“Ho, ho, ho!”

Brandon’s voice booms like a kettle drum, and the woman hovering at his side quivers to its rhythm. Touching a hand to her ample cleavage, she offers him either an eye-twitch or a lash-flutter. It’s tough to tell with Blitzen’s antlers blocking my view.

“What did you just call me?” The woman’s tone is coquettish, and the way she leans across Brandon’s arm to adjust her toddler on his lap ensures optimum contact between her boob and his bicep.

Amber leans in to whisper in my ear. “Is that the sixth or seventh time he’s heard that stupid ‘ho ho ho’ line today?”

I shrug and pretend not to care as I survey the impressive line leading all the way to the back of the barn. “I’m guessing it won’t be the last time.”

“He’s handling it like a champ,” Amber says. “Not lapping it up, but not being a dick about it, either.”

“Is this where you ask me to pat you on the back?” I mutter.

My sister grins and turns on her heel to present me with her shoulders. I whack them a little harder than necessary, earning myself a squeak of protest. “Hey!” she says. “Can I help it if I’m a marketing genius for hiring a Santa who can handle women fawning over him?”

Her words send a flash of embarrassment through me, mostly because I was one of those women fawning over him last week.

But seven days is plenty of time to move past our accidental lip lock—okay, two lip locks—and Brandon and I have been consummate professionals since then. It’s like we’ve both forgotten those kisses ever happened.

The hell you have. There’s no forgetting kissing like that.

My sister turns back around, and I thrust a curry comb into her hands. “Here,” I tell her. “That family in the matching sweaters paid the extra fifty bucks for reindeer grooming. Cupid should be up for it.”

She nods and hustles away, while I move to the other side of the pen where a toddler is making a valiant attempt to hand his baby brother’s teething ring to a shaggy blonde reindeer. Blitzen’s antlers poke through the bars, earning a squeal of delight from the kid.

“Is that your mom over there?” I ask, nodding to yet another flirty young woman bending low in front of Brandon to show him the blinking Christmas light necklace nestled in her cleavage.

The kid nods and draws back the rattle. “Yeah. She said she’s gonna have a special talk with Santa to make sure we all get what we want for Christmas.”

“I’m sure she did.” I reach down and pry the kid’s chubby fingers off the bars as Blitzen snuffles at the teething ring. “Let’s find a better snack for him, okay?”

I fish into my pocket for a handful of the rolled corn I filled it with an hour ago, surprised to find I’m down to just a few kernels. It’s been a busy day of wheedling with kids and moms who’ve lined up since eight-o’clock this morning to see the reindeer.

Oh, who am I kidding?

They’re here to see Studmuffin Santa, and I can’t say I blame them.

“Ho, ho, ho!” His jolly bellow pings off the rafters, and I remember what he told me about his less-than-happy Christmas memories. I think about his dad at the care center and wonder what it would be like to have that sort of dark cloud hanging over Christmas. How did I not know about his parents? It’s a medium-sized town, and gossip spreads fast here.

People only hear what they want to when it comes to the hometown hero.

“Here you go,” I tell the kid at my feet. “Offer it to him nice and gentle, with your hand out flat like this.”

He does as instructed, giggling when Blitzen’s velvety lips flap against his palm as he takes the proffered treat.

“She kissed me!”

Blitzen paws the ground, irritated more by the vanishing corn than the incorrect gender pronoun. At the edge of the pen, my sister’s ex-boyfriend clicks his camera shutter and gives me a thumbs up. Then he turns around to snag a shot of a family that’s waited in line an hour to see the reindeer.

He looks up as my sister walks past and gives the same puppy dog look he’s worn every time they’ve split up. “Hey, Amber, what are you doing after work?”

My sister shoots me a pleading look, and I do my best to save her. “Remember we were going to give Blitzen a bath?”

Amber nods and turns back to Zak. “I’m pretty busy on the ranch these days, you know?”

Zak gives her an earnest look, dark hair flopping over his eye. “There’s more to life than work, you know.”

“Not right now, there’s not,” she says. “This is what I need to be doing.”

He shrugs and draws the camera back to his eye. “Maybe another time.”

