Sleigh Ride (Minnesota Christmas Book 2) (3 page)

What he couldn’t decide was whether he should drug himself or Arthur.

Cha
pter Three

Art
hur let himself into the room while Gabriel puttered around in his office. Shutting the door, Arthur took a deep breath of cleanser and stale carpet, glad at least it wasn’t the nasty book smell that choked him out in the main room. He’d hated the stench ever since he was a kid, stuck in this damn building every Saturday while his mom ran errands. Read the same stinking books over and over and over, hating them just as much every time.

Except the comics. He’d liked the comics. There had been three comic books, all old
Peanuts
anthologies. There’d never been a new one, not in all the years he was imprisoned at the library, stuck with the whims of an unimaginative librarian.

He felt disloyal, disparaging Mimi, but even at thirty-nine he still resented Marcus’s mom for trying to force him to enjoy reading. Comic books weren’t
real
reading, she’d said. That comment had always burned, being told the one thing he wanted in the whole library wasn’t real. It only got worse when he said reading was hard for him—
then
she made him practice, reading out loud to the little kids, taking stupid tests, landing him in goddamned special ed. None of it had helped. The whole nightmare ended in junior high with a meeting of five teachers, the principal and his parents telling him there was nothing wrong with him—he
could
read, he just didn’t want to.

Arthur was still pissed they hadn’t asked him.
He
could have told them that.

The door to the conference room opened, but Gabriel stood with the knob in his hand, talking to a group of kids and their parents who had come into the library. Bored and twitchy, Arthur cruised the librarian, mystified as always by how
not
attracted he was.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. Gabriel was cute in the face, despite the glasses. The glasses weren’t bad, but they reminded Arthur of smarts, which wasn’t a turn-on for him, ever. He would allow there was something alluring about those slim hips, though they had to be hella boney to bang. The guy picked over the grocery store offerings the same way Frankie did, asking to have weird crap special ordered. Most of Arthur’s lack of attraction, honestly, was because the guy was so damn tall. Tall and skinny and wiry.

And that fucking hair.

Arthur had hated his own thick, unruly orange-red hair until he’d met Gabriel, and then he’d thanked God for small favors. Gabriel’s hair was curly, at least four inches long and dishwater brown. Technically Paul’s was the same color and equally curly, but he wore it short, close to his head. Gabriel’s curls were fucking ringlets, and they bounced and flopped every time the guy turned his head. Soupy’s hair was less springy, and she looked as if she’d stepped off the Good Ship Lollipop. Gabriel’s curls seemed
soft
, yeah, and Arthur would lay money they made great handholds, but he had no desire to find out. As skinny and pale as Gabriel was, that hair made him look like a mop. With glasses.

Yeah, thanks, Arthur would jerk off instead of tapping that. And the hell he’d date it.

“Sorry.” Gabriel shut the door and turned to face Arthur, gesturing to the seats at the table. “Would you care to sit?”

Clearing his throat, Arthur pulled out a chair and put his butt in it. “This sleigh and Santa crap—it’s fine for you to raise money and all, but I really don’t want to be a part of it. I’ll repair the sleigh, but you gotta find somebody else to play the fat man.”

Behind those glasses, Gabriel’s eyes went flinty. “That works out well, because I don’t want you involved either.”

Arthur blinked, shifting in his chair at Gabriel’s harsh reply. “Okay—so tell my mom, and we’re done.” Then Arthur could do his best to block this uncomfortable conversation from his mind.

Now Gabriel’s eyebrows peeked over the top of his plastic rims. “Why is it you can’t tell her?”

Was this guy cracked? “I can’t tell her no. I tried. If you say no, she’ll listen.”

“I voiced my reluctance about her project, but she and the rest of the library board voted to proceed. She renewed her determination yesterday, in fact.”

God, just listening to this guy talk set Arthur’s teeth on edge.
Voiced my reluctance. Renewed her determination.
Arthur would show him reluctant and determined. “It’s your damn library. Tell her no.”

“It is not, Mr. Anderson,
my damn library
. It is the City of Logan’s library. I’m the library director.”

