Santa's Pet Read Online Free PDF Page B

him for riot control.
    Ben turned away from the throne. He hated to leave Brittney in a lurch, but this wasn’t working out. He’d tried to be a good Santa, but he obviously wasn’t cut out for the job. Wasn’t there a requirement for a jiggly belly to cushion the kids?
    Besides, how was he supposed to function after touching the most tantalizing set of potatas he’d ever felt?
    “AAaakkk.” A giant flutter of wings beat overhead and talons yanked Ben’s Santa hat off his head.
    “Hey, give that back.” Ben reached up and jumped, trying to snag the hat from the white cockatoo.
    RRiiiipp! Buttons popped from the Santa suit and the entire front opened up, exposing his sweaty, naked chest.
    He loosened the wide belt quickly and tucked as much of the jacket as he could into it.
    Laughter tittered around him, but he wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of a reaction. Nope. He’d go on his business and catch that bird if it was the last thing he did.
    The cockatoo flew up toward the roof of the barn and dropped the Santa hat in the hayloft. He settled on a beam, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Aaahhh. Aaaah. Aaaah.”
    “Aarroohhhwah,” Ben’s grandfather’s dog, Treat, crowed in accompaniment.
    Traitor!
    Ben didn’t dare turn around to see what Brittney was up to. Hopefully, she was busy taking pictures with babies whose thoughts about breasts were pure and innocent.
    A wooden ladder leaned against the wall of the barn. Ben picked it up with one hand and slid it to the end of the loft. That bird had messed with the wrong Santa Claus.
    He was halfway up the ladder when he realized his belt had come loose and the pants were slipping.
    Bending slightly to pull them, he felt the ladder wobble. Cripes. His center of gravity was so high that he could topple over. Back home, he’d never helped his dad in the barn, always excusing himself for football practice. Now he was paying for it. He’d leaned the ladder at a bad angle.
    He squeezed his thighs to keep the pants from falling, but how was he going to move up the ladder? Maybe he should come down before anyone noticed.
    Sneaking a look at the direction of the Santa throne, he spied Brittney showing a girl how to hold a lop-eared bunny. Good. She hadn’t seen him with his Santa pants down, despite the gathering crowd of gawkers. Thank goodness for his wig and beard. People were asking each other who he was and assuming he was a guy from Rent-a-Santa.
    “Aaaah!” the big bird shrieked, dive bombing him. It landed on his grandfather’s yak’s hair wig.
    Giant wings flapped and feathers flew every which way. Ben raised his hand to remove the bird.
    Ow! The demon bird bit him. Not only that, its talons were tangled in the wig and beard. Ben’s skin stretched where the beard was glued, and he was blinded by a barrage of white plumage.
    He twisted and turned to dislodge the bird. Suddenly, his pants fell to his boots and he lost his balance. The ladder swayed and toppled backward. Shit. Shit, and triple shit.
    Ben grabbed wildly for a handhold, but there was none. The ladder snapped to a stop, and he lost his footing. What happened? He hung onto a rung and whipped his head around.
    The top of the ladder was caught on the top of a giant Christmas tree. Below him, people pointed, mouths wide open at his candy-cane striped boxers swinging in the wind.
    For the briefest of seconds, Ben was suspended between the loft and the Christmas tree, with enough time for several cameras to flash, then swoosh, the giant tree collapsed, the ladder jerked, and Ben landed in a mess of popcorn garlands, silver tinsel, colored lights, and fragrant green branches.
    When he opened his eyes, all he saw was the underside of the nasty bird, who sat on his grandfather’s expensive yak’s hair wig and beard, crowing and mocking him as he splatted him with a big blob of crap.
    “You shitty bird.” Ben grabbed the large white bird. “I ought to wring your neck.”
    Dangit. The