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  Tales From Christmas Town is the story of Santa Claus’ adult children and their bumbling quests to find true love. When Santa and all of Christmas Town come down with the flu, his children have to step up and take over the “business". Jack Frost gets involved, a few innocent mortals, and Santa's motorcycle riding son Noel, who prefers to be called Leon. This four story anthology features authors Roni Adams, Allie Standifer, Bev Oz, and Betty Hanawa.

  Tales From Christmas Town

  Betty Hanawa

  Roni Adams

  Allie Standifer

  Bev Oz

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Tales From Christmas Town

  COPYRIGHT ©

  2006 by The Wild Rose Press

  The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  NOT YOUR MAMMA'S REINDEER GAMES

  Copyright ©

  2006 by Betty Hanawa

  THE CHRISTMAS STAR

  Copyright ©

  2006 by Roni Adams

  JACK'S CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

  Copyright ©

  2006 by Allie Standifer

  FAR FROM SILENT NIGHT

  Copyright ©

  2006 by Bev Oz

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 706

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by R.J.Morris

  Publishing History

  First Faery Rose Edition, November 2006

  ISBN 1-60154-023-X

  Published in the United States of America

  CONTENTS

  NOT YOUR MAMMA'S REINDEER GAMES

  Betty Hanawa

  THE CHRISTMAS STAR

  Roni Adams

  JACK'S CHRISTMAS SPIRIT

  Allie Standifer

  FAR FROM SILENT NIGHT

  Bev Oz

  Not Your Momma's Reindeer Games

  Betty Hanawa

  Chapter One

  "But, Noel, truly you can't waste your Christmas wish from Father on a new motorcycle. Your Ducati is only two years old and still looks like new,” his sister Christmas Spirit, known to the family as Krista, pleaded yet again.

  Leon—named Noel at birth and doing his best, but not succeeding all that great, to get everyone to call him Leon—looked at the cards in his hand in the weekly guys only poker game.

  "One card,” he told the dealer who slid a single card across the table. He studied the card and wondered if the dealer again had a full house.

  "Noel, be nice. Think of others."

  "Princess, it's my Santa Claus wish and I can use it however I want,” he said as patiently as possible. He was heartily sick of having this conversion starting at Halloween every freaking year. “The new model Ducati is coming out with a bigger engine and sleeker design. I want it.” He took a deep drag of his cigar enjoying the smooth taste of the smoke swirling in his mouth.

  Krista coughed and waved her hand in front of her face. With all four of the poker buddies relishing their cigars, Leon didn't have a clue how she thought waving her hand was going to freshen the air.

  "You need to stop smoking. All of you,” she chastised.

  Leon blew out a stream of smoke and told her, “You get the Old Man to stop smoking his pipe and we'll consider giving up our once a week cigar night."

  "That's a no-brainer,” one of his poker buddies commented. “Can't envision Santa Claus without his stump of a pipe held tight in his teeth and the smoke circling his head like a wreath."

  "Kind of like asking him to go on a diet and build abs,” responded another.

  Leon double-checked his own abs still as flat and firm as ever. He had an irrational fear of someday being stuck taking over the Old Man's job and having to carry around that big belly. In his ongoing effect not to inherit his dad's physique, Leon worked out every evening after a day spent taking care of the Christmas Town computer systems.

  "Are we playing poker or not?” The dealer blew smoke rings at the ceiling. By the pile of chips in front of him and his nonchalant air, he probably thought he was going to win this pot, too.

  "We're playing poker. Krista, do you see any females around here?"

  Krista shook her head.

  "Of course not. It's the guys’ poker and cigar night. Now go away, Krista."

  "But, Noel, please think about it. If we all wish for peace on Earth this Christmas, maybe Father will have enough magic to make it happen."

  Leon set his cigar down and grabbed the trash can. The retching noises he made echoed in the small room.

  "Gross."

  "Damn, if I wanted to hear that, I would have stayed home tonight."

  "Does this mean the game is over?"

  "Oh, Noel, I hope you're not coming down with the flu like so many in Christmas Town."

  Krista's sweet sympathy almost made his stomach turn for real. “Nope, just your give whirled peas a chance made me sick to my stomach."

  He thrust the wastebasket with nothing in it but a couple of beer cans under her face.

  She jumped back, then peered inside. She lifted her head and, for a second, Leon saw a flare of anger on his normally unflappable, always sweet sister's face. Then her smile reappeared and her partially closed fist eased into a pat on his shoulder.

  "Your jokes are awful, Noel.” Her laughter pealed like bells.

  "Go away, Krista,” Leon repeated. “We're got a game to concentrate on."

  "Alright, but at least promise me you'll think about using your Christmas wish to help someone else."

  "Bet,” the dealer said.

  "Call."

  "Call"

  "Bet's to you, Leon."

  "Fine, Krista. I promise. Now will you leave?” Leon shoved a pile of chips into the pot. “Raise."

