The Santa Tradition by Diane Burton- Part One

The Santa Tradition - Part One
by Diane Burton

I'd never seen a Santa suit used in quite that way. I was tired, grubby, and sweaty, probably had cobwebs in my hair from packing. But the faded snapshot made me forget all that. James would love this picture of his dad dressed as Santa on top of the hook-and-ladder truck. He must have had a great time back at the firehouse--out of sight of the children he entertained each year. The pants hung from the ladder and the beard waved from a side mirror. He wore boxers decorated with elves under the Santa top. His grin captured the essence of the man I loved as much as my own father.

   "James?" I called as I climbed the basement stairs. "You have to see this."
   I found sitting on his mother’s godawful blue-flowered sofa. His head hung low, shoulders hunched, more defeated than I’d ever seen him. Worse than when the company decided after twenty-five years they didn’t need him anymore.

   He’d weathered the Great Recession, taking on the extra work from others they’d already let go. It wasn’t unusual for him to work twelve to fourteen hours a day. Being downsized was almost a relief. But after nearly a year of sending out resumes, going on interviews, and receiving polite rejection letters, James was a downtrodden man. Not the vibrant, carefree guy I married thirty years ago.

   Losing his dad three months ago compounded his depression. Mind you, I’m not a doctor. But just like a Mom knows better than doctors when a child is sick, I knew my husband was depressed. I’d even suggested he talk to his doctor, which of course James rejected. “Nothing matter with me.” I interpreted that as “I’m a guy and guys don’t need help.”

   Everyone needs help now and then. Or grief counseling. Not my guy.
   "Take a look at this picture." I held it out.
   He didn't even look up.

   “Is everything all right?” I asked.

   He didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

   “James? What’s going on?”

   Again, no answer.

   When I knelt on one knee in front of him, he stared off into space, not seeing me, not seeing anything. I touched his hand dangling between his jeans-clad knees.

   “Are you finished in the attic?” I asked.

   He blinked, returning to this world. “Huh? Sorry, Meg. Did you say something?”

   “I asked if you’d finished packing up the things in the attic.”

   “Uh, no. Didn’t start.”

   When he offered no further explanation, I lost it. I stood, backed into the stack of boxes I’d packed that morning, and placed my hands on my hips. “I have been working down in the basement for the past four hours, going through all the junk your folks never threw away. The least you could do—since it’s your parents’ house—is help.”

   With the slowness of an old man, not one of forty-eight, he pushed himself off the sofa. “I’m sorry, Meg. I’ll get back to work.”

   When he didn’t move toward the attic, I said, “Okay, Jamie. What’s going on?”

   I knew from my own experience that grief from losing a parent can manifest itself in different ways. When my mom died, I plunged into work—settling her estate, cleaning out her condo then selling it. I kept my grief at bay by being busy. That only worked for so long. Then James’ mother passed and all my pent-up grief came to the fore. Poor guy, he didn’t know what to do with me. How he wanted to fix me! To make me feel better. If only.

   Eventually, the grief eased, but it took time. In my heart, I knew he needed time to work through the grief of losing his father so soon after losing his job. But we’d put off dealing with sixty years’ of accumulation by people so affected by the Depression they never threw out anything. I’d tried to convince him we needed to get his parents’ house listed while the market was still on the upswing. I didn’t add that we could use the money from the sale.

   Thanksgiving, early this year, had been rather quiet. James hadn’t wanted me to accept my sister’s invitation. He wanted to stay home. So it was just the four of us. Josie and Mark, home from college, acted like they couldn’t wait to go back. Most of the time, tears formed in Josie’s eyes at the mere mention of her beloved grandfather. Mark, so like his father, didn’t talk.

   Christmas was right around the corner. It would not be a repeat. Not if I could help it. By golly, we were going to finish the packing, move everything we wanted to keep into our garage and basement then get this house on the market. We had to. My dear, sweet father-in-law had remortgaged the house to finance his wife’s nursing home care.

   Three months of carrying two mortgages and the expenses of two houses, plus the kids’ college tuitions had stretched our budget to the breaking point. Between my job at a nonprofit and his temporary job, we couldn’t do it. Our savings were depleted. We might not make any money on the house sale, but at least we wouldn’t have all the expenses.

   When James discovered what his father had done, he’d been pole-axed. We could manage, Cheerleader Meg had said. Once we got the house on the market, our troubles would be over. Rah, rah, rah.

   Major problem. James didn’t want to make decisions on what to keep, what to throw away, and what to put in the estate sale. He’d left it all up to me. I just couldn’t manage everything. I dug a tissue out of my jeans’ pocket, turned my back on the man I loved, and blew my nose. Surreptitiously, or so I thought, I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye.

   Strong hands gripped my shoulders. James pulled me back against him and wrapped his arms around me. “Don’t break down on me now, Meggie. I need your strength.”

   My throat clogged. I squeezed my eyes shut to hold the tears at bay. I patted his arm around my middle. “Okay.”

   I didn’t tell him I was tired of being the strong one.

   We used to take turns. He’d be strong when I needed it and I did the same. I learned long ago that marriage was not a fifty-fifty proposition. Sometimes one person gave a hundred percent. And sometimes the other had to give. Since he lost his job, I felt like I was giving and giving. Isn’t it time we reversed that deal?

   I wanted to kick him in his still well-shaped butt.

   James hadn’t let himself go soft as many executives did. He’d always worked out. Much better than I ever did. With free gym membership because of my job, he continued his routine. As much as I loved being held against his strong chest, the work awaited both of us. And it wasn’t getting done while he held me in his arms.

   When I tried to pull away, he tightened his hold. “Don’t,” he said with unexpected sharpness.

   “This house—”

   “—can wait. I need you, Meg.” A shudder rippled through him.

   I turned in his arms, needing to see his face. Something was very wrong. When I looked at his ravaged expression, I wished I hadn’t turned around.

   “What’s wrong, Jamie?” I cupped his bristly jaw with both hands. “Tell me.”

   “He wasn’t my father.”

Return tomorrow for Part Two of The Santa Tradition.

Let it Snow - Chapter Three by Alison Henderson

Jillian followed Erik as he carried her bag down the hall to the spare bedroom. She was about to spend the night in an isolated cabin with two men she’d just met. Of course, one of them was Santa, so that must make it all right.

