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“Thank you, Ms. Bennett.” A well-brought-up Southern gentleman, he turned solicitously to his elder. “You’re looking lovely today, Mrs. Boswell. And how are you feeling?”
“As right as an eighty-year-old cripple with a pin in her hip can feel, I reckon. Jack, I want you to tell that aunt of yours to make them nurses let me stay up and watch Jeopardy. They put a body to bed way too early around here.”
He patted her hand. “I’ll talk to Aunt Lorella and see what I can do.”
Ellin looked at him sharply. Aunt Lorella? No wonder he’d known the administrator’s life story. “So Mrs. Polk is related to you, is she, Mr. Madden?”
His eyes glinted with what would have been called mischief in a ten-year-old. “My mother’s sister. But please, call me Jack. After all, we’re going to be working together.”
“So I hear. What is it exactly you do at the paper?” Ellin had not survived in a difficult profession by being indecisive. She trusted her instincts, made snap judgments and found her first impressions were usually right on target.
But this time she was baffled. She couldn’t quite put the Jack Madden puzzle together.
He shrugged. “Whatever needs doing. Jig calls me the sports editor, but the title’s just an excuse to attend all the high school football and basketball games in the area.”
“I understand you’re a teacher.”
“Yes, ma’am. High school English.”
“I want to thank you for being so nice to Lizzie today. The move was hard on her. Meeting you, I mean Santa Claus, really made her day.”
“I was happy to do it,” he said with a shrug. “She’s a real cutie pie.”
“Thanks for playing along with her fantasies. I hope you don’t mind staying in character a bit longer. She isn’t up to speed on St. Nick mythology.”
“Not a problem,” he told her. “If you ladies will excuse me, I need to call a friend to come and haul me to a gas station so I can retrieve my truck and go home.” He turned to walk away.
“Mr. Madden? Wait.” It was out of character for Ellin to extend herself in such a way. Normally, she managed her problems and expected others to do the same.
But thoughts of fate and its unexpected gifts lingered in her mind. Combined with her under-exercised conscience it tweaked her into action. Here was a chance to help a man who’d gone out of his way to be nice to her daughter, her grandmother and a whole crowd of old people.
“You can call me Jack when Lizzie’s not around,” he said.
She tried to ignore his comment, but that sexy, Rhett Butler accent did some tweaking of its own. “I’ll drive you to the gas station.” It wasn’t so much an offer as it was a revelation of fact. Once Ellin made up her mind to do something, it was a done deal. “Then I’ll take you to your truck.”
“That’s very generous, but I wouldn’t want to put you out in any way.”
His tone of voice, along with the look in his eyes, let her know that he was well aware of being bossed around. Apparently, it amused him.
“Nonsense. I said I’d drive you. So I’ll drive.” Her words were a bit crisper around the edges than she intended.
“Well, if you’re sure.”
The man had to have the most intriguing eyes Ellin had ever seen. Because the rest of his face was concealed beneath the curly white beard, her attention focused on the intelligence and humor sparking behind those wire-rims. Something in their depths made her want to know him better.
And figure out just what made him tick.
It might be interesting to discover this paragon’s faults. Surely, the guy had some of those. “Just let me know when you’re ready to go.” She used her best managerial voice.
“Okay, then.” His gaze swept the room, lighting on several residents who appeared to need a bit more cheer. “I want to mingle a little longer. How’s half an hour sound?”
“Fine.”
“Don’t forget to talk to Lorella,” Ida Faye called after him as he walked away.
The old woman smiled and reached out to squeeze Ellin’s hand. “You’re in Arkansas now, Ellie.”
“I know that.” She was still wondering what had possessed her to offer to help Jack Madden. Ordinarily, it would never have crossed her mind to reach out like that. But given the lengths he was willing to go to, just to bring a little happiness to others, it would have taken a harder heart than hers to refuse the call.
“Well, seems to me, you’re still acting like Chicago.” Her grandmother gave her a knowing look.
“What do you mean?”
“Around here, honey, folks are more friendly-like than maybe you’re used to in the city.”
