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A Mum for Christmas
Doreen Roberts
MR. SCROOGEFor department store owner Matthew Blanchard, 'twas the season to be…grumpy! His housekeeper was vacationing. His store Santa Claus had skipped town. And now his daughter wanted a mommy for Christmas!MEETS MISS CLAUS!While Sherrie Latimer was acting as the store's Mrs. Claus, she discovered little Lucy Blanchard's Christmas wish. To make it come true, she had to convince Matt he needed a wife. Then Sherrie had to find a deserving woman who would love him and Lucy. Trouble was, she was the perfect candidate….



Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u7261c30e-ddda-54b3-8463-77103d7bc2c1)
Excerpt (#u80fa38b7-e188-50cf-b76b-41e86c842d69)
Dear Reader (#u7e9df2a9-f1ba-5302-8dd2-3fbe92a5b1ca)
Title Page (#u6032a36f-d416-5ed3-a770-0b5844956a69)
Dedication (#u8737ed0a-0e1c-5827-b13c-6c387580e1e7)
About the Author (#ufe3194c3-3426-515e-8503-48234b2e5136)
Chapter One (#u2b7f6dd7-4ae0-5583-beef-0ddce3289d99)
Chapter Two (#u33acc09e-0f93-5b6c-8670-188aae077145)
Chapter Three (#u8771b547-ab0d-5d5a-903c-1a9ff016010b)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“I want a mommy,”
Lucy whispered in Sherrie’s ear.

Sherrie had to clear her throat. “Well, Lucy, that’s quite a wish. I’ll tell Santa what you want, but you do understand he can’t always bring children what they ask for.”

Lucy listened gravely to the practiced speech, her eyes fixed on Mrs. Claus’s face. She sighed. “I just want a mommy. Daddy and me are very lonely.”

Sherrie looked into those liquid blue eyes and felt her heart melt. Scrooge himself couldn’t have denied the appeal in that face. “Well, sweetheart,” she said softly, “we’ll just have to see what we can do, won’t we?”
Dear Reader,

What better way for Silhouette Romance to celebrate the holiday season than to celebrate the meaning of family….

You’ll love the way a confirmed bachelor becomes a FABULOUS FATHER just in time for the holidays in Susan Meier’s Merry Christmas, Daddy. And in Mistletoe Bride, Linda Vamer’s HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS miniseries merrily continues. The ugly duckling who becomes a beautiful swan will touch your heart in Hometown Wedding by Elizabeth Lane. Doreen Roberts’s A Mom for Christmas tells the tale of a little girl’s holiday wish, and in Patti Standard’s Family of the Year, one man, one woman and a bunch of adorable kids form an unexpected family. And finally, Christmas in July by Leanna Wilson is what a sexy cowboy offers the struggling single mom he wants for his own.
Silhouette Romance novels make the perfect stocking stuffers—or special treats just for yourself. So enjoy all six irresistible books, and most of all, have a very happy holiday season and a very happy New Year!

Melissa Senate
Senior Editor
Silhouette Romance
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U. S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3

A Mom for Christmas
Doreen Roberts


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Bill, who makes every day of the year as special as Christmas.

DOREEN ROBERTS
has an ambition to visit every state in the United States. She recently added several to her list when she drove across the country to spend a year on the East Coast. She’s thinking about setting her future books in each of the states she has visited. She has now returned to settle down in Oregon with her new husband, and to get back to doing what she loves most—writing books about adventurous people who just happen to fall in love.