My sister moves to a spot halfway between the reindeer pen and Santa’s throne and cups her hands around her mouth like a megaphone. “We have about thirty minutes until closing time,” she calls out, earning a groan from some of the families at the back of the line. “Santa’s going to make sure he sees all of you, but we’re going to have to close the doors so we don’t have more people lining up.”

I step closer to her and do my own version of megaphone mouth. “That’s right, we have to let Santa get back to the North Pole tonight so he can make sure the elves are getting all your toys built.”

“Tell all your friends,” Amber adds. “Santa’s here Tuesday through Sunday until December twenty-fourth.”

I feel Brandon’s eyes on me, even though I’m not looking at him. Even though I’ve done my damnedest not to look at him any more than necessary. That hasn’t stopped me from thinking about the kisses in the barn or the groping in his truck. What would have happened if Amber hadn’t walked in or if the old lady hadn’t tried to carjack me?

“I almost forgot,” Amber says, tugging my ponytail as she steps around me to empty a box of mini candy canes into a red bowl. “I put some cookies on your desk. You should offer some to Studmuffin Santa when his shift is done. I don’t think he got lunch today.”

“Hmph,” is the most intelligent response I can muster. I steal a glance at Brandon, not surprised to see a pair of doe-eyed twenty-somethings arranging themselves on each of his knees while Zak gamely shoots photos.

“You don’t mind, do you?” coos the brunette on his left knee as she twines her arms around his neck. “It’s just that we’ve been such good girls this year.”

The blonde on his right knee giggles and puts a hand on his chest. “Now that we’re both on your lap, maybe we can talk about the first thing that pops up.”

I roll my eyes and turn back to my sister. “Is that three times or four for that line?”

“At this point, I’m just counting the number of times I gag.”

“Come on,” I say. “Help me swap out Comet for the last thirty minutes. Prancer needs more practice tolerating all the squealing.”

“If he figures out the secret, tell him to share it with the rest of us.”

Amber and I work together to make the switch, herding Comet back out into the pasture and ushering in a festive-looking Prancer to oohs and ahhs from kids. The bells jingle on his harness, and I’m so busy doing my job that I almost forget about Brandon.

Almost. I glance back to see him chatting with one of the rare dads in the bunch, someone I recognize as one of Brandon’s old teammates. The guys are laughing and smiling, but Brandon keeps his focus on the guy’s kid, never breaking character as Santa.

“He really does have a knack for it,” I admit.

Amber gives me a knowing look. “I told you he’d be perfect.”

Too perfect for you, my subconscious chides.

“I need to work on the permit applications for some of the traveling events,” I tell her. “Do you have everything handled out here for now?”

“No problem,” she says. “I promised the elves extra cookies if they stick around and help with cleanup.”

“You’re the best.”

I steal one more look at Brandon before heading off to the office and shutting the door behind me.

For the next hour, I lose myself in paperwork. Raising and traveling with reindeer is a highly-regulated business, with a constant flood of forms and permits for the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. I’m meticulously organized with them, which is why I’m annoyed I can’t find a stack of health certificates I’m positive I left on the edge of my desk.

I paw through the file cabinet one more time, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary when the forms don’t turn up.

“Everything okay?”

I jump at the sound of Brandon’s voice. “Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” he says from the doorway. “I knocked before I opened it, but you must not have heard me.”

“It’s fine, come on in.”

His face is bare, which is jarring after nine hours of seeing him in a Santa beard. He’s stuffed the fake facial hair into his Santa hat, which he’s holding in one hand. His cheeks are ruddy, and there’s a shadow of stubble on his chin.

He looks ridiculously hot, and I hate that I notice.

“Did the lines finally clear out?” I ask.

“Yeah. That private investigator dude who did my background check showed up at the last second with his niece, so Amber let him in.”

“I’m sure Zak loved that.”

“The photographer?”

“Yep. Amber’s ex-boyfriend who isn’t quite over her.”

“That’s right, you mentioned that,” he says. "And the PI has the hots for her?”

“Bingo,” I say. “Well, him and everyone else.”

He smiles. “She’s a sweet kid.”

