Next Door Santa

  Lacy Williams

  Contents

  Exclusive invitation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Exclusive invitation

  Read ALWAYS A BRIDESMAID next…

  Also by Lacy Williams

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  Chapter 1

  Twenty-one days to Christmas

  She was doing it again.

  Will Harris scowled as he rounded the corner of the two-story lakefront house on the outskirts of Looking Back, Texas. He ducked beneath the awning that protected several yards of footpath from the elements. He bent to check the tire pressure on both wheels of his bike. His normal routine.

  He'd finished his three-mile run on a trail that twisted between the woods around the lake over an hour ago. Gone inside to eat a bowl of bran cereal and two bananas. Showered and changed into the polo and jeans he'd wear to work.

  The sun was barely up, but it was light enough to see the figure sitting near the water's edge.

  He'd scored this ground-floor apartment a year ago. Lakefront, which had cost him, but it was worth it.

  She'd moved into the upstairs unit a couple of months ago.

  And totally ruined everything.

  She was out there by the water at all hours. Didn't she work?

  And she threw noisy parties, sometimes late into the night. With her apartment just above his, her music and friends' stomping feet kept him awake when he needed rest.

  He had work to do. His coding job required long hours and a healthy amount of focus.

  She must've sensed his eyes on her, because he caught the turn of her head. She raised her arm and waved, friendly as ever.

  He didn't return the gesture.

  It was his Christmas wish for her to move out and leave him in peace. All right, so Christmas was still three weeks away, but he wished it every day.

  Bridie Taylor.

  They'd never spoken, but sometimes the postman mis-boxed her mail.

  Once, he'd inadvertently opened her mail when his attention had been diverted by a phone call from his boss. It had been a past-due notice from a collection company, and judging from the number of similar envelopes he'd seen, maybe getting her out of his hair could happen sooner rather than later.

  He straightened, adjusting the shoulder strap of his pack before swinging his leg over the bike.

  Will didn't look back, but somehow the image of her willowy figure dark against the morning lakeshore was burned into his brain.

  He rode down the drive and turned onto the quiet residential street with its mix of bungalows and two-story units. The ride was usually quiet. Today a dog barked nearby, disrupting the morning birds from their squawking and screeching.

  Up ahead where the residential street dumped onto the state highway, he saw a flash of something dark. Then a loud honk! and a squeal of tires.

  And then the rev of an engine as a car sped away.

  What happened?

  He was riding too fast, and when he tried to slow, he lost control of the bike. He jumped off at the curb, going to his knees. The bike crashed with a screech of metal.

  Hands on his knees, breathing hard from the adrenaline rush of his near-crash, he caught sight of the dog lying in a crumpled heap in the closest lane. A stray, from the looks of the matted black and brown fur.

  Was it dead?

  Its head moved. Then it whined, a high-pitched, pathetic sound.

  Will couldn't say why he approached the animal. He was an expert at not getting involved.

  But as he squatted beside the dog, it raised its head enough to meet his eyes. It had sad brown eyes. Almost human in the emotion those old eyes held.

  There was no way he could leave it suffering.

  Bridie Taylor had made her way up to the house and was rounding the house to the outside wooden stairway when she heard the extended honk and squeal of brakes.

  She knew her downstairs neighbor rode his bike to wherever he went—probably his job—but what were the chances the horn and brakes had been related to him?

  Curiosity drove her to the end of the drive, her bare feet slapping against the warming footpath. It had been a mild morning and she hadn’t planned to be out long, so she hadn’t worn shoes.

  Someone was bent low at the end of the street. From here, she couldn't tell if it was her neighbor or a stranger.

  But she did see the bike lying on its side in a heap near the curb.

  White noise roared through her ears, and she ran down the street, uncaring about how the rough sidewalk shredded the bottom of her feet. Her long flowing skirt didn't hinder her movements.

  She didn't think her neighbor liked her, but she didn't want him to be hurt. Or killed. She didn't want to think about what damage a vehicle could do to a human body.

  She was gasping for breath when she reached the little tableau. Her neighbor was bent over a medium-sized dog lying prone on the street. The man had one hand extended, but he wasn't quite touching the animal.

  Relief expanded in her chest, and she heaved out a huge breath.

  He looked up, for once without the usual derisive expression on his face. Instead, his brows were drawn, and concern darkened his dark chocolate eyes.

  He looked back down at the dog, his sandy blond hair falling over his face. "Someone hit him and drove off."

  She nodded, going to her knees near the animal's back. The dog whined again, panting in its agitation. One of its front legs was bent at a wrong angle, and there was blood at its mouth.

  "Poor guy,” she said softly. She reached out to touch it.

  "Don't," he said, his hand slashing through the air and knocking hers away. "Injured animals can be dangerous."