Chapter One (#ulink_a6c79ad8-96d4-50a6-ba47-20bf2706848e)
Christmas, Matthew Blanchard kept reminding himself, was traditionally the season to be jolly. He was doing his level best to live up to that optimistic theory. He might have done a better job of it had he not been staring at a total disaster smack-dab in the middle of his Christmas display.
Every year, on the Monday after Thanksgiving, the fifth floor of Blanchard’s Department Store was transformed into a children’s fantasyland. And Matt had gone all out on this year’s Santa Claus display.
Life-size animated reindeer stood on either side of the dais, their curly eyelashes blinking and their majestic antlers solemnly swaying back and forth as each child came forward to greet Santa.
A spectacular Christmas tree stood at the back of the platform, its thick branches loaded down with red and white ornaments, twinkling lights and packages wrapped with bright ribbon bows. Close by, cardboard elves peeked from the windows of a six-foot-high gingerbread house, which was smothered in candy canes and jelly beans, while a lifelike Mrs. Claus smiled from the peppermint-studded doorway.
In the middle of all this glittering splendor sat a huge red velvet chair, and it was there that Matt’s gaze was focused in sheer disbelief. The plump, jolly old gentleman—mankind’s fond image of Santa Claus—was noticeably absent. In his place sat a ridiculous miniature of that esteemed character.
It seemed to Matt as if the damn chair swallowed up the red-suited figure. The fur-lined cap rested precariously on Santa’s lopsided eyebrows, and his feet swung an inch or two off the floor. As an added highlight, instead of boots, the delicate feet sported a pair of elegant, black high-heeled shoes.
Matt waited with barely controlled patience until the tousle-haired boy with freckles had scrambled down from Santa’s ridiculously small lap. Then, drawing in a deep, slow breath, he marched up to the dais, mounted it and held up an imperious hand.
“I’m sorry, children,” he announced, baring his teeth in the best semblance of a smile he could muster, “but I’m afraid it’s time for Santa’s break. He’ll be back soon, I promise you.”
His voice had cracked on the he, which did not improve his temper. Neither did the shouts of dismay from the waiting children and their weary mothers. With a curt beckoning motion for Santa to follow, Matt stormed across the crowded floor, heading for his office.
Matthew Blanchard did not tolerate mistakes easily. He particularly did not like someone else messing up his carefully executed preparations. Someone had made a big mistake this time, and heads were going to roll.
If it had been any other time but Christmas, he might have held on to his temper. But then, if it had been any other time but Christmas, there wouldn’t have been a miniature Santa in high heels to bother him. And he wouldn’t have had to worry about disappointing Lucy.
Normally Matt could handle the ups and downs of being a single father. There were even times when he managed to convince himself that things were better that way, and that he had a more satisfying relationship with his five-year-old daughter without a mother to divide Lucy’s attention. Until Christmas.
Christmas, somehow, was different. Christmas was the time for families, whole families, kids with both parents, and especially a mother to bake cookies and wrap gifts and write Christmas cards and go shopping with…especially the shopping.
Yes, Christmas was definitely a bad time of year for a single father. Matt looked forward to the entire season with a kind of gnawing anxiety that grew worse as Christmas Day drew closer. He was therefore in no mood to deal with the kind of debacle he’d just witnessed.
He reached the door of his office, doing his best to cool his temper. He had to wait quite some time for Santa to catch up with him, which wasn’t terribly surprising. The pants of the bright red costume were crumpled above the dainty shoes like elephant skin. They dragged on the floor behind, severely hampering the figure inside.
Finally Santa stood silently in front of his desk. And what a sorry picture he made, Matt thought in disgust. The white fur hem of the red coat reached almost to the ankles, and the sleeves dangled dismally, completely obliterating any sign of hands.
Matt glared at the sea green eyes peeking out at him from behind the cloud of white cotton-ball hair and fuzzy beard. The wary expression in those eyes satisfied Matt. Santa had every reason to be wary. Matt could feel his temper gathering momentum like storm clouds across an angry sea.
He raked his gaze up and down the short, bulging figure, which, judging by the lumps and bumps, had been created by a lousy job of padding. “I seem to remember,” he said carefully, “that when I hired you, you were around five feet ten, weighing somewhere around two hundred pounds, with a voice that sounded like a marine sergeant.”
The voice that answered him was nothing like a marine sergeant’s. It reminded him more of a mermaid, for some reason, though he couldn’t imagine for the life of him what a mermaid would actually sound like.
“That was my brother, Tom Latimer, Mr. Blancbard. I’m Sherrie Latimer.”
“Really.” He struggled with his temper for a moment before continuing in a voice heavily laced with sarcasm. “Then perhaps you will be so kind as to tell me where your brother might be? In the hospital, I presume? I will accept no other excuse for this ridiculous charade.”
“Er…Tom is in Mexico, Mr. Blanchard. He told me he’d informed you of the new arrangements.”
“Mexico,” Matt echoed, through gritted teeth. “How nice for him. And no, he did not inform me of his plans. Had he done so, I would have ordered him in here on the double, threatening to sue the pants off him for breach of contract if he didn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Blanchard, but—”
“Sorry? I’m the one who’s sorry, Miss Latimer. As no doubt you are aware, I happen to own the biggest department store in Westmill, Oregon. Hundreds of children look forward every year to visiting Santa, bringing their parents with them to shop in my store. I spend a great deal of money making sure they are not disappointed.”
He knew his voice was rising, but he couldn’t seem to control it. Before Santa had time to say anything he continued at a near roar. “My Christmas display gets more ambitious and more damn expensive every year. But it’s something the children, and their parents, have come to expect from a prestigious store like Blanchard’s.”
Warming up now, he paused for breath. Sherrie Latimer opened her mouth, but he forestalled her. “Therefore, I am entitled to feel a tad put out if the centerpiece of this ambitious and, I might add, outrageously expensive display, the focal point of this spectacular display…the jolly old gentleman of Christmas himself…turns out to be a sawed-off substitute in high heels!”
“Excuse me?” The substitute Santa’s voice had garnered considerable strength.
Matt watched, fascinated in spite of himself, as a small, delicate hand wriggled out from the bottom of a sleeve and swept up to Santa’s head. Grabbing the hat, the hand tugged it off, taking with it most of the white hair.
A mass of amber curls spilled onto the padded shoulders of the suit. The hand let go of the hat, and tugged at the mustache and beard. A sharp “Ouch!” accompanied the gesture. Then the voice spoke again, as clear and as cool as a Christmas bell.
“You have absolutely no excuse for speaking to me in that disgraceful tone of voice. I am not some disobedient child you can intimidate with your insults. I am a grown woman, and as such, I demand a certain amount of respect.”
Matt peered at the flushed face in front of him. Wisps of white cotton clung to the curls at the forehead and over one ear. The mustache had left a thin wisp of white above the most attractive mouth he’d ever seen, and still more clung to the determined, slightly pointed chin. In spite of his temper, Matt felt an insane urge to smile.
He might have smiled, if he hadn’t been shocked to realize that this was no inept teenager, as he’d first imagined, standing in front of him with that rebellious scowl on her face. “How old are you?” he demanded, without thinking.
“That, Mr. Blanchard, is an impertinent and totally irrelevant question. It’s enough for you to know that I am old enough to be spoken to in a civil manner.”
Aware that she was right, he resorted to his gruffest tone. “My apologies, Miss Latimer. And since you are, as you say, a responsible adult, perhaps you will enlighten me as to why your brother felt it perfectly all right to run off to Mexico for a last-minute vacation and leave a…woman…to play the part of Santa Claus.”
Behind the wisps of cotton he saw two delicate eyebrows arch. “You have something against women, Mr. Blanchard? I do believe that comes under the category of discrimination.”
Matt buried his face in his hands, raking his hair with his fingers. “Oh, give me a break.” He slowly let out his breath, then added heavily, “No, I do not have anything against women. What I do have a thing against is a Santa Claus who…” He paused once more, searching for a more diplomatic way to say what was on the tip of his tongue.
The toe of one shoe lifted up and down on the thick carpet. He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and gritted his teeth. “Miss Latimer. I ask you to be honest when you answer this question. Describe to me your idea of Santa Claus as if you were a child who still believed in him.”
She was silent for so long he wondered if she was refusing to answer. Then, in a slightly less belligerent voice, she said, “I admit, I’m not as tall as most Santas, but I am sitting down almost all of the time. With the padding and the beard, the children can’t really tell the difference.”
“Until you open your mouth,” Matt said darkly.
“I lower my voice.”
She had spoken the words an octave deeper, which merely made her sound as if she had a bad cold. There was no way in hell that voice could be mistaken for a man’s.
“The point, Miss Latimer,” Matt said, as patiently as he could manage considering he was still steaming, “is that I hired your brother for the job. I go to a great deal of trouble to pick the right person to play the part of Santa. Not only does he have to look the part and sound the part, he has to act the part as well. If I might say so, Miss Latimer, you don’t look much bigger than a child yourself.”
“I happen to be five feet five in my heels.”
“Which is another thing.” Matt pressed his point home. “In my entire life, which amounts to a little less than forty years, I have never, ever, seen a Santa wearing high-heeled shoes.”
“They make me look taller.”
“They make Santa Claus look ridiculous, if you’ll forgive me for saying so.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion.”
He could almost see the frost on her breath. And the hot sparkle in those remarkable green eyes was really something to watch. With a start he pulled himself together. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said abruptly.
“Which question was that, Mr. Blanchard?”
Her constant use of his last name was beginning to get on his nerves, for some reason. She made it sound as if he had one foot in the grave. She couldn’t be that much younger than he, for pity’s sake.
He cleared his throat, loudly, as if to silence the inner voice. “I would like to know why your brother made these last-minute arrangements and why I wasn’t informed in time to hire someone else.”
“My brother,” Miss Latimer said coldly, “is with a mercy mission team traveling to Mexico to bring some small vision of Christmas cheer to underprivileged, underfed children who have little conception of what Christmas is all about. They have never owned expensive toys, let alone played with them. And they have never seen expensive, commercialized displays in overpriced toy departments. Neither have they ever spoken to a fake Santa Claus and judged whether he looked real or not.”
Taken aback, Matt allowed several seconds to go by while he recovered his voice. “Your brother’s mission is very commendable, I’m sure. That does not, however, excuse him from deliberately ignoring his contract with me. Or explain why he entered into it in the first place if he intended to spend Christmas in Mexico.”
“He didn’t know he was going to Mexico until yesterday afternoon. Somebody had to drop out at the last minute and the organization people were desperately hunting for a substitute. If you knew my brother, Mr. Blanchard, you would understand. This is a project very close to his heart. He couldn’t turn them down.”
“Certainly not as easily as he could turn me down, apparently,” Matt said, struggling to hold on to his resentment. There was something about this young woman that threatened to make him forget why he was angry with her.
“He tried everywhere to get someone else to take the Santa job. He’s been playing Santa for years at different stores in Portland. When you’re in construction you have plenty of time off in the winter, and he loves the job.”
“Yes, he told me. That’s why I hired him.” Matt leaned back in his chair and let his gaze travel over her suit’s bulging padding again. “And because he looked the part.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Blanchard,” Sherrie Latimer said, sounding not a bit apologetic at all, “but I was the only one available. I agreed to do it for him.”
“Under protest, by all accounts,” Matt said dryly, remembering the caustic comments about commercialized, overpriced displays. “You must love your brother a great deal.”
“I do. He’s the only one I’ve got.”
Matt felt a moment of envy for Tom Latimer, then quickly squashed the thought. “The fact remains, you do not bear the slightest resemblance to your brother in any shape or form, and no matter how high the heels of your shoes, or how deep you pitch your voice, there is not one child within a hundred miles of here who is going to believe for an instant that you are Santa Claus. In fact, if I allow you to continue this farce, Blanchard’s will be the laughingstock of the town.”
“We can’t let the children down, Mr. Blanchard. Most of them know that Santa can’t be everywhere, anyway. They look upon us more as Santa’s helpers.”
“I know, I know. Even so, you just don’t look the part. Not by any stretch of the imagination.” He reached for a pencil and tapped it irritably on the table. “Well, I guess there isn’t much I can do about it today. You can finish the day out, while I try to find a replacement. Though heaven knows where I’m going to find one at this late date.”
“I do have a suggestion,” Sherrie Latimer said, a little hesitantly.
He’d heard just about enough explanations from her. Nevertheless, he was near desperation himself. How Lucy was going to take this he had no idea. That thought irritated him more than anything. He might not be able to provide a proper family Christmas without a mother, but he could at least make his daughter’s visit with Santa Claus a very special treat. At least, he could have managed until today.
“Go ahead,” he said, resting his fingers against his eyes. “It can’t be any worse than what we’ve got.”
“I could be Mrs. Santa Claus. The clothes the mannequin is wearing in the gingerbread house should fit me much better, and we could dress up a mannequin as Santa and have him in the doorway of the house. I’ll just tell the children that the real Santa is busy with the elves at the North Pole and he sent his wife instead.”
Very slowly, Matt lowered his hand. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. He would be the only store to have a Mrs. Claus, which would surely gain points with the mothers. The whole concept could bring even more curious people into his store, just to get a look. He might even swing a spot on local television and get some free publicity.
He looked steadily at Sherrie Latimer for a long moment, noticing with a small sense of satisfaction that she seemed to fidget under his gaze. “That might work,” he said, letting just the right amount of doubt creep into his voice.
It wouldn’t do to let her know how pleased he was with the idea. In his experience, if he offered someone as young as Miss Latimer an apple she was likely to turn it into an entire orchard. No, let her think he was grudgingly allowing her to try to make up for her brother’s mistake. She would be far more likely to work her butt off proving she was right.
He just hoped she had the stamina for the job. Playing Santa was a grueling experience, judging from the comments of his past employees. “Are you sure you can handle it?” he asked, letting his gaze flick over her padded figure. “It’s a tough job for a woman.”
As he’d hoped, her chin came up a fraction. “If my brother can handle it, then so can I. Tom would feel very badly if the children were deprived of a Santa. I really do think Mrs. Claus would be a hundred times better than no Santa at all.”
“Yes, well, that remains to be seen. I guess it couldn’t hurt for now, anyway.” He reached for the phone and dialed the warehouse. “Yes, take a male mannequin to toys as quickly as possible. I need the clothes on the mannequin in the Santa display in my office. Do it as discreetly as possible, and have someone let the customers know that Santa will be there soon.”
He replaced the receiver and looked back at Sherrie Latimer who was staring at the picture of Lucy on his desk. He waited for a comment, but she hastily directed her gaze back to his face.
After a moment of awkward silence, he asked heavily, “When you aren’t bailing your brother out of trouble, Miss Latimer, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a research assistant for Conway Pharmaceuticals.” She touched her lips with her fingers and dislodged some more cotton.
He was suitably impressed, but did his darnedest not to show it. “You must have a very understanding boss to allow you to take off at a minute’s notice.” Probably more understanding than he was at the moment, he grudgingly admitted.
To his surprise, Sherrie Latimer didn’t answer right away. In fact, she appeared to be having some trouble with her eyes, since they were tightly shut. Just when he was on the point of asking her if she was all right, she opened her eyes and blinked several times.
“I happen to be on vacation, Mr. Blanchard. I had intended to spend the holidays with my brother, until this emergency came up.”
He could swear he saw a tear glistening in her eye. No doubt she was terribly disappointed that her plans for Christmas had been upset. He was beginning to feel like a prize jerk for yelling at her and was relieved when a sharp tap on the door interrupted the conversation.
As he took Mrs. Claus’s clothes from the arms of the young man at the door, a thought flashed through his mind. He wondered what kind of figure Sherrie Latimer was hiding under all that padding.
Annoyed with himself, he practically threw the outfit into her arms. “I’ll get out of here while you change,” he muttered. “Lock the door behind me and when you’re finished, take the Santa suit down to toys and have someone dress the mannequin and put it back in the house.”
“Yes, Mr. Blanchard.”
The words had been polite enough, but he’d detected a note of rebellion in the quiet voice.
“Please,” he added, as an afterthought, then wondered what the hell was the matter with him. He was her boss, after all. Even if it was temporary.
Deciding the best thing he could do was to get out of there as quickly as possible, he gave her a brief nod and escaped through the door. The firm click of the lock behind him seemed to echo in his mind as he strode down the hallway.
Inside the office Sherrie scrambled out of the Santa suit, breathing a sigh of relief. Tom would have been upset if she’d messed things up for him. He’d been so torn between the chance to go to Mexico and his responsibility to Blanchard’s, not to mention letting down the hordes of children eagerly waiting to meet Santa. Most of all, he’d been worried about leaving her on her own for the holidays.
In fact, it had taken a superb acting job on her part to convince him she’d be perfectly happy by herself. She had nowhere else to go, she’d pointed. out, and she certainly didn’t feel like facing her friends after the fiasco at the church.
Sherrie stepped out of the roomy pants, struggling with the sudden onslaught of depression. It was bad enough that she’d been jilted practically at the altar, leaving her a month’s vacation to get through.
Instead of spending two weeks in Hawaii on her honeymoon and another two moving into a new, expensive condo, she was now faced with the prospect of finding somewhere cheaper to live, since she’d already moved out of her old apartment.
With her furniture in storage, and unable to bear the thought of everyone feeling sorry for her, Sherrie had immediately agreed when Tom had suggested she stay with him until she found somewhere else to go.
It had seemed the perfect solution. Tom wasn’t the kind to commiserate with her. He’d told her flat out that Jason’s last-minute cold feet was the best thing that could have happened to her. Knowing that he was right was poor consolation, however. Spending the holidays alone in her brother’s apartment was not her idea of celebrating Christmas, and playing Santa for a crowd of excitable, hyperactive children had definitely not entered into her plans.
Nevertheless, once she made a commitment, she stuck with it. Through heaven and hell, if need be. She’d promised Tom she would do the job for him, and Sherrie Latimer always kept a promise. Even if Matthew Blanchard did not approve of her. Besides, playing Santa would at least keep her mind off her own troubles.
Sherrie eyed the Mrs. Claus outfit with a frown. It was still too big for her, but a vast improvement on the suffocating red wool suit that now lay crumpled on the floor amid a pile of pillows.
The full skirted dress with the red-and-green holly pattern slipped easily over her head. She added a pillow to give her a bosom, and another under the waistband, then pulled on the white wig and the bonnet.
Placing the pair of granny glasses on the edge of her nose, she squinted through the empty frames. She wished she had a full-length mirror to inspect herself before she went public. Matthew Blanchard didn’t have one mirror in the entire room. Obviously he didn’t like looking at himself.
Which was too bad, Sherrie thought, as she bent over to pick up the Santa suit. The man would be quite attractive if he learned to smile.
The glasses slid down her nose and fell to the floor. She reached for them, grunting as the pillows prevented her from bending that far. She almost toppled over as she made a grab for the spectacles.
Straightening again, she let out a long sigh. She was clumsy enough as it was, without having to deal with the unfamiliar padding obstructing her every movement. Heaven help her if she dropped a child off her lap.
After folding the red coat neatly, she laid it on the uncluttered desk. The photo of the little girl was turned partly away from her, and Sherrie couldn’t resist taking a closer look. Turning the frame toward her, she saw a pretty child of about four or five.
It was obvious the little girl was Matthew Blanchard’s daughter. She had the same gaunt cheekbones, straight nose and light blue eyes, though her hair was dark blond instead of black like her father’s. Her smile lit up her entire face, in stark contrast to her father’s grim, austere expression, but even so, she bore a marked resemblance to Sherrie’s temporary boss.
Sherrie turned the frame back to its original position, wondering what the little girl’s mother looked like, and why her picture wasn’t on Matthew Blanchard’s desk beside his daughter’s. Deciding it was none of her business, she folded up the rest of Santa’s suit, then bundled it under her arm. It was time to get back to work.

