LITMIR.BIZ

      “You’re canceling Christmas?” Shocked, Nick Buchanan dropped the phone, and it fell into a pile of outdoor lights. Well, damn, his mom had gone and lost her mind.

      “She’s what?” Nick’s younger brother, Kris, turned from the kitchen counter and gaped at him. Tall, dark, and rugged looking, just like Nick, Kris looked downright goofy in that Santa apron, his hands gucked up with shortbread dough.

      Kris’s wife, Karen, turned, too. She was blond and curvy and actually looked cute in an apron and dough-coated hands. “I thought Christmas was such a big deal with your family.”

      “It’s an institution,” Kris said grimly. “Tell Mom that, Nick.”

      “I know it is. So does she. God, maybe she’s got Alzheimer’s.” For the Buchanans, the holiday season had always been filled with warmth and love, fun activities, every Christmas decoration you could imagine, and fantastic food. His mom did Christmas better than anyone in the world. And that included St. Nick and Kris Kringle, the guys he and his brother were named for.

      Nick was spending a late November evening at his brother and sister-in-law’s. Christmas carols played softly, a pot of mulled red wine simmered on the stove, and the rich, sweet smell of baking shortbread filled the air. He’d been untangling outdoor Christmas lights while Kris and Karen cut the second batch of dough into tree shapes. Being the only person with clean hands, he’d answered their phone when the call display showed his parents’ number. Now he wished he hadn’t. For his mom to cancel the holiday, something had to be seriously wrong.

      He took a fortifying swallow from his mug of mulled wine and retrieved the phone.

      She was yammering on, and he interrupted. “Mom, stop, I missed that. You lost me back at canceling Christmas. What’s going on?”

      “Good heavens, Nicky, how could you think for one moment we’d cancel Christmas?”

      Damn, she’d lost her short-term memory. Gently he said, “You just said you and Dad are going away for the holidays.” He sent a worried frown in the direction of Kris and Karen, who were still staring at him.

      “You know how we’ve been saving for a tropical cruise?” his mom said. “Well, we found a fantastic last-minute deal. It leaves the middle of December.”

      Certifiably insane. She’d never trade Christmas for a cruise. “But—”

      “Would you let me finish? Of course we’ll do Christmas. You know it’s my favorite time of year.”

      Now she thought she could be two places at once. “Mom, how can we do Christmas if you and Dad are in the middle of the ocean?” He took another slug of mulled wine.

      “We’ll move things up a couple weeks. I have it all worked out.”

      Hmmm. That sounded a little more rational. But Nick was a firefighter who worked ten-and fourteen-hour shifts—days, nights, and then a bunch of time off. He had enough seniority that he’d already arranged to be off for Christmas Eve day and Christmas. “My shifts at the fire hall are already set. I can’t—”

      “Of course I took your shifts into account,” she said briskly. She always had a copy of his schedule stuck to the fridge. “Grab a pen and paper.”

      “Just a sec.” Relieved, he put his hand over the receiver and said to Kris and Karen, “I think she’s okay. Sounds like she has a plan.”

      The two of them went back to work as his mom dictated and he sat at the kitchen table scribbling notes. When Karen took the first sheets of baked shortbread out of the oven, he crooked his finger, asking for one, and she brought it over. “Don’t burn your mouth,” she whispered, but of course he did. Getting burned on the first shortbread was a holiday tradition.

      When his mom hung up, Nick shook his head. “She sounds sane, but this is just plain weird.”

      “What’s the deal?” Kris ladled himself a mug of wine and came to sit at the table.

      Nick explained about the cruise. “She’s moving everything up a couple weeks, with Christmas on the thirteenth. We’ll get the tree and trim it this weekend, decorate the house…” He shoved the schedule over to his brother.

      Kris didn’t even look at it. “That’s screwed up. It won’t feel like Christmas.”

      Karen slid the last cookie sheets into the oven and came over. “Would you two grow up? You’ll still have a great family Christmas, and your parents will have a romantic cruise.” She grinned broadly. “Hey, for once, Kris and I can please both families. We’ll have a Buchanan Christmas and then a Locke one.”

      “Fine for you two,” Nick grumbled. “What the hell am I going to do? I’ve got Christmas off.” He’d never in his life been alone for the holidays. That wasn’t what Christmas was all about, damnit.

      “Hang out with us,” Karen said. “My folks would love to have you.”

      Maybe being alone wasn’t such a bad fate after all. “No, thanks. Your mom’s always trying to matchmake me with your ditzy cousin.”

      She raised a brow. “If you’d find a girl, people would stop playing matchmaker.”

      “I have no problem finding girls,” he protested. The nagging, teasing, and attempted fix ups had gotten especially bad since Kris, younger than him by a couple years, had married Karen two summers ago. Seemed it was some kind of sin for a younger brother to get hitched first. “But no way do I want to get married. I’m years away from that.” Lots of women he’d dated were looking for a serious relationship, but none had even tempted him.

      “You turn thirty this year.”

      Like he didn’t know his own age. “If I’m not married by the time I’m turning forty, you can hassle me then.” By then he’d probably be ready to settle down. He put on his jacket and picked up a string of lights. “Hey, Kris, we gonna put these things up?”

      2

      December was whacked this year, Nick thought. The last two weeks of faking Christmas—doing the normal stuff but at the wrong time—had been fun, but it hadn’t felt right. And now it was

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