I nod, not disagreeing with him. But since every man with a pulse seems to fall for my beautiful younger sister, I’m surprised he’d describe her that way.

Brandon shifts the Santa hat from one hand to the other. “You feel like things went well today?”

“Yeah,” I say. “We had twice the visitor volume I expected, so that was great.” I pause, catching sight of the smudges on his face. “Nice lipstick.”

Brandon lifts a hand to his face where lip prints ranging from rose to plum line his cheekbone like bizarre tribal tattoos. He starts to scrub at them with the sleeve of his Santa suit, but I grab a box of Kleenex off my desk and shove them at him.

“Here. Don’t get it all over the coat.”

“Thanks.” Brandon grabs two tissues and swipes at his face, totally missing the biggest smattering of kiss marks near his temple.

I watch him keep trying, knowing damn well I should point him toward the bathroom so he can look in a mirror and do this himself. But some stupid part of me can’t resist the excuse to touch him again.

“Here, let me help.” I grab another tissue from the box and stretch up to dab at a smudge of sticky peach gloss near his hairline.

“Thanks,” he says, turning his head as I put two fingers to his chin to nudge him the other way. “You knew it would be like this, didn’t you?”

I know what he’s talking about. The flirting, the attention, the fact that women—present company included—can’t keep their hands off him.

I swipe at a stubborn blotch of crimson below his right eye. “Yes,” I admit, the lone syllable coming out huskier than I want it to. “I had a feeling. Did you?”

His eyes lock with mine, and my breath catches in my throat.

“I thought it might happen,” he murmurs.

His skin is warm under my fingers, and I can’t seem to tear my gaze off his. I finally manage it, but only make it as far as his mouth. I linger there, remembering how those lips felt against mine. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to kiss him.

I clear my throat. “It can’t be a huge hardship to have women throwing themselves at you all day.” My words sound snarkier than I mean them to, and I’m surprised to see his brows furrow. I drop my hands from his face and look at him. “Is it?”

He shrugs again. “It’s kind of a dick move to complain about female attention.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

He stares right into my eyes, and I order myself not to look away. “You didn’t answer mine, either.”

“I’ve forgotten what it was.”

“I asked if everything was okay.”

“Oh.” I wave a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. Just some missing paperwork, no biggie.”

“I see.” He quirks an eyebrow at me. “So you weren’t in here slamming drawers because you were overcome with jealousy at the sight of all those women pawing me?”

I snort. “Hardly. I barely noticed.”

That’s such a blatant lie that neither of us bothers saying anything else. I crumple the tissue in my hand, but I don’t step back. I glance at the wall, my gaze landing on a photo of Amber and me posing with our arms around Donner. It was taken just after this whole crazy Christmas plan started to take root, and we were brimming with hope and happiness and ideas for how to make the business succeed.

Brandon clears his throat. “To answer your question, yes—it’s awkward.”

I swing my gaze back to him, surprised to realize he’s still focused on the question. “Do you want to quit?” I ask, surprised at the flutter of worry in my belly.

He shakes his head and gives me a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t. Like I said, a guy’s not supposed to complain about shit like that.”

“But?”

He looks at me for a long moment, like he’s deciding whether to say something. “I feel bad for the husbands,” he says. “The guys sitting at home with their thumbs up their asses watching football while their wives grope some stranger in a red velvet suit.”

I nod, wondering how much of this has to do with his parents. With his mom walking out. “In the grand scheme of things, it’s better than going out to a strip club or looking at porn, isn’t it?”

I’m not sure that’s the right comparison to make, or if it even is better. But I know I’m feeling unexpectedly sorry for Brandon.

“So it’s a choice between collecting a porn stash or groping a childhood icon in front of your kid?” He sighs and leans back against my office wall, a smudge of missed glitter-gloss twinkling at the edge of his eyebrow. “Never mind, I’m just being a dick. And yeah, I know there were plenty of women today without husbands or boyfriends or anything. Women free to grope anyone they want to grope.”

When he puts it that way, I feel kind of crummy about the whole thing. About treating Brandon like a sex object. “Look, I don’t want you to feel like a piece of meat.”