  Christmas Spirit leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Have a good game. Oh, gee, Noel, you've got nothing but pretty hearts in your hand."

  "Fold, fold, fold,” echoed around the table from the other players while Krista gently shut the door behind her.

  Leon scowled as he scraped the barely above ante pot to his stack. “Sisters are a pain in the ass."

  "And you've got a bunch of them."

  "Are we playing poker or not? Ante up, everyone."

  Once again the door opened. This time his sister Holly traipsed through it.

  "What part of guy's only poker night do you girls have trouble remembering?” Leon blew a stream of smoke into his sister's face.

  Holly coughed, then smacked his shoulder. “Stop blowing smoke straight into my face. I knew I should have stopped by the infirmary and gotten a face mask. Hurmph,�
�� she snorted, “actually I need an oxygen mask in here. You males and your testosterone bonding over cards and cigars. Big whoopee-do. If you think I wanted to be in this stinky place, you can think again."

  "Then why in the name of spoiled fruit cake did you come in? No one invited you."

  "I'm delivering a message from the boss."

  Santa Claus’ number one helper and the family member all the others suspected was the Old Man's favorite—although he and Mom both tried really hard not to play favorites—had the efficient follow-through that made the Old Man's job easier. Leon didn't know why everyone automatically assumed he was going to take over the Old Man's job some day. Just because he was a male wasn't a good reason. Holly not only knew as much about the job as the Old Man, she also had the same air of command.

  But on the other hand, Holly never left Christmas Town unless the entire family took a trip. It'd be kind of hard for her to make the Christmas Eve delivery run since she didn't like to travel. A thought occurred to Leon as he eyed his sister, her long gown swishing around her ankles as she dumped empty cans into the trash and cleaned ashtrays. When was the last time she even visited Christmas Town? He couldn't remember. Oh, well, not his problem right now.

  "We'll clean up after ourselves, Holly,” Leon said. “But thank you."

  He placed his bet and tapped ash onto the clean ashtray. “What does the Old Man want?"

  "Oh,” Holly's eyes went round with surprise. “Not Dad. The message is from the Boss. She wants to see you ASAP."

  "Damn!” Leon hastily pushed back his chair, snubbed out his cigar, and laid his cards face down on the table. “And you wandered around here cleaning without telling me immediately? Damnation. Anybody got any peppermint on them?"

  "Number one on the Naughty or Nice list, that's our boy,” chortled one of the players, coughing on smoke.

  "Choke on your cigar. Here, Leon,” Holly handed him a peppermint cane from her pocket.

  "Your leathers and hair probably reek,” one of the other players pointed out. “Everyone count your chips. Guess the game is over."

  "Holly can play my hand out,” Leon said. “The Boss in her usual office?"

  "Of course,” Holly sat down and looked at the cards. “Who's the bid to?"

  "I'll be back.” Leon took off down the hallways on a dead run, wondering if he ever mentioned to his poker buddies that Holly had their dad's perfect memory and counted cards. Of course, she'd claim all the winnings from the time she sat down until he got back, but then again she was the one to earn them.

  Leon made a quick dash to his room, stripped and jumped in the shower, and shampooed as fast as he could. He jerked on a clean pair of black leather pants and a black silk shirt, while he crunched more peppermint between his teeth and swallowed. He shoved his feet back in his boots and hustled down to the kitchen, tying his wet hair back into its normal ponytail as he ran.

  The combined scents of cinnamon, ginger, sugar, and vanilla warned Leon just before he got to the kitchens. He slowed down and took some deep breaths. Bolting into the kitchens like a scalded cat would play havoc with the image he was trying to cultivate. His breathing calm, although his heart still raced, he sauntered into the warm room bustling with the controlled madness of Holiday baking.

  In the midst of elves stamping out cookies, folding together cake batter, and icing cupcakes stood The Boss. The Christmas cards and holiday songs touted the Old Man's job, but everyone in Christmas Town knew the true power behind the sleigh.

  Not much bigger than the elves she supervised, his mom was as round as the snowmen they all liked to build. But unlike the creations made courtesy of the magic of Jack Frost, Mary Claus was warm, both in body and in heart. All long as you didn't get on her bad side because, where Santa and Holly had command authority, Mom had drill sergeant genes.

  "Hi, Mom,” Leon kissed her cheek. “Sorry I'm late. Holly caught me during my work out.” He reached for a glob of cookie batter.

  His mom promptly rapped his fingers with a wooden spoon. “Stay out of that. Work out, my big toe. Working out your hands playing cards and smoking cigars with your buddies is more like it."

  Leon blew on his fingers and flexed them. Nope, not even bruised. He wouldn't have any trouble with his motorcycle's controls. “You so don't have the ability to know when we're sleeping or when we're awake."

  "I don't need to,” she responded. “I developed eyes in the back of my head when my first child was born and a sixth sense to know what they're up to. Besides, Noel, you reek of those filthy cigars."

