Their Christmas Family Miracle

by Caroline Anderson

  But he wasn’t, and his study door was open, and his bedroom door had been wide open, too.

  Which left his little sitting room. His cave, the place to which he retreated from the world when it all became too much.

  She didn’t like to disturb him, so she put her laptop in the breakfast room and tidied up the kitchen. The children had had a snack, and she was pretty sure that Jake would want something later, so she made a pile of sandwiches with freshly cut bread, and wrapped them in cling film and put them in the fridge ready for him. Then she put Rufus’s new coat on and took him out into the snow for a run around.

  He should have been used to it, he’d been outside several times today, but still he raced around and barked and tried to bite it, and she stood there feeling the cold seep into her boots and laughed at him as he played.

  And then she turned and saw Jake standing in the window of his sitting room, watching her with a brooding expression on his face, and she felt her heart miss a beat.

  Their eyes locked, and she couldn’t breathe, frozen there in time, waiting for—

  What? For him to summon her? To call her to him, to ask her to join him?

  Then he glanced away, his gaze caught by the dog, and she could breathe again.

  ‘Rufus!’ she called, and she took him back inside, dried his paws on an old towel and took off her snowy boots and left them by the Aga to dry off. And as she straightened up, he came into the kitchen.

  ‘Hi. All settled?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, they’re all settled. I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry, so I made some sandwiches.’

  ‘Brilliant. Thanks. I was just coming to do that, but I wasn’t sure if I could cut the bread with one hand. It’s all a bit awkward.’

  ‘Done,’ she said, opening the fridge and lifting them out. ‘Do you want them now, or later?’

  ‘Now?’ he said. ‘Are you going to join me? I thought maybe we could have a glass of wine and a little adult conversation.’

  His smile was wry, and she laughed softly, her whole body responding to the warmth in his eyes.

  ‘That would be lovely,’ she said, and found some plates while he opened the bottle of red they’d started the night before last and poured two glasses, and they carried them through to the breakfast room, but then he hesitated.

  ‘Come and slum it with me on the sofa,’ he suggested, to her surprise, and she followed him through to the other room and sat down at one end while he sprawled into the other corner, his sore leg—well, the sorer of the two, if the bruises were anything to go by—stretched out so that his foot was almost touching her thigh.

  And they ate their sandwiches and talked about the day, and then he put his plate down on the table beside him and said, ‘Tell me about your work.’

  ‘I don’t have any,’ she reminded him. ‘In fact, I was going to ask you about that. I need to write a CV and get it out to some firms. I don’t suppose you’ve got wireless broadband so I can go online and do some research?’

  ‘Sure. You can do it now, if you like. I’ll help you—if you want.’

  She flashed him a smile. ‘That would be great. Thanks.’

  ‘Any time. Have you got a computer or do you want to use mine?’

  ‘My laptop—it’s in the breakfast room. I’ll get it.’

  He’d sat up by the time she got back in there, so she ended up sitting close to him, his solid, muscled thigh against hers, his arm slung along the back of the sofa behind her. As she brought up her CV, he glanced at it and sat back.

  ‘OK, I can see a few problems with it. It needs more immediacy, it needs to grab the attention. You could do with a photo of yourself, for a start. People like to know who they’re dealing with.’

  ‘Really? For freelance? It’s not as if I’d have to disgrace their office—’

  ‘Disgrace? Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said, leaving her feeling curiously warm inside. ‘And anyway, it’s about how you look at the camera, if you’re open and straightforward and decent.’

  ‘Or if you have tattoos or a ton of shrapnel in your face,’ she added, but he laughed and shook his head.

  ‘That’s irrelevant unless you’re talking front of house and it’s the sort of organisation where it matters. In some places it’d be an asset. It’s much more about connecting with the photo. Stay there.’

  And he limped out stiffly, drawing her attention to the fact that he was still sore, despite all he’d done today for her and her children. He should have been lying down taking it easy, she thought uncomfortably, not making snowmen and snow angels and construction toys. And now her CV.

