Lone Star Santa (18 page)

Kristen found Mitch standing on top of a four-foot-tall plywood platform that would conceal the controls and power source for the Santa Claus.

Kristen shaded her eyes and squinted up at the Santa’s support structure. “You’re going to frighten small children with that thing.”

“Hey.” Mitch shoved his safety glasses to the top of his head and grinned down at her. “And you haven’t seen the arms move yet.”

It was a warm, muggy day, typical in a month of flip-flopping weather when cool fronts blowing in from the north battled with the moist air over the Gulf of Mexico. Today was not a day for black wool, which was what Kristen wore.

Mitch had abandoned his sweatshirt and was wearing just a thin white tee shirt with his jeans.

If he walked into a bar right now and looked at the women the way he was looking at her, she’d guarantee they’d be all over him. And
they’d
be buying the drinks.

“Ready for a lunch break?” Kristen held up a cooler.

“You betcha.” He unbuckled his tool belt, an action that caused a few flutters in Kristen’s middle, and set it and his safety glasses next to the edge. Then he squatted and jumped down, landing beside her.

She openly gave him the once over. “You’re looking very manly, today.”

“And you’re looking very womanly, as always.” His eyes crinkled.

Kristen hadn’t seen his eyes crinkle since before he learned about Jeremy. He did a good crinkle. “You’re in a good mood.”

Mitch spread a packing quilt over the edge of the plywood. “I ought to be. A hot babe just brought me lunch.”

“That’s good-lookin’ dame to you.” Kristen appreciated the flattery, but there was something else going on. She’d let him bring it up.

Patting the quilt, he said, “This should prevent another stocking disaster like we had yesterday.”

When she’d joined him on the platform for lunch, the rough wood edges had snagged and shredded her fragile vintage stockings.

“We don’t want them to run since they’re expensive, genuine vintage, seamed stockings that you order off the Internet,” he quoted.

She laughed. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

He took the cooler from her. “You may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Sorry.”

“Not a problem. I’ve developed a fondness for the genuine vintage, black-seamed stockings that you order off the Internet.”

“In England, they’ve kept a few of the old machines that manufactured old-style stockings going. Can you believe it?”

Mitch looked her in the eyes. “Yes.”

Hmm. So Mitch might be a lingerie man. Not that she was likely to know for certain at the rate things were going. Which was slow. Kisses and meaningful intense looks were all very well and good, but they weren’t leading to anything more.

Even her revealing slip on Sunday hadn’t moved things along. She really hoped he wasn’t waiting for the mess with Jeremy to be cleared up, but was very much afraid he was.

While she wasn’t against a woman making the first move—or even the second and third move—at some point, the man was going to have to make a move back. Or rather, forward, because even the most understanding woman needed positive reinforcement. Technically, Mitch’s good night/good morning kisses could be considered positive reinforcement, but Kristen honestly could do with a little more enthusiasm.

“Hang on.” Placing his hands around her waist, Mitch hoisted her onto the platform.

Kristen straightened her skirt. “I tell you, when women wore these outfits, they couldn’t move around much.”

Mitch hopped up beside her. “Made them easier to catch.”

Kristen refrained from pointing out that she wasn’t running and he wasn’t chasing. Instead, she took the lid off the cooler.

Mitch rubbed his hands together. “Thanks, honey. What have we got today? A ham sandwich and potato salad? Some of your dee-lishus fried chicken and chocolate cake?”

She handed him a black-bottomed plastic clam shell container. “California roll with wakame seaweed and sesame salad and an order of edamame.”

“That was my next guess.” He cast a wary eye at the container.

“Here are your chopsticks. There’s a bottle of green tea in the cooler.”

Mitch looked at the chopsticks and then at Kristen.

“What? Don’t you know how to use them?”

“Sure, but edamame and chopsticks? After I spent the morning wielding a hammer and other manly tools?”

“There’s a packet with a napkin and fork taped to the bottom of the plate.”

“Now we’re talking.” Mitch ripped open the plastic with his teeth. Removing the fork, he made a show of digging it into the pile of edamame.

Kristen watched him and then used her fingers to pick up the beans. “It’s like a snack food.” She popped a couple into her mouth.

“You just didn’t want to use chopsticks, either.”

