Janie sat at the kitchen table, a sketchbook in front of her. She enjoyed designing her own greeting cards for Christmas and decided to work out some ideas this morning before the workday started. In a minute, Carrie would be up. She needed to clear up her papers but put it off in favor of lingering over a picture of Santa. Adding a few lines around his eyes, she smiled at the way they crinkled with just the right blend of amusement. She found herself wondering what he looked like under the whiskers, then pushed away the paper and pencil when she realized she'd sketched the young Santa she worked with at Filmore's.

     "What'cha doing, Mommy?" Carrie wandered into the kitchen in her PJ's, clutching BeBe and sucking on her finger.

     "I've been drawing. Did you have a good sleep?" Janie eyed the long-suffering bunny, wondering when she would be able to sneak it away to the washer. Maybe if she let Carrie take a bath with it ...

     "Uh, huh." Carrie climbed onto the chair across from Janie. The doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" Carrie tried to climb down too fast and slipped, bumping her head on the table.

     Janie scooped her up and headed toward the door, kissing the boo-boo as she walked.

     The blood soared to her cheeks when she opened the door and recognized the man standing there, in spite of his dark glasses and the cap pulled low over his face.

     Nick Klaus.

     He spoke. She watched his lips move but didn't hear a word he said. Alarm bells, buzzers, sirens rang in her mind with the refrain, What is he doing here?

     Carrie squirmed, and Janie turned from Nick's magnetic presence to set the child down and watch her scamper back toward the kitchen. The break gave her a chance to regain her equilibrium. Straightening, she demanded, "What do you want?"

     Nick took a deep breath and snatched off his cap, looking like an overgrown schoolboy caught in a scrape. "Janie, I apologize for getting you fired last night. If you want, I'll call the manager and explain what happened. Or I can help you find another job."

     For a moment, he looked so appealing, so sweet, she was tempted to let him come in. But he kept talking.

     "I know a lot of people down at the TV station. I'm sure we could find a job there for you. Whatever you want. Just tell me and I'll look into it."

     The flash of friendliness she'd started to feel vanished, replaced by a surge of hurt pride.

     He was making her his charity case.

     She didn't need his handouts. She opened her mouth to tell him so--

     "Mommy!"

     The cry sent Janie racing through the apartment to the kitchen, Nick on her heels.

     An overturned gallon jug of milk glugged its contents over the table and on to the floor. Carrie stood on a chair, regarding them with wide eyes while she sucked her index finger.

     "Oh, Carrie. What happened?" Janie righted the milk jug as she spoke and grabbed the paper towels. She pulled at the end, the towels billowing in an arc as they came off the roll and settled in the milk on the floor. Tearing those towels off, she pulled out another ream and settled that one on the table.

     A large, lone tear tracked down Carrie's cheek. "I was firsty. I tried to get some more milk but it was too big."

     Nick had a flashback to his own childhood and some mess he had made trying to be a big boy and do something by himself. And the scolding and punishment he had gotten. To his surprise, Janie didn't scold.

     "You mean you lifted the milk jug to the table by yourself? My goodness, that takes a lot of strength. Here, use the paper towels to wipe up the milk."

     Carrie pushed at the milk with the paper towel, sending a wavelet across the table toward some papers. As Nick grabbed them, his hand hit a glass of milk. It arced off the table, on to the floor, splattering Janie with its contents.

     Her glare should've fried him on the spot.

     When she saw what he held, she left off sopping up milk and hurried to his side.

     "Are those all right?" she asked, gesturing to the objects he held.

     Nick looked at the papers ... and was spellbound. The papers were actually sketches. A portrait of him, in his Santa suit. A scene at Filmore's, of the children lined up to meet Santa, with impatient mothers checking their watches. A Christmas angel, looking very much like the little girl standing on the chair at the table.

     "These are great," he said, handing them to her with reverence.

     She flashed him a look that first seemed pleased, then changed to annoyance as a drop of milk dripped from her hair on to the paper.

     "I'l just put these away," she mumbled, pushing past him to the bedroom door.

     That left Nick and Carrie staring at each other.

     Carrie took her finger out of her mouth long enough to ask, "What's your name?"

     "I'm Nick Klaus." Nick gave her his best smile and nod. "I work with your mom at Filmore's."

     Her eyes grew rounder than ever. "Mommy works with Santa Claus," she whispered in an awestruck voice. Then, after giving Nick a moment's consideration, "You don't look like Santa Claus."

     How was he supposed to respond to that?

     He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping that would push an idea into his brain. "Well, you know how famous people have to wear disguises sometimes?"

      Carrie nodded. "Are you in gus-dize?"

     "That's right." It was even the truth, to a point. "But I'll be back to normal at Filmore's. Are you going to come visit me?"

     "Oh, yes!"

     Janie entered the room with a towel around her head. Lifting Carrie down from the chair, she said, "I set out your clothes, sweetie. Scoot on in and get dressed. It's a daycare day."

     "All right." Turning to Nick, Carrie surprised him by giving him a big wink--or what for her was a big wink, with her nose and eyes all scrinched up. "'Bye, Mr. Claus."

Avalon Books