Sexy Claus (Naughty List)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Christy Rime pasted on a perky smile and wedged the potted plant from her desk into the box on her chair. Once she packed the last of her office belongings, she planned to swing by the coffee shop for a peppermint tea and hit the road—again.

“Are you sure you don’t want a piece of cheesecake to take with you?” Her ex-fiancé’s new wife—one of her now-former co-workers—stood at the entrance to the cubicle Christy had called home for the last two years.

“No, thanks. I don’t have any way to keep it cold while I’m traveling.” Cherry topping definitely wasn’t her favorite, although she had no intention of telling the kind people who’d gone to the trouble of throwing her a going-away party this afternoon.

“I wish you weren’t leaving, but I totally get why you need to go. I’m really sorry about…everything. And your dad, of course.” Julie’s remorse shone as much in her teary eyes as her frown.

Shaking off the unnecessary sympathy, Christy slid an unopened package of encouragement cards, an emery board, and a stress ball in the hole next to the potted succulents. Then she dropped the handful of outdated business cards into the recycle can and gave her space a final scan. “It’s okay. Really. I’m happy for you and James.”

Hopefully, the vague reference to her feelings would be enough to keep her arm’s-length friend from delving any deeper into the feelings about her estranged father’s death.

Julie swiped a tear from her cheek and rushed forward, engulfing Christy in a hug. “Keep in touch. Promise?”

An outright yes required follow-through, which wasn’t something she had ever felt compelled to do when she’d moved on to a new job in a new town. The past belonged behind her, and she’d become an expert at putting that skill to good use long ago. “I’ll try to let you know when I get settled again, but I’m not sure when that’ll be. Lots of details to take care of.”

“Okay.” After one more gentle pat, Julie released her and stepped into the corridor that bordered the wall of not-quite offices. “Safe travels and happy adventures.”

Relief at the other woman’s wistful smile and graceful wave sparked a twinge of regret as Christy hefted the box. She headed toward the elevator in the opposite direction. As much as she bore Julie and James no ill will, an escape without any prolonged goodbyes would make life considerably more bearable.

A chilly blast of mid-December air chased her to her car, reminding her of the canceled beach vacation she’d originally planned for the holidays. Instead of basking in the sun and surf, she had to meet with a lawyer to discuss a will, clean out her childhood home, and enlist the help of a real estate agent to put the house on the market. Then, and only then, could she finally cut all her ties to the town where she’d been born and raised.

Memories invaded her mind as she drove northeast, and not even the traffic on I-71 through Columbus and the calming scent of her tea distracted her from the pointless thoughts. Her father’s fibs and omissions didn’t matter. The truth might have hurt, but the big lie had burdened her with far more guilt than a child could handle or deserved.

The boyfriend she’d walked away from didn’t matter, either. Staying hadn’t been a mentally workable option for her, and he’d made the choice not to go with her. She had also lost the friend she’d loved that day—her best friend, her rock—the day he’d told her he couldn’t leave.

Wouldn’t.

No one ever chose her for the long term, but she’d given up on any kind of expectations of permanence—even before James had fallen instantly and madly in love with her co-worker two months after his marriage proposal. He was hardly the first. She should’ve said no, knowing the engagement wouldn’t last. Unfortunately, her DNA and upbringing had taught her to be agreeable to a fault.

A helper.

Ha. More like a happy little doormat.

No more. No more being a placeholder until something better comes along and no more trying to solve other people’s problems—except in the office.

Not that I have an office at the moment.

She would never regret helping her clients relearn how to navigate the world after life-altering injuries and illnesses, but she hadn’t researched her future prospects yet. Her next move would certainly be after the first of the year, especially since she had no idea how long handling all the details in her hometown would take.

Dusk quickly morphed into darkness, lit up by headlights, taillights, and the occasional exit with a smattering of signs and streetlights. Christmas decorations outlined a house or barn here and there, but the holiday spirit had deserted her years ago. Indifference had settled in and made itself comfortable during the two and a half decades of being on her own.

Her neck and shoulders tensed and her stomach knotted before the next big green sign came into focus.

Creekside. 10 miles.

Though she’d avoided this area of Ohio since leaving it at eighteen, her body and her brain somehow recognized it, even in the dark. After a right turn from the off-ramp and several miles down the county road, she would need to take a left at the big red barn and follow that road into town.

Her flight response kicked in, urging her to continue past the exit, but delaying the inevitable would only prolong her obligations.

Closure.

It was the only positive aspect of returning home.

No. Not home.

Creekside hadn’t been home since her eighteenth birthday.

She focused on the painted lines as the pavement ascended the ramp to the stop sign and then guided her away from the interstate. Each curve, dip, and rise seemed familiar, like she’d driven the same route yesterday or last week.

Muscle memory.

She used the technique to teach her clients new ways to do tasks they’d done easily during the “before” times. Repetition trained the body and mind to work together. Would the day ever come that she lived long enough in a new town again to build a new neural pathway as strong as this one?

