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“Good morning, Mr. Blanchard!” she called out, with a slight smile playing around her mouth, as if she knew his heart rate had jumped to jogging level.
He mumbled an answering greeting, then watched her trip lightly over to the elevators. He had to stop this, he thought desperately. She was, after all, one of his employees. He made it a rule never to fraternize with the help.
Not that he wanted to socialize with her, he hastily assured himself as he strode over to the escalator. For one thing, she was too young. For another, he rather suspected that Miss Latimer had very definite ideas on any given subject—ideas that were likely to clash with his own.
She appeared to be the kind of young lady who would have no qualms opposing his views rather strongly if she were so inclined. And if there was one thing Matt hated, it was an argument.
More often than not he gave in, sacrificing his own convictions rather than argue, which had been part of the problem with his ex-wife. If he hadn’t been so indulgent with Caroline, if he’d insisted that she behave like a responsible adult instead of condoning her selfish, immature behavior, he might have saved the marriage. Though he rather doubted it.
He was pretty sure that Caroline had never really loved him. Her head had been turned by the big bucks. She’d seen the furs, designer fashions and jewelry that Blanchard’s carried and she was like the kids in the toy department. She wanted it all. Until Lucy had come along and put an end to her freedom. Then she hadn’t wanted either of them.
Well, he told himself as he rode the crowded escalator to the next floor, he was through with that kind of commitment. Never again. He’d learned a tough lesson. He’d made a mistake and he wasn’t about to repeat it. That settled, he resolved to put Miss Latimer and her delectable figure right out of his mind.
Upstairs in the private employees’ lounge, Sherrie’s bones ached as she dressed in the Mrs. Claus outfit. She adjusted the wig and the glasses and scowled at her image in the mirror. If this was how she would look when she got old, she thought, there wasn’t a lot to look forward to.
She was about to leave for her first stint in Santa’s chair when the door of the lounge opened. The impeccable, heavily perfumed creature who entered eyed her up and down with amusement.
“God,” she muttered, “if I had to spend longer than five minutes in that outfit I’d quit.”
“It’s not exactly my favorite way to dress,” Sherrie said, smiling. “Actually I’m doing it as a favor for my brother. He was supposed to be Santa.”
The woman nodded. “So I heard. One of the stockmen told me about the last-minute change. Actually you look pretty good. Definitely an improvement on some of the Santas we’ve had. How’s things going down there?”
“Exhausting,” Sherrie admitted. “But I enjoy meeting all the children.”
The woman leaned closer to the mirror and patted her immaculate blond hair. Opening the small black purse she carried, she took out a lipstick and touched up her lips.
“My name’s Beryl Robbins,” she said, slipping the gold case back into her purse. “I’m the head buyer here. We’ll probably bump into each other now and again. If you want to know anything about this place, just ask me. There isn’t much that gets by me.”
Sherrie could well believe that. The woman’s sharp brown eyes under the mascara-laden lashes were never still. “I’m Sherrie,” she murmured, “and I’ll keep it in mind.” She slipped out of the door then, before Beryl Robbins could begin probing into her private life.
Down on the fifth floor, the children were already lined up, waiting impatiently for Mrs. Claus to arrive. A small cheer went up as Sherrie took her seat and beckoned to the first little girl in line.
The child’s mother held on to the small hand, and seemed determined to do all the talking. It took several moments of diplomatic persuasion before Sherrie could talk to the child herself.
Watching from a discreet distance, Matt felt a small stab of satisfaction. The Mrs. Claus idea seemed to be working out quite well, in spite of the diminutive size of the woman inside the padding. In fact, it amazed him to see her hauling all those kids up onto her lap. He’d expected her to come crying to him at the end of her first day to say she couldn’t handle the job.
He felt a little more comfortable now that she was dressed as Mrs. Claus again. It seemed to put a respectable distance between them. After all, who would have the urge to date Santa’s wife? Highly inappropriate, to say the least.
After studying the application form he’d had his newest employee fill out, Matt had learned little more about Sherrie Latimer. She was twenty-seven, single and a college graduate. She’d listed her present address as the same as her brother’s, which, now that he came to think about it, was a bit odd, since she’d told Matt that she was merely spending the holidays with Tom Latimer.
