Page 36 of Santa's Girl
That earned me a round of applause and disbelieving laughs.
“Well, shoot,” Dee said. “Let’s make it count.”
I grinned. “I’ve got boxes full of Christmas stuff up at Bear’s cabin.”
“Jinx!” someone hollered. “You got the sled?”
Ten minutes later, he was hooking up two snowmobiles. Turns out, half the club had stashes of decorations tucked away in old garages and sheds. A few people disappeared, promising to bring back boxes of lights and ornaments.
By the time the men came up from their hour-long meeting, the place was a glittering, chaotic wonderland—tinsel in the rafters, garlands hanging off the pool table, and a tree made from stacked beer crates wrapped in string lights.
Someone handed me the aux cord. “You’re the boss, Christmas girl.”
I plugged in my phone, thumbed to my playlist, and hit play.
The first notes ofAll I Want for Christmas Is Youfilled the clubhouse.
A few of the guys groaned. The women whooped. And somewhere in the middle of it, I caught Bear standing in the doorway, watching the madness with an expression halfway between disbelief and a smile he didn’t want me to see.
When Mariah hit the chorus, I just shrugged and mouthed the words at him, grinning:
You lost the bet, Grinch.
He shook his head, but I swear I saw it—that tiny flicker of warmth that said maybe, just maybe, Bear Boone’s mountain heart wasn’t frozen solid after all.
The lights were glowing warm gold off the beer-crate tree, and Mariah was still promising she didn’t want a lot for Christmas.
I spotted Bear standing in the doorway, half in the shadows, arms folded. The look on his face wasn’t grumpy exactly—more like he couldn’t decide if he’d lost control of his clubhouse or his mind.
I walked straight up to him.
“Don’t look so sad,” I said. “We both won.”
One brow lifted. “That right?”
“I’m staying.”
I said it lightly, like it was nothing, though my pulse was doing its own drum solo.
“I was invited, and well… the roads might be open, but they’re icy. And the band’s coming back later, so?—”
He leaned in a little, the low rumble of his voice brushing my ear. “Is that so?”
“Apparently,” I said, trying not to sound breathless.
His mouth curved, slow. “More brothers will be up here tonight. Another club’s traveling through.” His tone softened. “You’ll be under my protection.”
Something in the way he said it—quiet, absolute—sent a shiver right through me.
He hesitated, eyes steady on mine. “Can’t promise you’ll be safe from me, though.”
For a second, neither of us breathed. The firelight flickered over his shoulders, painting him in gold and shadow.
I smiled, because pretending not to be affected was the only defense I had.
“Safe got me nowhere, Bear.”
He started to speak, but I lifted a hand—laid my palm flat against his chest. The fabric of his Henley was warm, the heartbeat underneath it steady and strong. “Maybe it’s time I mixed up my game.”
