here came C. J. Hamilton, unwilling to see where his priorities should lie, when to Jessica the entire equation was simple arithmetic.
“You are exactly the kind of parent I’m trying to avoid this year. You can’t buy and sell the affections of a child, like they’re some kind of tech stock.” She put her cup in the sink, then wheeled on him. “Invest time, Mr. Hamilton, not money, and you’ll get better results.”
He rose, facing her now, his frustration level clearly raised a few notches. “Listen, Mrs. Claus, you—”
“Patterson.”
“You don’t know my story, so quit trying to tell me the end. Twenty-four hours ago, I was a childless bachelor. Now I’m an instant father, and it’s not going so well. I can’t afford the time to hang around this dinky little town, hoping for a miracle breakthrough. I have to get back to work.”
Jessica shook her head. Why had she ever found this man attractive? He was clearly all frosting and no substance. “That’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever heard. A good father—”
“Don’t tell me about good fathers,” C.J. interrupted. “I know all about bad ones, and in my opinion, the best way to be a good one is to do the exact opposite of a bad father.”
He didn’t get it and she didn’t have time to do pop psychology in her kitchen. Another wave of sympathy for Sarah ran through Jessica, urging her to stay in town, to go along with C.J.’s plan, if only for the sake of the child.
No. She would not be dissuaded. She’d pack up a box of wrapped toys and send them over to LuAnn’s house, with a little note saying “Merry Christmas from Mrs. Claus.” That way she avoided C.J. Hamilton and his crazy ideas about parenting but still brought a little special something to Sarah’s holiday.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” She took his coffee mug and put it in the sink, hoping he’d get the hint and just leave. “What you need, Mr. Hamilton, is a counselor, a mediator. Not me.”
C.J. crossed to her, and she instantly became aware of his cologne. Slightly musky, with a hint of pine. He could have been a Christmas present himself—if only what was inside the box was as nice as the outside. “I need you and I need a miracle. Everyone I’ve talked to says you’re the woman who can make that happen. What’ll it take to convince you?”
She searched his gaze. “You being serious about being a father.”
“I am serious.”
“Then prove it. And hang around in Riverbend until Sarah is ready leave. Give her some time to grieve, to get used to you and to this new situation. Then take her to California. Give the girl a little stability before you yank her out of her world.”
“I have a job—”
“Yes, you do. And it’s called Father. Everything else takes a backseat.” Oh, how she wanted to slug him, to shake him. Anything to make him see what a precious gift he’d been given and how he was blowing it already.
C.J. ran a hand through his hair again, something which only seemed to make him more attractive rather than less. He spun away from her, paced a few steps to the sink, then back. “You’re right. I’ll stay in Riverbend as long as I can, but on one condition.” He approached her, his gaze holding a hint of a dare.
Desire tightened in Jessica’s gut. A crazy feeling. She barely knew this man, had nothing in common with him, and five seconds ago had been on the brink of slugging him. Her attraction to him was nothing more than misplaced wanderlust.
“What do you mean, one condition?” she asked.
“You give something back.”
“You can’t bargain with me. I’m just giving you some advice.”
He took another step closer. She inhaled the scent of his cologne again, watched his blue eyes. Wondered for a fleeting second what it would be like to kiss him. To have a man hold her again, love her, wrap her against his chest and make her feel safe. Fill that empty space in her bed, her heart, her life.
“This town needs you,” C.J. said, “and I need you. I’ll stay in Riverbend, but only if you do, too.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, backing up a step, away from those eyes, from their nearly hypnotic power that dimmed her common sense. She backed up until she hit the solid, sane, ordinary edge of the table. “I’ve already bought my ticket and I’m going, whether you or anyone else likes it.”
“Didn’t you just say that children should come first?”
“Well, yes, but I meant your own.”
“From what I’ve heard, the people around here consider you a Christmas staple for their children. You give them the magic, that little extra something in the season. Without Mrs. Claus, they say, Christmas in Riverbend just won’t be the same. So I’m asking you to hang up that bikini—” he paused long enough to take a breath, and she wondered if he was picturing her in said swimsuit, and what kind of image he was seeing “—and get out your red suit.”
“If you can prove to me that there is one ounce of Christmas spirit left in this town, then—” she drew in a breath, knowing she was crazy for even letting this thought pass by her lips but letting it go anyway because some tiny part of her still had hope, in the children, the people of Riverbend “—then I’ll consider staying.”
“Thank you,” C.J. said, the relief so clear she could almost see the weight of stress lift from his shoulders. “You’ve just—”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She held up a finger. “Because if I do stay, and that’s a big if, there’s one other thing Riverbend is going to need to make this Christmas perfect.”
“If it’s a reindeer, I have one on its way. If you want a twelve-foot tree, I’ll call the arborist tomorrow. A giant—”
“No, none of those.” Jessica drew in a breath. It was about time she quit the solo act. And besides, she had no doubt Mr. Get-Out-of-Town-Fast C. J. Hamilton would turn her down before the first snowflake fell on Riverbend. “What we really need in this town is a new Mr. Claus.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE WIDE BLUE EYES regarded C.J. with suspicion. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Of course I do. Done it a hundred times.” He picked up one of the—what the heck were they called anyway?—multicolored doohickeys on the table and hoped his daughter couldn’t tell he was lying through his teeth.
Normally he wasn’t a man given to lying, but then again, he wasn’t normally a man used to being a father, either. He’d hoped to show up in town, get Jessica Patterson’s help and then wham-bam, win over his daughter, thereby starting his new vocation off on the right foot, making the rest a piece of cake.
Clearly, he’d seen Little Orphan Annie one too many times.
Thus far, Jessica had refused to cooperate—okay maybe his idea had been a little crazy—and had thrown out her own crazy idea about him playing the big jolly Mr. to her Mrs., then herded him out of her house, telling him to go see his daughter.
Which
