Jack's Christmas Mission

“Oh, Mommy, we’re going to have a man around the house,” Wendy mimicked Hetty’s repetitive declaration that what they needed was a man around the house. “He’s going to take care of you and me, and I can tell Missy and Jennifer and Martha Jane that I do so have a daddy.”

“No, Wendy.” Peggy Jo clasped her daughter’s chin gently. “Mr. Parker isn’t going to be your daddy and he isn’t going to take care of us. What have I told you about us girls?”

Wendy’s smile quickly turned into a frown. Her rosebud mouth became a pout. “That we don’t need a man to take care of us. That we can take care of ourselves.”

“That’s right.”

“But you said he was going to look after you,” Wendy whined. “Daddies look after mommies and little girls, don’t they?”

She wished she could tell Wendy that, yes, all daddies look after their wives and little girls, but she had never lied to her child and she wasn’t going to now. “Some daddies do, sweetie, but some daddies don’t. That’s why it’s very important for us girls to always know how to take care of ourselves and never depend on any man.”

Peggy Jo knew that some women had fathers and husbands who had never let them down, who had always taken care of them and looked after them, but she hadn’t been that lucky. She had been forced, at an early age, to face the harsh reality that some men were uncaring.

“I know. There is no Prince Charming,” Wendy said as she cuddled close to her mother. “Fairy tales aren’t real. They’re just made-up stories.”

“That’s right,” Peggy Jo said. “Life can be wonderful and beautiful, but it can never be like it is in fairy tales. Life is what we make it. It’s up to us to make it good for ourselves.” She loved her daughter far too much to fill her head with hopeless dreams of happily-ever-after when that dream so seldom came true in real life. Others might think her hard-hearted for giving Wendy a realistic view of love and life and relationships, but she knew better. As a mother, it was her job to protect her child and that’s what she was doing.

“Okay, Mommy. I won’t pretend that Mr. Parker is my daddy. I promise.”

Peggy Jo sighed. “Mr. Parker is going to work for me. I’m going pay him a salary to be around all the time and make sure nobody bothers me.”

“Will he keep me from bothering you?” Wendy asked, with wide-eyed innocence.

Peggy Jo hugged Wendy close, then chuckling softly, she lifted her child and put her back into bed. After pulling the covers up to Wendy’s chin, Peggy Jo kissed her.

“You never bother me, sweetpea. And Mr. Parker will never keep you away from me. I’ll tell him that Ms. Wendy Riley can see me and talk to me any time she pleases.”

After yawning, Wendy smiled. “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too.”

When Peggy Jo exited the room and closed the door behind her, she made her way down the hall to the kitchen. Hetty sat at the table, a mug of hot chocolate in her hand and another waiting for Peggy Jo, who immediately pulled out an oak Windsor chair and sat across from Hetty.

“I knew that after the day you’ve had, you’d need something chocolate.” Hetty nodded toward the Santa mug. As soon as Peggy Jo tasted the delicious drink, Hetty asked, “So, how did you explain to Wendy that we’ve got a man moving in with us tomorrow?”

“It wasn’t easy.” Peggy Jo sipped the cocoa. “At first she thought Mr. Parker might be her new daddy, but I cleared that up right away.” Peggy Jo glowered at her housekeeper. “If you hadn’t talked so much about our needing a man around here, she wouldn’t have—”

“Don’t blame me because that child wants a daddy. All of her friends have daddies, even the ones whose parents are divorced.”

“I can give Wendy everything else she needs and wants, but I cannot give her a daddy.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Hetty glanced at the ceiling, her expression making a statement.

“Both. Can’t and won’t. Marriage is just fine for a lot of women, but not for me. After my own father deserted me, and Buck treated me like dirt, I swore that I’d never let another man have any control over my life. And that’s a promise I intend to keep.”

“All men aren’t like your father and Buck Forbes,” Hetty said. “My Jim was a wonderful man. I wish you had known him. He would have changed your mind about men.”

“We’ve had this discussion before, and there’s no point in beating a dead horse.” With the mug in hand, Peggy Jo scooted back her chair and stood. “Just make sure the guest bedroom is ready for Mr. Parker. He’ll be coming home with me tomorrow evening.”

“I’m fixing a pot roast and my blackberry jam cake. I’ve never known a man who didn’t like my country cooking. And we sure do want to make Mr. Parker feel right at home, don’t we?”

Peggy Jo rolled her eyes, shook her head and left a chuckling Hetty alone in the kitchen. If she wasn’t genuinely frightened by this unknown person who was terrorizing her, Peggy Jo wouldn’t even consider allowing a man to become her twenty-four-hour-a-day companion. But despite her determination to never rely on another man as long as she lived, she realized that under these circumstances, she would be a fool not to hire a bodyguard. And if there was one thing Peggy Jo Riley never intended to be—ever again—it was a fool.