An hour or so later, Sherrie was beginning to wish she had never agreed to take Tom’s place. Why her brother enjoyed the job, she couldn’t imagine. His instructions had seemed simple enough—greet the children, ask them if they’d been good, ask them what they wanted for Christmas, never promise to deliver but tell them she’d see what she could do, throw in a couple of Ho Ho Hos, give them a candy cane and go on to the next one.
What he hadn’t told her was that children could be remarkably curious and sometimes downright personal. One little girl had asked her if she and Santa slept in the same bed, and one smart-mouthed boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten, asked her for a date.
Another little girl, who had sat in silence for so long Sherrie had just about given up on getting a word out of her, suddenly asked in a loud voice what kind of underwear Mrs. Claus wore at the North Pole.
Question after question poured from their eager lips. What was it like to be married to Santa? Did she get lonely when he was out delivering the toys? What kind of dinners did she cook for him?
When she did finally manage to get in a couple of questions of her own, some children boldly demanded everything from sports cars and motorbikes to automatic rifles.
More than one handed her a list as long as a toilet roll, while others touched her heart by asking for nothing more than a new sweater or a jacket. Those were the ones she wished she could take into the clothing department and let them pick out whatever they wanted.
After delivering a screaming child back to its determined parent, Sherrie longed for a break. Her back ached from the constant hauling up and down of dozens of kids, some of whom weighed almost as much as she did.
A glance at her watch told her she had about ten minutes to go when she caught sight of Blanchard’s owner heading through the crowds around the toy department. He was almost up to her before she saw the small child he led by the hand.
She was a fragile little girl, with dark blond curls embracing an unsmiling, heart-shaped face. She looked up with a wistful expression when the tall man at her side spoke to her.
Sherrie braced herself. If her memory served her right, she was about to meet Matthew Blanchard’s daughter.
She was quite impressed when the store owner stood patiently in line, holding his daughter’s hand. Saying goodbye to her break for a while longer, Sherrie concentrated on the children ahead of her boss.
At last it was the solemn little girl’s turn. Matthew Blanchard stood discreetly back from the platform as the child sat stiffly on the edge of Sherrie’s knees. The little girl seemed to weigh hardly anything at all, and her blue eyes were huge in her delicate face.
“Can you tell me your name?” Sherrie asked, and was rewarded with a soft whisper.
“Lucy Blanchard.”
“Lucy. That’s a nice name.” Sherrie smiled, forgetting for the moment that the child’s formidable father stood just a few feet away. “I can tell you’ve been a good girl. What would you like me to ask Santa to bring you for Christmas?”
Lucy stared at her, as if she wasn’t sure she understood the question. “Daddy said Santa couldn’t come.”
Sherrie nodded. “I’m afraid Santa is really busy getting all the toys ready for Christmas Eve. But I’ll be talking to him before he leaves the North Pole on his sleigh, so you can tell me what you want. I’ll make sure he gets the message, okay?”
“Okay.”
Sherrie waited a moment, while the little girl continued to study her face. “Is there something you really want for Christmas?” she prompted, when Lucy seemed content to remain silent.
Lucy nodded, then looked over her shoulder at her father, who was watching the kids in the toy department trying out everything on the shelves. Apparently reassured, the little girl leaned forward to put her mouth close to Sherrie’s ear.
“I want a mommy,” she whispered.
Her hair tickled Sherrie’s ear, and she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “You mean a mommy doll?”
Lucy shook her head. “A real mommy.”
Sherrie felt cold, as if someone had turned on the airconditioning. “You don’t have a mommy?”
Again Lucy shook her head, her beautiful eyes pleading with Sherrie to understand.
Sherrie had to clear her throat. “Well, Lucy, that’s quite a wish. I’ll be sure to tell Santa what you want, but you do understand he can’t always bring children what they ask for. He will do his very best, and I’m sure you’ll be happy with whatever he does bring for you.”
Lucy listened gravely to the practiced speech, her eyes fixed on Mrs. Claus’s face. She seemed to think about it for a while, then she let out a small sigh. “I just want a mommy. Daddy and me is very lonely.”
Sherrie looked into those liquid blue eyes and felt her heart melt. Scrooge himself couldn’t have denied the appeal in that face. “Well, sweetheart,” she said softly, “we’ll just have to see what we can do, won’t we?”

