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?”
