Betting on Santa
Harlequin Superromance
November 2007
ISBN-10: 0373714521
ISBN-13: 978-0373714520
The odds are always against her…
But this time Tessa Jamison isn’t leaving River bluff, Texas, until she finds what she came for: the father of her sister’s two-year-old son. And the stand-in Santa at the local church bazaar could be the man she’s looking for.
Cole Lawry seems an unlikely candidate for instant daddy. What’s more, the divorced ex-businessman and consummate poker player insists he’s not a father – never has been, never plans to be. Until Tessa calls his bluff.
Which means gambling everything she’s got. Including her heart.
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"After her sister is critically injured in a car accident, Tessa Jamison travels to River Bluff, Texas, with her small nephew to find out if a man mentioned in her sister's diary is the boy's father. When she arrives, she learns that although Cole Lawry isn't little Joey's dad, he did care for her sister and wants to help find the boy's real dad. Betting on Santa (4), by Debra Salonen, has likable characters and a skillfully crafted story. "
—Alexandra Kay, RT
“Smile, Santa.”
Cole tried. It wasn’t easy with Sally Knutson on his knee and her three cats wreaking havoc on his costume. The gray one was tangled in the glossy white beard, batting the lush strands as if a mouse or two was hiding in the folds. The little calico perched on his shoulder had every needle-tipped claw hooked solidly through the red felt, his undershirt and his flesh. The slightest movement on Cole’s part meant instant pain. The third – the “shy one” -- was wedged between his owner’s ample bosom and Cole’s two-pillow padding.
His mother hadn’t said anything about hazard pay when she volunteered him to fill in for Ray Hardy, the man who truly was Santa to most of the citizens of River Bluff, Texas. A fixture at the Congressional Church’s annual Holiday Bazaar and Toy Drive, Ray hadn’t missed a night – until he slipped in the shower that morning and was now facing hip surgery.
“Look at the camera, Sugar Baby,” Sally cooed, glancing up.
Cole assumed she was talking to the feline on his shoulder since Sally was his mother’s age – and about forty pounds overweight, if his aching leg was any judge. A local hairdresser and purveyor of make-up that entitled her to a pink Cadillac, Sally’s beauty shop shared space with husband Harold’s hardware store. Locals liked to say you could get nuts, bolts and a perm all in the same trip.
“Any time, Melody,” Cole hissed, a bead of sweat threatening to turn into a rivulet down the side of his cheek. Their Hill Country weather had become oppressively muggy thanks to the tropical moisture out in the Gulf. It was almost December, and Cole was ready for some cooling – especially if he was going to be stuck in a Santa suit for who knew how long.
***
Cole checked his watch. Fortunately, Santa’s booth was due to close in ten minutes. He looked toward the candy cane-shaped gate. Only one person was in line. A stranger with a toddler on one hip. By the bemused expression on her face, she’d witnessed the entire spectacle. Cole was glad to have a fake beard to hide behind.
The woman looked to be about his age. Jeans, a belted leather jacket and an oversize purse apparently used as a counterweight to the toddler on her opposite hip. Cole guessed the little boy’s age to be about two.
Not that Cole knew a lot about kids, but he’d learned a great deal after just one night as Santa. For instance, he now knew there was a difference between teething and mere drooling.
“Um…sorry. We’re experiencing technical difficulties,” he said. “Santa left his other – more efficient -- elves at the North Pole.”
Melody suddenly burst into tears. Sally gave him a reproachful look that made him feel like a heel, and he lumbered off the dais. The toes of his size-fourteen boots – Ray’s boots – were stuffed with newspaper, which made walking a challenge. Plus, his balance was off thanks to the lopsided padding across his middle.
“Aw, Melody, I’m sorry. I was kidding. You’re doing great. It’s not your fault the camera won’t work.”
Sniffling, the young girl dipped to pick up the small silver digital. She pressed what Cole assumed was the On button. Nothing happened.
Melody shook her head. “It’s shot, but luckily the photos I took tonight will be okay. I can take out the memory card and print them on my computer at home.”
Cole said a silent thank you before looking at the last customer in line. “Sorry about this. We could probably have a new camera by tomorrow. I’d like to tell you the real Santa will be back by then, but I doubt it.”
The woman looked at her son, who didn’t resemble her in the least. The child was a towhead with wavy locks that curled around the collar of his denim jacket. Even in the dim light of the Christmas bulbs looped around poles, Cole could tell that the boy’s mother was beautiful. Shoulder-length, dark auburn hair pulled off her face with a simple clip. Wide-set eyes that were blue or green – far lighter than he’d expect with her dark coloring.
When she turned to face him, he had a momentary sense of déjà vu. Had they met before? Was she from around here or maybe someone he’d sold a house?
No. He definitely would have remembered a face like hers.
“I have a camera. If you wouldn’t mind, I could take Joey’s photo with you and have a copy printed later. I’d still pay, of course.”
He liked her voice. Firm, direct and businesslike, but feminine, too.
“Um…” he looked around for someone to ask if there were rules against do-it-yourself photography, but Sally had moved off to pack her cats into their lavish pink leather carrier. Melody was on her cell phone – no doubt complaining to her dad, Cole’s poker buddy, Ed, about Santa’s lack of empathy with her broken camera. Cole’s mother was probably helping at the refreshment booth where a few stragglers still lingered. “Why not?”
The woman set the boy – Joey, she’d called him – down and dug a camera out of her bag. It was much more elaborate one than Melody had been using.
“I’m going to take your picture while you sit on Santa’s lap, sweetie,” she said in a soft voice, as she led Joey to the platform and waited while Cole climbed into his chair. “Can you do that for Auntie Tessa?”
Auntie?
Cole settled back against the wide, hard throne, subtly shifting his padding to make room for the boy, who didn’t look too sure about this whole thing.
“Hi, there, Joey. How are you tonight?”
The boy’s big blue eyes grew even rounder and he appeared to be holding his breath. Cole had wanted kids, had imagined raising a boy just like this one. But Crystal had insisted they weren’t ready. “We need to establish ourselves financially, first,” she’d said.
What she didn’t say was if that didn’t happen she’d kick his butt to the proverbial curb faster than a Texas tornado could demolish a mobile home.
He refocused his attention on the child on his knee, his uninjured left one this time. The little boy was a featherweight compared to Sally, and Cole bounced him reassuringly, picking up speed as the child’s bottom lip started to curl outward.
“Um…what kinds of toys do you like, Joey? Trains? Bob the Builder? I’m a builder. Um, in the off-season,” he added, feeling like a complete idiot. “How ‘bout a bike? I mean trike. Would you like a tricycle for Christmas?”
Joey opened his mouth but no words came out. Cole was just happy the little guy wasn’t bawling his expressive blue eyes out. Cole looked at the aunt for help and found her squatting a few feet away, snapping shot after shot.
“Smile, Joey. Your aunt looks like a real professional. I think she’s done this before.”
“Less bouncing, please.”
Cole felt his cheeks heat up. Duh.
He used this gloved finger to turn Joey’s chin his way. Giving the kid his most friendly, concerned smile, he said, “Just tell me what you want, Joey.”
“Mommy,” the little guy said.
Then, a second later, he threw up. All down the front of Cole’s brilliant white beard, red suit and wide black belt.
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