“Studmuffin Santa?” There’s that wistful smile again. “It’s fine. It’s only for a few weeks, right?”

“Right.” And that’s my reminder. Whatever happened between Brandon and me last week was a temporary thing, and I need to remember that.

My gaze drops to his mouth, and I forget all over again. Or rather, I remember what it felt like to kiss him. The softness of his lips, the roughness of his hands in my hair, and a faint taste of cinnamon candy.

“Gingerbread,” I blurt, turning away in desperate need of distraction. “I almost forgot, my sister made cookies. Help yourself.”

I hustle around to the other side of my desk, hopeful a piece of furniture between us will quell my desire to touch him. Brandon’s eyes widen as he takes in the big plate of cookies, and he sits down in the chair on the other side of the desk.

“Wow, thanks,” he says. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Sorry,” I say, feeling guilty again. “If you want, I can run up to the house and heat up a freezer burrito or something.”

“Nah, it’s my own fault. My cousin made me a sandwich this morning, but I forgot to bring it. These look good, though.”

He reaches for the plate of cookies and picks one up by the leg. Too late, he discovers it’s two gingerbread figures melded together in a compromising position.

“Well, that’s interesting.” He holds it up for a better look, and I grimace at the sight of one fat-headed gingerbread man with its face wedged between the thighs of another.

“Accidental pastry porn,” I say, determined not to blush this time. “Probably got placed too close together on the baking sheet.” I pick up a cookie of my own and frown at it. “Or not an accident.”

Brandon takes the cookie from my hand and inspects it. “Where did you say these came from?”

I study another gingerbread figure that boasts an impressive set of breasts fashioned out of red hots and slightly melted Hersey’s kisses. “Dammit, Amber.”

“The pubic hair is a nice touch,” Brandon points out as he hands back my cookie. “I’ve never seen toasted coconut used quite like that.”

“My sister, the comedienne.” I start to put the cookie back, but decide better of it. I take a bite, savoring the spicy sweetness. “She’s lucky I didn’t take these out there to share with kids.”

“You two are pretty close?”

“Yeah,” I admit, leaning back in my chair and wishing I had some milk. “We’re a good team. She’s the marketing whiz, and I know animals.”

“You’ve got a degree in veterinary medicine?”

I take another bite of cookie, not bothering to mask my surprise. “How did you know that?”

“It’s on your website,” he says. “That’s a great picture of you, by the way.”

“What picture?” I don’t wait for a response. I set down my cookie and jiggle the mouse to wake my computer, then punch in the URL for Jingle Bell Reindeer Ranch. “She said she had a surprise for me, but I didn’t realize she’d already finished.”

“It looks great,” Brandon says. “The picture is under ‘about us’ or ‘meet the staff’ or something like that.”

I toggle my way to the page, admiring my sister’s design skills. The layout is simple but professional, with a smattering of reindeer hoof prints across the top of each page. “I didn’t know she’d finished it,” I say. “She’s been working on it for months, but I thought we still had the old site up.”

“This one is a lot cooler,” he says. “I saw the old one when I applied for the job, but this one’s more user-friendly.”

“It’s awesome.” I flip to the photo of me at the bottom of the screen and stop. It’s a candid shot that Amber took last summer when the weather was hot and the new calves were just getting their antlers. I’m in shorts and a black tank top leaning over Marcus—stage name Dancer—giving him a kiss on his fuzzy reindeer face. My hair is in my eyes, and I’m laughing at his attempt to lick my cheek.

I glance up to see Brandon looking at me.

“You’re really beautiful,” he says softly, “but you know what makes you even hotter?”

I shake my head, too surprised by the website and by Brandon’s compliment to come up with a smartass reply. “No.”

“The fact that you don’t have a clue.”

I bite my lip. “Did you just call me clueless?”

“I’m saying you’re gorgeous, and you don’t know it. That’s hot as hell. You’re not full of yourself.”

“Thanks. I think.” I nod once, not sure how else to respond. It’s not the first time I’ve been complimented, but it’s the first time I’ve heard it from someone who looks like Brandon Brown. Someone whose lips I haven’t stopped feeling for a week.