He opened the door to a picture straight out of Northwoods Home magazine—a hand-carved log bed with plump pillows and a red and white reindeer comforter, wrought iron light fixtures, and a braided rag rug on the floor. Even the switchplate by the door was carved in the shape of a black bear.

He set her bag on the bed. “The bathroom’s through there. I’ll be in the room next door if you need anything.”

She turned to face him. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable. It was kind of Gus to put me up for the night.”

          His blue eyes twinkled. “You didn’t expect Santa to send a lady out into a storm like that, did you?”

          She grinned. “He is the spitting image, isn’t he?”

Erik returned her smile. “He tries hard.” Then his expression sobered. “He’s a great old guy, and he doesn’t deserve what your client is trying to do to him.”

“No, he doesn’t. I promised I’d try to find a way out for him, and I will.”

“I hope so. He’s counting on you.” He stood with his hand on the doorknob. A brief flash of longing crossed his features. “Well, good night.”

“Good night,” Jillian echoed softly as he closed the door.

While she donned her flannel PJs and brushed her teeth, she tried to recall everything she’d learned in law school about leases. There must be some angle she could use to help Gus. Santa’s Workshop was his life, and she didn’t want to be part of taking it from him. She climbed into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin, spread the papers from the folder on her lap, and began to read.

The next morning, she woke to the tantalizing aroma of bacon. Her lips curved into a smile before she opened her eyes. When was the last time she’d eaten bacon? Her mother refused to have it in the house, and since she started working, Jillian hadn’t had time in the morning for more than a quick tub of yogurt. If she wanted to claim a slice before Erik and Gus demolished it, she’d better get moving. Besides, her late-night research had yielded a startling result, and she couldn’t wait to share it.

Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed, she made her way to the kitchen and found the men half-way through a mountain of scrambled eggs, blueberry pancakes, and crisp bacon.

Erik popped up and pulled out the extra chair. “Have a seat. I made plenty. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee.”

She smiled at his manners—Alan, Jr. would have left her to fend for herself. “Thanks. Everything smells wonderful.” 

Gus speared another slice of bacon from the platter. “Erik’s a darned good cook.”

“Every woman’s dream,” Jillian quipped. She suppressed a grin at the color rising up Erik’s freshly-shaven cheeks.

Gus’s eyes twinkled just like Old Saint Nick’s. “Yes, he is.”

“Eat your breakfast,” Erik grumbled.

After several bites, Jillian set her fork down. “I have some wonderful news. I read through the papers last night, including a copy of the original lease, and—”

          Gus raised a hand. “Not now.”

She frowned. “But—”

The old man patted her hand. “I knew you’d solve the problem, but we can wait until supper to find out how. It’s Christmas Eve, you know. Lots to do.”

Erik set his napkin aside and rose from the table. “And I’ve got start digging us out.”

The storm. She’d completely forgotten. “Did it stop snowing?”

“Take a look.”

Jillian hopped up and hurried to the front window. She pulled the curtain aside and stared. She’d lived through a few Minnesota winters in the city, but this was different. The scene outside was pure nature, untouched by the hand of man. The snow glittered like slivered crystals as the early morning sun reflected off each individual flake on the ground, the trees, and the mound she assumed was her car.

Erik joined her at the window, peering out over her shoulder. “I haven’t heard the plows go by on the highway yet.”

She could swear she felt the heat radiating from his flannel-covered chest against her back. “Do you think I’ll be able to go home this afternoon?”

“Do you have someplace you need to be for Christmas?”

His warm breath stirred the hairs on top of her head, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. She pictured her lonely apartment that had never felt like home. “Not really.”

His arm slid around her shoulders. “Then why bother? I know Gus would love to have you stay for the holiday.”

She turned her head against his shoulder “Will you be here?”

His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “Umm-hmm. And I bet you’ve never celebrated a traditional Swedish Christmas Eve. You wouldn’t want to miss that.” He bent his head slowly toward hers.

“No, I wouldn’t,” she murmured. Her lashes drifted down, and her lips parted.

“Then it’s all settled!”

Jillian and Erik broke apart at the sound of Gus’s voice. His smile was innocent, but the twinkle in his eye suggested he knew exactly what he’d interrupted. “You kids go out and play in the snow. Jillian, you can help Erik uncover your car and clear the driveway.”

Three hours later she was exhausted but had never had so much fun outdoors. She cleared the snow from her car while Erik’s mammoth snowblower made short work of the driveway. Afterwards, they built a magnificent snowman and had an impromptu snowball fight. When they trooped inside, Gus met them with leftover dilled potato soup. After lunch, Erik flopped on the family room sofa to watch football, and Jillian re-read the copy of Gus’s original lease. She wanted to be absolutely certain she was right before raising his hopes.

By five o’clock night had fallen, a fire crackled in the fireplace, and Gus announced it was time for the Julafton smörgåsbord. Jillian took her place at the table and stared at the array. Christmas ham, pork sausage, herring salad, pickled herring, home-made liver pâté, rye bread, and potatoes.

Pickled herring? She swallowed hard.

Erik chuckled at her reaction. “Just be glad Farfar and I hate lutfisk.”

She shook her head. “I don’t even want to know.”

Jillian was still pushing the pickled herring around on her plate when Gus announced, “Now for the best part—the risgrynsgröt.”

She must have made a face, because Erik leaned over and whispered, “It’s rice pudding with raspberry jam.”

That sounded better than herring, but she had something she wanted to say first. “Before we get to that, there’s something I need to tell you.” Gus smiled and nodded, so she continued. “As you know, Ronald Oglethorpe wants to invoke the termination clause in your lease.” Gus nodded again. “Well, there was a copy of the original lease included in the folder with the termination paperwork. I read it to the end, including all the addenda, and found a stipulation stating that upon the death of the original owner, Mr. Gustav Gustafsson is to have right of first refusal to the property, and if he chooses to exercise that right, the property is to pass to him at the price of one dollar. It seems neither Ronald nor the attorneys at Saperman, Ellis, and Saperman, bothered to read the document all the way through.”

Gus beamed and patted her hand. “You’ve given me the perfect Christmas present, my dear. Now I have one for you. Erik, will you serve the risgrynsgröt?”