  "Leon, Mom. Call me Leon,” he begged “And I took a shower, washed my hair, and changed clothes so I wouldn't stink up your kitchen. How can you smell the cigars?"

  "Please, Noel,” she said with a sneer, “the smoke is in your lungs. All you have to do it talk and we can all smell it. And why does Christmas Spirit get to call you Noel and you get grumpy if the rest of us don't call you Leon?"

  "He probably hurt her feelings when he got obnoxious insisting on Leon,” his twin sister Joy said, carrying a fanciful frosted cake to their mom for her approval.

  Hurting the feelings of someone as sincerely kind as Krista was as cruel as kicking a puppy. When Krista looked at him the first time he griped at her about his name, Leon knew he'd lost that battle. He didn't have that kind of cruelty in him. But he also wasn't going to justify himself to his sister.

  "I don't like the name Noel,” he stated yet again.

  "I don't like the name Leon,” Joy continued. “It reminds me of an old man who wears polyester slacks. Besides, we're Joyeux Noel. Not Joyeux Leon. I think you need to go back to Noel,” insisted Joy. “There are worse names."

  "Name one,” he challenged.

  "Junior,” their mom said dryly. “Be grateful I talked your dad into Noel.” After she approved Joy's cake and sent her away, she turned back to Leon. “Why don't you like your name, Noel?"

  "Mom, it's a girly name."

  "You're named after your Uncle Noel,” she said tartly.

  "Don't you mean my Aunt Noel who's living in a civil union with Uncle Charlie?"

  Mary Claus’ lips thinned. “Don't call him ‘aunt’ and there's nothing wrong with their relationship."

  "No, Mom, I didn't say there was. I was just pointing out a fact to make my case. Plus this time of year, everyone thinks it's funny to sing ‘No-el, No-el’ at me. Like I haven't heard it ten thousand times before?"

  Leon didn't like the sudden surge of understanding in his mother's eyes, especially because he saw a flash of pity.

  "You're not still bother by all that teasing from Junior High, are you?” she took a pan of cookies out of one oven and shoved another pan in with her second hand.

  "Mom,” Leon grabbed a warm chocolate chip cookie off the cooling rack and bit it defiantly before she had a free hand to smack him with. He took the time to enjoy the hot sting of the fresh cookie in his fingers and the burn of the melted chocolate on his tongue. His twin Joy walked passed and handed him a cold glass of milk. He dipped in the cookie and ate a second bite, then finally answered, “I'm an adult. That whole thing upset you, Joy, and Krista more than it ever did me."

  "Having our son come home with a black eye and a two week suspension did not make me or your dad happy. Of course,” she finished taking the cookies off the pan, then began to prep another pan, “we were just as upset when our blond son suddenly became a brunet."

  "I like it,” Leon said before finishing his cookie.

  "I don't,” Joy tossed her head, shaking her white-blonde ponytail caught back in a hair net. Her eyes, identical to the ones he saw every day in his mirror, flashed ice blue sparks at him before she walked back to decorate another specialty cake

  He drained the milk glass and wiped the milk mustache off with the back of his hand. He'd like to grow a mustache. But then he'd had to keep up on the dye for it the same way he did his eyebrows and hair.

  "Mom, did you make me leave my poker night just so you and Joy could
harass me about my hair and my name?"

  "Of course not. We can do that any time. No, this is different. You know that flu that's ripping through Christmas Town?"

  "Yes. Hard not to be aware of it."

  "Well, it's been going through the United States, too."

  "And your point?"

  "Your dad's not getting adequate Naughty and Nice reports back."

  "You want me to develop a computer program to extrapolate a curve based on reports coming in from the field? I can do that. All you had to do was swing by the Information Technology office in the morning and my staff and I would have jumped on it immediately.” Leon managed to stifle his irritation. He already had his mom annoyed about his name change and hair. There was no point in grumbling at her more about interrupting his poker game with the guys.

  His mom was shaking her head. Her white hair bounced in curls all over it. At least, he wasn't stuck with curly hair like a couple of his sisters.

  "I'm not worried about a computer program. What you and your staff are doing now is quite sufficient. No, I want you to go to the States and do field work. Several of our field agents are down with the flu. We need someone to supervise and coordinate the data from our agents. And that someone is you."

  "But, Mom,” Leon protested. “I run the Technology department."

  "For which you have a very well trained staff to handle any computer glitches or problems. Besides, if you want correct data for the Naughty and Nice list, then you go to the States and be a mall Santa and get the data. You can get it first hand from the children and gather the reports from other agents.

  "Mom,” Leon took a deep breath to keep from yelling. “I don't have to do field work for that."

  "You're the one who's always spouting ‘garbage in, garbage out’ and complaining that without adequate data, you can't guarantee the results your dad needs to make sure he has the right number of toys under production. This is your chance to get the raw data and make sure it's what you need to fine tune your program. That program's been a big help for your dad in the past several years. It's taken away a lot of his stress."