All He Wants for Christmas Read online

  “What does that entail exactly?”

  “I don’t know, but I said it at school once and it got me out of P.E. that day so you should try it.”

  “That would not go over very well with my Presbyterian mother.”

  “You need a new family,” Ruthie said. “You can join my coven.”

  Clover sat up for the last time, abandoning her desk nest for good. She was a grown-up, after all. She needed to be setting a better example for Ruthie. Adults face their problems. They do not hide from them inside hooded sweatshirts.

  “I love my family. I just also, sort of, hate them. Listen to this email from my sister.”

  Clover pulled it up and read in her best fake sweet voice.

  Clo! OMG, thank you for letting us do Thanksgiving at your place. It must be so great not having kids so you have all that free time. It’s a good thing I love these kids because, I swear, they are the biggest handful on earth. It must be nice only having to deal with plants. If they die nobody cares, right? I have to keep these critters alive and that is a full-time job. Speaking of the kids, I posted about fifty new pics in the family photo album. Can’t wait to hear what you think of Gus’s class picture. He’s really the cutest kid in the class but I’m probably biased. Love you! See you Thursday!

  Ruthie stared at her, wide-eyed with horror.

  “I hate your family. Even Gus,” Ruthie said. “Goddess forgive me.”

  “Fifty new pictures of the kids? She just put in two dozen last weekend! And I have to comment on every last one of them or she’ll bug me until I do.”

  “Children are parasites,” Ruthie said.

  “So I’m guessing you’re not planning on having kids when you’re older?”

  “What do you have against parasites?” Ruthie rolled her eyes.

  Clover wisely chose to ask no follow-up questions.

  “Nobody cares if my plants die?” Clover said with a sigh. “Does she not understand that I sell plants and I can’t sell dead plants?”

  “Has she met any of your customers? She should come answer the phone for a week here, and then she can say nobody cares if your plants die,” Ruthie said. “Does she not know if the plants die, your business dies?”

  “Kelly means well.”

  “You have to let me burn her house down. Please?”

  “No burning anything. You’re still on probation.”

  “Fine. But if she ever comes in here I’m going to put a Venus flytrap down her pants.”

  “That doesn’t sound very Zen.”

  “Zen is a teaching of Buddhism. Although I respect Buddhism, I’m technically a neo-pagan. And neo-pagans would totally put a Venus flytrap down your sister’s pants. At least this neo-pagan would.”

  “You’re very…sweet? Okay, no, but it’s nice of you to defend me. My family wants the best for me, but it’s always their version of ‘the best,’ not my version. I know exactly what Mom will say when I tell her about the buyout offer. She’ll say, ‘Oh, Clo, honey, that’s wonderful. Now you can quit work and finally focus on your personal life.’ I’d bet money on those exact words.”

  “Weird. I’d say, ‘Oh, Clo, that’s wonderful. Five million dollars buys, like, five years of male escort services.”

  “Only five years?”

  “Those guys make bank, Clo. You should hire one. He could help you with your little problem…” Ruthie sang, fluttering her eyelashes, the very picture of feigned innocence.

  “I don’t even feel comfortable getting manicures. Do you really think I could handle hiring a male escort? And what on earth are you doing looking up male escorts, anyway?”

  “I admire them. They are the only men on the planet doing what the Goddess intends men to do, i.e., devoting themselves entirely to female pleasure.”

  “If I didn’t let you hire a stripper for my birthday, do you really think I’m going to hire a male escort? For anything? Including my little problem or my big problem?”

  “Okay, maybe not. But you could ask Pops.”

  “What?”

  “Ask Pops. You know, my father? Picks me up every day? The tall guy with the dirt under his nails who’s cute, I guess, for a dad.”

  “Yes, I know who your father is. We’ve met a few hundred times.”

  “Well, ask him, then. He has all his teeth and all his hair and he knows how to cook a turkey. What more could any woman want in a fake boyfriend?”

  “He’s your dad.”

  “I know. I’ve also met him,” Ruthie said.

  “I can’t ask your dad to help me with my little problem.”

  “Not your little problem. Your big problem. He can be your fake boyfriend this week.”

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not? He’s not dating anybody. Plus, he likes you. And he’ll be alone this week while I’m with Mom.”

  “Because he’s your dad. And you work for me. And I think that would be a little bit weird.” Clover paused. “Wait. What do you mean he likes me?”

  “I mean he likes you. Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re nice and you’re a goddess.”

  “I’m dirt-encrusted on a daily basis,” she said. She also lived in her jeans, fleece vests and turtlenecks, and any makeup she put on in the morning she’d sweated off by noon. Her blond hair never left its ponytail until night.

  “So is Mother Nature.”

  “Is your father attracted to Mother Nature?”

  “If he’s smart he is. And he’s smart, but don’t tell him that. Come on, Clo, Pops thinks you’re awesome for giving me this job. He says you’re a good role model. He really does like you.”

  “Liking me is not the same as liking me. And even if he did like me, he’s your father. I don’t want things to be weird with you and me.”

  “You don’t think it’s already weird that you check him out every time he picks me up?”

  Clover blushed crimson.

  “I do not check your father out.”

  “I have lived all my life under the curse of the Sexy Single Dad. My own friends check him out. It’s so gross. But it’s not gross when you do it. It’s adorable.”

  Clover glared at Ruthie across the office.

  “Suit yourself,” Ruthie said. “I didn’t want a badass stepmother, anyway. I’ll just write down the number for the male escort service. Do you like blond guys? Sven is half-off this week.”

  “Which half?”

  “You’ll have to call and find out…” Ruthie raised her head and glanced out the window behind Clover’s desk. “Speak of the devil. Pops is here. Time to fly.”

  Clover turned around and looked out at the truck pulling into the parking lot of Clover’s Greenery, the finest plant nursery in the entire Mount Hood area according to PNW Garden Supply. That reputation was seemingly why they were ready to hand over a cool five million dollars to her for her two locations and the name. That was the sticking point. The name. It was her name. She kind of wanted to keep her name and use her name and sell plants with her name. Look at Erick, Ruthie’s dad. Painted right on the side of his white Dodge Ram were the words Erick Fields—Cedar Roofing, Siding and Decking. He was his business. His name was his work. His work was his name. She respected that. Giving up her right to do business under the name Clover Greene would hurt. But would it hurt so much that five million dollars couldn’t ease the pain?

  Probably not.

  She watched as Erick parked his truck and walked toward the office. He usually picked Ruthie up after work since Ruthie didn’t have a car of her own, but today he was taking her to the airport to visit her mother for the week. Whether Clover wanted to admit it or not, Erick was cute and Clover was checking him out. Actually, cute wasn’t the right word for Erick. He was handsome. Ruggedly handsome with his close-cropped brown-and-gray hair and his dark eyes that always seemed to be laughing at something. And tall? Definitely. And Erick was manly, with his buff-colored work coat, his steel-tipped work boots and his hands always stained with paint or deck stain. Manl