Santa's Pet (27 page)

“Then you’re going to have to exercise and take your medicine. Maybe get someone to move in with you after Nash and I leave.”

“I’m working on it,” Grandpa said, winking.

“Mystery woman?” Ben opened the screen door to the porch.

“Maybe.” Grandpa walked out and stretched. “You two don’t have to hover. Once the holidays are over, I’ll be better than new, now that they fixed my heart.”

“You’re not supposed to pick up anything heavier than ten pounds. Who’s going to get your groceries or pick up Treat when he gets tired?” Ben helped his grandfather down the steps of the porch as Treat followed.

“I’ll manage without your help.” Grandpa brushed Ben’s hand off his arm and trudged slowly down the path.

“Waarrruff.” Treat shook his jowls and plodded after them. It would be hard to get someone to adopt a lazy, old dog who probably wouldn’t play fetch or go running.

“You two go ahead,” Grandpa said when they got to the road. “I’ll just make a few turns around the house.”

“You sure? We can follow you,” Ben said, not liking how independent his stubborn grandfather could be.

“Stop hovering!” Grandpa leveled him with a glare.

“Okay, okay.” Ben beat a hasty retreat and took Treat down the road behind the horse fence. He kept an eye out for Grandpa until he disappeared behind the woodshed.

“I don’t know what to do about you and Big Blizzard,” Ben said to Treat as they walked down the dirt road. “I’m going to be traveling all the time, and well, Grandpa loves you, but he can’t take care of you anymore.”

Treat only huffed and sniffed at the fence posts. He was such a soft and cuddly dog and would make a perfect companion or at worst, a footrest for someone who stayed home all day long. Or someone who sat in front of the computer—like Brittney.

Try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d been so sure that she was the one meant for him—his perfect partner. His body tingled at the memory of her soft skin, those sweet curves of hers pressed against him. Her eyes were both beautifully blue and intelligently focused, while her hair glowed silky like a hot summer moon.

How could he possibly forget the privilege of holding her in bed, kissing and caressing her? When she gave her consent, it was like getting the keys to a kingdom—even better. He’d taken his time and loved her—truly and thoroughly, before he turned stupid and threw it all away.

Ben picked up a rock and pitched it across the meadow. It smacked into the dirt, and it was like he’d tossed his heart into a pit. Love meant sacrifices and love was dangerous. So dangerous he could never get over losing it. Except, idiot that he was, he’d already lost it. Over and over again, he ran over the way he’d turned Brittney’s innocent and pure love into a load of nothing.

A woman as smart as Brittney would never allow him to hurt her again. At least she’d better not.

Heck, if she were his sister, he’d keep himself away from her. That applied to all the Powers boys, he thought wryly. His stepsister, Susanna, the psych major and budding therapist swore that because they’d lost their mother, they were all incapable of loving and staying with any one woman.

Rolling stones all of them, except Damon who did his rolling at home among the women of the surrounding counties.

Ben picked up another stone and drilled it at a tree, but missed by a wide margin. Brittney would have nailed it. Hadn’t she nailed him when she broke his window with a perfectly aimed rock to the heart?

“Woof.” Treat barked half-heartedly as they finished the loop around the meadow.

He brought the dog into the farmhouse and unlatched his leash. Grandpa was already sitting in his recliner flipping through TV channels. Treat ambled to the kitchen and inhaled half a bowl of water, then implored him with his big, sad eyes for a doggie treat.

Ben gave him a handful and watched as he crunched them with relish. After he was done, he sat on his haunches and bayed mournfully, “Waaarrroooo.”

Ben walked by the mirror in the dining room and glanced at his reflection. What the hell was he doing paying attention to a dog when he should be doing anything and everything to get Brittney to forgive him?

Nash had said he could recruit celebrities for the Anti-Slut-Shaming Benefit Concert, but he wanted to do more than Nash. He had to prove his sincerity. Waking up his tablet, he explored news about Brittney’s trouble with the hackers. Days had gone by and he hadn’t heard anything from her.

As he read article after article, his blood pressure rose and he became more and more alarmed. The hackers could be part of organized crime or even working for a foreign government. Some commentators warned individuals to refrain from taking on hackers by themselves, something Brittney had done the year before when she unleashed a worm attack from her honeypot. There was no update about whether the hackers had gotten caught, and both Shopahol and Mississippi.com refused to issue any statements about the investigation and Brittney’s whereabouts.

Ben didn’t know how to code a computer worth squat, but when he got to the article about Amy Suzuki, the actress who was suing Brittney for exposing her sex toy purchases, a light bulb shimmered in his brain.

He put the tablet down and called Dominique, his agent. He actually hadn’t fired her or signed with anyone else, although he’d put her under pressure by speaking to others. She’d better come through now.

