Frankly, Ca.s.sie was grateful for the escape. She heaved a sigh of relief when he sauntered off. Her one hope was that when he left the mall he'd use a different exit.

As soon as Mr. Easy Rider was gone, donations picked up. Still, as far as she could figure, Ca.s.sie wasn't even close to making the recommended quota, despite her cheerful greetings.

Distracted, she didn't notice another man approaching.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," he said angrily.

Taken aback, she blinked, then asked, "I beg your pardon?" Obviously he wasn't the one standing in the cold, ringing his heart out, seeking donations for the poor.

"It isn't even December."

"And your point is?" she challenged, which she recognized almost immediately was a mistake. She didn't want to invite an argument, which she'd inadvertently done.

"Christmas is far too commercial."

"Ah..."

"Everyone's got their hand out. I've had it up to here," he said, slicing the air over his head, "with greedy beggars asking for handouts."

"Greedy beggars?" she repeated, growing agitated. "Don't you have any compa.s.sion for others? Where's your Christmas spirit?"

"It doesn't come out until December. Look at these shops! Most of them had their Christmas displays up before Halloween. All they're after is the almighty dollar."

"Go complain to them, not me," she urged, hoping to send Scrooge on his way. "And when you do, say h.e.l.lo to Tiny Tim for me."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

"Those greedy shop owners spoil the true meaning of Christmas. And you're no better than corporate America, stopping people as they're going into the store. Irritating them with that stupid bell."

"I'm not asking you for anything. The bell is to remind shoppers of the less fortunate. I didn't stop you-you're the one who came up to me. Furthermore..." She halted midsentence as it occurred to her that this man might be a plant of Simon's, that he'd purposely headed right over to chat with her.

Ca.s.sie eyed him warily. "Simon sent you, didn't he?"

"Simon? Who's Simon?"

"This is a test, isn't it?"

"Lady, I don't know what you're talking about."

"You can't fool me! Simon sent you to see how I'd respond. Well, you can tell him I saw through your little charade and it didn't work." She felt downright smug that Simon hadn't outsmarted her.

Scrooge stared at her, wearing a puzzled look. Then his eyes narrowed. "Lady, I suggest you seek counseling."

"Thank you, but I suggest you make an appointment first. You can tell Simon I said that, okay?"

He backed away from her as if he suddenly suspected she carried an infectious disease.

Donations were few and far between, and Ca.s.sie glanced toward her counterpart at the other end of the mall with envy. He had more business than he knew what to do with. She, on the other hand, felt like the Little Match Girl. Using her foot, she eased the red kettle ever so slightly toward the department store entrance. She was about halfway between the two when the other charity collector noticed.

Ca.s.sie eased her foot away from the pot and gazed in the opposite direction.

"Hey, you!" he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You stay in your half of the mall and I'll stay in mine."

Playing innocent, Ca.s.sie pressed her gloved hand to her chest. "Are you speaking to me?" she called.

"You drag that kettle one step closer, sister, and you'll live to regret it."

Ca.s.sie opened her mouth, then closed it. She'd been caught. There was nothing to do but drag the kettle back, one step at a time.

Eventually Ca.s.sie returned to her original spot and figured she'd probably lost thirty minutes in this attempt to find more fertile ground. With no option other than to follow her original plan, she continued to greet the shoppers, doing her best to display a cheerful holiday spirit.

A young couple approached from the mall parking lot and Ca.s.sie made eye contact with the man. The woman, who carried a cup of takeout coffee, didn't appear to see her, but he looked friendly enough, so Ca.s.sie rang the bell with renewed energy. These people seemed like the kind who'd dig deep into their wallets in order to help the less fortunate.

As they neared the store, just as Ca.s.sie had hoped, the man reached in his back pocket for his wallet. This was a good sign. Ca.s.sie smiled encouragingly.

The woman walked toward the store entrance, while the man paused in front of Ca.s.sie and slipped a twenty-dollar bill into the pot.

The woman quickly rejoined her husband. "How much did you put in there?" she demanded.

"Come on, Alicia, it's for charity."

"Charity begins at home. We've been through this, remember? We're on a Christmas budget. We don't have extra money to be giving away."

The man grimaced apologetically.

"It's for a good cause," Ca.s.sie reminded the woman.

"As for you," Alicia said menacingly. "I saw the way you were flirting with my husband. You didn't think I noticed, did you?"

Ca.s.sie was too stunned to react. "I wasn't-"

"Don't bother denying it. I have eyes. Maybe the two of you are old friends."

"Alicia," the man snapped.

"That's it, we're finished. It's over." In a fit of anger she tossed the cup of coffee at Ca.s.sie.

She gasped and leaped back but not in time to avoid having coffee splash the front of her caramel-colored wool coat.

The man looked horrified, whispered something Ca.s.sie couldn't hear, then hurried after his wife. "Alicia, Alicia..."

In shock and denial, Ca.s.sie stared down at her coat. Some very unladylike comments formed in her mind. However, she didn't express them since that would reflect poorly on the charitable organization. Within minutes she was glad she'd kept her mouth shut. Because, to Ca.s.sie's astonishment, donations started to increase dramatically following the incident. She glanced at the other bell ringer, who was scowling at her. He rang his bell louder and harder.

Ca.s.sie retaliated with an all-out rendition of "Deck the Halls" and soon had a short line, everyone waiting to drop in donations. She wasn't sure what had changed but clearly there'd been a reversal. Perhaps her bell ringing was superior. Or perhaps that section of the parking lot had filled up. Whatever the cause, she was taking full advantage of it.

