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  “I can’t tell you my favorite Christmas memory because I don’t have one.”

  “Oh, everyone has a favorite.” She trailed a hand over the box holding the Santa suit, knowing she was crazy for even considering what she was thinking, for staying here one second longer. “I don’t need to hear about every Christmas between when you were three and thirteen. Pick one.”

  “I’m not kidding, Jessica.” He glanced again out the window, then grabbed her suit off the hook and pressed it into her hands. “Can you just get ready?”

  “Not until you tell me.” Why was she delaying? Why wasn’t she running to her car? She was going to miss her flight at this rate.

  Yet curiosity burned inside her, a gnawing to know more. To know what C. J. Hamilton was keeping hidden.

  His gaze went to the window, then back at her, frustration clear on his features, but she waited, knowing with some instinct deep inside her that C.J. Hamilton held memories he’d never shared, or maybe had shared with very few people. And that sharing them with her would make all the difference—

  In helping to build that bridge with Sarah.

  She knew, because once upon a time, someone had done that with her.

  “I’ve never had a Christmas, all right?” C.J. said finally, his voice gruff as sandpaper. “I can’t remember a tree, anyone telling me Santa was on his way down the chimney. No waking up at the crack of dawn, to tear open a stack of gifts. For years I’d get up just in case, because, like an idiot, I believed, like lots of kids do, that Santa would come anyway, but there was never anything. After a while I got smart and I gave up looking.”

  Shock stunned her into silence. She’d expected a dozen different answers—none of them the one she’d heard.

  “Oh, C.J.,” Jessica said, dropping the Mrs. Claus suit onto her chair and going to him, her heart hurting for him. “Didn’t your grandparents or your parents—”

  “My mother died when I was a baby. My father had…other priorities, and that destroyed any other family relationships he might have had.” C.J. sank into one of the velvet chairs, his shoulders hunched forward. “After my mother died, my father went right back into the bachelor life, running around, staying out all night, forgetting he had a kid to raise. So I pretty much raised myself, because he was never there.

  “I understood what you said about living a life of insecurity because mine was a lot like that too. Only, not because my father didn’t keep a job—but because he blew his paychecks on liquor and women. When I was in college, he hit the lottery. Made him a rich man overnight. He tried to give me money, maybe out of guilt, but I wouldn’t take a dime. He got married for a second time, got divorced, then met Paula, who straightened him out, I think.”

  She knelt beside the chair. “You think?”

  “I haven’t spoken to my father in almost twenty years. At least not face-to-face.”

  Jessica gasped. “Why?”

  He met her gaze. “When I say I never had a Christmas, Jessica, I mean I never had a Christmas. No trees, no presents, nothing. My father either didn’t have the money or he forgot. By the time he got a clue, I was an adult and it was too late.” C.J. shook off the bitterness in his voice. “I tell myself it doesn’t matter. And when every December rolls around, I just pretend the holiday doesn’t exist. Living in California, it’s a little easier to do. When I was with Kiki, she was as unconventional as they came, and back then she had this whole thing against the commercialism of Christmas, so we didn’t celebrate the holiday.”

  “You have never celebrated Christmas?” The thought was too unbelievable to grasp.

  “I’ve never had a reason to.” Then his gaze strayed out the window and back toward the Winterfest, back to where Sarah was sipping hot chocolate and laughing. “Until now.”

  So much of Jessica’s life had revolved around Christmas. Dennis had made it his entire year, really. She spent days in a store dedicated to the holiday. And here was a man who hadn’t had so much as a tree, hardly a present. “All of this was about more than just getting me to stay, wasn’t it? It was for you, too.”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t need it. It’s all for Sarah.”

  A muscle twitched in C.J.’s jaw, the only fissure in his steel composure. Somehow, that broke Jessica’s heart more than if he had sat down and sobbed. She could see the stoic little boy he must have been, the chin-up child who’d gone on ever December twenty-fifth as if he didn’t care that his father—and Santa—had forgotten him. Again and again.

  C.J. rose and pulled her up with him, his blue eyes meeting hers. “That’s why I want Sarah to have the best Christmas ever. I refuse to let her grow up like I did. It’s not just about being a good dad. Or starting our relationship off on the right foot. It’s about her having the life all little girls deserve.”

  And little boys.

  Jessica looked at the Mrs. Claus outfit draped over the chair. Thought of the plane tickets in her purse. Plane tickets that no longer mattered, not nearly as much as the man in front of her. She’d make a call, take a later flight and stay here long enough to provide one more key to the perfect Riverbend Winterfest.

  Not just for the children of the town, or for Sarah, but for C.J. In his eyes, she saw the young boy C. J. Hamilton had once been. A boy who had woken up a dozen years in a row, with hope undoubtedly hanging stubbornly in his heart as he crept down the stairs, wondering if maybe, just maybe, Santa Claus might have found him after all.

  And that there might have been one miracle by his chimney. One gift. One little stocking stuffer. And finding only the same empty living room as the day before, the year before.

  Not this year, she vowed.

