Exiles From Christmas by Sandra Sookoo
Copyright 2009 Lyrical Press, Inc.

  • Exiles From Christmas
  • Sandra Sookoo
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    • “This is where a guy from the alleged North Pole lives?” Jayne glanced up at the nondescript gray farmhouse. Dirty slush crunched under her boots as she trekked up the frozen gravel driveway. Evergreen trees lined the drive, their boughs iced with white fluffy snow. When she reached the porch, her gaze fell to the three brown wicker rocking chairs. Her lips curled in a smile. The old-fashioned touch struck a chord deep within her, and she suddenly wished for an idyllic Christmas this year.

    With a snort of derision, Jayne opened the screen door then rapped her knuckles on the red-painted storm door. “A wonderful Christmas is about as likely as a flying reindeer.” She lifted a hand to knock again when the door jerked open. She stared at a man dressed in a shiny red ski suit.

    “Wow.” The man holding open the door grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Santa gave me my gift early this year.”

    “I…” Her mouth opened slightly. His shoulder-length blond waves stirred in the faint cold breeze. She moved her gaze down over his body. The spandex molded to his muscular calves and thighs.

    Jayne swallowed hard as her manners returned. “I’m Jayne Edgers from the post office. I brought your mail since you haven’t claimed it in a few days.” She averted her gaze from the outline of his six-pack abs to focus on the screen that separated her from the shining Roman god before her.

    “If I knew our local post office contained such a vision, I would have dropped by sooner.” He opened the screen door then joined her on the porch. A sly smile curled his lips.

    “Here.” Jayne thrust the small stack of envelopes into his hands. “I’d better get going. The closer it gets to Christmas, the busier we are.” She took a step backward then stumbled when she teetered off the porch.

    The man chucked the mail onto a wicker rocker and rushed forward to clutch her upper arm. “Careful now.”

    “I’m fine.” As Jayne regained her footing, the man held her closer than necessary. “You can let go now.”

    Someone cleared his throat at the door. “Hi again.” She recognized that voice.

    “Hi.” When she spied Landon Bernhart, Jayne’s cheeks heated anew. He leaned a shoulder against the door jam, an amused grin lifting the corners of his lips. However, Jayne’s heart fluttered when her gaze fell to the 1950s-style white ruffled apron tied around his lean hips.

    The man in red dropped her arm and stepped away. “I see you’ve already met my brother, Landon. I’m Aaron.” He retrieved the abandoned mail. “I don’t think you’ll need to bring the next batch over. I’ll be sure to make time to come see you.” With a suggestive wink, he vanished inside.

    “Don’t mind him.” Landon moved from the doorway. “He’s got an unresolved Casanova complex.”

    “Most men do.” Recovered from her lack of grace of a moment before, she allowed herself a tiny moment to admire him. Dark-wash jeans hugged his legs like an infatuated lover while a cherry-red mock turtleneck graced his solid upper half. But Jayne couldn’t get past the apron. “What’s cookin’?” Her lips twitched in an effort to stifle her laughter. “Nice outfit.”

    With a laugh, Landon undid the strings and whipped the piece of fluff from his waist. “It was the only one I could find on short notice. My manly apron collection is at the shop.” A small grin lit his face as the tips of his ears turned pink. “So… Dropping off the mail?”

    “Yes.” She let her gaze travel down the long, tall length of him. “I’d better go now.” She remained rooted to the porch, reluctant to move. Whereas Aaron exuded a powerful physical presence and an over-the-top sexual appeal, Landon had a quiet dignity and gentle reserve that hinted at masculine strength. She stifled a sigh. Not to mention a chest she wouldn’t mind exploring with a bottle of lemon-flavored massage oil…

    “Why don’t you come in for a cup of coffee? It’s cold out here.”

    With a mighty effort, Jayne focused her attention on his face. The sensual curve of his lips sidetracked her and a sudden rush of desire slithered through her gut. “Uh, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I’m still on the clock.”

    This time, Landon’s smile was slow and dazzling. “Then how about dinner this evening? I’m sure you need to eat.”

    “True. I’m usually at the diner around six-ish every night. You could stop by.” She ignored the heat in her face. “I really have to go.” North Pole postmarks danced through her brain and she narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “I’m curious about where you’re from, actually. Maybe we can discuss that tonight.”

    The smile slid from his face. “You’re just like all the rest of them, aren’t you?”

    “The rest of who?” Jayne’s earlier warm fuzzies evaporated in the face of his erratic behavior.

    “Every woman—actually, every person I’ve decided to share this part of my life with. You label me a freak before you know anything about me.” His lips set into a tight line.

    “Then explain instead of flying off the handle.” What was this guy’s problem?

    “Forget it. I thought you might be different.” He yanked open the screen door. “Well, I don’t need your mockery or your teasing.”

    Jayne ended her visit to the Bernhart house much as she started: with her mouth open, confusion swirling through her mind.