Santa's Secret Read online

  Santa’s Secret

  Heidi McLaughlin

  SANTA’S SECRET

  HEIDI MCLAUGHLIN

  © 2017

  The right of Heidi McLaughlin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000. This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  COVER DESIGN: Letitia Hasser ~ RBA Designs.

  EDITING: Kellie Montgomery

  Created with Vellum

  Merry Christmas & Happy New Year

  Contents

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-One

  22. Twenty-Two

  23. Twenty-Three

  24. Twenty-Four

  25. Twenty-Five

  26. Twenty-Six

  27. Twenty-Seven

  28. Twenty-Eight

  29. Twenty-Nine

  30. Thirty

  31. Thirty-One

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Heidi McLaughlin

  Sneak Peek of It Must’ve Been the Mistletoe

  One

  Delaney

  “And that’s a wrap! Great job everyone.” The director’s joyful yell to end production puts a huge smile on my face. Back-to-back-to-back filming is not my idea of a good time, but it’s how my schedule worked out, and I couldn’t be happier to have a few months off before my next project starts.

  “Wait up, Delaney.” I turn to find my co-star, Everett Bowman, jogging after me. Although, it's not really jogging, more like a fast strut that results in the extras on set ogling his backside. Secretly I think he loves every second of the attention he gets, while I couldn’t careless since I know about his off-set antics. I believe he’s had more girlfriends than I have underwear. “A few of us are heading to Chateau for drinks…” he cocks his head to the side as if I’m supposed to read between the lines.

  “Can’t, but thanks for the offer.”

  “Ah, c’mon, it’ll be fun.”

  I smile and shake my head. “Trey and I are heading to Cancun for the holidays. I need to get home and pack.”

  Everett steps closer and leans into me, kissing me lightly on my cheek. “Well, have a good time and a Merry Christmas. See ya when you get back.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond or even wish him Merry Christmas before he heads to the group of people waiting for him.

  With a little more pep in my step than usual, I work quickly to gather my things from the dressing room, knowing my personal assistant will pack everything else and make sure it’s all delivered to me. There are a few things I don’t want to live without, though, like the black velvet dress I wore for one of my scenes. It fit me like a glove, and I begged production to let me have it. It isn’t uncommon for actors to take clothes from the set, although frowned upon.

  Outside, the car service is waiting for me; although normally I have my bodyguard Calvin drive me everywhere. The production company was insistent they provide transportation allowing Calvin to have some much needed and well deserved time off while I’m working. I’ve had the same driver through the duration of filming and am sad this will be our last drive together and hope that we’ll work with each other again soon. I hand him a card as soon as I reach the door. “Merry Christmas, Bill.”

  “Thank you, Miss Delaney. Merry Christmas to you.” He nods and smiles, waiting for me to get into the backseat. Once the door closes, it’s only a matter of seconds before we’re driving away from the set.

  With the privacy window down, we chat about the holidays and what our plans are. Bill mentioned he’s looking forward to enjoying a few days off with his grandchildren. He says their laughter keeps him young. I can easily imagine my mother saying the same thing, although she’ll have to wait for my brother, Dominic, to have children because I don’t see them in my future, at least not in the next five years or so.

  I ask him to drop me off at the park where the Christmas displays are set up. As much as I love living in Los Angeles, I miss the snow of Vermont. It’s during this time that I long for home and the smell of cinnamon, hot chocolate and the sound of blades cutting through freshly groomed ice.

  When Trey suggested we go away for Christmas, I thought it would be a good time for him to come back home with me to meet my family, but he wasn’t keen on that idea. I get it; we’ve only been together for six months, and he’s right, it’s too soon, whether he’s said those words or not.

  Still, I miss Ramona Falls, the town I grew up in, and how everyone is overly cheery during the holidays. Of course, with my father as the mayor, I don’t think they’re given much chance not to be. Every year, my father makes a huge production out of the tree lighting ceremony. My parents get invited to every party, and they rarely miss one. My dad also hires the best Santa there is to give presents to the children during the police officers’ party and makes sure there’s a team of reindeer on standby if Santa’s team can’t get the job done. When I was a teen, my dad made Ramona Falls magical.

  A few of the storefronts along the park have their decorations up for the holidays. I stop and gaze into the windows, admiring each display before stepping into the park’s Winter Wonderland.

  The decorations vary throughout each section of the park, everything from Santa’s workshop to Mrs. Claus’ bakery. Children run about, laughing and singing carols, while their parents chase them. I find myself standing under the snow machine, looking up as the artificial snow hits my face, only to melt instantly. It’s unseasonably warm right now, which makes it hard to get into the winter season.