Chapter Two (#ulink_75772a36-165e-5a08-935f-624c1d369367)
Later, in Tom’s apartment, Sherrie sank onto the shabby couch with a weary sigh. By the time she finished playing Mrs. Claus next month, she thought ruefully, she’d have muscles Mr. Universe would envy. Thank heavens the job was only four hours a day. Any longer than that and someone would have to carry her out of the place.
After the noisy chatter of the children, she welcomed the quiet peace of the silent room. Leaning her back against a soft, plump pillow, she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind.
Gradually the clamor of excited voices began to fade until all that was left was the wistful whisper of a sadfaced little girl.
Sherrie opened her eyes again and sat up. Now that she had time to think about it, she was beginning to realize just what she had taken on. She had more or less promised a trusting child that she would find her a mother. Even more daunting was the other side to that particular coin. She would have to find a wife for Matthew Blanchard.
No longer feeling relaxed, Sherrie jumped up and went into Tom’s tiny kitchen. She had set herself a formidable task, she thought, as she studied the meager contents of the ancient fridge. She would have to find a very special woman, someone with a heart full of love to give to a lonely little girl.
That would be difficult enough. Finding someone who was willing to take on Matthew Blanchard as part of the deal might be darn well impossible.
She would give a great deal to know what had happened to Lucy’s mother. It could have been a divorce, or perhaps the mother had died. Either way, Lucy must miss her mother a great deal. She would be hard to replace.
Sherrie closed the door of the fridge with a shudder and opened up a cabinet. The only item that looked remotely appetizing was a packet of macaroni and cheese. Obviously her brother was not fond of eating at home.
Sighing, she reached for the packet and made a mental note to shop on the way home from the store the next day.
After dinner, Sherrie tried to concentrate on a television program, but the vision of Lucy Blanchard’s pensive face kept getting in the way. To make matters worse, the stern features of Lucy’s father also kept intruding on her thoughts.
Finally giving up, Sherrie switched off the television and thought of the task she’d set for herself. Lucy would present no problem, once Mrs. Claus had found the right woman. It was Matthew Blanchard who presented the biggest obstacle.
Impatient with herself, Sherrie went back into the kitchen to make a cup of hot chocolate. She didn’t know enough about the man to make a fair judgment, she told herself. First impressions could be misleading and, after all, he had a lot going in his favor.
In the first place, he was nice-looking. Attractive, even, if one went for the strong, intense type. He was obviously well-off, since he owned the largest department store in town. If only he would lighten up and smile now and again, he’d be quite a catch—as long as someone was willing to make the effort to break through that intimidating front he presented.
All she had to do, Sherrie decided as she crawled into bed, was find the right woman. Out of all the single women she knew, there had to be someone who would be perfect for Lucy and her implacable father.
Having convinced herself on that score, Sherrie did her best to go to sleep. It wasn’t easy. Alone in the unfamiliar apartment, every sound seemed ominous. Tom had intended to sleep on the couch while she was staying with him, and she couldn’t help wishing he hadn’t had to leave.
Now that she had nothing to do but think, Jason’s last-minute betrayal seemed catastrophic. She had lost much more than a future husband. She’d given up her cozy home in a familiar neighborhood where she knew most of the locals. But even if her apartment hadn’t been rented, she knew she wouldn’t return there.
She preferred to make a completely new start in a place where no one knew she’d been dumped at the altar. As for Jason, he had completely destroyed her trust in men. In her opinion, marriage was overrated and risky at best. She could only hope that Matthew Blanchard’s new wife would have better luck.
Annoyed with the way her mind kept returning to her unapproachable boss, she turned on her side and tried to get comfortable. Tom’s apartment could use some new furniture, she thought, as she pummeled the pillow. It could also use a woman’s touch—something pretty on the walls would help cheer up the place. Her brother really needed a wife as well.
She smiled to herself in the darkness. If she could find a wife for Matthew Blanchard, finding one for Tom would be a breeze. On that happy thought, she drifted off to sleep.

