"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry," the mother said a dozen times. "I had no idea Jason was going to do that."

Ca.s.sie hopped around on one foot until the photographer produced a small towel. If Jason was any indication of what she should expect, Ca.s.sie could only imagine the rest of her day.

"Why don't you sit on Santa's lap with your son," the photographer suggested. The mother appeared eager to do anything that would remove attention from Ca.s.sie and the results of her son's queasy stomach. She clambered onto Floyd's lap, her son dangling from her arms.

After cleaning off her shoe, Ca.s.sie returned to her duties. The next few children had obviously had prior experience. They all told Santa their Christmas wishes, rattling off everything on their lists.

The line moved relatively well for the next half hour or so. There was the occasional crying baby and one pair of twins who took up more time than allotted, but all in all, it was a smooth-running operation.

Ca.s.sie had worked about two hours of her three-hour shift and was just beginning to think this job was tolerable. A lot of the children, while frightened, were eager to meet Santa. "Who are you?" a little girl asked as she waited patiently for her turn some time later. Ca.s.sie's shift was almost over by then, and there were only a few more kids in line. Other than a harrowing entrance and one small boy with a queasy stomach, it hadn't worked out so badly.

"Who am I?" Ca.s.sie repeated the question. "I'm one of Santa's helpers," she said as she handed the child a candy cane.

"Are you really an elf?"

Ca.s.sie nodded.

"You don't look like an elf."

"I don't?" Ca.s.sie said, surprised.

"You look more like a-"

"You pushed in front of me," the child's mother protested, elbowing the woman ahead of her in line.

"I most certainly did not!" The second woman elbowed the other one back as her son watched, eyes wide.

"Mommy, I have to pee." This plaintive declaration came from the first combatant's daughter, aged four or five.

"We are not getting out of this line now. I'll find you a restroom as soon as we're done," she said and shoved her way to the front, dragging the little girl.

"Would you kindly tell this person that I was ahead of her?" The comment was directed at Ca.s.sie by the other woman. The shoving match continued.

"Sorry," Ca.s.sie said, coming to stand between the two mothers. "I really wasn't paying attention, but if this goes on, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you both to leave." She said this with great authority and was rather proud of herself.

"Mommy," the little girl cried, her voice urgent now. "I can't wait anymore."

That was when Ca.s.sie felt the warm liquid soak into the top of her foot. She glanced down and saw a small waterfall raining down, ruining her undamaged shoe-the one unstained by vomit.

Letting out a yell, she leaped back and automatically shook her foot.

"Orange!" the woman shouted.

"It's okay. I don't have to pee anymore."

"Oh, dear..."

"Your daughter's name is Orange?" the other woman asked.

The first woman nodded. "We're from Florida."

The second mother backed away from the puddle on the floor, clutching her son's hand-and leaving Orange at the head of the line.

"I have a tissue." Orange's mother-Grapefruit? Ca.s.sie thought hysterically-offered her a crumpled wad.

"I'm fine," Ca.s.sie muttered. She intended to burn these tights once her shift was over. The shoes were probably goners, too. She wondered if Simon could possibly have known what this stint would entail.

After the two squabbling mothers had finished with Santa, a young girl, the very last one in line, approached Ca.s.sie all by herself.

"She hasn't paid," the photographer said as he returned his camera to its case.

Pleading eyes were raised to Ca.s.sie's. "I need to talk to Santa for just a minute," the girl whispered. "You don't have to give me a candy cane."

"How old are you?" Ca.s.sie asked, bending down so they were eye-to-eye.

"Eight."

Just a bit too old to believe in Santa Claus. And yet the child was so intent, Ca.s.sie didn't feel she could turn her away.

"Forget about the picture," she said when the photographer cast her a dirty look.

"Ho. Ho. Ho. And who do we have here?" Santa asked, ignoring the other man. He held out his arms to the child.

"Catherine," the child said softly. She walked up to Santa but didn't sit on his lap.

"And what would you like for Christmas?" he asked, playing his role to the hilt.

Staring down at the carpet, the child said, "I want my daddy to come home." Huge tears welled in her eyes. "He left and now my mommy says they're getting a divorce. All I want for Christmas is my daddy back."

Ca.s.sie felt tears burning in her own eyes. She looked at Floyd and wondered how he'd handle this.

"That's a mighty big order, Catherine," he said.

"I don't want anything else. I don't need toys but I need my daddy."

"Catherine?" A woman's voice echoed through the mall.

"I'm here, Mommy!"

The child's mother rushed up the steps to Santa's throne and fell to her knees in front of her daughter. She seemed about to burst into tears. "I looked everywhere for you," she cried. She threw her arms around her daughter's waist.

"I told you I was going to talk to Santa," Catherine reminded her. "I had to wait in line."

"I'm sorry if Catherine caused a problem," her mother said and, standing, took the little girl by the hand-but not before Santa whispered a few words in the child's ear.

"We're finished," Santa said as Catherine's mother led her daughter away.

Ca.s.sie must have looked as upset as she felt because Floyd gently patted her back. "Those are the tough ones. You did a great job."

Ca.s.sie doubted that.

"What did you say to her?" she asked him.

"I said her daddy still loves her and that he'll always love her. That it's not her fault he left." He stretched his arms high above his head. "Now this Santa has an appointment with Mr. Budweiser. Want to join me?"

"Thanks...but no thanks."

"Then you're free to go. Another elf will take over for you this afternoon."

Ca.s.sie nodded, eager to make her escape. As she started for the changing room, Simon appeared beside her.

Ca.s.sie realized she wasn't going to be able to control her emotions. Tears streamed down her face.

"What is it?" he asked. He seemed genuinely concerned.