  He came back with another laptop, flipped it open and logged on, and then scrolled through his files and brought up his own CV. ‘Here—this is me. I can’t show you anyone else’s, it wouldn’t be fair, but this is the basic stuff—fonts, the photo size and so on.’

  She scanned it, much more interested in the personal information than anything else. His date of birth—he was a Cancerian, she noticed, and thirty-five this year, five years older than her—and he’d been born in Norwich, he had three degrees, he was crazily clever and his interests were diverse and, well, interesting.

  She scanned through it and sat back.

  ‘Wow. You’re pretty well qualified.’

  ‘So are you. How come you can’t find a job? Is it that they don’t get beyond the CV?’

  She laughed. ‘What, a single woman with three young children and one of them under a year?’

  ‘But people aren’t allowed to ask that sort of thing.’

  ‘No, but they ask about how much time you’re able to commit and can you give weekends and evenings if necessary, are you available for business trips—all sorts of sly manoeuvring to get it out of you, and then you can hear the gates slam shut.’

  ‘That’s crazy. Lots of my key people are mothers, and they tend to be well-organised, efficient and considerate. And OK, from time to time I have to make concessions, but they don’t pull sickies because they’ve drunk too much the night before, and they don’t get bored and go off travelling. There are some significant advantages. I’d take you on.’

  She stared at him, not sure if he’d meant that quite how it sounded, because Kate had said in the past that it was a shame he had someone and didn’t need her. So it was probably just a casual remark. But it might not have been…

  ‘You would?’ she asked tentatively, and he nodded.

  ‘Sure. I could do with a translator. It’s not technical stuff, it’s more business contract work, but I farm it out at the moment to someone I’ve used for years and she told me before Christmas that she wants a career break. What languages have you got?’

  ‘French, Italian, Spanish and Russian.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘OK. Want to try? Have a look at some of the things I need translating and see if you’ve got enough of the specific vocabulary to do it?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said slowly, although she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure at all if it would be a good thing to do, to become even more involved with a man who her son thought had hung the moon and the stars, and on whose lap her daughter had spent a good part of the day cuddled up in front of the fire.

  A man whose heart was so badly broken that he had to run away every Christmas and hide from the pain.

  A man, she realised, who she could very easily come to love…

  He must be crazy.

  It was bad enough having them all descend on him without a by-your-leave, taking over his house and his life and his mind. It was only a step from lunacy to suggest a lasting liaison.

  Not that it need be anything other than strictly professional, he realised. It could all be done online—in fact, it could be Kate who dealt with all the communications. He didn’t have to do anything other than rubber-stamp payment of her invoices. It would solve her financial problems, give her independence from the scumbag of an ex-husband who’d trashed her life so comprehensively with his lousy judgement and wild ideas, and give the childre
n security.

  And that, he discovered, mattered more to him than he really wanted to admit. It would give them a chance to find a house, to settle into schools—and that in itself would give Edward a chance to join a choir, church or school, or maybe even apply to choir schools for a scholarship. They could live anywhere they chose, because she wouldn’t have to come into the office, and so if he did end up in a choir school he wouldn’t necessarily have to board if she was close enough to run around after him.

  And she could afford to look after Rufus.

  He glanced down at the dog, snuggled up between their feet, utterly devoted to his mistress.

  Hell, he’d miss the dog when they moved. Miss all of them. He’d have to think about getting a dog. He’d considered it in the past but dismissed it because of his business visitors who stayed in the house from time to time, but maybe it was time to think about himself, to put himself first, to admit, perhaps, that he, too, had needs.

  And feelings.

  ‘Think about it, and we’ll go over some stuff tomorrow, maybe,’ he said, shutting his laptop and getting to his feet. ‘I’m going to turn in.’

  ‘Yes, it’s been a long day.’ She shut her own laptop and stood up beside him, gathering up their glasses with her free hand. Then, while she put the dog out, he put his computer back in the study and went back to the kitchen, looking broodingly out over the garden at the snowman staring back at him with slightly crooked Brussels sprout eyes, and he wondered if his feelings could extend to a relationship.