  My phone rings, disrupting me from enjoying the snowfall. “Hello, Mom.”

  “Oh, Delaney, I’m not interrupting you, am I?” She asks the same thing every time I answer the phone. At first, it used to annoy me, but I secretly love that she’s concerned.

  “Not at all, Mom. I finished early, and now I’m walking through the park, enjoying the decorations and, right now, am standing under the snow machine.”

  “Are you wearing a hat?”

  I laugh. “Nope.”

  “Well, you’ll catch your death.”

  “It’s eighty degrees out,” I tell her. “I think I’ll be okay.”

  Mom sighs. “I wish you were coming home. It’s been too long.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

  “I know, Delaney. You’re in love.”

  A smile spreads across my face. I am in love, or at least I think I am. Trey Baker has swept me off my feet with his boyish charm and handsome looks. His blonde hair and blue eyes caught my attention while we were filming a movie last year, but it wasn’t until this year when we crossed paths again on another set that the sparks flew. We’ve been inseparable since, well, as far as Hollywood couples can be. We’re both tied up with movies, but thankfully our shoots have been local, so we’re able to see each other at night or first thing
in the morning, depending on our schedules.

  “I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

  “Well, it may be sooner than you think because I think Dom is going to propose to Eileen. You know he’ll want his sister in the wedding.”

  “Eek!” I stomp my feet lightly on the ground out of excitement. A few people turn and look at me with funny expressions on their faces, but I don’t care. “Are you serious?”

  “Well, you know how the gossip mill is.”

  “For which you’re the President. Mom, please tell me you’re not spreading rumors and pushing Dominic into proposing.”

  “What?” Her voice is high-pitched, sounding as if she’s shocked. “I would never.”

  I roll my eyes and turn my back on the lady across from me who has her phone pointed in my direction. I figured under the cloak of darkness I’d be able to wander around without calling much attention to myself, but I was wrong. I’m given no choice but to head toward the line of waiting taxis, ending my night early.

  “Are you still there, Delaney?”

  “I am, sorry. I’m just trying to dodge someone trying to take a picture.”

  “See if you come home to Ramona, you wouldn’t have these problems. Instead, I’m going to see pictures of my scantily clad daughter basking under the Tuscan sun.”

  “It’s Cancun, and you’re jealous.”

  “I am. I admit it. Anyway, I'll expect a phone call while you’re gone.”

  “I will. I’ll call you before I leave. Love you,” I say as I open the back door of the cab. I hang up and give the driver my address, watching as the park, and all its magic fades into the distance.

  By the time the cab pulls into the parking lot of my condo, I’m exhausted and hungry. I completely forgot to get food while I was out. After paying the driver, I pull my phone out and scroll through the delivery apps, finally deciding on Chinese.

  “Trey?” I call out as I open the door. I turn on the lights, the stark white of my home greeting me. It lacks color and life. I bought this place right before I started working on my third to last movie and haven’t had time to decorate it yet. Nor have I put up a tree or any other holiday decorations. Even the paintings I’ve ordered still sit wrapped in the packaging because I haven’t had time to hang them up. And neither has Trey. Not that this is his place, but he’s been spending time here the past few months.

  His bag sits on my bed, filled with clothes. I can’t keep the smile off my face. Tomorrow night, we’ll be in paradise sipping on cocktails, dancing to native music and sleeping in. The resort caters to celebrities, promising us complete privacy with a private beach not far from our bungalow. The resort staff planned every detail of our trip from our yacht rental to our spa days. We both need this after our hectic schedules.

  While I wait for dinner to arrive, I start pulling out my clothes, remembering the dress I stuffed into my bag. I lay that out, fearful of the wrinkles that might set into the fabric. We don’t have fancy dinner plans, but I figure I’ll bring it just in case. A girl can never be too prepared.

  I search my bag for my phone, pulling it out to see if Trey has texted. Nothing. I type one out to him, letting him know I’m home and that I’ve ordered dinner.

  Trey: Be there soon, honey!

  My heart flutters at his term of affection in his reply. He’s my first serious boyfriend… well since forever, really. Sure, I’ve dated since coming to Hollywood, but nothing ever took off. Being an actor or actress and trying to date really does take much more effort than any other relationship. We work odd hours, travel all the time, live out of suitcases and use video chat to see our significant others. It takes someone special to understand our jobs.

  When I first moved here, the first piece of dating advice I was given was don’t date within the industry. That made it a bit harder, but I stayed away from actors. Instead, I dated musicians, people who worked on film sets, guys from different agencies, you name it; if they’re in the “movies” I’ve probably spent a month or so of my life with them, only to have them break-up with me because I’m never free. I thought I would be alone until I met Trey.