“Yes, but you’re in charge.” Arthur could understand the guy’s logic, but the idea that Gabriel couldn’t get Arthur out of this put him in a panic. “She likes you. She’d listen to you.”

“She’s your mother. I should think that trumps any influence I might have.”

Arthur snorted. “If you think so, you’re fucking crazier than I thought.”

Gabriel’s lips pursed into a thin line as he leaned over the table. “I would thank you not to use profane language in the library. There are children present, and since you’re practically a living bullhorn, your foul mouth carries to young, impressionable ears.”

Arthur’s own ears heated, and he squirmed and stared at the table. “Sorry.”

The librarian’s posture eased, not quite relaxing, but not quite so stiff and judgmental either. “It was difficult for me too, at first. They listen to everything we say, even if it’s not directed at them.”

Arthur was about to explain about Thomas, how he knew all about kids picking stuff up like sponges, but then the door to the conference room opened and a two-foot-tall, blond-haired, wide-eyed little boy stuck his head in. “Mr. Higgins? Is it story time?”

An equally blonde mother, flush with embarrassment, scooped up the child. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Gabriel. “He got away from me.”

“It’s all right, Julie.” Gabriel had smiled at the mother, but when he addressed the boy, he crouched and held out his hands. His whole demeanor changed, and the way he lit up, animated and bright, made Arthur’s breath catch. “Noah, I’m so glad you came today. I have to finish talking with Mr. Anderson, but then yes, we’re going to read stories.”

Noah bounced on his heels. The boy put his tiny hands in Gabriel’s and held on, the librarian an anchor to his joy. “Can we read the
Doctor Duckling
book,
please
, Mr. Higgins?”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but it’s not here. Remember, I have to borrow it from another library for us to have it, and last week they asked for it back.”

It physically hurt Arthur to see the way the boy wilted. “But I
love
the
Doctor Duckling
book.”

“I know you do, and I wish I could give it to you. But we had it last month, and we have to wait our turn.”

The boy’s eyes filled with tears, and the mother got embarrassed all over again. Gabriel soothed her and the boy both with platitudes and airy promises of someday. All Arthur could think of though was how this had to be that funding issue. If the library had a decent budget, Gabriel could order the damn book for the kid to wear out.

If this were a fancy suburb instead of a dying small town, the mom would have ordered the book for her kid a long time ago. Maybe some people in Logan could, but Arthur knew Julie Peters. Her husband drove truck for the mill, and he was laid off now too. They had four kids, and her working outside the home wouldn’t pay for childcare unless she left town. There wasn’t money to buy
Doctor Duckling
books. Christmas probably had them sweating as it was.

The mother and child left the room, and Gabriel stood to face Arthur. “I’m sorry, but it looks as if story time is starting early today. I can’t help you with your mother, but in short, I agree the sleigh-ride idea is a well-intentioned plan unlikely to yield the kind of funds the library needs. What would serve us best is a grant, which I’ve applied for, but they’re competitive and rarer by the day. I don’t mind if you bow out of the fundraiser—I’m sure we won’t have any trouble finding a replacement Santa—but you’ll have to extricate yourself on your own. Have a good day.”

Arthur watched the guy walk away, wanting to argue but not really knowing how. He’d been dismissed, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave, because when he did he was stuck playing Santa.

This was how Arthur ended up at story time at the Logan Public Library for the first time in almost thirty years.

He hung out with his back to the wall in the farthest corner of the room, practically standing in Gabriel’s office. Crossing his arms over his chest, he settled in to watch and wait. The room was surprisingly full. The kids were all down in front, arranged in a clumpy semicircle around Gabriel’s rocking chair. A few mothers sat with their children, but otherwise the parents and grandparents scattered themselves in the back, some sitting, a few standing. Several children fought with one another, and the parents near them were too busy gossiping to settle the argument. One father managed an unruly set of young twins, constantly herding them into the circle like a weary referee. A little girl in the front row complained loudly to no one in particular that her underwear was itchy and she wanted to take it off.

When Gabriel started reading, however, the room went instantly silent, everyone listening.

Arthur too.