Jillian had never cared much for pudding—it always reminded her of being in the hospital—but Gus’s risgrynsgröt wasn’t half bad. At least not until she bit down on something hard. She surreptitiously deposited it in her spoon and eyed it with suspicion.

“Ah, you got the almond,” Gus exclaimed.

At her blank look, Erik gave her a teasing grin. “Tradition says the one who gets the almond will marry during the coming year.”

His words brought a sudden pang. “That’s unlikely. I’m not even dating anyone.”

Gus shook a playful finger at her. “You never know. Don’t be so quick to dismiss tradition.”

Erik popped another spoonful into his mouth then grimaced and slid a similar nut into his own spoon. He pointed the spoon at Gus. “Tradition says only one almond.”

        Gus laid a finger aside his nose and winked. “Sometimes tradition needs a little help.”

Let it Snow - Chapter Two by Alison Henderson

“An eviction notice? Let me see that.” Jillian snatched the papers from Erik’s hand. Lawyers didn’t serve eviction notices. They left that unpleasant duty to the sheriff’s office. Surely Alan, Jr. hadn’t sent her on such a fool’s errand. She could kick herself for not reading the contents of the folder before she left. She’d been annoyed and in a hurry to beat the storm, but neither was an acceptable excuse for allowing herself to be caught unprepared.

She scanned the first page. “It’s not an eviction notice. Technically, it’s a notice exercising the termination provision in your lease.”

Erik crossed his arms across the breadth of his chest. “I don’t think so.”

She sighed and silently cursed Alan, Jr. “There’s no need to make this more difficult than necessary. It’s a straightforward legal document. If you’ll sign next to the arrows, I can be on my way.”

His expression remained implacable. “You’ve got the wrong man.”

“You are Mr. Gustafsson, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you currently rent this property?”

“No.”

She knit her brows, echoing his frown. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you you’ve got the wrong man.”

Frustration poked a chink in her professional armor. “I need to speak to the lessee of this property, whoever it is.” The termination might be an unpleasant legal action, but it was legal. If this man thought he could make it disappear by intimidating her, he was mistaken.

Erik stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing his options. Then he turned his head and called out over his shoulder, “Farfar, you have a visitor!”

Jillian leaned and peered around him. When a figure emerged from the back room, her mouth fell open and the folder slipped from her fingers, sending papers wafting to the floor.

Holy, moly. It was Santa Claus. That rat, Alan, Jr., had sent her to evict Santa Claus two days before Christmas.

“Ms. Mayberry, this is my grandfather, Gustav Gustafsson.”

Santa smiled and took her hand. “Please call me Gus.”

Except for his customary red suit (which was apparently flapping from the flagpole out front), he looked exactly like the illustrations in her cherished childhood copy of The Night Before Christmas. Same rosy cheeks; same bushy, white beard; same little, round belly (well, maybe not so little).

The surrealism of the moment hit home. She was shaking hands with Santa Claus.

“Farfar, Ms. Mayberry is here to kick you out.”

Gus gave her a cherubic smile. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

Jillian swallowed hard. How could she do this? But how could she not? It was her job. She bent down, scooped up the papers from the floor, and stuffed them back in the folder. “I’m afraid the owner of this property has decided to invoke the termination provision of your lease. I need you to sign these papers.”

A look of confusion crossed Gus’s face. “Even though Sam Oglethorpe passed away last month, I can’t believe he would let that happen. We grew up together.”

At the waver in his voice, Jillian clenched her teeth. If Santa started to cry, she was going to murder Alan, Jr. the minute he got back in the office.

Erik placed his hand on his grandfather’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. Gus sniffled and blinked a couple of times before regaining his composure. “I don’t understand. Sam always said this place was mine as long as I wanted it.”

She frowned and opened the folder to check the documents. “These papers indicate the owner is a Ronald Oglethorpe.”

“That’s Ronnie, Sam’s son. There must be some mistake. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Gus pulled out a big red handkerchief, blew his nose, and gave her a watery smile.

Alan, Jr., you’re a dead man walking.

Jillian glanced at her watch. It was after 6:00p.m. No one would be in the office this late on December 23rd, and Alan, Jr. was still in the air on his way to Aspen. “I’ll do what I can to get more information, but I’m afraid it will have to wait until tomorrow.”

Gus’s smile blossomed. “I’m a pretty good judge of character, and I have complete faith in you.”

She wished she shared his confidence. He seemed like such a sweet man. If there was a way out of this mess for him she would find it, but even a good lawyer couldn’t work miracles.

Gus patted his belly. “Now that we’ve put that worry behind us, I’m hungry. I’ve got a pot of potato soup on the stove and homemade gingerbread in the oven. Take off your coat, and we’ll eat.”

For a moment she was tempted. The cabin was warm and cozy, and mouth-watering smells emanated from the kitchen. Besides, who wouldn’t want to eat dinner with Santa? But the Mini Cooper wasn’t a very big car, and if she stayed much longer, she might end up stranded. She retrieved her gloves from her pockets and started to pull them on. “That’s a lovely invitation, but the weather is horrible, and I need to get back to Two Harbors while I can.”

Erik crossed to the front window and flicked back the curtain. Clumps of thick white flakes tumbled down like puffs of cotton candy. “I wouldn’t count on it tonight unless you drove here in a snowplow.”

She rushed to the window and shoved the curtain aside. The flagpole had disappeared behind a veil of white. Her nerves tightened. “I can’t even see my car.”

Gus poked his head around her shoulder. “All the more reason to join us for dinner. If the storm passes by the time we finish, Erik can dig your car out and follow you into town to be sure you make it. If it’s still snowing, you can both stay here. There’s plenty of room.”

Sleep here? With Santa and the Viking?  That would make some story for her grandchildren (if she ever had any), but it was out of the question. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

Erik stepped back from the window. “Well, you’re not going anywhere right now, so you might as well eat.”

He was right. She had no other option. The least she could do was be gracious. She tucked her hand into Gus’s elbow and smiled. “In that case, I’d be delighted.”

They walked through a smaller room, also chockfull of Christmas decorations, and into a cheery, old-fashioned kitchen.  Gus seated Jillian at a sturdy pine table, then joined her while Erik dished up steaming bowls of dilled potato soup and added wedges of chewy pumpernickel bread.