  Trey has made everything different. While we still have to schedule a time to see each other, it’s become like a game for us. When I bought my condominium, I didn’t hesitate to give him a key, assuring both of us that he’s more than welcome. Honestly, there’s nothing that makes me happier than when I come home after a long day on set and find him fast asleep in my bed.

  The doorbell rings and I rush to answer it. The local Chinese place is notorious for ringing once and leaving. I swing the door open and catch my breath. “Good, you’re still here.” The delivery driver rolls his eyes and hands me the slip of paper to sign. The smell of the food has my stomach growling. I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait for Trey to get here. “Thanks,” I say as I smile at him. The young kid hands me the bag of food and stalks away without a single word. “Merry Christmas,” I yell out, but he says nothing in return.

  “Where’s your spirit?” I ask as I close the door, only to remember that I have none according to the lack of decorations. “Next year,” I mutter, walking into the kitchen. “Next year, I’m going to decorate and have a party.”

  The thought of a party has me checking my film schedule for next year. I block off the weekend before the twenty-fifth and add “party” to that Saturday. I’m going to be festive next year if it kills me.

  Two

  Aiden

  The alarm on my bedside table goes off. I let it beep while I stare up at the ceiling. “Another day,” I say to my empty room before shutting it off. Throwing the covers back, my feet touch the somewhat cold floor. The threadbare carpet needs replacing, among other things. It’s on the long list of things I need to do to upgrade this house.

  Heather and I bought this place because of the yard. We wanted to give Holly a yard to play in that was safe, and where she could create her own adventures. Also, the land afforded us a place to build a larger garage to store our sixty-five Ford Mustang and a bay for me to tinker with another car. We put the inside of the house on hold, for what seems like forever now.

  My bed creaks as I push off it to stand. I stretch and do the yoga poses my physical therapist suggested after I hurt my back on the job. Of course, I only do them for a few minutes and not the thirty that was recommended, but they’re done nonetheless.

  In the hall, the faint sound of Christmas music plays from Holly’s room. I knock lightly on her door and hear her scramble to get out of bed. As she has gotten older, we’ve set rules about personal and private space. She needs it, and so do I, but I have reserved the right to bust in without a warrant if I so choose.

  “Morning, Daddy.” Her toothless smile beams up at me. She’s my life, and the reason I get up in the morning. Without her, I don’t know where I’d be. I take in her attire. Thermal pants, a sweater, socks and there’s a nightgown somewhere because I can see the bottom hanging down.

  My house is cold, and weatherizing it was and has been at the top of my list, but there’s always something that pushes it down. Of course, the big ticket item is my living room. It lacks flooring. I made the mistake of tearing up what was there, thinking I had the money to put down new hardwood. Who knew one simple mistake in the checkbook can change everything? Not to mention the furnace went out and replacing it was a must, which honestly defeats the purpose if my windows and doors have drafts.

  “Good morning, punky. Are you ready for breakfast?” She nods and reaches for my hand. This has been our routine for almost two years. It started when she was five, and I dread the day it stops because I look forward to this moment each morning.

  Our kitchen is probably the nicest room in the house. It was remodeled before we purchased and thankfully doesn’t need to be touched, although there are features I’d like to change, like the color of the cabinets and the flooring. Someday. That is what I tell myself every day. Someday I’ll have the money to fix each project.

  Holly climb
s up onto one of the bar stools at the end of the island and starts fiddling with some kid meal toy she got when she was with my sister yesterday. If it weren’t for Meredith, I don’t know how I’d be able to do half the stuff I do now, like maintaining a full-time job. As is, I’ve had to ask for special consideration so I can be off by five most nights, but I try to volunteer for overtime as much as I can because we need the money. Not that Holly would ever know. Anything she asks for, I do what I can to get it for her.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” I ask as I open the cupboard. Her options are limited, and she knows this. Still, she pretends to think.

  “Toast and cereal.”

  “You got it.” On Sunday, after church, we’ll go to my parents for brunch but always stay until dinner. A home-cooked meal with my parents beats the boxed dinner I’d end up making. I repeat my mantra as I pour her cereal and her slice of bread toasts, and as I make our lunches for the day. Once the toaster pops, I pour the milk, so her breakfast isn’t soggy. “Here ya go.”

  Holly smiles. “Thanks, Daddy.”

  While Holly eats, I get ready for work, swapping out my flannel pajama pants for sweats and a t-shirt and throw on a hoodie to keep me warm. Everything I need for work is at the station, in my locker, along with my service weapon. I have an off-duty piece, but since I rarely leave Ramona Falls and our crime rate is very low, I rarely carry it and keep it locked up, so Holly doesn’t come across it.