Authors: Ginny Baird
“Ditto, sweetheart,” he said with a hard stare.
She flinched. “Ooh, was that a cut?”
Mitch rolled his chair back a foot and spoke
matter-of-factly. “Listen, Bridget, I’ve got stuff to do. I’ll find out about
those packages ASAP. Okay?”
“Yeah, well, you’d better. I spent over three hundred
smackers at The Naughty Shop!”
His cell rang and he reached around her to snag it off the
desk. “Magic Maker Mitch at your service!”
Bridget rolled her eyes and sauntered toward the door.
“Magic Maker, hoo. You’d think that new gal of yours could find someone
better.”
****
Chapter Six
As William bent down to lift his morning paper off the
stoop, he heard a mounting commotion. His raised his eyes in disbelief to the
pandemonium around him. Their quiet residential street was flooded with
vehicles and hordes of men were pouring into his yard. There were jocks dressed
in sports uniforms, Wall Street types in suits, military men, construction
workers, guys in tuxedos carting flowers. Holy cow! William’s jaw dropped as he
stared up at the noisy helicopter hovering above and some lunatic parachuted in
for a landing. A knight on a white horse galloped in through the front gate,
trailed by a rowdy group, a few of them on motorcycles. The mass stormed toward
the house, calling out to him in competing voices, “She’s mine! She’s mine!”
William raced inside, sweat beading his brow. He quickly
bolted the door, seconds before its chime sounded.
Ding-dong
...
ding-dong
...
ding-dong!
The landline rang next,
trilling loudly on the hall table. William lunged for it, picking it up.
“Bridget? No, she’s still sleep—What?
What?
”
He held out the receiver in shock, then pressed it back to his ear. “Well, I
don’t know whether she’ll give an interview.”
A pounding sounded outside the door. “Mr. Kinkaid! This is
WKVX News! Can we get a statement?”
William hung up the phone and strode toward the stairs,
taking them two at a time. An instant later, he burst into Justin’s room,
popping the boy on the head with his up newspaper. “Justin William Kinkaid,” he
said. “I want to see that Web page you built, and I mean
now.
”
William gaped at the computer screen. It was Bridget all
right, only better. She was very scantily dressed in some sort of sexy elf
outfit, jingle bells dangling from strategic places. William frowned and stared
down his son as the boy flushed red.
“
Sexy Cyber Mom Seeks Home?
Justin! Just
what kind of junk have you been reading?”
“The personals?”
“But, son! You gave our home address! A MapFinders link,
even!”
“You told me to list contact information.”
“I meant an e-mail address, telephone number, maybe. Not
this!” He shook his head and stared again at the computer screen. “We don’t
even
know
if she’s got kids, for
heaven sakes.”
“She’s the right age, isn’t she?”
William blew a hard breath, his eyes glued on Bridget’s
photo. “How did you do that? You know she wasn’t wearing that when I took the
picture.”
“Computer program. Really simple.” Justin gulped. “Even
allows enhancements.”
“So I see.” William ran a hand through his hair, wondering
how he was going to get out of this mess.
“I thought the jingle bell tassels were a nice touch,”
Justin said with an impish grin.
Carmella pressed into Lucy’s room with a worried frown.
“What’s all that noise?”
Lucy quickly released the curtain she’d pulled back to peer
outside. “I’m not sure.”
“Then what were you looking at?”
“Just some birds out on the lawn!” she said above the hum of
copter blades lifting away.
“Birds? But all of those have flown south for the winter.”
Carmella strode to the window with determination and threw
back the curtain. “Oh my! Who are all those people?”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said, standing behind her. There was an
incredible crowd out there, and it appeared testosterone heavy. In fact, the
only woman Lucy saw seemed to be a television reporter. She held a huge
microphone and spoke through a broad smile to a couple of cameramen by a truck.
Carmella spun toward Lucy, gripping her legs. “You don’t
think they heard about Santa, do you? And they’re coming to take you away? Sort
of like they do with aliens?”
Lucy bent low to hug her. “Oh no, sweetie. Don’t you worry
one bit. Nobody’s taking me anywhere. I’m sure those fellows are all just here
for a visit.”