Kristen smiled. “I saw your mom over there. How’s Nora Beckman working out for her?”

Mitch looked over at his mother. “Great. Mom’s
using her as the kickoff party liaison to avoid dealing with the Sloanes.”

“That’s probably a good thing.” Between Mitch’s problems and overseeing the entire Christmas Light Parade and everything that went with it, Kristen was surprised Patsy Donner hadn’t cracked. “Although I don’t know about Nora Beckman being the only thing between your mother and the Sloanes.”

“Mrs. Beckman has been really up front about her drinking problem and wants to keep busy.”

“After seeing this place, I don’t think that’ll be too hard.” Kristen tangled the strands of seaweed with her chopsticks. They slithered off.

“Snack food?” Mitch asked.

“Fork food.” She gave in and unpeeled her condiment pack. “Did Mrs. Beckman tell you about her twin brother?”

“That they were born on Christmas and he and his family were killed coming to visit her? Yeah.”

“Mr. Beckman says she blames herself.”

Mitch tore open a packet of soy sauce. “Her brother was piloting his own plane, right?”

Kristen nodded. “They’d never missed spending the day together.”

Mitch soaked his sushi in the dark liquid. “I hate hearing stuff like this.”

“I know.” Kristen picked at her salad, but didn’t eat any. “Anyway, the weather delayed flights and naturally, Mrs. Beckman was disappointed.”

“It was still his decision to fly.” Mitch spread an alarming amount of wasabi on his sushi.

“But she’s convinced that if she hadn’t made such a
big deal about it when her brother called that he
wouldn’t
have decided to fly and they’d all still be alive.”

Mitch had started shaking his head before Kristen finished. “He had his wife and kids with him. If he took off in that plane, it was because he thought it was safe to fly. No man would risk his family just to show up for Christmas a few hours earlier.”

Just understanding that showed that Mitch was good father material, Kristen thought, knowing she was getting
way
ahead of herself, but not particularly minding.

“Any more soy sauce?” he asked.

“You can have the rest of mine.” She gave it to him and he promptly added to the lake his sushi was already swimming in. “You know wasabi is super hot, right?”

“It’s the only manly food in this lunch,” he grumbled.

“Well, pardon me for trying to keep you healthy and alert while you use your manly power tools this afternoon.” Miffed, Kristen stabbed at her salad.

“Aww. You brought me seaweed because you care.” He gave her a sappy grin.

“It looks like somebody is going to be getting his own lunch the rest of the week.”

“And he’ll be getting it over there.” Mitch was looking at something behind her.

Kristen turned around and saw Patsy talking with one of the booth workers. Nora was helping another woman hang up their sign. “Sausage on a Stick. Mitch!”

“Oh, that’s nothing. Mom is all excited because they’re debuting a new food here. Batter-fried fruitcake.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“I swear I’m not.” He held up his hand, palm outward.
“They dunk a slice of fruitcake in funnel cake batter and deep fry it.”

“
Why?
”

“There’s not much that can’t be improved by a few minutes in a deep fat fryer.”

Kristen leveled a look at him. “You’re going to try some, aren’t you?”

Mitch grinned. “Hell, yeah.”

Sagging, she closed her eyes. “I give up.”

“Hey, just because somebody’s skirt is getting tight is no reason to make all of us suffer.”

Kristen’s eyes popped open in horror. “It’s supposed to be tight!” She looked down at herself. That was fabric pooching over her lap and not her stomach, right? Right? Cautiously, she extended her index finger and pressed, relieved when the extra poof deflated. Not disappeared, she had to admit, but at least it moved.

She looked up to find Mitch regarding her. His lips barely curved upward in that quiet way he had that made him look
very
attractive, as though he’d decided to ravish her, knew she wanted to be ravished and that it was only a matter of picking his moment.

Which was exactly the case. Furthermore, she’d tossed any number of moments his way and he hadn’t caught any of them.

She was about to lob another but stopped when she saw the expression in his eyes. Fond amusement, that’s what it was. Fond. Amusement.

Okay, so this wasn’t the place for barely restrained lust, but banked desire would have worked. Would have worked big time, thank you very much.

