Page 1 of A Very Naughty Christmas

Her Christmas Daddy

By

Dinah McLeod

Chapter One

Sara had always loved Christmas. Christmas was, in fact, the biggest Schroder family tradition. They’d always had to hold themselves back to keep from starting to decorate before Thanksgiving, but Mom, much as she loved mistletoe season, had been adamant that no lights went up untilafterthe last bite of turkey had been eaten and the leftover cranberry sauce thrown away. Once, Sara’s dad had tried to hang them in the back of the house two days early, reasoning that Mom wouldn’t notice. Not only had she noticed, but she’d threatened to go up on the roof and pull them down herself, which had sent him scurrying to do the job before she could follow through. He hadn’t been quite so cheerful two days later when he was back up on the roof to restring the same bunch of lights. But it had never happened again after that.

The memory brought a smile to Sara’s lips, though it faded quickly when she remembered that neither of her parents would be celebrating with her this year. Really, she shouldn’t even be going back to the house at all—all her friends from college had tried to talk her out of it and both of her aunts had tried to convince her to spend the holiday at their houses instead. But she’d turned down the invitations, as well-meaning as they had been. She would be putting the house on the market soon and this would probably be her last Christmas to spend in the home she’d grown up in. She’d spent twenty-two Christmases in it thus far and she really wanted one more.

Brushing away the tears that had begun to form in her light blue eyes, Sara tightened her grip on the steering wheel and focused on the road ahead of her, more determined than ever. This was going to be a good Christmas—she could feel it. It wouldn’t be the same, but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t still be good, did it?

Reaching for the volume dial, she cranked up the radio station. Thanksgiving had come and gone nearly two weeks ago, but she’d stayed at campus over the holiday to study for her finals. There really had been no point in leaving without Mom’s famous stuffing and being able to laugh at the disaster of Dad’s popovers, which he managed to burn each and every year. Mom made perfect, golden-brown, fluffy popovers. Once, many years ago Sara had inquired why she continued to let him cook them when they all knew how it would turn out.

“It’s just enough work to make him feel like he’s contributing,” Mom had replied with a smile as she’d loaded the dishwasher after their big meal. “I used to give him simple things, like cooking the peas and slicing the cranberry sauce. But then he’d end up seasoning my dressing when I wasn’t looking.” She made a wry face that had Sara laughing. “The way Isee it, better the popovers come out a little burnt than the turkey!”

She hadn’t been able to disagree with that. So Dad had continued the tradition, despite the fact that each and every year he swore he would take them out on time. Sara used to try to remind him, but he always forgot no matter how many times she told him the time, so she’d given that up. She had secretly begun to wonder if he liked ruefully shaking his head at the plate of blackened bread and making them laugh. Maybe it had become just as much a part of their tradition as Mom’s stuffing.

Christmas carols were playing. That was good—it would take her mind off things, because as much as she liked remembering, she’d come to find it was best done in small spurts. Think on the good times too long and before she knew it, she would be bawling her eyes out. Not that she had—yet. It had only been seven weeks since their joint funeral, courtesy of the drunk driver who had run a red light and t-boned their car. She’d expected the gut-wrenching sobs to come and tear her apart, but they hadn’t. Not when she got the news, not even when she’d seen their caskets go into the ground. She’d expected the tears to flow freely then, but all she had been able to do was stare, like she was in some sort of a trance. She was painfully aware of all the sniffling and tissue-wringing going on around her, which made her feel like an even bigger sideshow than she already was as a child who’d been suddenly orphaned.

“It’s just shock, dear,” she’d heard time after time from relatives who had patted her hand and had given her watery smiles, which she hadn’t returned. “It’ll wear off and then… well, you’ll need someone when it does.”

But that had been almost two months ago. She might be stuck in her grief, but the condolence cards had dried up along with the train of casseroles. Time marched on and people marched along to its relentless beat. Never mind that she couldn’t forget, that they were never far from her mind.

This wasn’t working. Sara changed the stations until she found one of her favorites: Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas.’ Now,thissong would give her a few minutes of respite from the memories. It was one of the few she’d never sung with her mother, who said Mariah’s high-pitched soprano gave her a bit of a headache. But she’d done it at the top of her voice many, many times with her girlfriends in high school, and again, more recently, at a karaoke bar with her sorority sisters. She might have beenslightlydrunk at the time, which explained why she’d do karaoke in the first place.

Either way, it was as good a way as any to forget, and that was her goal. So, cranking the volume at full blast, she began to belt out the lyrics. “All I want for Ch-ristmas… isyou… ba-by…”

She was tapping the steering wheel in time to the beat and bopping her head along as she crooned it out, so into what she was doing that she was only half paying attention. Shedidn’t know how long she’d been driving before she noticed the flashing red and blue lights in her rearview mirror.

A frisson of panic zapped her heart at the sight and traveled all the way down the rest of her body. Quickly, she pulled over to the side of the road and braked, her heart pounding wildly.

Maybe he wasn’t pullingherover… except that the dark roads were empty, save her. Damn it.

She reached over and turned the dial down, casting a baleful eye at the radio, as though this was all Mariah’s fault.

Sara put the car in park and reached for the glove compartment, sifting through papers before pulling the registration out with shaky fingers. She tried to calm her racing heart, she really did, but despite her best efforts to think good thoughts she couldn’t help but keep looking to see if anyone was approaching. The police car had pulled in right behind hers but the door stayed stubbornly shut.

This is bad, she groaned inwardly.Really, really bad.What did Ido?The truth was, she’d been so busy trying to forget that she’d stopped paying attention, and she honestly couldn’t say.

Finally, mercifully—sort of—she saw the door to the squad car open and a man got out. But rather than doing anything to lessen her nerves, her heart began to pound in her chest all the harder. Her breath was coming faster, too. Oh, well. There was nothing she could do but get this over with. That in mind, she rolled the window down as the officer came to the door.

“Evening, ma’am. Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“N-no, Sir,” she answered honestly, trying hard not to start crying then and there. Funny how her tears were at the quick and ready over something likethis.

“I stopped you because you ran a stop sign half a mile back.”

“I… I did?” she squeaked. That wasn’t good. She knew just the stop sign he was talking about, too. She’d driven these roads a thousand times. But when she searched her memory, she couldn’t recall stopping at it this time.

“Yes, you did. And when I tried to flag you down, I had to follow you for several yards before you stopped,” he continued, his voice turning even sterner.

Oh. This really,reallywasn’t good. What was she going todo?

“I don’t typically enjoy games of chase,” he informed her, his deep voice going deeper still.

He had Sara literally shaking in her seat and feeling like her heart was about to jump right out of her chest. Oh, man. She’d really messed up this time.

---