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Betting On Santa
Debra Salonen
Enjoy the dreams, explore the emotions, experience the relationships.The gift of fatherhood! Tessa Jamison isn’t leaving Texas until she finds what she came for: the father of her sister’s two-year-old son. And the stand-in Santa at the local church bazaar could be the man she’s looking for. Cole Lawry seems an unlikely candidate for instant daddy.What’s more, the sexy businessman and consummate poker player insists he’s not a father – never has been, never plans to be. Until Tessa calls his bluff. Which means gambling everything she’s got. Including her heart.
“You think this little boy is mine?”
Cole stared at the profile of the child asleep on his aunt’s shoulder. “That’s a pretty serious charge. Do you have some kind of proof?”
Tessa let out a sigh, “None. But I have a DNA kit in my purse. And just to be clear, I’m not accusing you of anything.”
He shook his head. “If your sister didn’t tell you about me, how did you get my name?”
“Her diary. I brought it along and I’d be happy to show you the passage that put you at the top of my list. Later. After I get Joey in bed, maybe?”
Before he could answer, she said, “If I’ve made a mistake, we’ll leave in the morning. No hassle, I promise. I’m not trying to pin Joey’s paternity on anybody. I only want to do the right thing for my nephew. I know what it’s like to grow up without a father.”
Grow up without a father. Something he wouldn’t wish on anybody – especially not a sweet kid like Joey who grabbed your heart with both fists and didn’t let go.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
As a child, Debra wanted to be an artist. She saved her allowance to send away for a “Learn To Draw” kit, but when her mother mistook Deb’s artful rendition of a horse for a cow, Deb turned to her second love – writing.
Debra’s first published romance novel was released in 2000. Since her first sale, she has tackled many challenging, provocative subjects in her stories: blended families, ageing parents, the death of a spouse, catastrophic illness and divorce, child abduction, fertility issues and adoption. She was recently honoured as Romantic Times BOOKreviews’ 2006 Series Storyteller of the Year.
Dear Reader,
I was born into a family of gamblers. My mother used to say that her father would have bet on whether or not the sun would come up the next day…if he could get the right odds.
When I was invited to participate in a series about a group of friends who get together for weekly poker games, I didn’t hesitate to dust off my pack of cards and jump in. But I knew I needed a refresher course, so I turned to friends Dave and Sandra Meek – and the other players who make up their own kind of “Wild Bunch.” Thanks for letting me leave a few dollars ahead. I also have many fond memories of my parents and their friends gathered around the kitchen table with stacks of red, white and blue plastic chips, the sound of cards being shuffled and the friendly razzing as fortunes rose and fell. I felt exactly the same when the “Wild Bunch” started to come to life. I love these guys, and, win or lose, they’re there for each other.
The decision to set this series in a small town near San Antonio turned out to be most fortuitous for me, since that meant I could call upon friends Karen and Jim Hale for the inside scoop. Karen not only devoted several days to playing tour guide, but she made sure we ate authentic Tex-Mex and barbecue, Boracho beans and Shiner Bock – I can’t wait to return. Karen also proved instrumental in helping me understand what went wrong in Cole’s real estate deal. Thanks again for the grand, Texas-size hospitality.
Debra
Romantic Times BOOKreviews’ 2006 Series Storyteller of the Year
Betting on Santa
DEBRA SALONEN
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my fellow TEXAS HOLD ’EM authors – I knew from the start this wasn’t a gamble, because you’re all the best!
And to Victoria –
for just the right hints at just the right time.
CHAPTER ONE
Thursday, November 29, 2007
“SMILE, SANTA.”
Cole tried. It wasn’t easy with Sally Knutson on his knee and her three cats wreaking havoc on his costume. The gray one was tangled in the glossy white beard, batting at the lush strands. The calico perched on his shoulder had every needle-tipped claw hooked solidly through the red velvet, his undershirt and his flesh. The slightest movement on Cole’s part meant instant pain. The third—the “shy” one—was wedged between its owner’s ample bosom and Cole’s two-pillow padding.