As they ate and talked, night settled on the cabin. The soup was fabulous, delicate and hearty at the same time. When her spoon clinked against the bottom of the bowl, Gus laughed and declared her an honorary Swede. To her surprise, Jillian found herself spilling the story of her life, up to and including the humiliation of finding Alan, Jr. in the coatroom of the fanciest restaurant in St. Paul draped all over Brunhilde the Berserker (aka the assistant coach of the U of M women’s volleyball team).

When she finished, Gus took her hand. “I hope you gave that fellow the old heave-ho. You’re much too good for a knucklehead like that.”

She wondered if she could adopt Gus as a grandfather. Her own mother had berated her for letting such a “good catch” slip away.

By the time Erik served the gingerbread with lemon sauce, even he seemed to have decided she was no longer Simon Legree’s henchwoman. His blue gaze warmed when it touched her, and his knee brushed hers under the table more than once. When he rose to clear the table, she jumped up to help.

Hands full, he shook his head. “Go check the weather.”

The thought of leaving the cozy cabin to drive to a motel sent a shiver through her body, but if the snow had stopped she had no excuse to stay. When she pulled back the curtain and saw the swirling flakes, her selfish internal voice cheered. “It’s still snowing, and the wind’s picked up,” she called out.

“Give me your keys.”

She jumped and spun around at the sound of Erik’s deep voice behind her.

         A half-smile played around his lips, accentuating the sexy masculine dimple on one side. “I’ll get your bag and show you to the spare room.”

Let it Snow - Chapter One by Alison Henderson

She'd never seen a Santa suit used in quite that way.

Jillian Mayberry leaned against the steering wheel of her Mini Cooper and squinted through the swirling snow outside the windshield. Her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. That really was a bright red Santa suit flapping like a flag in the wind from the pole in front of the old log cabin. A lighted sign above the door spelled out Santa’s Workshop in hand-carved red letters. Thank heaven, she’d found it. She wasn’t sure she could drive another mile in this storm.

That morning she’d left St. Paul under a cold, bright sun, but by the time she’d reached Duluth a light snow had started to fall. Now, a few miles up the north shore of Lake Superior past Two Harbors, it looked like an army of snow giants were having a pillow fight—and the pillows were losing. The fat flakes were so close together she could barely see the log building ahead. She inched forward a few feet and stopped the Mini next to a big brown SUV with a Department of Natural Resources insignia on the door.

She flipped up the hood of her puffy down coat and reached for the briefcase on the seat beside her. Leave it to Alan, Jr. to dump this chore on her before hopping a jet for a skiing holiday in Aspen with his new girlfriend. It was only one of the many perks of being the son of the founder of the most prestigious private family office firm in St. Paul, which catered to the legal and financial needs of some of the wealthiest families in the state. As the most junior member of the firm (and Alan, Jr.’s former girlfriend), Jillian was low woman on the totem pole, so this last minute task had naturally fallen to her two days before Christmas.

Oh, well. It didn’t really matter, since she wasn’t going home for the holidays anyway. She’d been feeling sorry for herself ever since her mother had announced her plans to spend Christmas in St. Tropez with her latest flame, Ricardo. Jillian huffed out a sigh, and a cloud of vapor fogged the windshield. She should be impervious to being hurt by her mother after all these years, but somehow she wasn’t.

She glanced at the log cabin again through the thickening snow. At least this was a simple assignment; she just had to get a couple of papers signed. With any luck she would be in, out, and on her way within a few minutes—which was a good thing. The highway was already heavily snow-packed, and she worried about making it back to the shelter of the motel room she’d booked in Two Harbors.

When she stepped out of the car, a gust of wind snatched the door from her hand and slammed it shut. She was so startled she lost her footing and sat down hard in a knee-deep pile of snow. Muttering under her breath, she struggled to her feet. Whatever had possessed her to leave Virginia for this god-forsaken icebox? Oh, yes. The lure of a well-paying job at Saperman, Ellis, and Saperman and those pesky student loans.

Her socialite mother had considered law school a waste of time and money, so Jillian had cobbled together the funds to pay her own way. At the moment, with her nose running and fingers and toes numb, she wondered whether she should have caved and gone the debutante route. Then she thought of the requisite small talk with silly, overdressed people at endless rounds of parties and decided freezing to death was preferable. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d scrimped and saved every penny during the past five years to pay off the last of her loans. Only one more payment and she could tell Saperman, Ellis, and Saperman—specifically Alan, Jr.—what they could do with their job.

And go where? Do what?

With no ready answer, she picked up her fallen briefcase, sighed, and trudged through the growing drifts to the door.

Up close, the cabin appeared to be at least eighty years old with dark, hand-hewn beams and wide white chinking. Warm light beckoned from a pair of curtained windows flanking the rustic, planked door. Jillian raised a gloved hand to the big knocker carved in the shape of a grinning Santa and brought it down with a resounding thud. Teeth chattering, she counted the seconds until the door swung open and Paul Bunyan peered down at her. Okay, so maybe he was Paul Bunyan’s beardless, blonder, cuter brother, and wearing a dark green ranger’s uniform with a patch on the shoulder that read Gooseberry Falls State Park instead of plaid flannel and denim, but he was mighty impressive all the same.

His brows drew together in a formidable frown. “What kind of fool goes shopping in weather like this? You’d better come in.” The giant grabbed her arm and pulled her through the door into a warm, gingerbread-scented Christmas wonderland.

The cabin might have started life as a humble pioneer homestead, but now it housed a mind-boggling array of Yuletide décor—a veritable explosion of red and white. Jillian blinked twice, trying to take it all in. Against one wall a fire crackled in a fireplace of rounded river rocks. Shelves lined the other walls, and a couple of tables and chairs peeked through the holiday mayhem. Every inch was filled with carved wooden Santas, red and white painted bird ornaments, and ribbon-wrapped animals and wreaths fashioned from straw. In the middle of it all stood a floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree, twinkling with tiny white lights and covered with wooden ornaments in the shapes of animals, toys, and elves in pointed red hats.

“Wow.” The word slipped out under her breath. She’d never seen anything like Santa’s Workshop in her life. Her minimalist, modern art-loving mother would have fainted if confronted by such colorful confusion. To Jillian, it was magic.