Remembering the misty-eyed expression he’d noticed when he’d mentioned her holiday plans, Matt wondered if she’d had some kind of trouble. He quickly reminded himself that it was none of his business.
As long as Sherrie Latimer did a good job for him, her private life was her own concern. The position was only temporary anyway. Once the Christmas season was over, he would probably never set eyes on Sherrie Latimer again.
To his dismay, the thought gave him a definite twinge of regret. He turned his back on Mrs. Claus and headed toward the crowded toy department. He wasn’t about to let himself get distracted by a ditzy, pint-size angel of mercy who let her heart rule her head.
Any other woman with an atom of sense would have told her brother to find himself another Santa. But obviously she wasn’t like other women. She’d given up her vacation and taken on a mammoth task so that her brother could go chasing all over Mexico on his own errand of mercy, as she’d put it.
He would have admired that, if he hadn’t been convinced that women like Sherrie Latimer were a danger to self-respecting, confirmed single fathers, who should know better than to spend their mornings wondering if a certain woman tasted as good as she looked.
Seated on her red velvet throne, Sherrie was having her own troubles. One little girl, desperate to go to the bathroom, was determined not to lose her place in line. Unfortunately the wait proved too long, and Sherrie’s lap was decidedly damp after the child had scrambled down.
The next small boy demanded that Santa bring him a space gun for Christmas.
“I’ll be sure to tell Santa what you would like just as soon as I get back to the North Pole,” Sherrie said, reaching for a candy cane.
“I don’t want to wait till Christmas,” the boy announced, scowling at her, “I want it now.”
Sherrie tried to curb her flash of irritation. “Well, I’m afraid you can’t have it now. Santa doesn’t deliver the toys until Christmas Eve. But you can have a candy cane now.”
“Don’t want a candy cane.” The boy snatched it from her hand and threw it on the floor. “I want a space gun and I want it now.”
“Then I guess you’re going to be disappointed,” Sherrie said, easing the child off her lap.
The boy stared at her for a second, then opened his mouth and let out a shrill scream. Sherrie looked around in vain for the child’s mother, but apparently the woman had taken advantage of the respite from her rebellious child and dashed off to shop.
Sherrie’s efforts to calm the child were fruitless. Still yelling, the boy rushed over to the reindeer and, using both fists, began pounding one of them on the head.
“Stop that right now,” Sherrie warned, “or Santa won’t bring you anything on Christmas Eve.”
“Don’t want Santa,” the boy yelled, aiming a kick at the reindeer’s legs. “Santa’s stupid.”
It was the final straw. Leaping from her chair, she grabbed the squirming child by the arm and hauled him off the platform in front of the waiting customers. Unfortunately his mother arrived on the scene just then, demanding to know why Mrs. Claus was beating up her child.
“He was beating up the reindeer,” Sherrie hotly protested. “I was simply removing him from the area.”
“Well, you don’t remove my child from anywhere,” the mother yelled, her voice rising above her son’s screams. “That’s my job.” She was a big woman, and looked as if she could flatten an elephant with one blow.
Sherrie opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again as a deep voice inquired, “What’s going on here?”
Sherrie’s heart sank as she met the disapproval in Matthew Blanchard’s ice blue eyes. She began to explain, but the customer forestalled her.
“I am never,” she said, pronouncing the word in a voice of doom, “ever setting foot in this store again.” She looked around at the line of interested spectators. “If I were you,” she added meaningfully, “I’d get out of this store before they all start beating up on your kids.”
“Madam—” Matt began, but she cut him off.
Grabbing her son by the hand, she said loudly, “Come on, Henry. We’ll find a store where kids are welcome.” She glared at Sherrie as she passed. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she snarled. “Posing as Mrs. Claus and then picking on little kids. You should be reported.”
Sherrie managed to hold her tongue as the woman led the screaming child away. She flicked a quick glance at Matt, who was addressing the crowd in a calm, quiet tone of reassurance.
“I apologize for this small misunderstanding,” he announced. “To make up for the unpleasantness, I’ll see that every child in the store gets a free balloon and a candy cane.”
