Any Given Christmas (5 page)

“Brenden.”

Dean smiled. “Do you like red cupcakes, Brenden?”

The boy’s gaze darted around the room. Once again he offered no response.

“How about green cupcakes? Do you like green cupcakes, Brenden?”

“Yes,” the child answered. “Green.”

“Great. Here you go. One green cupcake for my friend, Brenden.” Dean lifted a cupcake from the box and set it in front of the boy. Then he slowly stood and walked toward the front of the class.

“You should have asked him to say thank you,” Emma said. “He—”

“Has autism,” Dean said, setting the near-empty pastry box on her desk.

Surprise tilted her heart a little. “How did you know?”

“I do a lot with children’s charities. Bo Miller, the Stallions’ defensive tackle, has a son with autism.” He leaned his super-fine butt against her desk and crossed one worn cowboy boot over the other. He snagged the second to the last cupcake from the box, peeled back the paper, and took a bite. “Kids are all different. You just have to find a way to communicate with them.”

Emma couldn’t stop staring at the fascinating way his mouth moved as he spoke, while white icing and red sprinkles clung to his beautifully curved top lip.

“It’s like plays called in the huddle,” he said. “Most people who watch the game have no idea what all those numbers and grunts mean.” He leaned a little closer. “But the running back? Now he might have heard his number called out in the mix. Kids like Brenden benefit from straightforward questions and responses.”

“That’s a very astute realization,” she commented, completely shocked that a man with his over-the-top lifestyle would have that level of insight on children with autism.

He glanced across the classroom. “I imagine kids like him are a challenge for you.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “In a good way.” She watched Brenden meticulously pick the sprinkles off his cupcake and eat them one at a time. “I like to think of kids like Brenden as gifts. I think they teach me far more about myself than I can ever teach them.”

“Then that should tell you one thing,” Dean said.

“What’s that?”

“That you’re in the right place doing the right thing at the right time.”

Their gazes met and for once Emma didn’t feel like she needed to jump on the defensive. His green eyes were warm. His smile friendly. His posture relaxed and unassuming.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m not sure
this
is the right place for Brenden, but I plan to do everything I can for him while he’s here.”

Dean stuck the last bite of his cupcake in his mouth, scrunched up the paper cup, and scored a perfect basket in the trash can. “Then he’s a lucky little kid.”

Something inside Emma began to melt like ice cream covered with hot fudge and before she knew it he was walking toward the door. As he grabbed up his coat he gave her a wink, waved to the kids, and like a tropical storm blew through the place, leaving a whole lot of
what the heck just happened
in his wake.

O
n Saturday morning, Emma found herself in the heart of chaos at Cindi Rella’s Attic, helping teen girls from Deer Lick and nearby towns try on and choose formals for their high school Christmas dances. Her friend Kate had been a genius when she’d convinced some of her previous celebrity clients to donate the red-carpet gowns they’d worn once or twice. The end result made dreams come true for young girls who’d longed to play Cinderella for a night. All for a nominal charge of ten dollars plus a dry cleaning fee.

Though the shop had never intended to make a profit, it did create a bright spot in the town. Today it buzzed with giggling girls and a few grateful moms. Emma herself had even borrowed a dress for her one and only date with Matt Ryan. But even a fool could have seen, once Kate came back home, that she and Matt were meant for each other. It was hard to be jealous of true love. And besides, Emma had gained a lifelong friend in the process.

“Are you sure you don’t mind helping me out this morning?” Kate asked, while she slid a gold chiffon Taylor Swift baby-doll dress back on the hanger. “I know you’ve got finals for your online class and your kindergartners have a float in the parade this afternoon.”

And
Emma had yet to find time to decorate her tree, hang her stocking, and make her frosted sugar cookies. “Are you serious?” She laughed as she placed a rhinestone tiara on top of Chelsea Winkle’s all-American-girl ponytail. “This is like playing dress up. What girl gets too old for that?”