Multicolored twinkles lit up the roofline, eaves, and corners of a large structure not far ahead, bringing her full attention back to the road. Her insides spun and whirled at the sight. How many times had she seen the same outline during her childhood?

Too many to count.

How many holidays had her father sent her to her grandparents’ house?

All of them.

Shoving the feelings into the imaginary box she’d created long ago, she flipped on her turn signal. Hopefully, once she nailed this door to the past shut, it wouldn’t haunt her anymore.

I can do this. Nobody even has to know I’m here.

A faint glow illuminated the lowest part of the sky in front of her, announcing her imminent arrival as much as the Reduced Speed Ahead sign and the new-to-her Welcome to Creekside stone marker.

She slowed to the new speed limit as she passed a farm equipment store that hadn’t existed when she’d lived here. Most of the homes beyond it were decorated for Christmas, as were the businesses now sprawled a few blocks farther from downtown than they used to be. A mix of cars, trucks, and SUVs filled the high school parking lot, and a pair of school buses from a neighboring town stood out in the drop-off and pickup lanes near the side entrance.

A Friday night basketball game, no doubt.

At least fewer people would be out and about when she walked to the closest restaurant for carryout after checking into the hotel. The slimmer the chances of running into someone she’d known, the better for her state of mind. Her appointment with the lawyer tomorrow morning was going to be stressful enough.

Light-up snowflakes hung from the utility poles for more than half a dozen blocks, replacing the ringing-bell design from her childhood. Not unexpectedly, some storefronts had changed and others had stayed the same. Creekside’s business district looked like any other small town in Ohio, with its mix of old brick buildings with second-floor offices or apartments and newer construction that housed restaurants and other small businesses.

Finally spotting the hotel three blocks away, she exhaled to ease some of the tension radiating through her neck and shoulders. A quiet meal in her room might let her come close to relaxing.

Almost there.

The next stoplight turned yellow, even though no cars waited at the side street. As she stopped, a bundled form in a wheelchair slowly rolled down the ramp from the sidewalk into the crosswalk. Gloved hands pushed forward on the wheels, but the progress was slow. About a third of the way across, the chair’s front wheel dropped into a pothole, sparking annoyance and an ache in Christy’s chest.

“What good is a crosswalk if it’s impassable and unsafe?” She shoved the gearshift into park, turned on her hazard lights, and shut off the engine. Tugging up her collar, she hurried toward the middle of the intersection.

A frustrated growl accompanied an ineffective attempt to dislodge the wheel. “Damn it!”

Making sure she was well within the rider’s peripheral vision, Christy paused. “Looks like the town needs to do some repair work on the road. Would you like some help?”

Rather than answer, the woman dropped her hands from the rims and lowered her chin to her chest. “It’s not like I have a choice. I’m blocking the lane, and I can’t do this by myself. I just want to go home.”

A surge of compassion melded with the automatic switch to therapist mode. “You could if there wasn’t a hole where you’re trying to go. Have you learned how to do a pop-up? I can spot you if you need help.”

“A pop-up?” Blue eyes met her gaze as wavy brown hair fell away from the young woman’s face. “You know how to drive this thing? I tried to learn, but going straight and around corners on a smooth surface is all I can do after three months of practicing. My hands are too sore to do anything else. And don’t even get me started on my back. I feel like I’ve aged a hundred years since the accident. I’m probably never going to walk again, and the insurance is waffling on whether or not they’ll pay for an electric model.”

“I absolutely understand your frustration. We can talk about the insurance stuff after we get you unstuck if you want to.” Christy crouched down to eye-level and offered a smile she actually felt for the first time today. “I’m an occupational therapist. I’ve learned how to do everything my wheelchair clients need to know, including wheelies. Since you’re new at this, I can talk you through it and be your spotter.”

“But…” Her unofficial student glanced past her and back again. “What about your car? You can’t just leave it parked in the middle of the street.”

“My flashers are on, and everybody else who comes along can sit and wait. We’re going to make sure you’re able to get across the street safely.” She cast quick glances in both directions and straightened. “All clear. Are you ready for your first lesson?”

“Um, okay. I guess.” The young woman’s hesitation spoke volumes about her wavering confidence. “So…I really appreciate you stopping. The guy who was my occupational therapist moved out of state this week, and most people are pretty awkward around me now. I’m Brenna.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Brenna. I’m Christy.” She extended her hand, glad she’d stopped to offer her support. “I’m only in town temporarily, but I’m happy to help while I’m here or until you have someone else lined up. Hands on the wheels like this.”

Guiding her new acquaintance through the proper motions to lift her front wheels, Christy savored the chance to be useful during her forced hiatus from the career she loved. Several tries later, they finally reached the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street.

Thick wisps of fog in front of Brenna revealed the physical effort she’d exerted. “Will that ever be easy for me?”

“Easy? Maybe. Easier? Yes, with practice. That you were open to trying is something to be proud of. Not everyone wants to.”

A small smile transformed the young woman’s face, but she seemed at a loss for words.

