SANTA COMES CALLING by The Chimney Elf

CHAPTER THREE

 



Cole extended a smashed and twisted Christmas stocking for her to take. “Merry Christmas, Sugar.”

Shelby pressed the stocking to her chest. It was her only Christmas gift, except for those exchanged at the office between her co-workers. In her heart, the stocking was made of spun gold and decorated with precious gems, brought to her by her handsome prince. Tears blurred her vision.

A strong hand cupped the back of her bed mussed hair and brought her cheek next to his. He kissed her below the ear in a delightfully sensitive spot. “What a pair we are. I gave you a dirty stocking and you gave me a slug in the ass.”

The older EMT stood in front of her. “Ms. Hayes, I need to examine your head now. Would you mind sitting on your loveseat?” As the EMT cleaned her wound, he applied some butterfly bandages. “I think you’ll need a few stitches.” He used a light to examine her eyes and asked if she’d had any dizzy spells. When she told him she had, he mentioned a possible concussion.

A flurry of activity for a few minutes and both she and Cole rode off in the same ambulance. He glanced at her. “You’re still hugging your stocking.”

“Am I?”

“You know I’ve been planning on asking you out. But I have to admit, this wasn’t what I had in mind for our first date. I mean, a ride to the emergency room is not very romantic, is it?”

“We could ask them to stop at the Seven-Eleven for a hotdog and a slushy. They’re always open. I bet they have green ones for the holidays.” She shot him a glance. “Slushies, I mean, not hot dogs.”

Cole laughed. “Your off-the-wall sense of humor was the first thing that attracted me to you. Sometimes my job drains all the joy out of life. You have a warmth about you that brings some of it back.”

Wow! How did one respond to a sentiment like that? She smiled and reached out with her hand. He took it and they held hands for the rest of their ride.

Once at the hospital, they were each whisked away to separate examining rooms. Medical personnel came into her cubical, one at a time—at a snail’s pace. It was Christmas, no doubt they were understaffed. She peeked into her stocking. There was a chocolate Santa and a see-through cane of Reeses peanut butter cups. She almost laughed out loud when she unwrapped the first gift; a pair of plain stretchy bedroom slippers. Lastly was a red-foil wrapped long, slender box. In it was a silver bracelet with a filigree heart charm. She put it on her wrist right away and held her arm toward the light so the charm sparkled. Cole Danfield had given her a heart—his heart, perhaps? Wishful thinking on a night of magic, to be sure.

After Shelby was stitched up and released with orders to rest for a few days, she went to the information desk and asked about Cole. The lady checked the computer and said he was in recovery, but would soon be moved to room 205. Shelby got a cup of coffee from the vending machine before taking the elevator and finding his room. She snuggled into the faux-leather chair in the corner of the room and waited.

She must have fallen asleep for she jerked upright when the door to the room slammed open and orderlies pushed in a gurney carrying Cole, sleeping, his face pale. They lifted him onto the bed just as a nurse made a back prop of pillows. “Lay the patient on his side.” She proceeded to hook him up to monitors. The nurse noticed Shelby. “You must be his Sugar he kept talking about as he was coming out of anesthesia.” The orderlies left the room and it was just the two women and one very handsome sleeping detective.

“Yes. I am. How is he?”

“He’s fine. The surgeon said the bullet wasn’t very deep and didn’t hit anything major. He’ll be grumpy for a few days. You know how men are when they’re in pain.” She winked at Shelby. “Pull your chair closer to him. I’ll keep the railing down on your side.” The nurse placed a pillow in front of Cole’s chest and another in front of his groin after she adjusted his catheter and connected his bag to the foot of the bed. “Now you can lie your head down next to him. But first tell me, was that story true about his getting stuck in your chimney while trying to play Santa?”

“Yes. I’ve crushed on him for a long time and the first he shows me any real attention, I shoot him in the behind.”

The nurse laughed and hip-bumped Shelby’s shoulder. “You know, I like you. My kind of woman.” The nurse snorted and snickered as she exited the room.

Shelby placed both arms and her head on the cushion in front of Cole’s chest. He was going to be okay. He’d have no permanent damage.

“So, just how long have you been crushing on me, Sugar?” His voice was raspy with sleep.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop.” She smiled into the pillow.

“Hell, it’s not nice to shoot a man in his ass, either, but no one’s mentioning that.” His hand brushed her hair. “How many stitches did you need?”

“Only four. At least the shots they gave me for pain took care of the migraine I was suffering with before Santa started calling.”

“Some Christmas Eve, huh?” He brushed his fingertips across her cheek. His hand moved to her wrist and touched her bracelet. “I see you opened your gifts.”

