‘Win at what?’ Blythe was confused.
‘I’ll do the dinner thing if you take devil cat to the vet’s.’ Sam looked defeated.
‘Nice idea but I’ve not got time.’ Blythe checked her watch. It would be extremely tight even if the vet could fit Turpin in now.
‘Please,’ said Sam. ‘I can’t believe I’m virtually begging to dress up as sexy Satan—’
‘Santa.’
‘It’s just an anagram of Satan.’ Sometimes he did make her smile. ‘Come on, I’m sacrificing a lot here and Turpin needs you.’
‘Okay. I’ll take him but you need to sort a few things out at the hall for me too.’ He nodded. ‘And you have some black trousers right?’
‘Yep. Casual and dinner suit.’
‘Dinner suit would be perfect.’ It seemed sometimes things did just work out how you needed them to.
*
Turpin was easily lured into the cat carrier with some of his favourite treats. The local vet was able to squeeze him in as an emergency because he was clearly in pain. He was surprisingly well-behaved at the vet’s – almost like he knew they were going to make him feel better. The vet explained that the lump on his foot was an abscess, most likely from a fight with another cat. Turpin yowled and spat when the vet lanced it but didn’t make a sound when he gave him an injection of painkillers, although he was quick to slink back inside the carrier and curl up. He was silent on the way back to Sam’s, where Blythe left him along with the antibiotics he needed to have daily.
Blythe dashed home, showered, changed and did her hair at record speed and got Greg to drop her at the village hall, which saved her the walk in the rain. When she walked in it was a hive of activity. The caterers had arrived, Vicky was in the middle of the room waving her arms about like she was directing traffic and there was no sign of any sexy Santas.
‘Where are the men?’ asked Blythe, taking off her coat and trying not to get flustered. They had forty minutes before a stream of overexcited females descended.
‘Five are in the kitchen changing into their outfits, Fraser is on the drag because his tractor broke down – long story – and one of the playground dads is in the loo.’ Vicky lowered her voice. ‘Nervous tummy.’
Owen came speed-walking out of the kitchen wearing a T-shirt and black leggings. ‘Hi, Blythe,’ he said cheerily.
‘What are you wearing?’ she asked, trying hard not to focus on a particularly bulgy bit of his outfit.
‘They’re my leggings,’ said Vicky. ‘He didn’t have any black trousers so I improvised.’ Owen lifted up his T-shirt to reveal just how high the leggings went – nipple height.
‘They’re quite warm really,’ he said, with a wriggle. ‘Bit restrictive in certain areas though.’
Blythe was hastily trying to count up the men in her head. ‘Is Sam here?’
‘He was but he’s gone—’
‘Bloody typical. I keep my end of the bargain but he wriggles out of his. I swear I’ll swing for him next time I see him.’
‘Swing for who?’ asked Sam, walking in behind her.
Blythe turned around to be faced with Sam bundled up in a coat, holding up a pair of trousers.
‘Ho, ho, ho,’ he said, passing the trousers to Owen who scurried off to the kitchen with them. ‘How’s Turpin?’ he asked.
‘He’s got an abscess, so he’s going to be sore for a few days but he’s fine.’ She decided to save the news about the antibiotics until later; there were more pressing issues to address. ‘Why aren’t you dressed? You’re backing out, aren’t you? After I’ve kept my side of the bargain. It’s not fair. I blooming well knew you’d let me down.’ Anger was bubbling in her gut. She’d trusted him and he’d reneged on their agreement. Why was she not surprised? Because men frequently let her down. A picture of her father swam into her mind. ‘I’m just disappointed, that’s all.’
Sam pouted. ‘But I am dressed.’
Exactly what she didn’t need was Sam trying to be a smartarse. ??I meant dressed for the sexy Santa dinner.’
‘Ahh, that’s easily sorted.’ In a couple of swift movements Sam removed his coat and whipped off his jumper to reveal a bare torso accompanied only by a bow tie and white cuffs. He pulled a Santa hat from the back pocket of his dress trousers and put it on. Blythe was momentarily stunned. He had a very nice body. Lightly sculpted with some definition around his abs and quite impressive biceps. He was the very essence of sexy Santa. ‘How about now?’ He grinned at her.
For a moment she struggled to find any words. ‘Oh, well that’s different. It’s good. Thank you. I’ll be getting on with…’ She pointed to the kitchen, hoping to quickly escape before the rush of embarrassment she knew was coming reached her cheeks.
She tried to enter the kitchen, but the door only half opened. ‘What’s going on?’ she said to the back of Vicky’s head.
