His mum swatted his dad’s arm. “Oh, hush, you. At twelve weeks premature, you know his survival was a miracle.”
“Looked like a plucked quail when the surgeon lifted him out.”
Death by gunshot was not fast enough. Cue the corkscrew behind the bar.
“Mum.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Nobody wants to know the gory details of your C-section—”
“I don’t mind,” Carly said.
“And we’ve got a lot of work to do before the bar opens,” Kip continued, ignoring her. “How about I come see you all tomorrow morning for your world-famous farmer’s breakfast?”
His mother hurrumphed and rolled her eyes. “Always with the food, this one.” She flicked her gaze to Carly. “I’d like you to come too, honey. An apology for my son letting you fall off that ladder.”
Carly glanced at him, a slight question in her eyes. She must’ve read some of the panic on his face, as her lips twisted into an evil smile. “It wasn’t entirely his fault, Mrs. Sullivan. But I’d love to come for breakfast; thanks for asking me.”
While Carly and his mother continued to exchange the usual baffling female pleasantries, he and his dad untangled the giggling twins from the tinsel. Kip’s gaze flicked to his father and James gestured a subtle thumb at Carly, raising his eyebrow again. Kip shot him a wry smile and shook his head. Nope, not doing it with the pretty red-head. His dad pulled a face that said, “Then you’re an idiot.”
Kip shooed his parents and the hyped-up twins out of Due South, promising the boys as many horsey rides as they wanted tomorrow morning. He turned to see Carly bending down to gather up strands of tinsel, her slim-fitting black pants clinging to a truly miraculous ass.
Perhaps his dad was right.
He was an idiot for denying the attraction brewing between them over the last seven weeks. But then, perhaps his first instinct of trouble-in-pretty-gift-wrap was right.
Chapter 2
Aside from Carly calling him Miracle Man for the first few hours of their shift, and the low ache in his belly which he manned up about, Kip got off lightly. Once the bar closed at eleven and the last stragglers politely kicked out for the night, his shoulders started to release some of the tiny pockets of tension. Home, a small beach-front house, was a five minute walk away. Hitting the sack ASAP sounded like a damn fine idea.
“Yo, Miracle Man.” West sauntered over, wearing a shit-eating grin.
Kip continued to load dirty glasses into the dishwasher. West, although Kip’s boss, also happened to be one of his best mates. Unless West persisted on calling Kip by that ridiculous nickname. “I’m not answering to that.”
“Tough.” West propped his elbows on the bar. “You know it’s gonna stick.”
“Like hell.” He shut the door and flicked the dishwasher on. Sooner he got the close-up routine done, the sooner he could figure out what to do about his unwanted visitors.
“How’s your equipment?” West showed some more teeth. “Still working?”
“After your sister nearly kicked them up into my chest cavity? Barely.” He snatched up a cloth and swiped it along the bar. “Move your arms.”
West dropped his arms and glanced over at Carly, who was busy sweeping the floor around the cluster of tables. “Stepsister. She’s my stepsister.”
“You’re lucky you’ve only got the one to bug you. Three of my sisters arrived here for the holidays.”
“All dying to spoil their baby brother for Christmas, eh?”
Kip ducked down below the bar to put away the cloth. “The most irritating time of the year. I frickin’ hate it.”
“Hate what?”
Kip bounced upright. Carly stood beside West, her arm resting on his shoulder. Kip’s heart gave a little squeeze at his mate’s stiff posture and Carly’s deliberate ignorance of it. Her desperation to earn her stepbrother’s acceptance was painful to witness.
“Nothing,” Kip muttered.
“Christmas,” West said. “Kip here’s a Christmas killjoy.” He eased out from under her arm and got up from the stool, gesturing to it. “Have a seat, Carly. I wanted to talk to you both about the Christmas party next week.”
Traditionally, four or five days before Christmas, locals put on a family friendly event at the community hall. Last year, Kip’d tended bar and hung out at the barbecue with the guys, shooting the breeze and feeling as if he’d found his place.
“Sign me up,” he said.
It’d keep his family from bothering him for a few hours.
“I already have,” West said. “Carly, are you willing to help out, too?”
