Her first steps onto the ice were tentative, but she didn’t fall. Ian, more physically adept, stayed close to her. She grinned at him. “I’m as good as they come with a pair of scissors, but I’m no good at all on ice.”
He swept an arm around her. “If we fall, we’ll land on our arses together.”
“Arse, Ian?”
He laughed. “Don’t you feel as if we’ve stepped back in time?”
He didn’t give her a chance to answer. With his arm around her, she wished she could go back in time and rekindle their passion for each other. That was all it had been, of course, but it had been wonderful, filling her with a sense of bliss and hope for the future—a kind of bliss and hope that had nothing to do with her latest career achievement. She’d thought of family, babies, friends, quiet dinners and loud, fun nights at the Mabry pub. Those thoughts were gone now, but she knew she needed to give herself more time to heal and then to make a fresh start with her life.
With Ian’s arm around her, she couldn’t imagine a new man coming into her life. A different man. She teetered on her skates and clasped her arm around him, even as he steadied her, keeping her from falling. With Ian supporting her, she skated with more command. Christopher Sloan and Heather Sloan, the youngest of six Sloan siblings, joined the skaters. Ian fit right in with the physical Sloans and Dylan.
They skated until the light turned gray with the end of the short December day. Maggie invited everyone to her house for hot chocolate, but Alexandra wanted to get back to work on the dresses. She could borrow a car, or get a ride—or perhaps there was a cab to be had in the small town—but Ian insisted on taking her.
When they arrived at Carriage Hill, she kept her eyes on the Christmas lights curving up the signpost in the gray light. “You can’t go home now, Ian. It would look as if I ran you off.”
“I’ve horned in on your friends,” he said, matter-of-fact.
“You have, but I don’t mind. I don’t own them. It’s good they like you. It would be worse if they hated you and you were here because of me.”
“I can make up an excuse to leave. They don’t have to know the real reason.”
“They would figure it out.”
“Alexandra.” He waited before he spoke again. “Admit you want me to stay.”
She turned to him with a sigh. He was always convinced he knew what she was thinking. Maddeningly, he was often right. As he was now. She gave him a reluctant smile but told him the truth. “I want you to stay.”
* * *
Dinner was in the dining room, accompanied by a toasty fire in the fireplace, laughter and good spirits. The wedding festivities would gear up tomorrow. Tonight was a cozy, homey few hours among friends, and Alexandra felt at once both a part of things and separate from them. She couldn’t tell if Ian shared her mixed feelings. He looked to be thoroughly enjoying himself. No surprise. He was a man comfortable in his own skin. It was one of the qualities that had been so immediately noticeable to her and had attracted her to him.
She had retreated to a chair by the fire in the living room when Dylan joined her with Buster, his and Olivia’s dog, part German shepherd and part black Lab. “It’s good to have you here, Alex,” Dylan said. “Thank you for making the trip.”
“I’m having a wonderful time.” No need for him to know about her issues with Ian, she decided. “The dresses are such fun to work on.”
“You’re family. I hope you know that.”
“Thank you. Yes, I do, and I feel it. I was thrilled when Olivia wanted me to do the dresses for the wedding. It’s what I love, Dylan.”
“You’ll have to come back when the weather’s warm and we can all spend more time together.”
“I’d love to. Weddings bring family and friends together, but there’s rarely the chance to spend as much time with everyone as you’d like—especially the bride and groom.”
“That’s true,” Dylan said, placing another log on the fire. “At least you and Ian can keep each other company.”
Alexandra kept her expression as neutral as she could manage. There was no indication in Dylan’s tone that he suspected that she and Ian were anything but casual friends and that there was any history—any tension—between them. She edged closer to the fire. “Ian drove me out to meet Grace today.”
“So I heard. She was watching her birds.” Dylan’s gray eyes seemed to take on the warmth of the fire. “I stopped by to see her after skating. She showed me the photo.”
“It’s a heartbreaker, isn’t it?”
“The perfect Christmas gift. To know Philip really was still in love with her...thinking of her in those last days...” Dylan cleared his throat. “It means a lot.”
“The photo was Ian’s doing,” Alexandra said quietly.
“I know, but it’s good you were there, Alex. Grace says you’re a lot like your great-grandfather.”
She smiled, trying to settle some of the raw emotion she was feeling. “I’ve never wanted to fly a plane of any sort, much less a fighter jet in combat. In spirit, Ian’s more like Philip—and so are you, Dylan. Adventure travel. Treasure hunts.” Her smile broadened. “And I watched you on the ice today. You must have been a fiend in your professional ice hockey days.”
“Fiend?” He laughed. “I think I like that. Tell Loretta Wrentham when you meet her tomorrow. She’ll like it, too. She and my father had a brief relationship before his death, but she’s engaged now to a great guy—a private investigator in Los Angeles. Loretta’s strong-minded, but she’s a good soul.”
“I look forward to meeting her. Will many of your California friends be at the wedding?”
“Some, but Olivia and I decided on a relatively small wedding here at Carriage Hill. There’s more space here than you might think, but we’re also having a get-together in San Diego after Christmas. If you’re still here, you’ll have to fly out and join us.”