His mother hadn’t said anything about hazard pay when she volunteered him to fill in for Ray Hardy, the man who truly was Santa to most of the citizens of River Bluff, Texas. A fixture at the Congressional Church’s annual holiday bazaar and toy drive, Ray hadn’t missed a night—until he slipped in the shower that morning. Now the man was facing hip surgery.
“Look at the camera, Sugar Baby,” Sally cooed.
Cole assumed she was talking to the feline on his shoulder since Sally was his mother’s age—and about forty pounds overweight, if his aching leg was any indication.
“Any time, Melody,” Cole urged, a bead of sweat threatening to turn into a rivulet down the side of his cheek. Their Hill Country weather had become oppressively muggy thanks to the tropical moisture out in the Gulf. It was almost December, and Cole was ready for some cooling. Especially if he was going to be stuck in a Santa suit for who knew how long.
“Sorry,” the high school senior said, looking up so quickly her green felt hat nearly fell off. “The battery is struggling to keep up. I should have had Dad bring the other rechargeables.”
He wondered if Ray had these kinds of problems, and if so how the man had managed to survive all these years. Not only was Cole’s patience exhausted, his butt was sore. The ornate chair that usually sat behind the pulpit wasn’t made for comfort, he’d decided after the first half hour. But it looked impressive on the raised “snow-covered” dais situated in one corner of the church parking lot, which, with the help of hundreds of strands of twinkle lights, had been transformed into River Bluff’s version of the North Pole.
“It’s green,” Melody said, moving into position. “Look at me, Sal. Say, ‘catnip.’”
The only way to simulate a smile when you were wearing a one-piece beard and mustache was to flex your cheek muscles in an exaggerated grin. Unfortunately, this made Cole’s beard rise, which made the cat on his lap pounce, which spooked the cat on his shoulder.
“Somebody moved,” Melody accused, fiddling with the camera. “Stay put. We have to try another.”
Sally shifted her weight to reposition the cat on his shoulder, and Cole’s ankle twisted slightly. A shaft of pain radiated upward from his old injury. One that had never completely healed right—a legacy of a holiday he preferred to forget.
“Am I squishing y’all, honey?” Sally asked, apparently hearing his swallowed moan. “You need a bit more padding on your tushy, like Ray. Wasn’t it a shame about his fall?”
“Terrible,” Cole said through clenched teeth. “Mom said he’s had a big crowd here every night since the bazaar opened.” And the church’s holiday festival ran through the middle of December.
Sally disentangled the tabby’s paws from Cole’s beard. “True. I was here last night and gave up after about an hour. The girls aren’t patient.”
He could tell. The “girl” on his shoulder was using his costume for a scratching pad. “Um, Sal, could you do something about this one, too?” he said, turning his chin to point.
The “shy” one suddenly took a swipe at his beard, pulling it down a good inch so the attached mustache covered his lip.
“Okay, everybody, let’s try again,” Melody called. “Say Merry Christmas.”
“Murway Kwemat,” Cole mumbled, eyes watering.
“Oh, this is cute, Sally,” Melody exclaimed, studying her camera. “I think it’s a keeper.”
Sally got up, a cat under each arm. She adroitly hopped off the raised platform and walked to where Melody was standing. The third cat scaled the side of Cole’s head, finding purchase in his beard, plush red hat and scalp.
“Ow!” he howled, reaching up clumsily in his oversize white gloves to try to dislodge the beast. “Sally, help.”
She shoved the other two pets at Melody, who dropped the compact digital camera. Melody’s cry was muffled by Sally’s loud, “Ooh, poor Sugar, did you think Mama was going to leave you with the big, mean stranger?”
“Mean? What’d I do?” Cole complained, rubbing his head in a way that made his costume shift back and forth. He had to straighten his beard before he could spit out several cat hairs.
