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Christmas Gift: A Family
Barbara Hannay
Should Jo seriously consider Hugh’s request? Could she go to London and help Hugh with little Ivy for just two short weeks?
The offer was very tempting. If she tried to balance the pros and cons, there were so many pros…. Two weeks in London…doing a good deed for Ivy’s sake….
What about the cons? There had to be reasons why she shouldn’t go.
Hugh.
Hugh and his gorgeousness. Two weeks with him and she’d be head over heels in love with the man. Even though he would remain polite and charming, she would fall all the way in love, and she’d come home an emotional wreck.
Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy. Visit her Web site at www.barbarahannay.com (http://www.barbarahannay.com)
Books by Barbara Hannay
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3841—THE CATTLEMAN’S ENGLISH ROSE* (#litres_trial_promo)
3845—THE BLIND DATE SURPRISE* (#litres_trial_promo)
3849—THE MIRRABROOK MARRIAGE* (#litres_trial_promo)
Christmas Gift: A Family
Barbara Hannay
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u1882e2d1-b27e-588a-a688-5298f0af50c3)
CHAPTER TWO (#ue75c596a-ba3c-58fb-9bef-b2e8c48f6c44)
CHAPTER THREE (#ud71fce73-e4ec-5bdb-83a9-1b8b40621fa3)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
CHRISTMAS EVE. Oh, joy! For Jo Berry it meant sitting behind a shop counter in Bindi Creek, staring out through the dusty front window at the heat haze shimmering on the almost empty main street, and trying not to think about all the fabulous parties she was missing back in the city.
She was especially trying not to think about the office party tonight. Mind you, she had a feeling things might get out of hand. Her friend, Renee, was determined to nail a big career boost by impressing the boss but, apart from buying something clingy and skimpy to wear, her idea of pitching for a promotion usually involved clearing her desk of sharp objects.
Jo still clung to the belief that a girl could smash her way through the glass ceiling via non-stop slog and professionalism, without the aid of deep cleavage, or tying the boss up with tinsel.
Still, she would have liked to be in Brisbane tonight. She enjoyed her friends’ company and it was great fun to be on the fringes of an occasional outrageous party.
It wasn’t her friends’ wild antics that had stopped her from partying in the city. Every Christmas she took her annual leave and travelled home to help out in her family’s shop.
And no, she wasn’t a goody two-shoes, but honestly, what else could a girl do when she had a dad on an invalid pension and a mum who was run off her feet trying to play Santa Claus to half a dozen children while preparing Christmas dinner, plus running Bindi Creek’s only general store during the pre-Christmas rush?
Not that anyone actually rushed in Bindi Creek.
At least…no one usually rushed.
Nothing exciting happened.
And yet…right now there was someone in a very great hurry.
From her perch on a stool behind the counter, Jo watched with interest as a black four-wheel drive scorched down the street, screeched to an abrupt and noisy halt in the middle of the road and then veered sharply to park on the wrong side of the road—directly outside the shop.
A lanky dark-haired stranger jumped out.
A very handsome, lanky dark-haired stranger.
Oh, wow!
He was quite possibly the most gorgeous man Jo had ever seen, not counting movie stars, Olympic athletes or European princes in her favourite celebrity magazines.
In spite of the layer of dust that covered his vehicle and the intense, sweltering December heat, he was dressed in city clothes—tailored camel-coloured trousers and a white business shirt, although as a concession to the heat his shirt was open at the neck and his long sleeves were rolled back to his elbows to reveal lightly tanned, muscular forearms.
Jo slid from her stool and tucked a wing of brown hair behind one ear as she stood waiting for the ping of the bell over the shop door. Please, please come in, you gorgeous thing.
But the newcomer lingered on the footpath, studying her mum’s window display.
Jo couldn’t help staring at him.
As he stood with his wide shoulders relaxed and his hands resting lightly on his lean hips, she decided there was a certain elegant charm in the way his soft dark hair had been ruffled and messed into spikes. And there was definite appeal in the very masculine way he rubbed his lightly stubbled jaw as he studied her mother’s dreadful tinsel-draped arrangement of tinned plum puddings, boxes of shortbread and packets of chocolate-covered sultanas.
He lifted his gaze and peered inside the shop and, before Jo could duck, his eyes—light blue or green, she couldn’t be sure—met hers. Darn, he’d caught her staring.
She felt her cheeks grow hot as he stared back. Then he smiled. But it was rather a stiff smile and she sensed instantly that he was searching for something. By the time he entered the shop her curiosity was fully aroused.
‘Good afternoon,’ she said warmly. He was close enough now for her to see that his eyes were green rather than blue and fringed by the blackest of lashes. ‘Can I help you?’
This time his smile was of the slightly crooked variety, the kind that should come with a health warning about dangers to women.
‘I’ll just look around for a moment,’ he said, casting a doubtful glance at the bags of sugar and flour and the shelves of tinned food that filled the store.
As soon as he spoke Jo realised he was English. His voice was deep and rich—refined and mellow—reminding her of actors in Jane Austen movies and men who lived in stately homes surrounded by green acres of parkland and edged by forest.
‘Look around as much as you like,’ she said, trying to sound casual, as if divine Englishmen were a regular part of life in Bindi Creek. And then, because he wasn’t a local, she added, ‘Just sing out if I can be of any help.’
At times like this, when the shop wasn’t busy, she usually amused herself by trying to guess what a customer might buy. What was this guy after? Engine oil? Shaving cream? Condoms?
From the far side of the shop he called, ‘Do you have any dolls? Perhaps a baby doll?’
Good grief.
‘I want the best possible gift for a little girl.’ It was a command rather than a request. ‘Little girls still play with dolls, don’t they?’
‘Some of them do. But I’m sorry, we don’t have any dolls here.’
He frowned. ‘You must have little tea sets? Or perhaps a music box?’
In a general store in the middle of the outback? Where did he think he was? A toy shop? ‘Sorry, we don’t have anything like that.’
‘Nothing suitable at all?’
Think, Jo, think… She walked towards him along the aisles, checking the shelves as critically as he had. Food, household items and pet supplies, a few basic hardware products, a tiny collection of paperback novels… ‘I assume you’re looking for a Christmas present?’
‘Yes, for a little girl. She’s five years old.’
It was the same age as her little sister, Tilly. Jo shook her head. ‘I’m afraid you’re not going to have much luck here.’
She pointed to the old-fashioned glass jars on the counter. ‘We have some fancy sweets and chocolates especially for Christmas.’
‘I guess they might do.’ He groaned and ran long fingers through his ruffled hair. Jo caught the glint of gold.
‘I’d better get something as a fallback.’ He began to pick up items at random—throw-away pens, Christmas decorations, a wooden ruler and a school notebook.
Thinking of the beautiful baby doll with a complete change of clothes that she’d bought in Brisbane for Tilly, Jo decided he definitely needed help. But given their limited stock it wasn’t going to be easy.
How intriguing…What was this man doing out here in the middle of nowhere?
‘How far are you travelling?’ she asked.
‘To Agate Downs.’
‘Oh, I know that property. The Martens’ place. It’s not far. So you’re looking for a present for the little girl they’re caring for, are you?’
He looked startled. ‘You know her?’ He moved closer, his expression more intense.
‘Ivy? This is a small town. Sure, I’ve met her. Do you know what she likes?’
His throat worked. ‘No, I’ve never met her.’
‘She’s a lovely little thing.’ Jo was being totally honest. She’d been quite smitten by the little girl. She had the most exquisite face Jo had ever seen on a child and her prettiness was all the more striking because it contrasted so strongly with the ugly scars on her arm. The poor little mite had been terribly burned in an accident a few years ago. ‘Ivy’s been in here to shop with Ellen Marten a couple of times this week.’
‘Really?’
The eagerness in his voice and his eyes was perplexing. Jo looked at him sharply. Was she getting carried away or was there a resemblance between this man and the child? Ivy’s hair was dark and her eyes were clear green like his.
What was going on? Could he be Ivy’s father? Jo didn’t like to be too nosy, so she hadn’t asked the Martens about Ivy’s parents, but she’d heard rumours about a tragedy and there’d actually been talk about an estranged father coming to claim her.
Her customer sighed and gave a little shake of his head. ‘I’d completely forgotten that a little girl at Christmas needs a present.’
She felt a rush of sympathy. Come on, Jo, do something to help.
‘Would you like some of these?’ she asked, lifting the lid on a huge jar of chocolates wrapped in red, silver and gold foil. ‘Ivy’s quite partial to them.’ Just yesterday she’d slipped the little girl a chocolate when Ellen Marten wasn’t looking and she’d been rewarded by a beaming smile.
‘I’ll take the lot,’ he said, looking exceptionally pleased. ‘And I’ll have a couple of tins of the shortbread and a bag of those nuts.’
Jo lifted the metal scoop and said, ‘Perhaps I could gift wrap these things to make them look a little more festive?’
She was rewarded by another of his dangerous smiles. ‘That would be wonderful.’
Leaning one hip against the counter, he folded his arms across his chest and watched her as she began to wrap his purchases in red sparkly paper. She felt self-conscious as his green eyes watched her hands at work, cutting and folding paper, reaching for sticky tape and then measuring lengths of shiny silver and gold ribbon.
If it had been any other customer she would have chattered away, but she was too absorbed by the mystery of his connection with Ivy.
He didn’t seem in a hurry so she took her time making the gifts as pretty as she could, adding a sprinkle of glitter and a tiny white fluffy snowman on the chocolates.
‘Thank you so much, that’s terrific.’ He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, extracted several notes and held them out.
She noticed the glint of gold again. He was wearing a signet ring, engraved with a crest and worn on his little finger.
‘You will charge extra for all the trouble you’ve gone to, won’t you?’ he said.
‘Not when it’s Christmas.’ She sent him a quick smile as she handed him his change.
She expected him to leave then, but he continued to stand there, looking at the bright parcels on the counter with a long distance look in his eyes, as if he were lost in thought.
‘Was there something else?’ she asked tentatively. She wouldn’t mind at all if he wanted to stay longer. Nothing else like him was likely to happen to her this Christmas.
‘If only I could take something more exciting, something Ivy would really love,’ he said and he glanced behind him to the slightly dusty row of reading material and reached for a comic book. ‘What about this?’
An Action Man comic? Jo did her best not to look shocked. ‘I don’t think Ivy’s started school yet,’ she suggested gently. ‘I’d be surprised if she could read.’
He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘It would have been so simple to pick up a toy in Sydney. There isn’t time to ring a city toy shop and fly something out, is there?’
‘Well…no. I shouldn’t think so…’ Goodness, if he was prepared to hire an aircraft, this must be important. He must be Ivy’s father—and he must also be a man who made sure he got what he wanted. No wonder a box of chocolates seemed unsatisfactory, even with the pretty wrapping.
‘There are no other shops around here?’
‘No toy shops, I’m afraid. Not unless you want to backtrack about two hundred kilometres.’
With an air of resignation he began to gather up his parcels, but he moved without haste.
‘You really want to make a big impression on Ivy, don’t you?’ Jo suggested.
He nodded. ‘It’s vitally important.’
There was an intensity in his voice and a sadness in his eyes that sent an unexpected tiny pain sweeping through her. How awful for him if he was Ivy’s father, but had never met his daughter. And where was Ivy’s mother? What tragedy had occurred? Jo’s own family were very close and her soft heart ached for him.
‘Well…thank you very much for all your help,’ he said, turning to go.
Oh, crumbs. She felt rotten about sending him away with such inappropriate presents. ‘Look,’ she said to his back. ‘If this present is really important, I might be able to help you.’