“Not me,” Chelsea said with a grin that brought out some very deep dimples.

“One of these nights, when my sister comes home,” Kate said, “we are
all
going to play dress up until we can’t possibly stand to look at another rhinestone. I’ve been dying to try on the Elie Saab that Katy Perry wore to a movie premiere last month.”

“What do you think of this dress, Kate?” Chelsea spun in a slow circle to display the red chiffon A-Line V-neck Selena Gomez had worn to the Oscars.

“It’s perfect on you. But dump the tiara and wear that gorgeous natural blond hair in a loose updo,” Kate instructed. “And I have a sweet little pair of black satin heels in the back. What size are you?”

“Six and a half.” Chelsea handed the tiara back to Emma.

“Close enough. They’re sevens. We’ll stuff cotton balls in the toes.”

Emma had a hard time keeping up with the energy that zipped through the shop. As a more or less
safe
dresser, she’d had just a taste of dress-up, and found she rather liked slipping into something sexy. Which was only one reason she’d just spent half of her
fun
money on thongs, boy-short undies, and push-up bras from Victoria’s Secret. And she hoped one day soon she’d find someone to actually wear them for. “Who are you going to the dance with, Chelsea?” she asked, keeping her mind out of the flustered zone.

“Bobby Davenport.” The teen sighed. “But I really, really, really want to go with Alex Harley.”

“Whoa, honey,” Kate said, “I know James is trying hard to be a good big brother and steer Alex in the right direction, but that boy is all kinds of bad attitude.”

Chelsea wrinkled her nose. “I think he’s just misunderstood.”

Kate laughed. “That’s like saying Colin Farrell is misunderstood.”

“I know, but Alex is soooo cute,” Chelsea said with stars in her blue eyes.

Emma wanted to warn the girl about falling hard for cute boys with egomaniacal attitudes. She’d been in that same situation and look what had happened to her. “Cute is overrated,” she said. “And Bobby Davenport is not the kind of boy who will break your heart.”

Chelsea’s smile drooped along with her shoulders. “I know.” She turned to Kate. “Can I go get the shoes now?”

Kate laughed and tapped her on the nose. “You bet.”

As soon as the teen skipped out of earshot, Emma felt the heat of Kate’s eyes. She looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“Sounds like you have some personal knowledge of bad boys and broken hearts,” Kate said.

Emma exhaled. “You can say that.”

“Anyone I know?”

Not anyone Kate would remember. “No. Just a jerk I met a long time ago. I consider him a lesson well-learned.”

“And now you stay away from bad boys?”

“I want to be married some day,” Emma told her and added a laugh. “With any luck while I’m still young enough to enjoy it. Bad boys don’t make very good husbands or fathers. I’m sure you saw plenty of that when you were in Hollywood.”

“Seriously. You know what’s really sad is that there are some men who deep-down inside want to be good husbands and fathers. But they get so caught up in the BS of celebrity they end up not knowing who they are anymore. First the media treats them like a god, then it convinces them that there’s somebody better just around the corner. As in, there’s a better actor or there’s a better fashion designer or record producer or there’s a better endorsement or, heaven forbid, the next A-Rod or Joe Montana.”

“Are we still talking about Hollywood?” Emma asked, as her friend tensed up. “You sound pretty passionate.”

Kate shrugged. “I’m just glad to be home and away from that. You know? I never thought I could be this happy.” Kate hugged her. “I want you to be this happy, too.”

Amen, sister
. “Hopefully I will someday.”

“Hopefully sooner rather than later.” Kate gave her another little squeeze. “So… I hear my dopey brother delivered a box of cupcakes to your class by mistake.”

I
n a drizzle of snow, the Deer Lick Christmas parade began to line up at Reindeer and Main. The first float belonged to the Boy Scouts and included several artificial trees with a teddy-bear-driven snowmobile atop a bed of real snow.