  Not sex, not just another casual, meaningless affair, a way to scratch an itch, to blank out the emptiness of his life, but a relationship.

  With Amelia.

  She was calling Rufus, patting her leg and encouraging him away from a particularly fascinating smell, and then the door shut and he heard the key turn and she came through to the breakfast room and stopped.

  ‘Oh! I thought you’d gone upstairs.’

  ‘No. I was waiting for you,’ he said, and something flickered in her eyes, an acknowledgement of what he might have said.

  He led her to the landing by his bedroom and turned to her, staring wordlessly down at her for the longest moment. It was crazy. He didn’t know her, he wasn’t ready, he was only now starting to sift through the raft of feelings left behind by losing his family—but he wanted her, her and her family, and he didn’t know how to deal with that.

  Sex he could handle. This—this was something else entirely. He lifted his right hand and cradled her cheek. ‘Thank you for today,’ he said softly, and her eyes widened and she shook her head.

  ‘No—thank you, Jake. You’ve been amazing—so kind I don’t know how to start. It could have all been unimaginably awful, and instead—it’s been the best Christmas I can remember. And it’s all down to you. So thank you, for everything you’ve done, for me, for the children, even for Rufus. You’re a star, Jake Forrester—a good man.’

  And, going up on tiptoe, she pressed a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.

  The kiss lingered for a second, and then her heels sank back to the floor, taking her away from him, and he took a step back and let her go with reluctance.

  There was time, he told himself as he got ready for bed. There was no hurry—and maybe this was better not hurried, but given time to grow and develop over time.

  He opened the bedside drawer and took out his painkillers, and the photo caught his eye. He lifted it out and stared at them. They seemed like strangers now, distant memories, part of his past. He’d never forget them, but they were gone, and maybe he was ready to move on.

  He opened his suitcase and pulled out the broken remains of the watch, and put it with the photograph in a box full of Rachel’s things in the top of his wardrobe.

  Time to move on, he told himself.

  With Amelia?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘ISN’T it time we bathed the dog? We’ve been talking about it for days, and we still haven’t got round to it.’

  She looked up at Jake and bit her lip to stop the smile. ‘He is pretty smelly, isn’t he?’

  ‘You could say that. And right now he’s wet and mucky from the snow, so it seems like a good time. And he’s got all night to dry by the fire.’

  ‘I’ll get my shampoo and conditioner and run the water in the sink,’ she said, getting to her feet from the hearthrug and running up to her bathroom, then coming back to the utility room—because even she drew the line at bathing the dog in the kitchen sink—and a moment later Jake appeared with the dog at his heels and an armful of towels from the cupboard in the boiler room.

  ‘Here—old towels. I tend to use them for swimming, but I’m sure the dog won’t object.’

  They were better than her best ones, she thought, but she didn’t comment, just thanked him, picked Rufus up and stood him in the water and ladled it over him with a plastic jug she’d found in the cupboard under the sink.

  ‘He’s very good,’ Jake said, leaning against the worktop and watching her bath him. ‘Not that that surprises me. Did you have time to look at any of that stuff I gave you, by the way?’

  ‘Yes. It doesn’t look too bad. Do you want me to have a go?’

  ‘Could you?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll do it while Rufus dries, if you like.’ She lathered him from end to end, drenched him in conditioner to get the tangles out, then rinsed him again even more thoroughly and lifted the plug out and squeezed the water off him and then bundled him up in the towels and carried him back to the fire.

  ‘Have you got a comb?’

  ‘I’ll brush him,’ she said, and gently teased the tangles out while he stood and shivered.

  ‘Is he cold?’

  ‘No, he just hates it. He’s a wuss and he doesn’t like being brushed. He’ll get over it.’

  ‘Is she being mean to you, sweetheart?’ he crooned, and Rufus wafted his skinny little tail, looking pleadingly at his hero for rescue.