"I was that little girl once," she said with difficulty. "All I wanted for Christmas was for my daddy to come home." She covered her mouth with both hands, trying to stifle her sobs.

They reached the doorway that led to the mall interior. Simon held open the door and Ca.s.sie slipped into the darkened hallway. Once inside, she leaned against the wall and let the tears flow unrestrained.

Simon stood next to her for several minutes, then tentatively placed his arms around her.

Ca.s.sie didn't care who he was; she needed his comfort. She rested her face against him, sobbing into his expensive wool jacket.

His hold relaxed and, after an awkward moment, he spoke soothingly into her ear. She couldn't make out what he was saying. It didn't matter.

As if by instinct, she lifted her head and gazed up at him. He whispered something else, something that sounded like "It wasn't your fault." Then his lips, warm and tender, descended on hers.

Chapter 10.

Simon says: If you're the woman he's looking for, I will find you.

S imon's gentleness consoled her as he held her close. Ca.s.sie didn't want him to ever stop, and he didn't seem inclined to let her go. Time lost meaning, and Ca.s.sie didn't know how long he held her against him.

Then, just when she was least prepared, he seemed to snap to attention, become aware of his surroundings. He dropped his arms and stepped away. His movements were so abrupt that she nearly stumbled. She might have if he hadn't clasped her shoulders to steady her.

Speechless, she stared up at him, unable to make sense of what had happened in the past few minutes. Under normal conditions, Ca.s.sie didn't give way to emotion, and certainly not in public. But Christmas, that little girl and the memory of losing her own father had struck her hard and there'd been no stopping the barrage of deeply buried feelings. She told herself she was not going to react to that kiss.

"I need a cup of coffee," she murmured. Despite her tears her throat was parched.

Simon nodded.

"I'll change clothes and be right back." She was sure her voice sounded strained and unnatural. She hurried inside the ladies' room; once the door was closed she leaned against it and covered her face. Her whole body was trembling. Eventually, when she felt composed again, she straightened and began to dress.

To the best of her knowledge, this was the first time she'd ever cried over her father. Peter Beaumont had simply walked out of their lives one day as if it meant nothing. As if they meant nothing. The event had forever marked her and Shawn and their mother, as well. And yet he seemed oblivious to the anguish he'd inflicted on his wife and children. His excuse was that he needed to "find himself." Apparently he couldn't manage that and be a husband and father at the same time. His was a solitary path, and it didn't seem to matter how many hearts he crushed along the way. Ca.s.sie made every effort to cast all thoughts of him out of her mind. But he was there, as much as she wanted to deny his existence.

When Ca.s.sie had finished dressing, she left her outfit neatly on a ledge near the sink and wrote Daisy a note explaining why the shoes and tights were in the garbage. Then she brushed her hair and repaired her makeup. Simon was pacing in the hallway outside the door. He stopped when he saw her and even in the dimly lit hallway she could see that he wasn't quite himself, either.

With his hand at her elbow, he escorted her back into the mall and toward an exit. "There's a place close by where we can have coffee." He reached inside his pocket for his car keys. "I'll drive."

Ca.s.sie didn't know what was wrong with the restaurants that were within walking distance. However, she didn't have the energy to argue, so she just followed him.

She wasn't surprised to see that he drove a black sedan with a black interior, which was meticulously maintained; she wouldn't have expected anything less. Simon wasn't the type of man who'd have hamburger wrappings and stale French fries littering his vehicle.

They didn't speak; he glanced at her for approval, then flipped on a CD. She recognized the calming strains of a Bach piano concerto. Again, she wasn't surprised, although she couldn't have identified the piece. She leaned back, eyes shut, letting the music flow over her. The restaurant wasn't really all that close, she noted a little later. It was perhaps a fifteen-minute drive along the Tacoma waterfront before he pulled into an exclusive housing development. He turned down several streets, then entered a driveway.

"This isn't a restaurant," Ca.s.sie said.

"No, it's my home."

"Your home?"

"I felt we'd both appreciate privacy for this discussion."

He was probably right.

Simon ushered her inside. The house was spotless. It looked like one of those model homes with everything carefully arranged and color-coordinated, not a thing out of place. No Christmas decorations. Nor did she see a single photograph, and that seemed almost unnatural. Surely there were people in his life, people he loved and cared about. Family. Friends. Then again, maybe he preferred to keep his distance from others. Maybe he felt his job required it.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said and gestured toward the sofa. Then he disappeared into the kitchen through a swinging door.

Ca.s.sie looked out over Commencement Bay, although her thoughts still churned and she hardly noticed the beauty before her. She had a distinct feeling that their professional agreement was about to come to an end.

Other than one brief interchange-when he asked how she liked her coffee-all was silent.

After a few minutes, Simon reappeared with two cups of coffee. He handed her one, careful to avoid physical contact, before taking a seat as far away as the room allowed. He stared down at his coffee. "I would like to know what happened back at the mall," he said after a tense moment.

"Okay." It wasn't as if they could ignore the episode. "Which part do you want to discuss?"

"What were those tears about?"

Now Ca.s.sie stared into her coffee. "My father," she began, then shook her head. "The last child in line."

"The little girl who was by herself?"

"Yes. She came to Santa because..." The lump in her throat made it necessary to pause and swallow before she could continue. "She didn't want toys or clothes or gifts, she...she wanted her daddy back."

"Ah." Simon's eyes softened with understanding and what looked like sympathy. "She reminded you of yourself at that age. You said as much, didn't you?"

Ca.s.sie nodded. "My father left during the holidays. So he not only broke our hearts, he made sure Christmas would never be the same."

"He sounds like a real jewel of a human being," Simon said disdainfully.