“Didn’t we just recover from Halloween?” she said.
“We’re a small and isolated island—no fancy Christmas parade for us.” West shrugged. “We make our own entertainment.”
Carly shot Kip a glance from beneath her lashes, her mouth tightening into a terse line. “Well, I’m a bit of a Grinch, myself.”
“I know you’re not on the roster that afternoon, but the kids get a real kick out of it. Jade and Zoe are really excited.”
Blackmailing bastard. Only someone with ice cold slush in their veins could resist West’s nine-year-old niece and her BFF.
“All right, all right. Sign me up, too.” Carly sighed. “I can dish out drinks at the hall as easily as here.”
“Oh.” West waggled a finger between the two of them. “You two won’t be manning the bar this year. I’ve got it covered. I’ve another job lined up.” A wider, sharper grin split West’s face, and he cocked gun-shaped fingers at Carly. “You’re playing Santa’s little helper.” He turned to Kip. “And you, mate, you’ll be the big guy himself.”
“No way,” she said.
It took Kip a couple of beats to decipher the ‘big guy’ comment; he was busy smirking at the idea of Carly dressed up in striped tights, a short skirt, and pointed ears. Then his lagging brain caught up. Big guy…Santa.
“I don’t think so, mate.”
“Yes, way. And yeah, I do think so, mate. It’s a Due South tradition.” West’s evil grin didn’t flicker for a moment. “Dad’s not well enough to take on his usual role, and the kids would recognize me in an instant. They don’t know you as well, and most of them haven’t even met Carly yet.”
“What about Fraser? The kid’d be glad to do it for a twenty,” Kip said.
“You’re kidding me, right? A teenage Santa who has the build of a candy cane?”
Kip conceded the point. “Del could do it. He’s not skinny.”
“Shaye and my brother are catering.”
“First cook, then? The kids don’t know him.”
“Scary old guy who clicks his teeth.” West snorted. “Yeah, kids’ll love Vince.”
“Vince is sweet,” Carly said. “I like him.”
“You like everybody.” West dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Sorry, Kip. This is now part of your job description—and yours, Carly.”
When she and Kip continued to stare daggers, West threw up his hands. “Come on, you two, where’s your Christmas spirit? It’s only for a couple of hours, and you get to be the heroes handing out gifts.”
“I could take you to the employment tribunal, you know,” Kip said.
“You’d pass up the opportunity to bring joy to little kids and have some hot women sit on your knee and whisper in your ear?” West wriggled his eyebrows. “Isn’t that right, Carly? Don’t women find a fat, bearded guy in a red suit sexy?”
Her lips fined to a thin line, the smile she forced them into not reaching her eyes. “Totally irresistible.” She hopped off the bar stool. “Democracy is obviously dead down here, so can I go home now, boss? It’s been a long day.”
Now he’d gotten his own way, West returned to benevolent dictator mode. “Sure, I’ll close up tonight. You two can take off.” With a wave, he disappeared through the door leading to the hallway and his office.
“I’ll stop by for you in the morning at eight,” Kip said.
Her
eyes clouded, fine lines crinkling on her forehead. “Huh?”
“If you still want to go to my parents’ place for breakfast.”
“Oh.” A genuine smile replaced the strained one she’d shown a few moments ago. “Thanks. I’m looking forward to meeting your sisters, too.”
“Great.” God help him. “See you tomorrow.”
“Again, sorry about the whole ladder thing before. I hope you’ve, um, recovered.” She waved her fingers up and down in his direction, a flush of pink staining her cheeks. “Anyway, goodnight.”
Before he could think of a reply, she rushed out the door after West to collect her belongings from the tiny staffroom behind reception.
Kip didn’t know whether or not he’d hoped Carly would change her mind about breakfast. They spent a good chunk of time together almost daily, but work kept them busy, their conversation reduced to casual chit-chat when business was slow. Taking her to meet the rest of his crazy-ass family felt like stepping over a line…a line he hadn’t touched a toe past in many years.
He moved out from behind the bar and flicked off the main lights. Overthinking the whole thing. One breakfast with a co-worker wouldn’t be enough to set his mother’s match-making mind in motion.