“It’s something, all right. My grandpa made most of them.”

She’d almost forgotten the giant. She had also almost forgotten her mission. She flipped back her hood and pulled off her gloves, stuffing them in the pockets of her coat. Pasting a smile on her face, she stuck out her hand. “I’m not a customer. I’m Jillian Mayberry, from Saperman, Ellis, and Saperman.”

His big, warm hand engulfed hers, even as his brows drew together in a confused frown. “Erik Gustafsson.”

Gustafsson. Good. He was the man she’d come to see. He also had eyes the color of a fjord in summer.

Where on earth did that come from?

She’d never been prone to poetic flights of fancy. She gave her head a tiny shake to rid it of such nonsense.

But he’s so tall, and strong, and blond. Like a Viking warrior, but with better hair and minus all the scars.

Stop that, you moron! You’ve got a job to do—do it.

With reluctance, she withdrew her hand and nodded. “Mr. Gustafsson, I’ve brought you some papers on behalf of our client, Ronald Oglethorpe.”

Suspicion entered Erik’s gaze. “What kind of papers.

Jillian fumbled in her briefcase, pulled out a folder, and handed it to him.
He read the first page, and a muscle in his jaw flexed. He turned to her with a scowl. “This is an eviction notice.”

Merrily Suited Part Three by Donna Michaels

 

Merrily Suited

Part Three

by Donna Michaels

Talk…

Yeah, Lauren would get right on that once her heart dislodged from her throat and her voice returned. She was lucky she even remembered how to breathe with the gorgeous cowboy standing so close that his wonderful, spicy, ocean scent teased her senses.

Trent smiled and gently tugged her hair. “You can’t keep running from this, Lauren.”

She managed to clear her throat and tip her chin. “From what?”

“Us,” he replied. “And what happened when we kissed.”

Oh, that. Yes, she could.

His smiled deepened to reveal those dang, sexy dimples—the ones that made her knees weak. “No, you can’t,” he said as if reading her mind. “And you can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our kiss.”

She grew up in a disciplined household and learned at an early age to bury her wants and needs in order to achieve success. This was no different.

The elevator opened to her floor. Grabbing Trent’s hand, she freed her hair before releasing him. “I did enjoy the kiss. Very much. But I love working for you and your brothers and will not jeopardize it by mixing work with pleasure. I’m sorry. I hope you understand.”

Without waiting for a reply, she exited the elevator and was relieved when he didn’t follow. It wouldn’t have taken much persuasion on his part to make her change her mind. Her heart sat like a piece of crushed lead in her chest as she let herself into her room.

Why did Trent have to be one of her bosses? She really wanted to pursue the crazy feelings he induced. But she just couldn’t bear to put herself out there only to end up like Sandy.

The vibrating of the cell phone in her pocket signaled an incoming call seconds before the ringing filled her room. Apprehension tightened the muscles in her neck. God, she hoped it wasn’t Trent. Walking away from him had been the hardest thing she’d ever done.

Glancing at the caller ID, she smiled. Sandy. She flopped on her back on the bed. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. How’s your weekend with Trent?”

She stiffened. “It’s not like that.”

“Too bad. It should be.”

Lauren sat up and blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. The two of you have been making googly-eyes at each other for years. I thought for sure, once you were alone this weekend, you know, the sparks would fly, clothes would fall, to all a good night.”

“I…” She wanted to set her friend straight and tell her she was wrong.

But Sandy was not exactly wrong, so there was no setting straight.

“Uh oh. Something happened. What is it? Spill.”

Again, the urge to deny was strong. Lauren had even gone so far as to shake her head, but the words wouldn’t form. Instead, she sighed and did as told. “We kissed under the mistletoe.”

“Sweet!”

“No, it wasn’t sweet. I mean, it was, but…darn it, Sandy. I don’t want to be attracted to him. I don’t want to like his kisses, or enjoy the feel of his arms around me.” Or get lost in his scent; Want his embrace to go on forever.

“Why not? Trent is one of the good guys. And believe me, they are few and far between. The two of you are perfect for each other. You're suited.”

“But he’s my boss.” There, she said it. “I don’t want to end up like y—” She stopped herself, but shouldn’t have bothered.

“Like me, you mean?” Sandy asked. “Oh, hun. Don’t let what happened to me with that jerk two years ago stop you from taking a chance on what could be the real deal with Trent.”

“But what if it isn’t?”

“What if it is?” Her friend countered. “Besides, I do not regret what happened.”

“You don’t?”

“No. Getting fired was the best thing that happened to me, because I met my fiancé at my next job.”

Fiancé?

Lauren inhaled. “You’re engaged?”

“Yes. That’s why I was calling. To tell you Paul proposed.”

“Oh, I’m so happy for you, Sandy. Congratulations. Paul’s a great guy.”

“Yes, he is, and he’s also my boss. Remember?”

She sank onto the bed and blinked. That’s right. Her friend had gotten a new job, and within a half a year, started to date her new boss.

“So, you see? It is possible to keep your job and have a relationship with Trent.”

If only…

“Promise me you’ll think about it.”

“I promise.” No way would she be able to think of anything else. 

***

The outdoor holiday gala was in full swing with vendor tents, food stands, face painting, and a visit from the big man himself. Seasonal music blared from speakers placed around the grounds, and families and people walked around with hot apple cider, hot chocolate and coffee, enjoying pumpkin rolls and pecan pie donated by the pretty chef from the Texas Pub up in Harland County.

Everyone was having a great time. Not Trent. Not really. He was going through the motions, even managed to paste a smile on his face as he helped people on and off the Santa-horse wagon while the driver remained on the buckboard seat. Everyone's happy faces and excited banter would normally warm his heart, but the darn thing didn’t seem to be working that day. It was kind of numb and reeling.

He’d foolishly thought once he got Lauren alone and away from the main store she would open up and admit her feelings. Dummy him. Her upbringing had kicked in and kicked him out.

“May I ride next?” A familiar, sweet voice asked from behind.

Lauren.

His pulse kicked into gear. Look at that. His numb heart sparked back to life. He’d seen her today, but hadn’t really talked one-on-one with the woman. What was the point? Even though her gaze had been friendly and smile warm, he didn’t want her to feel badgered, and the invisible bands squeezing his chest did not need more encouragement.

