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“Got it.”
“What I want most is a white kitten. A real kitten, not a toy. His name is Snowflake. I believe in you, Santa. Can you please make a miracle and get him for me?”
Tracy muffled a sigh as she wrote the words. She should have seen this coming.
“I want another miracle, okay, Santa?” Clara was getting warmed up now. “I want to be with my dad—I mean my daddy, not my father. Maybe he could get married. Then we could live in a house, and I could have Snowflake.”
“You’re asking for a lot, Clara,” Tracy said.
“I know.” Clara’s big brown eyes shone with a child’s faith. “But if I don’t ask, how will Santa know what I want?”
“That’s a good question,” Tracy said. “But what if the miracle’s too hard for Santa? What if he has to say no?”
Clara’s hopeful expression faded. She gazed down at the table for a moment before she replied.
“Then I’ll be really sad. But Santa wants to make kids happy. He’ll try.”
“Then I guess that’s all we can hope for,” Tracy said. “Is there anything else you want to tell Santa?”
Clara thought for a moment, then nodded. “Write this,” she said. “I know you’ll do your best. When I see you in the parade, I’ll wave at you. I’ll have on a red coat, so you’ll know it’s me. Love . . . and then my name.”
Tracy finished writing. “You can sign your own name,” she said, handing Clara the pen.
Clara signed with big, crooked letters. “Now let’s put it in an envelope,” she said. “Can you help me fold it?”
Tracy showed her where to fold the page so it would fit in the envelope. Then she addressed it to Santa Claus at the North Pole. “Anything else?” she asked.
“I just need to lick it.” Clara took the envelope, slicked the flap with her tongue, and held it shut. “Now it needs a stamp,” she said.
“Oh, dear.” Tracy remembered that she’d used the last of her stamps to mail her bills. “I’m all out of stamps. Leave the letter right here on the table. When your dad comes, he can take it to the post office and put a stamp on it there.”
“What if he forgets?”
“We can remind him,” Tracy said. “Now, how about helping me make those cookies?”
* * *
It was almost noon by the time Rush finished his last appointment. As he drove back to Tracy’s house, the thought of being with her again triggered a subtle quickening of his pulse. He remembered last night, holding her in his arms, feeling her slender curves pressing his body as he kissed those heavenly lips. She’d tasted a little like the chocolate cake they’d both had for dessert. He’d found himself wanting second helpings, and thirds.
Not that it had ended well. He should have known that Tracy would back off. But, damn it, he could tell that she’d liked kissing him. And she was going to like it even more the next time it happened.
Was he falling for her? It felt like it—and it felt good. For the first time in recent memory, he felt like taking a chance. If he ended up getting his heart stomped, at least he could say he’d enjoyed the ride.
He parked in front of her house, took the front steps two at a time, and rapped lightly on the front door. He heard the sound of her quick, light footsteps before the door opened. The warm air that rushed out wrapped him in the aromas of sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon.
Tracy stood in the doorway, wearing an old-fashioned apron over her jeans and a dab of flour on her nose. She looked good enough to devour, like a woman-shaped sugar cookie.
It took all the self-control he could muster to keep from sweeping her into his arms and kissing her till she whimpered. They had the start of a good thing here. He didn’t want to spoil it by rushing when she wasn’t ready.
“Shhh!” She put a finger to her lips as she let him in and closed the door softly behind him. “Clara’s asleep. She wore herself out chasing kittens and making cookies.”
“That’s fine.” He wandered toward the kitchen, taking note of the old dog snoring by the fireplace. “I hope you baked a few of those cookies for me.”
“Have all you want. I was just making some coffee.” As he took his seat, she put a saucer and a napkin on the table, along with a plate of warm sugar cookies shaped like stars and bells and Christmas trees. “We were going to ice them, but Clara was too tired.”
“That’s fine with me. I like them better plain.” He sampled a star cookie. The first bite melted in his mouth. He was about to take another bite when he noticed the blue envelope lying on th
e table. “What’s this?” He picked it up and read the address. “Did Clara write Santa a letter?”