The story was the one about a mouse and a cookie, which Arthur had heard his sister read to her kids, so he knew it, but the way Gabriel read it out loud made it seem like the best damn story in the world. Several times he realized he was smiling, and twice he out-and-out laughed. So did everyone else.

When the story was over, disappointment washed over him until Gabriel lifted a second book. This one was new to him—
Snuggle Puppy
—one of those board things baby Sue chewed on in church and Brianna hit Thomas with.

Goddamn, but it was sweet, though. It caught the edges of his heart when Gabriel turned to the kids and looked them in the eye, smiling and loving and bright as he led them in chorus through what were obviously favorite lines of the story.

There was another book, and another, and Arthur stayed for them all, listening.

Thinking.

When it was over, the children mobbed Gabriel, asking him a million questions at once—did he have a particular book, would he go to the park with them, could he fix their sweater, did he know T-Rex was a big mean dinosaur that ate people—the attacks were so rapid-fire they alarmed Arthur, and he glanced around, angry at the parents for not rescuing Gabriel. Some of them stepped in, but even when the others continued to gossip or look at the ceiling, Gabriel did fine on his own. He put books into children’s hands, showed one where the bathroom was, admired stuffed animals and toys, and fixed the sweater. Not for a moment did Gabriel stop smiling.

For half a crazy second, Arthur wished he were little, so he could toddle up and get touched by Mr. Higgins too.

Shaking his head, Arthur dispelled the longing and dragged himself to the issue which had brought him here. Gabriel clearly wasn’t going to be any help, too busy with his own issues, like running a library without any paid staff or books written this century. Arthur would have to get out of playing Santa on his own.

It was too bad the fundraiser wouldn’t work. Because goddamn. If this is what the guy could do with story time on a shoestring, imagine what he’d get done with some bank.

Slipping out of the door, Arthur headed to his truck, tucking his collar up against the cold, making a mental note to grab his stocking cap out of the glove compartment. It was way too cold too early this year, and according to the forecast they’d have snow by the weekend.

Heat in the library had to be a bitch. Probably ate up all the budget. Might as well feed the books to the furnace itself. Normally the image would make Arthur happy, but…well, the library was different with Gabriel driving it.

It wasn’t right. The guy was lanky and awkward and needed something a lot more comfortable in his ass, but he was good with kids. Clearly some kids
enjoyed
the library.

A grant, he’d said. Like a contract with money or something, wasn’t it? Arthur didn’t know about contracts, but he sure as hell knew somebody who did. Glancing at the dashboard clock as he climbed in the truck, he decided it was close enough to lunch to bother Marcus. He told himself it’d be worth getting reamed out if it got him out of the red suit.

Because here was the answer, right? The whole point of the sleigh ride was to raise money to save the library. Arthur would cut out the middleman and save the library, straight up.

Marcus Gardner had a law office on Main Street, right next door to his boyfriend’s salon. Arthur had learned to call it a
salon
and not a
beauty shop
, the same as he called Frankie a
stylist
not a
hairdresser
. Frankie said he didn’t mind what people called him.

Marcus made it clear
he
minded a hell of a lot.

Arthur had been best friends with Marcus since second grade when Arthur was busted for fighting and Marcus had given him a Twinkie as a consolation. The asshole Arthur beat down liked to call the fat kids fat, and Marcus had been back then. The truth was, Arthur plain hated the guy and would have decked him for no reason at all. But the Twinkie was a nice gesture, and somehow they were best friends from that point on. Arthur taught Marcus how to fight, and Marcus taught Arthur how to pass second grade. And third grade. And junior high and high school. When Logan High School merged with Pine Valley, Marcus and Arthur met Paul, who started warming Arthur’s bed during sleepovers. Life had been pretty damn good.

For a little while, they’d all three worked together at the timber company, but truth was, Marcus was a lot happier as a lawyer in a small town than he’d been as a lawyer in a big city or a logger in the woods. Though probably mostly he was happy because he was with Frankie.

Arthur stuck his head into the salon first. When Frankie saw him, he beamed over the top of Nancy Schneider’s hair full of those weird aluminum foil papers. “Hi, Arthur. Didn’t I cut your hair last week?”