Читать книгу Miracle On Christmas Eve - Shirley Jump - Страница 6

JESSICA TUCKED the striped one-piece bathing suit into her bag, did a final visual check, then shut the suitcase with a click. Her clothes were ready to go, albeit two days early. Mentally she’d been ready to leave for weeks.

In a little more than forty-eight hours, she’d be on a beach in Florida soaking up the sun. Far from the cold and snow, she could forget about Dennis, the town that had started to take her for granted and the time of year that had lost its meaning somewhere between the stocking stuffers and the bargain hunters.

Her doorbell rang, and Bandit, her German short-haired pointer, scrambled to his feet, bounding down the stairs at Greyhound speed, his tail a friendly whip against his hindquarters. To hedge his bets, he let out a few ferocious barks, but everyone in Riverbend knew Bandit had less guard dog in him than a stuffed frog.

She opened the door, expecting Mindy. “You can’t talk me out—” The sentence died in her throat when she saw the tall, lean figure of C. J. Hamilton on her front porch. “It’s you. Again.”

“I’m not a man who gives up easily.”

He had the kind of voice that sent a woman’s pulse racing. Deep and thorough, he seemed to coat every syllable with a smoky accent.

Regardless of his voice or the way his dark hair swept one stubborn lock across his brow or how his jeans hugged his hips, she couldn’t give him what he wanted. Christmas and Jessica Patterson were no longer operating hand in hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hamilton, but I thought I made this clear earlier. I will not be participating in any Christmas activities this year. Maybe I could refer you to one of my colleagues. There’s even a network of Santa performers that are available for malls and private parties, if you—”

“It has to be here. And that means it has to be you.”

“I’m leaving in two days. I won’t even be here for Christmas, or even the Winterfest. I can’t help you.” She started to shut the door.

He was already digging in his back pocket, pulling out a leather billfold, flipping it open. His foot wedged in the door, preventing her from shutting him out. “I’ll pay you. Name your price, Mrs. Patterson.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Name a charity you want me to support. A home for retired Santas you want me to build. Anything.”

The laughter burst out of Jessica before she could stop it. “There’s no such thing.”

He answered her with a grin that took over his face, lighting his blue eyes, taking them from the color of a sluggish river to a sparkling ocean on a sunny day.

Oh, damn. She always had been a sucker for eyes like that. And especially a pair surrounded by deep lines of worry, shoulders hunched with the heaviness of sorrow and responsibility. Sarah Hamilton had, indeed, been through a lot, and so had her father, Jessica was sure.

She sighed. “Why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee? I won’t be your Mrs. Claus—” at that she felt her face color, and saw him arch a brow, reading the slight innuendo, too “—but maybe I can help you find a solution to your…problem.”

Some of the weight seemed to lift from him. “A cup of coffee would be great. Really great.”

She invited him in, all the while wondering what she was thinking. She wanted to get away from reminders of Christmas, not open up her house to the season—or to a man who made her pulse race and clearly came attached to a whole set of problems.

C.J. stepped inside and glanced around her house. “Guess you weren’t kidding about the no-Christmas thing. You don’t have so much as a pine branch on your mantel.”

“I didn’t see the point in decorating if I was going to be out of town.” Jessica chastised herself. The man could be a serial killer, a burglar or a Frosty thief. And she’d just broadcast that her house would be empty over the holidays.

Bandit had already warmed up to the newcomer, his wiry body pressed to C.J.’s jeans, tail wagging so hard it beat a pattern against Bandit’s rump, his head under C.J.’s palm for a little TLC. C.J. had apparently passed Bandit’s criminal background check.

“Bandit, leave him alone.”

“He’s fine,” C.J. said, stroking Bandit’s ears and sending the dog into hyper-puppy joy. “I work with a lot of animals on the set, too, and don’t mind a dog. In fact, I’d have a dog myself if—”

He cut off the sentence. Jessica was intrigued—but not enough to ask. Her sole purpose of inviting C.J. Hamilton into the house was to make it clear she had no intentions of being part of a Christmas celebration—not the town’s and not his.

The kitchen was right off the entryway, all in keeping with the small cottage-style house she had lived in since she’d married Dennis. Five rooms for two people. More than enough space.

Yet, somehow with C. J. Hamilton behind her as she led the way to the coffeepot, it seemed as if the house had shrunk, making her all too aware of the stranger in town.

“Cream or sugar?” she asked, crossing to the counter to pour coffee into a plain white mug. On any other year, she’d have the special Santa mugs out, with the dancing reindeer ringing the base. But not this year.

“Nothing, thanks.” He accepted the mug from her, then took a seat at the table. “I bet your kids really love the toy store.”