Keeping his smile in place, he turned to face her and blinked. Close up, her gaze was more than warm and friendly. A spark of interest lit those mesmerizing green depths. His heart jerked behind its invisible restraints, and then did something none of the happy people could manage to make it do—warmed at the blush creeping into her cheeks.

“Of course,” he answered, treading lightly, grabbing her hand to help her into the wagon.

Maybe the tightness in his chest prevented oxygen to his brain and he was seeing things he wanted to see.

“Good,” she replied, tugging on his hand when he made to release his hold. “Will you join me?”

His head reeled back. He hadn’t expected that question. He also wasn’t slow on the uptake. “Sure.” He quickly hoisted himself into the wagon and settled next to her on the bench.

As the driver made a clicking noise and urged the horse forward, she snuggled closer, causing his ears to ring and eyes to cross.

He cleared his throat and stared down at her. “Uh, Lauren, not that I’m not enjoying having you close, because I really do, but I’m a little confused. The last time we talked you said you didn’t want to mix business with pleasure.”

She tipped her head and stared up at him, that blush deepening along with her smile. “Let’s forget that talk. It never happened. I was stupid. Scared. Not thinking straight.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m still stupid and scared, but I know what I want. I’ve thought about it all night.”

His heart rocked so hard in his chest he physically moved. “And what do you want, Lauren?”

“You, Trent,” she replied, heart in her eyes, stealing his breath which had already disappeared at the sweet sound of his name on her lips. “You were right. That kiss was amazing. And I think you’re amazing. I have for some time now.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to respond. “I meant it when I said I enjoyed working with you and your brothers. But, again, you were right. I can’t keep running from my feelings.”

Joy and happiness mixed to curve his lips into a grin he couldn’t hold back. “I don’t want to run from mine anymore either, Lauren. I know it’s a risk getting involved with a coworker, but it’s one I’m willing to take. You make me feel things no one has ever made me feel before. And I like it. A lot.”

“Yeah?” Her eyes were big and round and full of wonder.

Adorable.

“Yeah.”

A thousand watt smile lit her face. “Same goes,” she said, reaching up to cup his chin. “You’re definitely worth the risk.”

And as the Santa-horse wagon ride rolled on, Trent pressed his lips to Lauren’s, sealing a promising future his dad had set into motion nearly a decade ago.

~♥~

 Come back tomorrow for the start of another FREE Holiday story from Alison Henderson! The Rose of Prose will be posting free holiday stories using the same opening line all month long!

Don't forget my brand new release! HARLAND COUNTY CHRISTMAS is a prequel novella to my Amazon Best Selling Harland County Series! Read the first cowboy to fall...

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00O3PON5G




I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas!

Merrily Suited Part Two by Donna Michaels

Merrily Suited

Part Two

by Donna Michaels

“Your room okay?” Trent asked, stopping beside Lauren in the middle of the bustling lobby.

She nodded, then headed for the exit with no intention of talking, stopping, or breathing, until she was outside and mistletoe free. Too dangerous. She scooted around a pack of incoming guests and pushed through the door into the cool winter’s night air…and underneath more mistletoe, haphazardly dotting the hotel’s grand, wrap-around porch.

It was a conspiracy. Everywhere she turned there was mistletoe. The urge to stomp her foot shook through her boot. This was not here when they’d first arrived.

“Excuse me, honey,” a little old lady called from down on the sidewalk, pushing her walker to the stairs. “Can you help me up?”

Before she could answer, Trent appeared and was at the lady’s side, escorting the beaming woman to the porch. Something inside Lauren’s chest cracked open as he gently placed the woman’s hand on her arm while he went back down for the walker. He was always helping, putting other’s first. It was one of the things that attracted her to him the most.

Dang it.

He needed to stop. Do something mean. Say something obnoxious.

Why did he have to keep being so sweet? Didn’t he know she was having a hard enough time talking herself out of liking him?

“Aw, what a sweetheart. You have yourself a good man, honey.” The woman grasped the walker with one fragile hand and patted Lauren’s arm with the other. “And I think it’s positively perfect you’re both standing under the mistletoe. Go ahead, young man. Do your duty. Kiss your pretty lady.”

Lauren’s heart shot for the stars, via her throat, where it lodged, pounding away her breath. No way was she going to turn to him. No way. But, she needn’t have worried. The handsome cowboy stepped to the smiling, older woman and dipped down to kiss her cheek.

“You young, whipper-snapper. Not me.” The woman giggled, pointing at Lauren. “Her. Go ahead. Don’t mind me. Kiss your girl.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, turning to face Lauren, dusty cowboy boots standing toe to toe with hers.

She knew this because it was safer to stare at the porch. Not his face. Definitely not his face.

“Lauren.” His voice was low and deliciously sexy.

He’d spoken her name for the first time. Ever.

Goose bumps raced down her arms. She had been right. Her name sounded darn good on his lips.

“Look at me.” Two big, strong, calloused hands cupped her face and gently tipped her head until she finally met his gaze. “You and I both know this has been a long time coming.”

More than a little shocked by the blatant admission he’d wanted to kiss her for awhile, she couldn’t stop her mouth from parting, or the soft ‘oh’ from leaving her lips.

Then all thoughts ceased, and everyone and everything faded from view as he slowly lowered his head.

Work didn’t matter.

Her bosses didn’t matter.

Sandy and her bad relationship didn’t matter.

Only the here and now, and the great smelling cowboy holding her close. Her pulse pounded out of control, growing louder and louder while her heart rocked hard in her chest. An unknown feeling fluttered in her belly while their breath mingled a second before their lips finally met.

Firm and warm, his mouth sent a tremor straight to her toes, and she reached out and slid her arms around his back to hold on since her knees where suddenly too weak to hold her weight. He smelled of the outdoors, and ocean breezes, and male. Very male.

Just like in his business practices, he was thorough, kissing her slow and deliberate, leaving her under no illusion that he indeed had wanted to kiss her for a long time.

When he finally lifted his head, he had her so mixed up she had no idea if they’d kiss for ten seconds or ten minutes. Time had ceased, along with her breathing.

And common sense.

She pulled out of the embrace, vaguely aware of the older lady smiling.

“It’s wonderful to see a nice, young couple fated to be together. Bless you both.” The woman nodded then pushed her walker toward the hotel door.