He turned and looked at her, his green eyes intense. Fuzzy heat flashed through her.
‘I have a mountain of toys that I’ve bought for my brothers and sisters,’ she said. ‘Probably more than I’ll need. If—if you’d like to take a look at them, you’re welcome. We should be able to find some little toy to add to the chocolates.’
His green eyes studied her and she tried to look calm and unaffected, but then he did the crooked smile thing and her insides went crazy.
‘That’s incredibly kind of you.’
‘I’ll just call one of my brothers to come and mind the shop,’ she said. ‘Wait here.’ And, before he could protest, she hurried away through a door at the back of the shop.
It led directly into their house.
Down the central hallway she rushed, heading straight for the backyard where she knew from the boys’ shouts that they were playing cricket. And with every hasty step she fought off doubts.
She knew it was impulsive, but somehow this was something she had to do. Poor little Ivy deserved a proper Christmas present. And of course spending more time with Ivy’s gorgeous father was simply a chore to be endured…
She managed to convince her brother Bill that he was needed and then she almost ran back through the house. She was a touch breathless as she re-entered the shop.
The Englishman was still there, looking strangely out of place beside a mountain of dried dog food. He seemed to be making polite conversation with old Hilda Bligh, the town gossip.
‘There you are, Jo,’ said Hilda. ‘I was just telling Mr Strickland that if the shop’s empty we usually holler until someone comes.’
Goodness, Hilda already knew the man’s name. No doubt the old girl had been treated to one of his dangerously attractive smiles.
‘Sorry, Mrs Bligh, you know what Christmas Eve can be like. Here’s Bill. He’ll look after you.’
Jo glanced towards the Englishman, feeling rather foolish because she was about to invite him into her home and she didn’t know the first thing about him. ‘Can you come this way?’ she asked him.
‘It was very nice to meet you, Mr Strickland,’ called Hilda Bligh, smiling after him coyly.
Jo led the man through the doorway and into the shabby central passage that ran the full length of their house.
‘So you’re Mr Strickland?’ she said once they were clear of the shop.
‘Yes, my name’s Hugh—Hugh Strickland. And I believe you’re Jo.’
Jo nodded.
‘Short for Josephine?’
‘Joanna.’ She held out her hand. ‘Joanna Berry.’ Somehow it seemed important to shake hands—to make this exchange businesslike. But it wasn’t exactly businesslike to have her hand clasped warmly by Hugh Strickland.
‘I take it Hilda Bligh filled you in?’ she asked.
‘Indeed and with astonishing attention to detail.’
She groaned. ‘I hate to think what she’s told you.’
Hugh smiled. ‘I don’t think she told me what you scored on your spelling test in the second grade, but I believe I know just about everything else.’
‘I’m sorry. Outback towns are so—’
‘Exposing?’
Jo nodded her head and sighed. This really was the weirdest situation.
‘Yes, well…’ She took a deep breath. ‘We’d better take a look at these toys. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you into my bedroom.’
‘Really?’
He didn’t look shocked—he was too smooth for that—but Jo knew he was surprised. She made a joke of it. ‘Of course I don’t usually invite strange men into my room within minutes of meeting them.’
Amusement sparkled in his eyes. ‘Mrs Bligh didn’t mention it.’
Thank heavens he had a sense of humour.
‘I’ve hidden the presents in there, you see, and I can’t bring them out or one of the children might find them.’ She turned and led him down the passage.
But, despite her matter-of-fact air, she was suddenly nervous. It didn’t seem possible that she was actually doing this. She, ordinary, average Jo Berry, was taking a man who was a mixture of every gorgeous British actor she’d ever swooned over into her dreadful bedroom.
It was more than dreadful. She’d taken all her favourite bits and pieces to decorate her flat in Brisbane, so her room was as bare and as ugly as a prison cell.
It held nothing more than a simple iron bed with a worn and faded cover, bare timber floorboards, a scratched, unvarnished nightstand and an ancient wardrobe, once polished silky oak, but painted creamy-orange by her father during one of Mum’s decorating drives. The old Holland blind that covered her window was faded with age and had a watermark stain where rain had got in during a storm several summers ago.
‘Perhaps this isn’t a good idea,’ Hugh said. ‘I can’t take gifts from your family.’
‘But isn’t it vitally important to have a present for little Ivy?’
‘Well…’
Without further hesitation, Jo dragged her suitcase out from under the bed. ‘Luckily I haven’t wrapped these yet,’ she said, looking up at him over her shoulder.
And he was smiling again—that dangerous smile—with his eyes fixed directly on the expanding gap between her T-shirt and her jeans.
Heaving the suitcase on to her bed, she began hauling gifts out to pile on her bedspread.
What she was looking for were the stocking fillers she’d bought to help her mother out—small fluffy toys, plastic spiders, dress-up jewellery, fishing lures, puzzles…
But she more or less had to get everything out because these things were mixed in with the main presents—the action figures and video games for Bill and Eric; the books and CDs for the older boys; the ‘magic’ magnetic drawing board and hair accessories for Grace and the baby doll for Tilly.
She glanced up at Hugh and felt a pang of dismay when she saw the look in his eyes as he stared at the doll.
As baby dolls went, it was perfect. She’d been thrilled when she’d found it. It came in a little cane carry basket with a pink quilted lining and there was also a feeding bottle and a change of clothes.
‘You have quite a treasure trove here,’ he said.
‘I need to negotiate a bank loan every year just to cope with Christmas,’ she joked.
‘Six brothers and sisters…’
‘Mrs Bligh told you that too?’
He nodded and smiled, then looked back at the bed. ‘I’d pay you anything for that doll.’
Jo thought of Ivy. She was such a sweet little thing and for a fleeting moment she almost weakened. But then she came to her senses. ‘Sorry. Not possible. That’s earmarked for Tilly.’ She reached for a fluffy lavender-hued unicorn. ‘What about this? Unicorns are all the rage with the pre-school set.’
One dark eyebrow lifted. ‘I would never have guessed. I’m completely out of my depth when it comes to little girls.’
‘Or there’s this—’ She reached for some multicoloured plastic bangles, but stopped when she heard the sound of giggling on the other side of the door. Her stomach plunged.
Tiptoeing to the door, she listened. Yes, there was another burst of giggles.
Carefully, she opened the door a crack and found Tilly and Eric crouching there, their eyes dancing with merriment. ‘Get lost, you two.’
‘Bill says you’ve got a man in there,’ said Tilly.
‘That’s none of your business. Now run away.’
Eric bumped against the door as if he wanted to push it open, but Jo blocked it with her hip.
‘Is he your boyfriend?’ asked Tilly.
‘No, of course not. Now scram, both of you!’
Face aflame, Jo slipped back through the narrow opening, slammed the door shut and locked it again. Embarrassed, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, hardly daring to look at Hugh, but when she did she saw that he was standing in the middle of the room with his hands thrust in his trouser pockets, wearing an expression that was a complicated mixture of amusement and impatience.
‘I do appreciate your efforts.’ He gallantly remained silent about the antics of her siblings. ‘But I think I’d better be off.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Will you take the unicorn?’
‘Are you sure you can spare it?’
‘Absolutely. Right now, I’d be happy if you took all the presents. I might yet disown my entire family.’
He flashed her a smile. ‘Just the unicorn would be terrific, thank you.’
Jo thrust the fluffy toy into a non-see-through pink plastic bag and handed it to him. ‘Done.’
As she hastily transferred everything back into the suitcase and dropped the lid, Hugh reached for his wallet again.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No money. It’s for Ivy.’ Quickly she opened the door.
‘I must say I’m terribly grateful to you,’ Hugh said. ‘I would have hated to turn up at Agate Downs on Christmas Eve without the right gift.’
His smile and his confession, delivered in his beautifully modulated, polite English voice, had the strangest effect on Jo. She had to fight off a weird impulse to bar the door so he couldn’t leave.
‘Well,’ she said, pushing such silliness out of her head and turning briskly businesslike again. ‘I mustn’t keep you any longer, Mr Strickland. I’m sure you need to be on your way and I’d better relieve Bill in the shop.’
He hurried off then. After delivering one last quick but sincere thank you he made a hasty farewell, heading out the front door in record time.
Leaping into his vehicle, he pulled out from the kerb at the same reckless speed with which he’d arrived.
And Jo was left feeling strangely deflated.
Her thoughts returned to where she’d been before he’d arrived. Remembering her friends at the office Christmas party in the city, all having a ball.
While Hugh Strickland, possibly the dishiest man in the world and as close to Prince Charming as Jo was ever likely to meet, was riding off in his glittering coach—well, OK, his four-wheel drive. Roaring down a bush track.
Never to be seen again.
CHAPTER TWO
BINDI CREEK had its last-minute pre-Christmas rush shortly after Hugh left. It seemed to Jo that almost every household in the township, as well as some from outlying properties, suddenly remembered that the shop would be closed for the next two days and that they needed items vital for Christmas.
No doubt it was paranoia, but Jo couldn’t help wondering if some of them had come to the shop just to spy on her. At least two of the local women hinted—with very unsubtle nudges and winks—that they’d heard from Hilda Bligh about Jo’s special visitor. One of them actually said that she’d heard the Martens were expecting a visit from Ivy’s father.
Jo pretended she had no idea what they were talking about.
Apart from these awkward moments, she was happy to be kept busy. The work kept her mind from straying Hugh-wards.
Brad and Nick, two of her brothers who worked further out west on cattle properties, arrived home around eight. They came into the shop and greeted her with hugs and back slaps and they hung about for ten minutes or so, catching up on her news. Then they went back into the house for the warmed leftover dinner Mum had saved for them.
Jo ate a scratch meal at the counter and she was tired when it was time to close up the shop. She went to lock the front door and looked out into the street and took a few deep breaths. It was a hot, still summer’s night and the air felt dry and dusty, but despite this she caught a hint of frangipani and night-scented jasmine drifting from nearby gardens.
Overhead, the Christmas Eve sky was cloudless and clear and splashed with an extravaganza of silver-bright stars. Grace and Tilly would be watching that sky from their bedroom window, hoping for a glimpse of Santa Claus and his reindeer. And Mum would be warning Eric and Bill not to spoil their little sisters’ fantasies.
What would little Ivy be doing out at Agate Downs? Had she received her present? Had she liked the lavender unicorn? For a moment Jo let her mind play with the mystery of Hugh Strickland and this child. She could picture him very clearly as he climbed out of his vehicle with the toy unicorn clutched in one hand. Goodness, she should have put it in something more attractive than a plastic bag.
Thinking about him and his mysterious errand caused an unwelcome pang around her heart. She shivered and rubbed her arms to chase away goose-bumps. What was the point of thinking over and over about Hugh? Perhaps she was getting man-crazy. It was six months since she’d broken up with Damien.
She locked the doors, pulled down the blinds, locked the till and turned out the lights in the shop. It was time to slip into her bedroom to wrap her presents. Once the children were safely asleep, she would have fun setting the brightly wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree in the lounge room.
The Berrys enjoyed a no-frills Christmas Eve. She’d have a cup of tea with Mum and they’d both put their feet up. The older boys would sit out on the back veranda with Dad, yarning about cattle and drinking their first icy-cold Christmas beer, while she and Mum talked over their final plans for the festive meals tomorrow.
She hadn’t quite completed the gift-wrapping saga when there was a knock on her bedroom door. ‘Who is it?’ she called softly, not wanting to wake her sisters in the next room.
‘It’s Mum.’
‘Just a minute.’ Jo had been wrapping her mother’s presents—French perfume and a CD compilation of her mum’s favourite music from the sixties and seventies—so she slipped these quickly under her pillow. ‘I’m almost finished.’