Matt just happened to be standing near the employees’ entrance when Sherrie Latimer arrived the next morning. He’d convinced himself that he was merely checking to make sure she was going to turn up for work. After all, she’d looked pretty tired by the end of her shift yesterday.
He refused to even consider the possibility that he wanted to see her arrive for the sole purpose of checking out her figure. Not even when his pulse leapt as she came through the door.
He’d forgotten the way her honey gold hair with its hint of red curled onto her shoulders. Without the glasses and white wig she looked incredibly young.
She wore a black skirt that barely skimmed her knees, and a black sweater with a yellow-and-black scarf tucked in the neck. Her curvy figure easily surpassed his wildest imagination. He was used to seeing reed-thin athletic bodies on the women at the health club. He hadn’t real- ized how much more exciting it was to look at someone a little more filled out.
His curiosity satisfied, he tried to slip away unnoticed, but she caught sight of him before he could make his escape.
“Good morning, Mr. Blanchard!” she called out, with a slight smile playing around her mouth, as if she knew his heart rate had jumped to jogging level.
He mumbled an answering greeting, then watched her trip lightly over to the elevators. He had to stop this, he thought desperately. She was, after all, one of his employees. He made it a rule never to fraternize with the help.
Not that he wanted to socialize with her, he hastily assured himself as he strode over to the escalator. For one thing, she was too young. For another, he rather suspected that Miss Latimer had very definite ideas on any given subject—ideas that were likely to clash with his own.
She appeared to be the kind of young lady who would have no qualms opposing his views rather strongly if she were so inclined. And if there was one thing Matt hated, it was an argument.
More often than not he gave in, sacrificing his own convictions rather than argue, which had been part of the problem with his ex-wife. If he hadn’t been so indulgent with Caroline, if he’d insisted that she behave like a responsible adult instead of condoning her selfish, immature behavior, he might have saved the marriage. Though he rather doubted it.
He was pretty sure that Caroline had never really loved him. Her head had been turned by the big bucks. She’d seen the furs, designer fashions and jewelry that Blanchard’s carried and she was like the kids in the toy department. She wanted it all. Until Lucy had come along and put an end to her freedom. Then she hadn’t wanted either of them.
Well, he told himself as he rode the crowded escalator to the next floor, he was through with that kind of commitment. Never again. He’d learned a tough lesson. He’d made a mistake and he wasn’t about to repeat it. That settled, he resolved to put Miss Latimer and her delectable figure right out of his mind.

