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Sherrie stepped out of the roomy pants, struggling with the sudden onslaught of depression. It was bad enough that she’d been jilted practically at the altar, leaving her a month’s vacation to get through.
Instead of spending two weeks in Hawaii on her honeymoon and another two moving into a new, expensive condo, she was now faced with the prospect of finding somewhere cheaper to live, since she’d already moved out of her old apartment.
With her furniture in storage, and unable to bear the thought of everyone feeling sorry for her, Sherrie had immediately agreed when Tom had suggested she stay with him until she found somewhere else to go.
It had seemed the perfect solution. Tom wasn’t the kind to commiserate with her. He’d told her flat out that Jason’s last-minute cold feet was the best thing that could have happened to her. Knowing that he was right was poor consolation, however. Spending the holidays alone in her brother’s apartment was not her idea of celebrating Christmas, and playing Santa for a crowd of excitable, hyperactive children had definitely not entered into her plans.
Nevertheless, once she made a commitment, she stuck with it. Through heaven and hell, if need be. She’d promised Tom she would do the job for him, and Sherrie Latimer always kept a promise. Even if Matthew Blanchard did not approve of her. Besides, playing Santa would at least keep her mind off her own troubles.
Sherrie eyed the Mrs. Claus outfit with a frown. It was still too big for her, but a vast improvement on the suffocating red wool suit that now lay crumpled on the floor amid a pile of pillows.
The full skirted dress with the red-and-green holly pattern slipped easily over her head. She added a pillow to give her a bosom, and another under the waistband, then pulled on the white wig and the bonnet.
Placing the pair of granny glasses on the edge of her nose, she squinted through the empty frames. She wished she had a full-length mirror to inspect herself before she went public. Matthew Blanchard didn’t have one mirror in the entire room. Obviously he didn’t like looking at himself.
Which was too bad, Sherrie thought, as she bent over to pick up the Santa suit. The man would be quite attractive if he learned to smile.
The glasses slid down her nose and fell to the floor. She reached for them, grunting as the pillows prevented her from bending that far. She almost toppled over as she made a grab for the spectacles.
Straightening again, she let out a long sigh. She was clumsy enough as it was, without having to deal with the unfamiliar padding obstructing her every movement. Heaven help her if she dropped a child off her lap.
After folding the red coat neatly, she laid it on the uncluttered desk. The photo of the little girl was turned partly away from her, and Sherrie couldn’t resist taking a closer look. Turning the frame toward her, she saw a pretty child of about four or five.
It was obvious the little girl was Matthew Blanchard’s daughter. She had the same gaunt cheekbones, straight nose and light blue eyes, though her hair was dark blond instead of black like her father’s. Her smile lit up her entire face, in stark contrast to her father’s grim, austere expression, but even so, she bore a marked resemblance to Sherrie’s temporary boss.
Sherrie turned the frame back to its original position, wondering what the little girl’s mother looked like, and why her picture wasn’t on Matthew Blanchard’s desk beside his daughter’s. Deciding it was none of her business, she folded up the rest of Santa’s suit, then bundled it under her arm. It was time to get back to work.
An hour or so later, Sherrie was beginning to wish she had never agreed to take Tom’s place. Why her brother enjoyed the job, she couldn’t imagine. His instructions had seemed simple enough—greet the children, ask them if they’d been good, ask them what they wanted for Christmas, never promise to deliver but tell them she’d see what she could do, throw in a couple of Ho Ho Hos, give them a candy cane and go on to the next one.
What he hadn’t told her was that children could be remarkably curious and sometimes downright personal. One little girl had asked her if she and Santa slept in the same bed, and one smart-mouthed boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten, asked her for a date.
Another little girl, who had sat in silence for so long Sherrie had just about given up on getting a word out of her, suddenly asked in a loud voice what kind of underwear Mrs. Claus wore at the North Pole.
Question after question poured from their eager lips. What was it like to be married to Santa? Did she get lonely when he was out delivering the toys? What kind of dinners did she cook for him?
When she did finally manage to get in a couple of questions of her own, some children boldly demanded everything from sports cars and motorbikes to automatic rifles.
