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  Santa’s Secret

  by Serenity Woods

  Santa’s Secret

  Text copyright 2013 Serenity Woods

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Christmas Day

  About the Author

  Other Christmassy stories by Serenity Woods

  Chapter One

  Eva saw him across the white carpet of snow between the two cabins as she struggled up the path with her suitcases. He stood by the front door opposite hers, hanging up a holly wreath, and from the back he looked tall and broad-shouldered, dressed casually in a fisherman’s rib blue sweater and jeans. A dusting of white coated his hair and shoulders, and this and his mumbled curse implied he had been standing for a few minutes in the light snow, trying to get the wreath to stay put. Wow, she thought, suspecting he would be her neighbour for Christmas. What luck!

  Then she glanced at his feet. He wore a large pair of Rudolph the Reindeer slippers. The red nose flashed steadily, like a warning beacon.

  At that moment he glanced over his shoulder, and it was difficult to say who was the most embarrassed—Eva at being caught staring, or the man as he glanced at his feet and realised what she’d been looking at.

  He grinned sheepishly. “My daughter suggested it might help me to get in the festive spirit.” His gaze brushed down her and then returned to her face, his smile warming, suggesting he liked what he saw.

  Eva totally meant to keep walking, but she slowed to a halt as if her legs had a will of their own, captivated by that smile, by his ruffled dark-blond hair, by his strong Finnish accent. A local, then? The guy was gorgeous, the perfect illustration of the sort of Viking she’d expected to find in the Arctic Circle.

  She opened her mouth to reply, to say something witty and amusing. But at that moment one of the suitcases slipped from her numb fingers and crashed to the ground, pinging open and scattering its contents—which appeared to consist mainly of her bras and panties—onto the snow. At the same time, the three-year-old boy running behind her bumped into the back of her legs, stumbled and fell backwards onto his bottom into the snow and promptly burst into tears.

  Eva hesitated, torn between comforting Oscar and hurriedly trying to scoop her underwear into the suitcase before the Viking saw it. Then she sighed, lowered the other suitcase and bent to lift her son back onto his feet, putting her arms around him and murmuring reassuring words that he wasn’t hurt and no damage had been done.

  A pair of flashing red slippers appeared in her view, and then the man dropped to his haunches beside her. “I am happy to help,” he said, indicating the open suitcase, “but I do not want to embarrass you by fondling your underwear.”

  She met his gaze, stunned into silence for a moment by his amazing bright blue eyes, the colour Oscar’s had been when the midwife had first placed him in her arms, wrapped in a hospital blanket. The Viking smiled, and Eva caught her breath as a tingle ran between her shoulder blades and descended down her spine. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her like that—as a woman, not as a mother; as if it didn’t matter that she had a bawling child in her arms, which usually caused men to act as if she’d sprayed herself with repellent.

  He didn’t look away, and for a brief moment she felt as if time had stopped. Surely that would be the only reason why this godlike male wasn’t retreating hastily as Oscar sniffled and wiped his nose on her shoulder? But the snowflakes carried on falling silently around them, convincing her the seconds were still ticking away and the spark that continued to jump between them wasn’t her imagination.

  Then he blinked, breaking the spell.

  She looked down at Oscar’s tear-stained face blushed red from the cold, and sighed. His golden curls—so unlike her own straight, dark hair—made him look more angelic than he really was, but he wasn’t a bad boy. She kissed his cold, wet cheek. He missed having a man’s influence in his life. They both did.

  “I want Bear,” Oscar said, pointing to where he’d dropped the soft Winnie-the-Pooh.

  The man picked it up, brushed off the snow and gave it to him. “Here you go. Good as new.”

  Oscar took the bear and cuddled him, looking at the stranger with wide eyes.

  Eva pushed herself up and smiled. “I’d be very grateful for some help, thanks. Once you’ve gone through childbirth and had a baby throw up on you at the most inopportune moments, you realise you’ve passed the age where embarrassment is an issue.”

  He laughed and quickly picked up the items on the floor, dropped them in the suitcase and clipped it shut. “I know what you mean. After Isabel had a huge tantrum outside my office just as a news reporter was on his way out, I realised I had waved goodbye to any chance of dignity for the foreseeable future.”

  Of course, she’d forgotten that he’d said his daughter had bought him the slippers. “They say it gets better, but I’ve yet to see it,” she said.

  He picked up both suitcases and walked beside her to the door of her cabin. “Well, Isabel is seven now and she is a right little lady who tends to be more horrified by my actions than I am by hers, so I suppose in that sense it does.”

  Eva smiled and used her key to open the cabin. She pushed the door open, and Oscar finally let go of her hand and ran inside.

  “I will leave these here,” the Viking said, placing her suitcases just inside the door. “It was good to meet you, anyway. My name is Rudi.” He held out his hand.

  “Eva, and that’s Oscar,” she said as her son came back to wrap his arms around her legs. She placed her hand in the Viking’s for a brief shake. His skin was cool but warmer than hers, his grip strong, and the touch sent another warm tingle through her as if she’d sipped a hot toddy.