Upstairs in the private employees’ lounge, Sherrie’s bones ached as she dressed in the Mrs. Claus outfit. She adjusted the wig and the glasses and scowled at her image in the mirror. If this was how she would look when she got old, she thought, there wasn’t a lot to look forward to.
She was about to leave for her first stint in Santa’s chair when the door of the lounge opened. The impeccable, heavily perfumed creature who entered eyed her up and down with amusement.
“God,” she muttered, “if I had to spend longer than five minutes in that outfit I’d quit.”
“It’s not exactly my favorite way to dress,” Sherrie said, smiling. “Actually I’m doing it as a favor for my brother. He was supposed to be Santa.”
The woman nodded. “So I heard. One of the stockmen told me about the last-minute change. Actually you look pretty good. Definitely an improvement on some of the Santas we’ve had. How’s things going down there?”
“Exhausting,” Sherrie admitted. “But I enjoy meeting all the children.”
The woman leaned closer to the mirror and patted her immaculate blond hair. Opening the small black purse she carried, she took out a lipstick and touched up her lips.
“My name’s Beryl Robbins,” she said, slipping the gold case back into her purse. “I’m the head buyer here. We’ll probably bump into each other now and again. If you want to know anything about this place, just ask me. There isn’t much that gets by me.”
Sherrie could well believe that. The woman’s sharp brown eyes under the mascara-laden lashes were never still. “I’m Sherrie,” she murmured, “and I’ll keep it in mind.” She slipped out of the door then, before Beryl Robbins could begin probing into her private life.
Down on the fifth floor, the children were already lined up, waiting impatiently for Mrs. Claus to arrive. A small cheer went up as Sherrie took her seat and beckoned to the first little girl in line.
The child’s mother held on to the small hand, and seemed determined to do all the talking. It took several moments of diplomatic persuasion before Sherrie could talk to the child herself.
Watching from a discreet distance, Matt felt a small stab of satisfaction. The Mrs. Claus idea seemed to be working out quite well, in spite of the diminutive size of the woman inside the padding. In fact, it amazed him to see her hauling all those kids up onto her lap. He’d expected her to come crying to him at the end of her first day to say she couldn’t handle the job.
He felt a little more comfortable now that she was dressed as Mrs. Claus again. It seemed to put a respectable distance between them. After all, who would have the urge to date Santa’s wife? Highly inappropriate, to say the least.
After studying the application form he’d had his newest employee fill out, Matt had learned little more about Sherrie Latimer. She was twenty-seven, single and a college graduate. She’d listed her present address as the same as her brother’s, which, now that he came to think about it, was a bit odd, since she’d told Matt that she was merely spending the holidays with Tom Latimer.
Remembering the misty-eyed expression he’d noticed when he’d mentioned her holiday plans, Matt wondered if she’d had some kind of trouble. He quickly reminded himself that it was none of his business.
As long as Sherrie Latimer did a good job for him, her private life was her own concern. The position was only temporary anyway. Once the Christmas season was over, he would probably never set eyes on Sherrie Latimer again.
To his dismay, the thought gave him a definite twinge of regret. He turned his back on Mrs. Claus and headed toward the crowded toy department. He wasn’t about to let himself get distracted by a ditzy, pint-size angel of mercy who let her heart rule her head.
Any other woman with an atom of sense would have told her brother to find himself another Santa. But obviously she wasn’t like other women. She’d given up her vacation and taken on a mammoth task so that her brother could go chasing all over Mexico on his own errand of mercy, as she’d put it.
He would have admired that, if he hadn’t been convinced that women like Sherrie Latimer were a danger to self-respecting, confirmed single fathers, who should know better than to spend their mornings wondering if a certain woman tasted as good as she looked.

