The First Love Cookie Club (5 page)

She gave it some thought and finally nodded. “That would be okay.”

He tucked her into the crook of his arm, felt the thrumming of her little heart through her clothes. Was it beating too fast? He took a quick peek at her lips. Nice and pink. Whew.

Travis forced himself to relax and mentally gear up for the Father Christmas gig. After the parade,he’d be inundated with short stacks begging to sit on his lap and recite their wish lists. But he loved that kind of thing and children swarmed him like bees, making
him
feel like a kid again.

He glanced around at the other floats, saw a black Lincoln Town Car turn into the entrance and pull to a stop beside the rest of the cars parked inside the stadium. The driver got out and opened the back door. A willowy woman of medium height unfolded herself from the backseat.

Immediately, people surrounded her. Travis supposed she must be Sadie Cool, the celebrity author of the children’s book Jazzy loved so much. Inexplicably, he felt his own pulse rate pick up.

She moved toward the floats, the crowd parting to let her pass. Travis’s gaze tracked down the length of her long, shapely legs. Defying the Christmas costumes everyone else wore, she had on a tailored charcoal gray pencil skirt, a fluffy white long-sleeved sweater, and catch-me-do-me black stiletto boots. Her bearing was regal, square shoulders, head held high. Some might mistake it for aloofness, but a strange hitch in the center of his chest told him that she was very shy and used the detached posture as a shield. He wondered if he was the only one who could see the vulnerability she struggled so hard to hide behind that polished smile.

In that moment, she lifted her head and her eyes met his. The breath left his lungs in a quick huff of air as surely as if he’d been tackled to the ground by an oversized linebacker. Longing fisted his soul, tight and painful, touching him deep. Inside his white Santa gloves, Travis’s fingers curled into fists.

In his mind’s eye he could see her stripped naked, lying on his bed, giving him a real smile, naughty and inviting.

Whoa, wait just a damn minute.

He stomped on his X-rated thoughts. She was a stranger. A famous writer so far out of his league it was laughable. A drop-dead beauty in designer clothes with—his gaze roved over her again, succinctly—a really nice pair of breasts.

“Daddy?”

“Uh-huh,” he answered without glancing at his daughter.

The woman looked oddly familiar, but Travis couldn’t place her. She had sleek, caramel-colored hair, so glossy it made him think of polished pine, that was pulled back into one long braid that fell down the middle of her back and a sweep of side fringe bangs that gave her an exotic look.

The closer she drew, the more convinced he was that he knew her. His mind nagged, but for the life of him he couldn’t put a name to the gorgeous face. Did he know her? If so, how in the world could he have forgotten a woman like that?

“Daddy.” Jazzy tugged on his sleeve.

He ripped his gaze off the woman, turned, and slipped his arm around her. “What is it, sweetie?”

“Is that her? Is that Sadie Cool?” Her little body vibrated like a tuning fork and her smile lit up her whole face.

“I think maybe it is.”

“She’s so pretty.” Jazzy breathed. “Like Rapunzel with that long hair.”

“Yes, she is.” He looked at the woman again. She was sashaying straight toward their float, Belinda Murphey at her side.

The closer they drew, the faster his pulse raced, and when they stopped at his float and climbed the wooden steps, Travis felt his stomach vault into his throat and his tongue twist into a Gordian knot.

“Father Christmas,” Belinda said. “This is Sadie Cool.”

He put out his gloved hand to shake hers. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said lamely.

“I’m Jazzy,” his daughter exclaimed, hopping up from her seat to throw her arms around Sadie Cool’s trim waist. “And I love you!”

Overwhelmed, Sarah just stood there, the little girl’s arms squeezing her tightly. How did she winnow out of this embrace? Sarah was not a touchy-feely type and she didn’t know the first thing about kids. Especially affectionate ones with no internal filter. Or maybe all kids were like that. How would she know? She’d been an only child, had never babysat. Benny asked her why she’d even written a children’s book and her only explanation had been that she’d written it for the kid she’d once been. Overlooked and underestimated by her parents, her mind filled with a lush fantasy life. This kid, this outgoing, easily affectionate, cheery-faced, obviously much loved Munchkin took her by surprise.