  “Cold hands,” he said, releasing hers.

  “Warm heart,” she finished.

  “It is not good, though. You should wear gloves when you go outdoors in this weather.”

  She supposed she should be annoyed that he was bossing her around when she hardly knew him, but his gentle concern touched her. It had been a while since there had been a man around to worry about her.

  She shook the thought off and asked, “Is your name short for Rudolph?”

  He scratched the back of his neck ruefully. “Unfortunately.”

  “Like the reindeer?” Oscar pointed at his slippers.

  “That is right, yes.”

  “Your nose isn’t red though,” Oscar said.

  “If I spend much longer in this cold, it will be.” Rudi grinned at him, then winked at Eva. “So now you know my secret. You realise I am going to have to call you Christmas Eva in retaliation?”

  She laughed. “I’ve been called worse.”

  He nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets then glanced over his shoulder. “Well, I will be off. I hope you and Oscar have a lovely time while you are here.”

  “You too.”

  She watched him walk away, but
turned and went inside before he reached his front door and could glance over to see her staring at him.

  She shut the door and looked down at her son.

  “I liked his slippers,” Oscar said.

  She smiled. “They were very nice.”

  “The noses flashed.”

  “They did, just like Rudolph’s.”

  “How did they flash?”

  “I think they had a bulb in them.”

  “Like a lamp?”

  “Yes, like a lamp.” As if in demonstration, she flicked on the lights, which banished the outside twilight and filled the room with a warm glow. She took his hand and walked into the cabin with him, putting Rudi the Viking out of her mind—for a while anyway.

  She stared around the cabin with delight. It had not been a cheap holiday, and her mother-in-law’s throwaway comment when she first found out Eva had booked the trip, saying that Eva was “living it up” on the money she got after Damon died, had come back to haunt her on the plane from England. Bridget hadn’t meant to be hurtful, she knew. The older woman had taken her to the airport and cried when they left. She just missed her son, that was all. Still, it had stung, and the guilt had lingered all the way until they landed at Rovaniemi airport to find the green-and-red bus to Santa’s Secret Village waiting to pick them up. Oscar had squealed with excitement, and at that moment, Eva had known she’d done the right thing.

  And that belief was only confirmed now as she looked around the cabin. There was a double bed made up with crisp, clean white sheets and a thick red duvet, and a large sofa that converted into another bed. A table and chairs stood in the corner, and a small kitchen opened off the back so they could prepare their own meals if they didn’t want to eat out. She glanced in the bathroom and saw with delight that as well as the usual toilet and shower, it housed the sauna the brochure had promised, which she was dying to try out.

  To the right of the bathroom, a single door stood alone complete with a large bolt. She realised it led through to the other cabin—Rudi’s cabin. Larger families could rent the cabins together and have the door open so they could walk between the two.

  She rested her hand on the bolt, high above Oscar’s reach, and made sure it was secure. Much as she’d liked the look of Rudi, she didn’t particularly like the idea of him being able to wander in while she slept.

  Satisfied, she turned away and walked to the rear of the cabin. A long terrace looked over the fields and forest, beyond which lay the North Pole.

  “Where’s Santa?” Oscar asked on cue.

  She beckoned him over and pointed at the forest. Snow fell lightly, and the fields were a carpet of white, pristine and untouched. On the forest’s edge, off in the distance, a couple were walking, enjoying the peace and quiet. Eva looked up at the sky, still amazed that here in the Arctic Circle the sun hardly rose at all over the Christmas period. The clock next to the bed read four p.m., but the sky was a dark twilight blue, the large complex that formed Santa’s Secret Village lit by street lamps that cast the place in an amber glow.

  “Santa lives a long way away, where it’s even colder and snowier than it is here. But this is his secret village where he comes to visit all the children. You might see him if you look carefully while we’re here.”

  Oscar clapped his hands over his mouth in a theatrical gesture of excitement. “I can’t wait, Mummy,” he said, his words muffled by his fingers. “I think I’ll explode.”

  “Please don’t.” She walked to the front door, picked up the suitcases and brought them to the bed. “I’ll have to mop up the mess. This cabin is lovely, and it seems a shame to make it all sticky with boy goo.”

  Oscar giggled, jumped onto the bed and bounced up and down. “Is this where I sleep?”

  Eva hesitated. At home in the UK he had his own bedroom and only ever came into her bed if he was unwell. But it was Christmas, they were on holiday, and sharing the big double bed would mean she wouldn’t have to set up the sofabed every day.

  “Yes,” she conceded, “we’ll both sleep here. Would you like that?”

  “Yes!” Boing, boing. He hadn’t seemed so happy for a long time.

  She laughed and started unpacking the cases, infected by his enthusiasm. The thought of being in Lapland, the home of Santa Claus, made excitement rise within her like bubbles in a glass of champagne.

