The Accidental Scot by Patience Griffin Page B

ones.”
    â€œThirty is not a few.” Max wasn’t looking forward to the hours ahead. But if helping Pippa would get him in her good graces so they could talk about the MTech contract, he’d do it with as little attitude as he could muster.
    Behind the children came a flock of adults. “We have backup,” Pippa said. “Parents and family.”
    Max pulled his cap down farther. “Good. I didn’t want to be the one responsible in case a kid got lost or something.”
    â€œGo sit down and plaster a smile on your face,” she said. “Pretend you like Christmas.”
    That’ll never happen.
    As the adults corralled the kids and settled them at their tables, Max went to his. Pippa stood in the center of the room and said, “The North Sea Valve Company would like to welcome everyone here today. But before we get started, I want to introduce our honored guest, Mr. Christmas.”
    Max looked around for who that might be.
    Pippa pointed in his direction. “Stand up, Mr. Christmas. Give everyone a big ‘HO-HO-HO.’” With a twinkle in her eye, she dared him to refuse.
    He cringed. If she’d asked him to be the Easter Bunny, St. Patrick, or the damned turkey at Thanksgiving, he would’ve willingly obliged. But Mr. Christmas was the last person he wanted to channel.
    He didn’t budge from his seat.
    Pippa speared him with a withering glare. He refrained from returning her look with his own eye roll. She had no idea how much he hated the holiday.
    â€œCome, now,” she tried again. “Show us yere Christmas cheer.”
    To appease her and the others, he stood, super-glued a smile in place, and waved to everyone. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said with little enthusiasm.
    â€œEveryone, let’s say good morning to Mr. Christmas together.”
    Pippa raised her arms like a symphony conductor.
    â€œGOOD MORNING, MR. CHRISTMAS,” the chorus of children and adults rang out.
    He gave another wave and sat down.
Oh, Pippa will pay for this.
When he got hold of her and that saucy little mouth of hers . . . His thoughts were too X-rated to entertain while sitting with a bunch of children.
    The vixen glided over and began explaining the project to the kids at their table. Pippa wouldn’t meet his eyes, but her less than innocent smile said she was still whooping it up on the inside over putting him on the spot. Max pushed back his cap, tried to stop focusing on her lips, and did his best to listen to the instructions.
    Max’s table was making welcome mats from small ocean-polished rocks found on the beach. A pile of used floor mats sat at the end of the table, along with glue. A large box of pebbles sat in the middle. Pippa held up an example of what the finished project should look like and the kids stood to get a better look, oohing and aahing. She also had to stop a few hands from reaching intothe box while she explained how to make the mat, but soon she was done and the kids dove in.
    â€œI have to go help the other tables.” Pippa pointed to his chest. “Mr. Christmas, ye’re in charge.”
    He wanted to complain, but Pippa was gone. Then he noticed the blond-haired girl at the other end of the table, sitting by herself, looking lost. He glanced around for backup, but Pippa had her hands full now with a four-year-old who was already covered in glitter.
    Crap.
He peered at the sad-faced girl again. He moved down the table and sat directly across from her.
    â€œHey,” he said.
    She turned sad green eyes on him.
    â€œHi there,” he tried again. “What’s your name?”
    â€œGlenna,” she said, but her voice was quizzical, as if she might be processing his words.
    His accent.
“I bet you think that I talk funny. I’m from Texas. In America. My name is Max.”
    â€œI thought yere name was Mr. Christmas.”
    â€œYes, well, so it is.” He motioned to the other adults.