Christy’s stomach rumbled under her wool peacoat, nudging her to move along, but her feet refused to budge. “I haven’t eaten yet, and there’s a pizza place right here. Would you like to join me?”

“Are you sure that’s okay? I mean, yes, I would, but you don’t have to feel obligated.” Brenna’s skin flushed a deeper shade of pink around the cold-induced color on her nose and cheeks. “Their breadsticks are my favorite.”

Snuffing out a small flame of anger at whoever had excluded Brenna because of her disability, intentional or not, Christy grinned. “Yum. I love breadsticks. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

Before her new friend could change her mind, Christy hustled back to her car. By the time she started the engine and switched off the flashers, a pickup truck and an SUV sat behind her.

Honk. I dare you.

Surprisingly, neither driver laid on their horn.

She’d been so focused on helping Brenna that she had no idea how long they’d been waiting. She flipped on her turn signal, lowered her window, and waved her hand at the people who’d been patient. Did they recognize their wheelchair resident and respect her right to use crosswalks and sidewalks like anyone else?

Christy pulled into an empty parking space as Brenna rolled toward the entrance to the restaurant. Though her progress across the lot was fairly slow, she clearly didn’t plan to give up.

As promised, Christy met her in time to pull open and hold the door—that didn’t have an automatic opener. The threshold wasn’t exactly chair-friendly, either, but her companion managed enough of a wheelie to navigate the bump while Christy stood at the ready to assist, without being obvious. “What’s good here, besides the breadsticks?”

“My dad always orders the lasagna special, but I like their margherita pizza. And I usually get a house salad.” Reaching into her crossbody purse, Brenna pulled out her phone. “Speaking of Dad, I should text him and let him know where I am. He worries.”

After an acknowledging nod and a scan of the dining room layout, Christy stepped up to the hostess stand. “A regular table for two please. No high-top or booth. In a corner would be great, if you have it.”

The young man retrieved a pair of menus from the lower shelf. “Yes, ma’am. This way.”

She gestured for Brenna to go first and trailed along behind her. When they stopped at the table, Christy motioned to the side with the best access. “Can you please remove this chair?”

His confused expression became a blush, signaling his realization that one of his patrons had brought her own seat. “Oh, sure. Your server will be right out.”

As soon as they’d settled in, Brenna heaved a breathy sigh. “Thanks for handling that. Dad and I haven’t done dine-in since before the accident. It always sounded like too much work, but you… I don’t want to put anybody out because I need special—”

“You have just as much right to be here as anyone else. People request tables be moved together for large groups and chairs taken away to make room for highchairs. All kinds of things like that. Having access isn’t special treatment. Asking for what you need can be hard at first, but most people and places will accommodate you. And you’re allowed to complain if they don’t, just like you’d complain about mediocre service, dirty silverware and plates, or bad food.” Christy slid her menu to the edge of the table, keeping her tone conversational, even though a lack of accessibility always sparked her temper. “Margherita is one of my favorites, so why don’t you order? My treat, by the way, since I invited you.”

Brenna seemed to finally relax by the time the waiter arrived. After he dropped off their drinks, her phone buzzed. She shook her head and frowned before she tapped in a response. “My dad is freaking out that I left the basketball game without telling him. He said to stay where I am and he’ll be here to pick me up in fifteen minutes. I told him thirty minutes, or I’ll cause a scene. He hated the drama when I was a teenager, not that I acted like a brat often.”

Her giggle assured Christy the young woman across from her was going to be a pleasure to work with for the four to six weeks dealing with the house would take. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”

“Twenty-four.” Brenna raised her chin, like she was trying to muster a bit of courage. She paused while the server delivered their order. Her smile faded a bit as she continued. “I’ve felt more like my grandma’s age since the accident.”

“Some days, I feel like I could be a thousand. Life can be…challenging. Physically and emotionally.” Determined not to let either of them get sucked into a pointless wasteland of self-pity and misery, Christy plated a slice for them both. “But pizza helps. I hope it tastes as good as it looks and smells.”

The distraction seemed to work on her supper companion since she grinned and added a breadstick to her plate. “I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.”

They were mostly silent while they ate, keeping to short and simple topics—the weather, the piped-in music, whether or not they would have leftovers.

As the server cleared away their empty dishes roughly half an hour later, headlights swept across the wall of windows at the front of the building. Then Brenna’s phone vibrated against the table.

She tapped the screen and sighed before flicking her thumbs back and forth. “My dad’s here. He wants to come in and get me, but I told him I was okay. He’s way too overprotective, even more so now than he used to be.”

Christy searched the front pocket of her wallet after she returned her credit card to its slot. “Here’s my business card with my cell number and email. I’m in between jobs right now because of a move, but I’ll see if I can connect with a local home-health service or doctor’s office so we can make sure everything is on the up and up. I’ll start putting out feelers Monday morning.”

“I’m really glad you stopped. Thank you for that. And everything.” Brenna tucked the card in her purse and slipped her arms into her coat sleeves. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”