“I was friendly,” she protested. “I said I’d help him.”
“It weren’t what you said, Ellie.” Ida Faye cackled. “It were the way you said it.”
Jack made good on his promise and remained firmly in Santa mode. After seeing Ida Faye back to her room and helping her into bed for a nap, Ellin drove him to the nearest station where he borrowed a gas can and filled it at the pump. Several people spoke to him in the process, calling him by name. She was amazed so many seemed to recognize him beneath the disguise. Granted, Washington wasn’t that big, but he couldn’t know everyone in town, could he? She hadn’t even met the people who lived next door to her in Chicago.
Excited by the party and fueled by high-octane sugar cookies and candy canes, Lizzie monopolized the conversation on the drive back to the stranded truck.
“We don’t gots a Christmas tree yet, Santa.” The can-you-believe-the-injustice-of-that was implied in her tone.
“What with the move and all, we haven’t had time to buy one yet,” Ellin said defensively. How could she admit to a man in a red velvet suit that she couldn’t muster enough holiday spirit to provide her child the most basic of Christmas traditions?
“You don’t buy Christmas trees around here,” Jack scoffed.
“You don’t? Where do you get ’em then?” Lizzie was always willing to learn something new.
“Why, you go out to the woods and chop one down. Don’t tell me you’ve never chopped down your own Christmas tree?” he asked with mock disbelief.
Lizzie shook her head solemnly. “Nope. Can you help us chop a tree, Santa?”
“Well, I have to get back to the North Pole and make sure those elves make enough toys for the children.” Her little face fell, so he added, “But I have a special friend named Jack who would be happy to take you and your mommy out to the woods.”
“I just bet he would,” Ellin muttered. What was he thinking? Didn’t he know how dangerous it was to plant an idea like that in the fertile imagination of a four-year-old?
“Can we, Mommy? I never been to Christmas tree woods before. Oh, no! We don’t have somethin’ to chop with.”
“My buddy Jack has an ax.” He smiled at Ellin. “A big one.”
Ellin raised one brow. “Oh? He should be careful. A guy who doesn’t know what he’s doing could get hurt.”
Santa Jack winced. “I’ll warn him.”
“Can we go today?” Lizzie was all atwitter at the prospect of not only chopping down a tree, but meeting one of Santa’s special friends.
“That’s up to your mother.” Jack shot Ellin a look that was pure challenge.
“Can we, Mommy? Plee-e-se?”
Ellin decided Jack Madden knew exactly what he was doing. He’d set her up to score major villain points if she vetoed the plan now.
“Maybe.”
Lizzie pushed out her bottom lip and folded her arms on the padded restraint. “You say maybe, but that just means no.”
“It does not.” Ellin didn’t like being put in the hot seat. She was used to getting what she wanted and it wasn’t often someone turned the tables on her. Jack Madden might be good as gold, but he was also sly as a fox.
“Say yes!” Lizzie whacked the back of Ellin’s seat with her wand, either to get her attention or magically change her mind.
“Okay!” Wow. She’d just been suckered by Santa Claus. She eased on the brakes when she spotted Jack’s truck.
Lizzie went from pouty to perky in ten seconds flat. “We’re gonna chop a Christmas tree.”
Santa grinned. “I’ll tell my old buddy Jack to swing by your place later this afternoon. Around four o’clock?”
Ellin shoved the gearshift into Park with more force than was needed and popped open the trunk. “Fine. We’re staying at Ida Faye’s.”
“Oh, he knows where you live.” He sounded like a character in a cheesy horror movie. “Dress warmly. It gets cold out in the woods.”
Ellin answered his gotcha grin with a frosty glare. He shivered. “Oooh. It’s getting a little chilly in here. He turned to Lizzie. “You stay good, princess.”
“I will,” she promised. “Tell your friend Jack to help us chop down a big tree.”
“I’ll do it. Will you put out some cookies before you go to bed on Christmas Eve?”
“Yep. You like chocat chip? Or peanut butter?”