She sat up straight and automatically sucked in her
stomach and then, angry with herself, let it out again. “I hadn’t realized that you—”

“Kristen!” Mitch laughed. “You look—”

“Stop.” She glared at him. “Think very carefully about what you say next. Because if you’re going to say I look ‘fine,’ you should be aware that I consider
fine
several levels beneath me.”

“Okay.” He gazed his lunch. “Let’s say you look—”

“It better not be ‘healthy.’ Healthy is another word for big, and that’s just another way of saying fat.”

“But women are supposed to have—”

“If you are about to say ‘curves,’ don’t. ‘Curves’ is code for big hips, meaning fat.”

Visibly exasperated, he asked, “Then what’s
fat
the word for?”

“You think I’m
faaaat
?” Kristen wailed.

“I think I’m going to eat my lunch.” Mitch ate two dripping pieces of sushi as Kristen sat there.

He squinted off into the distance. “You know, even the Japanese like to deep fry stuff in batter. They call it
tempura
.”

“Okay, okay.” She waited. “You aren’t going to tell me what you were going to say, are you?”

“Nope.” Mitch picked up another piece of California roll. “My mother is on her way over here. Try to look like you’re enjoying yourself or she’ll think something horrible has happened.”

“I
am
enjoying myself.”

He smiled down at her. “So am I.”

That was better. The fondness had definitely warmed to affection. And if she was not mistaken, it was simmering its way to attraction.

Mollified, Kristen finally captured the slippery strands of her salad.

“Hi, you two,” Patsy greeted them. “Nora and I are going to have lunch at the mall and pick up the sponsor booklets from the printer.”

Nora Beckman was gazing up at the Santa Claus. “Wow. And I thought last year’s was big.”

Patsy cast an assessing glance at the float. “Are you sure this will be done in time, Mitch?”

“Are you asking as my mother or as the parade’s supreme commander?”

Concern crossed her face. “Are the answers different?”

“No, I just wondered whether or not to salute.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, Mitchell Donner.”

Kristen snickered.

“You see what I put up with?” Patsy said to Nora, who was smiling.

“Yes, Mother, the float will be finished in time,” Mitch assured her.

“Good. We’ve hired extra security this year, but we think the crowds are going to be even bigger than projected. You should talk to Sparky about keeping a watch on this.”

“We’ve got it covered. We’re setting up video surveillance so that whoever is inside here working the controls can monitor outside activity. And we’re also going to have two ways in and out.” Mitch pointed to a four-foot opening in the side of the platform. “That’s going to be a doll house, but the door will really work. There will also be a utility opening where the power cords come in.”

Patsy nodded and made a note in her binder. “I hate
that we have to think about the possibility of vandalism, but the parade draws so many outsiders.” Her lips tightened. “Though we know that not everyone living in Sugar Land can be trusted, either.”

Mitch and Kristen exchanged looks.

“Well, we’re off.” She glanced at their food. “That looks yummy. What do you think, Nora? Should we go for Japanese or stick with the Texas burger, home fries and eggnog shakes?”

Mitch whimpered and Kristen nudged him with her elbow.

“We ought to take advantage of those eggnog shakes while we can,” Nora was saying as they walked off. “They’re seasonal, you know.”

Mitch stared after them.

Kristen sighed. “If you want an eggnog shake, I will go get you one.”

“I do, but I wasn’t thinking about that. Mrs. Beckman should stop blaming herself.”

“People are always blaming themselves for stuff that isn’t their fault,” Kristen said.

“I hope you’re not including me.” Mitch poked at his seaweed salad.

“Of course, I’m including you!” She leaned over to see that he was basically moving the salad around in its compartment. “Eat that. It’s good for you.”

Mitch stabbed a forkful of salad and held it up. “Why is it that slimy green stuff is always good for you and crisp brown stuff isn’t?”

“Bran,” Kristen retorted. “Crisp and brown.”

“Bran is not crisp. Bran is chewy.” But he ate his salad.

“Speaking of things not your fault, have you heard
from Jeremy?” She’d hesitated to ask, but the party was in three days and Jeremy had said he was leaving after that.

Mitch shook his head and withdrew his phone. “But I expect to. Let me check my e-mail.” He stared at the tiny screen. “Nothing yet. Maybe he’ll call.”