So? What did it matter? There was no way he was having a female—any female—play the part of Santa Claus.
Some things simply were. Santa Claus was a man, not a woman. He had a great big belly, not a size six waist. He wore a red costume and sported a white beard, and he didn’t have to lower his voice to fool anybody. Those were the things his customers had come to expect. It was a given, and he intended to give them what they wanted.
He, Jared Gillette, a mere businessman in middle America, was not about to trifle with tradition. Santa Claus was a legendary hero, idolized by young and old alike. Jared refused to take any kind of creative license with something of those proportions.
Still…he had experienced a glimmer of regret when he witnessed Nicki’s disappointment. If it was just the job….
He shook his head, staunchly reminding himself he had made the right decision, even if her file had verified that she’d been a virtual hit with both parents and kids. Too bad. Some things were simply not meant to be.
Glancing at the clock, he realized everyone had gone home, and he would be closing up the store again. Just him and security. Just as usual.
Pulling on his overcoat, he walked over to the window. The street traffic was almost nonexistent. It had started snowing again and, if the frost on the window was any indication, the temperature had dropped drastically. Grabbing his briefcase, he headed for the elevator, estimating there’d be just enough time to run home to change.
On the first floor in the subdued lighting of the empty store, Joe, the old codger of a security guard, nodded and held open the front door. “You workin’ late again, boss?”
“It’s Christmas,” Jared explained unnecessarily, never breaking his stride.
“I know, I know. Busiest time of the year.” Joe propped the door open with his shoulder, and hitched up the pants on his blue uniform.
Pausing on the sidewalk, Jared yanked his collar up against the bitter cold. He hadn’t gone twenty paces in the direction of the parking ramp when he saw her—Nicki Holliday—standing at the bus stop, her back against the wind. In a light summer-weight jacket, she shivered, both hands jammed into her pockets.
For a moment it occurred to him that he should nod and just keep walking. Then she looked up and saw him. Their gazes caught and held. Jared’s brisk pace imperceptibly slowed. Something about the way she stood there, all alone, with snow dusting her hair, twisted his heart. “Miss Holliday? You’re still here?”
She nodded, hunching her shoulders. “I guess I stayed too long in your office. I missed my bus.”
He pulled back his sleeve to check his watch. “The seven o’clock bus isn’t scheduled for at least another forty minutes. If it comes at all. Weekends are kind of hit or miss.”
“Okay, well—” Nicki’s teeth chattered “—thanks for the warning. I’ll figure out something.”
She didn’t say one word about their run-in, and that in itself was unsettling. Jared took one step past her, thought better of it, and turned on his heel. “Listen, why don’t I give you a ride home?”
“Oh, no. Forget that. I’m fine.”
“Fine? You’re practically blue.”
The wind gusted, plastering the thin satin jacket against Nicki’s shoulders. “No, it’s okay.” She tried to smile. “Hey, I’m Santa Claus. I’ve called the North Pole and they’ve assured me I’ll have a sleigh gliding by momentarily. I’ll grab a little milk and cookies at the diner down the street and wait. If they’re late, it’s because Donder’s probably acting up again. He does that.”
He didn’t reply, only stared at her, vaguely wondering if she even had a home to go to. Maybe she was a nutcase.
“Ho, ho, ho,” she feebly joked, “then off I’ll go. Into my sleigh, and over the snow.”
With an inexplicable surge of impatience, Jared dismissed her rhyme and looked over her shoulder, down the street. Every storefront was dark, and the diner she mentioned was a good two blocks away. “Look. It’s dark, it’s cold, and you’re half frozen. If you start telling me you actually live at the North Pole, I’m going to think you’re delirious to boot.”
She laughed, a tinkly little sound that reverberated through the darkness. “Okay. I can assure you I’m not delirious, and I don’t live at the North Pole. What you just witnessed is my kid-appeal. I wanted to wedge it in while I had your full attention.”
She was making references to the ill-fated job, and Jared pursed his lips, choosing to ignore them. “Miss Holliday, I insist on driving you home.”
“No. That’s okay.”
“Do you realize,” he asked, “that I’m trying to do you a favor? Perhaps because I feel somewhat responsible for you missing your ride.”
She stopped shivering and gazed at him, with liquid, clear blue eyes, as if she were shocked he admitted any culpability at all. “Why? Because you altered the Santa ‘clause’ of my job?”
He didn’t reply. “Come on,” he ordered, “my car’s right inside the parking garage.”
She stayed rooted to the spot.
He turned back, lifting his eyebrows with the unspoken question.
“I don’t want to put you out,” she said.
It struck him how there was not a hint of malice in her voice. He’d expected it, guessed he even deserved it. She stood there, looking a little forlorn, her hair all tousled, her cheeks chapped from the bitter wind, and simply met his gaze. Yet there wasn’t a bit of recrimination in her features.
This woman, ephemeral as the snow, was unsettling. She preyed on his protective instincts, making him want to toss a warm coat around her shoulders and press a hot chocolate into her hand. Even in this bitter cold, he’d rather idle with her on a street corner than leave her here.
“You aren’t putting me out,” he said too softly, aware the wind pulled at his words and carried them away. He hesitated, raised his voice, and assumed the stance of a dictator. “You’re either going to come with me, or I’m going to stay here with you, until I’m sure you’re on that bus.”
“If it doesn’t come at all, you’re in for a long wait.”
“Come on,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his car keys. “Let’s go.”
Without any pretense or further objection, she lowered her head into the wind and followed him.
It was a mere fifty feet to his Lincoln, the doors were unlocked and the engine running before they entered the parking ramp. Thank God for remote control. He could get a little heat into her, get another color other than blue onto her lips.
“Thank you,” she said humbly as he held the door for her.
“It isn’t a courtesy,” he snapped. “Your fingers are probably too frozen to open the door.”
She slipped into the passenger seat, then
