Operation White Christmas: Escape to the Country

by Nicki Edwards

  She ventured further into the house down a short hallway, lured by the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. The small space was warm and welcoming, with modern appliances, painted timber cabinets and a large window overlooking the dark courtyard. It was neat, tidy and spotlessly clean, but didn’t feel sterile. Not like the kitchen in the house she’d shared with Steve. She shoved the memory aside. Her eyes swept around Jim’s kitchen, from the colorful rugs on the floor and the knickknacks dotting the shelves to the dozens of framed photos on the walls.

  The only sound in the house was her pounding heartbeat, ticking twice as fast as the clock on the wall. She was in a complete stranger’s kitchen. What if he is a—? Her legs loosened beneath her and she had a fleeting desire to run.

  “I’m sure he’s a perfectly friendly bloke,” she said aloud. She refused to let the negative thoughts fester further.

  Suddenly Hollie didn’t know what to do. Wave upon wave of exhaustion crashed over her. She checked her watch. How many hours had she been awake? Tears threatened and she brushed them away with the back of her hand. She didn’t usually lose her composure so easily so it had to be the time difference, the travel, the lack of sleep.

  For two months since Steve dumped her, she’d held herself together, successfully convincing her parents that she was okay and that traveling to another continent for Christmas was a good idea. Now, suddenly, she wasn’t so certain. What had she been thinking? That Christmas on the other side of the world away from her family and friends would still feel like Christmas?

  She crossed the kitchen and walked into a small sitting room. A freestanding fire stood against one wall, drawing her in. She backed up to it and allowed the warmth to penetrate her body. She gazed around the room. Two very comfortable-looking couches sat either side of a large timber coffee table. Framed photographs adorned every wall in this room too and she stepped closer to get a better view. Each one was of a different Canadian landscape, but all of them depicted farmland and country life. Her favorite was a view over a lake with a backdrop of bright red, orange and yellow autumn trees. The quality was staggering. Whoever had taken the photos was good. Very good.

  A massive pine Christmas tree filled the corner, decorated in colorful baubles and tinsel and beads and covered in tiny fairy lights. The lights glowed and sparkled in the semi-darkened room. She sighed. The tree screamed Jingle Bells and the snow whispered Silent Night, but for the first time in her life she felt strangely Grinch-like. Maybe she wouldn’t do Christmas this year. She rubbed her eyes. No. Now was not the time to fall apart. No matter what it took, her white Christmas dream was going to come true. Whatever it took.

  She was about to collapse on the couch when Jim burst into the room with a golden retriever at his heels. A dusting of fresh powdered snow still covered his beanie. The dog went straight to Hollie and pushed his wet nose into her hand. She let the dog sniff her then rubbed his ears. He rolled over for a belly rub. Hollie smiled and felt herself relaxing. There was no way a mass murderer would own a golden retriever.

  “I think you’ve made a friend. His name is Wiggles.”

  Hollie laughed. “Don’t tell me your dog is named after the Australian kids’ group.”

  Jim chuckled. “When he wags his tail, the rest of his body moves in the opposite direction. He sort of wriggles and wiggles.”

  After demonstrating, the dog flopped in front of the fire and laid his head between his paws.

  “How are you feeling? Warming up?” He shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the couch then pulled off his gloves, dumping them on the coffee table. He held his hands up to the fire. “It’s bitterly cold out there.”

  Hollie swallowed and blinked rapidly when he pulled the beanie off his head and ran his fingers through thick hair. Until then she hadn’t realized how tall he was. Or how good-looking.

  His eyes settled on hers, setting her nerves prancing and dancing. “How’s Roo?” she asked, trying not to let his gaze trap her.

  “Safely locked away in the laundry room.”

  “The laundry?”

  “It’s too cold outside for her. She’s only a baby and still needs bottle feeding every few hours.” Jim’s face darkened. “She was orphaned recently.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “What’s terrible is that someone came onto my property and deliberately left the gate open. Roo’s mom escaped and was hit by a car. Luckily I was close by and we called the vet who helped deliver the cria.”

