The Reindeer's St. Patrick's Surprise (Reindeer Holidays Book 2) Page 3

  “It has a lot of plums in it too – it’s fruitcake, and most people don’t strip down to their underwear and sing ‘Oklahoma’ while swinging on the monkey bars at a kids’ playground.”

  Temp shrugged. It had been really good plum cake.

  Heather sipped her cocktail, letting out an annoyed sound as the little umbrella poked her in the eye. Temp giggled and after a second Heather joined in. Unlike Temp, she wasn’t a lightweight and could drink anyone she met under the table. She thanked her iron stomach for that. Temp had to be careful how much cough syrup she ingested.

  After a few more eye pokes, Heather plucked the umbrella out of her drink and snapped it in half.

  “I don’t know why you’re upset about your dad,” she said. “You know what he’s like, this can’t be a surprise.”

  “No, it’s not,” admitted Temp, picking at the label on her bottle. It wasn’t a surprise, but she couldn’t help her disappointment.

  She just always hoped he would snap out of it, but he kept making the same mistake again and again.

  “If it makes him happy, I say just let him get on with it.”

  “He won’t be happy when she cheats on him and when he’s going through another acrimonious divorce. Maybe I should tell him I don’t want anything to do with him if he insists on going through with it.”

  Though, it hadn’t worked out so well the last time she tried an intervention. Temp was sure he got married just to spite her after that incident.

  Heather smiled sympathetically. “That will just make everyone unhappy. Your dad’s a grown man. He may not act like it, but he has to make his own mistakes.”

  “He never learns from them though.”

  “He might one day.” Heather cocked her head to one side thoughtfully. “Probably when he’s a hundred, and he can’t find a twenty-year-old woman willing to marry him.”

  Temp let out a chuckle. “I hope you’re right, I’ll be seventy by then – I don’t fancy having to call a twenty-year-old Step-Mommy.”

  Heather emptied her glass and signaled for another round of drinks. “Enough about your dad, that’s a topic that’s been done to death, tell me how you got on with your sperm.”

  A couple of guys in the bar looked around, and Temp blushed. “Not so loud.”

  “Ah, they don’t know us, they don’t care.” She nodded at the fresh beer that had appeared in front of her. “I take it you haven’t had any success. Either that or you’re throwing caution to the wind like my Aunt Vi. FYI, in spite of her being wasted for most of her pregnancy, Cousin Elvis is pretty sound, but a total douchebag.”

  Temp could attest to that; she’d met Elvis during a Christmas spent with Heather’s family. He didn’t bring any gifts and fed the cat sprouts – making her vomit all over the place.

  “I took the tests this morning, and no, I’m not pregnant.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. You going to try again?”

  Temp shook her head. “Not right away. I can’t really afford it right now.” Heather opened her mouth, and Temp hushed her. “No, I don’t want to borrow money, but thank you anyway.”

  She considered if she wanted to go down that route she could ask her dad for money, though the thought of asking for his help or owing him anything was pretty unappealing.

  Heather gazed around the bar pensively. “You know, I don’t know why you’re bothering to buy it when it’s walking around free out there.”

  “What?!” Temp gave her a look of alarm. “That’s a very worrying image.”

  “I mean, just find a guy for a one night stand, get pregnant, and then you’re set.”

  “I couldn’t purposefully do that,” whispered Temp. Her eyes darted around the bar, making sure no one could hear them.

  Heather waved her hands dismissively as if morals were just things that happened to other people. “Why not? He gets what he wants, and you get what you want.”

  Her friend could be supportive of anything – she had no ethics. Temp sometimes wondered whether Heather would support her if she said she wanted to kill someone – maybe she’d bring the body bag.

  But Temp couldn’t get on board with this idea.

  “But the guy I hooked up with would have a kid walking around out there without his knowledge. Isn’t that a little…” Awful? Reprehensible?

  Heather didn’t seem concerned. “Well, get his phone number and tell him if you get pregnant, then if he says he isn’t interested, you’re just prepared.”