“You’re not a cat person, Cole. Animals can tell.”
He would have tried to defend himself but she didn’t give him a chance, instead hurrying back to where Melody was kneeling over the remains of her camera.
Cole checked his watch. Fortunately, Santa’s booth was due to close in ten minutes. He looked toward the candy-cane gate. Only one person in line. A stranger with a toddler on her hip. By the bemused expression on her face, she’d witnessed the entire spectacle. Cole was glad to have a fake beard to hide behind.
The woman looked to be about his age. Jeans, a belted leather jacket and an oversize purse apparently used to counterweight the toddler on her opposite hip. Cole guessed the boy’s age to be about two.
Not that Cole knew a lot about kids, but he’d learned a great deal after just one night as Santa. For instance, he now knew there was a difference between teething and mere drooling.
“Um…sorry. We’re experiencing technical difficulties,” he said. “Santa left his other—more efficient—elves at the North Pole.”
Melody suddenly burst into tears. Sally gave him a reproachful look that made him feel like a heel, and he lumbered off the dais. The toes of his size-fourteen boots—Ray’s boots—were stuffed with newspaper, which made walking a challenge. Plus, his balance was off because of the lopsided padding across his middle.
“Aw, Melody, I’m sorry. I was kidding. You’re doing great. It’s not your fault the camera won’t work.”
Sniffling, the girl picked up the small silver digital. She pressed what Cole assumed was the On button. Nothing happened.
Melody shook her head. “It’s shot, but luckily the photos I took tonight will be okay. I can take out the memory card and print them on my computer at home.”
Cole said a silent thank-you before looking at the last customer in line. “Sorry about this. We could probably have a new camera by tomorrow. I’d like to tell you the real Santa will be back by then, but I doubt it.”
The woman looked at her son, who didn’t resemble her in the least. The child was a towhead with wavy hair that curled around the collar of his denim jacket. Even in the dim light of the Christmas bulbs looped around the poles, Cole could tell that the boy’s mother was beautiful. Shoulder-length, dark auburn hair pulled off her face with a simple clip. Wide-set eyes that were blue or green—far lighter than he’d expect with her dark coloring.
When she turned to face him, he had a momentary sense of déjà vu. Had they met before? Was she from around here or maybe someone he’d sold a house?
No. He definitely would have remembered a face like hers.
“I have a camera. If you wouldn’t mind, I could take Joey’s photo with you and have a copy printed later. I’d still pay, of course.”
He liked her. Firm, direct and businesslike, but feminine, too.
“Um…” He looked around for someone to ask if there were rules against do-it-yourself photography, but Sally had moved off to pack her cats into their lavish pink leather carrier. Melody was on her cell phone, no doubt complaining to her dad, Cole’s poker buddy, Ed, about Santa’s lack of empathy with her broken camera. Cole’s mother was probably helping at the refreshment booth where a few stragglers still lingered. “Why not?”
The woman set down the boy—Joey, she’d called him—and dug a camera out of her bag. It was much more elaborate than the one Melody had been using.
“I’m going to take your picture while you sit on Santa’s lap, sweetie,” she said in a soft voice, as she led Joey to the platform and waited while Cole climbed into his chair. “Can you do that for Auntie Tessa?”
Auntie?
Cole settled back against the wide, hard throne, subtly shifting his padding to make room for the boy, who didn’t look too sure about this whole thing.
“Hi, there, Joey. How are you tonight?”
The boy’s big blue eyes grew even rounder and he appeared to be holding his breath. Cole had wanted kids, had imagined raising a boy just like this one. But Crystal had insisted they weren’t ready. “We need to establish ourselves financially first,” she’d said.
What she didn’t say was if that didn’t happen she’d kick his butt to the proverbial curb faster than a Texas tornado could demolish a mobile home.
