Page 2 of Blame it on the Mistletoe
With a huff, she scrambled down the ladder, her eyes two pissed-off slits as she stomped over. “You know what they say about men who go waving their pistols around?”
He hadn’t intended to reveal his harnessed weapon, but now he knew why she’d suddenly gone quiet. “That you should approach with caution?”
“That their pistol is far more impressive than their”—her eyes briefly dropped below his belt buckle—“stocking stuffer.”
“Well, now, angel, if you were curious about my stocking stuffer all you had to do was ask. But don’t you worry, I can fire fifteen rounds before reloading.”
She did her best to stare him down, a hard task since she barely reached his shoulder. Hands on hips, that red-tipped nose so high in the air he was surprised she wasn’t experiencing altitude sickness, she said, “I prefer my stocking stuffers to get it right on round one. So why don’t you go show your pistol to someone who cares, so I can get back to decorating my tree?”
She shimmied her cute little backside up the ladder, and he walked over to stand behind her. “And risk getting a lump of coal for not helping an elf lady in need? Imagine what the town would say? I can see the headlines now. OFFICER OF THELAW NEGLECTS TO REPORT SUSPICIOUS SUSPECT CAMPED OUT IN SHERIFF STATION’S TREE.”
She looked down at him. “I imagine it will read more like OFFICER OF THELAW WAVES HIS PISTOL AT UNSUSPECTING BRINGER OFCHRISTMAS CHEER—SHE WAS UNIMPRESSED.”
“Either way, I need a good reason not to tell Logan that you’re vandalizing his tree.”
She eyed him suspiciously, as if calling his bluff. When he didn’t move, she gave a sigh big enough to deflate her whole body.
“Okay, but you can’t tell anyone.” The words were spoken so softly, he barely heard her over the rustling tree branches.
“And why’s that?”
“Because it’s a surprise.” Mumbling offensive things about his sex, she made her way back down. “Look, I’ve done this every year since the new tree went in. And every year the town erupts with excitement, trying to guess who’s behind it.” She looked up at him again, but this time her eyes were a warm brown. “If people know it’s me, then it ruins the magic.”
Noah almost told her magic didn’t exist but, somehow, sensed it would be as distressing as telling his little nephew Santa was a big fat lie. Plus, starting as far back as his senior year of high school, there’d been rumors about Sweet’s Secret Samaritan. An anonymous friend of the town who did little favors for people in need. Flower gardens would appear overnight, the elderly would awake to a seasonal pie on their doorstep, widows received flowers on their wedding anniversary.
He didn’t thinkthisSamaritan was old enough to beSweet’sSecret Samaritan, just as he didn’t think she was telling him the entire truth about why she’d chosen that tree. But he’d done enough interrogations to know that, if he wanted the truth, he needed to soften his approach. Otherwise, she’d dig in, and they’d likely stand there all night, even though she was shivering from the dropping temperature.
He looked at his watch. “Shift change happens in about twenty minutes, so unless you want to out yourself as Sweet’s Secret Samaritan to half the deputies in the county, why don’t you let me help?”
“I’m not Sweet’s Secret Samaritan,” she said coolly. She was a pretty little liar—he’d give her that. But his BS meter was more accurate than most lie detectors. “I just like Christmas.”
That was a truth. In fact, he’d go so far as to say she loved Christmas. Something about the way her eyes sparkled with childlike excitement at the admission was as adorable as it was endearing. Noah didn’t normally go for adorable, but on her it worked.
“Then how about you let me help you help Santa?” he joked and, look at that, she laughed. A good sign he’d made the first crack in those glaciers she hid behind.
“Fine, but only because I have to be home in time for dinner and you’re like ten feet tall. Plus, my ornaments are so big they’re drooping.”
As far as he was concerned, her ornaments were near perfect—in size and shape—but his mama taught him better than to argue with a lady. Plus, the sky was turning darker by the minute and their breath was starting to crystalize in the cold air.
Even though her costume was long sleeved, it wasn’t nearly thick enough to stand up to the dropping temperatures. And he didn’t even want to talk about her skirt and tights, which were more fashion than function.
“You’re one strong breeze from turning into a Popsicle.” Noah slid off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders—ignoring how good she looked in his clothes.
To his surprise, she didn’t argue but immediately burrowed into it, practically disappearing beneath the shearling. She even made a sexy little sigh as she snuggled deeper.
Noah moved to zip it and she took a step back, as if startled that he’d touch her. She tried to pretend it hadn’t happened by keeping her eyes on him, her shoulders ramrod straight, and that tough-girl attitude firmly in place. But it was clear that he’d startled her—and that startled him. Made him uncertain how to proceed, because there was also something similiar to fear flickering in her eyes. Something raw and habitual in her reaction that bothered him.
Deciding the best route was pretending he hadn’t noticed the way she’d jumped, he casually picked up a strand of lights and went about stringing them on the higher branches that even he—atten feet tall—could barely reach.
She didn’t slow down long enough to defrost her fingers before hanging large plastic balls from the lower branches. But when she stepped beside him, handing over a decoration, he knew he’d made the right call.
And that’s how Noah found himself during the first storm of the season, standing side by side with Sweet’s Secret Samaritan, decorating a tree in complete silence. Every so often, he’d hear her humming a Christmas tune, but then she’d remember he was there and give a dramatic huff before going silent.
The third time she did it, he laughed and she skewered him with a sidelong glance.
“If you don’t answer to Secret Samaritan, then what should I call you?” he asked, and she shoved out a breath as if his presence had ruined her entire holiday season.
“Faith.”
