’d been to a few parties where Oliver was working, but never paid much attention to how he did his job. Oliver just seemed to treat the kids with the same gentle enthusiasm as he did everyone, and they adored him. He loved playing Santa. Poor guy. He must be down with a nasty flu or something to miss the biggest party of the year.
Chris wrinkled his nose and patted the stiff plastic lining of the pants, hoping he wouldn’t need it. Surely Marissa was exaggerating. All those stories were just to torture him for defying her and agreeing to Becky’s request. No doubt if he’d declined, Marissa would have held that against him, too. There was no winning with her. She expected the whole world to fall in with her plans. You’d think she would have outgrown that by now.
If it were just Marissa, he’d take the hint and leave her to solve the problem on her own, but Becky deserved better. She and Oliver had made Chris feel truly welcomed from the very first time they met, when Marissa had brought him home to meet the couple who’d raised her. Even after the split, Chris would run into them now and again, and they greeted him like a long-lost relative.
A knock sounded, and the door opened a crack. “Are you decent?”
Chris glanced toward the mirror again. “Only my hands and eyes are showing.”
Marissa walked in, wearing white tights, a red dress trimmed with white faux fur, and a matching stocking cap with a jingle bell on the end. More bells jingled from the turned-up toes of her shoes as she stepped into the room. Chris grinned.
She shot him a look. “Don’t say a word.”