Dean had never known another parade to go up the street, then turn around and come back. But that’s exactly how parades in Deer Lick went down. Otherwise they’d be over before anyone had a chance to buy a cup of hot chocolate from the 4-H kids or a bag of cotton candy from the Destroyer’s pep squad. The folks in his hometown had become professionals at putting the hokey into the holidays. And as he stood there watching a little girl no more than ten years old and dressed as a candy cane wrangle a wreath of bells around the neck of a St. Bernard, Dean realized he kind of admired hokey.

In search of his sister, he walked past the “D” street dancers all bundled up in their parkas and leotards. The Deer Lick Rodeo queen looked warm on her white horse in her white hat, white coat, and white leather chaps. But he didn’t think the horse had much of an appreciation of the gold pipe-cleaner halo dangling over his ears. Or the gold fabric cuffs on his legs. And probably not the huge white and gold floral arrangement perched on top of his butt.

The parade committee members were making their way down the line of entries when they stopped to ask him to be a secret judge.

“I don’t think I’d be much help,” he told Mayor Remington, “unless I could put them all in first place.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve turned PC on us,” Edna Price quipped, with a poke of her moosehead cane.

“Keeps me out of trouble.” Dean shrugged. “Have you seen Kate?”

“Oh yeah, she’s back there in the non-judging area with Matt. He’s drivin’ Old Man Carter’s John Deere. Gotta get a handle on that upcoming sheriff election, so he’s throwing out salt water taffy to the kids.”

Dean laughed. “If you can’t get to the voters’ hearts, get to the voters’ kids stomachs?”

“Exactly. Now get on back there and give your sister a hand. She’s tryin’ to make sure that husband of hers gets elected but I don’t think puttin’ tinsel on his gun belt is going to make it happen.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Price.”

“Nice to see you around, young man.”

That
was one thing Dean loved about being home: people were genuinely happy to see him. Unlike those he’d left in Texas. Once he’d been slam-dunked at the forty-seven-yard line, many treated him like a nasty cold they didn’t want to catch. A lot of players were superstitious and believed going near an injured teammate would open some kind of bad luck voodoo portal, and they’d be injured as well. And the media? With them you were either Alice in Wonderland or the pathetic Dormouse.

As if in accordance with his thoughts, the ache in his shoulder cranked up a notch as though he’d been skewered like a shish kebab. He rotated it slightly.

Just the cold getting to him. No need to worry.

Since he’d traded in his cowboy boots for a more logical pair of insulated hunt boots, he continued down the line of entries. He dodged a sheep-drawn Radio Flyer and wondered how those tiny wheels would make it through all the snow on the street, let alone how those sheep would be smart enough to know to walk forward and not go look for some hay. In the distance he saw his brother-in-law up on top of a big green tractor. Dean gave him a nod and made his way through the crowd. At the end of the judging area was a flatbed trailer being pulled by a Chevy half-ton with a Christmas wreath on the front grill and a blow-up Santa on the hood. Even better than the truck itself were the participants who sat on that flatbed trailer.

Emma Hart’s kindergarten class was on-board, garbed in red sweaters, red foam noses, and reindeer antlers cut from brown construction paper. Brenden Jones sat at the end, fascinated by the gold garland looped around the trailer. The rest of the kids rehearsed
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
while their teacher handed out kazoos and jingle bells. The fact that she also wore brown construction paper antlers did not surprise him. The big brown fuzzy reindeer suit… now that was another matter. And almost sexy.

He stood back a moment and watched her in action while she continued to hand out the musical gadgets. She straightened crooked antlers, cupped her furry reindeer paws on little faces with cold cheeks, and offered smiles to anyone who looked her way. Anybody within a mile could see that Emma Hart was a kindergarten teacher kids would remember all their lives.

“Come here, Bobby,” she called to a little boy who looked like he’d only used up half his quota of energy for the day. “You’ve got a serious waterfall going on.” The boy bounced over to her with an eye roll while she pulled a tissue from her sleeve and wiped his runny nose.

“Tough day?” Dean came up behind her and her fluffy reindeer tail.