When Trent rushed forward to hold the door open for the lady, Lauren took advantage of his absence and raced down the steps, needing to put some distance between her and the hot cowboy. Gulping in air, she willed her brain cells to return to working order.

What the heck had she just done?

***

“What in the world did you do?”

Trent had no idea what his brother Cordell was talking about on the phone later that evening, and would’ve told him, if the idiot would’ve quieted down long enough to let him get a word in on their conversation.

“Why does Lauren want to come home?”

“What?” His heart dropped to his boots, and he stopped pacing in the executive office of their Texas City store. “She said that?”

“No, not exactly, but it was implied.”

“Define implied.”

“Indirectly. In a round-about way. To—”

“I know what implied means, you goof,” he interrupted his older brother, trying hard not to give into the frustration clawing his spine. “Did Lauren really call and ask to return home?” His chest hurt at the thought, and he rubbed the tight spot over his heart as if it would ease the ache.

“No,” Cord replied. “She called and asked if it was necessary for her to be down there since Trent was more than capable of handling things himself.” His brother used a girly tone to finish the sentence.

Trent wasn’t amused, but he was relieved. Lauren hadn’t specifically asked to go home. She wanted to bolt. Like she’d done from the porch. Running scared he could handle.

After he’d turned around from helping the nice older lady into the hotel, he’d hoped to get things out in the open with Lauren. Discuss the skirting-around-each-other tactics they’d both deployed over the last few years.

No more skirting.

And after that kiss, they definitely needed to clear the air.

Brew’s sweet lips may not have said the words, but he knew from her response to his kiss, and the way she’d melted into him, that she was more than a little attracted to him.

Which was great, since he was a darn sight more than a little attracted to her.

 “So?” Cord asked. “What did you do?”

It was now or never. He took the bull by the horns and spilled the truth. “I kissed her under the mistletoe.”

Standing stalk still, he waited to see if Cord was going to go ballistic over the fact he’d put the moves on the sweet girl his brothers had always considered their little sister.

“’Bout dang time. Don’t tell me you did that wrong. Do you need pointers?”

He blew out a breath. “No, I didn’t do it wrong. And you can keep your pointers” Trent smiled, despite his frustration. “What do you mean, ‘bout dang time?”

“Did I stutter? It means, about dang time the two of you stop circling like vultures and admit you like one another. Sam and I are getting right tired. It was amusing at first, but after two years it gets old. Fast.” Cord paused, then his tone grew serious. “We love Lauren like a sister, Trent, you know that, but she’s a darn good worker, too. I hope you didn’t screw things up, or cost us one heck of a manager.”

“I haven’t.” He hoped.

“You better make it right.”

“I will. Don’t worry,” he reassured before hanging up, a plan already forming in his head.

Just the fact that Lauren had wanted to leave proved her feelings for him were strong. He knew she didn’t want to jeopardize her job. So he was going to prove to her she could have her job and him.

***

Lauren avoided Trent most of the night, using work as an excuse. There were still a lot of little last minute things to do to get ready for the holiday gala the next day. She helped the workers stuff stockings for the children with donations from local companies, sometimes working right next to Trent. His gaze kept straying to her, she could feel it willing her to glance up. But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He’d want to talk about the kiss. The kiss that was incredible and still had her lips tingling.

Yeah, not going to happen.

Two hours later, she breathed a sigh of relief as the hotel elevator doors opened. The stockings were stuffed, and even though Trent had ushered everyone back to the hotel for pizza and beer in appreciation of a job well done, she had managed to avoid being alone with the man.

And being under more mistletoe with him.

A small triumph, despite knowing she would’ve enjoyed every bit of another kiss. But that was how it had to be. So she ate, drank, socialized, and was relieved to say her goodnights and head up to her room.

Only one more day to go.

She punched the button to her floor in the empty elevator, then bit back a few choice words when Trent stepped on before the doors closed.

Sealing them inside.

Alone.

Dang it.

“I’m glad I caught you,” he said, facing her, standing close enough to twist a piece of her hair around his finger, gaze warm and interested. “We need to talk.”

~♥~

 

Come back tomorrow for the conclusion!

And if you're in the holiday reading spirit, don't forget about my brand new release!!! HARLAND COUNTY CHRISTMAS is a prequel novella to my Amazon Best Selling Harland County Series! Read the first cowboy to fall...

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00O3PON5G

 

Merrily Suited Part One by Donna Michaels

Merrily Suited

Part One

by Donna Michaels

She'd never seen a Santa suit used in quite that way.

On a horse…pulling a red wagon decorated to resemble a sleigh with green garland, twinkling white lights, and silver bells. Because that was normal. Lauren Brewster smiled. It was for her bosses. Her three handsome bosses who owned a chain of feed stores throughout southern Texas. 

       The free Santa-horse wagon rides the guys started today were a big hit with the customers. A brilliant idea from three equally brilliant brothers. Born with good looks and brains, the Callahan boys also inherited their father’s sense of business and keen knowledge of their customer’s needs. It was never a dull moment at the store, and she enjoyed her job.

Hired right out of high school seven years ago by their late father, Lauren was lucky to work for the fun, smart, sexy cowboys. Her extended family. Brothers. Well, two of them. The third one, the middle one…not so much. Six-foot-one with powerful shoulders, dark brown hair, quiver-inducing chocolate brown eyes—milk chocolate, her favorite—Trent Callahan elicited absolutely no sisterly feelings from her whatsoever. Nada. Zilch.

He was hot.

She was sunk.

Especially now. They were both single. At the same time. Something that had never happened in all the years she’d known the charismatic man. And the fact she was accompanying him to Texas City for two nights to help oversee the big, outdoor, holiday charity bash the store sponsored every year was going to test her resolve.

And confirm her stupidity.

Spending two days in close proximity to the irresistible cowboy without his brothers around…yeah, not smart.

Inhaling, she parked in her usual spot behind Callahan Feed, and blew out the breath. Everything was going to be fine. Just fine. She’d managed not to act on her attraction to Trent for years now. This weekend would be no different.

Feeling better, she got out of the car as the handsome cowboy lumbered from the back door of the main building, worn jeans sitting low on his lean hips, black T-shirt stretched across the drool-worthy broad shoulders and muscled pecs not so hidden beneath an opened green and black flannel shirt.