Carmella looked her in the eye. “It’s awful early for
visiting. We haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
Lucy studied the little girl, the truth paining her. Sooner
or later, Carmella was going to have to know. From the looks of the horde
outside,
sooner
was going to come
first. “Carmella,” she said, “About Santa... There’s something I think you
should know. I don’t really believe—”
“Of course Santa brought you!” the child said, throwing her
arms around Lucy’s neck. “Even Daddy said so!”
Carmella hung her head, then looked up with misting eyes.
“You know, when Mommy died, I was very little. Just two. So I barely remember
her at all. But, I do remember one thing. She used to sing to me.”
“I’m sure it sounded beautiful,” Lucy said kindly.
Carmella gulped, wiping away her tears. “So when... you
know... I asked Santa for a new mommy, I was kind of hoping that...” She
stopped and met Lucy’s gaze. “That you would...” Her voice trailed off, her
little chin trembling.
Lucy sat on the bed and pulled Carmella into her lap.
“Shh... Shh, now. Everything will be all right. I’m sure soon enough Santa will
send just the right mommy for you.”
“He already has.” Carmella looked up with pleading eyes.
“Sing to me? Please?”
“But I’m not sure I know any songs.”
“They must be in there somewhere. The elves wouldn’t have
messed that part up.”
At the senior Kinkaid house next door, Grant perused the
paper while Emma poured him coffee. “What’s all that commotion, dear?” she
asked.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said. Then again, Emma suspected
he was going deaf. She glanced at the television on the built-in desk in the
kitchen. There was some sort of reality show on.
That’s odd,
Emma thought,
generally
at this time we see the morning news.
Grant lowered his paper to take a sip of coffee. An instant
later, he spat it back in his mug. “That’s William’s house!” he spouted,
staring at the television.
“Well, so it is!” Emma said in shock.
On the old black-and-white tube set, a farmer on a tractor
bulldozed through the crowd in the street. He wore a straw hat and a big chest
plaque stating
Bridget or Bust!
“Let
me through! That’s mama’s mine!” he bellowed, barreling past the reporter
extending her microphone.
Emma drew a hand to her mouth. “Oh my!”
Grant set down his mug and stood. “We’d better get over
there and see what’s going on.”
They pulled on their coats and rushed outdoors, where the
situation looked even more overwhelming than it had appeared on the small
screen.
“It’s like the whole world’s gone crazy,” Emma said with a
gasp.
“Crazy for a certain blonde, I’d say.”
“Gracious,” Emma cried, “Is that a real set of armor?”
They elbowed through the crowd, as Grant spoke in agitated
tones. “This is worse than Mardi Gras in New Orleans!”
“How do you think these fellows got wind of Bridget?”
Grant shook his head and pressed ahead. “Don’t know, Emma,
but I’m hoping William does.” He parted the crowd with his hands, shouting
gruffly. “Let us through! We’re the parents!” A hush fell as heads swung in
their direction. Emma’s heartbeat picked up a notch. “We’ve got to get out of
here,” she told Grant, as someone in a paratrooper outfit raced toward them.
“Please, sir!” he petitioned Grant. “Can I have your daughter’s
hand? Sir!”
“Not
her
parents,”
Grant grumbled, trudging ahead.
“His!”
Emma scurried after him. “Best to try the back
door,” she said.
“Probably safer,” Grant agreed.
William struggled to collect his thoughts on how to deal
with this. He’d have to address the thronging masses somehow, and
who knew
?
It was possible Bridget’s betrothed was among them. William
hoped he wasn’t one of the loony ones. Several of the contenders seemed
slightly off kilter. But perhaps that was just at first glance.
William peeked back out of Justin’s window, deciding his
first impression wasn’t all bad. Hang on. Were those his parents cutting
through the crowd? Good. It appeared they were headed for the back door. He’d
need to go down and let them in. But first, he’d have to check on Carmella. He
hadn’t seen her or Bridget all morning. They couldn’t have possibly slept
through this?
“Wow,” Justin said, eying the lawn. “Dave’s List is pretty
effective, huh?”
