Montana Secret Santa Read online

  “Ya’ think?” Krista murmured softly.

  The woman turned her gaze on Krista. “Are you okay? I’m Emily McCullough. Most people call me Em. I’ve seen you around, but I don’t know your name.”

  “Krista Martin. I’m in advertising. Blue Sky Promotions.”

  “You work with Amanda Heller. Nice gal. She’s on our board. Whip smart.”

  Board? What board? Krista and Amanda were partners. Best friends. They didn’t have secrets from each other. Well, not many.

  Krista started to ask, but Dakota walked up at that moment with Krista’s battered cup, its broken lid dangling by a thread of plastic. “I was going to pour this cup into yours, but I think it’s beyond hope. Shall I throw it into our recycling bin?” She held out the replacement. “Maybe you should come in and sit down for a bit.”

  Krista’s fingers closed around the to-go cup greedily. “Thanks so much. You’re a lifesaver. But Amanda is expecting me at the office. I’d better go.”

  “Wait. Wait just a second.” The dog walker—what was his name? Jonah something?—took a step closer. The dogs surged in mass as if that signaled something completely opposite of wait. “Hold on.”

  Once he had the trio of misfit mutts under control, he looked at Krista. The sparkle in his lively, intelligent eyes made her breath catch. Did I break a rib when I fell?

  “If you give me your number, I’d like to send you something to compensate for your ripped nylons and cover the cost of dry cleaning.” He used his teeth to pull off one glove. The gesture fell short of sexy when he had to spit dog hair out of his mouth.

  He wiped his lips then held out his hand. “I’m Jonah, by the way.”

  Krista glanced down. She hadn’t noticed the collection of snags that must have been caused by the beagle’s sharp nails.

  Before she could give him her hand, Emily McCullough grabbed Jonah by the elbow and turned him toward the street. “She’s in the book. You two can make up later over drinks or something. I need to talk to you about the meeting tomorrow.”

  He mouthed the word “Sorry,” as the bossy woman led him—and the trio of dogs—away.

  From the back, Krista got a better look at the man. She liked what she saw. Six-foot or better. Broad shoulders, although the bulky coat left a lot to her imagination. And, damn, if her brain didn’t fill in all the gaps with Charlie Hunnam’s body.

  No. Stop. Don’t go there.

  The holidays were a terrible time for a fling. Awful. She’d learned that the hard way her last Christmas in New York. The whole new-person-gift-giving thing was an evil trap. Too much and she came across as desperate. Too little, she looked cheap. No thanks. Definitely not happening.

  She readjusted her purse then checked the time on her phone. Ten minutes late. So not her style, but neither was getting taken down by a beagle.

  *

  “Listen, Em, it’s good to see you again, but I really think the dogs and I should walk that poor girl to her place of business. She might be hurt. Soft tissue damage.”

  He’d liked every inch of the soft tissue that had touched him. Krista Martin. Her name flitted around his head like a snippet from a new song. He didn’t know the rest of the words, but the melody made him want to download the whole thing. Immediately.

  Emily made a dismissive motion, as if shooing away a pesky steer. “Oh, she’s fine. You’ll have plenty of time to check out her bruises when you see her tomorrow at the Secret Santa Society meeting.”

  “She’s a Santa? Are you sure? I don’t remember seeing her name on the roster.” His mother had started briefing him about the venerable Marietta charity weeks ago. For the first time, his interest felt titillated. Maybe the chore he’d been volunteered for wasn’t going to be the drudgery he’d thought it would be.

  How could a woman many years his senior walk so fast? The dogs, of course. Bindi ran circles around the overweight footstool and the easily distracted puffball. He tugged impatiently on their leashes.

  “Go easy on them, son. We’re not all young and fit,” Em admonished. “A good dog owner leads, he doesn’t yank.”

  The woman seemed impervious to the cold, but despite having grown up in Montana, Jonah had the blood of a coastal Californian. Even his dad’s oversized coat and three layers of expensive thermal undergarments weren’t enough to keep him from shivering. But Em’s hint about Krista Martin being involved in the society caught his attention.