He refocused his attention on the child on his knee, his uninjured left one this time. The boy was a featherweight compared to Sally, and Cole bounced him reassuringly, picking up speed as the child’s bottom lip started to curl outward.
“Um…what kinds of toys do you like, Joey? Trains? Bob the Builder? I’m a builder. Um, in the off-season,” he added, feeling like a complete idiot. “How ’bout a bike? I mean, trike. Would you like a tricycle for Christmas?”
Joey opened his mouth but no words came out. Cole was just happy the kid wasn’t bawling his expressive blue eyes out. Cole looked at the aunt for help and found her squatting a few feet away, snapping shot after shot.
“Smile, Joey. Your aunt looks like a real professional. I think she’s done this before.”
“Less bouncing, please.”
Cole felt his cheeks heat up. Duh.
He used this gloved finger to turn Joey’s chin his way. Giving the kid his most friendly, concerned smile, he said, “Just tell me what you want, Joey.”
“Mommy,” the little guy said.
Then, a second later, he threw up. All down the front of Cole’s brilliant white beard, red suit and wide black belt.
Chaos ensued.
Women appeared out of nowhere. Like an old-time magician, Joey’s aunt produced a plastic container filled with wet wipes from her purse and started cleaning the child up. Cole’s mother, whom he hadn’t seen since she helped him get into the bulky red suit, dashed to his side with a towel.
Joey sobbed.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” the woman said, comforting Joey after thrusting a glob of wet towelettes into Cole’s gloved hands. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s not your fault. I should have known we were trying to squeeze in too much.” She rocked the child back and forth.
As his cries subsided, she apologized to Cole. “I’m so sorry. The minute Joey spotted you he wanted to see Santa, and I thought it would be great to take a photo back to my mother. She’s with my sister. Joey’s mom. Who’s in the hospital,” she added under her breath.
“How sad,” Cole’s mother said. “There’s no good time to be sick, but it’s especially difficult during the holidays. Is it serious?”
The woman nodded, her lips pressed together as if fighting any outward display of emotion. Big Jim would have approved. His ex-father-in-law had once advised Cole that the key to selling real estate was to never let anyone past the outer wall. “Never let people know you’re emotionally invested. Show them your soft underbelly and they’ll gut you.”
Cole had been gutted—once.
He slid carefully off the chair and, as discreetly as possible, shook his beard into the towel his mother was holding.
The woman noticed, and immediately stooped to collect her purse, which she’d dropped to the pavement. “I’ll pay to have the suit cleaned.”
“Oh, don’t fret,” his mother said. “Don’t think for a minute this sweet child is the first to ever throw up on Santa. Ray—our usual Saint Nick—could tell you stories that would curl your hair.”
“I think I nailed him when I was six or seven, right, Mom?” Cole asked. “And I still got a train set that year.”
Before she could reply, the jaunty jingle of a cellular ring tone chimed. The stranger reached unerringly into an outer pocket of her Coach bag—one of his ex-wife’s favorite brands—and pulled out a high-tech-looking phone. Cole had always had the most up-to-date gizmos on the market when he’d been a Realtor. Connectivity meant opportunities. Opportunities meant money. Now, he didn’t even have a landline to his house.
“Excuse us a minute,” he said, nodding toward his mother to take their cleanup efforts behind the dais.
Tessa watched him amble away with a graceless gait that didn’t match his youthful voice. She knew by the musical tone that the caller was her mother. She also knew what Autumn’s question would be— “Did you find him? Did you find Cole Lawry?”
Tessa could have answered, “Yes, Mom, I’m looking right at him.” But that would have revealed more than she was ready to discuss in such a public setting. She flipped open the phone. “Hi, Mom. How’s Sunny?”
“The same as when you left. The doctor still hasn’t been in and nobody will tell me anything, but that’s not why I called. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry I lost my temper. I know you’re doing what you think is best and maybe you’re right. If that man is Joey’s father, then I guess he should be informed about Sunshine.”
