“How are you, Henry?” One of my carriage drivers arrives for work as I’m walking into the barn with a bale of hay.

“I’m good, Hunter. How’s it going?” He lovingly strokes the large black Percheron chomping on the hay. The love and care he shows the horses make me think about how much Henry must miss his wife. She passed away several years ago, so he works part time giving tourists sleigh rides to pass the time.

“All good. Looks like it’ll be a beautiful night for a sleigh ride.”

“Sure does. There’s snow on the ground around the lake, and the moon will be high in the sky. Perfect setting for all the lovebirds visiting us this year.”

“Do you need any help getting this big guy hitched up before I leave for Santa’s Village?”

“Nah, I’m fine. He’s my buddy. We have our routine down pat by now. Have fun on the guided ride with all the tourists.”

I leave Henry with the sleigh horses and meet my best friend Chad outside the barn. He has the trail horses all saddled and ready to go. The six tourists in today’s group are all from the same family, making my trip easier to manage. The kids will ride the most experienced trail horses in the middle of the pack, still tethered to the other horses to help keep them safe.

“Is everyone ready to go to Santa’s Village and see what his elves are making today?” I ask loudly as I approach.

“Yeah!” the kids yell in unison while jumping up and down.

“Well, get on your horses so we can go! What are you waiting for?”

“Chad said we had to wait for you, Hunter!” The smallest girl of the group smiles up at me. Her front two teeth are missing, making her even cuter.

With her shiny chestnut hair and snaggle-tooth smile, she reminds me of another little girl I used to know.

Chad and I double-check the horses’ tack before helping the family onto their assigned horses. I take the lead and Chad takes the rear as we set off up the mountain to Santa’s Village. While my family has owned and operated the horse sleigh rides around town for years, this is a new endeavor I started a couple of years ago. Even though the trail leads up the side of the mountain, it’s wide open and an easy climb for the horses. The road leading up to my new business is actually more dangerous in the winter than the horse trail is.

Santa’s Village is a year-round business, but the Christmas tourist season more than puts me in the black for the rest of the year. The Bavarian-themed buildings in the village are trimmed in small white lights. A large red sleigh stays parked right outside Santa’s Workshop, the main store in the park, so he can load the toys onto it as the elves finish them. A corral with eight reindeer is nearby, complete with a feeding station for the guests to get up close and personal.

The outdoor ice-skating rink was an expensive addition but more than worth the investment. It’s a miniature version of the outdoor rinks in several major cities that uses a special substance to keep the ice frozen at a consistent temperature all year. This specialized machinery opened up a whole new stream of revenue, especially when we started promoting Christmas in July at Santa’s Village. Business has been booming ever since, and I’ve worked my ass off day and night to make that happen.

When we reach the village, the kids are more than ready to jump off the horses and right into Santa’s lap. In this case, Santa is actually my dad, all dressed up and fluffed up in the middle. The line of kids waiting to tell Santa what they want for Christmas is long, and the first thing I notice about him is how he’s squirming in his chair. His back must still be acting up because he keeps moving every few seconds, unable to find a comfortable position.

“Chad, do you think you can get one of the other guys to help you take the group back down the mountain? Looks like I’ll have to help out Dad, after all.”

He turns and watches Dad for a couple of minutes then shakes his head. “I know exactly where you get your stubborn streak from—and he’s sitting right there. I’ll grab one of the elves from the barn to ride your horse back down. Don’t worry about us.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” With a pat on his shoulder, I walk off toward Santa. “Hey, kids, we need to borrow Santa for a minute. We’ve had a change in the Naughty and Nice List in the back, and we need his approval. He’ll be right back.”

Dad stands and looks around at the kids who start to groan in protest. “I hope none of your names are now on the Naughty List.” The groaning immediately stops, so Dad leaves the kids with his signature “Ho, ho, ho” laugh.

When we reach the back room, Dad removes the hat and beard. “Hey, Hunter. Is something wrong?”

“Yes, your back. You’re in pain—I can tell by the way you’re moving. You need to step out of the Santa suit and make an appointment with Dr. Kenrick. Let her help you get over this instead of just suffering through it.”

“I know you’re right. Denise is good at what she does. I’ll make an appointment with her first thing in the morning.”

“You’re definitely hurting worse than you’re admitting. You never willingly make an appointment with any kind of doctor. Take off the suit and give it to me. I’ll finish out the night as Santa for you. Sneak out the back door and take some pain medicine when you get home.”

After he sheds his costume, I throw it on and add extra stuffing to the middle before strolling out to Santa’s chair. The kids in line are getting antsy, ready to share their list of wishes, get their picture taken, and eat their candy. One after the other, the little tots climb up on my lap, their parents snap quick pictures with their phones, while our photographer captures the professional photos. I listen intently as each child describes the most coveted toy of the week.

Then I hear her voice.

“Amelia, you have to be joking. We’re not really sitting on Santa’s lap!”

