Free The Santa Society by Kristine McCord Page B

shove them one by one into every space I can find between the wood and paper. It looks a little a creepy, like I am building a sinister pyre or an effigy of something.
    The flame flutters and grows smaller until nothing but a tiny strip of smoking ash remains along the edges of the paper.
    There’s a sudden thud on the front porch. Klaus jumps to his feet and goes to the door for a sniff. He gives a loud huff and starts wagging. I hear another thump and then a soft knock.
    I climb down from the hearth and dust off my knees. With my recent luck, I imagine more bad news waits on the other side of the door. The last thing I expect to see is Reason, holding an armload of firewood across his arms. It’s really him, though, and he has exactly what I need: wood. And probably skill.
    He grins at me, and I want to throw myself in his arms. He looks like a great big beautiful ray of sunshine gleaming though the clouds of disaster, my hope—my friend—my firewood angel. The cold has turned his cheeks and lips rosy, and he bites the bottom one between his teeth with an expectant look. I don’t even stop to wonder how he knew I needed it. I just want it burning as soon as possible.
     “Need some help?”
    “Definitely.” I’m still stunned, but I get out of the way.
    He steps through the door and carries the bundle to the hearth. A few minutes later, I have a large warm fire blazing in it. He didn’t even laugh at my matchsticks.
    I sit crisscross on the floor, relishing every bit of warmth I can absorb into my outstretched hands. He sits on the floor across from me with his back against my mother’s chair. Klaus’ head rests in his lap.
    Now that I’m warm, curiosity takes over. “How did you know I needed help?”
    “I got a call from Nick at Double-S. He told me you didn’t have any heat.”
    It still doesn’t make any sense. “How would he know to call you?”
    “Good question.” He rubs his head. “See, his company is a sister company to mine. We both fall under the same umbrella—the Santa Society.”
    “In Florida.”
    “Right. Florida.”
    “And so all these sister companies are networked together?” Double-S must stand for Santa Society. Reason works for S & S Realty. I see the pattern. Still, it’s unusual.
    “Sort of. He knew you listed your house with me, and he knew your mother. He thought you might need some help, so he called me.” He points at himself.
    “Don’t you want to ask why my front yard is missing?” I watch his reaction, wondering if he already knows the answer.
    He looks surprised and glances over his shoulder as though my living room wall is see through. When he looks back at me, I see he’s trying not to smile.
    So he does know something. “What is this Santa Society, anyway? Code for CIA?”
    He laughs. “No, Moon Lawless mentioned it to me. He saw the sign...and so did I, just now.”
    “I’m glad I didn’t hear that conversation.”
    “Yeah,” he agrees. Then his tone turns more serious. “I have bad news.”
    “Why am I not surprised to hear that?” I brace myself. Maybe he’s going to tell me the house is not sellable due to a large Indian burial ground underneath, right smack below the middle of this room.
    “The Lawless’ didn’t want to counter. They withdrew their offer.”
    I sigh, welcoming the relief of his words and lower my gaze to his flannel shirt, jeans, and dirty work boots. I haven’t seen him dressed this way before. Why do I find it so appealing?
    Finally, I remember to respond. “Good.”
    “Good?” He looks at me quizzically.
    I hesitate. The guy’s doing a job, right? Sure, he acts like a friend, but it doesn’t mean he’d stick around if I decide not to sell, or I keep sabotaging offers. I guess I’m about to find out if he’s really a friend or just a salesman. My heart beats faster.
    I look up to find him watching me with a serious expression. I shift my eyes away and fix them safely on the fire. “What if I change my mind and