  His mother had explained in great detail what Montana Secret Santa volunteers did and why he had to take her place and his dad’s. “I feel terrible leaving them right now. I’m worried the group might die out, son. Our members are all getting older. Some have moved to live closer to their children. Two passed away last year. Plus, it’s like our donation well suddenly dried up. Apparently, we’re not hip and flashy and connected on social media the way some charities are. If not for our board members, we wouldn’t have enough money to fulfill even a simple wish or two.”

  As Jonah understood the process, someone—a friend, family member, neighbor, or workmate—would write to “Secret Santa” asking for a special gift for someone deserving. The members of the board would read the letters, do enough background checking to make sure the request was legit, and then find a way to honor the request. Sometimes very ingeniously.

  “Her name isn’t official yet, but it will be tomorrow.”

  They’d reached a giant, diesel ranch truck that provided enough of a windbreak Jonah could speak without his teeth chattering. “How do you know?”

  “The Marietta grapevine has it Amanda Heller… or does she go by Montgomery, now? So many women these days don’t take their husband’s names. Wasn’t an option when I got married.” She shook her head. “Anyway, Sarah Zabrinski—you know her, I assume…”

  “Not personally, but I was in school with her son, Paul.”

  “Big Z’s man of the hour. Big changes over there. Have you been in the store?”

  Before he could answer, she kicked the truck’s running board with the heel of her boot. “Dang squirrel brain, I keep getting sidetracked. As I was saying, rumor says Amanda is expecting and her doctor told her she’s at risk for gestational diabetes. I don’t know how he knows, but she’s supposed to give up caffeine and stress. Which are two mainstays of advertising, I’d wager a guess.”

  Jonah could see where this was leading. “You think Amanda will ask her partner to take her place on the Secret Santa board.”

  “Sarah called to see if that was possible. As outgoing president, I said, ‘Yes.’ Our members are dropping like goddamn flies. The society needs new blood if we’re going to survive.” She gave him a soft tap on the shoulder. “Guess I got my wish. You’re good and you haven’t even started.”

  Jonah blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t even formally taken over as board president but you’ve already made one wish come true—mine.”

  She’d opened the driver’s side door and climbed in by the time he managed to digest her comment. “President? No, wait. There must be some mistake. I’ve never been president of anything.”

  “Then it’s about time you stretched yourself a little. You don’t want Secret Santa to die on your watch, do you? If you’re as smart as everyone says, you’ll figure out a way to recruit Krista Martin to be your VP and the two of you will save Christmas.”

  The truck door closed with a loud bang that spooked River Jack. When the engine roared to life, Jonah had his hands full keeping all three dogs from panicking in different directions. It took a few minutes—long enough for Emily McCullough to back out and disappear from sight—to come up with a plan of action.

  Save Christmas? Me? Is this some kind of It’s A Wonderful Life takeoff? He looked around, half expecting his mom and dad to step out of some shop door laughing at the elaborate prank they’d pulled.

  But he knew that wasn’t likely. They had too much on their minds at the moment. Me? Save Christmas? At least, it would keep me from being bored out
of my freaking mind.

  “Come on dogs. I don’t know what Em was talking about exactly. But knowledge is key to any good plan, and that requires good Wi-Fi.”

  He looked longingly toward the chocolate shop as they passed. The smell of Krista’s hot cocoa had sent his taste buds into overdrive. But even if the picture-postcard-perfect shop welcomed dogs, only a fool would take these three marginally trained animals inside. “Let’s go home, doggies.”

  Home to his parent’s house where he’d lived with his brother and sister until leaving for college at the tender age of seventeen.

  Boy genius, people had called him.

  Big things are coming from this young man, the newspaper had written.

  “Big being a relative thing.” He recalled his schoolteacher father’s attempt to keep Jonah’s head from swelling too badly. “Making a positive change in a young person’s life—the way your mother does—is big, too, son.”

