later.” She said nothing as she gathered up bits of colored paper. Jason picked up his sack and glanced inside. “There’s one more box in here.”
“It’s for Luke Hennessy. Chicken pox.”
He looked at the box, then back at her. Her hair curtained her face as she pulled a sticky candy cane from the carpet. “Where does he live?”
Still holding the candy, she stood up. Some might say he looked foolish, padded from chest to hips, wrapped in red and with his face half concealed by a curly white beard. Faith thought he’d never looked more wonderful. She walked to him to pull the beard down to his chin. Her arms went around him, her mouth found his.
Her kiss was as warm as it always was, full of hope and simple goodness. Desire raced through him and settled into sweet contentment. “Thank you.” She kissed him again in friendship. “He lives on the corner of Elm and Sweetbriar.”
He waited a moment until he was steady. “Can I get a cup of coffee when I get back?”
“Yeah.” She adjusted his beard again. “I’ll be next door.”
Chapter 7
He had to admit, it had given him a kick to walk through town. Kids flocked after him. Adults called out and waved. He was offered uncountable cookies. The biggest satisfaction had been the awe on the young Hennessy boy’s face. That had topped the wide-eyed shock of his mother when she’d opened the door to S. Claus.
Jason took his time walking back, strolling through the square. It was strange, he discovered, how easy it was to take on the personality of a set of clothes. He felt . . . well, benevolent. If anyone he’d ever worked with had seen him now, they’d have fallen into the snow in a dead faint. Jason Law had a reputation for being impatient, brutally frank and quick-tempered. He hadn’t won the Pulitzer for benevolence. Yet somehow, at the moment, he felt more satisfaction in the polyester beard and dime store bells than he did with all the awards he’d ever earned.
He was ho-hoing his way along when Clara stepped out of the five-and-dime. She and the little brunette at her side went off in peals of giggles.
“But you’re—”
One narrow-eyed stare from Jason did the trick. Cutting herself off, Clara cleared her throat and offered her hand. “How do you do, Santa?”
“I do very well, Clara.”
“That’s not Jake,” Marcie informed Clara. She stepped closer to try to recognize the face behind the puffs of white.
Enjoying himself, Jason sent her a wink. “Hello, Marcie.”
The brunette’s eyes widened. “How’d he know my name?” she whispered to her friend.
Clara covered another giggle with her hand. “Santa knows everything, don’t you, Santa?”
“I have my sources.”
“There isn’t any Santa really.” But Marcie’s grown-up sophistication was wavering.
Jason leaned over and flicked at the fluffy ball on top of her cap. “There is in Quiet Valley,” he told her, and nearly believed it himself. He saw Marcie stop looking beyond the beard and accept the magic. Deciding against pressing his luck, he continued on down the street.
It wasn’t easy for a fat man in a red suit to slip into a door inconspicuously, but Jason had had some experience. Once he was in the back room of Faith’s shop, he shed the Santa clothes. He wanted to do it again. As Jason slipped into his own slim slacks, he realized he hadn’t had so much fun in years. Part of it had been the look in Faith’s eyes, the way she’d warmed to him, if only briefly. Part of it had been the simple act of giving pleasure. How long had it been since he’d done something without an angle? On an assignment there was constant bargaining. You give me this, I’ll give you that. He’d had to toughen himself against sympathy, against compassion, to find the truth and report it. If his style had a hard edge, it was because he’d always gone for the story that demanded it. It had helped him forget. Now that he’d come home, it was impossible not to
“It’s for Luke Hennessy. Chicken pox.”
He looked at the box, then back at her. Her hair curtained her face as she pulled a sticky candy cane from the carpet. “Where does he live?”
Still holding the candy, she stood up. Some might say he looked foolish, padded from chest to hips, wrapped in red and with his face half concealed by a curly white beard. Faith thought he’d never looked more wonderful. She walked to him to pull the beard down to his chin. Her arms went around him, her mouth found his.
Her kiss was as warm as it always was, full of hope and simple goodness. Desire raced through him and settled into sweet contentment. “Thank you.” She kissed him again in friendship. “He lives on the corner of Elm and Sweetbriar.”
He waited a moment until he was steady. “Can I get a cup of coffee when I get back?”
“Yeah.” She adjusted his beard again. “I’ll be next door.”
Chapter 7
He had to admit, it had given him a kick to walk through town. Kids flocked after him. Adults called out and waved. He was offered uncountable cookies. The biggest satisfaction had been the awe on the young Hennessy boy’s face. That had topped the wide-eyed shock of his mother when she’d opened the door to S. Claus.
Jason took his time walking back, strolling through the square. It was strange, he discovered, how easy it was to take on the personality of a set of clothes. He felt . . . well, benevolent. If anyone he’d ever worked with had seen him now, they’d have fallen into the snow in a dead faint. Jason Law had a reputation for being impatient, brutally frank and quick-tempered. He hadn’t won the Pulitzer for benevolence. Yet somehow, at the moment, he felt more satisfaction in the polyester beard and dime store bells than he did with all the awards he’d ever earned.
He was ho-hoing his way along when Clara stepped out of the five-and-dime. She and the little brunette at her side went off in peals of giggles.
“But you’re—”
One narrow-eyed stare from Jason did the trick. Cutting herself off, Clara cleared her throat and offered her hand. “How do you do, Santa?”
“I do very well, Clara.”
“That’s not Jake,” Marcie informed Clara. She stepped closer to try to recognize the face behind the puffs of white.
Enjoying himself, Jason sent her a wink. “Hello, Marcie.”
The brunette’s eyes widened. “How’d he know my name?” she whispered to her friend.
Clara covered another giggle with her hand. “Santa knows everything, don’t you, Santa?”
“I have my sources.”
“There isn’t any Santa really.” But Marcie’s grown-up sophistication was wavering.
Jason leaned over and flicked at the fluffy ball on top of her cap. “There is in Quiet Valley,” he told her, and nearly believed it himself. He saw Marcie stop looking beyond the beard and accept the magic. Deciding against pressing his luck, he continued on down the street.
It wasn’t easy for a fat man in a red suit to slip into a door inconspicuously, but Jason had had some experience. Once he was in the back room of Faith’s shop, he shed the Santa clothes. He wanted to do it again. As Jason slipped into his own slim slacks, he realized he hadn’t had so much fun in years. Part of it had been the look in Faith’s eyes, the way she’d warmed to him, if only briefly. Part of it had been the simple act of giving pleasure. How long had it been since he’d done something without an angle? On an assignment there was constant bargaining. You give me this, I’ll give you that. He’d had to toughen himself against sympathy, against compassion, to find the truth and report it. If his style had a hard edge, it was because he’d always gone for the story that demanded it. It had helped him forget. Now that he’d come home, it was impossible not to
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