“She’s never met a stranger,” the man in the Santa suit explained.

Geez dude,
she longed to say,
ever watch the evening news? Hardly a week went by where some tragedy didn’t befall a kid who was too trusting. Teach your daughter about stranger danger.
Then again, she had to remember this was Twilight. Right or wrong, people were simply more trusting here.

“Father Christmas is my daddy.” Jazzy giggled and beamed up at Sarah.

Okay, all right, so the child could cure seasonal affective disorder with one of those million-watt grins. Now she knew how the Grinch felt when faced with spunky Cindy Lou Hoo. Outmatched. “My, aren’t you a lucky little girl,” Sarah mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

Jazzy’s blond corkscrew curls bobbed enthusiastically. “He’s the best daddy in the whole world.”

For the first time, Sarah noticed the girl was dressed exactly like her heroine Isabella from
The Magic Christmas Cookie.
And odd feeling ran through her that was at once both comfortable and ill-fitting.

“Have a seat, Miss Cool,” Belinda Murphey advised. “The parade is about to begin.”

Sarah looked around and realized there was only one place to sit—beside Santa in his sleigh.

He patted the seat beside him, his gray eyes twinkling mischievously behind wire-framed Santa glasses. Gray eyes that reminded her of Travis. “Park it, Sadie.”

A flippant Father Christmas? Not precisely Victorian. Reluctantly, Sarah settled in next to him as he pulled Jazzy into his lap. Underneath the float, she heard the truck engine rumble to life.

His voice reminded her of Travis too.

You’re hypersensitive. Get over it. He’s not Travis.

No, but sooner or later she was going to run into Travis and that’s what had her on edge. Nervously, she smoothed her unwrinkled skirt with her palms and avoided looking at Santa as the float lurchedforward following the other floats sliding from the football field. There were horse-drawn carriages mixed among the floats and a bagpipe band and the high school pep squad dressed in serving wench attire.

Jazzy was leaning over the side of the sleigh, waving enthusiastically at the crowd gathered along the parade route. As the sun slid down the horizon, sweetly kissing the lake, the gas lanterns, mounted on black wrought-iron streetlamps, flickered on. Street vendors hawked a variety of foods. From roasted turkey legs to steak on a stick to shepherd’s pie—the air lay rich with the scent of sautéing onions and garlic and robust spices.

Many people were dressed in Victorian period costumes. Sarah spied Beefeaters and London bobbies and characters from Dickens’s novels— Scrooge and Marley and Tiny Tim; Miss Havisham and Oliver Twist and David Copperfield. Children rode their fathers’ shoulders. Moms carried gaily decorated picnic baskets. Teenagers, forever cool, looked bored and texted on their cell phones. “Santa! Santa!” tots cried excitedly as their float motored past.

Jazzy leaned across her father’s lap to whisper in Sarah’s ear. “You gotta wave.”

“Huh?” Sarah looked startled.

“She’s a social butterfly,” Father Christmas said, waving madly to the crowd. “Jazzy knows these things. You better wave.”

“Oh, yes, right.” Feeling like a dunderhead, Sarah forced a smile, mentally cursed Benny for getting her into this, and waved like a Miss U.S.A. contestant.

“Perfect,” Jazzy approved.

“You’ve got your very own Miss Manners,” Sarah told Santa.

“She does keep me on my toes.” He draped an arm over Jazzy’s shoulder and a sense of longing so strong, it tasted like dark chocolate against her tongue, took hold of Sarah. How many times had she wished for this kind of loving, attentive relationship with her own father?

“Look, look, it’s Isabella with Santa,” a child in the throng called out.

How surreal, riding in a float with Father Christmas and the main character from her book. Sarah felt as if she’d stepped inside the pages of
The Magic Christmas Cookie
and she sort of liked it. Did that make her nuts?

Jazzy was standing up on the seat between Sarah and Santa, basking in the adoration of the crowd. The child was brighter than sunshine and she had Sarah wishing she’d worn shades.

Santa canted his head. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

“I get that a lot. I must have one of those faces.” What was she supposed to say?
You probably remember me as the chubby, desperate chick who embarrassed the hell out of herself at a wedding one Christmas Day.