Jessica paused, took in a breath. A simple question, catching her off guard. She’d gone from pouring coffee to feeling as if she was going to cry.

It had to be the holiday that had her feeling so melancholy, so empty, so…

Alone.

“I don’t have any children,” she said, taking the opposite seat. She exhaled, erasing the subject from her memory, trying to refocus on C.J. and not on what might be lacking from her own life. The choices she had made. “Now, back to your Santa problem.”

“I don’t have a Santa problem, exactly. More a daughter problem. Sarah refuses to talk to me, and I’m sure she absolutely won’t go back to California with me. I’d rather not drag her kicking and screaming. Even I know that’s not the best way to build a new relationship.” He threw up his hands. “I’m at a loss as to what to do.”

“Did you ask LuAnn?” LuAnn Rivers was a decent woman, good with kids and generous to a fault. A frequent shopper at Santa’s Workshop Toys, she often brought a few of the children who went to her day care center along with her, buying them a toy because LuAnn knew money was tight at home or the child had had a bad day.

LuAnn had brought in Sarah more than once, which had Jessica tucking an extra special something into Sarah’s bag—a new card game, a small stuffed animal—something that would cheer the girl. Jessica had never seen her smile and had often wondered how living with the chaotic Kiki must have been for Sarah.

Again a tug of sympathy pulled at Jessica’s heart, urging her to stay in town. To believe in one more Christmas miracle.

No, she told herself. Those didn’t happen anymore, and she was going to celebrate her Christmas on a beach this year, with a mai tai and a suntan.

“I did talk to LuAnn, but…” C.J. sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s really important that I find my own way to connect with Sarah, rather than relying on LuAnn. After all, LuAnn won’t be with us in California, so I have to figure out how to do this.”

“Well, there’s plenty of time until Christmas and you can—”

“I don’t have plenty of time,” he said, cutting her off. “I have until December twenty-sixth before I have to head back to California for work. Soon as we get there, I’m packing to go to Colorado for a shoot, then the crew and I are off to—”

“Whoa, whoa. You can’t just do that. You can’t take that girl globe-trotting. She needs stability at a time like this,” Jessica said, though she had never been a parent and hadn’t any idea what the right thing was. “And especially not a world-wide tour for your—” she waved a hand, searching for the right words “—set stuff.”

“For your information, this is not globe-trotting. I’m staying within the continental U.S.A. And that ‘set stuff’ is my job. If I don’t keep that, Sarah won’t have a roof over her head.”

Steam rose in Jessica. How dare this man do something like that to Sarah? Then, just as quickly, guilt washed over her. Hadn’t she herself called the child—

Oh, boy…a brat?

That alone was a sign that Jessica needed to get out of town, take a moment to remind herself why she’d gone into the toy business. Why she’d donned the Mrs. Claus outfit in the first place.

But at least she was acknowledging—okay, just to herself—but still, acknowledging that she’d rushed to judgment too fast, forgotten that Sarah was only six and was mostly a product of a mother who indulged her child’s whims but provided about as much structure as a sand castle.

And now it turned out Sarah’s father was just as bad.

“You came here, expecting me to help you create an instant bond with your daughter?” Jessica rose. “That’s impossible. And selfish, if you ask me.”

“I have more reasons than work bringing me back to California.” C.J.’s eyes glittered with unspent frustration. “Reasons I don’t care to share with you or anyone else in this town. All I want is a great Christmas for my daughter.”

“And then what? You’ll sort out the rest as you go along? Or keep flooding her with gifts?”

“I don’t intend to do that.” He glared at her, clearly angry she’d suggest such a thing. “I just need this particular gift-giving holiday to help me build a little camaraderie.”

Typical, Jessica thought. Looking to first dump his problems on her, then expecting Jessica to provide a quick fix, a Band-Aid over the issues at heart with Sarah, so he could hurry and return to his life. Instead of dealing with the fallout from Kiki’s unpredictable lifestyle.

He didn’t appreciate the amazing gift he had been given, a gift Jessica would have done anything to have if things had been different. If only—

But she’d been right to be cautious, to accept the hand fate had dealt her. Look where she had ended up. A widow, alone. Raising a child and running a business would have meant sacrificing too much, and undoubtedly the child would have been the loser in that equation.

Now here came C. J. Hamilton, unwilling to see where his priorities should lie, when to Jessica the entire equation was simple arithmetic.

“You are exactly the kind of parent I’m trying to avoid this year. You can’t buy and sell the affections of a child, like they’re some kind of tech stock.” She put her cup in the sink, then wheeled on him. “Invest time, Mr. Hamilton, not money, and you’ll get better results.”

