Miracle On Christmas Eve

“I don’t have plenty of time,” he said, cutting her off. “I have until December twenty-sixth before I have to head back to California for work. Soon as we get there, I’m packing to go to Colorado for a shoot, then the crew and I are off to—”

“Whoa, whoa. You can’t just do that. You can’t take that girl globe-trotting. She needs stability at a time like this,” Jessica said, though she had never been a parent and hadn’t any idea what the right thing was. “And especially not a world-wide tour for your—” she waved a hand, searching for the right words “—set stuff.”

“For your information, this is not globe-trotting. I’m staying within the continental U.S.A. And that ‘set stuff’ is my job. If I don’t keep that, Sarah won’t have a roof over her head.”

Steam rose in Jessica. How dare this man do something like that to Sarah? Then, just as quickly, guilt washed over her. Hadn’t she herself called the child—

Oh, boy…a brat?

That alone was a sign that Jessica needed to get out of town, take a moment to remind herself why she’d gone into the toy business. Why she’d donned the Mrs. Claus outfit in the first place.

But at least she was acknowledging—okay, just to herself—but still, acknowledging that she’d rushed to judgment too fast, forgotten that Sarah was only six and was mostly a product of a mother who indulged her child’s whims but provided about as much structure as a sand castle.

And now it turned out Sarah’s father was just as bad.

“You came here, expecting me to help you create an instant bond with your daughter?” Jessica rose. “That’s impossible. And selfish, if you ask me.”

“I have more reasons than work bringing me back to California.” C.J.’s eyes glittered with unspent frustration. “Reasons I don’t care to share with you or anyone else in this town. All I want is a great Christmas for my daughter.”

“And then what? You’ll sort out the rest as you go along? Or keep flooding her with gifts?”

“I don’t intend to do that.” He glared at her, clearly angry she’d suggest such a thing. “I just need this particular gift-giving holiday to help me build a little camaraderie.”

Typical, Jessica thought. Looking to first dump his problems on her, then expecting Jessica to provide a quick fix, a Band-Aid over the issues at heart with Sarah, so he could hurry and return to his life. Instead of dealing with the fallout from Kiki’s unpredictable lifestyle.

He didn’t appreciate the amazing gift he had been given, a gift Jessica would have done anything to have if things had been different. If only—

But she’d been right to be cautious, to accept the hand fate had dealt her. Look where she had ended up. A widow, alone. Raising a child and running a business would have meant sacrificing too much, and undoubtedly the child would have been the loser in that equation.

Now here came C. J. Hamilton, unwilling to see where his priorities should lie, when to Jessica the entire equation was simple arithmetic.

“You are exactly the kind of parent I’m trying to avoid this year. You can’t buy and sell the affections of a child, like they’re some kind of tech stock.” She put her cup in the sink, then wheeled on him. “Invest time, Mr. Hamilton, not money, and you’ll get better results.”

He rose, facing her now, his frustration level clearly raised a few notches. “Listen, Mrs. Claus, you—”

“Patterson.”

“You don’t know my story, so quit trying to tell me the end. Twenty-four hours ago, I was a childless bachelor. Now I’m an instant father, and it’s not going so well. I can’t afford the time to hang around this dinky little town, hoping for a miracle breakthrough. I have to get back to work.”

Jessica shook her head. Why had she ever found this man attractive? He was clearly all frosting and no substance. “That’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever heard. A good father—”

“Don’t tell me about good fathers,” C.J. interrupted. “I know all about bad ones, and in my opinion, the best way to be a good one is to do the exact opposite of a bad father.”

He didn’t get it and she didn’t have time to do pop psychology in her kitchen. Another wave of sympathy for Sarah ran through Jessica, urging her to stay in town, to go along with C.J.’s plan, if only for the sake of the child.