“No.” He stroked his obviously fake white beard, patting it into place. She wondered if the thing was itchy. It looked itchy. “I’ve seen you before, I just can’t place where.”

Was she going to have to get into this now? With Father Christmas on a Dickensian float, in the middle of the Twilight town square? Talkingthrough the spindly legs of the Shirley Temple look-alike standing on the seat between them.

Come on, just admit who you are. Someone around here is bound to recognize you sooner or later. It’s going to come out.

“It’s your eyes,” he said. “They’re an unusual shade of blue. Almost purple. The color of a mountain range.”

“Why, Santa Claus, are you hitting on me?” she asked, not because she really thought he was hitting on her, but just to shift things and put
him
on the defensive.

He stared at her for so long, with a bemused expression in his eyes, that Sarah wriggled in her seat. “Why Miss Cool, what kind of Santa would do that in front of his daughter?”

“I had no idea Santa even had a daughter.”

His grin widened. “They don’t call me Father Christmas for nothing.”

“And how does Mrs. Claus feel about that?”

“There is no Mrs. Claus.”

“Oh my, got run over by a reindeer, did she?” Sarah quipped. Sometimes, when she felt out of her element, she used wit to balance the scales. Her sense of humor threw some people, but not Jazzy’s daddy.

“Splat!” He shook his head, pulled a mournful face, and smacked his palms together. “Grease spot in the road. Those low-flying reindeer are hell on wives.”

“Grandmas too, from what I hear.”

“You better watch out …” His smile was purely wicked now. He
was
flirting with her.

“Because Santa is omnipotent, all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful.”

“Precisely.”

Sarah clicked her tongue. “Must be such a burden.”

“You have no idea.”

“Poor Santa. You’re responsible for everyone’s happiness.”

Dramatically, he splayed a white-gloved palm over his chest. “It’s my cross to bear.”

“How about if you skipped one year. Took a long vacation to Fiji. Gave the world some tough love. Let them figure out the meaning of Christmas all on their own?”

“Ah,” he said. “You’re one of those.”

“What? An independent thinker?”

” ‘Grinch’ is the word that comes to mind.”

Sarah thrilled to the heated thrust and parry. This was too weird. She was having fun exchanging repartee with Santa. Who would have thought he could keep up? She wondered what he looked like underneath that red and white suit. “Gotta admit, Christmas isn’t my favorite time of year. I’ve been in Fiji on December twenty-fifth, it’s phenomenal. Island life, mon. You ought to give it a try sometime.”

He looked as if he was itching to let loose with something snappy when he was interrupted by his daughter.

“Daddy, Daddy.” Jazzy tugged on Santa’s cap. “There’s Auntie Raylene.” She raised her voice, bounced up and down and waved even more enthusiastically, which Sarah would have sworn was physically impossible. The kid was Pollyanna, Pippi Longstocking, and Miss Merry Sunshine all rolled into one. “Hi, Auntie!”

Happy for the interruption, Sarah swung her gaze in the direction of Auntie Raylene. She had dyed blond hair, teased up big, and she wore a green skirt too short and tight for her age, but she still looked hot. Sarah realized she knew the woman.

Raylene Pringle used to be one of her Gramma Mia’s friends. Once upon a time Raylene had been a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader renowned for her flashy affairs with famous football players. Later, she’d parlayed the experience into a modeling career, gotten rich, came back home and married Earl, her high school sweetheart. Gram had said that Sarah was too young to hear Raylene’s stories, but whenever she’d come to visit, Sarah had lingered in the hallway trying to eavesdrop on Raylene’s juicy conversations with Gram and their friends.

Then as if thunderstruck, Sarah remembered something disturbing. Raylene Pringle was Travis’s aunt, and Jazzy had just called her Auntie Raylene. Did that mean … ?

She had no time to finish the thought because Father Christmas held up a hand and exclaimed, “I’ve got it. I do know who you are. You’re little Sarah Collier all grown up.”

Travis stared into the eyes of the woman who had once professed her undying love for him. Yeah, well, okay, back then she’d been a girl. But her mesmerizing eyes made his pulse pound harder, and the earth tilted crazily on its axis. It felt like some surreal moment from those fairy tale stories Jazzy loved for him to read to her, where the guy kisses the sleeping beauty or scales an ivory tower or slays a couple thousand dragons to get the girl of his dreams.