  “You deserve it, too,” Jessica said softly, her hand stealing into C.J.’s. “You deserve that life, too, C.J.”

  Tears filled his eyes, but he swallowed, and the moment of weakness disappeared. “Jessica, I—”

  “I’ll stay and be Mrs. Claus,” she went on, cutting off his objection. “But on one condition.”

  His lips curved upward. The rainbow of Christmas lights played across his features. “What’s that?”

  “You fire Earl.” She leaned forward, cupped his jaw, then placed a quick kiss on his lips. “There’s only one man I know who has enough magic in his heart to play Santa this year.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  NO ONE had told him the beard, the wig and the fuzzy eyebrows would itch like a bucket of fleas on his head.

  But then again, C.J. would never have expected that he’d be the one playing Santa, either. Yet here he was, sitting in the opposite armchair to Jessica’s, while children climbed into his lap, ho-ho-hoing and giving a jolly good impression of the big guy, if he said so himself.

  For someone who’d never so much as waved at a mall Santa, C.J. had to admit he wasn’t half-bad at the job. Jessica helped him out by filling in when he blanked on a fact, or stumbled over a name, but more than that, helped him through the whole process with her calming presence. Simply having her beside him made the entire process easier.

  Hell, having her anywhere near him made walking on the moon seem possible right now. In between children, he caught her eye, and found himself thinking about things that had nothing to do with Santa or Christmas but a whole lot to do with wishes. For time alone and a way to thank her for giving him a gift he couldn’t quantify.

  “And I want a pony and a monkey and a new bike and a dollhouse and a baby bear and—”

  “Whoa, whoa,” C.J. said, interrupting the little girl before him—and bringing his thoughts back to being Santa, not Jessica. “That’s a pretty long list for Santa. I can’t fit all that in the sleigh.”

  The girl considered. “Okay. Then I want just the pony and the monkey.”

  “Uh…” C.J. glanced at the girl’s parents, who had that panic-stricken, no-way-we’re-installing-a-barn-in-the-backyard look on their faces. “My elves don’t make live animals in the workshop. But if you can think of a toy you’d really like—”


  The girl shook her head so hard, her brunette curls bounced like pogo sticks. “I wanna pony.”

  “Real live ponies are a lot of responsibility,” C.J. said, scrambling for a win-win solution. “What if Santa brings you a toy pony—” he glanced at the girl’s parents for a nod of affirmation “—and you show me how well you can care for that, and then we can talk again next year about the real thing.”

  The girl’s eyes became as big as saucers. “You promise?”

  “Well, we’ll have to see about that.” C.J. leaned down. “Can I let you in on a secret?”

  She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “The reindeer get pretty jealous if I pay attention to other animals. That’s why I have to stick to toys only.”

  “Oh,” she said, drawing the word out in one long syllable. “That’s why there’s no kittens or puppies in the sleigh.”

  “Exactly. So you can imagine the problems a pony might bring.”

  The girl thought about that. “Okay. A toy pony. And will you talk to Dasher and Comet and Rudolph so someday I can get a real pony?”

  C.J. chuckled. “I will. If you promise to take real good care of that toy pony and show me you can be super-duper responsible.”

  She beamed. “I will. I promise. Merry Christmas, Santa!” She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, took a candy cane from Jessica, then hurried off his lap and over to her parents, talking a mile a minute about the reindeer and ponies, and why never the twain should meet.

  “You handled that really well,” Jessica said. “I’d never have thought of that reason.”

  “When you work in Hollywood, you have to be inventive.” He loved the way her eyes twinkled when she smiled, the red in her cheeks, the soft undertow of laughter in every one of her words. Playing the jolly St. Nick’s wife clearly agreed with her.

  And, C.J. had to admit, with him. He’d never had much involvement with Christmas, that was true, but he found himself enjoying the charade, getting wrapped up in the tales he told the children, the role he played. Christmas spirit practically flowed through his veins.

  He glanced over at Jessica, grasped her gloved hand with his own and caught her gaze. “In case I forget to say it later,” he said, “thank you.”

  The smile that took over her face was worth a thousand Christmases. “You’re welcome.”

  Before he could say anything more, or tell her how the last few hours had changed something fundamental in him, exposed a side of his self that he hadn’t even known existed—

  The door opened and LuAnn entered, Cassidy and Sarah by her side, with Abby bringing up the rear. C.J. hesitated. He hadn’t planned for his own daughter to make a Santa visit. But of course she would, given how much she had talked about it in the past couple of days, according to LuAnn. Oh boy, what if she guessed it was him beneath the white beard?

  Cassidy, the bolder of the girls, hurried over to him first, clambering onto his lap, demanding a slew of Barbie dolls before climbing down just as quickly and accepting a candy cane from Jessica. “I’ve been very good,” Cassidy pronounced. “I didn’t even eat the last piece of my birthday cake. Yet.” Then she was gone, back with LuAnn, her Christmas morning clearly assured. Abby changed her mind at the last minute, still a bit afraid of the whole Santa experience.