  And there was the slight curl of his lip that she'd learned to expect every time he looked at her. They'd barely said two words to each other since she'd moved in four months ago, and she still couldn't fathom what she'd done to offend him so badly that he always looked at her as if he'd stepped in dog doo.

  She ignored his words and ran her hand along the ruff of the dog's neck. "He doesn't look dangerous to me. You need some help, don't you?"

  The dog whined again.

  Her neighbor looked over at his bike with its bent front wheel. He wasn't going anywhere on that.

  "I'll run back to the house and get my car," she offered. "There's a vet a couple of miles north."

  She didn't wait for her neighbor's approval.

  This time, she registered each painful step as she returned. She must've scraped the bottom of her feet worse than she'd thought in her hurry to check on him—not that he deserved it.

  It seemed to take much longer to get home than it had taken to reach man and dog, but soon she was climbing the stairs to her apartment. She rushed to rinse her stinging feet beneath the tap before slipping on a pair of sandals. Those stung too.

  She grabbed a first aid kit for her feet and a couple of towels that had been hung over the kitchen balcony to dry. With her keys and purse, she went back downstairs and jogged toward her car.

  Her neighbor had moved the dog off the street, and now he waited on the sidewalk with the animal in his arms. She stopped the car and rushed round the passenger side to open the rear door and smooth one of the towels across the seat to catch any blood that might stain.

  She stood back as her neighbor gently placed the dog on top of the towel. She couldn't help but notice the muscles that rippled in his shoulders as he bent awkwardly into the car.

  "He doesn't seem to like this much—"

  She peered over his shoulder to see what he was talking about. The dog wasn't resting in the back of the vehicle. Instead, it was attempting to drag itself up and out, obviously stressed by the confinement.

  "Get in with him, then," she said. "I'll load your bike in the trunk.”

  He frowned over his shoulder at her, but as the mutt pushed against his hands, almost trying to jump out of the car despite its injuries, he didn't have much choice.

  She crossed around the back of the car and righted his bike, but it was obvious it wasn't going to operate correctly, so she just hefted it and carried it to her car.

  She was breathing hard again by the time she got it loaded and tied off the trunk with an elastic strap. She braced one hand against her door before she got inside.

  "You didn't ding it, did you?" her neighbor asked from the back seat before she'd even gotten her door closed.

  Cool air from the vents blasted her flushed cheeks, and she fastened her seatbelt. "Not any more than you did."

  She leveled a look in the mirror, and he had the grace to look slightly abashed

.

  Any positive feelings that might've sprouted were quickly quashed when he muttered, "Let's get on with it, then."

  The back seat was tiny, and she could imagine his knees smashed up to his chest. In the mirror she could see the dog stretched out beside him with its head resting on his knee. One of his big hands rested on the dog's shoulder, maybe to keep the broken leg immobilized.

  Surprisingly, he didn't seem worried about getting blood or road dirt on his clothes.

  "I'm Bridie," she said.

  "I know."

  Surprised again, she flicked a glance at the mirror while they waited on a traffic light.

  "Your mail has been in my box a few times," he reminded her.

  "And you are...?"

  His nostrils flared, and he sighed. "Will Harris."

  She still couldn't understand why he was so hesitant to talk to her. Weren't they working together to help this animal? She had friends, ones who liked her very much! She was pretty enough, even if her hair hadn't grown in all the way yet.

  What was his problem?

  "I'm going to be...I'm not sure how late." Will spoke into his cell phone in the lobby of the vet’s office.

  His boss wasn't too worried and told Will to get there when he could, so Will rang off.

  They'd gotten lucky, and the vet was available when they'd arrived.

  The front desk attendant had taken one look at the dog in Will's arms and disappeared into the back, returning moments later with the vet and a technician. They'd disappeared with the dog into the bowels of the building, which left him with Bridie in the waiting room.

  An older woman sat with a small orange and white kitten on her lap. The attendant returned to her desk.

  It wasn't a large room, and he'd done what seemed natural and taken the seat next to his upstairs neighbor, but now he second-guessed himself.

  Bridie sat quietly, not looking at him as she took one shoe off and went to work on the bottom of her foot with an antiseptic wipe. Her lips pinched as if it stung.

  "Do you always rescue animals in need?" she asked quietly.

  "Never," he responded almost absently, too drawn to watching the way her short auburn locks fell against her cheek. Her hair was cut short, almost boyish.

  There was a beat where he could've said something, but instead he settled further into his seat and crossed his arms.

  "This was my first time, as well," she said with her head still ducked down. "It was rather stressful."

  "And painful."

  She flicked a glance up at him from the side, those ice-blue eyes unreadable.