He thought of his mother, how she used to tell him that when he found the right one, he’d know it, deep in his heart. Then she would make a small fist and lay it over the left side of her chest and stare into his eyes. “The way it is with your father and me. When you find your soul mate, you’ll have no doubts.”

He knew he hadn’t felt it with Crystal. With his ex-wife, it had been about sex, plain and simple. But here, now, looking into Sarah’s eyes, he felt …
gobsmacked.

What in the hell was this feeling? He was cold and hot all at the same time. Achy and euphoric, like he had a high fever.

Her lips were temptingly close, and all he could think about was kissing her. Thank God Jazzy was there, coming between them, chattering nonstop. Or, compelled by a force he couldn’t control and didn’t understand, he might have actually kissed her.

When Sarah had been a teenager, Travis had never thought about her in a romantic way. He’d liked her, sure, and they’d been friends. She’d been curious and inquisitive, intrigued by things he was interested in—nature, animals, fishing—but she’d just been a cool kid.

But she was a kid no more and right now, he sure as shootin’
was
thinking about her in that way.

Little Sarah Collier had grown up very nicely. She was slimmer, but still curvy in all the right places. He liked curvy. Her eyes were sharp and smart and uniquely blue. That’s how he’d finally placed her. Those unusual eyes. Her skin was lily white, as if she never went out in the sun, and her honey brown hair was thicker, longer, plaited in a braid that landed past the middle of her back. She smelled so good, like pie made from tart green apples, unexpectedly homey but with a strong sprinkle of sass. Travis felt all kinds of feelings— surprise, desire, confusion, and, let’s face it, delight. He was delighted to discover that Sarah was Sadie Cool.

And here was the amazing thing.

The look on Sarah’s face told him she was feeling pretty much the same emotions. They stared ateach other, both breathing in short, rapid, tandem breaths.

It was a very strange moment. It wasn’t every day a man discovered his daughter’s favorite author was the girl who’d grown up next door to him. A girl who’d once interrupted his wedding to tell him that he was her destiny.

Destiny, fate, providence. Somehow, it felt precisely as if that’s what this was.

Sarah raised a hand to her cheek. “Why … why are you staring at me like that? Do I have something on my face?”

Yes, an amazing pair of lips.

She made him think about soft mattresses and long winter nights, and for a guy whose mind had been centered almost solely on his daughter for the last four years, it was damn disquieting.

“No,” he said in a hoarse croak. “Nothing on your face. You look great.”

Her cheeks tinged pink and she turned her head away, waving to the crowd on her side of the sleigh.

And there it was again, the intense urge to kiss her. He fisted his hands, desperate to quell the sensation. Sarah was only in town for a short while. She was from the big city and he was just a smalltown guy.

What’s so bad about a weekend fling? Just a good time between old friends. As long as you keep it light. …

Absolutely not. He wasn’t about to start something with her. For one thing, there was Jazzy to consider. How wrong would it be for him to get involved with his daughter’s idol? And for another thing, he had a very strong feeling that if he evermade love to Sarah Collier, one long week with her would never, ever be enough.

Sarah wasn’t clear on how she made it through the rest of the parade. She smiled and she waved and the entire time she kept thinking,
I’m sitting next to Travis Walker. Here sits the man I most wanted to avoid, and my shoulder is touching his.

Travis had said nothing else to her after he’d announced that he remembered who she was. What was he thinking? She cringed inwardly imagining the scenario playing out in his head. Was he mentally rolling his eyes to discover that he’d gotten stuck on the same float as the semi-stalkery teen who had burst in on his wedding to declare he was her one true love?

Sinking lower into the seat, Sarah kept her face toward the crowd and away from Travis, ignoring her rapidly pounding heart and the sweat pooling at the collar of her sweater.

Finally after what seemed an eternity, but in actuality was only about half an hour, the parade arrived back at the high school football field. The minute their float stopped, Sarah was up out of her seat, on her feet and headed for the exit.

Which just happened to be on the other side of Travis’s long, strong legs stretched out across the sleigh. She paused, dithered. Why didn’t he move and let her pass? Was he teasing her?

