Holiday Sparks

Chapter One

“I will not calm down!”

Darcy Tucker dropped her chin to her chest and grabbed the edge of the jewelry counter. The customer’s voice carried across the entire front end. Hour eleven and a half of an eight-hour shift and she’d almost escaped. She scanned the register stations for Tom, her relief manager for the night, but of course he was absent.

“Sir, please lower your voice.”

“I’m not keeping this defective bike.” Shoulders that would do the Incredible Hulk proud flexed under his gray work shirt. Her lead cashier didn’t flinch, but even Jaime Suarez’s drill-sergeant-stern voice wasn’t cutting it with this guy.

Not good.

Darcy straightened her spine and covered the distance to the customer service desk. “What seems to be the problem?”

Jaime stiffened, her fingers clenching at her sides. “I called for Tom—”

Darcy waved her off. “It’s okay.” She looked up at the bulging dark eyes of the man. At least two days’ worth of stubble shadowed a pronounced jaw and his red-rimmed eyes were a little wild. “I’m Darcy Tucker, the front end manager. What’s your name?”

“This-this woman, won’t allow me to return this defective bike.”

“We’ll get to that. What’s your name?”

“John Hartley.” His chest heaved and his face was an alarming shade of red.

The name tugged at her memory. Repeat offender? “Okay, John. Just take a breath and calm down.”

“I will not calm down!”

Darcy looked down at the girl’s bike from two seasons ago with its mud-caked tires and worn seat. The chain sagged and the pedals looked as though they had met pavement more than once. “Do you have a receipt?”

“No, I don’t have a receipt.” He pointed over her shoulder. “But that sign says you can return anything for store credit. And you can look me up.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Darcy said carefully. “Within ninety days of purchase and as long as you paid with a credit card, we can find you in our system.”

“Well, I don’t have a credit card. I paid cash.” His voice rose.

“Unfortunately, sir, that bike is from at least last year.” She remembered because she put the display together for the sports section herself.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

The muscles in her back tightened as if they were resistance bands. “Of course not. But without a receipt and because of the current state of the merchandise, I’ll have to defer to Jaime’s decision not to refund you the money or give store credit. I’m very sorry, sir.”

“You are calling me a liar!” Spittle flew from his mouth.

Darcy ignored the droplet that hit her cheek. She met his gaze. Even when she wanted to flinch and hand back the money, she didn’t falter. That was exactly how irate customers worked. A little intimidation and most people would fold and give the refund. “What’s wrong with the bike, sir? Maybe I can get the information to contact the manufacturer. It could be under warranty.” The warranty was so far beyond gone. But if a white lie stopped the man from going apoplectic, just light her pants on fire.

“I don’t want no damn warranty. I want my money! The gears keep slipping and my daughter broke her collarbone! I’ll sue!”

Well, crap. She bit back a sigh. He was just a worried dad, but she still couldn’t take the bike back. Answering to Miriam Blackstone when she went through returns and exchanges was scarier than Hulk Smash here.

“I’m very sorry your daughter was hurt, John. I know a really wonderful bike shop that could help—”

He braced both palms on the counter and leaned in. “Fuck you and fuck your repair shop.”

All sympathy died an instant and ashy death. “Sir, please don’t make me call security.”

“Blackstone’s Department Store is a fucking shithole. I’ll never set foot in here again.” He steered the bike away from the counter. But instead of going out the front door, he crouched over the bike and rolled it into the huge Christmas tree that stood in front of the window with all of his two-hundred-plus pounds of force behind it.

The pop of shattered ornaments crashing to the floor to the tune of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree made for a macabre symphony. A loud crack and fizzle ended in a jarring silence. Every single Christmas light on the tree shorted out.

Fury and exhaustion froze Darcy tight. She looked to the man but he was already out the front door.

“Oh my God, Darcy. I’m so sorry. I tried to get him to stay calm, but—”

“It’s okay, Jaime. Just call the police.”

She looked up at the camera they had trained on the customer service desk. Lord knew whether it actually got a good likeness of the man. He’d been towering over them the entire time. Not a great angle. Hockey sticks, she couldn’t even remember his name.

The heavy clomping of feet from all corners of the store drove one last blast of strength into her. She stalked out onto the floor. Her feet throbbed in time with the pulsing twitch in her eye. The Christmas display was toast. And there was no way she was leaving until that was cleaned up. Son of a bottle top.

“Miss Tucker, are you okay?”

She smiled gently at her security guard. His paper-soft fingertips lightly gripped her arm, drawing her away from the glass. He wa

s eighty if he was a day. His uniform was still starchy and one of the red ornaments shone in his shined shoes. “I’m okay, Theo.”