The next morning, as she was going over her notes for the taping, WLOK’s station manager, Chet Compton, came into her office. He handed Peggy Jo a cup of coffee, then placed his hand on her shoulder.

“You’re here bright and early this morning,” he said, his voice low as he leaned over to speak to her. “Something wrong?”

Peggy Jo tensed, but didn’t move away from the man she had dated on and off for the past several years. When Chet had gotten serious and started acting territorial, she had ended their personal relationship, which she had considered to be nothing more than two good friends dating. Chet had not taken the rejection kindly, and for months afterward, tension had suffused the station whenever Chet came into Studio B, where they broadcast the show live daily and taped other shows for holidays and vacations.

“I’m expecting someone to meet me here around eight,” she said. “Jill has hired a bodyguard for me, and he’ll start work today.”

“A bodyguard? Do you think that’s necessary?” Chet squeezed her shoulder. “I think there’s enough manpower around the station to keep an eye on you. You must know that not only am I your willing slave, but so are most of the guys who work here, especially Ross Brewster. That guy would walk over hot coals for you.”

“None of you, including Ross, is a professional. And after what happened in my dressing room yesterday, Jill and I agree that I need a trained bodyguard with me until this stalker is caught.”

Peggy Jo eased away from Chet and moved across the set to inspect the job the production manager had done in arranging the Christmas decorations. The three programs they’d tape today would be shown the week after Christmas and she wanted everything to be perfect. She had a reputation for being detail oriented and often hard to please, but only those with sloppy work habits ever complained.

Chet followed her. “So, does the set meet with your approval?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded. “When Leda and Burt come in this morning, I want to see them first thing and explain why I’ve hired a bodyguard. So, please don’t put your own spin on it before I’ve spoken to them.”

“Hey, you hired both of them. They’re your people, not mine.”

Peggy Jo forced a smile. Chet hadn’t been thrilled with her when, after her former director left WLOK, she had hired Leda Seager to replace him, without consulting with Chet first. And Chet had been adamantly opposed to her demanding that the show’s original production manager be fired for incompetence. He had also rejected Peggy Jo’s choice of a replacement—Burt Morgan, a brilliant young African-American man who had a knack for dealing with the crew. When he hadn’t come up with any compelling argument against Burt, Peggy Jo had hired him. She was glad she did.

Peggy Jo picked up the loosely structured script for today’s first show off the seat of her chair, then sat, the script in one hand and the coffee mug in the other. She spoke to Chet, but didn’t look at him. “I need to go over this script. Is there anything you want to talk to me about this morning? Some other reason you’re here on my set?”

“Apparently not.” He turned and stormed off the set.

She wasn’t usually so rude, but she’d learned that with Chet she had to be. The guy took even normal friendliness as a come-on. Peggy Jo laid the script in her lap, then glanced up in time to see Chet’s back as he retreated out the door, almost running into Ross Brewster, the station’s twenty-year-old gofer. Chet grumbled. Ross apologized, then hurried toward Peggy Jo, a small white paper bag in his gloved hands.

She liked Ross, though she was careful not to encourage his boyish crush on her. Why was it that when she’d been a teenager, she’d had a problem getting guys to notice her, and now, when she didn’t give a damn, she seemed to attract men like honey attracted bears?

Ross rushed forward and offered her the white paper bag. “Cream cheese Danish,” he said. “I know it’s your favorite. I came by the bakery on my way here. You’re early this morning, aren’t you? I thought I’d get here first.”

Peggy Jo accepted the gift graciously, even opened the bag to smell the mouth-watering confection, before she handed it back to Ross. “Thanks. I appreciate your thinking of me, but—”

“Look, I know Chet has already told me to back off.” His shoulders slumped as he took the bag. “And I know what he must be thinking. But, honest to goodness, Peggy Jo, I’m not stalking you. I think you’re the absolute greatest, but I’d never harass you.”

“When did Chet tell you to back off?” she asked.

“Last week,” Ross said. “He told me that he thought I was the one stalking you and said if I didn’t stop immediately, he’d fire me.”

“Damn,” Peggy Jo cursed under her breath. “Ross, I apologize for Chet. I don’t think you’re my stalker. All I was going to say is that I appreciated your thinking of me, but I’m deliberately cutting back on sweets from today until Christmas. Otherwise, I’d wind up with five or ten extra pounds come New Year’s day.”

Ross’s pale cheeks flushed scarlet. “I’ll get rid of these right away. Would you like me to run out and get you some fruit. A banana or an apple or—”

She lifted the coffee mug. “How about pouring out this slop and making some fresh coffee in the pot in my office?”