“So, you finally came to your senses?” She answered on the first ring. “What can I do for you?”

“You know anyone who can put me in touch with Amy Suzuki? I’d like fifteen minutes of her time—on the phone or in person.”

“I might be able to arrange that. Let me contact her agent. What’s this about if I may inquire?”

“Her lawsuit against Brittney Reed. I’d like to talk her out of it.”

“Good luck. She’s incensed and has been rallying people to sign petitions regulating online merchants and tightening penalties for information and data breaches.”

“I won’t need luck. Just fifteen minutes.”

“Sure. I’ll refrain from making an inappropriate remark,” Dominique said. “Glad to hear from you. Delaine says she’ll see you at the Police Dog Toy Drive this weekend. She’s cutting a deal for you with the police commissioner.”

“Wonderful. I’ll want an apology too.”

“As long as you’re on your best behavior, Santa Dude. See you Saturday.”

Twenty minutes later, Dominique texted him Amy’s phone number.

~ Brittney ~

“I can’t believe I have to go to this Police Dog thing.” I adjust the ribbons on my oh-so-innocent choirgirl Christmas angel costume. Heck, I even polished my halo, although the head-clamp is too tight since costume makers think only kids can wear halos.

“They’ll drop the charges,” Lacy says. “I have it from Owen. The police want lots of toys for tots all over Sonoma County. Besides, it’ll be good for business.”

“Want to bring your bird?” Lacy hooks a glance at Big Blizzard who bounces excitedly, fluttering his wings.

“He’s not my bird.”

“Bree-ney love Ben, Bree-ney love Ben,” the large white bird jeers.

“Ugh, why did you have to teach him that?”

“Because it’s true. Besides, I have word that Ben’s going to be Santa.”

“Not again.” I groan so loud that Big Blizzard copies me with his own high pitched “awwwroo.”

Inside, my heart’s doing jumping jacks and all my little female hormones are preening and dancing like a bunch of Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders at the thought of being in the same room with Ben. Even though he’s ignoring me, I’m going to get a rise out of him by acting like I’m perfectly fine without him. I’ll show him what he missed when he turned his back on me.

“Has he contacted you yet?” Lacy asks, a frown marring her face. “I asked Nash and he says he doesn’t know.”

“Wait a minute.” I hold my hand up like a school crossing guard. “Why are you and Nash in cahoots? Can’t you two leave off with the meddling?”

“We only want you two to be happy,” Lacy says in a sing-song voice—the one that lets me know she thinks she knows best for what will make me happy. “Hold still while I attach your angel wings.”

“Juicy boobs!” Big Blizzard chortles.

“Not boobs, silly bird, wings.” I spread my arms and flap.

“Maybe they look like bird boobs to him,” Lacy says. She tightens the laces which resemble the stays and ties for corsets, pulling me back. “Hold still.”

“I need a four poster bed to hold onto like those heroines in the Regency romances,” I grab ahold of the door frame. “Ouch, it’s too tight.”

All this tightening’s going to make my boobs look even bigger as they overflow the wing corset. Fortunately, the gown’s neckline goes all the way to my neck and is trimmed with a big dollop of fake white fur.

“At least this way, your wings won’t droop.” She yanks hard and ties a knot. “There, don’t you look like the perfect angel. Ben’s going to take one look and his heart will melt all the way into his pants.”

“Pul-lease, that’s not an image I ever want to imagine. Yuk!”

What’s the deal with Lacy and her pregnancy hormones? She isn’t due until January, which means we have to put up with her moaning about not drinking on New Year’s Eve and then some.

“Okay, grab your bird and off you go.” Lacy pats my behind and picks up my angel gown train.

Whoever thought that angels should wear gowns with fake white fur was either delusional or works for a dry cleaner.

A few minutes later, Lacy and I, along with Big Blizzard enter the same barn at my parents’ tree farm where our last disastrous appearance was. Funny how my parents got talked into providing the venue for the Police Dog’s Toy Drive.

A couple of dropped charges could be the key.

“Waaaharoooh!” Treat greets us with a booming howl which is answered by Big Blizzard’s ear-splitting shriek. “Aaaahrrreee!”

“Oh, please, stop copying that hound dog,” I shush my bird, er, well he’s not mine. “You’re hecka lot smarter than he is. You can speak words.”

“Bree-ney love Ben. Bree-ney love Ben.”

“Oh, hush.” My face heats as my eyes dart around for Santa Ben. He’s too large of a target to miss, so I’m pretty safe so far. “Go back to your Aaaaarheee.”

“Big juicy booboos. Whaddabout Ben big juice!” This bird loves the sound of his voice too much. I can almost see why Stinky Sean gave him away.