Alexandra sank into the soft, warm chair, imagining his home—and now Olivia’s home, too—on Coronado Island outside San Diego. Palm trees, sand, sunshine. She glanced up at the shadows on the ceiling from the flickering fire and Christmas lights. “You’ve planned the wedding Olivia wants. That’s as it should be.”
Dylan winked at her. “I couldn’t agree more.”
When everyone finally pulled on coats, hats and gloves, Ian volunteered to look after Buster, who had fallen asleep in front of the fire. At first Olivia and Dylan were reluctant for Ian to go to such trouble, but he assured them he adored dogs. Once the house was quiet, he settled onto the rug in front of the fire next to the big dog. Alexandra debated going straight up to her room but instead fetched a bridesmaid’s belt she was adjusting and sat with it on the sofa. As she hand-sewed, she was aware of the twinkling multicolored lights on the Christmas tree in the corner, and someone had left Christmas carols playing on the radio.
Ian glanced up at her. “It’s not London, is it?”
“Or a faraway military base.”
“No, it isn’t,” he said. “Is there anything I can do to help? I can manage a needle and thread.”
“It’s a one-person job at this point, but thank you.”
He rose and walked over to her. “It was a good day, Alex,” he said, tucking a finger under her chin. He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. “A very good day.”
She nodded, her throat tight with emotion, her body aflame with sensations his touch, the taste of him—the promise of him—always brought out in her, no matter how hard she tried to suppress them.
Tonight, she admitted, she wasn’t trying very hard.
Buster stirred, and Ian went into the kitchen with him. Alexandra abandoned her hand-sewing and returned the belt to the workroom, then headed upstairs to her room. As she went to the window to pull the curtains, an outdoor light came on and she saw Ian with Buster in the snow. She wat
ched them walk down the narrow road toward the Quabbin woods.
It would be so easy to fall in love with him again here at Carriage Hill.
Home in England—with her family, his family, his work, her work—would be a different story altogether.
It was something she couldn’t allow herself to forget.
Four
In the morning, Alexandra enjoyed tea on her own in the kitchen. She tried and promptly rejected the scones made with Ian’s recipe. Maggie had been too kind. They were dreadful. Definitely something left out of the recipe. Alexandra opted for toast and then took a fresh pot of tea back to her workroom. She’d awakened at a reasonable hour, but Ian and Buster were nowhere to be found. The dog food and water in the bowls in the mudroom suggested that the RAF pilot and big dog were up. No doubt they were on a walk up or down the back road. Neither, she knew, would venture into her workroom. It was strictly off-limits, given the delicate nature of the contents.
Maggie and Jessica, Olivia’s newly married sister, arrived to try on their dresses. They exchanged gossip involving a new librarian for the town, now that Maggie’s older sister, Phoebe, had resigned her position given her relationship with Noah Kendrick. Alexandra focused on sewing. If she got caught up in Knights Bridge goings-on, she would end up poking one of the women with a needle or missing a seam she needed to adjust.
As they wrapped up, Phoebe O’Dunn joined them. One glance was enough to guess that she and Maggie were sisters, with their red hair, freckles and turquoise eyes. Their resemblance to each other was stronger than that of Jessica and her older sister, Olivia. Phoebe’s dress, however, fit the best of the three and would require finishing but very few adjustments.
They all went into the kitchen together. Alexandra was enjoying their company but knew they, too, had things to do with the wedding and Christmas. Ian was working at the kitchen island, various bowls, measuring cups and ingredients lined up on the butcher block. Buster lay flopped under the table, snow melting on his paws. Ian and Maggie briefly discussed his baking plans before she and her sister and Jessica went on their way.
Alexandra stood by the door and debated what to do with herself. After pinning three dresses, she needed a break, but her options seemed quite limited. Perhaps Buster would appreciate another walk? He didn’t look as if he wanted to stir until the New Year.
Ian set a large white mixing bowl on the island. “You’ll finish the dresses in time for the wedding?” he asked.
“Yes, absolutely.”
He smiled. “Of course. This is what you do, although I thought by now you’d have legions of helpers with the detail work.”
“I still like to have a needle and thread in my hand. What are you baking?”
“A proper figgy pudding. Or an improper one, if I can’t find the right brandy in this little town. We’ll have it on Christmas Day. It’ll need a day to sit so the flavors can meld or whatever. I just know it’s better if it’s not eaten immediately.” He eyed the array of ingredients. “I hope it comes out better than the scones did.”
“It’s another of your grandmother’s recipes?”
He shook his head. “Mum’s. What do you say we have a look in the village and see what there is for brandy?”
Alexandra jumped at the opportunity and soon found herself at the Swift River Valley Country Store, known locally simply as Hazelton’s. It was situated on Main Street across from the town green. It offered everything from eggs, milk and cheese to galoshes and decent wine. Ian—on a mission—went straight to the alcohol section while Alexandra wandered over to the produce, discovering Brussels sprouts and fresh chestnuts in bins. She couldn’t resist and helped herself.