More than one handed her a list as long as a toilet roll, while others touched her heart by asking for nothing more than a new sweater or a jacket. Those were the ones she wished she could take into the clothing department and let them pick out whatever they wanted.
After delivering a screaming child back to its determined parent, Sherrie longed for a break. Her back ached from the constant hauling up and down of dozens of kids, some of whom weighed almost as much as she did.
A glance at her watch told her she had about ten minutes to go when she caught sight of Blanchard’s owner heading through the crowds around the toy department. He was almost up to her before she saw the small child he led by the hand.
She was a fragile little girl, with dark blond curls embracing an unsmiling, heart-shaped face. She looked up with a wistful expression when the tall man at her side spoke to her.
Sherrie braced herself. If her memory served her right, she was about to meet Matthew Blanchard’s daughter.
She was quite impressed when the store owner stood patiently in line, holding his daughter’s hand. Saying goodbye to her break for a while longer, Sherrie concentrated on the children ahead of her boss.
At last it was the solemn little girl’s turn. Matthew Blanchard stood discreetly back from the platform as the child sat stiffly on the edge of Sherrie’s knees. The little girl seemed to weigh hardly anything at all, and her blue eyes were huge in her delicate face.
“Can you tell me your name?” Sherrie asked, and was rewarded with a soft whisper.
“Lucy Blanchard.”
“Lucy. That’s a nice name.” Sherrie smiled, forgetting for the moment that the child’s formidable father stood just a few feet away. “I can tell you’ve been a good girl. What would you like me to ask Santa to bring you for Christmas?”
Lucy stared at her, as if she wasn’t sure she understood the question. “Daddy said Santa couldn’t come.”
Sherrie nodded. “I’m afraid Santa is really busy getting all the toys ready for Christmas Eve. But I’ll be talking to him before he leaves the North Pole on his sleigh, so you can tell me what you want. I’ll make sure he gets the message, okay?”
“Okay.”
Sherrie waited a moment, while the little girl continued to study her face. “Is there something you really want for Christmas?” she prompted, when Lucy seemed content to remain silent.
Lucy nodded, then looked over her shoulder at her father, who was watching the kids in the toy department trying out everything on the shelves. Apparently reassured, the little girl leaned forward to put her mouth close to Sherrie’s ear.
“I want a mommy,” she whispered.
Her hair tickled Sherrie’s ear, and she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “You mean a mommy doll?”
Lucy shook her head. “A real mommy.”
Sherrie felt cold, as if someone had turned on the airconditioning. “You don’t have a mommy?”
Again Lucy shook her head, her beautiful eyes pleading with Sherrie to understand.
Sherrie had to clear her throat. “Well, Lucy, that’s quite a wish. I’ll be sure to tell Santa what you want, but you do understand he can’t always bring children what they ask for. He will do his very best, and I’m sure you’ll be happy with whatever he does bring for you.”
Lucy listened gravely to the practiced speech, her eyes fixed on Mrs. Claus’s face. She seemed to think about it for a while, then she let out a small sigh. “I just want a mommy. Daddy and me is very lonely.”
Sherrie looked into those liquid blue eyes and felt her heart melt. Scrooge himself couldn’t have denied the appeal in that face. “Well, sweetheart,” she said softly, “we’ll just have to see what we can do, won’t we?”
Chapter Two
Later, in Tom’s apartment, Sherrie sank onto the shabby couch with a weary sigh. By the time she finished playing Mrs. Claus next month, she thought ruefully, she’d have muscles Mr. Universe would envy. Thank heavens the job was only four hours a day. Any longer than that and someone would have to carry her out of the place.
After the noisy chatter of the children, she welcomed the quiet peace of the silent room. Leaning her back against a soft, plump pillow, she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind.
Gradually the clamor of excited voices began to fade until all that was left was the wistful whisper of a sadfaced little girl.
Sherrie opened her eyes again and sat up. Now that she had time to think about it, she was beginning to realize just what she had taken on. She had more or less promised a trusting child that she would find her a mother. Even more daunting was the other side to that particular coin. She would have to find a wife for Matthew Blanchard.
