she asked, “Who’s got a beard that’s long and white?”
The children responded as a chorus: “Santa’s got a beard that’s long and white.”
It was an upbeat and catchy tune with call-and-response lyrics that made it easy for the kids who didn’t know the words to sing along anyway, and Bailey found his booted foot tapping against the floor along with the music.
The young audience was completely caught up in the song, and he was reluctant to interrupt. But when Mrs. Claus asked, “Who very soon will come our way?” it seemed like an appropriate time to step out from behind the curtain.
“Santa very soon will...”
The response of the chorus faded away as the singers noticed that Santa was, in fact, here now. Several clapped, others pointed and many whispered excitedly to their neighbors.
“And here he is,” Mrs. Claus said, then smiled warmly at him and gestured for him to take a seat.
Bailey nodded as he made his way to the chair. He was too nervous to smile back, although she probably couldn’t tell if he was or wasn’t smiling behind the bushy mustache that hung over his mouth anyway.
He settled into his seat as the leader announced that the young Tiger Scouts would get to visit with Santa first. There were craft tables at the far end of the room for groups waiting to be called and refreshments available.
Bailey felt his palms grow clammy again as the kids lined up, but it didn’t take him long to realize that his sister-in-law had been right: the kids knew what they were doing. In fact, most of them didn’t expect much from him beyond listening to their wishes and offering them a “Merry Christmas.”
There were a lot of requests for specific toys and new video games. A couple of requests for puppies and kittens, building blocks and board games, hockey skates or ballerina slippers. Some of the kids asked questions, wanting to know such random facts as “who’s your favorite reindeer?” or “how old is Rudolph?”
He gave vague responses, so as not to contradict anything else they might have been told by their parents, and he was careful not to make any promises, assuring each child only that he would do his best to make their wishes come true.
And if he was a little stiff and unnatural, his supposed wife was the complete opposite—warm and kind and totally believable. She did more than move the line along and hand out candy canes. She seemed to instinctively know what to say and do to put the little ones at ease.
He was about halfway through the Bear Scouts and finally starting to relax into his role when a scowling boy climbed into his lap.
Bailey, anticipating one of the usual requests, was taken aback when the boy said, “Christmas sucks.”
“Yeah,” Bailey agreed. “Sometimes it does.”
Mrs. Claus gasped and the boy’s eyes immediately filled with tears.
“You’re not s’posed to agree,” the child protested. “You’re s’posed to tell me that it’s gonna be okay.”
Since Bailey didn’t know what it was, he didn’t feel he should make any such promises. But he belatedly acknowledged that he shouldn’t have responded the way he did, either. Being called out by the child was only further proof that taking his brother’s place as Santa had been a bad idea.
“Now, Santa,” Mrs. Claus chided. “I told you not to take your grumpy mood out on the children or I’ll have to put you on the naughty list.”
This threat served to both distract and intrigue the little boy, who eyed her with rapt fascination.
“I’m sorry, Owen,” she continued, speaking directly to the child now. “Santa’s a little out of sorts today because I warned him that he has to cut down on the cookies if he wants to fit down the chimneys on Christmas Eve.”
Then she sent Bailey a pointed look that had him nodding in acknowledgment of her claim as he rubbed his padded belly. “I really like gingerbread,” he said, in a conspiratorial whisper to the boy his “wife” had called Owen. “But I definitely don’t want to end up on the naughty list.”
“Can she do that?” Owen asked.
He nodded again, almost afraid to do otherwise. “So tell me, Owen, is there anything Santa can do to help make the holidays happier for you?”
“Can you make Riley not move to Bozeman?” he asked hopefully.
This time Bailey did shake his head. “I’m sorry.”
The child’s gaze shifted toward Mrs. Claus again. “Can she do it?” Because apparently the boy believed Mrs. Claus not only had authority over her husband but greater magical powers, too.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
Owen sighed. “Then maybe you could leave a PKT-79 under my tree at Christmas and I can give it to Riley, so that he’ll have something to remember me by.”
It wasn’t the first request for a PKT-79, and though Bailey still had no idea what it was, he was touched by the child’s request for the gift to give to someone else.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Santa told him. “Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah,” Owen said, his tone slightly less glum. “Merry Christmas.”
Mrs. Claus held out a candy cane to the boy.
Owen paused to ask her, “You’ll make sure Santa can get down my chimney, won’t you?”
“You bet I will,” she promised, with a wink and a smile for the boy.
Bailey paid more attention after that, to avoid another slipup. When all the children had expressed their wishes to Santa, he and his wife wished everyone a Merry Christmas and headed backstage again.
By the time he made it to the dressing room, Bailey was more than ready to shed the red coat and everything it represented, but Mrs. Claus walked into the room right behind him.
Closing the door firmly at her back, she faced him with her hands on her hips. “I don’t know why anyone would ask someone with such an obviously lousy disposition to play Santa, but you have no right to ruin Christmas for the kids who actually look forward to celebrating the holiday.”
Bailey already felt guilty enough for his unthinking response to Owen, but he didn’t appreciate being taken to task—again—by a stranger, and instinctively lashed out. “A lecture from my loving wife? Now I really do feel like we’re married.”
“I’d pity any woman who married you,” she shot back.
His ready retort stuck in his throat when she took off the granny glasses and removed the wig, causing her long blond hair to tumble over her shoulders, effecting an instant and stunning transformation.
Mrs. Claus was a definite hottie.
Too bad she was also bossy and annoying. And...vaguely familiar looking, he realized.
She