  “I’m not sure I could do that.” In fact, she was certain she couldn’t. “Getting sperm from a bank is one thing, I’m not sure I’m entirely up for a… manual deposit.”

  “Why not? It’s been like a year right.”

  “Not the point,” mumbled Temp as her cheeks bloomed with heat.

  Her dating life had slowed down a lot over the last few years, and it had been over a year. She wouldn’t say she missed it exactly. Not given that she had a battery operated friend to fill the void.

  “You always say you don’t like guys because they’re unreliable,” said Heather in a mild voice.

  That was true. As far as Temp was concerned the only thing men could be relied on was to disappoint her.

  “But surely they can be relied on for one night. Look around,” she nodded her head over to the corner of the bar where a tall guy in a Stetson was playing pool. “Can’t you just see your baby with the dimples of that cowboy over there? Or there’s the redhead at the bar – wouldn’t your little cutie look gorgeous with his freckles.”

  Temp gaped at her for a couple of beats, before laughter, unadulterated laughter started bubbling out of her, and her laughter set Heather going too.

  “Stop it,” Temp hiccupped, “I’m not picking out a new rug.”

  Heather held her stomach. “Oh I don’t know, you are looking for a good shag!”

  Temp snorted. “Seriously, stop making me laugh!”

  *

  Harlan pushed his way into the bar. It wasn’t his usual bar, the place was kind of a dive, but after spending all day in meetings, listening to members of the herd droning on about expenses, he needed a drink. After work, he grabbed a cab and told the driver to find the nearest bar. He suspected there might have been a few nearer, and the driver was just angling for a more expensive fare, but he could care less. He was stewing over Corinne, and he wanted to stew with alcohol.

  The old anger was resurfacing. Anger at Corinne for making him fall in love with her, for betraying him. But mostly anger at himself for being such a dope, for allowing himself to be so blindsided. Perhaps it would have been better if his dad and brother had yelled at him, blamed him for his stupidity. What happened nearly sent his herd careening into bankruptcy. It didn’t, thanks to the tireless efforts of them, Uncle Clay and his mom, but it could have. But they never yelled at him, never called him on what happened. No, all their blame was for the other herd. He asked his mom why no one blamed him, and she said it was because no one could possibly beat him up as badly as he was doing it to himself.

  He wished Corinne had stayed away. He could care less whether she had moved on, gotten married, gotten mated - but having her around reminded him of his own failure, of his own stupidity. Reminded him that he couldn’t trust his own judgment when it came to relationships. Reminded him why he had to be alone, and that depressed him more than he cared to admit.

  Harlan strode into the bar and slapped a hundred down on the counter. “Whiskey, neat.”

  The bartender nodded and poured him a drink. He threw it back and ordered another.

  “Want some company?” purred a feminine voice at his elbow.

  He saw a pretty redhead giving him a sly smile.

  “I’m Marcy.”

  No doubt she saw the hundred, recognized his suit was expensive and wondered how much she could get out of him. He wasn’t particularly interested in company, but perhaps her mindless chatter might distract him. For a little while at least.

  He nodded at the bartender who
immediately knew to pour her tequila.

  What could a few drinks hurt. Besides, there was a sweet smell at the bar, something enticing, something soothing. His inner beast stirred at the lilies scent. It wasn’t coming from the female next to him. She smelled nice enough, but it wasn’t her. Didn’t matter. He could just drink his whiskey, listen to the hum of chatter, bathe in the beautiful scent and forget the mess with Corinne for an hour at least. Maybe even two.

  Six

  Temp swayed a little as she came out of the bathroom. Yep, Heather was right; she really was a lightweight. Two beers and her head was virtually swimming.

  She weaved and two strong arms caught her.

  “Take it easy, honey,” slurred a gruff voice.

  His hot steamy breath fanned over her face, and she almost gagged. A hard, pugnacious face leered down at her.

  “Uh, thanks,” she muttered, trying to pull her arms away. He didn’t seem to want to let go.