He rose, facing her now, his frustration level clearly raised a few notches. “Listen, Mrs. Claus, you—”

“Patterson.”

“You don’t know my story, so quit trying to tell me the end. Twenty-four hours ago, I was a childless bachelor. Now I’m an instant father, and it’s not going so well. I can’t afford the time to hang around this dinky little town, hoping for a miracle breakthrough. I have to get back to work.”

Jessica shook her head. Why had she ever found this man attractive? He was clearly all frosting and no substance. “That’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever heard. A good father—”

“Don’t tell me about good fathers,” C.J. interrupted. “I know all about bad ones, and in my opinion, the best way to be a good one is to do the exact opposite of a bad father.”

He didn’t get it and she didn’t have time to do pop psychology in her kitchen. Another wave of sympathy for Sarah ran through Jessica, urging her to stay in town, to go along with C.J.’s plan, if only for the sake of the child.

No. She would not be dissuaded. She’d pack up a box of wrapped toys and send them over to LuAnn’s house, with a little note saying “Merry Christmas from Mrs. Claus.” That way she avoided C.J. Hamilton and his crazy ideas about parenting but still brought a little special something to Sarah’s holiday.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” She took his coffee mug and put it in the sink, hoping he’d get the hint and just leave. “What you need, Mr. Hamilton, is a counselor, a mediator. Not me.”

C.J. crossed to her, and she instantly became aware of his cologne. Slightly musky, with a hint of pine. He could have been a Christmas present himself—if only what was inside the box was as nice as the outside. “I need you and I need a miracle. Everyone I’ve talked to says you’re the woman who can make that happen. What’ll it take to convince you?”

She searched his gaze. “You being serious about being a father.”

“I am serious.”

“Then prove it. And hang around in Riverbend until Sarah is ready leave. Give her some time to grieve, to get used to you and to this new situation. Then take her to California. Give the girl a little stability before you yank her out of her world.”

“I have a job—”

“Yes, you do. And it’s called Father. Everything else takes a backseat.” Oh, how she wanted to slug him, to shake him. Anything to make him see what a precious gift he’d been given and how he was blowing it already.

C.J. ran a hand through his hair again, something which only seemed to make him more attractive rather than less. He spun away from her, paced a few steps to the sink, then back. “You’re right. I’ll stay in Riverbend as long as I can, but on one condition.” He approached her, his gaze holding a hint of a dare.

Desire tightened in Jessica’s gut. A crazy feeling. She barely knew this man, had nothing in common with him, and five seconds ago had been on the brink of slugging him. Her attraction to him was nothing more than misplaced wanderlust.

“What do you mean, one condition?” she asked.

“You give something back.”

“You can’t bargain with me. I’m just giving you some advice.”

He took another step closer. She inhaled the scent of his cologne again, watched his blue eyes. Wondered for a fleeting second what it would be like to kiss him. To have a man hold her again, love her, wrap her against his chest and make her feel safe. Fill that empty space in her bed, her heart, her life.

“This town needs you,” C.J. said, “and I need you. I’ll stay in Riverbend, but only if you do, too.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, backing up a step, away from those eyes, from their nearly hypnotic power that dimmed her common sense. She backed up until she hit the solid, sane, ordinary edge of the table. “I’ve already bought my ticket and I’m going, whether you or anyone else likes it.”

“Didn’t you just say that children should come first?”

“Well, yes, but I meant your own.”

“From what I’ve heard, the people around here consider you a Christmas staple for their children. You give them the magic, that little extra something in the season. Without Mrs. Claus, they say, Christmas in Riverbend just won’t be the same. So I’m asking you to hang up that bikini—” he paused long enough to take a breath, and she wondered if he was picturing her in said swimsuit, and what kind of image he was seeing “—and get out your red suit.”

“If you can prove to me that there is one ounce of Christmas spirit left in this town, then—” she drew in a breath, knowing she was crazy for even letting this thought pass by her lips but letting it go anyway because some tiny part of her still had hope, in the children, the people of Riverbend “—then I’ll consider staying.”

“Thank you,” C.J. said, the relief so clear she could almost see the weight of stress lift from his shoulders. “You’ve just—”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She held up a finger. “Because if I do stay, and that’s a big if, there’s one other thing Riverbend is going to need to make this Christmas perfect.”

“If it’s a reindeer, I have one on its way. If you want a twelve-foot tree, I’ll call the arborist tomorrow. A giant—”

“No, none of those.” Jessica drew in a breath. It was about time she quit the solo act. And besides, she had no doubt Mr. Get-Out-of-Town-Fast C. J. Hamilton would turn her down before the first snowflake fell on Riverbend. “What we really need in this town is a new Mr. Claus.”