“You and I will square up later,” William said sternly before
leaving.
He passed Carmella’s room, noting that her bed was empty. He
strode toward the master bedroom, but slowed his steps at the sound of singing.
Bridget’s melodious voice rose in a sweet tune,
And if that mockingbird won’t sing, papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring
...
William halted and peered around the doorframe to spy Carmella cradled on
Bridget’s lap. The little girl sighed happily, her tiny frame molded against
Bridget’s. Neither one had seen him, so he quietly slipped away, fighting the
fire in his eyes. They were a pair, the two of them. If only Carmella was right
and there really
was
a Santa Claus,
he could convince himself this portrait was more than make-believe.
The doorbell chimed once more downstairs and William
realized he’d better get moving. He had to meet his parents around back and get
them indoors before one of the new reporters who’d just arrived discovered
them.
Emma blustered in the door, trailed by Grant. “What on earth
is going on?” she asked, removing her hat and shaking it out.
Grant quickly turned to bolt and chain the door. “Yeah,
what?” he asked, his cheeks ruddy from the cold. There’d been a brief lull in
the snow, though apparently it was long enough to allow all the marauders
through. The light sprinkling that had started back up was obviously doing
nothing to dissuade them.
“It’s Justin,” William said, out of breath from racing down
the stairs. “It seems that the Internet missing-person posting he designed
revealed a bit more than we hoped for.”
Justin, who’d been standing nearby, quietly slunk away.
Emma’s sympathetic gaze followed him. “Oh now, I’m sure he
didn’t mean it.”
“I’m sure that he did,” Grant said removing his coat. “The
boy’s older than you think, Emma.”
“Yes, well, I plan to talk to him more about that later.”
William glanced through the door window to see more suitors storming the house.
“But for now,” he said, quickly shutting the blinds, “what are we going to do?”
Grant parted two blind slats to peer between them. “We could
make a run for it.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious!” Grant told his son. “Out the back way and
around to our place.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Dad. The backyard’s filling up, too.”
“Have you called the police?” Emma asked.
“Yes,” William answered, “but they said they already had a
few officers on the scene. Didn’t mention they were carrying corsages!”
Emma studied her son with kind brown eyes. “Do you think any
of those men might actually know her?”
William sighed. “I’m afraid there’s only one way to find
out.”
The trio looked toward the hall as Bridget and Carmella
entered the kitchen.
“Who are all those people out there?” Carmella wanted to
know.
William glanced at his parents. “Just some nice folks who’ve
come to see Bridget.”
“I knew it!” the child cried, wrapping herself around
Bridget’s legs. “It’s just like
E.T
.” She looked up. “They’re coming to
take you away!”
Lucy’s heart pounded at the implausibility of it all. Could
Justin’s Web notice really have sparked this pandemonium? She’d made a wreck of
the Kinkaids’ holiday ever since coming here. And now, things had actually gone
from bad to worse.
“No honey,” William said. “They only want to talk to her,
that’s all. Bridget won’t be going anywhere...” He paused, shooting Lucy a
telling look. “Until she wants to.”
Carmella studied him with moistened eyes. “By why would she
want to? She’s
ours
,
Daddy! You said so! Santa
brought her to
us.
”
William heaved a
breath and Lucy dropped to her knees to address Carmella at eye level. “Don’t
you worry, sweetheart. I have a feeling everything will work out just fine.”
Despite the ruckus outdoors, perhaps some good would come of it. Maybe her
intended was one of the men who’d come to whisk her away. Somebody good and
kind like William, she thought, warming under the heat of his stare.
William pulled his gaze from hers to address his daughter.
“Why don’t you stay in here with your Grammy and Poppy and have some
breakfast?”
“If I have to,” Carmella said, regretfully letting Lucy go.
“Mom? Dad?” William asked them. “If you don’t mind? Pancake
mix is in the cupboard.”
“Of course,” Emma said, helpfully heading for the stove.
Lucy walked to the living room window and peeled back the
sheers. “There are even more of them than before! Bless Justin. He must have
built quite a Web page.”