Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(68)
Would she make it home in time for the Cowboy Christmas Ball? Until she’d read Sam’s message inside the envelope, that question hadn’t mattered. Now it had suddenly become all-important.
On the flight from Salt Lake City, she’d come up with a plan—a perfect way to let Sam know exactly how she felt about him. It was an audacious plan—an all-or-nothing plan. But it depended on her being at the ball.
The flight to Lubbock wasn’t a long one, but after it arrived, and she got back to her car, she’d be faced with a two-hour drive back to Branding Iron. Grace did the math in her head. The dinner would start at 7:00. The family activities, including Santa Claus, would start about 7:20 and continue until 9:00, or whenever all the little ones had taken turns with Santa. The dancing would begin at 8:00 and end at 10:00. Sam would probably be worn-out after two hours of playing Santa. He would most likely take Maggie and go home as soon as he was finished.
Grace sighed. At best, it would require a near-miracle to get her to the ball, especially if she took the time to go home and change from her jeans into the dress she’d planned to wear.
The snowfall was getting heavier. She could be stuck in this airport for hours, even overnight. Feeling dejected, she sank into a nearby seat and closed her tired eyes to rest them. The public address system was blaring Christmas music, interrupted every few minutes by announcements. The song playing now was “Here Comes Santa Claus.” She tried to imagine Sam in the red suit with a pillow, a hat, and a fake beard. Even as Santa, he’d be a gorgeous hunk.
A hunk who would wear an embarrassing costume and pretend to be jolly just to make a bunch of kids happy—that was her kind of man, and she wanted him to know it.
But the way her trip home was going, she wouldn’t get to see him at the ball. Maybe it was time to abandon her plan and think of something more practical.
*
Sam sat on the couch with the open cardboard box on the floor in front of him. He’d stalled for as long as he could manage. It was time to take out the blasted Santa costume and put it on.
“How do I look, Daddy?” Maggie twirled in her pretty new dress.
“Lovely,” Sam said. “I’ll be the proudest dad at the ball.”
Maggie stopped twirling. “Here’s the thing,” she said. “Promise you won’t get your feelings hurt.”
“Okay. What is it?” Sam asked.
“I can’t be with you at the ball. You’ll be Santa Claus. If I’m hanging around with you, everybody, even the kids, will know who you really are.”
Sam frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that. But you’re right. So, what are we going to do about that? Any ideas?”
“Uh-huh. The McDermotts are taking Ann Marie. They invited me to go with them. Okay?”
Sam suspected she just wanted to be with her friend, but he’d have to get used to such things. Maggie was growing up. “Okay, fine,” he said. “But I’ll miss being with my best girl.”
“You’ll be Santa Claus. All the little kids will want to sit on your knee and talk to you. You’ll be too busy to miss me.”
She was right. This was all about the kids. He’d have to remember to keep from grumping at the little ones or scaring them with too much ho, ho, ho.
“So, when are the McDermotts picking you up?” he asked.
“I thought I’d go over there now and help Ann Marie braid her hair. We’ll go after that.”
“Okay. Have fun. Don’t forget your warm coat. It’s cold out there.”
“You don’t need to remind me, Daddy. I’m not a baby.” Maggie took her coat off the hook, put it on, and skipped out the door.
With a sigh, Sam stared down into the open box. He’d attended enough Christmas parties to know the drill. Santa would make his appearance after most families had been through the serving line. He would sit in the big chair in front of the Christmas tree, and the kids would queue up to climb on his knee, tell him their wishes, and get a candy cane from his bag. Somebody was supposed to stand next to him and pass out the candy canes. Maybe Alice Wilkins would do it. Whatever.
But it was getting late. Rulon was probably pacing the floor, wondering where he was.
Taking a pillow from his bed, he used the sash from his robe to hold it firmly in front. The red velveteen pants had elastic in the waist and fit without a problem. The legs were a little long but they could be tucked into the boot tops. The jacket, trimmed with white fake fur, fit nicely over the pillow. A black leather belt held everything together.
Putting on the black boots was awkward with the pillow strapped in front, but Sam managed with effort. Even with thick socks, the fit was loose. But there was no time to add more padding.
Next came the tricky part. A bottle of spirit gum with a brush was included in the plastic Ziploc bag that held the fake whiskers and eyebrows. Standing before the bathroom mirror, Sam glued the beard, moustache, and shaggy brows to his face. Getting them off would probably hurt like hell, but he would worry about that later.
The hat had a layer of white hair, long enough to cover his neck and ears, sewn to hang below the inside of the wide band. Sam tugged on the hat, adjusted it, then walked back down the hall to view himself in the full-length door mirror.
He stood still, jaw dropping as he stared at the image in the glass.
He was looking at Santa Claus.