Seated on her red velvet throne, Sherrie was having her own troubles. One little girl, desperate to go to the bathroom, was determined not to lose her place in line. Unfortunately the wait proved too long, and Sherrie’s lap was decidedly damp after the child had scrambled down.
The next small boy demanded that Santa bring him a space gun for Christmas.
“I’ll be sure to tell Santa what you would like just as soon as I get back to the North Pole,” Sherrie said, reaching for a candy cane.
“I don’t want to wait till Christmas,” the boy announced, scowling at her, “I want it now.”
Sherrie tried to curb her flash of irritation. “Well, I’m afraid you can’t have it now. Santa doesn’t deliver the toys until Christmas Eve. But you can have a candy cane now.”
“Don’t want a candy cane.” The boy snatched it from her hand and threw it on the floor. “I want a space gun and I want it now.”
“Then I guess you’re going to be disappointed,” Sherrie said, easing the child off her lap.
The boy stared at her for a second, then opened his mouth and let out a shrill scream. Sherrie looked around in vain for the child’s mother, but apparently the woman had taken advantage of the respite from her rebellious child and dashed off to shop.
Sherrie’s efforts to calm the child were fruitless. Still yelling, the boy rushed over to the reindeer and, using both fists, began pounding one of them on the head.
“Stop that right now,” Sherrie warned, “or Santa won’t bring you anything on Christmas Eve.”
“Don’t want Santa,” the boy yelled, aiming a kick at the reindeer’s legs. “Santa’s stupid.”
It was the final straw. Leaping from her chair, she grabbed the squirming child by the arm and hauled him off the platform in front of the waiting customers. Unfortunately his mother arrived on the scene just then, demanding to know why Mrs. Claus was beating up her child.
“He was beating up the reindeer,” Sherrie hotly protested. “I was simply removing him from the area.”
“Well, you don’t remove my child from anywhere,” the mother yelled, her voice rising above her son’s screams. “That’s my job.” She was a big woman, and looked as if she could flatten an elephant with one blow.
Sherrie opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again as a deep voice inquired, “What’s going on here?”
Sherrie’s heart sank as she met the disapproval in Matthew Blanchard’s ice blue eyes. She began to explain, but the customer forestalled her.
“I am never,” she said, pronouncing the word in a voice of doom, “ever setting foot in this store again.” She looked around at the line of interested spectators. “If I were you,” she added meaningfully, “I’d get out of this store before they all start beating up on your kids.”
“Madam—” Matt began, but she cut him off.
Grabbing her son by the hand, she said loudly, “Come on, Henry. We’ll find a store where kids are welcome.” She glared at Sherrie as she passed. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she snarled. “Posing as Mrs. Claus and then picking on little kids. You should be reported.”
Sherrie managed to hold her tongue as the woman led the screaming child away. She flicked a quick glance at Matt, who was addressing the crowd in a calm, quiet tone of reassurance.
“I apologize for this small misunderstanding,” he announced. “To make up for the unpleasantness, I’ll see that every child in the store gets a free balloon and a candy cane.”
He signaled to one of the floorwalkers, a pleasant young man dressed in a red vest and bow tie. “Follow this gentleman,” Matt announced, “and he’ll hand out the gifts. Meanwhile, Mrs. Claus will take a short break. She’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
Sherrie felt a quiver in the region of her stomach. She followed Matt as he threaded his way through the crowd, and rehearsed her defense. He said nothing as led her into his office, but seated himself at his desk and waited for her to stand in front of him.
She felt a spark of resentment when she saw the reprimand in his expression. He was beginning to make her feel like a second-grader hauled up in front of the principal.
“Perhaps, Miss Latimer,” he said, his voice heavy with exasperation, “you would be kind enough to explain why you felt it necessary to manhandle one of my valued customers?”
Sherrie lifted her chin. “That valued customer was about to demolish Donna. I felt it necessary to remove the child from the platform to prevent serious damage to the merchandise.”
He stared at her for so long she wondered if he’d understood what she’d said. Finally he cleared his throat. “I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said, clasping his hands as if in prayer, “but who the devil is Donna?”
“Blitzen’s partner, of course.”
He looked at her blankly.
“You know,” Sherrie said, allowing a tiny note of impatience to enter her voice. “Donna and Blitzen. Santa’s reindeer?”
He still looked at her as if she’d suddenly appeared from outer space.
She placed her hands on the desk, leaned forward and pronounced each word as if she were translating a foreign language. “You have two reindeer in your Christmas display. I call them Donna and Blitzen. Had I not removed that brat from the platform, Blitzen would have been looking for a new mate.”
A look of apprehension slowly dawned on Matt’s face. “I see,” he said weakly.
Sensing that she was getting through to him at last, she straightened up. “I didn’t hurt the child. He was out of control, and upsetting the other children. I did what I thought was necessary to restore the peace.”
Matt nodded. “I sympathize with your predicament, Miss Latimer. It might have been more prudent, however, to have let the child’s mother deal with him.”
“The child’s mother,” Sherrie said grimly, “was nowhere to be found. If she can’t be bothered to discipline the child, she must learn to accept the consequences. In my opinion, women like that shouldn’t have children if they can’t accept the responsibility.”
She got the feeling she might have said too much as Matt’s face darkened. “That’s beside the point. We have to remember that our customers are the reason we are in business. Without them, we would not have a Blanchard’s Department Store.”
“Yes, but—”
“In situations like this,” Matt went on firmly, “we must hold on to our temper and do our utmost to soothe ruffled feathers. Throwing the child off the platform was not the best way to handle things, no matter how much he might have deserved it. I must ask you to use more restraint in the future, if you want to keep your job.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him where to stuff his job. “I was hired to talk to the children and listen to their Christmas wishes,” she said stiffly. “I did not expect to act as nursemaid, baby-sitter or disciplinarian, nor did I expect to be subjected to harassment, ridicule or abuse, all of which has been directed at me in the past two days.”
Matt sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “I had an idea the job might be too much for you. If you remember, I did warn you that it was a tough job for a woman. Perhaps I could rustle up a couple of elves to help out.”
“In my opinion, Mr. Blanchard, this would be a tough job for that marine sergeant you were looking for.” She puffed out her breath. She had promised Tom she would do this job. She would do her best to see it through for his sake, certainly not for the stuffed shirt who sat glowering at her across his too-tidy desk.
Softening her tone with difficulty, she added, “That doesn’t mean I can’t handle it. There’s no need to hire elves. I apologize for losing my patience. I can assure you, it won’t happen again.”
She waited while he sat in silence, apparently torn by indecision. Miserably she wondered how she was going to explain to Tom that she botched the job after less than two days.
She jumped when Matthew Blanchard suddenly looked up. His eyes looked very blue, and very direct. “Miss Latimer,” he said quietly, “everyone around here calls me Matt. I would appreciate it if you would do the same.”
She could feel tiny ripples of awareness course down her back. For some reason she really wished she was wearing something other than the frumpy Mrs. Claus costume. She had the distinct feeling that when she spoke, her voice would sound about an octave too high. “Does that mean I’m still Mrs. Claus?”
Matt sighed, as if he had just made an earth-shattering decision. “If you’re really sure you want to be harassed and abused for the next month, the job is still yours.”
He didn’t have to sound quite so enthusiastic about it, Sherrie thought gloomily. If he knew how tough it had been for her to step down and apologize, he wouldn’t be nearly so condescending. “I’ll manage,” she said, her voice deceptively meek. “Thank you, Mr. Blanchard.”
“Matt,” he reminded her.
Again she felt the shiver of pleasure down her spine. How, she wondered, could he possibly have this effect on her, when she found him so infuriating?
“I think I’d find it easier to call you Matt,” she said carefully, “if you’d stop calling me Miss Latimer.”
He didn’t quite smile, but she had the feeling that one lurked behind the firm line of his mouth. The thought made the ripples travel faster.
“I’ll do my best,” he murmured. “Now, as long as we’ve got that settled, you’d better get back to your chair. There’s probably a hundred kids waiting for you by now.”
“God, I hope not,” Sherrie murmured fervently. “By the time Christmas gets here I might not be needing the gray hair. I’ll have enough of my own.”
She thought she heard him chuckle as she closed the door behind her but she couldn’t be sure. She only knew that she would give anything to hear Matthew Blanchard laugh out loud, and to be the one who caused it.
The sooner she started work on her quest for Lucy’s mother, the better, she told herself as she walked through the department store. Matthew Blanchard did strange things to her senses.
If he wasn’t quite so pompous and patronizing, she might even be tempted to forget her convictions about men in general. And that would be a disastrous mistake. Horrified with her treacherous mind, she hurried back to her seat in the Christmas display.
All that afternoon, when she wasn’t chatting to the children, Sherrie racked her brains trying to come up with a suitable candidate for Lucy’s mother.
What she really needed, she decided, was more information about Matthew Blanchard. Since he would be a primary factor in the success of her plan, she needed to know what kind of woman might appeal to him.
The line of children had abated and her shift was almost over when Sherrie saw her impervious boss heading in her direction with Lucy in tow. Apparently his daughter was checking up on her request.
Sherrie smiled when the serious little girl climbed onto her lap. The child looked enchanting in a pleated red tartan skirt worn over white tights. The ensemble was completed with a white sweater, decorated with an appliquéd black Scottish terrier. Someone knew how to dress a child, Sherrie thought as she settled the child into the crook of her arm.
“Hello, Lucy,” she said, “It’s very nice to see you again.”
Lucy glanced over at her father, who stood a few feet away, watching his daughter with a worried expression on his face. After a moment’s hesitation, Matt stepped up to the platform and said in an urgent voice, “It’s pretty quiet out here now. Could you keep an eye on her for a few minutes? I have an important call to make.”
Sherrie nodded, wondering what could be important enough to make him leave his daughter in her charge. Considering his opinion of her capabilities, she thought sourly, he was taking quite a chance.
“Did you find a mommy yet?” Lucy asked, after her father strode away.
Sherrie shook her head, hating the disappointment it caused in the child’s big blue eyes. “I haven’t had much time to look around yet, sweetheart. We are looking for a very special lady, here.”
Lucy dug her hands into her lap. “We just want someone to love us,” she said, in a small voice.
“I know, honey, and I will find that special lady, I promise. But it might take me a little while.”
“Will you find her before Christmas?”
“I’ll do my best,” Sherrie said warily, “but I can’t really promise. It might take me longer than that. You want to be sure we have the right mommy, don’t you?”
Lucy nodded. She was silent for a moment or two, then looked earnestly up at Sherrie. “We need a mommy to cook the dinner for Christmas.”
“You do?” Sherry smiled. “Who usually cooks your dinner?”
“Mrs. Halloway. She lives in our house and cooks the dinner for us.”
Mrs. Halloway was most likely the person who had dressed Lucy in that adorable outfit. Sherrie felt a small twinge of anxiety. Had Matt already chosen his next wife? If so, Lucy obviously wasn’t happy about it. “Well, I’m sure Mrs. Halloway can cook you a lovely Christmas dinner,” she said carefully. “Just like a mommy.”
Lucy shook her head so hard her curls bounced. “Mrs. Halloway is too old to be a mommy. She just cleans the house and cooks for us.”
The housekeeper, Sherrie decided, with a rush of relief. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be happy to cook you a nice dinner for Christmas.”
“She had to go away,” Lucy said, her gaze shifting to the dazzling Christmas tree behind the chair. “She won’t be here for Christmas.”
Now Sherrie could understand the haunted look on Matt’s face. “Is she coming back?” she asked, wondering how Matt was going to manage to take care of the little girl without his housekeeper.
“I dunno.” Lucy pointed at the tree. “Who are the presents for?”
“All the children who’ve been especially good,” Sherrie murmured absently. “Don’t you have an auntie who can cook for you?”
Lucy shook her head.
“Perhaps Daddy has a nice friend who can take care of you.”
Again the blond curls bounced to and fro. “Daddy doesn’t have any friends.”
Daddy’s private life was obviously lacking, Sherrie thought, wondering just how antisocial Matthew Blanchard could be.
“Can you cook dinner?”
The question took Sherrie by surprise. She laughed, and gave the little girl a warm hug. “Of course I can cook. Santa would be very unhappy if he couldn’t enjoy his Christmas dinner.”
“Can you make pancakes and bacon? And basketty?”
Sherrie raised her eyebrows. “Basketty?”
“You know, those long squiggly things. Mrs. Halloway puts them on a plate an…an…pours red stuff over.”
“Spaghetti?” Sherrie suggested, hazarding a guess.
“Yes,” Lucy said impatiently. “That’s what I said. Basketty.”
“I can cook basketty,” Sherie said solemnly. “And hamburgers and meat loaf and chocolate cream pie.”
“I wish you could come and cook for us,” Lucy said, her voice wistful.
Sherrie stared at the little girl. That wasn’t such a bad idea. That way she would be right inside the lion’s den, so to speak. The perfect place to learn more about Matthew Blanchard. It would be that much easier to introduce him to someone, if she could invite them to his home. Not only that, she wouldn’t have to go back to Tom’s dreadfully lonely apartment every night.
Of course, she told herself, it would only be temporary, until she found someone suitable for Lucy. In the meantime she could take her time looking around for a new apartment.
In the next instant, she gave herself a mental shake. What on earth was she thinking? First of all, after that fiasco with Henry the Hellion, Matt wasn’t likely to trust his daughter to her care full-time. Secondly, she was working at the store until Christmas. She couldn’t be in two places at once.
What worried her the most was the excitement she’d felt at the thought of being in the same house as Matthew Blanchard. That was dangerous, and she had better stop this nonsense right away, she told herself.
Not only was Matt way out of her league, but she was also not about to risk having her heart broken again. Not by anyone. Certainly not by a sophisticated, experienced charmer like Matthew Blanchard.
For although he had bent over backward to convince her otherwise, she was quite sure that under the right circumstances, her new boss would be the ultimate in experienced charmers once he set his mind to it. And, much to her dismay, that prospect excited her most of all.