When she opened the door her mother looked strangely excited. ‘You have a visitor.’
‘Really? Who is it?’
‘An Englishman. He says his name’s Hugh Strickland.’
An arrow-swift jolt shot through Jo. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Margie Berry’s brow wrinkled into a worried frown. ‘Who is he, love? He seems very nice and polite, but do you want me to send him away?’
‘Oh, no,’ Jo answered quickly. ‘He’s just a customer. He—he was in the shop this afternoon.’
‘Yes, he told me that. He said you were very helpful.’ Margie looked expectant, but Jo was reluctant to go into details.
Her mind raced. Why was Hugh here? He was supposed to be at Agate Downs. ‘W-where is he?’
‘I found him on the back veranda, talking to Dad and the boys, but it’s you he wants. He asked for you ever so politely, so I told him to wait in the kitchen.’
‘The kitchen?’ Her bedroom had been bad enough and Jo winced when she tried to picture Hugh Strickland in their big old out-of-date kitchen, cluttered this evening with the aftermath of Mum’s Christmas baking. Somehow the image wouldn’t gel.
Jo was gripping the door handle so hard her hand ached as she let it go. This didn’t make sense. ‘Did you ask him why he wants to see me?’
Margie gave an irritated toss of her head. ‘No, I didn’t.’
Jo wished she had a chance to check her appearance in the mirror, but her mother was waiting with her hands on her hips and a knowing glint in her eyes. Besides, what was the point of titivating? Hugh Strickland had already seen her today and she would look much the same as she had earlier. Her smooth brown hair was cut into a jaw-length bob that never seemed to get very untidy and she wasn’t wearing make-up, and there wasn’t much she could do to improve her plain white T-shirt and blue jeans.
Just the same, she felt nervous as she set off down the passage for the kitchen, as if she were going to an audition for a part in a play but had no idea what role she was trying for.
Hugh was standing near the scrubbed pine table in the middle of the room and the moment she saw him she went all weak-kneed and breathless.
And that was before he smiled.
Oh, heavens, he was good-looking. She’d been beginning to wonder if perhaps her imagination had exaggerated how gorgeous he was.
No way. His dark hair was still spiky, but that was part of his appeal, as was the five o’clock shadow that darkened his strong jaw line. And beyond that there was a subtle air of superiority about him—a matter of breeding perhaps, something unmistakable like the born-to-win lines of a well-bred stallion.
But behind his charming smile she could sense banked-up emotion carefully held in check. What was it? Anger? Impatience? Dismay?
She wondered if she should ask him to sit down, but his tension suggested he’d rather stand. Why had he returned so soon?
He answered that question immediately when he held out the pink plastic bag she’d given him. ‘I came to return this.’
Frowning, Jo accepted it. She could feel the shape of the fluffy unicorn still inside. Her mind raced, trying to work out what this could mean. ‘Couldn’t you find your way to Agate Downs?’
‘I found the place,’ he said. ‘Your directions were spot on.’
‘So what happened? Weren’t the Martens home?’
‘I turned back without seeing them.’ A muscle worked in his jaw and he dropped his gaze. His face seemed to stiffen. ‘I had second thoughts. It’s the wrong time.’
‘Oh.’ What else could she say? This was none of her business. ‘That’s a—a pity.’ A few hours ago it had been vitally important that Hugh made a good impression on the child. And it had seemed important that it happened today. Jo pressed her lips together, fighting the impulse to interrogate him.
He looked up briefly and she caught a stronger flash of emotion in his intense gaze before he looked away again. Was it anger? ‘I didn’t want to spoil Ivy’s Christmas. I—I mean—her guardians knew that I was on my way, but I realised it would be intrusive.’
She wondered how Hugh Strickland would react if he knew that the locals were gossiping about him.
His eyes sought hers again. ‘I suddenly thought how it would be for Ivy to have a strange man turning up on her doorstep on Christmas Eve, claiming—’ He broke off in mid-sentence.
Claiming…what? Jo’s tense hands tightened around the package and the unicorn let out a sharp squeak. She was so uptight that she jumped.
‘So what will you do now?’ she asked.
‘I’ve found a room at the pub.’
‘Oh…good.’
‘I’ll stay there till Christmas is over and I’ll go back to the Martens’ place on Boxing Day.’
Jo thrust the unicorn back into his hands. ‘If you’re still hoping to see Ivy, you must keep this. You’ll need it.’
Their hands were touching now, and as they both held the package she was exquisitely aware of Hugh’s strong, warm fingers covering hers.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I came here tonight because I wanted to give this back to you in time for your family’s Christmas. There won’t be the same pressing urgency for a gift for Ivy once Christmas is over. And this was really meant for one of your sisters.’
He was looking directly into her eyes and making her heart pound.
Their gazes remained linked for longer than was necessary, and Jo knew she would always remember the shimmering intimacy of his green eyes as he looked at her then and the heated touch of his hands on hers.
It was almost depressing to realise that memories of this handsome stranger were going to haunt her nights and linger in her daydreams…for ages into the future…
‘Please keep the unicorn.’ She felt so breathless her voice was hardly more than a whisper. ‘Believe me, little girls always like presents.’
He sent her a quick smile. ‘If you insist. I’ll trust your deep understanding of what little girls like. The only one I know well is my goddaughter, but she’s only six months old, so our communication has been somewhat limited.’
‘Believe me, where presents are concerned, little girls are no different from big girls; they never get tired of receiving gifts.’
His eyes flashed confident amusement.
‘But I’m sure you already know that.’
‘Indeed.’
But then he seemed to remember something else and almost immediately his smile faded.
And the spell that had kept their hands linked was broken. Jo stepped back, leaving him with the unicorn, and Hugh looked away.
She drew a quick nervous breath. Calm down, Jo. Stay cool. You’re getting overheated about nothing. Nothing. He hasn’t come back to see you and he’ll be leaving again any moment now.
‘There’s another thing I wanted to ask you, Jo,’ he said softly.
Her head jerked up.
‘I wonder if I can possibly impose on you one more time?’
Caught by surprise, she found herself blustering. ‘How? W-what would you like me to do?’
‘I want you to come with me when I go back to Agate Downs.’
Crumbs. ‘Why me? I don’t understand.’
‘You already know Ivy—and you have so many brothers and sisters. I have no experience with young children. I can’t even remember what it’s like to be five.’
She tried to speak as casually as he had. ‘So you think I can help you somehow?’
A muscle in his throat worked. ‘Yes—if you could spare the time. I get the impression you’ve hit it off with Ivy already.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not an expert at managing small children,’ she warned him. ‘You’ve seen how naughty Tilly can be.’
‘But you’re used to them. You’re relaxed around them.’
‘Well…’ Jo’s immediate impulse was to help him, but a nagging inner warning was hard to ignore. ‘It might be helpful if I understood a little more about this situation,’ she said carefully.
He nodded and then he looked directly into her eyes again. ‘The situation’s quite straightforward really. Ivy’s my daughter.’
Right. Jo tried to swallow. So now she knew for sure. Did this mean Hugh was married? She glanced at his hands. The only ring he wore was the signet ring on the little finger of his left hand.
Sensing the direction of her gaze, he smiled wryly, lifted his hand and waggled his bare fourth finger. ‘No, I’m not married. I only dated my daughter’s mother for a while. And…her mother is dead.’
‘Oh, how sad.’ This changed everything. All at once Jo was adrift on a sea of sympathy. She said quickly, ‘Why don’t we sit down for a bit?’
He pulled out a wooden chair on the other side of the kitchen table. ‘If I’m asking you to help with Ivy I should be perfectly honest with you,’ he said. ‘I only learned of her existence a short time ago.’
Jo watched the barely perceptible squaring of his shoulders and she sensed that he was working very hard to keep his emotions under control. ‘That must have been a terrible shock.’ Her kind-hearted urges were going into overdrive now. ‘How come you only learned about Ivy recently?’
Hugh stiffened and she guessed she was delving deeper than he wanted to go. But he met her gaze. ‘Her mother wrote a letter but it never reached me and she died shortly after Ivy’s birth.’
Jo thought of the dear little bright-eyed Ivy who’d danced about their shop like a winsome fairy while her guardian had selected groceries. How sad that her mother never knew her.
How sad that Hugh still hadn’t met her. Jo blinked away the threat of tears.
‘It gets worse.’ Hugh spoke very quietly. ‘Apparently Linley suffered from severe postnatal depression and—and she committed suicide.’
‘No!’ A horrified exclamation burst from Jo. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she added quickly. Then she asked gently, ‘And you never knew?’
‘I thought she had died in a car accident,’ he said. ‘There was never any mention of a baby.’
Jo wondered if he was being so forthright to draw her into the task of helping him. Well, it was working. It would be hard to turn him down now, especially when his eyes held hers with such compelling intensity.
‘Ivy’s grandmother died recently and she left instructions in her will, demanding that I claim my daughter,’ he said. ‘Of course I wanted to do the right thing by the child, so I came dashing over here. But I’ve realised now that my timing is off. On Christmas Eve children are expecting Santa Claus, not strange men claiming to be their father.’
‘Ivy might like you better than Santa Claus,’ Jo suggested gently.
He sent her a sharp, searching look. ‘So you think I’ve done the wrong thing?’
Jo gulped. This gorgeous, confident man was acting as if he really needed her advice. She sent him an encouraging grin. ‘No, I’m sure you’ve made the right decision. I always believe it’s best to follow your instincts.’
‘So will you come with me when I collect Ivy?’
Her instincts screamed yes and Jo didn’t hesitate to take her own advice.
‘Of course I will. I’ve got a real soft spot for Ivy and, as you said, with six younger brothers and sisters I’ve got to be something of an expert with kids.’
‘Absolutely.’ Hugh glanced at the clock on the wall near the stove and jumped to his feet. ‘It’s getting late and I’ve taken up far too much of your time.’
Jo wondered if she should warn him about Ivy’s scars, but perhaps that would only make him more anxious about meeting her. Or maybe he already knew. It might be best not to make a big deal about them.
Standing, she shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and shrugged in an effort to look unconcerned. ‘So we have a date for Boxing Day?’
He nodded stiffly. ‘Thanks. I’d really appreciate your help.’
Then he turned and walked to the kitchen door. Jo followed.
‘I hope you’ll be comfortable at the pub,’ she said as they stepped into the hallway. ‘It’s not very flash.’
‘It looks perfectly adequate.’
‘A bit lonely for Christmas.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ Suddenly he looked very English, sort of stiff upper lipped and uncomfortable, as if he couldn’t stand sentimental females who made fusses about Christmas.
Her mother appeared in the hall. ‘Did I hear you say you’re staying at the pub, Mr Strickland?’
Jo wanted to cringe at her mother’s intrusion, but Hugh didn’t seem to mind.
‘Yes. It’s basic but quite adequate.’
‘You’re not having Christmas dinner there, are you?’
‘They’ve booked me in. Why? Is there a problem?’
‘Oh, not the pub for Christmas.’ Margie sounded shocked and she thumped her hands on her hips in a gesture of indignation. ‘We can’t let you do that.’
‘I’m sure the food will be fine.’ Hugh was beginning to sound defensive now. ‘I’m told they do a fine roast turkey.’
‘But you’ll be all on your own. At Christmas.’
Jo could tell where this was heading, but it would look a bit weird if she suddenly leapt to Hugh’s rescue by insisting that he would be fine at the pub.
‘And you’re so far from home,’ her mother said. ‘No, Mr Strickland, I won’t hear of it. You must join us tomorrow. I know we’re not flash, but at least there’s a crowd of us. You won’t feel lonely here and we’re going to have plenty of food. I hate to think of anyone being alone at Christmas.’