***
The next morning, Carly stood in front of a sprawling house with a lawn that flowed down a bank to the beach. Kip shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts.
Still tricky to imagine him as Santa, unless the magical granddad figure of her childhood had suddenly started working out to achieve Kip’s plank-flat stomach and cut biceps, just bulging nicely under his white tee. Sexy Santa, yummy.
Quit it, zoomie. You got no business thinking about him like that.
“Brace yourself,” he said. “This isn’t gonna be pretty.”
The slight edge in his voice prickled across her scalp. His lackluster enthusiasm since he’d stopped by to pick her up ten minutes ago painted a sign on the wall loud and clear.
Kip didn’t want her there.
Carly stiffened her spine and wrenched her gaze away from him, focusing instead on the boys wrestling on the lawn. A teenage girl in cut-off denim shorts, engrossed in her mobile phone, sat crossed legged on the grass a few feet away.
“Your niece?” she asked, as they walked up the driveway.
“Grace. She’s Tara’s—my eldest sister.”
The twins spotted them and charged, flinging their arms around Kip’s legs. “Can we have a piggy back ride? You promised!”
“Morning, Thing One and Thing Two.” Kip crouched so both boys could scramble onto him. One of them—she couldn’t remember who was who—sat astride his shoulders, the other clung to his back like a baby monkey.
Kip stood, effortlessly lifting his giggling nephews. He tilted his head. “What’s for breakfast, Lucas?”
“I’m Logan!” The boy giggled, tugging on Kip’s ears. “He’s Lucas. And we’ve already had breakfast. Grace’s gonna take us down to the beach to make sandcastles soon.”
“Sounds like fun,” Carly said.
Two sets of curious blue eyes switched to her.
“Uncle Kip?” Lucas said. “Is she your girlfriend?”
Kip cleared his throat and threw her an amused glance. “No. We work together, but Carly’s also my friend.”
A little bit of the chill icing her heart melted at the warmth in his gaze. Okay, he’d been a little stick-up-his-butt tense so far this morning, but maybe she’d done a typical Carly over-reaction. Likely his mood had nothing to do with her.
“She’s pretty,” Logan stage-whispered into his uncle’s ear. “You should ask her to be your girlfriend.”
“I’ll take that under advisement, Thing One,” Kip said.
She bit back a grin as they drew alongside Grace, who stood hipshot, a hand on the waist of her cut-offs, eyeing Carly up and down.
“Hi, Grace. Pleased to meet you,” Carly said.
The girl’s dark eyebrows rose. “You’re American?”
Carly nodded. “From California, but I lived in a couple of other states as a kid.”
“You a wannabe actress?”
“Nah.” Carly grinned. “I couldn’t act my way out of a paper bag.”
“Grace’s gonna be a movie star and live in Hollywood,” said Lucas.
“Whatever.” Grace crossed her arms, likely embarrassed by wanting to appear worldly and cynical, and the contradiction of star-struck teenage dreams. “Let’s go to the beach.”
Kip peeled the twins off to much loud complaining. “Another ride after breakfast; I’m starved.”
“They’re cute kids,” Carly said, as she and Kip continued up the path. “And you’re a cute uncle.”
“I can’t begin to tell you how much I despise being called cute,” he said, opening the front door.
She hesitated. “Shouldn’t you knock first?”
“Why?” Kip’s nose crinkled. “It’s family.”
As if that one word explained everything. Perhaps it did, and she’d forgotten the easiness of it all—not that she had much experience with a big family. For many years after her mom died, it’d been her and her dad. Then along came Claire and Del when she’d been thirteen. A new mom and big brother to turn just me and dad into…family—a small family; but still hers.
Now she was trying to connect with the remaining puzzle piece. West, Del’s older brother, who’d stayed in New Zealand when his parents divorced. West, who was a good boss, but who continued to act as if she were an awkward guest he was forced to treat with excruciatingly politeness.
With a shrug, Kip stepped inside the house and hollered, “We’re here.”
Carly followed him inside to the replying shouts and feminine squeals. Two dark-haired women appeared at the end of the hallway and lunged toward Kip.
“Kipper!” one cried.
“There’s my baby brother.” The second woman ducked past her sister and reached Kip first, flinging her arms around his neck.