“Yes, I did. Thank you for your kindness. I love the bracelet with the heart, although I was kind of surprised. I mean, what about Darla? The two of you seem close at the station.” She might as well ask, find out where she stood.

“Darla’s okay to tease, but she’s not the kind of woman who would be faithful to her man or understand his moods. While you, on the other hand, have a stronger character. I like that. In fact, what do you have planned for New Year’s Eve?”

“Popcorn and a movie, I guess. I don’t enjoy loud crowds.”

“Me neither. I’ll bring Chinese and a couple flicks. What kind do you like?”

Golly, he was asking himself over for New Year’s Eve. A slow smile spread. “Action. Shoot’em-ups.”

“Oh, Sugar, you are definitely my kind of woman.” He cupped the back of her neck, bringing her face to his for a kiss, and she felt her lonely world topple on its axis.

 

Come back tomorrow for the first episode of Alicia Dean's Christmas story. Thank you all for reading a bit of Elf Magic...may you all have magical times during your Christmas.

 

SANTA COMES CALLING by The Chimney Elf

Chapter Two

“You shot me in the ass! I’m trying to romance you and you shoot me? What kind of woman does that, Sugar?”

When did he start calling her Sugar? Well, there were those few times at the station when he held the door open for her or brought her a cup of coffee. “I didn’t mean to, Cole. I fell. Are you okay?”

“Would you be okay with a bullet in your butt?”

She wiped the blood from her forehead with the sleeve of her pink robe. Evidently she’d scraped it pretty hard against the bricks when she tripped. White feathers drifted over her, and she blew them off her face.

“Cole, are you padded with pillows?”

“Some. The Santa suit I rented was too big. Could you stop talking about my behind and get me out of here? Please?”

Then Shelby noticed the falling feathers were increasingly covered with blood. Oh dear, she had hit him. “I’m going for my stepstool so I can reach your boots.”  She slid out of the fire box and stood, the room swaying just a bit. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

“So help me, when I get my hands on you…”

“You need classes in anger management, detective.” She stumbled for a few steps and then straightened herself. Returning with her folding stepstool, she reached the top step, stood on her tiptoes, and reached his toes. She pulled and tugged. “It’s no good. I can’t get a good enough grip. I’m too short.”

He didn’t respond, A whooshing sound of sheer fear roared through her head. Was he unconscious?  “Let’s sing some Christmas songs, shall we?” She began her off-tune singing of “Here Comes Santa Claus.” There was a faint groan and an uncalled for remark about her not giving up her day job. This man needed medical care and fast. Her hand shook when she fished in her robe’s pocket for her cell phone and dialed a number.

“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

“George? It’s Shelby Hayes. I have an officer down.” She glanced at the pile of ever-increasing feathers. “Or, officer up situation. There’s a detective stuck in my chimney.”

“A detective? As in police detective? In your chimney? Uh-huh.” The suspicion in his voice made her feel as if he thought she’d been drinking her Christmas cheer.

“Yes. Cole Danfield. He’s stuck in my chimney, dressed like Santa, and I shot him in the butt. He had a cushion shoved in his suit, so I don’t know how badly he’s wounded, but the feathers are getting redder. I can’t reach his boots to…”

George’s boisterous laughter caused her to jerk the phone a few inches away from her ear. “Are…are you telling me you’ve shot our hotshot…pardon the pun…ahahaha…detective in the backside of the body he spends hours in the weight room keeping in shape? Bwahahaha.  Little ole you?”

“Tell that blowhard not to put you down, Sugar.” A voice bellowed behind her and she jumped. She’d feared Cole was unconscious. “Obviously, there’s nothing wrong with your aim. It figures, doesn’t it? Ten years on the force, building up my reputation and one Santa suit ruins it all. I’ll never live this down.”

She hadn’t expected Cole to rise to her defense like that, especially with her bullet lodged in his nether regions. She pinched her eyes shut as she imagined just where. “Look, George, I have an actual emergency! I need an ambulance and emergency crew sent to four-twenty-nine Alpine Street to help pull this overstuffed Santa out of my chimney. Don’t make me speak to your superior.” She ended the call.

“If I don’t hear sirens in ten minutes, I’m calling George-the-Giggler back and I won’t be very nice.” Shelby peered up the chimney. “How is your pain level?”

“On a scale of one to ten?” he barked. “Twelve.”

He sounded livid, which worried Shelby. “I thought since you stood up for me, you weren’t angry at me.”

“Sugar, I’m angry all right, but no one gets to growl you, except for me. To be truthful, I’m more upset with myself. I should have hung the stocking from your doorknob, but I wanted you to have the surprise of finding something special on your mantel. I overheard you say you wouldn’t see any family this year, that your parents were gone and your sister wasn’t speaking to you. I didn’t want you to spend Christmas thinking no one cared.”