Hugh’s expression was circumspect—a polite mask—and Jo waited for him to excuse himself with his characteristic, well-mannered graciousness.
But to her amazement, he said, ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Berry. Thank you, I’d love to come.’
Hugh arrived punctually at noon the next day, bearing two beautifully chilled bottles of champagne.
Jo’s dad, who drank beer, eyed them dubiously, but her mum was effusive.
‘Nothing like a glass of bubbles to make the day special,’ she said, beaming at him. ‘But don’t let me have any till I’ve got all the food on the table or I’ll forget to serve something. Nick,’ she called to her eldest son, ‘can you find a bucket and fill it with ice? We don’t want to let these bottles warm up and there’s not a speck of room in the fridge.’
Jo had given herself several stern lectures while getting ready that morning. She’d chosen a cool summery dress of fine white cotton edged with dainty lace, and she’d applied her make-up with excruciating care. But, in spite of her efforts to look her best, she was determined to stay calm and unaffected by Hugh’s visit.
She was so busy helping her mother to get all the food out of the kitchen and on to the table that she had to leave Hugh to the tender mercies of her father and brothers, but she heard snatches of their conversation as she went back and forth.
‘Hugh Strickland,’ said her dad. ‘Your name rings a bell. Should I have heard of you?’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
‘What line of work are you in?’
‘I’m in business—er—transport.’
‘In the UK?’
‘That’s right.’
Her dad mumbled knowingly. ‘I almost got a job in transport once—driving buses—but I wasn’t fit for it. My chest was crushed, you see. Mining accident. Lungs punctured, so they pensioned me off.’
Hugh made sympathetic noises.
Jo chewed her lip and wondered if she should try to butt in and change the conversation. Her dad tended to carry on a bit.
But if Hugh was bored, he showed no sign. He was fitting in like a local. Clutching his beer in its inelegant Styrofoam cooler, he relaxed in a squatter’s chair and looked surprisingly comfortable.
The family always gathered for Christmas lunch on a screened-in veranda shaded by an ancient mango tree. This was the cool side of the house, but Jo wondered if an Englishman would realise that. It was still very hot, even in the shade.
‘Now, Hugh,’ said Mum after everyone had found a place to sit and the family had been through the ritual of pulling crackers and donning unbecoming paper hats. ‘You’ll see we don’t have a hot dinner.’
‘That’s perfectly understandable.’ Hugh smiled bravely from beneath a pink and purple crêpe paper crown, which should have made him look foolish but somehow managed to look perfectly fine.
Her mum waved a full glass of champagne towards the table. ‘There’s four different kinds of salad and there’s sliced leg ham, cold roast pork and our pièce de résistance is the platter of prawns and bugs.’
‘Bugs?’ Hugh looked a tad worried.
‘Moreton Bay bugs,’ Jo hastened to explain, pointing to the platter in the table’s centre. ‘They’re a type of crayfish. If you like seafood, you’ll love these.’
Hugh did like them. Very much. In fact he loved everything on the table and ate as much seafood and salad as her brothers, which was saying something. And then he found room to sample the mince pies.
And, not surprisingly, he was an expert dinner party guest, an interesting conversationalist, who also encouraged Nick and Brad to regale them all with hilarious accounts of the antics of the ringers on the cattle stations where they worked. And he enjoyed listening while the younger children chimed in with their stories too.
Knowing how tense Hugh had been yesterday, Jo was surprised by how relaxed he seemed now. No doubt he was charming her family to ensure her commitment to helping him.
She decided to relax. She’d been working hard all year in the city and had put in long hours in the shop during the past week and now she decided to let go a little and to enjoy the fine icy champagne. How in heaven’s name had Hugh unearthed such lovely French champagne in the Bindi Creek pub?
Everyone raved about Jo’s Christmas pudding of brandy-flavoured ice cream filled with dried fruit, nuts and cherries and afterwards her mum announced that she was going to have a little lie down. And everyone agreed that was exactly what she deserved.
‘Jo, you take Hugh out on to the back veranda for coffee,’ she suggested, ‘while this mob gets cracking in the kitchen.’
With coffee cups in hand, Jo and Hugh retired to the veranda. They leant against the railing, looking out over the tops of straggly plumbago bushes to the sunburnt back paddock and it was good to stand and stretch for a while; Jo felt she had eaten and drunk too much.
The air was warm and slightly sticky and it hung about them like a silent and invisible veil. Jo would have liked to run down to the creek, to shed her clothes and take a dip in the cool green water. She’d done it often before, in private, but she found herself wondering what it would be like to skinny-dip with Hugh. The very thought sent her heartbeats haywire.
They didn’t speak at first and she felt a bit self-conscious to be alone with him again after sharing him with her noisy family. The slanting rays of the afternoon sun lit up the dark hair above his right ear, lending it a gilded sheen and highlighting his cheekbone and one side of his rather aristocratic nose.
Eventually he said, ‘Your family are fascinating, aren’t they?’
‘Do you really think so? It must be rather overpowering to meet them all in one fell swoop.’
He smiled as he shook his head. ‘I think you’re very lucky to have grown up with such a happy brood. They’re so relaxed.’
She shrugged. ‘They have their moments. Christmas is always fun.’
‘I’m impressed that they’ll take in a stranger, knowing next to nothing about him.’
Too true, she thought. Hugh had shared rather personal details about Ivy in his bid to enlist her help, but she knew next to nothing about the rest of his life.
‘You don’t come from a big family?’ she asked.
‘Not in terms of brothers and sisters. I’m an only child. I guess that’s why I’m always fascinated by big families.’
‘Sometimes I envy only children. It would be nice, now and then, to have that kind of privacy. Then again, I spend most of my time these days working in the city.’
His right eyebrow lifted, forming a question mark, but, unlike her, he didn’t give voice to his curiosity, so there was an awkward moment where they were both aware that the rhythm of their conversation had tripped.
Hugh stood staring into the distance.
‘Are you thinking about Ivy?’ Jo asked.
At first he seemed a little startled by her question, but then he smiled. ‘How did you guess?’
‘Feminine intuition.’ She drained her coffee cup. ‘Seriously, it must have come as a shock to have a five-year-old dropped into your life.’
‘It was a shock all right.’ Taking a final sip of coffee, he set his empty cup and saucer on a nearby table and, with his usual gentlemanly manners, he took Jo’s cup and set it there too.
‘I feel so unprepared for meeting Ivy,’ he said. ‘I don’t like being unprepared. How the hell does a bachelor suddenly come to terms with caring for a child?’
‘He hires a nanny?’
‘Well, yes,’ he admitted with a wry grimace. ‘A nanny will be essential. But I’ll still have to do the whole fatherhood thing.’
‘At least Ivy’s not a baby. She can talk to you and express her needs. I’m sure you’ll become great mates with her.’
‘Mates?’ He couldn’t have looked more stunned if she’d suggested that Ivy would take over as CEO of his business.
‘Good friends,’ she amended.
‘With a five-year-old little girl?’
Jo thought of the warm lifelong friendship she’d shared with her mum. ‘Why not?’
Hugh shook his head. ‘A boy might have been easier. At least I have inside knowledge of how little boys tick.’
‘Don’t be sexist. There are lots of little girls who like the same things as boys. Grace and Tilly love to play cricket and go fishing. So do I, for that matter.’
‘Do you?’ He regarded her with a look that was both amused and delighted, but then he frowned and with his elbows resting on the veranda railing he stared down into the plumbago bush. ‘But what if Ivy turns on a horrendous scene? It would be horrible if she cried all the way home on the flight back to London.’
‘Goodness,’ cried Jo. ‘You’re a walking advertisement for the power of positive thinking, aren’t you?’
For a moment he looked put out, and then he smiled. ‘You’re right. I’m normally on top of things, so I guess I should be able to handle this.’ He sent Jo an extra devilish smile. ‘With a little expert help.’
Gulp. ‘Just remember Ivy is your flesh and blood,’ she said. ‘She’s probably a chip off the old block.’
‘Which would mean she’s charming and well-mannered, even-tempered, good-looking and highly intelligent.’
‘You missed conceited.’
Hugh chuckled softly and then he glanced up and seemed suddenly fascinated by something above her head. ‘Is that mistletoe hanging above you?’
Jo tipped her head back. Sure enough there was a bunch of greenery dangling from a hook in the veranda roof. ‘I can probably blame one of my brothers for that.’ She rolled her eyes, trying to make light of it, but as she looked at Hugh again his smile lingered and something about it sent shivers skittering through her.
How silly. This reserved Englishman had no intention of kissing her. And, even if he did, why should she get all shivery at the thought of a quick Christmas peck?
But her jumping insides paid absolutely no attention to such common sense.
Hugh gave an easy shrug of his shoulders and his eyes held hers as he murmured ever so softly in his super-sexy English voice, ‘Tradition is terribly important, Jo. And you’re under the mistletoe and it is Christmas.’
Her stomach began a drum roll.
CHAPTER THREE
SOMETHING deep and dark in Hugh’s gaze made Jo’s pulses leap to frantic life.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, calm down, girl.
Why was she getting so worked up about a friendly Christmas kiss?
Because Hugh is gorgeous!
She took a step closer to him and Hugh’s hand cupped her elbow as if to support her. She hoped he didn’t notice that she was trembling.
And then, without warning, he dipped his head. ‘Happy Christmas, Jo.’
She pursed her lips for a quick peck and let her body tilt forward. But the anticipated peck didn’t take place.
Instead Hugh’s lips settled warmly on hers and suddenly he was kissing her. Properly. Or she was kissing him? It no longer mattered. All that mattered was that it was a full-on kiss.
She could blame the champagne. Or the heat. No, she would blame Hugh, because he was far too gorgeous and far too expert at kissing. There had to be some logical reason to explain how a simple mistletoe kiss became so thorough and lasted for such a long and lovely time.
Yes, she would blame Hugh because at some point his hands slipped around her waist, and then it was incredibly easy and seemed perfectly OK to nestle in against him. His arms bound her close against his strong, intensely masculine body and his mouth, tasting faintly of coffee, delved hers expertly and with daring intimacy.
Without warning, a flood of unexpected yearning washed over her. Her insides went into meltdown. Soft, hungry little sounds rumbled low in her throat as she pushed closer into Hugh.
Oh, man. Never had she experienced a kiss that was so instantly shattering.
The sound of footsteps brought her plummeting back to earth. With a little whimper of disappointment, she broke away.
Hugh let her go and he stood very still with his shoulders squared and his hands by his sides, watching her intently and not quite smiling. Only his accelerated breathing betrayed that he’d been as aroused by the kiss as she had.
Taking a deep breath, Jo shot a scowl back over her shoulder to see who’d interrupted them.
It was Bill and Eric and their mouths were hanging wide open.
‘What’s eating you two?’ she demanded angrily. ‘Haven’t you ever seen someone get kissed under the mistletoe before?’
Eric’s face was sheepish. ‘Not like that.’
‘Get lost,’ she said, feeling flustered. ‘Finish those dishes.’
They vanished. Which left her with Hugh, who’d gone quiet again. In fact he was looking so uncomfortable that she wondered suddenly if he regretted the kiss. Damn him. He’d probably only kissed her to get closer to her—to ensure that she would accompany him to Agate Downs.
But he’d been so passionate, so involved.
Good grief. She was trying to read too much into the kiss. Hugh had simply reacted to the Christmas tradition. And she’d been carried away. Look how calm he was now.
Nevertheless, their easy conversation was over. They carried their coffee cups back to the kitchen and soon afterwards Hugh said polite farewells and set off for the pub. He left without any special word for Jo.