  He nodded to her foot. "You've scraped yourself up."

  She hummed what might be agreement and went back to doctoring her foot, now swiping on some ointment with long, elegant fingers.

  "Maybe you shouldn't run down the street barefoot."

  There was a pause before she spoke.

  "I thought it was you," she murmured.

  Her words didn't make sense. "What?"

  This time she looked at him, straight into his face. "I heard the horn and the brakes squealing, and I saw your bike crumpled on the ground. I thought you'd been in the accident."

  And she'd rushed to help him, disregarding her bare feet. Her sincere, blunt gaze felt like an invisible fist pressing against his sternum. More so because of how rude he'd been this entire time. He didn't know what to do with her honesty.

  He cleared his throat. Nodded to her foot again. "Will you be all right?"

  She smiled a little, as though she could see how uncomfortable she'd made him. "Probably. I have to be careful about infection."

  It was a weird thing to say. Didn't everyone?

  She'd finished doctoring and bandaging both feet and slipped her sandals back on as the vet appeared. He motioned them to follow him into a small, empty examination room. Will tried to decipher his expression, but the man was impossible to read.

  "How bad off is he?" Bridie asked.

  "It could've been a lot worse," the vet said. "We've done some x-rays, and there doesn't seem to be any internal bleeding. We'll want to watch him overnight to make certain. The break on his front leg is pretty nasty though—fractured in two places. It's going to require an operation. And he's underfed."

  This time his gaze zeroed in on Will and caused that awful pressure again. It felt like the man was blaming him.

  "He's not my dog," Will said.

  "We found him," Bridie piped in.

  The vet's frown deepened. "Why didn't you say so? Do you know who owns him? There were no tags, no microchip."

  After a quick look to each other, Will and Bridie shook their heads.

  The vet sighed. "Dogs that look like this one are usually strays." His feet shifted. "You don't want to pay for an operation ... I suppose we'll have to put him down."

  "No!" Bridie cried out.

  Will remembered how the animal had looked up at him when they'd been packed into the back of Bridie's car. It hadn't been a trusting glance, but Will had read the animal's hurt and resignation.

  Who had abandoned him?

  Now Will sighed. He wasn't coldhearted. He remembered the collections notices in Bridie's mail and knew she wouldn't be able to pay for the procedure, even if she didn't want the dog to be put down.

  "I'll pay for it," he said grudgingly.

  He was aware of Bridie's gaze on him but didn't look over to see whether she thought he was a hero or a fool.

  The vet nodded in approval, looking at Bridie. "Your boyfriend has a good heart."

  "We're not involved," Will said quickly. Maybe too quickly, but he didn't even want to think about being involved with someone like Bridie Taylor.

  Chapter 2

  Will's neighbor had offered to drive him to work, even though he'd insulted her at least twice.

  He didn't understand her.

  He slanted a look to her from the passenger seat. There was slightly more room in the front than in the back, but still their shoulders brushed every time she took a curve.

  She kept her attention on the road, one hand in her lap and the other resting lightly on the bottom of the steering wheel. Air from the vents ruffled the edges of her hair. He'd always preferred girls with long hair, but the way Bridie's was cut highlighted the apple of her cheeks and her pert nose.

  Her head turned as she checked for traffic before signaling a turn, and he quickly shifted his attention out the passenger window, lest she catch him staring at her.

  Why had she run down the street to his rescue?

  He shook the disturbing thought away.

  Being two hours late to work meant he'd be working from home tonight.

  But being in the car with her meant he had at least fifteen minutes to convince her to take the dog.

  He cleared his throat. "Thanks for giving me a ride."

  Her attention didn't waver from the road. "Sure. I can't believe you come this far on your bike every day. Twice."

  He shrugged. "I like to stay fit." It was almost an obsession after what had happened to his mom.

  Waiting at a traffic light, her gaze darted in his direction and her eyes glanced off his shoulders, or maybe his chest. Color swept into her cheeks, but all she did was make a little hum from deep in her throat.

  Was she attracted to him? He'd been unable to turn off this strange awareness of her since sitting next to her in the vet's office. Even though she was most definitely not his type.

  He cleared his throat again. "Listen, about the dog..."

  "I think it's really great that you're going to keep him—"

  "I can't." He liked his perfectly ordered life, and that life didn't have room in it for someone—something—he'd have to take care of. "But you could."

  She turned into the lot adjacent to the small office building that housed the startup he worked for. She shook her head as she pulled to a stop outside the building. "I can't take him."

  Frustration flared. She could sit by the lake all day or throw parties all night but didn't have time for a pet?

  He ran one hand through his hair, agitation making him restless, though the quashed the impulse to bounce his knee. "So what am I supposed to do with him?"

 

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