Dawn Temple - Moonlight and Mistletoe

“Before long, St. Nick’s generosity became legendary. To this day, people exchange gifts to honor his memory. We’ve turned the legend of St. Nicholas into Santa Claus, making him a symbol of the holiday spirit.”

“Cool story, but Santa’s still just some made up dude in a funny suit.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Kyle nodded, as though swayed by Tommy’s answer. They sat side by side for a minute, legs swinging. “So, what’s the deal with all the name tags?”

He sensed more than saw Tommy’s shoulder lift in a don’t-know-why-I-bother shrug. “Making sure the little ones get what they want.”

“Cool,” he mimicked the boy’s earlier bored tone. “Know what that makes you?”

“What?”

“Santa Claus.”

“No way, man. That’s stupid.”

“Think about it. The world’s population is a couple of billion, right?”

“So?”

“So, it’s not possible for one person to distribute gifts to all those people. That’s why the real St. Nick isn’t just one man or woman or even one kid. Santa Claus is really hundreds-heck thousands, hundreds of thousands-of people, all working together to deliver the Christmas spirit.”

Tommy stared into the distance. Kyle could practically hear the cogs whirring in the kid’s brain. “So all the people who brought this stuff are Santas, too.”

“That’s the way I figure it.”

Dirt-colored hair rustled against the boy’s collar as he nodded his head. “That’s a good story, Mr.-”

“Anderson, but you can call me Kyle.” He extended his hand, and even though he knew the answer, he asked, “What’s yours?”

“Tommy. Tommy Hunter.” He slipped his small hand into Kyle’s and squeezed firmly.

“Pleasure to meet you, Tommy Hunter.”

The clang of church bells overlapped Kyle’s words. Tommy sprang to his feet, tucked the notepad under a pile of jigsaw puzzles and jumped to the ground.

“I gotta go, Mr. Kyle. We’re supposed to meet back at the bus at five.” The boy’s wide brown eyes shot over Kyle’s shoulder, his smile growing to show the hole where his left incisor used to be. “Bye, Miz Shayna. See you next week!” Waving frantically, the boy raced off.

Kyle craned his head over his shoulder. Shayna stood a few feet away, wearing that outrageously sexy red dress, her arms hugging her waist. Tears glistened in her golden-brown eyes, assuring him she’d heard a good portion of his talk with little Tommy.

Behind her, the two remaining volunteers counted the cash in the donation bucket. Someone had turned off the music, he realized distractedly as she closed the distance between them.

“That really was a great story, Kyle.” Despite her short stature, Shayna easily levered herself onto the tailgate beside him. “Where’d you learn it?”

“A, um, teacher told it one year, when some of the kids started spreading rumors that Santa wasn’t real.”

“How old were you?”

“About Tommy’s age, I guess. Eight. Maybe nine.”

“You see something of yourself in him.”

“Yeah. A little.”

The ladies at the table finished tallying the donations and called their goodbyes. Shayna waved back. The movement stirred her appealing vanilla scent. His mouth watered.

God, could this woman get any further under his skin?

To keep from reaching for her, from stretching her out in the back of this truck and finding out just how far into her skin he could get, he clutched the edge of the tailgate and stared straight ahead. All around them, the town was rolling up the streets and turning in, the quiet of the early evening a welcome contrast to the afternoon’s commotion.

His fingers began to cramp, but he didn’t release his grip on the tailgate. Maintaining his distance, keeping his cool, was crucial. If he crossed that line and touched her again, he wouldn’t be satisfied with a kiss.

“Actually, he reminds me of this kid who lived in the home-our home-for a few months. Curtis Devon. Curt was a scrapper, always ready, willing and able to throw the first punch.”

“That does sound like Tommy. Did you two get into trouble together?”

“No. Curt was a couple years younger than me. I usually ended up hauling him to the house after some bigger kids had kicked his butt.”

“What did your folks say about that?”

“My folks? Oh, I ah, wasn’t living at home at the time.”

Shayna’s brow rose, but thankfully, she didn’t pursue the whereabouts of his parents. “So what happened to Curt?”

“One night his dad got more drunk than usual and broke Curt’s nose and a couple ribs.”

“Poor baby. Was he okay?”

“Eventually.” Kyle’s fingers released the tailgate and furled into fists at his sides. Even after all these years, the memory still sparked a vicious anger. “That was the last time the old man ever laid a hand on his son again. I talked Curt’s caseworker into pressing charges. I even testified. The SOB got eight years.”

“I’ll bet that’s the real reason you became a lawyer. Sounds like the system worked that time and you must have been impressed by the lawyer who helped Curt escape his father.”

It was a damn fine theory, one Kyle had considered himself a time or two, not that he intended to tell her. She saw through him too easily as it was.

“Nah. It was the money.” He lightened his tone, hoping to steer the conversation to more comfortable ground. But Shayna apparently had other plans.

She put her hand on his knee and squeezed reassuringly. The electric spark, always there whenever they touched, hummed as an undercurrent to a powerful sense of support and kindness. “So, how long were you in the system?”

He should have known she’d piece together the truth he was trying to keep hidden.

She asked the question so softly, her words sounded like a natural element of sundown, as expected as the stars, so natural in fact, he never considered not answering her.

“My mom was a junkie, and my dad was a two-bit criminal. I was bounced in and out of foster homes for about ten years. Till I turned fifteen.”

“Fifteen? That’s awfully old for an adoption.”

“I wasn’t adopted. After the convenience-store thing, I finally realized that if I didn’t get away, I would end up like my old man, stealing cars and dealing. I started searching for a way out and learned about a scholarship to an exclusive boy’s school. I don’t look back.”

“We all look back. It’s only natural.” A crisp breeze blew across the darkening parking lot. Shayna shivered, her shoulder brushing his. Without conscious thought, he threw his arm around her and pulled her in close to his side.

“I saw you stick a wad of cash in the donation bucket,” she said softly against his chest. “Thanks.”

“Like you said, it’s important.”

After a couple minutes of pleasant silence, Shayna pulled away and turned, sitting sideways on the tailgate, her knee folded against the side of his thigh.

“I talked with a friend of mine today about the paperwork you brought. He…gave me quite a bit to think about. He agreed with you about talking with a lawyer before doing or saying anything I’d regret.”

“Smart friend.”

“Yeah, but I can’t help wishing he had agreed with me that it’s all a pile of malarkey, and I have every right to be pissed.”

“No one said you can’t be angry, Shayna. But you’ve got to find a way to work around your emotions and make logical decisions.”

“Yeah. Travis said that, too.”

Travis, husband to pregnant friend Lindy. Kyle had met them both at the ground breaking and again last night. Neither had bothered to hide their suspicions. Or their support for Shayna.