After Sean was arrested, he blamed everything on me, saying I was the one who messed up his promotion to marketing because I caught him sneaking into Jewell’s office.

Well, hell, I didn’t need to be a bloodhound to find him. When Jewell asked who’d been in his office, all it took was one sniff to identify the culprit. People used to come to me and ask, “Where’s Sean?”

I’d get up out of my office and sniff, scenting the air, then confidently point. “He went that way.”

I always knew where he was, which is why I don’t think he slept with Samantha at all. I never smelled him at her place or detected his B.O. on her. As expected, Samantha’s lawyer claims she’d been set up. Supposedly, the scheme was to frame me as the culprit for using Samantha to hack into my own network so I could discredit Shopahol and help my brother-in-law start his own company with my brilliant ideas.

Marlena explained that she was onto me from day one, tracking me and sifting through my private email and files. She was the one who ransacked my office, and she even put a GPS tracker on my car. The night I switched cars with Lacy had tricked her, and when she realized I was in the office instead of at home, she decided I was the guilty party and fingered me to the Jewells.

To their credit, they refused to believe I was so devious, and when I resigned, both Marlena and the lawyer, Michele Song, thought it was a ruse to make myself look innocent.

Their case against me unraveled when I went off the grid during my time at the Christmas cottage, at the same time the Christmas lists were posted. They knew I hadn’t accessed the internet because by then, they had subpoenaed my cell phone usage as well as my DSL connection.

“Ho, ho, ho!” The deep booming voice that makes me weak in the knees and fluttery inside out hails through the barn door.

It’s Ben, of course. And this time, his Santa suit fits perfectly. His shoulders are as broad as the door is wide, and he swaggers toward his throne, throwing candy at the cheering children.

Everyone who comes in has to bring an unwrapped toy, and because Ben’s the main attraction, a horde of women descend like the Huns lead by Attila. They squeal and shriek with their cell phones raised to get a picture of Big Ben.

If he sees me, he’s pretending not to notice. And why should he? He’s got all the female attention he’s used to as the bins fill up with toys, and women, young and old, pile into the line, cutting in front of the children.

“Brittney! Get the line in order.” My father waves from behind the camera. He’s doing the pictures now that Sean the Pits is in jail.

“Harumph.” I clear my throat. It’s my job to make sure the Santa line is orderly, well, at least now it is. Besides, if they think I’m going to pick up each female and sit her in Ben’s lap, they have another thing coming.

I turn to see if Ben’s ready. There’s still no nod of recognition from him. Guess it’s only fair. I was the one who let him go, and from the looks of it, he’s not coming back.

Numbly, I position myself between the femme fatale brigade and Ben, stopping in front of a scantily dressed woman who’s first in line. “Everyone listen up. We have one hour reserved for children, which means those under ten go first.”

“What? Where’s the sign that says this?” the first woman complains.

“Who told you to make the rules?” Another one sneers at me. “Go back to heaven and bake a cake.”

“Oh, right, you just want to sit on Santa’s boner all by yourself. You’re no angel.” The first one juts her chin at me.

“Rules are rules,” I retort. “Santa’s here for the children.”

“Well, hell. I’m taking my gift back.”

“Me too.”

I glance at the bins, guarded by a burly police officer. “Sure. I dare you to try and get through the hunk with the night stick.”

“Did someone say night stick?” a female voice squeals. “Hey, girls, who wants a fat old Santa when I can get a nice big night stick?”

In one mob, the horde of giggling, jiggling women stalk toward the policeman, who I’m glad to note is the one who arrested me and Ben.

“Arck!” Big Blizzard takes off and soars after the horde. He always wants to be in on the action, and as far as he can see, all that flapping and jiggling means something fun.

Meanwhile Treat is on his best behavior, wagging his tail and panting in his friendly doglike manner. We’ve decided that the dog will sit at Ben’s feet to avoid hyperextending his back, or having him expose his boy doggy parts.

“You must be uncomfortable in that hot, sticky getup,” I address Treat who’s wearing his Santa tube with the strap-on hat that is falling lopsided. Stopping in front of Ben, I bend over to pet Treat and rub his loose skin. Too bad I’m wearing a modest angel outfit, and can’t flash Ben my awesome cleavage to let him know what he’s passing up.

Ben’s body language is stiff as he sits at the throne, almost not daring to move. I know my perfume has to be affecting him, or I hope, so I spend more time giving Treat a loving massage.

“Woohoooowoo,” he moans and pants, then lies on his back and spreads his leg.

