Page 37 of A Very Naughty Christmas

“It’s not much,” she admitted, taking the box from him. “It’s a handkerchief. But look—” She picked up the light blue silk and turned it over. There she’d glued a picture of herself with fabric glue and she’d sewn the wordsstay safe, Daddyin neat stitches. “You’re always worried about me staying safe, so I thought if you wore it in your pocket maybe it would keepyousafe.”

“Baby…” He cupped her chin and gave her a sweet, tender kiss. “That is so thoughtful. I love it. Thank you. Now, I know you think there’s nothing for you, but look over at the fireplace.”

Brightening instantly, Sara looked at the fireplace and saw a stocking hanging. Turning back to him with an eager grin, she squealed in excitement. “You didn’t need to get me anything else! The tree by itself is so amazing!”

“Well, why don’t you go see what Santa Daddy brought you anyway?”

With another excited giggle she disentangled herself from his embrace and ran eagerly to the fireplace. She took the stocking off the lone hook and shook it eagerly. It didn’t make any noise. And when she reached her hand in and pulled out a long, thin switch, she saw why.

“Daddy!” She stamped her foot and turned on him with a pout.

“Well, you can’t tell me it won’t come in handy.”

“That’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” he chuckled. “Go on, keep looking.”

Dubiously, she slid her hand in again and dug down deeper until her fingers brushed against what felt like a piece of paper. She withdrew an envelope and looked at him accusingly. “Is this a coupon for me to get out of a spanking?”

“No, but thanks for the suggestion. I know your birthday is coming up.”

Sara gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes but she couldn’t help but smiling just a little. And then when she opened the piece of paper and read its contents, her mouth dropped open a second time. “No! You’re… you’re coming to visit me? Over spring break?”

“That’s right. I’m taking a much-needed vacation and we’ll have a whole week all to ourselves. You can show me around the city, we’ll go out to eat at all your favorite places, and if you’re a very good girl—”

But he didn’t get to finish because right at that moment Sara catapulted across the room and threw herself into his arms. Her lips claimed his eagerly and he returned the kiss with fervor. Besides, he didn’t think he had to explain anymore.

“Merry Christmas, little girl,” he said when they broke for air. “Ho, ho, ho!”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” she said, her voice raspy with need.

Daddy briefly considered reminding her to be respectful, but pushed it aside. There’dbe plenty of time later for Sara to take a trip over Santa’s knee.

The End

Mistletoe Magic

By

Maddie Taylor

Chapter One

Singing softly along with Alabama’s “Christmas in Dixie” while she worked, Dixie Mae Culbertson—yes, her mother had graced her with the most awful, southern, hillbilly name ever—automatically changed the lyrics from “Charlotte” to “Asheville, Caroline” for her hometown as she added the finishing touches to her window elf.

“A pink nose and red rosy cheeks, that should do it,” she murmured with satisfaction as she stepped back and took in the scene she’d created with a critical eye.

It had taken her three hours to complete, but now the eight large picture windows spanning the front of Pete’s Diner where she waited tables six days a week were adorned with everything she could think of that represented the North Pole, this year’s theme. Snow-covered trees, festive garland and wreathes, a busy workshop brimming with toys, Mrs. Claus with a tray of fresh-baked cookies, and center stage, Santa, the fat man himself, stood beside his sleigh. Loaded with presents wrapped in brightly colored paper and bows, he was ready to head out on Christmas Eve.

“Something isn’t quite right,” she mused as she honed in on the sleigh. “There were eight tiny reindeer, not three.” Except keeping to scale, that’s all she could fit. Propping an elbow on the opposite arm that she had folded over her chest, Dixie tapped a finger on her chin as she weighed her options. “Maybe I could squeeze them all in if I have them flying overhead on their way to deliver the toys.”

She’d already dipped into her pocket to retrieve her rag to make the adjustments, when she heard, “It’s lovely as it is, dear. You always do such a wonderful job on Pete’s windows.”

Twisting her head around, she found one of the customers was standing beside her looking on too. It was Mrs. Goodwin, known to most folks in town as Mrs. G., or as Miss Emmaline to those who were more than acquaintances. “Pardon me?” Dixie asked in surprise, not having heard the older woman’s approach, nor had she realized until now that she’d made her observations aloud.

“Your Christmas windows are perfect. Don’t you dare change a thing.”

At ninety, her wrinkles had wrinkles, and her translucent skin was paper thin. Her hair was cut short and curled precisely. The snowy strands weren’t pure white, rather with a blue tint from the rinse that some older ladies preferred for some unknown reason. For Dixie, the color was a reminder of growing up, when her mama, trying to stretch their very limited budget to the nth degree, would cut their real milk with the cheaper powdered stuff, creating the same bluish shade. With five kids putting away at least a gallon a day, it was that or get acow. Which Mama had threatened to do often, not that it was remotely possible in dollars and cents. She had done what she had to do, despite their grumbling, to see her family taken care of.

---