  His folks were as proud as parents of a successful youngish inventor and businessman who sold his company for megabucks could be. But money had never been the guiding force in their lives. Being happy meant more to them than how many zeroes and commas occupied the balance in their bank account.

  Jonah and his entourage paused at the corner for Bear to lift his leg at the street sign pole. River Jack didn’t have the energy or balance for such frivolity.

  Happy. Am I happy?

  He didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t completely sure he understood the question. Normally, his work kept him too busy, too consumed by the demands of running a business to think about his personal life. Which, by most people’s standards, probably sucked. No wife or significant other. No kids. No pets.

  As they drew closer to his parent’s home—a prairie-style knock off on a decent-sized lot a few blocks off Main—the tension that had been building started to ebb. Home. He hated to admit his six-figure house in the foothills above the Silicon Valley never produced the same warm, fuzzy feeling in him.

  From the moment he’d walked through the door to be greeted by his mother and three mutts, he’d felt at home. Not that he planned to stick around once his parents returned from Florida. Good lord, no. A thirty-something, unmarried man living with his parents was poster boy for the title—Loser Of The Year.

  So what if he had millions in the bank? The fact he didn’t have a clue about what to do with the rest of his life kept him awake at night. He’d lost his creative mojo to occupational repetitive mind stress and, without a goal, he was a rudderless boat adrift on a sea of whogivesadamns.

  “We’re back,” he hollered after shedding a couple of layers and wiping twelve paws on a towel in the mudroom before entering the kitchen.

  “Mom?”

  The smell of homemade chicken soup in the slow cooker filled his nostrils, taking him back to his childhood in an instant. He could picture Gracie—the studious one—doing homework at the counter. Daniel—the wild one—in the living room playing a bootleg copy of some video game. And slouched in the corner of the breakfast nook, nose in a book, Jonah would be traveling through time, space, and possibility with Asimov, Heinlein, Clarke, or Orson Scott Card.

  After hanging the leashes on their individual hooks and giving the dogs each a biscuit—diet variety for River Jack—he went looking for a note. Mom was famous for her cryptic messages scribbled on anything handy—the teacher’s copy of a report card, the return portion of a bill, or his personal favorite—the back of his acceptance letter from MIT.

  Dad=Doc. Just ck-up. No worry. Soup 4 sup. Wait for us, plz.

  And obviously added in a hasty dash a few lines down—U Santa Prez? Neat.

  “Dang, Em. You don’t waste any time, do you?”

  Jonah stirred the soup, then picked up his laptop and walked to the corner of the breakfast nook. When asked for the key to his success in business, Jonah always said, “Homework. Never go into a meeting without knowing everything possible about the company or issue in question.”

  He’d read the information his mother had sent him about Montana Secret Santa a bit closer then check out Krista Martin.

  The woman intrigued him. She’d had every right to cuss or shout at Bindi, but she’d acted as if getting knocked on her gorgeous behind by a poorly controlled dog was an everyday occurrence.

  No drama worked for him. His last girlfriend-slash-mistake had cost him a small fortune in broken dishes and lawyer fees paid out in response to her frivolous lawsuit. According to the suit, he’d disappointed her by disappearing into his lab for long periods of time, thereby depriving her of conjugal relations.

  “You’re being sued for sex, buddy,” his lawyer friend had told him. “Or, rather, the lack of it, stud muffin.”

  A good reminder. Look but don’t touch. Especially here and now. He was supposed to be coming up with his next great idea, not drooling over a pretty girl who fit in his arms as if she’d been made for him.

  Being attracted to someone as hot as Krista Martin was probably a normal guy reaction. Too bad he was the odd duck who didn’t relate well to people. Another reason he was a foolish choice to run the Secret Santa Society.

  Krista had better be damn good at her job or Christmas was in big trouble.

  Chapter Two

  Krista limped into the Blue Sky office, favoring her right foot. A bad feeling in her gut said the heel of her left Jimmy Choo knock-off was not long for this world.

  “Whoa. What happened to you? Why are you in heels? Do we have a client meeting? Did I miss a memo?