“We always have roasted Brussels sprouts and chestnuts at Christmas,” she said when Ian joined her with a very decent brandy.
“Knights Bridge is full of surprises,” he said with a smile.
It was snowing lightly when they returned to Carriage Hill. They worked together, taking turns stirring the pudding as they made a wish, a tradition in both their households growing up. They put the pudding on to steam. The recipe called for a long, slow steam of seven hours. Once cooked, it would need time to rest, but it would be perfect on Christmas Day after the wedding festivities.
“The snow is lovely, isn’t it? It’s light snow. It’s not supposed to accumulate—just a dusting to freshen up the landscape.” Alexandra stared out the kitchen window at the quiet country road. “I want to see Grace’s hideaway. It’s only accessible on foot. I wonder if I could manage it in snow.”
Ian stood next to her. “You shouldn’t go alone in these conditions.”
“I suppose not. To have come this far and not see where Philip and Grace met seems a shame.”
“I noticed snowshoes hanging in the mudroom. Olivia and Dylan said to make ourselves at home. I’m sure it won’t be a problem to borrow them for a couple hours.”
Snowshoe out to Grace Webster’s hideaway with Ian? Part of Alexandra balked at the idea—knew she shouldn’t keep putting herself in such close proximity to him—but she was smiling, saying yes, following him into the mudroom to choose a pair of snowshoes.
Ten minutes later they set off across the back field following a trail Dylan and Olivia had marked off for Ian. Alexandra wondered if Philip Rankin would want his English great-granddaughter—me, she thought—to see the hideaway, and would hope that her own RAF pilot would accompany her.
* * *
Only part of the rock foundation of the hideaway was left. It was covered in snow and at first reminded Alexandra more of a grave than a refuge—a place where two strangers had fallen in love. Ian investigated the area behind the foundation while she stood on a boulder and looked at the small pond that was covered in snow. A few flurries floated from the milky sky. There was no wind, no sound other than her own breathing. The pond was surrounded now by woodlands, but before Quabbin—before the demolition of four Swift River Valley towns—it had been dotted with summer cabins, all of them razed or set to be razed when young Grace Webster had discovered hers and created her hideaway.
For a few weeks that fateful late summer all those years ago, Grace and Philip had pretended that time didn’t exist. Their cares and the cares of the rest of the world didn’t matter. Only their world mattered.
But they knew, Alexandra thought. A major hurricane tearing up the heart of New England. A world war breaking out.
They knew.
And they fell in love anyway.
Alexandra was suddenly aware of Ian next to her in the snow. She looked at him, felt a snowflake land on her cheek. “You didn’t trust me to love you anyway, did you, Ian?”
He seemed to know what she meant. “I wanted to protect you,” he said.
“From what? Your work and its inherent dangers? Thank you, Wing Commander, but I never said your work and its dangers frightened me.”
“I didn’t want what I do to affect you. You have a different life, Alex. Different ambitions. The sky’s the limit with your work. I can’t get in the way of that, whether I stay in the air force or go home to the pub.”
“How would you get in the way?”
“I want you to be free to pursue your own dreams.”
“And you yours. You didn’t want me to get in the way of your ambitions, did you?” She faced the pond again, the stillness almost eerie. “And here I thought you wanted a wealthy, willowy, well-known woman at your side.”
“A trophy, you mean? Do you think I’m that shallow, Alex?”
“That driven. I would be an asset as Alexandra Rankin Hunt, rising London fashion star. It’s not the same as running a dress shop down the street from your Cotswolds family pub, is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s not?”
She turned to him. “Ian. Don’t pretend to be dense. It’s not remotely credible.”
> But she saw he was serious. “What you do, Alex—what you want—is up to you.” Then his eyes sparked with humor. “About that woman you think I want by my side. I’ll go with willowy. I don’t care about wealthy or well-known. Willowy suits you, and it will even if you have a dozen babies.”
“A dozen—” She didn’t finish. “Stop now, Ian, before I decide to shove you into the snow.”
“Even if you could manage it, I’ve had winter wilderness survival training. A little snow wouldn’t faze me.”
Alexandra had no doubt. She noticed a rabbit’s trail zigzagging from tall grass that was drooping with snow onto the pond and then back to shore, finally disappearing into the trees. The snowfall picked up again, fat flakes collecting on her jacket and gloves, but she was imagining the hot, tumultuous September when Philip had fled, half-dead, with the Ashworth jewels and found his way here. She envisioned him and his new love sitting on the very rock where she now stood.
Then he’d gone home to England and a war—and his death.
“I’m not brave like Philip was,” Alexandra said. “Or like you are, Ian.”
“Alex...”
“I like my creature comforts.” Tears spilled onto her cold cheeks. “I like to feel safe and secure. My world as a designer has its risks, but they’re nothing like what Grace and Philip faced that long-ago summer.” She turned to Ian and faced him squarely. “I left London because I like the idea of a small, simple Cotswolds shop.”
“But you’re not ready to give up on your dreams,” Ian said.
Christmas at Carriage Hill Page 4
