Red-Hot Santa

No way was he going that route again.

No matter how difficult his hot coworkers sometimes made it for him. He looked over Genie’s generous curves and then up at her suggestive smile. She made his four-month-old wound itch.

But that’s not why he was there. His tending bar was really only a way to keep himself occupied until his brother came around. Yeah, it helped pay the bills, but considering the large, structured settlement and trust fund he and Jason had received upon their parents’ deaths, he didn’t need the money.

Still, he’d barely touched his bank account, gaining a certain satisfaction in supporting himself and his day-to-day expenses with his income. Right now, his life resembled some sort of airplane holding pattern. He only hoped he’d be cleared for landing soon, because he didn’t know how much fuel he had left before he crashed.

He checked his cell phone, knowing as he did who he was hoping he’d find a call or text from. And, strangely enough, it wasn’t his brother. He’d smiled when Max McGuire’s missed call had popped up in this display. She hadn’t left a message, but that was no surprise; she never did.

Max …

His movements slowed as he realized he missed her.

It had been a while since they’d spoken. The last time he’d talked to her, she’d been somewhere out in the Pacific Northwest working for some sort of high-end security firm. Their longtime friendship had always gone through ebbs and flows, with stretches where an occasional phone call was the name of the game.

Then there were the times when they’d been “thick as thieves,” as Gram liked to say, nearly inseparable.

Of course, the physical distance between them currently prevented that.

Still, over the years they made sure to carve out some together time, meeting for at least a few days to catch up, usually on some sort of physical adventure, like mountain climbing or wild water kayaking.

He thought he should call her back, maybe see about scheduling just such a trip soon. Or perhaps he’d go visit her, see what she was up to and how life was treating her.

Jackson told his boss, Chuck, that he was taking his break. He grabbed his leather jacket and let himself out from behind the bar. He returned a few greetings as he walked to the back and then through the door leading to the alley behind the row of buildings. He leaned against the cold brick and shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. It was at times like these he wished he still smoked.

“Hey,” a female said next to him.

He hadn’t realized anyone else was out here. “Hey,” he said without opening his eyes.

“Cold out, huh?”

If he hadn’t been able to tell by her deep inhale, the acrid scent of cigarette smoke would have revealed what she was doing.

“That it is,” he said.

“You work here?”

“Yeah.”

“This is my first time at this bar.” He heard her shoes shuffle in the salt they put down as a de-icer. “My friends suggested it. I haven’t been inside yet …”

Her voice sounded familiar.

He cracked his eyelids open and openly regarded the pretty redhead.

Holy shit.

“Max? Is that you?”

FOR A MOMENT Maxine McGuire was afraid Jackson wouldn’t recognize her. And that was beyond stupid, really. He was her best friend. They’d pretty well grown up together on the farm as kids, and had been together again for a brief stint when they’d been stationed overseas in the Marines. But it had been a good two years since their physical paths last crossed, despite their sometimes lengthy telephone conversations. And while she wasn’t about to tell him, a big part of the reason she’d chosen The Barracks as the place to meet her old high school friends, instead of the countless other bars in the military hub of Colorado Springs, Colorado, was because Jackson tended there.

For reasons she couldn’t fathom, she always experienced a spark of fear he wouldn’t recognize her. That too much time had passed, or maybe he was otherwise occupied …

Liar.

She knew why she felt that way. Or she had an idea anyway.

While they’d always been close friends, she realized she’d always been more than a little bit in love with him. And the worst thing that could ever happen would be that he wouldn’t recognize her. Or that she’d look at him and see indifference in his eyes.

Not that she ever had.

Still, she was pathetic. And it was that very self-esteem issue she hoped to finally nip totally in the bud.

Her relationship with Jax was the only area in her life she experienced such vulnerable emotions. Otherwise she was confident, strong and knew exactly where she was at any given moment and where she was going.

“Hey, Jax,” she said, hoping the smile that warmed her to her toes wasn’t too obvious.

He stared at her for a full minute and then pushed from the building. She stiffened as he gave her a hug. It was silly, really, because he’d always given her the same, brotherly greeting.

The problem was that her reaction had never been quite the sisterly one he was going for.

Not that he ever appeared to have a clue.

Of course, she knew she was the primary reason for that. She’d never let him in on her true feelings.

“I was just thinking about you,” he said. “You called the other day but didn’t leave a message.”

“I never leave a message.”

His chuckle tickled her ear. “Yeah, I know.”

He stepped back and looked her over, as if seeing her for the first time. It was all she could do to maintain his gaze, and not to pat down her too curly hair.

“You look good,” he said.

“Thanks. So do you.”

She took another hit off the cigarette—her first in almost two years—and then flicked it to the ground farther down the alley.

How old had she been when they first met? Five? Six? She and her mom had just moved in with her aunt after her parents’ breakup and she’d run away. It was the first of many doomed attempts, complete with a stick to ward off unwanted critters, the end tied with a handkerchief that held a sandwich, her favorite paperback novel and a pack of matches.

It had probably taken her a whole half hour to reach the Savage barn on the neighboring property, but everything was relative and she could have sworn it had been five hours and that she’d reached the border of New Mexico, at least.

She’d just spread out her handkerchief on the fresh straw, sat on it and opened her sandwich when a shadow fell across the open doorway. There stood Jackson Savage, no older than her, arms crossed over his chest. He’d told her in no uncertain terms she was on private property and that meant she was trespassing.

So she’d gathered up her things and began to stalk from the barn. He’d caught her by the arms and told her he was just kidding … then introduced himself.

She’d wasted no time tackling him to the ground and punching him. Then she’d grabbed her stick and continued on her way.