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Barbara Hannay
Should Jo seriously consider Hugh’s request? Could she go to London and help Hugh with little Ivy for just two short weeks?
The offer was very tempting. If she tried to balance the pros and cons, there were so many pros…. Two weeks in London…doing a good deed for Ivy’s sake….
What about the cons? There had to be reasons why she shouldn’t go.
Hugh.
Hugh and his gorgeousness. Two weeks with him and she’d be head over heels in love with the man. Even though he would remain polite and charming, she would fall all the way in love, and she’d come home an emotional wreck.
Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy. Visit her Web site at www.barbarahannay.com (http://www.barbarahannay.com)
Books by Barbara Hannay
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3841—THE CATTLEMAN’S ENGLISH ROSE* (#litres_trial_promo)
3845—THE BLIND DATE SURPRISE* (#litres_trial_promo)
3849—THE MIRRABROOK MARRIAGE* (#litres_trial_promo)
Christmas Gift: A Family
Barbara Hannay
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u1882e2d1-b27e-588a-a688-5298f0af50c3)
CHAPTER TWO (#ue75c596a-ba3c-58fb-9bef-b2e8c48f6c44)
CHAPTER THREE (#ud71fce73-e4ec-5bdb-83a9-1b8b40621fa3)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
CHRISTMAS EVE. Oh, joy! For Jo Berry it meant sitting behind a shop counter in Bindi Creek, staring out through the dusty front window at the heat haze shimmering on the almost empty main street, and trying not to think about all the fabulous parties she was missing back in the city.
She was especially trying not to think about the office party tonight. Mind you, she had a feeling things might get out of hand. Her friend, Renee, was determined to nail a big career boost by impressing the boss but, apart from buying something clingy and skimpy to wear, her idea of pitching for a promotion usually involved clearing her desk of sharp objects.
Jo still clung to the belief that a girl could smash her way through the glass ceiling via non-stop slog and professionalism, without the aid of deep cleavage, or tying the boss up with tinsel.
Still, she would have liked to be in Brisbane tonight. She enjoyed her friends’ company and it was great fun to be on the fringes of an occasional outrageous party.
It wasn’t her friends’ wild antics that had stopped her from partying in the city. Every Christmas she took her annual leave and travelled home to help out in her family’s shop.
And no, she wasn’t a goody two-shoes, but honestly, what else could a girl do when she had a dad on an invalid pension and a mum who was run off her feet trying to play Santa Claus to half a dozen children while preparing Christmas dinner, plus running Bindi Creek’s only general store during the pre-Christmas rush?
Not that anyone actually rushed in Bindi Creek.
At least…no one usually rushed.
Nothing exciting happened.
And yet…right now there was someone in a very great hurry.
From her perch on a stool behind the counter, Jo watched with interest as a black four-wheel drive scorched down the street, screeched to an abrupt and noisy halt in the middle of the road and then veered sharply to park on the wrong side of the road—directly outside the shop.
A lanky dark-haired stranger jumped out.
A very handsome, lanky dark-haired stranger.
Oh, wow!
He was quite possibly the most gorgeous man Jo had ever seen, not counting movie stars, Olympic athletes or European princes in her favourite celebrity magazines.
In spite of the layer of dust that covered his vehicle and the intense, sweltering December heat, he was dressed in city clothes—tailored camel-coloured trousers and a white business shirt, although as a concession to the heat his shirt was open at the neck and his long sleeves were rolled back to his elbows to reveal lightly tanned, muscular forearms.
Jo slid from her stool and tucked a wing of brown hair behind one ear as she stood waiting for the ping of the bell over the shop door. Please, please come in, you gorgeous thing.
But the newcomer lingered on the footpath, studying her mum’s window display.
Jo couldn’t help staring at him.
As he stood with his wide shoulders relaxed and his hands resting lightly on his lean hips, she decided there was a certain elegant charm in the way his soft dark hair had been ruffled and messed into spikes. And there was definite appeal in the very masculine way he rubbed his lightly stubbled jaw as he studied her mother’s dreadful tinsel-draped arrangement of tinned plum puddings, boxes of shortbread and packets of chocolate-covered sultanas.
He lifted his gaze and peered inside the shop and, before Jo could duck, his eyes—light blue or green, she couldn’t be sure—met hers. Darn, he’d caught her staring.
She felt her cheeks grow hot as he stared back. Then he smiled. But it was rather a stiff smile and she sensed instantly that he was searching for something. By the time he entered the shop her curiosity was fully aroused.
‘Good afternoon,’ she said warmly. He was close enough now for her to see that his eyes were green rather than blue and fringed by the blackest of lashes. ‘Can I help you?’
This time his smile was of the slightly crooked variety, the kind that should come with a health warning about dangers to women.
‘I’ll just look around for a moment,’ he said, casting a doubtful glance at the bags of sugar and flour and the shelves of tinned food that filled the store.
As soon as he spoke Jo realised he was English. His voice was deep and rich—refined and mellow—reminding her of actors in Jane Austen movies and men who lived in stately homes surrounded by green acres of parkland and edged by forest.
‘Look around as much as you like,’ she said, trying to sound casual, as if divine Englishmen were a regular part of life in Bindi Creek. And then, because he wasn’t a local, she added, ‘Just sing out if I can be of any help.’
At times like this, when the shop wasn’t busy, she usually amused herself by trying to guess what a customer might buy. What was this guy after? Engine oil? Shaving cream? Condoms?
From the far side of the shop he called, ‘Do you have any dolls? Perhaps a baby doll?’
Good grief.
‘I want the best possible gift for a little girl.’ It was a command rather than a request. ‘Little girls still play with dolls, don’t they?’
‘Some of them do. But I’m sorry, we don’t have any dolls here.’
He frowned. ‘You must have little tea sets? Or perhaps a music box?’
In a general store in the middle of the outback? Where did he think he was? A toy shop? ‘Sorry, we don’t have anything like that.’
‘Nothing suitable at all?’
Think, Jo, think… She walked towards him along the aisles, checking the shelves as critically as he had. Food, household items and pet supplies, a few basic hardware products, a tiny collection of paperback novels… ‘I assume you’re looking for a Christmas present?’
‘Yes, for a little girl. She’s five years old.’
It was the same age as her little sister, Tilly. Jo shook her head. ‘I’m afraid you’re not going to have much luck here.’
She pointed to the old-fashioned glass jars on the counter. ‘We have some fancy sweets and chocolates especially for Christmas.’
‘I guess they might do.’ He groaned and ran long fingers through his ruffled hair. Jo caught the glint of gold.
‘I’d better get something as a fallback.’ He began to pick up items at random—throw-away pens, Christmas decorations, a wooden ruler and a school notebook.
Thinking of the beautiful baby doll with a complete change of clothes that she’d bought in Brisbane for Tilly, Jo decided he definitely needed help. But given their limited stock it wasn’t going to be easy.
How intriguing…What was this man doing out here in the middle of nowhere?
‘How far are you travelling?’ she asked.
‘To Agate Downs.’
‘Oh, I know that property. The Martens’ place. It’s not far. So you’re looking for a present for the little girl they’re caring for, are you?’
He looked startled. ‘You know her?’ He moved closer, his expression more intense.
‘Ivy? This is a small town. Sure, I’ve met her. Do you know what she likes?’
His throat worked. ‘No, I’ve never met her.’
‘She’s a lovely little thing.’ Jo was being totally honest. She’d been quite smitten by the little girl. She had the most exquisite face Jo had ever seen on a child and her prettiness was all the more striking because it contrasted so strongly with the ugly scars on her arm. The poor little mite had been terribly burned in an accident a few years ago. ‘Ivy’s been in here to shop with Ellen Marten a couple of times this week.’
‘Really?’
The eagerness in his voice and his eyes was perplexing. Jo looked at him sharply. Was she getting carried away or was there a resemblance between this man and the child? Ivy’s hair was dark and her eyes were clear green like his.
What was going on? Could he be Ivy’s father? Jo didn’t like to be too nosy, so she hadn’t asked the Martens about Ivy’s parents, but she’d heard rumours about a tragedy and there’d actually been talk about an estranged father coming to claim her.
Her customer sighed and gave a little shake of his head. ‘I’d completely forgotten that a little girl at Christmas needs a present.’
She felt a rush of sympathy. Come on, Jo, do something to help.
‘Would you like some of these?’ she asked, lifting the lid on a huge jar of chocolates wrapped in red, silver and gold foil. ‘Ivy’s quite partial to them.’ Just yesterday she’d slipped the little girl a chocolate when Ellen Marten wasn’t looking and she’d been rewarded by a beaming smile.
‘I’ll take the lot,’ he said, looking exceptionally pleased. ‘And I’ll have a couple of tins of the shortbread and a bag of those nuts.’
Jo lifted the metal scoop and said, ‘Perhaps I could gift wrap these things to make them look a little more festive?’
She was rewarded by another of his dangerous smiles. ‘That would be wonderful.’
Leaning one hip against the counter, he folded his arms across his chest and watched her as she began to wrap his purchases in red sparkly paper. She felt self-conscious as his green eyes watched her hands at work, cutting and folding paper, reaching for sticky tape and then measuring lengths of shiny silver and gold ribbon.
If it had been any other customer she would have chattered away, but she was too absorbed by the mystery of his connection with Ivy.
He didn’t seem in a hurry so she took her time making the gifts as pretty as she could, adding a sprinkle of glitter and a tiny white fluffy snowman on the chocolates.
‘Thank you so much, that’s terrific.’ He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, extracted several notes and held them out.
She noticed the glint of gold again. He was wearing a signet ring, engraved with a crest and worn on his little finger.
‘You will charge extra for all the trouble you’ve gone to, won’t you?’ he said.
‘Not when it’s Christmas.’ She sent him a quick smile as she handed him his change.
She expected him to leave then, but he continued to stand there, looking at the bright parcels on the counter with a long distance look in his eyes, as if he were lost in thought.
‘Was there something else?’ she asked tentatively. She wouldn’t mind at all if he wanted to stay longer. Nothing else like him was likely to happen to her this Christmas.
‘If only I could take something more exciting, something Ivy would really love,’ he said and he glanced behind him to the slightly dusty row of reading material and reached for a comic book. ‘What about this?’
An Action Man comic? Jo did her best not to look shocked. ‘I don’t think Ivy’s started school yet,’ she suggested gently. ‘I’d be surprised if she could read.’
He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘It would have been so simple to pick up a toy in Sydney. There isn’t time to ring a city toy shop and fly something out, is there?’
‘Well…no. I shouldn’t think so…’ Goodness, if he was prepared to hire an aircraft, this must be important. He must be Ivy’s father—and he must also be a man who made sure he got what he wanted. No wonder a box of chocolates seemed unsatisfactory, even with the pretty wrapping.
‘There are no other shops around here?’
‘No toy shops, I’m afraid. Not unless you want to backtrack about two hundred kilometres.’
With an air of resignation he began to gather up his parcels, but he moved without haste.
‘You really want to make a big impression on Ivy, don’t you?’ Jo suggested.
He nodded. ‘It’s vitally important.’
There was an intensity in his voice and a sadness in his eyes that sent an unexpected tiny pain sweeping through her. How awful for him if he was Ivy’s father, but had never met his daughter. And where was Ivy’s mother? What tragedy had occurred? Jo’s own family were very close and her soft heart ached for him.
‘Well…thank you very much for all your help,’ he said, turning to go.
Oh, crumbs. She felt rotten about sending him away with such inappropriate presents. ‘Look,’ she said to his back. ‘If this present is really important, I might be able to help you.’
He turned and looked at her, his green eyes intense. Fuzzy heat flashed through her.