“You sweet puppy. So, adorable you are. I love a big dog like you, so affectionate and handsome, aren’t you?” I hold my breath, since Treat’s doggy breath isn’t the least bit appealing, and then as Ben starts tapping his Santa boots, I let Treat lick and slobber over my face. Ewww, but anything’s worth getting in Ben’s face.

“Hey, Britt!” my father yells from behind the camera. “People are leaving, can you stop all the doggy love and get the first kid on Santa’s lap?”

“Sure thing.” I sway my hips and let my angel wings bounce as I walk away from the throne. Behind me, I hear Ben groan, like he’s tired of my antics already. Too bad. He wants the charges dropped, he’s going to have to put up with me for the rest of the day.

I fetch child after child, picking them up and arranging them on Ben’s lap. He’s determined to pretend we don’t know each other, and I’m not going to let him know how he still affects me. Instead, he saves his charm for the children, letting them hug him, giving high fives, low fives and every five in between.

“Ho, ho, ho,” spills from his lips like pesticides from a crop duster. I had no idea he could be so jolly. Humpf.

I, too, turn on the charm and ask each child what they want for Christmas before they get on Ben’s lap. I clap my hands and whisper in their ears: “You must tell me if his beard’s real or not.” “Make sure you kiss him on the tip of his nose. Then you’ll be sure to get what you want.” “Bounce on his lap as hard as you can to see if he breaks.”

I watch, amused, as Ben pretends he doesn’t mind the slobber smeared on his nose, discreetly wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve and enduring the beard tugs while pressing on the glue in between each hard-bouncing child.

My
pièce de résistance
is reserved for the last kid in line. “Five bucks if you bring Santa’s hat to me. You think you can do that?”

He’s a big bruiser, large for his size and believe me, it takes all my muscles to heft him onto Ben’s lap. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that Santa Ben hasn’t helped me at all. I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.

I arrange the kid for the photograph and “accidentally” kick Santa’s boot. Because this is the last kid, I pick up Treat and place him belly-up on Ben’s other leg.

Giving the kid a wink, I back off the platform. He turns and whispers his wishes in Ben’s ear, and then Ben whispers something in the kid’s ear.

While they’re doing that, I sneak my cell phone from a pocket under my angel wings, flapping them to distract Ben from the video I’m going to make of Santa losing his hat.

“Aawwk!” A flutter of large wings heads my way. It’s Big Blizzard and he probably thinks my wing flapping is an invitation to fun and frolic.

“One, two, three,” my father says, and all pandemonium breaks loose.

The kid grabs for Ben’s hat at the same time Big Blizzard lunges for it, his talons extended. Treat whines, rolls and scrambles, getting his front paws caught in Ben’s beard.

Rriiip! The big dog drags the beard, glue and all, from Ben’s face.

“Ow!” Ben howls.

“Bree-ney love Ben.” Big Blizzard says as he flies away with the Santa’s hat.

“Oh, shit. That stupid bird.” I stumble over Treat whose paws are tangled in the yak’s hair beard.

My phone falls from my hands and I’m tumbling off the platform, when suddenly, my girdle tightens and I can’t freaking breathe.

Ben’s grabbed my wings.

“Help!” I yell as he lifts me by my wings with one hand, grabs me around the waist with the other and swings me around. My hands and feet are off the ground and he’s turning me around and around in circles. Oh, crap. What if he lets go? I can’t really fly. I’m not really an angel.

“Ahhhhh!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

Big Blizzard chases me, thinking this is a game. “Arck, arck, arck. Santa’s pet. Santa’s pet. Arck, arhhhhhhkk.”

I can’t breathe. The torture ties are so tight, I might as well be wearing a whalebone corset. Somebody help. Dad, Mom! Why is everyone laughing?

I’m still turning, dizzy, but somehow it’s different, slower, or I’m about to lose consciousness. The pressure eases from the corset and an arm wraps around me while another one holds onto my legs.

I grab for dear life, and my arms go around Ben’s thick, strong neck. I can’t take this anymore, being so close to him, looking into those deep, dark smoldering eyes, and kissing his sweet, sensuous lips.

Time slows, then stops, and there’s only Ben, kissing me, devouring me, and stealing my heart all over again.

~ Ben ~

Ben didn’t want to let go of Brittney, but everything was out of order. He hadn’t meant to manhandle her or steal a kiss in front of her father, of all people. But she felt so good and natural in his arms and he couldn’t let go.

Not until he felt a billy club tap his shoulder. “Not you two again. Break it up, or get a room.”

It was one of the officers who’d arrested him and Brittney for indecent exposure, the more reasonable one.

Ben set Brittney on her feet, but kept one hand on the small of her back.

“Have you ever kissed an angel?” he asked the policeman. “This here is a real life angel who’s given me my life back.”