“Hey, Brew.” He smiled, revealing dimples capable of reducing grown women into giggling schoolgirls.

She ought to know.

Her heart rocked hard in her chest then fluttered back into place. “Hi, Cal,” she replied in kind, using a variant of his surname.

Not once had either of them ever called each other by their first name. An unspoken rule. A smart one because, given her attraction to the cowboy, saying his first name aloud made it personal, and hearing her name on his lips would surely do her in.

“Ready for this weekend?”

No. Not really. “Yep.” She lied through her smile. Reigning in her feelings was crucial to the success of their trip—and her future—if she wanted to continue managing their main store. And she did. Very much.

“Good,” he replied, taking the initiative to grab her suitcase from the back seat, gaze sparkling with life as he straightened and shut the car door. “Because we’re going to have a memorable time. Trust me.”

***

 Trent Callahan was a patient man; in both his professional and personal life. By no means a slacker, he didn’t believe in procrastination, but there were times in his twenty-nine years when waiting proved smart, and the resulting reward, priceless.

Like now.

He glanced sideways at his silent passenger. A curtain of silky, golden brown hair obscured a face he knew to be beautiful with high cheekbones, mesmerizing green eyes, and full lips always ready with a smile. Except for today. No smile. No friendly chit-chat. Nothing. In fact, the woman who’d worked for the company since graduating high school, the one who’d touched his heart and didn't know it, was unusually quiet, and hugging the door as if he carried the plague.

“Everything all right, Brew?”

She turned to him and blinked. “Yeah, why?”

“You’re getting awfully comfortable with that door.”

Color crept into her delicate face, turning her eyes a deep, emerald, which never failed to take his breath. “I-I’m just sitting.”

He grinned. “Yeah, far away, as if I bite.”

Lord have mercy, her gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered, tempting, teasing, trying to pull the rest of the air from his lungs and force him to reveal his feelings, the ones he’d hidden for awhile now. Feelings he hadn’t recognized as more than friendship until they’d danced at a company Christmas party two years ago. The connection, the chemistry, had zinged through him with an unexpected wave of energy and heat he hadn’t been able to forget, or find with anyone else.

Not for lack of trying. He’d been in a relationship at the time, but when it had ended, Lauren had already started to see some college professor, and Trent had remained tight-lipped about his attraction.

Until now.

He was single.

She was single.

The time had come to test their chemistry and this trip was the perfect opportunity.

“How about we listen to some music?” He flipped on the radio and a jolly holiday tune filled the cab.

She smiled and settled back in her seat, not so close to the door, relief easing the tightness from her full lips. “Oh, I love this one,” she said, and began to sing along with Alan Jackson.

Sweet and warm, her voice surrounded him like a soft blanket, tugging a grin onto his lips, making him happy to be in her presence. He was always happy around her, but should he try to take that a step further? A relationship was risky, very risky. Lauren was a fantastic asset to the company.

Handpicked by his late father. She loved Callahan Feed as much as he and his brothers, Sam and Cordell. The last thing he wanted was to jeopardize their working relationship. But, the attraction was already getting in the way of work…for both of them, as his siblings had taken delight in pointing it out at their recent monthly meeting, all because he’d handed them October’s spreadsheet instead of November’s.

How his brothers had connected the mistake to his feelings for Lauren was still a mystery, but they were correct. She’d breezed into his office to hand him the day’s receipts, smelling of fresh apples with a hint of vanilla. He must’ve clicked on the wrong file to print when he’d leaned closer to her hair and inhaled deep, because, yeah, he was that far gone.

So, here he was on his way to the Gulf to do something about it. Trent just hoped to God he wasn’t misreading Lauren’s blushes and lingering glances. He’d hate to be in the off-kilter vortex on his own, or worse. Make the woman uncomfortable enough to quit. His father would roll over in his grave, and his brothers would skin him alive.

***

       She knew it. Lauren knew going to Texas City with Trent—alone—was a bad idea. It was a small miracle she hadn’t made more of an idiot of herself during the short drive down to the Gulf earlier that day. But the handsome man had a powerful presence. All consuming. His broad shoulders and solid frame evaporated space in the cab as rapidly as his warm gaze had zapped her brain cells. And what was with his friendly open expression? Darn thing sucked her in, upping her temperature and pulse. She had to cling to the door in order to keep from scooting over to him. The sexy cowboy was like a magnet, and she was a piece of trembling sheet metal.

A weak-kneed idiot.

Exiting the hotel elevator on her way to meet her boss in a lobby decorated in red and green for the holidays, she silently commended herself for having the foresight to book their stay weeks in advance. The place was nearly sold out, and if they’d had to share a room, she would’ve caved to the man’s charm in an instant.

That would’ve been bad.

Sandy bad. Lauren was determined not to end up like her friend Sandy. The poor woman had gotten involved with her boss, and seven months later, was single and unemployed.

Not her. No way.

She weaved through a throng of people waiting in line to check in and passed a group of carolers happily singing in the corner by a brightly decorated, ten foot Christmas tree. Their beautiful voices helped sooth her frazzled nerves, but she nearly stopped dead when she caught sight of Trent pushing from the far wall, staring straight at her, lazy smile tugging his lips. Her heart kicked her ribs then did that flutter in her chest thing.

Why did he have to be so dang good-looking? And why did she have to have this type of reaction to the man? Her pulse never leapt for his brothers. Why him? Was there a cure?

She needed a cure. Pronto.

And a miracle.

Her fluttering heart dropped to her feet when her gaze encountered a bigger problem.

Hanging in the doorway—a doorway they had to pass—sat a huge sprig of mistletoe. Not good. Lauren glanced at the other door. More mistletoe. She hadn’t noticed the twigs when they’d check in, but she couldn’t miss them now.

She was trapped. No matter which door she exited with the cowboy, they’d walk underneath the holiday’s excuse-to-kiss decoration.

Maybe he won’t notice.

~ ~♥~ ~

 Come back tomorrow for Part Two!

Today is release day!!! I have a brand new cowboy holiday release today! HARLAND COUNTY CHRISTMAS is a prequel novella to my Amazon Best Selling Harland County Series! Read the first cowboy to fall...

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00O3PON5G