  She’d nearly unpacked the second suitcase—transferring Oscar’s presents quickly to the wardrobe when he wasn’t looking—when her mobile rang in her pocket. She took out the phone, read the screen, which said “Bridget”, and sighed. Her thumb hovered over the “Off” button. But in the end she answered it, and walked back to the view across the snowy fields as she spoke.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Eva, it’s Bridget.” Damon’s mother sounded her usual breathless, slightly panicky self. “I was worried about you. You landed nearly two hours ago and you haven’t called.”

  “Sorry, we had to get through customs and find the shuttle, and then check in—I just haven’t had a moment.” Eva looked down, slightly embarrassed at the lie. She could have phoned any number of times as she waited at the airport, but she’d put the moment off.

  “What’s it like?”

  Eva looked out at the snow, at the flakes falling in the golden light from the outside lamps. “It’s beautiful. It’s magical here, Bridge. Just as I’d hoped it would be.”

  “Well, I hope you have a wonderful time. I miss you.” Bridget’s voice caught, and Eva pressed her fingers to her lips.

  “I miss you too.” It wasn’t a complete lie—Damon’s mother had been very good to her and Oscar.

  “I wish you were here,” Bridget whispered, obviously in tears.

  Eva leaned her forehead against the glass. “It’s not for long.”

  “But over Christmas time… Christmas is about families.” A hint of Bridget’s anger flared behind the words, like the red scarf around the neck of one of the people walking in the fields, bright against the snow.

  “I know.” Eva didn’t want to hurt her mother-in-law, but her own irritation spiked. What was the point in arguing about it now she was there? “Well, you still have Josh and Pippa and their kids.” Damon’s siblings would be spending most of the Christmas period at their parents’ house.

  “Yes, but you’re all I have left of Damon. And we’re all you have left of him too. Aren’t you lonely, Eva?”

  A movement out of the corner of her eye made her glance across at the cabin next door. It was Rudi, coming out onto his portion of the terrace. He stood facing the forest, watching the snow, a mug of something hot in his hand judging by the steam that curled from it. Eva drew back into the shadows, not wanting him to see her if he glanced around, but her gaze lingered on his broad shoulders, his ruffled hair. Where was Isabel’s mother? Was she in the cabin? He hadn’t mentioned a partner, but then again he hadn’t not mentioned one either.

  Not that it mattered, of course. She wasn’t here to find romance. In a few days she’d be on a plane back to England, and anyway, it was very difficult to have a relationship at all with young children permanently on the scene. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t find friends while she was there. Even if he did have a wife, it would just be nice to talk to people, to relax, to let Oscar play with other children.

  I hope he doesn’t have a wife.

  “No,” she murmured to Bridget, watching as he turned around and went back into the cabin. “I’m not lonely.” Then the guilt prodded her again. “But I do miss Damon, Bridge.” She’d got used to saying it, and the words came easily.

  Bridget blew her nose. “Well, have a lovely time. I’ll ring you later.”

  “Okay, see you.”

  Eva hung up. She couldn’t escape the phone calls unfortunately. She’d rather have agreed not to contact each other for the duration of their holiday, but Bridget had insisted she’d worry. Of course, Eva could just turn off the phone, but that would make her mother-in-law worry even more, and she didn’t want to
be the source of Bridget’s misery over Christmas.

  She slipped the phone into the pocket of her jeans and turned back to the room. Oscar had stopped jumping, and now he climbed down and ran over to her.

  “Can I have a biscuit?”

  She checked her watch. She’d set it to Finnish time on the plane, but of course although it said just gone four, in the UK it was after six. No wonder he was hungry.

  “Shall we go into the village and see if anywhere does chicken nuggets?”

  His face lit up. “With fries?”

  “And ketchup. And then do you think you’d like ice cream? Or is it too cold?”

  “Ice cream!” He jumped up and down. “With chocolate sauce and sprinkles!”

  Laughing, she unfolded another jumper. “Okay. Let me finish unpacking and we’ll go and eat.”

  Chapter Two

  Rudi sat back at the table and pulled his laptop towards him. He had a financial report to finish by the end of the day, and he was procrastinating.

  He glanced towards the terrace again. The small part of him that remembered being six years old wanted to run out into the snow, make snow angels, throw snowballs, build snowmen until his hands froze and he was too tired to do anything but fall into bed. A little bit of him longed for those simple days when all he’d thought about was running and jumping and climbing and food, when winter consisted of sledding and skiing, when he had welcomed the snow. Now, he found it an inconvenience. It made travel difficult, and it was uncomfortable to be outside for too long because everything froze.

  It was still beautiful, though. That much he could agree.

  The laptop hummed beneath his fingertips, and he turned his attention back to it again. Get this done. Then you can reward yourself with a whiskey.

  He tapped away for a while, referring to his tablet every now and again, then shuffling through some paperwork he’d brought with him, trying to balance the figures. His coffee grew cold, and when he sipped it, he grimaced and pushed it away. But he forced himself to sit and not get up to make another, knowing he’d only be distracted by the view again.