Page 25 of Claiming the Shifter's Heart

The feel of her soft ass on his lap was almost too much, but he was just so damn happy she’d listened he couldn’t help himself. He wrapped one gloved hand around her hip, squeezing her as they smiled for the photographer like one big happy family.

It was his most fervent wish. And even if just for a moment, Kris’ heart sang with the possibility it could be his.

“Santa? Can I tell you what I want for Christmas?” Sean said, turning to face him before walking away.

“Sean, it’s someone else’s turn now,” Della chided, but the little boy was insistent.

“Sure, Bud. Go ahead,” he said, not seeing the harm.

He figured she was on a budget, but if there was a toy or trinket the little boy wanted that was beyond her spending limit for the holidays, he’d be happy to buy it for him.

“I want a real Daddy for Christmas.”

“Sean!” Della gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.

Startled velvet eyes met his and Kris knew without a doubt his Wolf was visible in his gaze.

“Can you do it Santa?”

“Sean, you can’t ask Santa for a Daddy,” Della replied anxiously.

“Yes, I can, Mom. He can come for dinner on Christmas, and he can carve the turkey, and we can have a family like we’re s’pposed to! Like the cartoons have, Mommy,” he begged.

Sean wiggled out of his mother’s grasp and ran right up to Kris. His big brown eyes were so much like hers. But he knew Della wouldn’t approve of him just saying yes. Even if it was killing him not to.

“Sean,” he said, glancing at her and begging her to trust him with that one look before he dropped his gaze to Sean’s, “that’s a very serious thing you’re asking for, and we can talk about it a little bit later. I’d be happy to come to Christmas dinner, but that is for your Mom to decide. She needs you to listen to her now, Bud, and you should, like a good boy.”

“It’s okay. Maybe you’re not the real Santa,” he said, ducking his head down sadly.

Kris’ heart squeezed and his Wolf howled sorrowfully. He did not like letting down the child. Not one bit.

“Hey Sean,” Kris added, unable to stop himself. “I can promise you’re gonna have a good Christmas. Okay, Bud?”

“Okay,” he said and nodded.

“Come on, Sean.”

Kris tried to get her to look at him again, but she refused. In fact, she pretty much ignored him for the rest of the night.

When he’d gone to see about her tree, she’d already had one of the teenagers tie it to her car. His Wolf confirmed later on that she’d set it up inside the house with no help.

He called her the next day but was greeted by a message saying her voicemail was full. His texts went unanswered, too.

Fuck.

Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, Kris took off for the farm early. One of the larger kids who’d come to take pictures with Santa the night before had kicked one of the supporting legs of the bench and wound up cracking it.

It wasn’t the girls’ fault. She was part of a class trip to Manning Farms from a school for children with special needs. One of the teacher’s aides had stepped away to use the restroom, and the little girl had run right past the line all the way to Kris and Santa’s throne. In her excitement, she acted out, and well, she got a little carried away.

She’d even gotten him right in the shin in her exuberance. But he was a Werewolf, so it was all good as far as he was concerned. As for the bench, not so much.

Della though, she was a gem. She’d managed to settle the child down with some gentle words and breathing exercises. The school was mortified and apologized profusely, but that was unnecessary. Kris was just glad the girl was okay.

Still, the leg needed mending, and he was not doing himself any good waiting for her to answer. So, he went in early and hoped to maybe run into her before shift.

The barn was empty save for the sleigh, and he wondered if there would be a lot of requests today since Christmas Eve was tomorrow. People liked to get their rides in before the big day, even though the high temperature was expected to be in the low twenties all weekend.

His mind wandered as he worked, falling into the rhythm of gluing, sanding, stripping, and painting. He used high quality, fast acting agents with little to no fragrance. His Wolf would allow for no less.

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