  “Heard you and your friend talking,” he said.

  “Oh yeah,” she muttered trying to wiggle out of his grip. “Which facial mask do you prefer? Tea tree oil or chamomile?”

  He snorted. “Not that. About you wanting a baby.”

  Temp stilled. Memo to self – kill Heather!

  “You know we were just…”

  “You want a baby, honey, I will give you a baby.”

  His voice lowered, and he pulled her slightly closer, so she could, unfortunately, feel his erection pressing against her. Ugh.

  “She was just kidding; I am not open for business.” Certainly not for any business he wanted to throw at her.

  She pulled back slightly, trying to angle her knee in preparation to connect with his crotch. Well, it seemed only fair given the way he was pressing it against her.

  “C’mon honey,” he hissed, his good mood slowly evaporating as his grip on her arms tightened.

  “Let go of me,” she said firmly.

  “Everything okay here?” asked a deep, tingle-inducing voice behind her.

  “Get lost,” grumbled the sasquatch holding her arms.

  “That what you want?” asked the sexy voice.

  Temp looked up through her eyelashes and her breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t usually swayed by looks. Her head didn’t usually turn for a pair of startling blue eyes, a mane of golden hair, high, perfect cheekbones or a strong masculine chin. But put them all together, and she went weak at the knees. Then she cursed herself for being so superficial. But oh, as those crystal blue eyes caught her gaze, she completely forgot to breathe. She bet many a woman had been lost in those eyes.

  For a few beats, she just stared at him, until she realized he was waiting for a response.

  “He was just leaving,” she said softly, giving the sasquatch a significant look.

  The drunk guy looked at her, then he looked at the new guy, then her again, then the other guy and he sneered, freeing her arms.

  “Weird bitch. Stay away from her; she’s a fucking tease.”

  He stomped away, and Temp blew out a breath.

  “You okay?” asked sexy voice, though he was watching the direction Mr. Charm (sarcastic) had disappeared into.

  “I’m fine,” she murmured, taking the opportunity to study him.

  He was wearing a very expensive suit. He was a little out of place for this bar. His suit alone probably could have bought and sold the whole place two times over.

  He gave her a narrowed look. “Ex-boyfriend?”

  Temp almost choked. “Hell no!”

  He smiled, and it was damn near devastating. That was a smile that could launch a thousand ships.

  Mr. Perfect (not sarcastic) rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “What was that about?”

  “Nothing,” she said quickly.

  He raised an eyebrow and Temp blushed profusely. “My friend’s a blabbermouth, she’s given half the bar the impression I want them to impregnate me!” she babbled.

  He gave her a level look and lord, she wished the ground would just swallow her whole.

  “Do you?”

  “No, and I’m going home before anyone else gets the wrong idea.”

  “I’ll drive you,” he said with a half smile.

  She almost said okay. Almost agreed to everything he suggested. But logic and sense finally kicked in.

  “No, you won’t, strange man,” she muttered as she placed a hand against the wall, to stop it from moving all over the freaking place.

  He gave her a lopsided smile. She bit her lip. Even sober she wasn’t sure how long she could hold out against him.

  “You sure?”

  “Umm.” She made a non-committal noise and – as crazy as it sounded – she was considering just saying yes, when, thankfully, they were interrupted.

  A pretty woman in a short skirt and high heels clattered towards them. She curled a lock of hair around a finger.

  “Harley, honey, you coming back?” she pouted.

  His eyebrow ticked and Temp let out a mini-snort. “Seems like you’re too busy to drive me anyway.”

  “Look, at least let me get you a cab,” he grumbled.

  “I can get my own cab,” she retorted primly.

  He gave her a long look and Temp took the time to memorize every inch of him. If she didn’t know any better, she would say he was annoyed at her that she wouldn’t let him get her a cab. What did he care about that? He didn’t know her. Maybe he was still hoping she would give in and go home with him. Though, given the knockout who was impatiently waiting for him, she had no idea why she was so keen to hook up with her.

