“You scared him,” Jack said.
Little ol’ me?
He chuckled.
“Jack,” said a small voice. He peered around Sparkle to see Raelynn glancing at her father and then back at him. “Here,” she shoved a piece of paper in his hand. “Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered. After hugging Sparkle, she ambled off to her chair, waiting for them to change the backdrop and props for the next scene.
Jack shoved the paper into his pocket. When Raelynn looked at him, he made a cross over his heart and then locked his lips.
She dropped her eyes and smiled at her hands in her lap, the picture of a well-behaved child star.
Later that night, when Jack was alone in his room, he pulled the paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. “Dear Santa…”
Grinning, he put the sheet in an envelope, wrote: Santa Claus North Pole, and then dropped it into the outgoing mail pile. Mom or Mitzi would make sure it made it to the post office the next day. He may not be able to convince everyone to believe in Santa, but if even one child found the magic within her this year, it would be a great Christmas.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Nat slammed her phone down on the tiny couch in the small trailer she’d lived in with a roommate for the last four weeks. “That’s it. I’m fired.” She hugged herself. It was Christmas Eve, and she’d called every Santa, local and from Puerto Rico to Hawaii, and not one of them could make it for their shoot tonight.
They’d film the Santa scene before midnight, but it didn’t matter; she was out of luck.
This was how it would end. She’d be the worst studio representative in history. The one with the shortest work history. One month and not even a complete film to show for her trouble.
She’d worked so hard, too. Smoothing things over when Jennifer went on one of her tirades—getting permission to use the ranch when Abner fell sick. Reindeer auditions. The list went on. But even after all of that, she was short one Santa. And a Christmas movie without the guy in the red suit was a failure. She’d be banned from the studio—if she was lucky. If Jennifer was in a bad mood, she’d be banned from the business. A black mark on her name.
Storming out of the trailer, she ran into Jack, nearly knocking them into the snow.
“Ho Ho Ho, you’ve already knocked me off my feet. You don’t have to do it again.”
She chuckled as he steadied them, dropping a kiss on her cheek in the process. This guy was so smooth. She liked that about him. Liked it a lot. He knew exactly what she needed and delivered it with flair, which was the hottest thing she’d ever known.
He dressed warm, with a scarf knotted at his neck. He wore his ever-present black hat over his blonde hair. It’d grown a bit this month and curled up under his hat. If she had her way, he’d grow it longer so she could run her fingers through it on the daily.
“Guess who wrote a letter to Santa?” His eyes danced.
“Raelynn?” she guessed because she wasn’t in the mood to talk about his affinity for all things North Pole. She’d decided she didn’t care, but if push came to shove, and she was in a sour mood, she’d say something she’d regret later.
“The one and only,” he confirmed. “There’s Christmas Magic in that little girl, after all.”
She smiled softly at his enthusiasm. “I’m going to miss that.”
His smile fell like a heavy ornament on a twig of a tree. “Miss what? Why?”
“I’m going to miss your exuberance for all things Christmas.” She reached up on her tiptoes and pecked a kiss on his cheek. Nat sighed. “I’m off to tender my resignation.”
“Really?!” Jack’s eyes lit up. He gave her a cocky grin. “You wouldn’t want to stick around in Sleigh Bell County, would you?”
She frowned. “I’m going back to California and looking for another job. A day early, apparently.”
His eyebrows came together. “Why?”
“Because I failed to find a suitable Santa Claus—I’m getting fired, Jack.” She leaned her forehead on his chest and sighed. “Santa is non-negotiable. They’re all booked, and I will take the blame. It’s my fault anyway.” She sniffed. “I deserve to be fired. That’s what stinks about this. I can’t even argue that I deserve to stay.”
He shook his head. “No way. There has to be….” He snapped his fingers several times. “My dad. Dad makes the best Santa.”
She didn’t dare believe that the answer to her dilemma had been on the ranch this whole time. “Are you sure?” She searched her memory for pictures of Abner on the website. A hazy image of a man with a snow-white beard floated around. She couldn’t remember details about his face, but she remembered thinking he looked kind.
“He’s feeling so much better. He’s always willing to play Santa. Even has the beard for it.” He mimed a long white beard.