He signaled to one of the floorwalkers, a pleasant young man dressed in a red vest and bow tie. “Follow this gentleman,” Matt announced, “and he’ll hand out the gifts. Meanwhile, Mrs. Claus will take a short break. She’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
Sherrie felt a quiver in the region of her stomach. She followed Matt as he threaded his way through the crowd, and rehearsed her defense. He said nothing as led her into his office, but seated himself at his desk and waited for her to stand in front of him.
She felt a spark of resentment when she saw the reprimand in his expression. He was beginning to make her feel like a second-grader hauled up in front of the principal.
“Perhaps, Miss Latimer,” he said, his voice heavy with exasperation, “you would be kind enough to explain why you felt it necessary to manhandle one of my valued customers?”
Sherrie lifted her chin. “That valued customer was about to demolish Donna. I felt it necessary to remove the child from the platform to prevent serious damage to the merchandise.”
He stared at her for so long she wondered if he’d understood what she’d said. Finally he cleared his throat. “I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said, clasping his hands as if in prayer, “but who the devil is Donna?”
“Blitzen’s partner, of course.”
He looked at her blankly.
“You know,” Sherrie said, allowing a tiny note of impatience to enter her voice. “Donna and Blitzen. Santa’s reindeer?”
He still looked at her as if she’d suddenly appeared from outer space.
She placed her hands on the desk, leaned forward and pronounced each word as if she were translating a foreign language. “You have two reindeer in your Christmas display. I call them Donna and Blitzen. Had I not removed that brat from the platform, Blitzen would have been looking for a new mate.”
A look of apprehension slowly dawned on Matt’s face. “I see,” he said weakly.
Sensing that she was getting through to him at last, she straightened up. “I didn’t hurt the child. He was out of control, and upsetting the other children. I did what I thought was necessary to restore the peace.”
Matt nodded. “I sympathize with your predicament, Miss Latimer. It might have been more prudent, however, to have let the child’s mother deal with him.”
“The child’s mother,” Sherrie said grimly, “was nowhere to be found. If she can’t be bothered to discipline the child, she must learn to accept the consequences. In my opinion, women like that shouldn’t have children if they can’t accept the responsibility.”
She got the feeling she might have said too much as Matt’s face darkened. “That’s beside the point. We have to remember that our customers are the reason we are in business. Without them, we would not have a Blanchard’s Department Store.”
“Yes, but—”
“In situations like this,” Matt went on firmly, “we must hold on to our temper and do our utmost to soothe ruffled feathers. Throwing the child off the platform was not the best way to handle things, no matter how much he might have deserved it. I must ask you to use more restraint in the future, if you want to keep your job.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him where to stuff his job. “I was hired to talk to the children and listen to their Christmas wishes,” she said stiffly. “I did not expect to act as nursemaid, baby-sitter or disciplinarian, nor did I expect to be subjected to harassment, ridicule or abuse, all of which has been directed at me in the past two days.”
Matt sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “I had an idea the job might be too much for you. If you remember, I did warn you that it was a tough job for a woman. Perhaps I could rustle up a couple of elves to help out.”
“In my opinion, Mr. Blanchard, this would be a tough job for that marine sergeant you were looking for.” She puffed out her breath. She had promised Tom she would do this job. She would do her best to see it through for his sake, certainly not for the stuffed shirt who sat glowering at her across his too-tidy desk.
Softening her tone with difficulty, she added, “That doesn’t mean I can’t handle it. There’s no need to hire elves. I apologize for losing my patience. I can assure you, it won’t happen again.”
She waited while he sat in silence, apparently torn by indecision. Miserably she wondered how she was going to explain to Tom that she botched the job after less than two days.
She jumped when Matthew Blanchard suddenly looked up. His eyes looked very blue, and very direct. “Miss Latimer,” he said quietly, “everyone around here calls me Matt. I would appreciate it if you would do the same.”
She could feel tiny ripples of awareness course down her back. For some reason she really wished she was wearing something other than the frumpy Mrs. Claus costume. She had the distinct feeling that when she spoke, her voice would sound about an octave too high. “Does that mean I’m still Mrs. Claus?”