Toward the end of her shift, a sweet old lady sidled up to Ca.s.sie with a benevolent smile. She stuffed something inside her coat pocket and leaned close to whisper, "Use this to buy yourself a decent coat, dear. You poor thing."

That was it? People thought she was a charity case and had taken pity on her. Too bad the coffee incident had happened at the end of her four hours. Who knew how much she would've collected if it had occurred earlier.

She nearly laughed aloud when she realized one glove was missing. Ca.s.sie didn't have a clue when that had disappeared or how.

Precisely four hours into her a.s.signment, when she was about ready to hand in her kettle and bell, she saw Dr. Simon Dodson. He was walking across the parking lot and headed directly toward her. And he was frowning.

Chapter 6.

Simon says: The best match for you is the one I arrange.

J ust as Simon approached, an elderly gentleman stepped up to the pot and inserted a folded bill.

"Thank you and Merry Christmas," Ca.s.sie told him cheerfully.

"No, thank you," the old man returned. "You see, I was on a troop train in World War II and your organization met us at the station as we disembarked and handed out doughnuts and coffee. That small kindness meant the world to those of us going off to war. I've never forgotten it."

Ca.s.sie hardly knew what to say.

"A lot of us didn't come home from the war, but I'll bet you those of us who did will always remember the friendly smiles and support you gave us. I'm an old man now and I don't have many more years left." He grew teary-eyed as he spoke. "Merry Christmas, young lady," he whispered, gently squeezing her hand, "and thank you again for the sacrifice you're making on behalf of others."

Now it was Ca.s.sie who had tears in her eyes. She brushed them aside as Simon came closer. The old man had disappeared inside the mall by the time he arrived.

"How was it?" he asked.

Ca.s.sie tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "My grandfather was in the Second World War, too."

"I beg your pardon?"

"That elderly gentleman," she said, sniffling, "the one who was just here. He told me about something that happened when he went off to war and thanked me as if I was the one who'd been kind to him."

"I didn't see any old man."

"You didn't? He was here a minute ago and was...just wonderful." She didn't understand how Simon could have missed him. It was unlikely that he'd have eyes only for her.

"What happened to your coat?" Simon asked, apparently not interested in hearing about the man who had touched her so deeply.

"Oh, that," she said, glancing down. "That was a lucky break. Well, to be honest, it didn't seem like it at the time, but I collected a lot of pity donations as a result."

He didn't ask her to elaborate. "Your shift is over. You can leave now."

"What about my subst.i.tute?" Ca.s.sie wasn't about to be lured away from her duty station until the next person was firmly in place.

"That would be me," a cheerful middle-aged woman said from behind Simon, the supervisor at her side.

Ca.s.sie handed over the bell, and the supervisor took her full kettle and replaced it with an empty one. "Good luck," Ca.s.sie told the new bell ringer and meant every word. She nearly added that the woman was going to need it.

"You didn't tell me how your morning went," Simon said. He walked into the mall with her.

Ca.s.sie stood just inside the sliding gla.s.s doors for a moment, soaking in the blast of warm air. Until now she hadn't fully realized how utterly cold she'd been. Four hours had felt like forever.

"You don't want to know," she said. Her teeth had only now stopped chattering.

"I don't ask questions if I don't want an answer."

"Okay, fine. I misplaced a glove, and my nose lost feeling in the first half hour." She looked at him and muttered, "It's still there, isn't it? My nose, I mean."

"Yes." His mouth twitched, but he didn't admit he was amused.

"My feet feel like blocks of ice. A jealous wife threw coffee on me and some sweet old lady slipped a fifty-dollar bill into my coat pocket because she felt sorry for me. I threw it in the pot," she added righteously.

Simon arched his brows. That apparently was his only comment.

"Furthermore, I recognized your plant."

"My...plant?"

"The man you sent. Okay, so I made that remark about saying h.e.l.lo to Tiny Tim. Oh, and about seeing a shrink. I probably shouldn't have, but I couldn't help it. He was obnoxious. Did you pay him extra for being rude?" she asked. That sounded like something Simon would do.

He eyed her speculatively, but didn't respond one way or the other.

"He told you, didn't he?" Ca.s.sie could easily picture Scrooge running to Simon to tattle on her.

As they walked past a Starbucks, Ca.s.sie stopped abruptly. "I would kill for a latte," she said and veered back into the store.

Simon followed, and they stood in line together. When they reached the counter, Ca.s.sie ordered her vanilla latte, along with two shortbread cookies. It was after two, and she hadn't had lunch yet.

Simon ordered a large black coffee and paid their bill. Although the small area was crowded, a couple left just then and they were able to secure a table.

Ca.s.sie sank gratefully into the chair. She crossed her legs, and removed one boot so she could rub feeling back into her toes, pausing occasionally to sip her latte. It tasted like heaven.

"About this, uh, plant you mentioned."

"Oh, him. Not to worry, I caught on fast enough. Well, maybe not as fast as I should have, but it was obvious that you sent him. He didn't try very hard to hide it, either."

"Not that obvious," Simon said mildly. "Because I didn't send anyone."

"Oh, come on. There's no need to carry on this charade."

He regarded her sternly. "I am not in the habit of lying."

She studied him-and realized he just might be telling the truth.