“Thanks,” I say again, averting my eyes. “Let’s see what else she put on the website.” My cheeks prickle with heat, and I’m not sure why I feel so undone. I focus on flipping through the tabs.

Event calendar.

Reindeer games.

Real country weddings.

Get in touch.

I click the contact link, hoping she remembered the coded email form we talked about.

Tinny electric guitar music blasts from my speakers.

Bow-chicka-bow-wow!

“What the—”

“Oh my God.” Brandon jerks up and jabs a finger at the screen. “That’s a scene from I Cream on Jeanie.”

“What is it doing on my website?” I shriek.

“I don’t know, but there’s a part coming up here where she takes the maple syrup and—”

“Ew, stop!” I yelp, not sure if I’m talking to Brandon or the computer. “How the hell do I get this off my website?”

Brandon stands up and reaches for the mouse, making a vain attempt to mute it. The music keeps blaring. “A better question is why it’s on your website in the first place.”

That is a better question, so yank my phone out of my pocket and hit speed dial for Amber.

“Yo!” She answers on the first ring. “Jeez, turn down that godawful music. And who’s moaning?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” I look back at the screen and immediately wish I hadn’t. “Why is there porn on our website?”

“What?” There’s a rustling on the other end of the line, followed by the clack of computer keys. “Where? What are you talking about?”

“It’s on the ‘Get in touch,’ page.” I wait while she scrambles to get there.

Brandon continues tapping at the keys, finally silencing the moans.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Who are you thanking?” Amber asks. “And what on earth—oh my God, I can’t unsee that.”

Brandon frowns at the screen. “Maybe you should turn it off,” he whispers. “This next part with the pacifier is a little—uh—graphic.”

“Why do you know this movie by heart?” I hiss.

He grimaces. “A guy in my barracks had a serious porn habit. Believe me, I tried not to watch.”

“Is that Brandon?” Amber asks. “You’re watching porn with Brandon?”

“No, I’m not watching porn with Brandon,” I snap. “Not on purpose anyway. How the hell do we fix this? If someone’s kid clicks on our page—”

“I know, I know, I’m on it,” Amber interrupts. “Okay, I just disabled the page. Hit refresh and tell me it’s gone.”

I do what she says, more relieved than I’ve ever been to see a 404 error message. “It’s gone,” I tell her. “How did it get there in the first place?”

“I have no idea,” she says. “I put the finishing touches on it last night and was waiting to surprise you with it after everyone went home.”

“I couldn’t be more surprised if Dasher knocked on the front door and asked for Grey Poupon.”

“Jade, you have to know I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“I know, hon.” My sister may be the bake-risque-gingerbread-man kind of perv, but she’s not a post-porn-on-a-family-website kind of perv.

It’s a fine distinction.

“The site looks great,” I assure her. “Besides the porn, I mean.”

“Look, I don’t have a clue how this happened, but I’ll figure it out,” Amber says. “In the meantime, I’ll change all the passwords and have the real page up again in ten minutes. You can check it out then, okay?”

“Okay.” I glance at Brandon, who’s watching me oddly. “Thanks for taking care of that. And thanks for the surprise.”

“Porn aside.”

“It was educational.”

I click to end the call and turn back to Brandon. “I guess I owe you some big thanks.”

“For what?”

“I never would have discovered that if you hadn’t told me to check out the website.”

“That porn wasn’t there last night,” he says. “I definitely would have noticed.”

I sigh and shove back from the computer. “I’m not super tech-savvy, but that kind of thing can’t just happen by accident, can it?”

He hesitates a moment, then shakes his head. “I’m no web designer, but I don’t think so.” He folds his hands on the desk, copulating gingerbread men forgotten for now. “Can you think of anyone who’d want to mess with you?”

I think back to my high school years. The locker room taunts from cheerleaders as I hunched in a sports bra and used my arms to hide my doughy midsection. The hoots from the lunchroom jocks when I made the mistake of getting in the pizza line instead of the one for salad.

That’s all behind me, though, right?

“No,” I say. “I haven’t had any trouble with anyone.”