Matt sighed, as if he had just made an earth-shattering decision. “If you’re really sure you want to be harassed and abused for the next month, the job is still yours.”
He didn’t have to sound quite so enthusiastic about it, Sherrie thought gloomily. If he knew how tough it had been for her to step down and apologize, he wouldn’t be nearly so condescending. “I’ll manage,” she said, her voice deceptively meek. “Thank you, Mr. Blanchard.”
“Matt,” he reminded her.
Again she felt the shiver of pleasure down her spine. How, she wondered, could he possibly have this effect on her, when she found him so infuriating?
“I think I’d find it easier to call you Matt,” she said carefully, “if you’d stop calling me Miss Latimer.”
He didn’t quite smile, but she had the feeling that one lurked behind the firm line of his mouth. The thought made the ripples travel faster.
“I’ll do my best,” he murmured. “Now, as long as we’ve got that settled, you’d better get back to your chair. There’s probably a hundred kids waiting for you by now.”
“God, I hope not,” Sherrie murmured fervently. “By the time Christmas gets here I might not be needing the gray hair. I’ll have enough of my own.”
She thought she heard him chuckle as she closed the door behind her but she couldn’t be sure. She only knew that she would give anything to hear Matthew Blanchard laugh out loud, and to be the one who caused it.
The sooner she started work on her quest for Lucy’s mother, the better, she told herself as she walked through the department store. Matthew Blanchard did strange things to her senses.
If he wasn’t quite so pompous and patronizing, she might even be tempted to forget her convictions about men in general. And that would be a disastrous mistake. Horrified with her treacherous mind, she hurried back to her seat in the Christmas display.
All that afternoon, when she wasn’t chatting to the children, Sherrie racked her brains trying to come up with a suitable candidate for Lucy’s mother.
What she really needed, she decided, was more information about Matthew Blanchard. Since he would be a primary factor in the success of her plan, she needed to know what kind of woman might appeal to him.
The line of children had abated and her shift was almost over when Sherrie saw her impervious boss heading in her direction with Lucy in tow. Apparently his daughter was checking up on her request.
Sherrie smiled when the serious little girl climbed onto her lap. The child looked enchanting in a pleated red tartan skirt worn over white tights. The ensemble was completed with a white sweater, decorated with an appliquéd black Scottish terrier. Someone knew how to dress a child, Sherrie thought as she settled the child into the crook of her arm.
“Hello, Lucy,” she said, “It’s very nice to see you again.”
Lucy glanced over at her father, who stood a few feet away, watching his daughter with a worried expression on his face. After a moment’s hesitation, Matt stepped up to the platform and said in an urgent voice, “It’s pretty quiet out here now. Could you keep an eye on her for a few minutes? I have an important call to make.”
Sherrie nodded, wondering what could be important enough to make him leave his daughter in her charge. Considering his opinion of her capabilities, she thought sourly, he was taking quite a chance.
“Did you find a mommy yet?” Lucy asked, after her father strode away.
Sherrie shook her head, hating the disappointment it caused in the child’s big blue eyes. “I haven’t had much time to look around yet, sweetheart. We are looking for a very special lady, here.”
Lucy dug her hands into her lap. “We just want someone to love us,” she said, in a small voice.
“I know, honey, and I will find that special lady, I promise. But it might take me a little while.”
“Will you find her before Christmas?”
“I’ll do my best,” Sherrie said warily, “but I can’t really promise. It might take me longer than that. You want to be sure we have the right mommy, don’t you?”
Lucy nodded. She was silent for a moment or two, then looked earnestly up at Sherrie. “We need a mommy to cook the dinner for Christmas.”
“You do?” Sherry smiled. “Who usually cooks your dinner?”
“Mrs. Halloway. She lives in our house and cooks the dinner for us.”
Mrs. Halloway was most likely the person who had dressed Lucy in that adorable outfit. Sherrie felt a small twinge of anxiety. Had Matt already chosen his next wife? If so, Lucy obviously wasn’t happy about it. “Well, I’m sure Mrs. Halloway can cook you a lovely Christmas dinner,” she said carefully. “Just like a mommy.”
