She blinked up at him, her mind turning to static. Write to Santa? “You were serious?”
She wasn’t trying to be bratty. She honestly had no clue how to do what he was asking.
He grinned. “Yep. You’ve got paper and a pen. All that’s left is to write the letter. To Santa.”
“What if I don’t want to write to Santa?”
There. That was better than admitting she didn’t know how.
His brows nearly touched his hairline. “Do it anyway. That wasn’t a request.”
Then she lost her mind.
Maybe it was the stress, or the danger, or the sadness, but nobody was going to make her write to Santa if she didn’t want to. To communicate this truth to Trace, an act of defiance was called for. She stuck her tongue out at him.
It was a toss-up whether Trace or she was more surprised. But that voice he’d used, all stern and growly, did fluttery things to her tummy. They kicked into high gear when he walked toward her.
“I was just licking my lips!” she lied. Her heart was now trying to escape from her chest. Her flutters intensified when he grabbed her ankles, tipped her backward so her feet were in the air, and spanked her bottom four times. Hard.
Lowering her feet back to the floor, he glared at her. “That was two for sticking your tongue out at Daddy and two for lying about it. Now, write a letter to Santa. Or do you need more motivation?”
“No, Daddy,” she said, not up for any more defiance.
“Good. Letter to Santa. Now.” He tapped the page. “No skimping. He’s got a direct line to this ranch.”
Still unsure what to ask, she got started. She made small talk, then listed a few of the things she’d heard women at the saloon say they wanted. She’d been so focused on staying off Rios’ radar, she didn’t even know what her options were when it came to gifts.
It didn’t matter anyway. Santa hadn’t found her for the past six Christmases. This one wasn’t going to be any different. Still, she couldn’t help but notice that writing to Santa turned out to be more enjoyable than she thought. By the time she’d completed the body of the letter, she was actually smiling. Now for the finishing touches.
She signed her name at the bottom, hoping her letter would be good enough. Adding a few doodles and her best holly leaf, she centered the note on the table.
What time was it? She’d ask her Daddy, but he might get suspicious. If she had to guess, she had about three more hours on the ranch. After that, she would be gone.
The choice was hers on how to spend those hours. She could worry about tomorrow or create memories to cherish wherever she went next. She would need those memories.
“I thought I’d read you a story after you finished your letter.” He sat on the loveseat directly behind her.
She had a better idea. “I finished my letter already, Daddy. Can I sit in your lap for the story?”
“That is the best idea I’ve heard today.” He helped her stand and guided her onto his lap. His thighs were firm and steady underneath her. Pulling a blanket from the back of the loveseat, he wrapped it around both of them, cocooning them together.
Safety and peace, two luxuries she seldom knew, drifted over her. She leaned against his chest and listened.
“‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring. Not even a mouse.”
When she pressed her ear to his chest, the deep rumble of his voice comforted her. What would it be like to have him in her life? To have a Daddy, not just on the ranch but everywhere. Someone who wanted to be with her. To protect her from anyone who wanted to hurt her.
She’d do almost anything for that kind of life instead of moving every six months, always looking over her shoulder and wondering when she’d have to leave or if she’d misjudged and stay too long.
His voice rumbled over her, slow and deep. He paused at the good parts and let her say the good parts, like the names of the reindeer and ‘like a bowl full of jelly.’
She paid close attention to every detail of her time with him. The funny voice he used for Santa. The strength of his arms wrapped around her holding the book. The softness of the blanket and the chiseled muscles of his chest. The heat of his body pressed against hers.
She never wanted the moment to end. When he said, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night,” she felt it deep in her bones.
“Did you enjoy that story, little fox?”
She nodded her head, too scared he’d hear the pain in her voice if she spoke.