‘I have a mountain of toys that I’ve bought for my brothers and sisters,’ she said. ‘Probably more than I’ll need. If—if you’d like to take a look at them, you’re welcome. We should be able to find some little toy to add to the chocolates.’
His green eyes studied her and she tried to look calm and unaffected, but then he did the crooked smile thing and her insides went crazy.
‘That’s incredibly kind of you.’
‘I’ll just call one of my brothers to come and mind the shop,’ she said. ‘Wait here.’ And, before he could protest, she hurried away through a door at the back of the shop.
It led directly into their house.
Down the central hallway she rushed, heading straight for the backyard where she knew from the boys’ shouts that they were playing cricket. And with every hasty step she fought off doubts.
She knew it was impulsive, but somehow this was something she had to do. Poor little Ivy deserved a proper Christmas present. And of course spending more time with Ivy’s gorgeous father was simply a chore to be endured…
She managed to convince her brother Bill that he was needed and then she almost ran back through the house. She was a touch breathless as she re-entered the shop.
The Englishman was still there, looking strangely out of place beside a mountain of dried dog food. He seemed to be making polite conversation with old Hilda Bligh, the town gossip.
‘There you are, Jo,’ said Hilda. ‘I was just telling Mr Strickland that if the shop’s empty we usually holler until someone comes.’
Goodness, Hilda already knew the man’s name. No doubt the old girl had been treated to one of his dangerously attractive smiles.
‘Sorry, Mrs Bligh, you know what Christmas Eve can be like. Here’s Bill. He’ll look after you.’
Jo glanced towards the Englishman, feeling rather foolish because she was about to invite him into her home and she didn’t know the first thing about him. ‘Can you come this way?’ she asked him.
‘It was very nice to meet you, Mr Strickland,’ called Hilda Bligh, smiling after him coyly.
Jo led the man through the doorway and into the shabby central passage that ran the full length of their house.
‘So you’re Mr Strickland?’ she said once they were clear of the shop.
‘Yes, my name’s Hugh—Hugh Strickland. And I believe you’re Jo.’
Jo nodded.
‘Short for Josephine?’
‘Joanna.’ She held out her hand. ‘Joanna Berry.’ Somehow it seemed important to shake hands—to make this exchange businesslike. But it wasn’t exactly businesslike to have her hand clasped warmly by Hugh Strickland.
‘I take it Hilda Bligh filled you in?’ she asked.
‘Indeed and with astonishing attention to detail.’
She groaned. ‘I hate to think what she’s told you.’
Hugh smiled. ‘I don’t think she told me what you scored on your spelling test in the second grade, but I believe I know just about everything else.’
‘I’m sorry. Outback towns are so—’
‘Exposing?’
Jo nodded her head and sighed. This really was the weirdest situation.
‘Yes, well…’ She took a deep breath. ‘We’d better take a look at these toys. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you into my bedroom.’
‘Really?’
He didn’t look shocked—he was too smooth for that—but Jo knew he was surprised. She made a joke of it. ‘Of course I don’t usually invite strange men into my room within minutes of meeting them.’
Amusement sparkled in his eyes. ‘Mrs Bligh didn’t mention it.’
Thank heavens he had a sense of humour.
‘I’ve hidden the presents in there, you see, and I can’t bring them out or one of the children might find them.’ She turned and led him down the passage.
But, despite her matter-of-fact air, she was suddenly nervous. It didn’t seem possible that she was actually doing this. She, ordinary, average Jo Berry, was taking a man who was a mixture of every gorgeous British actor she’d ever swooned over into her dreadful bedroom.
It was more than dreadful. She’d taken all her favourite bits and pieces to decorate her flat in Brisbane, so her room was as bare and as ugly as a prison cell.
It held nothing more than a simple iron bed with a worn and faded cover, bare timber floorboards, a scratched, unvarnished nightstand and an ancient wardrobe, once polished silky oak, but painted creamy-orange by her father during one of Mum’s decorating drives. The old Holland blind that covered her window was faded with age and had a watermark stain where rain had got in during a storm several summers ago.
‘Perhaps this isn’t a good idea,’ Hugh said. ‘I can’t take gifts from your family.’
‘But isn’t it vitally important to have a present for little Ivy?’
‘Well…’
Without further hesitation, Jo dragged her suitcase out from under the bed. ‘Luckily I haven’t wrapped these yet,’ she said, looking up at him over her shoulder.
And he was smiling again—that dangerous smile—with his eyes fixed directly on the expanding gap between her T-shirt and her jeans.
Heaving the suitcase on to her bed, she began hauling gifts out to pile on her bedspread.
What she was looking for were the stocking fillers she’d bought to help her mother out—small fluffy toys, plastic spiders, dress-up jewellery, fishing lures, puzzles…
But she more or less had to get everything out because these things were mixed in with the main presents—the action figures and video games for Bill and Eric; the books and CDs for the older boys; the ‘magic’ magnetic drawing board and hair accessories for Grace and the baby doll for Tilly.
She glanced up at Hugh and felt a pang of dismay when she saw the look in his eyes as he stared at the doll.
As baby dolls went, it was perfect. She’d been thrilled when she’d found it. It came in a little cane carry basket with a pink quilted lining and there was also a feeding bottle and a change of clothes.
‘You have quite a treasure trove here,’ he said.
‘I need to negotiate a bank loan every year just to cope with Christmas,’ she joked.
‘Six brothers and sisters…’
‘Mrs Bligh told you that too?’
He nodded and smiled, then looked back at the bed. ‘I’d pay you anything for that doll.’
Jo thought of Ivy. She was such a sweet little thing and for a fleeting moment she almost weakened. But then she came to her senses. ‘Sorry. Not possible. That’s earmarked for Tilly.’ She reached for a fluffy lavender-hued unicorn. ‘What about this? Unicorns are all the rage with the pre-school set.’
One dark eyebrow lifted. ‘I would never have guessed. I’m completely out of my depth when it comes to little girls.’
‘Or there’s this—’ She reached for some multicoloured plastic bangles, but stopped when she heard the sound of giggling on the other side of the door. Her stomach plunged.
Tiptoeing to the door, she listened. Yes, there was another burst of giggles.
Carefully, she opened the door a crack and found Tilly and Eric crouching there, their eyes dancing with merriment. ‘Get lost, you two.’
‘Bill says you’ve got a man in there,’ said Tilly.
‘That’s none of your business. Now run away.’
Eric bumped against the door as if he wanted to push it open, but Jo blocked it with her hip.
‘Is he your boyfriend?’ asked Tilly.
‘No, of course not. Now scram, both of you!’
Face aflame, Jo slipped back through the narrow opening, slammed the door shut and locked it again. Embarrassed, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, hardly daring to look at Hugh, but when she did she saw that he was standing in the middle of the room with his hands thrust in his trouser pockets, wearing an expression that was a complicated mixture of amusement and impatience.
‘I do appreciate your efforts.’ He gallantly remained silent about the antics of her siblings. ‘But I think I’d better be off.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Will you take the unicorn?’
‘Are you sure you can spare it?’
‘Absolutely. Right now, I’d be happy if you took all the presents. I might yet disown my entire family.’
He flashed her a smile. ‘Just the unicorn would be terrific, thank you.’
Jo thrust the fluffy toy into a non-see-through pink plastic bag and handed it to him. ‘Done.’
As she hastily transferred everything back into the suitcase and dropped the lid, Hugh reached for his wallet again.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No money. It’s for Ivy.’ Quickly she opened the door.
‘I must say I’m terribly grateful to you,’ Hugh said. ‘I would have hated to turn up at Agate Downs on Christmas Eve without the right gift.’
His smile and his confession, delivered in his beautifully modulated, polite English voice, had the strangest effect on Jo. She had to fight off a weird impulse to bar the door so he couldn’t leave.
‘Well,’ she said, pushing such silliness out of her head and turning briskly businesslike again. ‘I mustn’t keep you any longer, Mr Strickland. I’m sure you need to be on your way and I’d better relieve Bill in the shop.’
He hurried off then. After delivering one last quick but sincere thank you he made a hasty farewell, heading out the front door in record time.
Leaping into his vehicle, he pulled out from the kerb at the same reckless speed with which he’d arrived.
And Jo was left feeling strangely deflated.
Her thoughts returned to where she’d been before he’d arrived. Remembering her friends at the office Christmas party in the city, all having a ball.
While Hugh Strickland, possibly the dishiest man in the world and as close to Prince Charming as Jo was ever likely to meet, was riding off in his glittering coach—well, OK, his four-wheel drive. Roaring down a bush track.
Never to be seen again.
CHAPTER TWO
BINDI CREEK had its last-minute pre-Christmas rush shortly after Hugh left. It seemed to Jo that almost every household in the township, as well as some from outlying properties, suddenly remembered that the shop would be closed for the next two days and that they needed items vital for Christmas.
No doubt it was paranoia, but Jo couldn’t help wondering if some of them had come to the shop just to spy on her. At least two of the local women hinted—with very unsubtle nudges and winks—that they’d heard from Hilda Bligh about Jo’s special visitor. One of them actually said that she’d heard the Martens were expecting a visit from Ivy’s father.
Jo pretended she had no idea what they were talking about.
Apart from these awkward moments, she was happy to be kept busy. The work kept her mind from straying Hugh-wards.
Brad and Nick, two of her brothers who worked further out west on cattle properties, arrived home around eight. They came into the shop and greeted her with hugs and back slaps and they hung about for ten minutes or so, catching up on her news. Then they went back into the house for the warmed leftover dinner Mum had saved for them.
Jo ate a scratch meal at the counter and she was tired when it was time to close up the shop. She went to lock the front door and looked out into the street and took a few deep breaths. It was a hot, still summer’s night and the air felt dry and dusty, but despite this she caught a hint of frangipani and night-scented jasmine drifting from nearby gardens.
Overhead, the Christmas Eve sky was cloudless and clear and splashed with an extravaganza of silver-bright stars. Grace and Tilly would be watching that sky from their bedroom window, hoping for a glimpse of Santa Claus and his reindeer. And Mum would be warning Eric and Bill not to spoil their little sisters’ fantasies.
What would little Ivy be doing out at Agate Downs? Had she received her present? Had she liked the lavender unicorn? For a moment Jo let her mind play with the mystery of Hugh Strickland and this child. She could picture him very clearly as he climbed out of his vehicle with the toy unicorn clutched in one hand. Goodness, she should have put it in something more attractive than a plastic bag.
Thinking about him and his mysterious errand caused an unwelcome pang around her heart. She shivered and rubbed her arms to chase away goose-bumps. What was the point of thinking over and over about Hugh? Perhaps she was getting man-crazy. It was six months since she’d broken up with Damien.
She locked the doors, pulled down the blinds, locked the till and turned out the lights in the shop. It was time to slip into her bedroom to wrap her presents. Once the children were safely asleep, she would have fun setting the brightly wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree in the lounge room.
The Berrys enjoyed a no-frills Christmas Eve. She’d have a cup of tea with Mum and they’d both put their feet up. The older boys would sit out on the back veranda with Dad, yarning about cattle and drinking their first icy-cold Christmas beer, while she and Mum talked over their final plans for the festive meals tomorrow.
She hadn’t quite completed the gift-wrapping saga when there was a knock on her bedroom door. ‘Who is it?’ she called softly, not wanting to wake her sisters in the next room.
‘It’s Mum.’
‘Just a minute.’ Jo had been wrapping her mother’s presents—French perfume and a CD compilation of her mum’s favourite music from the sixties and seventies—so she slipped these quickly under her pillow. ‘I’m almost finished.’