Then she saw why and felt like a dodo for taking it personally. He was adjusting Jazzy’s cap, making sure the flaps covered her ears. “There you go, sweetheart,” he said. “Gotta keep those ears warm.”

“Oh, Daddy,” Jazzy said with exasperation. “I’m fine.”

“Yes, you are,” he said.

The look on his face was so tender it tugged at Sarah’s heartstrings. Quickly she glanced away, saw a couple of high school boys pushing a portable staircase up to the float. Travis stood and handed Jazzy down to his Aunt Raylene, who was waiting on the ground.

Still, Travis did not climb down. She’d forgotten how slowly things moved in Twilight. She took a deep breath. Patience, patience.

He stood with hands braced to his back, eyes on the sky. “Well, hell,” he said, sounding far more like the Texas cowboy he was than the Victorian Father Christmas he was pretending to be. “Will you look at that.”

“What?” Sarah squinted up into the darkness.

“A little bit of Christmas magic.”

“Huh?”

He raised a white-gloved palm, caught a big, fat, soft snowflake. It melted as soon as it hit his hand. “It’s snowing. You know how rare that is? We only get snow once or twice a year if that, and here it is, snowing on the day you’ve returned home, Sarah Collier.”

“Twilight is not my home,” Sarah said stiffly.

“Uh-huh.” Travis just smiled behind that ridiculous Santa Claus beard as a dusting of snowflakes floated around him. He looked like a scene from a Hallmark commercial.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Okay, she knew she was being difficult, but something about his smug smile rubbed her the wrong way.

“It doesn’t mean a thing. How are your parents by the way?”

She shrugged. “Fine. I don’t see them much. You know, same as always, important heart surgeons, too busy for family life. How is your dad?”

A clouded look crossed Travis’s face, and he lowered his voice. “He passed away.”

“Oh.” What was she supposed to say to that?
I’m sorry
seemed so inadequate. Sarah had never been good at comforting people. Her inclination was to treat them the way she’d want to be treated. Leave them alone and let them sort things out. “Um … I hate to hear that.”

“It was several years ago,” he said neutrally as if he’d already processed and dealt with it.

“So you’re good now?”

He looked down at Jazzy, who was in excellent hands with a group of doting women. “I’m good.”

Sarah shifted her weight. Time to leave before they got into a full-blown conversation and it led somewhere she did not wish to go. Sarah stepped past him, angling for the stairs. He extended his hand to help her down, but she pretended she didn’t see his offering and forged ahead on her own.

What she hadn’t taken into account was how quickly the swirling snowflakes melted as they hit the ground. This was North Central Texas and even though it might be snowing, the rich soil was still warm. No matter how fast it fell, the snow would not be sticking around. Combine the slick wetness with metal steps and three-inch-stiletto fashion boots and you had a recipe for disaster. Which Sarah realized two seconds too late.

Her boot hit the wet patch and her foot slipped.

“Oh!” She gasped, flailing her arms to help regain her balance, but then her other boot heel caught the skid and Sarah knew she was going down.

The group of women at the bottom of the stairs all reached out for her, even little Jazzy. In her Isabella costume, she looked like Sarah’s own heroine waiting there to catch her as she fell.

But she didn’t fall.

Instead, two strong arms went around her, hauling her back up onto the floor of the float. Travis’s hands were locked under her breasts and his warm breath fanned the hairs along her temple. She hated to think how stupid she looked. Not that it was the first time she’d looked stupid in front of him.

“You okay?” he murmured.

She tilted her head and looked into those gorgeous gray eyes that had graced many of her teenage fantasies and gulped. “Peachy,” she mumbled.

He released his arms from around her waist. Thank God, because she was terrified he’d discover that her nipples were suddenly hard as little pebbles underneath her camisole. She knew
she
was terrified by this unwanted turn of events.

But his hand remained at her back, steadying her. His touch sent a ripple of sensation running up her spine. His gray-eyed gaze attached to hers in a thoroughly wicked light.

The song “Santa Baby” (the Eartha Kitt version of course; every other rendition paled in comparison) ran irreverently through her head. She sank her top teeth into her bottom lip, struggling to hold on to some semblance of self-control. But her old schoolgirl daydreams came raging back with the added fuel of adult knowledge.