He appeared to think it over. “Chocolate chip, I think.” He gave Ellin a smart little salute as he got out to retrieve the gas can. “You have yourself a merry little Christmas, Ms. Bennett.”
“Yeah, yeah. You, too.” What an exasperating man. She’d like to deck Kriss Kringle’s halls for him.
“So, what’s she like?” Jana McGovern folded her arms on her desk and leaned forward in the classic pose of one who is all ears.
“She’s nice enough.” After changing out of the Santa suit, Jack had stopped by his twin sister’s small accounting office to get permission to cut a tree on the wooded property she owned with her husband Ted. As usual, he could not escape her evil clutches without first being grilled like a slab of sirloin.
“You sure about that? Because I heard she was a real pain in the butt.” Jana poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of her brother. “I believe ‘stuck up’ was the sobriquet of choice.”
“I think she’s just—”
“Aloof?” Jana supplied helpfully. “Arrogant?”
“I was going to say self-assured and outspoken.”
“You’re too nice, little brother,” she dismissed. “Poor Jig had to kick his blood pressure medicine up a notch after one brief meeting with the lady in question. Owen wouldn’t come out of the men’s room for an hour.”
Jack smiled. Owen Larsen, the newspaper’s layout artist and town’s oldest bachelor, was notoriously shy. “She’s not so bad.”
“Looking?”
“What?”
“Is she as attractive as I’ve heard?”
“Depends on what you call attractive.” Jack couldn’t afford to give her any encouragement. Minding her own business was not a life skill Jana had mastered.
She was always after him, nipping at his heels like a determined cattle dog. According to her, he’d needed to get back out in the world, take another chance, have another adventure. Use his God-given writing talent, and most importantly, fall in love. Apparently, being older by seven minutes entitled her to tell him what to do.
She just didn’t get it. He liked waking up every morning knowing exactly what the day would bring. Predictability was highly underrated, in his opinion. He knew all too well what the rest of the world had to offer and liked this part of it better. She accused him of being an underachiever, but he was just an old-fashioned guy trying to make a difference right where he was. He enjoyed both his jobs. He couldn’t imagine leaving his many friends to live among strangers.
And adventures? They were more often misadventures with ugly consequences.
“Attractive may be a subjective term,” Jana said. “But most of us agree on its basic meaning. So how good-looking is she?”
“Somewhere between mud fence and Mona Lisa.”
She gave him a knowing look. “Oh! You like her. I can tell.”
“You can’t tell anything.”
“Hah! Of course, I can. You’re not talking about her, so therefore, you think she’s hot.”
“Remind me again,” he drawled. “Is it Aristotelian or Ramistic logic that enables you to reach such truly cockamamie conclusions?”
“Jack, you little devil.” Jana reached out and patted his cheek. “You’re spouting big words. You are definitely working on a serious crush here.”
He gave her a concerned look. “Will you be visiting our planet much longer? Or do you plan to catch the mothership next time it’s in town?”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with you getting a little action, for a change.”
“For your information, twisted sister, I happen to get plenty of action.” He dated. Some. He was waiting for the right woman to come along. The woman his father assured him he would “know” when he met her. The one who’d “turn him inside out and five ways to Sunday.” He wanted happily ever after and the kind of relationship his parents had. Up until today, he hadn’t met anyone who even remotely filled the bill.
Jana laughed. “Sure you do. Like I get plenty of chances to dance on MTV. Just be careful, little brother. She’s older than you, and she’s from the big wicked city. A woman like Ellin Bennett will chew you up and spit you out like an Arkansas hairball.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “What colorful imagery, Jana. Maybe you should be a writer.”
“Nah, I’ll leave it to you. So how’s the book coming?”
“On its own terms.” Jack had long since stopped trying to explain right-brained activities to his left-brained sister. “Writing isn’t like bookkeeping.”
“When was the last time you worked on it?” she demanded.
“What are you, my conscience?” He finished his coffee. “I didn’t come in here to be pecked to death. You don’t understand the creative process.”
She snorted in derision. “What do you mean? I’m creative.”