When she opened the door her mother looked strangely excited. ‘You have a visitor.’
‘Really? Who is it?’
‘An Englishman. He says his name’s Hugh Strickland.’
An arrow-swift jolt shot through Jo. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Margie Berry’s brow wrinkled into a worried frown. ‘Who is he, love? He seems very nice and polite, but do you want me to send him away?’
‘Oh, no,’ Jo answered quickly. ‘He’s just a customer. He—he was in the shop this afternoon.’
‘Yes, he told me that. He said you were very helpful.’ Margie looked expectant, but Jo was reluctant to go into details.
Her mind raced. Why was Hugh here? He was supposed to be at Agate Downs. ‘W-where is he?’
‘I found him on the back veranda, talking to Dad and the boys, but it’s you he wants. He asked for you ever so politely, so I told him to wait in the kitchen.’
‘The kitchen?’ Her bedroom had been bad enough and Jo winced when she tried to picture Hugh Strickland in their big old out-of-date kitchen, cluttered this evening with the aftermath of Mum’s Christmas baking. Somehow the image wouldn’t gel.
Jo was gripping the door handle so hard her hand ached as she let it go. This didn’t make sense. ‘Did you ask him why he wants to see me?’
Margie gave an irritated toss of her head. ‘No, I didn’t.’
Jo wished she had a chance to check her appearance in the mirror, but her mother was waiting with her hands on her hips and a knowing glint in her eyes. Besides, what was the point of titivating? Hugh Strickland had already seen her today and she would look much the same as she had earlier. Her smooth brown hair was cut into a jaw-length bob that never seemed to get very untidy and she wasn’t wearing make-up, and there wasn’t much she could do to improve her plain white T-shirt and blue jeans.
Just the same, she felt nervous as she set off down the passage for the kitchen, as if she were going to an audition for a part in a play but had no idea what role she was trying for.
Hugh was standing near the scrubbed pine table in the middle of the room and the moment she saw him she went all weak-kneed and breathless.
And that was before he smiled.
Oh, heavens, he was good-looking. She’d been beginning to wonder if perhaps her imagination had exaggerated how gorgeous he was.
No way. His dark hair was still spiky, but that was part of his appeal, as was the five o’clock shadow that darkened his strong jaw line. And beyond that there was a subtle air of superiority about him—a matter of breeding perhaps, something unmistakable like the born-to-win lines of a well-bred stallion.
But behind his charming smile she could sense banked-up emotion carefully held in check. What was it? Anger? Impatience? Dismay?
She wondered if she should ask him to sit down, but his tension suggested he’d rather stand. Why had he returned so soon?
He answered that question immediately when he held out the pink plastic bag she’d given him. ‘I came to return this.’
Frowning, Jo accepted it. She could feel the shape of the fluffy unicorn still inside. Her mind raced, trying to work out what this could mean. ‘Couldn’t you find your way to Agate Downs?’
‘I found the place,’ he said. ‘Your directions were spot on.’
‘So what happened? Weren’t the Martens home?’
‘I turned back without seeing them.’ A muscle worked in his jaw and he dropped his gaze. His face seemed to stiffen. ‘I had second thoughts. It’s the wrong time.’
‘Oh.’ What else could she say? This was none of her business. ‘That’s a—a pity.’ A few hours ago it had been vitally important that Hugh made a good impression on the child. And it had seemed important that it happened today. Jo pressed her lips together, fighting the impulse to interrogate him.
He looked up briefly and she caught a stronger flash of emotion in his intense gaze before he looked away again. Was it anger? ‘I didn’t want to spoil Ivy’s Christmas. I—I mean—her guardians knew that I was on my way, but I realised it would be intrusive.’
She wondered how Hugh Strickland would react if he knew that the locals were gossiping about him.
His eyes sought hers again. ‘I suddenly thought how it would be for Ivy to have a strange man turning up on her doorstep on Christmas Eve, claiming—’ He broke off in mid-sentence.
Claiming…what? Jo’s tense hands tightened around the package and the unicorn let out a sharp squeak. She was so uptight that she jumped.
‘So what will you do now?’ she asked.
‘I’ve found a room at the pub.’
‘Oh…good.’
‘I’ll stay there till Christmas is over and I’ll go back to the Martens’ place on Boxing Day.’
Jo thrust the unicorn back into his hands. ‘If you’re still hoping to see Ivy, you must keep this. You’ll need it.’
Their hands were touching now, and as they both held the package she was exquisitely aware of Hugh’s strong, warm fingers covering hers.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I came here tonight because I wanted to give this back to you in time for your family’s Christmas. There won’t be the same pressing urgency for a gift for Ivy once Christmas is over. And this was really meant for one of your sisters.’
He was looking directly into her eyes and making her heart pound.
Their gazes remained linked for longer than was necessary, and Jo knew she would always remember the shimmering intimacy of his green eyes as he looked at her then and the heated touch of his hands on hers.
It was almost depressing to realise that memories of this handsome stranger were going to haunt her nights and linger in her daydreams…for ages into the future…
‘Please keep the unicorn.’ She felt so breathless her voice was hardly more than a whisper. ‘Believe me, little girls always like presents.’
He sent her a quick smile. ‘If you insist. I’ll trust your deep understanding of what little girls like. The only one I know well is my goddaughter, but she’s only six months old, so our communication has been somewhat limited.’
‘Believe me, where presents are concerned, little girls are no different from big girls; they never get tired of receiving gifts.’
His eyes flashed confident amusement.
‘But I’m sure you already know that.’
‘Indeed.’
But then he seemed to remember something else and almost immediately his smile faded.
And the spell that had kept their hands linked was broken. Jo stepped back, leaving him with the unicorn, and Hugh looked away.
She drew a quick nervous breath. Calm down, Jo. Stay cool. You’re getting overheated about nothing. Nothing. He hasn’t come back to see you and he’ll be leaving again any moment now.
‘There’s another thing I wanted to ask you, Jo,’ he said softly.
Her head jerked up.
‘I wonder if I can possibly impose on you one more time?’
Caught by surprise, she found herself blustering. ‘How? W-what would you like me to do?’
‘I want you to come with me when I go back to Agate Downs.’
Crumbs. ‘Why me? I don’t understand.’
‘You already know Ivy—and you have so many brothers and sisters. I have no experience with young children. I can’t even remember what it’s like to be five.’
She tried to speak as casually as he had. ‘So you think I can help you somehow?’
A muscle in his throat worked. ‘Yes—if you could spare the time. I get the impression you’ve hit it off with Ivy already.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not an expert at managing small children,’ she warned him. ‘You’ve seen how naughty Tilly can be.’
‘But you’re used to them. You’re relaxed around them.’
‘Well…’ Jo’s immediate impulse was to help him, but a nagging inner warning was hard to ignore. ‘It might be helpful if I understood a little more about this situation,’ she said carefully.
He nodded and then he looked directly into her eyes again. ‘The situation’s quite straightforward really. Ivy’s my daughter.’
Right. Jo tried to swallow. So now she knew for sure. Did this mean Hugh was married? She glanced at his hands. The only ring he wore was the signet ring on the little finger of his left hand.
Sensing the direction of her gaze, he smiled wryly, lifted his hand and waggled his bare fourth finger. ‘No, I’m not married. I only dated my daughter’s mother for a while. And…her mother is dead.’
‘Oh, how sad.’ This changed everything. All at once Jo was adrift on a sea of sympathy. She said quickly, ‘Why don’t we sit down for a bit?’
He pulled out a wooden chair on the other side of the kitchen table. ‘If I’m asking you to help with Ivy I should be perfectly honest with you,’ he said. ‘I only learned of her existence a short time ago.’
Jo watched the barely perceptible squaring of his shoulders and she sensed that he was working very hard to keep his emotions under control. ‘That must have been a terrible shock.’ Her kind-hearted urges were going into overdrive now. ‘How come you only learned about Ivy recently?’
Hugh stiffened and she guessed she was delving deeper than he wanted to go. But he met her gaze. ‘Her mother wrote a letter but it never reached me and she died shortly after Ivy’s birth.’
Jo thought of the dear little bright-eyed Ivy who’d danced about their shop like a winsome fairy while her guardian had selected groceries. How sad that her mother never knew her.
How sad that Hugh still hadn’t met her. Jo blinked away the threat of tears.
‘It gets worse.’ Hugh spoke very quietly. ‘Apparently Linley suffered from severe postnatal depression and—and she committed suicide.’
‘No!’ A horrified exclamation burst from Jo. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she added quickly. Then she asked gently, ‘And you never knew?’
‘I thought she had died in a car accident,’ he said. ‘There was never any mention of a baby.’
Jo wondered if he was being so forthright to draw her into the task of helping him. Well, it was working. It would be hard to turn him down now, especially when his eyes held hers with such compelling intensity.
‘Ivy’s grandmother died recently and she left instructions in her will, demanding that I claim my daughter,’ he said. ‘Of course I wanted to do the right thing by the child, so I came dashing over here. But I’ve realised now that my timing is off. On Christmas Eve children are expecting Santa Claus, not strange men claiming to be their father.’
‘Ivy might like you better than Santa Claus,’ Jo suggested gently.
He sent her a sharp, searching look. ‘So you think I’ve done the wrong thing?’
Jo gulped. This gorgeous, confident man was acting as if he really needed her advice. She sent him an encouraging grin. ‘No, I’m sure you’ve made the right decision. I always believe it’s best to follow your instincts.’
‘So will you come with me when I collect Ivy?’
Her instincts screamed yes and Jo didn’t hesitate to take her own advice.
‘Of course I will. I’ve got a real soft spot for Ivy and, as you said, with six younger brothers and sisters I’ve got to be something of an expert with kids.’
‘Absolutely.’ Hugh glanced at the clock on the wall near the stove and jumped to his feet. ‘It’s getting late and I’ve taken up far too much of your time.’
Jo wondered if she should warn him about Ivy’s scars, but perhaps that would only make him more anxious about meeting her. Or maybe he already knew. It might be best not to make a big deal about them.
Standing, she shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and shrugged in an effort to look unconcerned. ‘So we have a date for Boxing Day?’
He nodded stiffly. ‘Thanks. I’d really appreciate your help.’
Then he turned and walked to the kitchen door. Jo followed.
‘I hope you’ll be comfortable at the pub,’ she said as they stepped into the hallway. ‘It’s not very flash.’
‘It looks perfectly adequate.’
‘A bit lonely for Christmas.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ Suddenly he looked very English, sort of stiff upper lipped and uncomfortable, as if he couldn’t stand sentimental females who made fusses about Christmas.
Her mother appeared in the hall. ‘Did I hear you say you’re staying at the pub, Mr Strickland?’
Jo wanted to cringe at her mother’s intrusion, but Hugh didn’t seem to mind.
‘Yes. It’s basic but quite adequate.’
‘You’re not having Christmas dinner there, are you?’
‘They’ve booked me in. Why? Is there a problem?’
‘Oh, not the pub for Christmas.’ Margie sounded shocked and she thumped her hands on her hips in a gesture of indignation. ‘We can’t let you do that.’
‘I’m sure the food will be fine.’ Hugh was beginning to sound defensive now. ‘I’m told they do a fine roast turkey.’
‘But you’ll be all on your own. At Christmas.’
Jo could tell where this was heading, but it would look a bit weird if she suddenly leapt to Hugh’s rescue by insisting that he would be fine at the pub.
‘And you’re so far from home,’ her mother said. ‘No, Mr Strickland, I won’t hear of it. You must join us tomorrow. I know we’re not flash, but at least there’s a crowd of us. You won’t feel lonely here and we’re going to have plenty of food. I hate to think of anyone being alone at Christmas.’