Not for a long time.

“It seems sort of weird, don’t you think?” he asks.

“What seems weird?”

“Well, first you said someone left a gate open last week.”

“Sure, but it could have been the wind or something.”

Brandon takes a bite of cookie and continues. “You mentioned missing paperwork, when I know for a fact you’re the most organized person I’ve met.”

“Sure, but—”

“And you said someone keeps leaving the truck lights on, even though that’s not the sort of thing you’d forget,” he continues. “Plus, there’s this thing with the website.”

I frown, wondering if he has a point. Wondering if I should have noticed a pattern sooner. “That seems a little paranoid to put all those things together.”

“That seems a little suspicious to have them all happen in a week.”

I chew my bottom lip, not liking where this is going. “Maybe,” I admit. “I still think it’s just a coincidence.”

Brandon picks up another gingerbread pair and bites off a leg. At least I think it’s a leg. “We had a saying in the Marines,” he says. “Let’s break it down Barney style.”

“Like the purple dinosaur?”

“Bingo.” He bites off an arm and chews thoughtfully for a while. “Can you think of anyone who’d want to screw up your stuff?”

I think about Stacey the first-grade teacher and the look she gave me when she thought Brandon and I might be dating. Would she be capable of something like that? Or any of the women who spent the afternoon draping themselves over his lap? Romantic rivalry can be a powerful motivator.

I shake my head, pretty sure that’s not the answer. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay…any interns or new-hires you don’t trust?”

I pick at the coconut pubic hair, considering the question. “Just you.”

He busts out laughing, sputtering cookie crumbs across my desk. He swipes at them with his arm, shaking his head as he regains his composure. “Can’t fault you for your honesty. I guess.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you’re new and—well, different.”

“You think I’m here to mess up your farm?”

“No.” I shake my head, not sure why I said anything at all. “But I do think you’re a distraction.”

“From what?”

I sigh and press my fingers to my temples, wondering why I opened this can of worms. “I need to make Jingle Bell Reindeer Ranch a success.”

“And you don’t think I’m helping with that?”

He’s got me there. There’s no question that Brandon’s presence here has more than doubled the business we’d expected to see. I should be grateful for that. I should be thanking him. I should be down on my knees—

Wait. Where was I going with that?

I clear my throat. “I take this business pretty seriously,” I say. “And I do wonder if the novelty of Studmuffin Santa might wear off.”

“Fair enough,” he says, not looking terribly offended.

“It’s nothing personal,” I tell him. “I’m just considering the traditionalists. The folks who might not come if they hear Santa is a hot Marine instead of a jolly old grandpa. The success of this place rests on my shoulders, so I need to make smart decisions.”

He nods and grabs another cookie. “I thought it was a sister act.”

“It is, but I’m the big sister. That means I have a responsibility.”

He bites an arm off an alarmingly well-endowed gingerbread man and leans back in his chair. “I get that. I’m an only child, but I’ve seen that with my cousins. The way they’re always looking out for each other. Sometimes when they don’t want someone looking out for them at all.”

I think about the cousins and their crazy-expensive luxury ranch catering to the highest dollar.

Looking out for themselves, I think but don’t say.

“Let me help,” he says, and instantly I feel guilty for thinking unkind thoughts about his cousins.

“Help how?”

“I don’t like how things are adding up here,” he says. “Maybe I’m paranoid, but being super-cautious kept me from getting my face blown off more than once in combat.”

I scrape my thumb over a ridge in my desk, not liking the thought of Brandon in danger. “You don’t need to get involved.”

“I’m already involved,” he says. “I’m Santa, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

“Let me keep an extra close eye on things,” he insists. “It’ll make me feel better knowing someone’s watching over you, keeping you safe.”

“And you think that someone should be you?”

“You got a better idea?”

I don’t. In fact, I can think of no one on earth I’d rather have watching me than Brandon Brown.

And that scares the ever lovin’ hell out of me.

“Okay,” I say, nodding as I pick up a cookie. “But you have to let me pay you for extra time.”

“We can negotiate.” He grins and grabs another cookie, making me wonder exactly what sort of bargain I’ve just made.