No longer feeling relaxed, Sherrie jumped up and went into Tom’s tiny kitchen. She had set herself a formidable task, she thought, as she studied the meager contents of the ancient fridge. She would have to find a very special woman, someone with a heart full of love to give to a lonely little girl.
That would be difficult enough. Finding someone who was willing to take on Matthew Blanchard as part of the deal might be darn well impossible.
She would give a great deal to know what had happened to Lucy’s mother. It could have been a divorce, or perhaps the mother had died. Either way, Lucy must miss her mother a great deal. She would be hard to replace.
Sherrie closed the door of the fridge with a shudder and opened up a cabinet. The only item that looked remotely appetizing was a packet of macaroni and cheese. Obviously her brother was not fond of eating at home.
Sighing, she reached for the packet and made a mental note to shop on the way home from the store the next day.
After dinner, Sherrie tried to concentrate on a television program, but the vision of Lucy Blanchard’s pensive face kept getting in the way. To make matters worse, the stern features of Lucy’s father also kept intruding on her thoughts.
Finally giving up, Sherrie switched off the television and thought of the task she’d set for herself. Lucy would present no problem, once Mrs. Claus had found the right woman. It was Matthew Blanchard who presented the biggest obstacle.
Impatient with herself, Sherrie went back into the kitchen to make a cup of hot chocolate. She didn’t know enough about the man to make a fair judgment, she told herself. First impressions could be misleading and, after all, he had a lot going in his favor.
In the first place, he was nice-looking. Attractive, even, if one went for the strong, intense type. He was obviously well-off, since he owned the largest department store in town. If only he would lighten up and smile now and again, he’d be quite a catch—as long as someone was willing to make the effort to break through that intimidating front he presented.
All she had to do, Sherrie decided as she crawled into bed, was find the right woman. Out of all the single women she knew, there had to be someone who would be perfect for Lucy and her implacable father.
Having convinced herself on that score, Sherrie did her best to go to sleep. It wasn’t easy. Alone in the unfamiliar apartment, every sound seemed ominous. Tom had intended to sleep on the couch while she was staying with him, and she couldn’t help wishing he hadn’t had to leave.
Now that she had nothing to do but think, Jason’s last-minute betrayal seemed catastrophic. She had lost much more than a future husband. She’d given up her cozy home in a familiar neighborhood where she knew most of the locals. But even if her apartment hadn’t been rented, she knew she wouldn’t return there.
She preferred to make a completely new start in a place where no one knew she’d been dumped at the altar. As for Jason, he had completely destroyed her trust in men. In her opinion, marriage was overrated and risky at best. She could only hope that Matthew Blanchard’s new wife would have better luck.
Annoyed with the way her mind kept returning to her unapproachable boss, she turned on her side and tried to get comfortable. Tom’s apartment could use some new furniture, she thought, as she pummeled the pillow. It could also use a woman’s touch—something pretty on the walls would help cheer up the place. Her brother really needed a wife as well.
She smiled to herself in the darkness. If she could find a wife for Matthew Blanchard, finding one for Tom would be a breeze. On that happy thought, she drifted off to sleep.
Matt just happened to be standing near the employees’ entrance when Sherrie Latimer arrived the next morning. He’d convinced himself that he was merely checking to make sure she was going to turn up for work. After all, she’d looked pretty tired by the end of her shift yesterday.
He refused to even consider the possibility that he wanted to see her arrive for the sole purpose of checking out her figure. Not even when his pulse leapt as she came through the door.
He’d forgotten the way her honey gold hair with its hint of red curled onto her shoulders. Without the glasses and white wig she looked incredibly young.
She wore a black skirt that barely skimmed her knees, and a black sweater with a yellow-and-black scarf tucked in the neck. Her curvy figure easily surpassed his wildest imagination. He was used to seeing reed-thin athletic bodies on the women at the health club. He hadn’t real- ized how much more exciting it was to look at someone a little more filled out.
His curiosity satisfied, he tried to slip away unnoticed, but she caught sight of him before he could make his escape.
“Good morning, Mr. Blanchard!” she called out, with a slight smile playing around her mouth, as if she knew his heart rate had jumped to jogging level.