Hugh’s expression was circumspect—a polite mask—and Jo waited for him to excuse himself with his characteristic, well-mannered graciousness.
But to her amazement, he said, ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Berry. Thank you, I’d love to come.’
Hugh arrived punctually at noon the next day, bearing two beautifully chilled bottles of champagne.
Jo’s dad, who drank beer, eyed them dubiously, but her mum was effusive.
‘Nothing like a glass of bubbles to make the day special,’ she said, beaming at him. ‘But don’t let me have any till I’ve got all the food on the table or I’ll forget to serve something. Nick,’ she called to her eldest son, ‘can you find a bucket and fill it with ice? We don’t want to let these bottles warm up and there’s not a speck of room in the fridge.’
Jo had given herself several stern lectures while getting ready that morning. She’d chosen a cool summery dress of fine white cotton edged with dainty lace, and she’d applied her make-up with excruciating care. But, in spite of her efforts to look her best, she was determined to stay calm and unaffected by Hugh’s visit.
She was so busy helping her mother to get all the food out of the kitchen and on to the table that she had to leave Hugh to the tender mercies of her father and brothers, but she heard snatches of their conversation as she went back and forth.
‘Hugh Strickland,’ said her dad. ‘Your name rings a bell. Should I have heard of you?’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
‘What line of work are you in?’
‘I’m in business—er—transport.’
‘In the UK?’
‘That’s right.’
Her dad mumbled knowingly. ‘I almost got a job in transport once—driving buses—but I wasn’t fit for it. My chest was crushed, you see. Mining accident. Lungs punctured, so they pensioned me off.’
Hugh made sympathetic noises.
Jo chewed her lip and wondered if she should try to butt in and change the conversation. Her dad tended to carry on a bit.
But if Hugh was bored, he showed no sign. He was fitting in like a local. Clutching his beer in its inelegant Styrofoam cooler, he relaxed in a squatter’s chair and looked surprisingly comfortable.
The family always gathered for Christmas lunch on a screened-in veranda shaded by an ancient mango tree. This was the cool side of the house, but Jo wondered if an Englishman would realise that. It was still very hot, even in the shade.
‘Now, Hugh,’ said Mum after everyone had found a place to sit and the family had been through the ritual of pulling crackers and donning unbecoming paper hats. ‘You’ll see we don’t have a hot dinner.’
‘That’s perfectly understandable.’ Hugh smiled bravely from beneath a pink and purple crêpe paper crown, which should have made him look foolish but somehow managed to look perfectly fine.
Her mum waved a full glass of champagne towards the table. ‘There’s four different kinds of salad and there’s sliced leg ham, cold roast pork and our pièce de résistance is the platter of prawns and bugs.’
‘Bugs?’ Hugh looked a tad worried.
‘Moreton Bay bugs,’ Jo hastened to explain, pointing to the platter in the table’s centre. ‘They’re a type of crayfish. If you like seafood, you’ll love these.’
Hugh did like them. Very much. In fact he loved everything on the table and ate as much seafood and salad as her brothers, which was saying something. And then he found room to sample the mince pies.
And, not surprisingly, he was an expert dinner party guest, an interesting conversationalist, who also encouraged Nick and Brad to regale them all with hilarious accounts of the antics of the ringers on the cattle stations where they worked. And he enjoyed listening while the younger children chimed in with their stories too.
Knowing how tense Hugh had been yesterday, Jo was surprised by how relaxed he seemed now. No doubt he was charming her family to ensure her commitment to helping him.
She decided to relax. She’d been working hard all year in the city and had put in long hours in the shop during the past week and now she decided to let go a little and to enjoy the fine icy champagne. How in heaven’s name had Hugh unearthed such lovely French champagne in the Bindi Creek pub?
Everyone raved about Jo’s Christmas pudding of brandy-flavoured ice cream filled with dried fruit, nuts and cherries and afterwards her mum announced that she was going to have a little lie down. And everyone agreed that was exactly what she deserved.
‘Jo, you take Hugh out on to the back veranda for coffee,’ she suggested, ‘while this mob gets cracking in the kitchen.’
With coffee cups in hand, Jo and Hugh retired to the veranda. They leant against the railing, looking out over the tops of straggly plumbago bushes to the sunburnt back paddock and it was good to stand and stretch for a while; Jo felt she had eaten and drunk too much.
The air was warm and slightly sticky and it hung about them like a silent and invisible veil. Jo would have liked to run down to the creek, to shed her clothes and take a dip in the cool green water. She’d done it often before, in private, but she found herself wondering what it would be like to skinny-dip with Hugh. The very thought sent her heartbeats haywire.
They didn’t speak at first and she felt a bit self-conscious to be alone with him again after sharing him with her noisy family. The slanting rays of the afternoon sun lit up the dark hair above his right ear, lending it a gilded sheen and highlighting his cheekbone and one side of his rather aristocratic nose.
Eventually he said, ‘Your family are fascinating, aren’t they?’
‘Do you really think so? It must be rather overpowering to meet them all in one fell swoop.’
He smiled as he shook his head. ‘I think you’re very lucky to have grown up with such a happy brood. They’re so relaxed.’
She shrugged. ‘They have their moments. Christmas is always fun.’
‘I’m impressed that they’ll take in a stranger, knowing next to nothing about him.’
Too true, she thought. Hugh had shared rather personal details about Ivy in his bid to enlist her help, but she knew next to nothing about the rest of his life.
‘You don’t come from a big family?’ she asked.
‘Not in terms of brothers and sisters. I’m an only child. I guess that’s why I’m always fascinated by big families.’
‘Sometimes I envy only children. It would be nice, now and then, to have that kind of privacy. Then again, I spend most of my time these days working in the city.’
His right eyebrow lifted, forming a question mark, but, unlike her, he didn’t give voice to his curiosity, so there was an awkward moment where they were both aware that the rhythm of their conversation had tripped.
Hugh stood staring into the distance.
‘Are you thinking about Ivy?’ Jo asked.
At first he seemed a little startled by her question, but then he smiled. ‘How did you guess?’
‘Feminine intuition.’ She drained her coffee cup. ‘Seriously, it must have come as a shock to have a five-year-old dropped into your life.’
‘It was a shock all right.’ Taking a final sip of coffee, he set his empty cup and saucer on a nearby table and, with his usual gentlemanly manners, he took Jo’s cup and set it there too.
‘I feel so unprepared for meeting Ivy,’ he said. ‘I don’t like being unprepared. How the hell does a bachelor suddenly come to terms with caring for a child?’
‘He hires a nanny?’
‘Well, yes,’ he admitted with a wry grimace. ‘A nanny will be essential. But I’ll still have to do the whole fatherhood thing.’
‘At least Ivy’s not a baby. She can talk to you and express her needs. I’m sure you’ll become great mates with her.’
‘Mates?’ He couldn’t have looked more stunned if she’d suggested that Ivy would take over as CEO of his business.
‘Good friends,’ she amended.
‘With a five-year-old little girl?’
Jo thought of the warm lifelong friendship she’d shared with her mum. ‘Why not?’
Hugh shook his head. ‘A boy might have been easier. At least I have inside knowledge of how little boys tick.’
‘Don’t be sexist. There are lots of little girls who like the same things as boys. Grace and Tilly love to play cricket and go fishing. So do I, for that matter.’
‘Do you?’ He regarded her with a look that was both amused and delighted, but then he frowned and with his elbows resting on the veranda railing he stared down into the plumbago bush. ‘But what if Ivy turns on a horrendous scene? It would be horrible if she cried all the way home on the flight back to London.’
‘Goodness,’ cried Jo. ‘You’re a walking advertisement for the power of positive thinking, aren’t you?’
For a moment he looked put out, and then he smiled. ‘You’re right. I’m normally on top of things, so I guess I should be able to handle this.’ He sent Jo an extra devilish smile. ‘With a little expert help.’
Gulp. ‘Just remember Ivy is your flesh and blood,’ she said. ‘She’s probably a chip off the old block.’
‘Which would mean she’s charming and well-mannered, even-tempered, good-looking and highly intelligent.’
‘You missed conceited.’
Hugh chuckled softly and then he glanced up and seemed suddenly fascinated by something above her head. ‘Is that mistletoe hanging above you?’
Jo tipped her head back. Sure enough there was a bunch of greenery dangling from a hook in the veranda roof. ‘I can probably blame one of my brothers for that.’ She rolled her eyes, trying to make light of it, but as she looked at Hugh again his smile lingered and something about it sent shivers skittering through her.
How silly. This reserved Englishman had no intention of kissing her. And, even if he did, why should she get all shivery at the thought of a quick Christmas peck?
But her jumping insides paid absolutely no attention to such common sense.
Hugh gave an easy shrug of his shoulders and his eyes held hers as he murmured ever so softly in his super-sexy English voice, ‘Tradition is terribly important, Jo. And you’re under the mistletoe and it is Christmas.’
Her stomach began a drum roll.
CHAPTER THREE
SOMETHING deep and dark in Hugh’s gaze made Jo’s pulses leap to frantic life.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, calm down, girl.
Why was she getting so worked up about a friendly Christmas kiss?
Because Hugh is gorgeous!
She took a step closer to him and Hugh’s hand cupped her elbow as if to support her. She hoped he didn’t notice that she was trembling.
And then, without warning, he dipped his head. ‘Happy Christmas, Jo.’
She pursed her lips for a quick peck and let her body tilt forward. But the anticipated peck didn’t take place.
Instead Hugh’s lips settled warmly on hers and suddenly he was kissing her. Properly. Or she was kissing him? It no longer mattered. All that mattered was that it was a full-on kiss.
She could blame the champagne. Or the heat. No, she would blame Hugh, because he was far too gorgeous and far too expert at kissing. There had to be some logical reason to explain how a simple mistletoe kiss became so thorough and lasted for such a long and lovely time.
Yes, she would blame Hugh because at some point his hands slipped around her waist, and then it was incredibly easy and seemed perfectly OK to nestle in against him. His arms bound her close against his strong, intensely masculine body and his mouth, tasting faintly of coffee, delved hers expertly and with daring intimacy.
Without warning, a flood of unexpected yearning washed over her. Her insides went into meltdown. Soft, hungry little sounds rumbled low in her throat as she pushed closer into Hugh.
Oh, man. Never had she experienced a kiss that was so instantly shattering.
The sound of footsteps brought her plummeting back to earth. With a little whimper of disappointment, she broke away.
Hugh let her go and he stood very still with his shoulders squared and his hands by his sides, watching her intently and not quite smiling. Only his accelerated breathing betrayed that he’d been as aroused by the kiss as she had.
Taking a deep breath, Jo shot a scowl back over her shoulder to see who’d interrupted them.
It was Bill and Eric and their mouths were hanging wide open.
‘What’s eating you two?’ she demanded angrily. ‘Haven’t you ever seen someone get kissed under the mistletoe before?’
Eric’s face was sheepish. ‘Not like that.’
‘Get lost,’ she said, feeling flustered. ‘Finish those dishes.’
They vanished. Which left her with Hugh, who’d gone quiet again. In fact he was looking so uncomfortable that she wondered suddenly if he regretted the kiss. Damn him. He’d probably only kissed her to get closer to her—to ensure that she would accompany him to Agate Downs.
But he’d been so passionate, so involved.
Good grief. She was trying to read too much into the kiss. Hugh had simply reacted to the Christmas tradition. And she’d been carried away. Look how calm he was now.
Nevertheless, their easy conversation was over. They carried their coffee cups back to the kitchen and soon afterwards Hugh said polite farewells and set off for the pub. He left without any special word for Jo.
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