  Krista dumped her things on her desk then collapsed in her chair, legged splayed in defeat. “No meeting.”

  Amanda, who’d been standing by the second floor window behind her desk, hurried across the room. Their suite of offices occupied one quarter of the beautifully remodeled building Amanda had rented before Krista came onboard. The one private office had been converted to a conference room to hold meetings with clients, while the large open anteroom housed their individual desks, a giant white board with three strata of calendars—one-year, six months, and current month by-the-week. Even from a distance, Krista could tell their next quarter appeared to be light.

  Another jolt of acid hit her stomach.

  “So, why the city dress?” Amanda inhaled quickly. “Please tell me you’re not quitting. You can’t, Krista. No, please. I need you not to quit.”

  Krista kicked off her stupid shoes and jumped to her feet. The melted snow in her shoes and still-damp stockings sent a shiver up her spine but she ignored it.

  She wrapped an arm about Amanda’s shoulders and gave a conciliatory squeeze. “I’m not quitting. But I was planning a heart-to-heart to discuss our partnership.” She pointed toward the board. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see something is off. You’ve got to admit, lately you’ve been MIA.”

  An understanding look appeared in Amanda’s eyes. “So you came to work today dressed to impress. Me. Because you thought I’d be defensive.”

  “Or hurt. I wanted to keep the focus businesslike. Ever since you and Tucker tied the knot, you’ve been a bit… distracted. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Amanda didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked to her desk and pushed her sleek, ultra-modern chair across the open space to Krista’s desk. “I do agree. And I know this has put more pressure on you to reach the goals we set. Unfortunately, it’s only going to get worse.”

  “Pardon?”

  She motioned for Krista to sit. “I’m pregnant.”

  Krista’s jaw dropped. How did I miss that? “Really? Wow. Congratulations. Is Tucker happy?”

  “Over-the-top giddy in pure Tucker style. He immediately started house hunting, looking into preschools, and researching midwives.” She shook her head, but her tender tone matched the extra moisture in her eyes.

  “That’s awesome. And it explains a lot. I was blaming marriage for undermining your business drive.”

  Amanda gave a little uncharacteristic giggle. “Marriage is awesome. I’ve never be
en happier. In fact, I completely missed the fact I wasn’t feeling a hundred percent until I started throwing up three times a day.”

  Krista made a face. “That does not sound fun. Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Yes. Mia and Meg Zabrinski both recommended someone who specializes in high-risk pregnancies. And if anyone should know, it’s them.”

  Krista had heard the story of the older sister who became a surrogate for her sister, a breast cancer survivor who’d undergone a complete hysterectomy.

  Krista sat forward. “You’re young and healthy. How could you be high risk?”

  “I had a bunch of female problems growing up. My doctor did a full work-up to rule out any complications and discovered I’m borderline diabetic. I have to watch what I eat religiously and rest as much as possible. I was hoping my energy would perk up after the first trimester, but all I want to do is nap.”

  Despite the fact her brain was racing at warp speed, trying to work out various scenarios that wouldn’t spell the end of Blue Sky Promotions, Krista touched a hand to Amanda’s knee supportively. “Then, that’s what you should be doing. Now that I know what’s going on, I can make whatever adjustments need to be made and figure out a new plan of action.” She froze. “Wait. You are coming back, right? After the baby? You don’t want me to buy out your share of the business, do you?”

  How? Where’s the money for that coming from? Santa Claus?

  Amanda looked around the office they’d carefully decorated to look both welcoming and successful. Her gaze lingered on the oversize framed posters of a few of their biggest successes—Big Sky Maverick’s New Year’s Eve Masked Ball fundraiser, Mountie’s Marvelous Zip Line and Adventure Course, Big Z’s Inside Outdoors campaign, and Krista’s personal favorite—the Copper Mountain Chocolates gorgeous “Got Cocoa?” flier that tripled Sage’s sales in one week.

  “I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind… for half a second. But I love this place, Krista. I love my job and I love working with you. I can’t imagine not being part of Blue Sky, but I don’t want to be a lodestone around the company’s neck, either.”