Silhouette Christmas Stories

He leaned back and was idly considering the state of his hormones when Santa Claus threw open the door.

Chapter Two

Slade blinked at the sight before him and silently corrected himself. First you'd have to swap the old man's blue sweatsuit and hightop tennies for an outfit of red velvet, fur and boots; then he would be Santa Claus. Kris had blue eyes that actually twinkled beneath thick snowy brows, ruddy cheeks, a glistening white beard that fanned out over his chest and a frame that needed no artificial padding. He also had a booming voice and an inextinguishable supply of enthusiasm. Fanaticism might be a better word, Slade decided.

'Slade!' Kris beamed at him, slamming the basement door and pulling up a chair next to Slade's. 'The very man I want to see. The word's out that you're a hotshot engineer. Exactly what is it that you do?'

After a slight pause, Slade said briefly, 'Right now, I'm designing a type of radar for the military.'

'Ah.' Kris blinked and returned to his primary concern. 'Ever do much with electricity?'

Slade nodded cautiously. 'Some.'

'Ha!' Rubbing his hands in satisfaction, Kris chortled, 'Just what I thought. I need your help.'

Eyeing the old man's expectant smile with fascination, Slade demanded, 'You want my help?'

'Right.' Kris nodded, pleased by what he apparently considered an eager volunteer.

'Mine?'

'Sure. Can you come down to the basement? I want to show you something.'

'Wait a minute.' Slade held up a restraining hand. 'I have a slight problem of my own that we need to discuss.'

Kris blinked, his blue eyes thoughtful. 'You mean the power?'

Slade nodded grimly.

'About it going off, you mean?'

He nodded again.

Kris's face brightened. 'I knew you were going to fit in around here, boy.' He swiveled around to Carroll and demanded, 'Didn't I tell you that you were wrong about him?' Turning back to Slade, he said, 'I suppose when it went off, you knew I needed help.'

'Not exactly.'

'And you came right over,' he continued, ignoring Slade's terse reply. 'What a neighbor!'

'Kris-'

'Ready to pitch right in and help. I didn't even have to ask!' He jumped to his feet. 'Well, that's the way things work sometimes. You worry and fret about a problem, and then you turn around and find the answer sitting in your kitchen.' He opened the basement door. 'Come on down and let me show you what I'm wrestling with.'

'Kris, I'm not-'

'Teh, don't be modest,' the old man urged, his cheeks rosy with barely suppressed excitement. 'It should be a snap for someone like you. I know what I want. I just don't know how to get it. Come on, we've only got four weeks.' Taking in Slade's puzzled expression, he added, 'Until Christmas Eve.' Bounding down the stairs, he called back over his shoulder, 'That's when all the lights I've strung around town go on and stay on for a week.'

'Well, hell.' Slade glared in frustration at the empty doorway, then swung around to Carroll, his frown deepening when she grinned. 'He doesn't listen.'

'I know.'

'The only reason I came over here was to tell him to stop that damned testing during the day.'

'I know.'

'What does he mean, all?'

'He's going to dazzle us in degrees. Some lights go on in two weeks, more the following week, and more-'

'I get the idea.' He ran a hand through his dark hair, making it stand on end. 'He's hell-bent on getting me involved in this idiotic project.'

'You're absolutely right.' At that point, she honestly didn't know who needed protecting, her grandfather or Slade. 'Why do you think I've been trying to keep you two apart?'

'To save his neck.'

Carroll nodded thoughtfully. 'There is that,' she admitted. 'But actually, I've been thinking of you, too. I know how Kris is. He works on the premise that everyone has the same enthusiasm for his schemes that he does, and before his unsuspecting victims know what's happened, he's suckered them in.'

Resting his hand on the edge of the open door, Slade said firmly, 'I'm not a victim. I guess I'll just have to set him straight, won't I?'

'I guess you will.' Carroll picked up her mug and made a small toasting gesture. 'Good luck.' Her smile was rueful. It wasn't easy to pop her ebullient grandfather's balloon, to rain on his parade. Slade would need more than luck.

When he hit the middle of the stairs, Slade caught a glimpse of Kris's workshop that made him stop in midstride. By the time he reached the bottom, he knew he had underestimated the redoubtable old man. So what else was new? he asked himself disgustedly. He had misjudged the entire family.

On the basis of a few short days of observation, he had decided that he'd moved in next to a den of dreamers. Carroll, who seemed free to come and go at will, had been his first mistake. He'd pegged her as a dazzling wildflower who apparently didn't have to worry about basics like paying rent and finding a job. Then he'd learned that she ran a flourishing secretarial service from the house, enabling her to be home with Christy and keep an eye on her flighty mother and loony grandfather.

After Christy's first visit, he'd mentally labeled her as precocious and a bit spoiled. Wrong again. She was bright, talented, articulate and fiercely loyal. She also wanted a father and had apparently set her sights on him.

His first encounter with Noel had been on his front porch. She had been gazing abstractedly through a spray of pine needles at a billowing formation of cumulus clouds, not even turning to acknowledge his greeting. His gut reaction had been that she was playing the part of a vague, eccentric artist. Another mis-take. She wasn't playing at anything; she was a vague, eccentric artist. A very good one.

And Kris? The score was now four out of four. He'd been convinced that the old man was merely a lunatic with a light-bulb fixation. Now, taking an assessing glance around the well-equipped workshop, Slade realized that neither the man-nor the problem-was that simple.

Kris was bent over a platform that took up the entire center of the basement. He waved Slade over without looking up. 'Come take a look at this.'

Slade hesitated, first taking in the brightly lit room. Over in one corner was a massive desk strewn with papers. Behind it, covering almost the entire wall, shelves strained under the weight of books. A power saw stood at the end of a long workbench that bristled with tools. They all looked well used. The room smelled pleasantly of wood shavings and lacquer.

Slade finally joined the other man and looked down at the platform. 'My God. It's the town.'

Kris slanted a look up at him and pushed his round, wire-framed glasses back up his nose. 'What do you think of it?' Pride gleamed in the pale blue eyes.

'It's… magnificent.' It was more than that. It was mind-boggling. Kris had contoured the hills with mathematical precision and placed each miniature wooden house with the same exactitude. Minuscule pine trees lined the streets and surrounded the homes, while a profusion of greenery represented the tangle of oaks, maples and cottonwoods that grew among the pines. It was a detailed, precise replica of the entire town; every house, every tree-at least as far as he could tell-was represented.

Trouble. He was looking at a platform full of the stuff. He was no longer dealing with something as simple as an old man's hobby, Slade realized. Nor was the operation merely a diversion to keep boredom at bay; Kris's precision