  Finally, he shook his head and reached into his jacket. “Well, if you need something, here’s my card.”

  Temp took it and rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

  He smiled in an oh so devastating way, and her legs only wobbled a little. She was not going to call him, though it wouldn’t hurt to hold onto his card.

  *

  Marcy had flounced off and hooked up with another guy. She didn’t like the way Harlan had watched the brunette like a hawk. Watched her as she wobbled over to her friend, grabbed her purse, weaved her way outside leaning on her friend and then inexpertly hailed a cab. Until her friend righted her, she was facing the wrong way. Perhaps he had underestimated how drunk she was. He was glad she had a friend with her. He didn’t like the thought of any other predatory males trying to take advantage of her. His beast grunted in agreement. He managed to keep himself under control when that creep touched her, but only just. His beast wanted to tear forth and rip him to shreds.

  The woman was the source of the beautiful lilies scent. He’d never smelled anything more divine. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair and inhale. He would have too – if he weren’t so sure she would slap him.

  He should have insisted on driving her home, though he got the feeling that she had a stubborn streak in her. Would she have pursed those pretty, red lips and scowled at him with flashing green eyes if he demanded she give in to him? Part of him had wanted to find out. But another part of him was wary of the female, was cautioning him to stay away.

  He hadn’t had this kind of reaction to a woman since… Corinne. This instantaneous need to be near her. This all-encompassing desire to touch her, to feel her, to roar her name… In fact, he wasn’t sure it had been like this with Corinne either. He fell for her, quickly and hard. She came onto him, came after him, flirted with him, and yeah, he wanted her. But his mystery lady, just one whiff of her, one look at her had him as anxious as a teenager. Actually, he didn’t think he had ever been this anxious when he was a teenager, and that scared the hell out of him.

  Harlan didn’t want to make any further mistakes with females. Which was why he should just let her go. He should just forget about her completely. No harm, no foul. Yep, he didn’t know her name, where she lived, where she worked – he could just go on with his life like none of this ever happened.

  He motioned to the bartender. “The woman who was sitting in the booth – the brunette �
�� you know her?”

  The big male shrugged. “Seen her around, don’t know her name – pretty sure she works at that charity two blocks over. Snow something. Don’t know the name.”

  Harlan thanked him and left him a large tip. He walked out into the cool night and inhaled a lungful of air.

  He should just forget about her, but she had his card - there was a possibility she would call. Perhaps he ought to be prepared for her if she did. Yeah, sometimes he could talk himself into anything.

  Seven

  Temp twisted the card between her fingers. It was just a name and a phone number. For all she knew he could be a pimp or a drug dealer, though she doubted it somehow. He had seemed so clean cut. Devilish perhaps where the ladies were concerned, but she didn’t think he was a bad guy. Though maybe that was just her hopeful imagination talking.

  She traced the lettering. Harlan Connors. He shared a last name with her sister’s boyfriend, but surely that was too big of a coincidence for them to be related. Also, it was not Harley like that woman said. Her fingers stilled. She wondered if he went home with her. Wondered if he took her to bed. Wouldn’t that be just like a guy to flirt with her and then take another woman home?

  Temp let out a noise of disgust and threw the card in the trash. She didn’t have time to ponder her handsome stranger. She had a million and one jobs to do, and an imaginary baby to moon over.

  The decision to have a baby on her own hadn’t been easy, but it seemed to be let down by one fatal flaw – actually getting pregnant.

  Perhaps Heather was right – perhaps she should just find a guy looking for some fun. Nope. As soon as she thought about it again, all her qualms and unease rose to the surface. Unprotected sex with a stranger was never a good idea, and she just couldn’t bring herself to force a baby on an unsuspecting guy.

  She could still ask her dad to lend her money to buy sperm. Ugh, no. She couldn’t bear the thought that lending her money would give him free rein to in any way make judgments on her life. He gave up his rights to ‘parent’ her when he dumped her at boarding school at age eight and proceeded virtually to ignore her for the rest of her childhood.