Page 49 of Not Your Average Vixen
Dammit! A whole bakery at her disposal? God only knows what she could do with an entire shop!
“But how will I get there?” she asked.
He stepped forward and nodded as if he cared. Well, he did, just not for the same reason she did.
“Take the truck. It’s the red one parked outside. It’s for guest use, and you’re welcome to take it out whenever you need it,” the woman answered, dashing his hopes to dash his Dasher’s agenda.
Bridget glanced up at him, grinning like she’d won the lottery. But just as quickly as her victorious expression appeared, a somber countenance took its place.
“And you’re sure it’s okay for me to use the bakery? I don’t want anyone to get in trouble,” she pressed—the Goody Two-shoes.
Still, it was a good question. Who was Delores Donner to allow anyone the use of a closed down business? He shifted his weight nervously. There was still a chance her cake dreams would be crushed, but his gut seemed to think otherwise.
Delores chuckled. “I’m not only the caretaker of Kringle Mountain House. I’m also the mayor of the town. I’ve got a little pull,” she said, removing a set of keys from her pocket and handing them to Bridget.
Shit.
“And you don’t want to forget this. Here’s the key to room five,” Delores added, handing him a long antique key dangling from a Santa Claus key chain.
He placed the key into his pocket. “You guys are pretty serious about Christmas around here.”
Delores glanced at him over her glasses. “Oh yes! Christmas took over Kringle a decade ago.”
He gave the woman a curt nod, not knowing what the hell that meant. Sure, Kringle was synonymous with all things Christmas, but his last name was Rudolph, and that didn’t mean he was a fan of the red-nosed reindeer. He started to tell her this when a rhythmic beep from the kitchen cut him off. He glanced over at Tanner Baker, who popped another gummy into his mouth, oblivious to the sound.
Did anyone get annoyed in this town?
“Dear, I think your brownies are done,” Delores remarked.
“You do?” the kid asked.
“Yes, the timer’s going off,” Bridget added with a touch of irritation to her tone.
He could tell that his wedding planning, schedule-making, one-night vixen was itching to turn it off.
A little Type A?
Well, he couldn’t fault her on that. He was a workaholic himself. The only time he ever took off was when he was with Tom and the Abbotts.
Tanner cocked his head to the side. “I thought it was aliens sending me a message.”
What the hell?
He stared at the guy who definitely didn’t seem to be the sharpest knife in the drawer and was blown away to think that he could hold down two jobs as well as dabble in farming.
“No, dear, it’s the oven,” Delores answered, sweet as pie, or fruitcake, or whatever Christmas crap people ate around here.
“Right on,” the kid replied, still not moving as the timer continued to beep.
What would this guy do if the fire alarm went off? He’d be toast or a glop of smoldering gummy bears. He certainly could put away the sugary snack.
“Tanner, could you show our guests around the kitchen and offer them a sandwich? I need to run into town,” Delores said, removing her purse from a hook on the wall.
“Sure thing, Mrs. D. But could you wait a few minutes? I could use a ride into the village.”
“I’ll wait for you in the car, dear,” Delores said. She started for the door, then turned. “I almost forgot. Breakfast is served from seven to nine. Lunchtime is twelve to one, and we keep the condoms inside Frosty,” she added, gesturing to a ceramic snowman.
“The what?” Bridget stuttered.
