Wrapped Up in Christmas Joy

“His daughter is expecting her first baby that week,” Chief reminded, his brown eyes twinkling with humor, as well, beneath his bushy brows. “Bob will be in Connecticut to meet his grandchild.”

There was that.

“I’ll be in my office—I have a meeting in a few minutes.” His gaze connected with Cole’s. “But for the record, I couldn’t have chosen anyone better to be the department’s Santa. You’ll do great.”

Cole wasn’t the type to argue with his boss, nor did he usually feel the desire to do so. But, for once, he longed to list all the reasons Chief was wrong.

Instead, he sighed.

Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to be Santa in the Pine Hill Christmas parade. Santa should be some happy, jovial fellow, not a former Marine who’d done things that still haunted Cole’s dreams.

No one else at the firehall battled the demons Cole fought.

Thank God.

Cole was proud to have been a Marine, proud of the brotherhood he’d belonged to. He would die filled with love for the good ole US of A and pride that he’d served his country with all his heart. But when it came to the things he’d done…

There was no pride in himself, nor should there be.

> “Put on the suit,” Andrew repeated, barely able to contain his laughter as all the crew began chanting along with him.

“I’ve heard about taking advantage of the new guy, but this,” he held up his putrid green candy cane, “is ridiculous.”

“Hey, I think it’s cool you get to be Santa,” Ben said, and Cole had no doubt he meant it. Cole’s friend would have jumped at the chance to take the role if he’d drawn the green candy cane. Ben always smiled, was friendly to everyone, and would make a great Santa.

“Just think, all the kids are going to love you,” his friend continued.

Not one of Cole’s life goals. Not that he wanted kids to dislike him—far from it. He just didn’t think much about kids one way or the other. He certainly had no plans to ever have any of his own.

No way would he ruin a kid’s life by giving him or her a dad as messed up in the head as he was.

Cole still marveled at the life he’d made in Kentucky, at how much he had changed from the civilian drifter he’d been when he’d signed up for firefighter school. Working as a firefighter had given him purpose, and coming to Pine Hill to move into the farmhouse his late uncle had left him had given him a home. The Marines had been his family for more than a decade, and now he belonged to a second family, too. But at times like these, he questioned the motives of his brother firefighters. They sure liked to push him out of his comfort zone, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think they’d rigged the stocking draw.

Regardless, being Santa in the parade was what was expected of him. Cole would do his job, and he’d do it well. Never again would he be the weak link of his team.

“Fine. I’ll put on the suit. But if I catch any of you with your cellphones out taking pictures, I refuse to be held responsible for my actions.”

Andrew grinned. “Just be sure to say cheese when you come back out.”

“Instead of ‘ho, ho, ho’?” Cole shook his head. “Not happening. If I’m going to do this”—and it looked as if he had to—“then I’m going to do it right, so every one of you clowns better straighten up if you want to stay off the naughty list.”

At six foot one, Cole was a good four inches taller than Bob, and the pant legs currently only came down mid-calf. The cuffs definitely needed to be let out, Cole thought miserably as he stared at himself in the mirror. His tall black boots mostly hid the poor fit except when Cole moved and they rode up, exposing his calves.

He noted the tilt of the red hat with its big fuzzy white ball on top, the fake belly that added girth to his middle but did nothing to fill out the sleeves and pants, as his muscular legs and arms were far more toned than Santa was meant to be. Additionally, his furry coat sleeves were also a bit too short, though he supposed they could be made to work with a pair of gloves that covered more of his wrists. The white wig and beard fit right, at least, and covered most of his face except for his eyes, nose, and the top of his cheekbones.

He eyed the furry white stick-on brows and shrugged. Why not? He removed the backing and pressed them over his own eyebrows.

With some adjustments and help with make-up from Jules—and a position up on top of the fire truck, where no one could see him all that closely—maybe none of the kids would notice what a terrible Santa he made.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered to his Santa reflection, and then, sucking in a deep breath, he embraced his role.

Like true brothers, the other firefighters would just keep ribbing him about the being Santa if they thought it bugged him, so the best way to get through this would be to show how unbothered he was. As he reentered the break area, he slapped his round midsection and bellowed, “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas. Who’s first to sit on Santa’s lap?”

“Hey, Cole, there’s someone here to see you.” Andrew’s voice cut through where Ben sang along to the Christmas music still playing on the overhead speaker.

Looking over, Cole saw the pretty young woman standing next to his best bud, looking toward him with wide, surprised hazel eyes and her shiny hair—light brown streaked with gold—falling around her shoulders. She wore jeans, mid-calf boots, and a red sweater with a big cartoonish reindeer face on it, and her jaw was hanging open as her gaze met his.

A hard punch landed deep in Cole’s gut, making his breath whoosh out from between the white hair that surrounded his lips.