  ‘Forget it, big-eyes, you’re getting brushed,’ she said firmly, but she kissed him to take the sting out of it. It was over in a moment, and then he shook wildly and ran round the room, scrubbing his face on the rug and making them laugh.

  ‘Right, those documents,’ she said. ‘Shall I do it on my computer?’

  ‘It’s probably easier.’

  So she sat at the table, and he sat in the chair by the fire, and Rufus settled down on a towel and let Jake brush him gently until he was dry, and she thought how nice it was, how cosy—and she couldn’t imagine what she was doing getting herself sucked into La-La Land like this.

  So she forced herself to concentrate, and after a while she sat back and blew out her cheeks.

  ‘OK, I’ve done it.’

  ‘What, the first one?’

  ‘No, all three.’

  ‘Really?’

  He sat next to her, produced the translations he’d already apparently had done and scanned the two side by side, and then sat back and met her eyes.

  ‘They’re excellent. Better. Better English—cleaner, clearer. So—do you want the job?’

  She laughed a little breathlessly. ‘Do I—I don’t know. That depends on what you pay, and how.’ And how much contact I’ll have to have with you, and whether it’s going to do my head in trying to be sensible—

  ‘Word count, normally. I’m not sure what we pay without looking, but I’m sure it’s fair, and if you don’t agree with it, I’ll match what you’ve been getting. That’s on top of a retainer, of course. I can check for you. I’ll have a look through the accounts. We can go over to the office tomorrow—in fact, do you think the kids would like to swim? The pool’s there doing nothing, and you’ll have it to yourselves unless any of the staff come over to use it, but I would have thought they’re unlikely to do so this soon after Christmas. It’s up to you.’

  ‘Oh. They’d love to swim,’ she said ruefully, contemplating the idea of being on a retainer because her last job had been much more hit and miss than that, ‘but they haven’t got any
costumes. Swimwear wasn’t top of my list of priorities when I was packing things up to go into storage. I have no idea where they’d be, either.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. They can swim in pants. So can you. Bra and pants is only what a bikini is, and I promise I won’t look.’

  She felt her cheeks heat and looked away from his teasing eyes. Since she’d kissed him last night, she’d scarcely been able to think about anything else, and for the whole day it had been simmering between them. It wasn’t just her, she was sure of it, but he didn’t seem to be about to take it any further, and goodness knows she shouldn’t be encouraging him to.

  The last thing—well, almost the last thing, anyway—she needed was to get involved in a complicated relationship with the first person to offer her work in months. And she needed a job more than she needed sex.

  Except it wasn’t that, or it didn’t feel like it. It felt like—help, it felt dangerously like love, and that was so scary she couldn’t allow herself to think about it. She’d had it with rich, flashy, ruthless men.

  Not that he was flashy, not in the least, but he was certainly rich, and however generous he might have been to her, she was sure that Jake could be ruthless when it suited him or the occasion demanded it. Heavens, she knew he could, she’d been on the receiving end of his ruthless tongue on the first night!

  But that had been him lashing out, sore and tired and a little desperate, at someone who’d come uninvited into his home, his retreat, his sanctuary. No wonder.

  Nevertheless, it was there, that ruthless streak, and David’s ruthlessness had scarred her and her children in a way that she was sure would never completely fade.

  ‘It’s not such a hard question, is it?’ he murmured, jerking her back to the present, and she met his eyes in confusion.

  ‘What isn’t?’

  ‘Swimming,’ he reminded her gently. ‘What did you think I was talking about?’

  She had no idea. She’d been so far away, reliving the horror of David’s heartless and uncaring defection, that she’d forgotten all about the swim he’d talked of.

  She tried to smile. ‘I’m sorry, I was wool-gathering. No, it’s not hard. I’m sure the children would both love to swim, but you can’t, can you, with the cast on?’ And there was no way she was swimming in pants—most especially not the pants Kate had given her!