Mistletoe and Holly by Janet Dailey Page A

asked, discovering it was always wiser to ask first before agreeing.
    “Will you mail this for me?” She finally found the crumpled envelope she had tucked in her pocket.
    “Sure.” Leslie took the envelope and slipped it into the coat pocket with her change purse.
    “Thanks loads. Daddy doesn’t know I’m outside, so I gotta go. Bye!” With a wave of her hand, Holly raced back for the house.
    The village’s small post office happened to be first along her route. Leslie paused by the drop box and reached in her pocket for the letter. When she checked to make sure it had a stamp, she noticed the address.
    It read simply: “Santa Claus, North Pole.”
    “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered to herself and slipped the letter into the mail slot.
    The village was small so naturally there were few stores and the selection of gifts for an almost-seven-year-old girl was limited. Leslie did find a couple of books that had been her favorites when she was about Holly’s age, so she bought them and a hand-made bookmark. No doubt she’d get toys aplenty from Tagg—and Santa Claus.
    With the wrapped parcel clamped between her arm and the crutch, she set off for her aunt’s house again. A half a block away, she could hear Holly’s giggling laughter. The bottom torso of a snowmanwas sitting in the middle of Tagg’s front yard, but he was forgotten as Tagg and Holly hurled snowballs at each other.
    Leslie watched them with a trace of sadness. Once she and her father had played like that—carefree and innocent. But that was long ago—before the arguments and bitter fights became so frequent. She hobbled forward, her head downcast.
    A flying missile hit her shoulder with solid impact, splattering icy bits of snow onto her face. It knocked her off-balance. She heard Tagg shout as the tip of her crutch slid on a patch of ice. A startled cry came from her throat as she realized she was falling.
    Out of instinct, she twisted her body to shield her broken limb and attempt to aim herself at the deep snow piled beside the walk. She landed hard, the packed snow making a crunching sound beneath. For the first few seconds, she was too shocked to move while her mind made a swift mental check to see if she was hurt. Nothing seemed to be damaged but her pride. She pushed a hand into the snow to lever herself upright.
    Tagg came to a skidding stop beside her spraying snow in her face again. He dropped to one knee, bending over her. “Leslie, are you all right? I swear I didn’t see you when I threw that snowball.”
    “I think I’m all right,” she murmured shakily. “Better let me help you up,” he said and began to tunnel an arm under her side to lift her.
    The shock of the fall had worn off, leaving a small, but vengeful anger in its place. Her gloved fingers dug into the snow, snatching up a handful which she tossed in his face as she turned as if to aid him in lifting her.
    His head jerked backwards as he sputtered and wiped at the snow that clung to his eyelashes and mouth. His look was first filled with surprise, then retaliatory amusement.
    Off to the side, Holly laughed and jumped up and down. “She got you, Daddy!”
    “You little witch,” Tagg growled at Leslie, but his humor-riddled tone took any menace from his voice.
    “You deserved that,” she retorted and finished the turn so she could sit up and begin brushing the snow off her.
    Out of the corner of her eye, Leslie saw Tagg reach down and scoop up a handful of snow. It triggered a warning of his intentions. With upraised arms, Leslie tried to shield herself from the expected snowball, but Tagg caught at her hand instead. He paid no attention to her laughter-laced outcry of protest as she struggled with him, wardingoff the hand with the snow. His strength and pressing weight was forcing her backward.
    “Watch my leg!” she warned him with a squeal and tried to dodge the hand attempting to rub the snow in her face.
    Breathless laughter was