“Oh yes, we are. I’m telling Santa what I want for Christmas this year, and so are you. By the way, you want a man. It’s been way too long, and you’re extra cranky because of it. Or, rather, lack of it.”

“Shut up.” Mallory starts to turn away, but Amelia catches her arm. “Amelia, I’m too old for this.”

The kid at the end of the line looks up at Mal. Though I can’t see his face, I hear his little voice plain as day. “You’re never too old to tell Santa what you want. How else will he know what to bring you for Christmas?”

She’s trapped. She can’t squash the dreams of a child by revealing the truth, so she’s forced to play along. And wait in line behind him. Mallory Conner is waiting in line to sit on my lap. My focus shifts to her, intently watching and waiting, to the point I have to force myself to listen to the kids.

Finally. After hours and hours of waiting—or minutes, same difference—she’s climbing the steps up the platform. A deep shade of crimson creeps up her neck and covers her face as she approaches. She refuses to meet my gaze, which is fine by me. That makes it less likely she’ll recognize me and bolt. She didn’t exactly give me a warm reception at dinner last night, although she seemed to tolerate my intrusion the longer we sat together. Thawing her heart won’t be easy, but I’m more than willing to warm her up.

Mallory squeezes her eyes shut when she bends her knees and slides onto my knee. I almost laugh because she’s barely touching me, holding most of her weight on her toes. The kids in line behind Amelia are pointing and giggling, but Amelia has zeroed in her focus on me. Recognition lights in her eyes and her lips part, as if she’s about to reveal my ruse. Then she shuts her mouth just as quickly, and her lips curl into a satisfied smirk.

Mallory tries to stay as far away from me as possible while fulfilling her promise to tell Santa what she wants for Christmas. But we can’t have that, can we? So, I wrap my arm around her waist and slide her across my leg until her body is flush against my chest. The old feelings stir deep inside, the same as they have every day since I lost her. Since I let her go. She feels soft yet firm, cold yet warm, near yet far.

“Would you like some sweeties, little girl?” I lean in close and whisper in her ear, mustering the best bedroom voice I have. “Now, tell Santa what you want, and I’ll make sure you get it.”

Her delayed reaction to my offer plays out like an animated character in a cartoon. It takes a few seconds before my words sink in, then her eyes grow wide. A couple more seconds and my voice registers, making her head swivel to look at me. Then her face contorts when she fully realizes who the man behind the beard is.

“Are you freaking kidding me right now? How dare you—”

“Now, now, little girl. That’s no way to talk to Santa. Especially this close to Christmas and in front of all the little kids.” I deepen my voice, allowing the bass to take over, and she clams up before she says something she can’t take back.

“Well, Santa, let me tell you exactly what I expect to find in my stocking this year. I want a super-charged rabbit to help me achieve what no man ever has.”

For the first time in my life, I’m shocked speechless. The kids within earshot, however, are not.

“Hey, I want a rabbit too!”

“Mom, can I have a rabbit?”

“Bunny rabbits! I love bunny rabbits!”

At least I have the benefit of a fake beard to hide my face behind. When Mallory meets the disapproving glares from the moms in the crowd, she tries to use her long brown hair to shield her face. But the heat emanating from it is hot enough to melt the snow around us.

“Well, little girl, you’ve caused quite a scene, as usual. In case you were wondering, that’s not a rabbit in my pocket. I really am glad to see you.”

“Just shoot me now. Seriously. Now I can never show my face in this town again.”

“Ah, it’s not that bad. Look on the bright side—things could be so much worse. We could go skinny-dipping in the hot tub, and you could show your ass instead.”

“You know you’re just making it harder, don’t you?”

“No, babe, that’s exactly what you’re doing. Wiggle on my lap a little more, and we will make front page news.”

She rolls her eyes and suppresses a laugh, something I’d love to hear her do again. The last time she laughed with me was just before we broke up—a long time ago now. After that day, her smile faded and her laughter disappeared…at least as far as I’m concerned.

“You and I are old news, Santa. No one cares about yesterday anymore. Just make sure you get my toy right.”

She leaves the platform, bouncing down the steps like she doesn’t have a care in the world, and heads toward Santa’s Workshop. I feel someone else slide onto my lap before I can tear my eyes away from Mallory. When I turn to my next visitor, I expect to see a small child, but find Amelia’s intense stare on me instead.

“Santa, I want my best friend to be happy again. And I want the man who broke her heart to do whatever it takes to put the pieces back together again. Or else, no one will ever find all the pieces of said heartbreaker after I’m through with him. We understand each other, yes?”

“Absolutely.”

I don’t scare easily, but Amelia has a mean streak hidden under that charming Southern exterior. She follows up with a sweet smile, as if she didn’t just threaten me within an inch of my life, before she abruptly stands. “I’m glad we understand each other. The clock is ticking, Santa. You’d better break out the mistletoe and all the things that sparkle to impress my girl.”