No. She would not be dissuaded. She’d pack up a box of wrapped toys and send them over to LuAnn’s house, with a little note saying “Merry Christmas from Mrs. Claus.” That way she avoided C.J. Hamilton and his crazy ideas about parenting but still brought a little special something to Sarah’s holiday.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” She took his coffee mug and put it in the sink, hoping he’d get the hint and just leave. “What you need, Mr. Hamilton, is a counselor, a mediator. Not me.”

C.J. crossed to her, and she instantly became aware of his cologne. Slightly musky, with a hint of pine. He could have been a Christmas present himself—if only what was inside the box was as nice as the outside. “I need you and I need a miracle. Everyone I’ve talked to says you’re the woman who can make that happen. What’ll it take to convince you?”

She searched his gaze. “You being serious about being a father.”

“I am serious.”

“Then prove it. And hang around in Riverbend until Sarah is ready leave. Give her some time to grieve, to get used to you and to this new situation. Then take her to California. Give the girl a little stability before you yank her out of her world.”

“I have a job—”

“Yes, you do. And it’s called Father. Everything else takes a backseat.” Oh, how she wanted to slug him, to shake him. Anything to make him see what a precious gift he’d been given and how he was blowing it already.

C.J. ran a hand through his hair again, something which only seemed to make him more attractive rather than less. He spun away from her, paced a few steps to the sink, then back. “You’re right. I’ll stay in Riverbend as long as I can, but on one condition.” He approached her, his gaze holding a hint of a dare.

Desire tightened in Jessica’s gut. A crazy feeling. She barely knew this man, had nothing in common with him, and five seconds ago had been on the brink of slugging him. Her attraction to him was nothing more than misplaced wanderlust.

“What do you mean, one condition?” she asked.

“You give something back.”

“You can’t bargain with me. I’m just giving you some advice.”

He took another step closer. She inhaled the scent of his cologne again, watched his blue eyes. Wondered for a fleeting second what it would be like to kiss him. To have a man hold her again, love her, wrap her against his chest and make her feel safe. Fill that empty space in her bed, her heart, her life.

“This town needs you,” C.J. said, “and I need you. I’ll stay in Riverbend, but only if you do, too.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, backing up a step, away from those eyes, from their nearly hypnotic power that dimmed her common sense. She backed up until she hit the solid, sane, ordinary edge of the table. “I’ve already bought my ticket and I’m going, whether you or anyone else likes it.”

“Didn’t you just say that children should come first?”

“Well, yes, but I meant your own.”

“From what I’ve heard, the people around here consider you a Christmas staple for their children. You give them the magic, that little extra something in the season. Without Mrs. Claus, they say, Christmas in Riverbend just won’t be the same. So I’m asking you to hang up that bikini—” he paused long enough to take a breath, and she wondered if he was picturing her in said swimsuit, and what kind of image he was seeing “—and get out your red suit.”

“If you can prove to me that there is one ounce of Christmas spirit left in this town, then—” she drew in a breath, knowing she was crazy for even letting this thought pass by her lips but letting it go anyway because some tiny part of her still had hope, in the children, the people of Riverbend “—then I’ll consider staying.”

“Thank you,” C.J. said, the relief so clear she could almost see the weight of stress lift from his shoulders. “You’ve just—”

“Don’t thank me yet.” She held up a finger. “Because if I do stay, and that’s a big if, there’s one other thing Riverbend is going to need to make this Christmas perfect.”

“If it’s a reindeer, I have one on its way. If you want a twelve-foot tree, I’ll call the arborist tomorrow. A giant—”

“No, none of those.” Jessica drew in a breath. It was about time she quit the solo act. And besides, she had no doubt Mr. Get-Out-of-Town-Fast C. J. Hamilton would turn her down before the first snowflake fell on Riverbend. “What we really need in this town is a new Mr. Claus.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE WIDE BLUE EYES regarded C.J. with suspicion. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I do. Done it a hundred times.” He picked up one of the—what the heck were they called anyway?—multicolored doohickeys on the table and hoped his daughter couldn’t tell he was lying through his teeth.