He sure was a cute guardian angel, with hair the color of red some women would pay a fortune for and freckles strung across his nose. He wasn’t as good-looking as other men she’d fallen for but she was willing to bet he also wasn’t a sleaze bucket.
There would be no falling for this guy, she reminded herself. He was already taken. “That’s okay,” she said, handing a grocery bag of snacks to Lalla, who, like her brother, couldn’t seem to stand still.
“Mama,” Lalla gasped, “I just saw Santa Claus.”
“There’s no such thing, stupid,” Carlos told her scornfully.
“Is, too!” Lalla shot back.
“Don’t call your sister stupid,” Missy scolded. She wanted to add that there was, too, such a thing as Santa, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it, considering that Santa had been rather a disappointment to her children, especially Carlos. “Where did you see Santa, princess?” she asked her daughter.
Lalla pointed to the lodge. “I saw him go inside.”
“Santa doesn’t stay in houses,” Carlos said impatiently. “He lives at the North Pole.”
So much for not believing in Santa, Missy thought with a smile, and gave her son the backpack with his clothes.
“Maybe he’s visiting friends,” John said. Missy had a trash bag with the kids’ presents in it and he insisted on carrying that, as well as the beat-up carry-on suitcase she’d picked up at a garage sale.
“Maybe we’ll see him,” Lalla said, and hurried up the front walk.
“Race you!” Carlos dashed ahead of her.
“I think they’re stoked,” John observed.
“They’re not the only ones,” Missy said. Oh, yes, this was going to be such a great Christmas. And she didn’t need a man to make it great. Still, as she made her way up the walk with her new friend beside her, she couldn’t help wishing he wasn’t already taken.
* * *
James wished he was in jeans and a shirt instead of this red Santa suit. If he were, he’d be more inclined to linger and talk to Olivia Wallace, the friendly owner of this B and B who was checking them in, supervised by a big orange cat sitting on top of the check-in desk. There was something pleasant about this woman, something that said, “Take a deep breath, relax, everything will be all right.”
She was plump and round-faced. Her hair was as gray as his, a pretty silver-white, softly curled and very feminine-looking. Put her in a red skirt and a lacy blouse and some granny glasses, and she could pass for Mrs. Claus. She’d moved her wedding ring to her right hand, which told him she was widowed. It would be comforting to talk with someone who’d been where he was.
Olivia smiled. “I swear, you’re the most realistic Santa I’ve ever seen.”
Realistic or not, who went out in public dressed like Santa? He felt like an idiot. “I don’t normally parade around in this outfit,” he said.
“I kidnapped him from work,” Brooke explained. She petted the cat and it purred and leaned into her hand for more. “He’s a professional Santa.”
“Oh, that must be fun!” said Olivia.
It had been. Once upon a time. James shrugged.
“He’s been Santa for as long as I can remember,” Brooke continued, warming to the subject. “At family gatherings, for church events, orphanages, fund-raisers. He always goes to Children’s Hospital and visits the kids.”
Okay, this was becoming embarrassing. And now voices outside announced that more guests were arriving.
“I think I hear children,” he said. “Let’s get out of here before they see me and wonder what Santa’s doing wandering around the lodge two days before Christmas.”
“They’d probably love to meet you,” Brooke said.
Well, he didn’t want to meet them. “Honey, I really want to change out of this outfit.”
“Of course,” Olivia said, handing over the keycards for their adjoining rooms. “We serve breakfast from eight to ten. If you have any special dietary needs that weren’t addressed when you registered, please let us know. Christmas Eve we’ll be offering a special dinner at six and on Christmas Day we’ll serve dinner at five.”
“Fabulous,” Brooke said.
“The elevator’s right around the corner if you prefer to use it. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.” Olivia smiled at both of them again, but her smile seemed to linger on James.
“I hope we’ll see you around,” he said, and then felt instantly guilty. That had been...too friendly. His wife had been gone only a year. He had no right to be smiling at a woman, taking in her generous curves. Her breasts.
His thoughts traveled back to Faith’s mastectomy. A double. She’d mourned the loss of her breasts, but he’d just been glad to have her alive, still with him. Who cared about the breasts? Of course, she’d talked about reconstructive surgery and that had made him nervous. Even though it was a common procedure, what if something happened?
Something had happened. She’d barely gotten her new breasts when the damned cancer came back, this time in her spine. He’d nursed her the best he could, tried to learn to cook. But his specialty had remained heating soup. Thank God they’d had friends who brought over hot dishes. Thank God for his daughter. He wished he was thanking God that his wife was still alive.
Now the voices were getting nearer. Santa was in no mood to see anybody. He grabbed Brooke’s suitcase and marched for the elevator.
She hurried after him, catching up with him just as the doors opened. As they stepped off the elevator and walked under the archway toward the hall where their rooms were, she said, “Oh, look. Mistletoe.”
That made him even grumpier. But it wouldn’t do to be grumpy when he was with his daughter and she’d gone to so much trouble to make their Christmas good. “Well, then, I’d better kiss my angel,” he said, and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
She hugged him back. “We’re going to have fun.”
“Yes, we are,” he lied.
“Look!” came a childish voice from the lobby. “There he is.”
Crap. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, and picked up his pace.
* * *
“I saw him!” Lalla cried, pointing to the third landing. “He was right there and he was kissing a lady.”
If he was on the third-story landing, he was gone now. The kids would love it if there was somebody here playing Santa Claus. Missy hadn’t taken them to the mall to see Santa yet and she’d love to get their pictures taken with him.
Of course, they’d written letters to Santa. She’d helped Lalla write hers and it had read, “Dear Santa, I love you. Please bring me a grandma. My grandma is in heaven with the angels and can’t bake me cookies or read me stories. Merry Christmas. We will try to make you some cookies if Mommy can buy some cookie mix.” They hadn’t gotten around to the cookies, but Missy had assured Lalla that Santa would bring her something, anyway.
Carlos hadn’t been quite so loving in his letter. He’d written it himself and it was short and to the point. “Dear Santa, if you kant bring me a dog furgit it. Merry Kristmas, Carlos.” Well, okay, so Santa wouldn’t come through. They’d still have fun.
How could they not? She looked around the huge, beautifully decorated lobby. The carpet was dated but in pristine condition with a muted floral pattern. Sturdy ornate furniture gathered around a big fireplace on the back wall, impressive with its style and