She wiped her bleeding forehead again. “You’re a very kind man, even with a bullet in your bottom. My younger sister never forgave me when I got my dad’s sports car in a silent bidding process between the two of us. That Camaro nearly wiped out my savings.” She wiped at tears. “And cost me my sister. Her husband wanted the car, you see.” Sirens pierced the silence of the night. She rushed to open her front door and turn on her outside lights. “Help is here, Cole.”

“Wait, Sugar! What are you wearing?”

She pivoted toward her fireplace. “What? What difference does it make?”

“Is it something sexy?”

Shelby’s jaw dropped. Maybe the bullet had lodged in his brain instead of his buns. An ambulance sat in her driveway, cop cars were careening in from every direction, and Detective Santa wanted to get kinky? She was about to tell him worn flannel pajamas and an ancient terrycloth robe with frayed cuffs when somehow the words, “A red lace teddy,” tumbled from her lips. Really, what did a man expect a woman, who lived alone, to sleep in?

“Quick, run and change! Or wrap yourself in a blanket!”

Cole was yanking her chain and she didn’t like it. “Why? I look good in this? I bought it especially for the holidays. It even has white fur pompoms in all the strategic places.” She could do a little chain jerking, herself.

EMT’s jogged up her sidewalk, equipment in hand. A few lights snapped on in the vicinity of her house. Some neighbors’ questioning voices filtered through the air. She stepped away from the door and pointed to the feather-covered hearth. “He’s up there.”

Six or seven policemen filled her small living room, each one firing off questions as to why she’d shot an officer. Did she realize the trouble she was in? Her head snapped from one cop to another as she tried to answer their many questions. Yet, her gaze kept sliding toward her fireplace. How was Cole?

After checking her chimney, one EMT ran for a short stepladder. In a matter of minutes amid much groaning and cussing and soot floating through her living room, the EMTs had Cole flat on the stretcher on his stomach. One cut away the red soaked Santa pants and extricated the pillow while the other EMT checked Cole’s vitals.

His soot covered beard and mustache were now an impromptu wig. Shelby kneeled in front of the gurney. “I’m going to take off your beard. Tell me if I hurt you.” He grunted and she pulled on the ruined whiskers.  “Cole, I’m so sorry. It was an accident.”

“What happened to your forehead?” His soot-covered face wrinkled in concern.

“I tripped over the bricks at the hearth.” She stood and lifted her foot to show him her puppy bedroom slippers. “Dumb slippers. I lost my balance, fell into the area you put the logs, hit my head on the bricks and that’s when the gun went off.”

The policeman who’d taken charge of the nerve-wracking interrogation stepped between her and Cole. “You want to tell me what happened here, Detective?”

“An accident, pure and simple. She’s a woman who lives alone. The gun is registered. Hell, I taught her how to shoot it. She tripped over the hearth and it went off. An accident. No charges are to be filed against her. Do I make myself clear?” Cole reached for her with his hand and she took it. The officer shot a glance between the two, shook his head, and escorted the rest of the policemen out.

“Thanks for sticking up for me.”

Cole grinned. “Just the facts, ma’am.”

Once the EMT working on the bullet wound pressed gauze pads over Cole’s cute behind. Shelby’s gaze followed the medic’s movements and snatched a visual fill of the detective’s naked buns. Ohhh, Merry Christmas to me!

Cole’s hold on her hand tightened. “Hey! Eyes front and center.”

Her gaze snapped back to his and she grinned. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

“And here I thought you were the shy type. Medic, Ms. Hayes needs some medical attention. She hit her head pretty hard on the fireplace. And, for gawd’s sake, don’t ask her to sing.”

SANTA COMES CALLING by The Chimney Elf

Chapter One

A ringing phone at two in the morning never brought good news. That’s why Shelby Hayes rolled over, burrowed deeper into her comforter, and decided not to answer. It was the early hours of Christmas Day, and she’d just gotten home from a double shift as a dispatcher at the police station. She’d worked Debbie Sue’s shift so she could be home with her grown children and grandchildren who’d come from three states away to visit for the holidays.

With Shelby’s banger headache, she couldn’t deal with any more emergencies—personal or work-related. She could barely keep her eyes from crossing and the contents of her stomach down. Yes, the “Grinch Migraine” had come to wrap its vice-like claws around her head and steal what little Christmas joy she had.

Soon after her cell stopped ringing, it began again. She was about to pull the quilt over her head when she heard someone yelling. Her heart tattooed a rapid beat against her chest. Who was in her little cottage?

“Answer your damn phone!”