An instant later, the second woman was elbowed in the ribs by the first sister, who stood on tiptoe to ruffle his hair and kiss his cheek.
“You must be Carly.” Sister Two switched her gaze past Kip’s shoulder, a not unfriendly glance but bright with unspoken curiosity. “I’m Lizzie. You would’ve met my boys yesterday.”
Carly smiled. “I just met them again outside. They’re both real little charmers.”
Sister One snorted. “They’re little barbarians, like their father.” She punched Kip in the arm. “And like their uncle.”
Unperturbed, Kip tweaked Sister One’s nose. “And this is the youngest and rudest of my sisters, Vanessa.”
“Call me Vee,” Sister One said, her eyes sparkling. “Come and meet Tara, who’s busy loving up my baby.” She moved from her brother’s side and slipped her arm through Carly’s, lowering her voice to a notch below a shout. “We call Tara ‘Pims’, short for Pre-Menstru—”
“Don’t make me hurt you, Vanessa Mae Sullivan.” Like her younger siblings, Tara was dark-haired, blue-eyed, and lovely. She strode down the hall toward them with the most beautiful baby girl Carly had ever seen propped on her hip.
Brushing past the others, Tara stuck out a hand. “Welcome to the mad house.”
Carly laughed. “Thanks. I’m glad to be here—I think.” And more than a little overwhelmed—but in a wonderful way.
“This is Ruby,” said Vee, brushing away soft brown curls spilling over the baby’s forehead. “She’s eight months old and never met her Uncle Kip.”
“Hi, Ruby,” Carly said softly.
The little girl stared at her with enormous blue eyes—Sullivan blue, as she’d started to think of it.
“Hey, Ruby, how’s it going?” Kip stroked a finger down the baby’s bare arm and took her hand. “And what’s it like having such a giant pain in the ass for a mum?”
Lizzie and Vee snickered, and Tara rolled her eyes—Ruby, however, stared at her uncle, her cherubic mouth trembling, her eyes filling with tears
. She wailed, yanking her tiny hand out of Kip’s grasp and reaching for her mother.
Tara transferred Ruby into Vee’s arms and glared at Kip. “Nice one, you big dummy.”
“Hey, she’s too young to know what giant pain in the ass means.” Kip backed away from the howling baby.
Vee patted Ruby’s back. “She’s going through a phase of being freaked out by strangers. She cries at anyone she doesn’t know if they so much as look at her the wrong way.”
“What the hell is looking at her the right way, then?” Kip muttered and grabbed Carly’s hand. “Come on; let’s move before the kid spontaneously combusts or something.”
Distracted by his warm fingers closing around hers, Carly trotted along after him, barely noticing the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen until Kip’s mother swooped on them. Carly quickly dropped his hand and gave Heather a hug—since, like Carly, Kip’s mum was another hugger.
“Come in, sit down!” Heather waved toward the huge dining table laid out with plates, glasses, and napkins. “I’m just bringing the food out.”
Carly sat on the long bench spanning one side of the rectangular table, with Lizzie to her right and Kip on the left. Having him so close, and the brushes of his arm as he reached for a plate or a jug of orange juice, made concentrating on eating difficult. Platters were swapped back and forth, everybody piling on huge helpings of bacon, fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, hash browns, sausage links—enough breakfast to feed one of her dad’s old barracks, it seemed. And in between the appreciative groans of seven people eating, the Sullivan family talked, argued, and laughed non-stop.
Once the first desperate need for food had passed, Heather dabbed her mouth with a napkin and shushed the others. “Carly, are you going back to the States to spend Christmas with your family?”
Carly’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. “No. I’m staying here in Oban with my mom.”
“Are your parents divorced, honey?”
The fine hairs on her arm lifted as Kip shifted on the bench beside her.
“Mum,” he said quietly.
“It’s okay, Kip.” Carly lowered the fork and offered Heather a small smile. Sometimes, it was better to get the awkwardness out of the way early. “My father passed away from cancer in September last year. My stepbrothers and mom—she’s my stepmom, technically—well, they’re here, so I didn’t want to spend the holidays alone in LA.”
Christmas With You Page 2