He mumbled an answering greeting, then watched her trip lightly over to the elevators. He had to stop this, he thought desperately. She was, after all, one of his employees. He made it a rule never to fraternize with the help.
Not that he wanted to socialize with her, he hastily assured himself as he strode over to the escalator. For one thing, she was too young. For another, he rather suspected that Miss Latimer had very definite ideas on any given subject—ideas that were likely to clash with his own.
She appeared to be the kind of young lady who would have no qualms opposing his views rather strongly if she were so inclined. And if there was one thing Matt hated, it was an argument.
More often than not he gave in, sacrificing his own convictions rather than argue, which had been part of the problem with his ex-wife. If he hadn’t been so indulgent with Caroline, if he’d insisted that she behave like a responsible adult instead of condoning her selfish, immature behavior, he might have saved the marriage. Though he rather doubted it.
He was pretty sure that Caroline had never really loved him. Her head had been turned by the big bucks. She’d seen the furs, designer fashions and jewelry that Blanchard’s carried and she was like the kids in the toy department. She wanted it all. Until Lucy had come along and put an end to her freedom. Then she hadn’t wanted either of them.
Well, he told himself as he rode the crowded escalator to the next floor, he was through with that kind of commitment. Never again. He’d learned a tough lesson. He’d made a mistake and he wasn’t about to repeat it. That settled, he resolved to put Miss Latimer and her delectable figure right out of his mind.
Upstairs in the private employees’ lounge, Sherrie’s bones ached as she dressed in the Mrs. Claus outfit. She adjusted the wig and the glasses and scowled at her image in the mirror. If this was how she would look when she got old, she thought, there wasn’t a lot to look forward to.
She was about to leave for her first stint in Santa’s chair when the door of the lounge opened. The impeccable, heavily perfumed creature who entered eyed her up and down with amusement.
“God,” she muttered, “if I had to spend longer than five minutes in that outfit I’d quit.”
“It’s not exactly my favorite way to dress,” Sherrie said, smiling. “Actually I’m doing it as a favor for my brother. He was supposed to be Santa.”
The woman nodded. “So I heard. One of the stockmen told me about the last-minute change. Actually you look pretty good. Definitely an improvement on some of the Santas we’ve had. How’s things going down there?”
“Exhausting,” Sherrie admitted. “But I enjoy meeting all the children.”
The woman leaned closer to the mirror and patted her immaculate blond hair. Opening the small black purse she carried, she took out a lipstick and touched up her lips.
“My name’s Beryl Robbins,” she said, slipping the gold case back into her purse. “I’m the head buyer here. We’ll probably bump into each other now and again. If you want to know anything about this place, just ask me. There isn’t much that gets by me.”
Sherrie could well believe that. The woman’s sharp brown eyes under the mascara-laden lashes were never still. “I’m Sherrie,” she murmured, “and I’ll keep it in mind.” She slipped out of the door then, before Beryl Robbins could begin probing into her private life.
Down on the fifth floor, the children were already lined up, waiting impatiently for Mrs. Claus to arrive. A small cheer went up as Sherrie took her seat and beckoned to the first little girl in line.
The child’s mother held on to the small hand, and seemed determined to do all the talking. It took several moments of diplomatic persuasion before Sherrie could talk to the child herself.
Watching from a discreet distance, Matt felt a small stab of satisfaction. The Mrs. Claus idea seemed to be working out quite well, in spite of the diminutive size of the woman inside the padding. In fact, it amazed him to see her hauling all those kids up onto her lap. He’d expected her to come crying to him at the end of her first day to say she couldn’t handle the job.
He felt a little more comfortable now that she was dressed as Mrs. Claus again. It seemed to put a respectable distance between them. After all, who would have the urge to date Santa’s wife? Highly inappropriate, to say the least.
After studying the application form he’d had his newest employee fill out, Matt had learned little more about Sherrie Latimer. She was twenty-seven, single and a college graduate. She’d listed her present address as the same as her brother’s, which, now that he came to think about it, was a bit odd, since she’d told Matt that she was merely spending the holidays with Tom Latimer.