She wrenched away from him, unable to handle the tumult of feelings pushing through her.
Be detached, be calm, be collected. You’re Sadie Cool, act like it.

“Well,” she babbled. “Well, thank you.”

Yes, that was so cool.

One side of his mouth quirked up and a mischievous expression crossed his face as if he was imagining what she looked like naked. “Don’t mention it.”

Sarah felt heat color her cheeks, and she ducked her head. Couldn’t very well let the guy know he’d stirred a physical reaction in her. She couldn’t bear it if he thought she still had a crush on him. Because she didn’t. Absolutely
did not.
She was a grown woman, a successful children’s book author, and he was …

A very buff cowboy Santa Claus with snow in his beard.

Wistful longing tugged at her solar plexus. Not good. Time to clear out of here. No more Christmas magic nonsense. Somehow she made it safely down the stairs only to be enveloped by the women who’d been waiting to surround her.

“Welcome,” one of them said. “We’re the members of the First Love Cookie Club and we invited you to Twilight, Miss Cool. Thank you so much for coming. It’s so good to have you home.”

Then they all started talking at once and she realized that many of them had been her grandmother’s friends, even though she couldn’t remember everyone’s names. They hugged her and reintroduced themselves and hugged her some more. They smelled of Chanel No. 5 and vanilla and cinnamon and lavender soap.

Tilt!

She was on overload. Crowds made her jumpy, beaming strangers who wanted to touch her even more so. This was almost as overwhelming as being on the float with Travis. She cast a glance over her shoulder at him. He was on the ground several feet away, swinging Jazzy up on his shoulders. The little girl’s head was thrown back, his daughter’s delightful childish laughter filling the air.

A new emotion pushed out the wistfulness and anxiety, and in that moment Sarah experienced a loneliness so dark and stark all the breath left her lungs. She wanted to run straight back to the Merry Cherub and jump into bed with a good book.

Alas, the seven ladies of the First Love Cookie Club had other plans. Dotty Mae Densmore, whom Sarah did remember as Gramma Mia’s best friend even though they’d been night and day different, linked her arm through Sarah’s. “Come on,” she said, “we’re going to a party.”

“Um, a party?”

“Tradition. The First Love Cookie Club hosts the annual Dickens on the Square gala and you’re the guest of honor.”

She looked around, hoping to think of a way out of this, but she couldn’t come up with a decent excuse. She did, however, see Santa and Jazzy getting into a brown pickup truck.

Stop looking at him.

But she didn’t, and when he turned, just before he climbed in behind the wheel, and threw a glance at her over his shoulder, Sarah’s heart somersaulted.

“You’re riding with us,” Raylene Pringle said, coming over to take Sarah’s other arm.

The rest of the group fell in behind them.

“Where are we going?” Sarah asked, feeling hijacked.

“To the Horny Toad,” Belinda Murphey said, hitting the automatic start button on her key chain. A maroon minivan parked a few feet away from the floats rumbled to life.

“Excuse me?”

“You
have
been away too long”—Dotty Mae patted Sarah’s hand; she smelled like peppermint and Oil of Olay—“if you don’t remember that Raylene and Earl own the Horny Toad Tavern. They’ve closed it to the public for the party and fixed it up real festive. You’re gonna love it.”

Sarah seriously doubted that, but she went along for the ride.
Just get through this week, and you’ll be back in New York wrestling with your book by next Sunday.

A few minutes later they pulled up to the Horny Toad Tavern, which was little more than a roadside honky-tonk, but vehicles—most of them pickup trucks or SUVs—crammed the parking lot.

They walked through the door and were greeted by an explosion of Christmas. Holiday music blasted from the Wurlitzer in the corner. Currently, Tim McGraw was crooning “Dear Santa.” A fat, seven-foot, artificial Christmas tree, overburdened with silver and red ornaments, took up an entire wall. Almost everyone was in costume. Either Victorian-era attire or some kind of kitschy Christmas getup. She hadn’t worn anything remotely Christmas-related since the reindeer antler headband and jingle bell sweater vest. Delicious holiday aromas teased her nose. The pool tableshad been converted to buffet tables, with one devoted just to desserts.