This had to be a nightmare. Shelby fumbled for her cell and swiped the screen. “What?” She tried reading the caller ID with blurry eyes, blinked, and reached for her glasses.

“I’m stuck in your chimney.” The man gave an embarrassed laugh. “Could you come, grab my boots, and pull me down?”

“My…my chimney? Who are you?” She slid open the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out her .32 revolver. A woman living alone could never be too careful. Besides, Cole Danfield, one of the handsomest police detectives God had put on this earth, had given her lessons on how to handle and fire the pistol at the shooting range. She’d become quite the shooter.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said I was Santa Claus.”

Shelby shoved the covers off and jammed her feet into her furry puppy bedroom slippers.  “Do I sound like an idiot? And speaking of sounds, the next one you’re about to hear is me shooting a hole in your backside. Then, I’m hanging up and calling the police.” She ended the call and shoved her arms into her old pink terrycloth robe, slipping the phone into a pocket.

She took long, deep breaths to calm her rapid breathing as she slowly turned the doorknob leading to the hallway. Seeing no shadows in the darkness, she began the slow journey to her living room, the revolver gripped in her shaking hand. After all, this “being stuck in her chimney story” could just be a ruse.

She made a stop at the linen closet, quietly opened the door, and removed the flashlight. The house seemed empty. No unfamiliar noises. Maybe it was all a joke. Someone with too much eggnog making random calls, thinking he was funny. Perhaps the strong medicine she’d taken for her headache made her imagine she heard a voice in her living room. Sometimes it made her imagine her doorbell rang, and she’d rushed to answer it only to find no one there.

 

Still, she shuffled to the brick fireplace, removed the fire screen, and aimed the flashlight’s beam up her chimney only to see two boots dangling. One pivot had her back flush against the bricks and her hand coiled tighter around the gun. Holy cow! There really is a guy up there.

She tossed the flashlight on her recliner, turned on a lamp, and with both hands wrapped around the revolver peered up her chimney again. Why would the robber use this way to enter her house? Why not pry open one of her doors? Boy, the criminals get dumber every year.

“What did you plan on doing by breaking into my home through the chimney? Why not use forced entry on one of my doors or break a window like any self-respecting criminal?”

“Because I’m not a criminal! The voice sputtered as if it had a mouth full of cotton. “Shelby, it’s me, Cole.”

“Cole? My Cole?” The heat of a blush slapped her cheeks. She’d crushed on this police detective for over a year. He’d treated her like a friend, but nothing more. So her dreams of romance had died a slow, painful death while flirtatious Darla seemed to command the majority of his attention. Why would he be here? “I don’t believe it. Let me see.”

Shelby picked her flashlight off the chair and aimed the beam up the chimney. “No, you’re not Cole. You don’t have his buns. And if anyone would recognize Detective Cole Danfield’s behind, it would be me.” She turned off the flashlight and flung it onto the recliner again. “I’m asking you one more time. Who are you and why are you stuck in my chimney?”

“It’s a Christmas Eve tradition I do. I go to my parents and stuff their stockings. Then I go to my sister’s and leave presents for her and the kids. Angela doesn’t have a fireplace. She leaves her front door key under the mat so I can unlock the door and walk in. The kids are always peeking around the corner, and mayhem breaks out. They know it’s me and they beat the crap out of their Uncle Cole while he empties his bag of presents. This year they talked me into watching ‘Christmas Vacation’ and gorging on cookies.”

Shelby knew Cole had a sister named Angela. He kept a picture of her and her three kids on his desk. All this sounded like something he would do. Under his tough macho veneer, he had a soft heart for those he cared about.

“Okay. So that still doesn’t explain why you’re stuck in my chimney.”

“Are you or aren’t you going to help me down?” He was using his officer voice now.

Well, she knew how to toss down some attitude, too. “I’m going to make a pot of coffee. Obviously, it’s going to take you awhile to come up with a likely excuse as to how you got yourself into this hell of a mess.” She stepped back.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! A guy can never catch a break with you, can he? I’ve been trying to be extra nice and all you do is blush or sidestep away. I have a stocking full of gifts for you. I was going to hang it on your mantle, then unlock one of your doors, and sneak out.”

Someone had been sending her cards at every holiday for the last few months and hanging a bag of expensive chocolates or pastries on her doorknob. All were signed with “Your Secret Admirer.” There was a beautiful Christmas arrangement on her doorstep last week. Could he be her Secret Admirer? This handsome man she’d drooled over for ages? She’d never ask him face to face, but face to boots, she could handle.

She rushed the couple steps to the fireplace, mentally forming her question. Her one puppy slipper got tangled on the edge of the brick of the hearth. She fell into the firebox, and her gun went off.