The humorous twinkle in her eyes lifted a weight from Kyle’s shoulders. He couldn’t stomach the idea of Shayna thinking he’d be interested in someone as false and manipulative as Patty Hoyt. “And for the record, kissing you had nothing to do with my job.”
“I know that. Now.” Her fingers tapped her shoulder, but not finding her braid there to toy with, she dropped her hand and worried the fur at her wrist. “The truth is, I freaked out. I’m powerfully attracted to you, Kyle, and I’m not happy about it. I tried very hard to ignore my feelings. When that didn’t work, I blamed you and that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t the only one who lost control.”
“I noticed.” Her low, sultry laugh hit him below the belt.
Before he could respond, a mother and daughter called Shayna’s name from across the tent, reminding them of their public exposure. She moved back toward the red truck and returned the mother’s wave.
Ready for a safer topic, Kyle followed her and gestured toward the clusters of people donating cash and toys. “Impressive turnout. I wouldn’t have guessed there were this many people living in a town as small as Land’s Cross.”
She smiled cheekily in response to his obvious subject change. “Not all these folks live in town. In a big city, if you travel twenty miles to visit a particular shop or restaurant, you’re likely to pass dozens of similar businesses on the way. Around here, people drive twenty or thirty miles to get to Land’s Cross because it’s the only option.”
“A monopoly, of sorts.”
“Ooh, I love that game.” Shayna looked over her shoulder, where a scrawny boy in need of a haircut sat in the truck bed, sorting through the donated toys. Kyle recognized him from last night as the little boy who’d refused to sit in his or, rather, Santa’s lap. “Tommy, add Monopoly to the wish list.”
“Miz Shayna, how do you spell it?”
A pack of elderly ladies approached the table before she could answer. “I’ll help him,” Kyle volunteered.
“Are you sure? It can wait, if you’ve got something else you need to be doing.”
“Nope. The only thing on my agenda between now and my return flight Tuesday afternoon is waiting for you to speak with your attorney.”
“Ahh, so you’ve been forced to take a vacation.”
“Guess so.” He scowled at the idea. He was a man with a plan. He didn’t have time for a vacation.
“Poor baby,” she purred. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll survive. In fact, you might accidentally enjoy yourself.” Shayna chuckled and patted his bicep. Even that brief friendly gesture snapped his desire to life. Enjoying himself- naked, with her-was exactly what he feared if he had to spend time in Land’s Cross without the barrier of his job.
He had to stick his hands in his pocket to keep from grabbing and kissing her. “Accidents do happen.” Aware of all the people watching them, he forced a lazy grin. “I’ll go help the kid.”
“Thanks,” she whispered as he passed, then raised her voice in greeting. “Hello, ladies. You look lovely this afternoon.”
Her lilting voice faded as he approached the truck. Seasoned brown eyes in a freckled face looked him over, sizing him up. When the kid raised his pencil over the legal pad in his lap, Kyle figured he’d passed muster.
As Kyle began slowly calling out the proper spelling, he noticed scraps of the same yellow paper taped to the boxed toys. Each piece held a different name, all written in the same scratchy lettering. Not a single package was tagged “Tommy.”
“Lotta good loot here.”
The boy looked up, squinting from beneath the shaggy hair coating his forehead. “You’re that fake Santa from last night,” he accused. “I don’t believe in Santa Claus.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope.” Arms crossed over his chest, the boy wore a battle-ready look Kyle remembered well from his own childhood.
Somewhere, a portable stereo played Christmas carols. As Kyle stared into the boy’s world-weary expression, “Little Drummer Boy” faded into “Joy to the World,” and another memory, a rare, happy recollection, surfaced in his brain, providing him with a rebuttal to Tommy’s skepticism.
“Ever hear the legend of St. Nicholas?”
Tommy shook his head no. Kyle levered himself onto the lowered tailgate and waited, hoping the child’s curiosity would draw him to Kyle’s side. Sure enough, a few seconds later, the boy dropped down next to him, his feet dangling about a foot higher than Kyle’s.
“Hundreds of years ago, this rich guy named Nicholas went to work for the church. During his travels, he met lots of people-mostly sailors and children-who needed help. So Nick used his wealth to buy food, clothes and toys for these people.”
He glanced at his audience from the corner of his eye. The boy sat with his head tilted, his attention rapt. Satisfied to have pierced the kid’s tough-guy act, Kyle continued.
“Before long, St. Nick’s generosity became legendary. To this day, people exchange gifts to honor his memory. We’ve turned the legend of St. Nicholas into Santa Claus, making him a symbol of the holiday spirit.”
“Cool story, but Santa’s still just some made up dude in a funny suit.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Kyle nodded, as though swayed by Tommy’s answer. They sat side by side for a minute, legs swinging. “So, what’s the deal with all the name tags?”
He sensed more than saw Tommy’s shoulder lift in a don’t-know-why-I-bother shrug. “Making sure the little ones get what they want.”
“Cool,” he mimicked the boy’s earlier bored tone. “Know what that makes you?”
“What?”
“Santa Claus.”
“No way, man. That’s stupid.”
“Think about it. The world’s population is a couple of billion, right?”
“So?”
“So, it’s not possible for one person to distribute gifts to all those people. That’s why the real St. Nick isn’t just one man or woman or even one kid. Santa Claus is really hundreds-heck thousands, hundreds of thousands-of people, all working together to deliver the Christmas spirit.”
Tommy stared into the distance. Kyle could practically hear the cogs whirring in the kid’s brain. “So all the people who brought this stuff are Santas, too.”
“That’s the way I figure it.”
Dirt-colored hair rustled against the boy’s collar as he nodded his head. “That’s a good story, Mr.-”
“Anderson, but you can call me Kyle.” He extended his hand, and even though he knew the answer, he asked, “What’s yours?”
“Tommy. Tommy Hunter.” He slipped his small hand into Kyle’s and squeezed firmly.
“Pleasure to meet you, Tommy Hunter.”
The clang of church bells overlapped Kyle’s words. Tommy sprang to his feet, tucked the notepad under a pile of jigsaw puzzles and jumped to the ground.
“I gotta go, Mr. Kyle. We’re supposed to meet back at the bus at five.” The boy’s wide brown eyes shot over Kyle’s shoulder, his smile growing to show the hole where his left incisor used to be. “Bye, Miz Shayna. See you next week!” Waving frantically, the boy raced off.
Kyle craned his head over his shoulder. Shayna stood a few feet away, wearing that outrageously sexy red dress, her arms hugging her waist. Tears glistened in her golden-brown eyes, assuring him she’d heard a good portion of his talk with little Tommy.
Behind her, the two remaining volunteers counted the cash in the donation bucket. Someone had turned off the music, he realized distractedly as she closed the distance between them.
“That really was a great story, Kyle.” Despite her short stature, Shayna easily levered herself onto the tailgate beside him. “Where’d you learn it?”
“A, um, teacher told it one year, when some of the kids started spreading rumors that Santa wasn’t real.”
“How old were you?”