  Sarah headed over, exchanging a secret smile of identity knowledge with Jessica before she approached C.J. He froze, sure his daughter would recognize him.

  “Hi, Santa,” she said, her voice quiet and soft, shy.

  “Hello, Sarah.” C.J. forced a little deepness into his voice, a ho-ho-ho tone to the ending notes. “Would you like a seat?” He opened his arms and invited her up.

  She nodded, then climbed into his lap. “I missed you last year.”

  “Had a bad case of the flu. I was really sorry not to be here, but I had to get well so I could be out delivering toys on Christmas Eve.”

  Jessica gave him a smile, clearly glad for the save that explained the missing Santa.

  “Tell me what you want for Christmas,” C.J. said, relieved that his daughter hadn’t seen past the disguise.

  He expected her to name a toy, another stuffed animal or a unicorn to add to her collection. Or a few Barbie dolls to help her rival Cassidy’s collection. But Sarah didn’t leap to a long list of toys. Instead she paused to think, her blue eyes wide with earnestness. “I want everything to be the same.”

  C.J.’s mouth went dry. No ready reply came to mind. “Everything to be the same? What do you mean by that?”

  “I know my mommy’s in Heaven,” Sarah said, and the sadness in her voice nearly made C.J.’s heart break in two, “and she can’t come back, but—” she lowered her voice, nearly to a whisper “—I don’t want my new dad.”

  Now his heart really did break. It tore, right down the center, ripping through his gut, shattering like crystal. He had to hitch a breath, hard, just so he could talk. Beside him, he heard Jessica let out a little gasp. “And, ah, why is that?”

  “’Cuz he wants to move to Cali…Cali…” She stumbled over the four syllables of the unwieldy state name.

  “California,” he supplied, hating the word even as it slipped past his own lips. Wishing it wasn’t so far away. That he had the power to pick up the state, move it next door.

  Anything to wipe away that look in his daughter’s eyes. Erase the disappointment. Hurt.

  Sarah nodded, as somber as a judge. “And I don’t wanna. I wanna stay here. I wanna live with LuAnn. Will you talk to him, Santa? And tell him I wanna stay with my friends and my unicorns and my bed and my toys and my room?”

  He swallowed, but his mouth had gone dry. What a fool he had been, thinking that he had been doing such a good job, working to build Sarah’s trust, connecting with her—

  Becoming a father. As if it was as simple as turning on a switch.

  When the truth was that he had failed as badly as his own father had.

  “Sarah, I—” But the words weren’t there. What could he say? Yes, he’d restore her life as it had been? Sign over custody to the babysitter who stood by the door, her eyes welling in sympathy?

  Or, no, he wouldn’t give Sarah that gift, instead he’d force her to go with the father she didn’t love, make her move to California and leave behind everything she knew? “Oh, Sarah—”

  “Santa will make sure you’re happy on Christmas morning,” Jessica said, laying a comforting hand on C.J.’s arm. “Because that’s what Santa does.”

  “Does that mean I get to stay here?” Sarah asked, hope arching over every word.

  “Only Santa knows that answer. But I’m sure he’ll talk to your dad and everything will work out exactly as it’s meant to be.” Jessica gave Sarah a comforting smile, then pressed a candy cane into her hand. “You have a big job ahead of you, though.”

  “I do?”

  Jessica nodded. “You have to work extra hard to get to know your dad. Because Santa tells me he’s a very nice dad and he loves you very, very much. And he wouldn’t do anything that would make you unhappy.”

  “But he wants to move to me to Californee-ya.”

  Jessica leaned forward and cupped a white-gloved hand around Sarah’s jaw, then met C.J.’s gaze for a second. “Talk to him, Sarah. Tell him how you feel, and I’m sure you can work it out. Besides, I hear California is a lot of fun. Santa even likes to vacation there from time to time. He’s quite the surfer.” Jessica winked, and Sarah giggled at the thought. “Okay?”

  “Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Claus. Thank you, Santa,” Sarah said. “And Merry Christmas.” Then she gave C.J. a quick kiss on the cheek and hopped off his lap. C.J. watched his daughter go, his heart as shredded as the hay in Dash’s stall. He should have been overjoyed—Sarah had, after all, just given him her first burst of affection.

  Too bad it had been delivered to his alter ego, and given with the wish that she get anything other than him for a Christmas gift.

  An hour later, C.J. and Jessica closed up Santa’s Village and changed out
of their costumes. He’d had more fun than he could have even imagined. Heck, next he’d be masquerading as the Easter Bunny.

  C.J. caught up to Jessica as she was crossing the town square toward her car. “Thanks for playing Santa,” Jessica said. “Now I really do have to catch my flight. There’s a beach waiting for me.”

  “Why did you say that?”

  “Say what?”

  “That I would reconsider moving Sarah to California.”

  “I didn’t say that exactly.”

  “You implied it with that whole ‘Santa will talk to your dad’ thing. I don’t want Sarah thinking that I’m going to stay in Riverbend. My job is on the West Coast. She has to move.”

  “And you have to be a parent. That means reorganizing your priorities.”