Chapter Three (#ulink_ed191cd0-2d1a-5508-8c32-a325c5d80d87)
Upstairs in his office, Matt threaded his fingers through his hair. Five phone calls, and nothing. There just wasn’t anyone out there who was willing to take on the job of a temporary live-in housekeeper. What the hell was he going to do?
He sat there for a moment or two, trying to stem the feeling of panic. He’d have to opt for a baby-sitter, and try to manage the rest himself. Somehow they’d survive until Mrs. Halloway’s emergency was over. If she didn’t return by Christmas, he’d just have to take Lucy to a restaurant for dinner. The prospect was a gloomy one.
With a start he glanced at the clock. He’d left Lucy down there with Mrs. Claus long enough.
His daughter was still sitting where he’d left her, he discovered when he reached the fifth floor. She looked quite at home in Mrs. Claus’s small lap. In fact, something curled inside him when he saw her look up at Sherrie with a big smile spreading over her face.
He hadn’t seen Lucy smile like that in a long, long time.
He watched the two of them together for a few moments, touched by the earnest way they were chatting to each other. Lucy had certainly taken to Mrs. Claus. If the rest of the children were as happy with her, this could be the best season yet at Blanchard’s.
That had been a brilliant idea of Sherrie Latimer’s. He must remember to tell her so when she left. Again that small pang of regret attacked his midriff. Frowning, he shook off the moment of melancholy and strode toward the display.
Lucy’s face lit up when she saw her father, and she held out her arms to him.
“Thanks, Mrs. Claus,” Matt said gruffly as he scooped his daughter up in his arms. “I appreciate you staying on to watch her for me.”
“I enjoyed it,” Sherrie said, smiling at him.
For a moment Matt basked in that smile. Now that he knew what she looked like under all that padding, his imagination filled in what he couldn’t see. Annoyed with himself for letting his mind stray in that dangerous direction, he gave her a brief nod. “Well, have a good evening. See you tomorrow.”
Sherrie watched him leave, Lucy still in his arms. For some reason she felt unutterably lonely. The day was over and she had nothing better to do than go back to that bleak apartment. As well as shop for groceries, she reminded herself as she made her way back to the employees’ lounge. Not to mention washing her dress when she got home.
A familiar face greeted her when she entered the lounge.
“Hi, Mrs. Claus,” Beryl Robbins said cheerfully. “Survived another day, I see.”
Sherrie laughed. “I think I’m growing into the part. My back is permanently bowed and my hair is turning white.”
Beryl made a face. “I know what you mean. It’s been one of those days. I broke two nails, lost a shipment of Christmas tree ornaments somewhere and Matt got on my case about some kid terrorizing the toy department with one of our bestselling items. I had to pull them all off the shelf. Thank God it’s time to go home.”
Sherrie studied the woman thoughtfully. She’d offered to answer any questions Sherrie might have. How forthcoming would she be about her boss? Sherrie wondered.
Deciding to find out, she said casually, “I’m going to stop off for a coffee on my way home. If you’re not in a hurry, would you care to join me?”
Beryl reached for a brilliant red coat on the coat stand. “Make it an espresso and you’ve got a deal.”
Sherrie grinned. “Just give me time to get out of these clothes and I’ll be with you.”

The coffee bar was noisy, warm and infinitely better than the empty apartment. Sherrie chose a corner table by the window and waited for her companion to get settled before tackling the subject.
After asking a few questions about the store in general, she slipped in the casual comment. “I met Mr. Blanchard’s daughter, Lucy. She seems such a lonely little girl.”
Beryl sighed. “I know. It’s such a shame. I’m not sure what happened, but as far as I can make out, Matt caught his wife cheating on him and dumped her when Lucy was a year old.”
Sherrie stared at her in dismay. “He dumped Lucy’s mother?”
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. She was a lot younger than Matt, still a kid herself, really. I heard that she got bored with sitting home alone with a baby while Matt was working. She started going out without him, leaving Lucy with a baby-sitter. She must have been no-good, since Matt got custody.”
“Poor Lucy,” Sherrie murmured. “Though it must be hard on her father, too. I don’t suppose he has much time to himself, with a daughter to look after.”
“He has a housekeeper who helps take care of Lucy.” Beryl took a sip of coffee. “Not that he’s much of a party animal. I think he gets out to his health club a couple of times a week. Matt is a strong believer in keeping fit. He tried to start an exercise session at the store, but everyone dropped out after the first week or two. Matt’s a tough instructor.”
She could just imagine, Sherrie thought, remembering the broad shoulders and narrow hips of her boss. It took discipline to look that good. She sat up straight, almost spilling her coffee. She had the perfect candidate after all—Elaine Maitland.
Elaine was a secretary at Conway Pharmaceuticals. She was also a fitness freak, not to mention bright, intelligent and attractive. She had made Sherrie feel tired at times, relating her adventures on the ski slopes, the tennis courts and the golf courses, as well as her stints as swim coach for the local grade school and aerobics instructor in her spare time.

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