The Santa Man

Chapter 9

Hip winced."Don't call me Santa Claus. It wasn't supposed to be me. And it wasn't supposed to be today."

Sarah peeled off her gloves and reached for his thermos. "Do you mind sharing the cup? I promise I'm not sick. I teach second grade, so I have the immune system of a hippopotamus. What about you?"

Hip wasn't sure which question to answer first. "I don't mind. And I'm an EMT, remember? Also immune."

She unscrewed the lid and sniffed. "Heaven. Please tell me it has caffeine."

"Half."

No wedding ring, he noted. He hadn't expected to see one, though. A woman traveling alone to Mexico on Christmas Eve wouldn't have commitments. Unless she was meeting someone there, someone else avoiding Christmas. Some guy who looked like a movie star, of course. And rich.

"Good enough." She poured the steaming coffee into the plastic cup and took a sip before holding it out toward him. "Your turn."

"Not yet. Go ahead."

She took another sip and sighed with contentment. "Okay, Hip. Why are you playing Santa today?"

He glanced over, then turned his gaze back to the snow-packed road ahead of him. "A bad storm and a flu outbreak."

Sarah nodded. "That same storm kept me from going on a cruise to the Bahamas."

"I thought you were going to Mexico."

"Plan B." She drained the cup and screwed it back on the thermos. "What about you? Doesn't your family mind that you're not home today?"

"Family?" He thought of his cousin and his wife, who looked forward to the party this afternoon. And then remembered something Sarah had said back at her car. "Why did you think I had daughters?"

"You don't?"

"Never been married. No kids."

"Huh." She loosened her scarf and fiddled with something in the large purse at her feet. "You just seem like the type."

"Type?"

"Married young. To a wife who bakes bread and shoes horses. Little girls following you around and wanting you to put Band-Aids on their knees and telling you stories about rabbits and cows."

"My niece does that. Stories about ponies."

"Well, there you go. I was right." She leaned forward and turned the heat up. "And you?"

"No kids. Divorced. Three years ago. Totally his fault."

"Okay."

"No, really," she said. "He left me. Period. Trust me, you don't want to hear the sordid details."

He actually did. Sarah seemed pleasant enough. Cheerful. Independent. A teacher. Hip wasn't getting "crazy" vibes from her, and he had a pretty good antenna for people who weren't what they seemed. This particular woman, on her way to Mexico, didn't strike him as someone who went out of her way to get into trouble. She seemed more suited to decorating Christmas cookies than spending the holidays among strangers.

He wondered if that was sexist. But Lucia, the town baker, loved to make cookies. And had a business doing it. Meg owned the café, so her business was food, too.

"You're frowning, Santa," Sarah pointed out. She flashed him another dimpled smile and his heart stopped for a millisecond as he enjoyed the sight. "I talk too much. I can be quiet, though. Really. Pretend I'm not here."

Hip snorted. She may as well have said pretend it's August. Here he was, selfishly avoiding the mayor's "All I Want For Christmas Is You" party by pretending to be a good citizen, and he'd been given a gift of his own: a passenger who looked like a goddess and called him Santa.