Remembering the misty-eyed expression he’d noticed when he’d mentioned her holiday plans, Matt wondered if she’d had some kind of trouble. He quickly reminded himself that it was none of his business.
As long as Sherrie Latimer did a good job for him, her private life was her own concern. The position was only temporary anyway. Once the Christmas season was over, he would probably never set eyes on Sherrie Latimer again.
To his dismay, the thought gave him a definite twinge of regret. He turned his back on Mrs. Claus and headed toward the crowded toy department. He wasn’t about to let himself get distracted by a ditzy, pint-size angel of mercy who let her heart rule her head.
Any other woman with an atom of sense would have told her brother to find himself another Santa. But obviously she wasn’t like other women. She’d given up her vacation and taken on a mammoth task so that her brother could go chasing all over Mexico on his own errand of mercy, as she’d put it.
He would have admired that, if he hadn’t been convinced that women like Sherrie Latimer were a danger to self-respecting, confirmed single fathers, who should know better than to spend their mornings wondering if a certain woman tasted as good as she looked.
Seated on her red velvet throne, Sherrie was having her own troubles. One little girl, desperate to go to the bathroom, was determined not to lose her place in line. Unfortunately the wait proved too long, and Sherrie’s lap was decidedly damp after the child had scrambled down.
The next small boy demanded that Santa bring him a space gun for Christmas.
“I’ll be sure to tell Santa what you would like just as soon as I get back to the North Pole,” Sherrie said, reaching for a candy cane.
“I don’t want to wait till Christmas,” the boy announced, scowling at her, “I want it now.”
Sherrie tried to curb her flash of irritation. “Well, I’m afraid you can’t have it now. Santa doesn’t deliver the toys until Christmas Eve. But you can have a candy cane now.”
“Don’t want a candy cane.” The boy snatched it from her hand and threw it on the floor. “I want a space gun and I want it now.”
“Then I guess you’re going to be disappointed,” Sherrie said, easing the child off her lap.
The boy stared at her for a second, then opened his mouth and let out a shrill scream. Sherrie looked around in vain for the child’s mother, but apparently the woman had taken advantage of the respite from her rebellious child and dashed off to shop.
Sherrie’s efforts to calm the child were fruitless. Still yelling, the boy rushed over to the reindeer and, using both fists, began pounding one of them on the head.
“Stop that right now,” Sherrie warned, “or Santa won’t bring you anything on Christmas Eve.”
“Don’t want Santa,” the boy yelled, aiming a kick at the reindeer’s legs. “Santa’s stupid.”
It was the final straw. Leaping from her chair, she grabbed the squirming child by the arm and hauled him off the platform in front of the waiting customers. Unfortunately his mother arrived on the scene just then, demanding to know why Mrs. Claus was beating up her child.
“He was beating up the reindeer,” Sherrie hotly protested. “I was simply removing him from the area.”
“Well, you don’t remove my child from anywhere,” the mother yelled, her voice rising above her son’s screams. “That’s my job.” She was a big woman, and looked as if she could flatten an elephant with one blow.
Sherrie opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again as a deep voice inquired, “What’s going on here?”
Sherrie’s heart sank as she met the disapproval in Matthew Blanchard’s ice blue eyes. She began to explain, but the customer forestalled her.
“I am never,” she said, pronouncing the word in a voice of doom, “ever setting foot in this store again.” She looked around at the line of interested spectators. “If I were you,” she added meaningfully, “I’d get out of this store before they all start beating up on your kids.”
“Madam—” Matt began, but she cut him off.
Grabbing her son by the hand, she said loudly, “Come on, Henry. We’ll find a store where kids are welcome.” She glared at Sherrie as she passed. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she snarled. “Posing as Mrs. Claus and then picking on little kids. You should be reported.”
Sherrie managed to hold her tongue as the woman led the screaming child away. She flicked a quick glance at Matt, who was addressing the crowd in a calm, quiet tone of reassurance.
“I apologize for this small misunderstanding,” he announced. “To make up for the unpleasantness, I’ll see that every child in the store gets a free balloon and a candy cane.”