  “Cria?”

  “That’s what baby llamas are called.”

  “I never knew that. So you’re hand raising her.”

  “Yep, and she thinks Wiggles here is her father. Wait ’til you see them together. The problem is Wiggles leads her astray. He’s worked out how to unhook the gates with his mouth and she follows him everywhere. As soon as I realized she was missing late this afternoon I set out looking for her. I can’t believe she made it as far as she did.”

  “I’m glad she wasn’t hurt.”

  “Me too.”

  They sat in comfortable silence for a moment until a thought zapped into her head, springing her forward in her seat. She clapped her hand to her mouth. “I forgot to call the roadside assistance people. What if they show up and I’m not there?”

  “It’s okay, I called them for you.”

  She sagged back into the seat gratefully. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. But have you called the bed and breakfast? You should let them know you won’t be there until tomorrow morning.”

  She pulled out her phone and smiled tentatively at him. She had never met anyone so hospitable and generous and she felt bad for all the trouble she was causing. If a strange woman had needed rescuing in the middle of the night, Steve would have been the last person to offer her a bed for the night. As soon as she woke the next day, she’d get out of his hair and let him get on with his life.

  “You’re positive it’s okay for me to stay here tonight?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chapter 6

  “I’ll put my coat away and I’ll be back.”

  Hollie settled deeper into the couch closest to the fire and extended her toes to the warmth. They were finally starting to defrost and painful tingles went up her legs.

  Her rescue hero returned seconds later, his frame filling the doorway.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “Good. Because I’ve got a casserole in the slow cooker. It should be ready soon. Beef stroganoff. How does that sound?”

  “Perfect,” she replied.

  Like you. The thought came from nowhere and Hollie stilled. Please, please, please tell me I did not say that aloud.

  “I love these pictures,” she stammered, trying to find safe ground. What was wrong with her? She didn’t usually go weak at the knees like this. In fact, come to think of it, when had she ever gone weak at the knees around a man?

  “Thank you. I took them.”

  She stared at him, mouth open. “Really?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m a photographer. It’s my job.”

  She pointed to the autumn picture that had grabbed her attention. “I love this one. Where I live back home the trees lose their leaves but they look nothing like this. Autumn is my favorite time of year.”

  “First off, you’d better say fall, not autumn, or no one will know what you’re talking about.”

  She giggled. “Of course. I keep forgetting.”

  “Secondly, thank you. It’s one of my favorites too.”

  Suddenly she was at a loss for words. She swallowed and stared into the flames.

  “I hope you don’t mind me saying, Hollie, but you look wiped.” His words were gentle, laced with genuine concern.

  She rubbed her eyes, not caring if she was smearing more mascara across her face. “I am tired,” she agreed. “I feel like I’ve been awake for two days. The flight took forever.”

  “Whereabouts are you from
exactly?”

  “A regional town in New South Wales called Birrangulla.”

  “You’ll have to help me out. I can point to Sydney on a map but that’s about it.”

  “Birrangulla is five hours west of Sydney.”

  “In the outback, eh?”

  “Not that far west.”

  “You lived there long?”

  “All my life.”

  “Single? Married?”

  Her breath caught. Whoa, what’s with all the personal questions?

  “Single,” she said through clenched teeth.

  He smiled perceptively. “There’s a story there I take it.”

  She gripped the arm of the couch and squeezed. “No story.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah right.”

  “And you?”

  “Single.”

  He hesitated for a microsecond and if she hadn’t been watching him so closely she might have missed the clouding in his eyes.

  “While you’re waiting for supper, can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “Actually tea would be nice, thanks.”

  He cocked his head. “Tea?”

  “Yes, tea.” She giggled. “Do you have a problem with that? Or don’t Canadians drink tea?”

  “Tea is what old people drink, but sure, I’ll get you a cup of tea,” he said, in a poor attempt at mimicking her accent.

  It made her laugh again and relax further. “A cup of tea would be super, thanks.”

  “Supa,” he repeated as he strode from the room with a funny grin on his face.

  *

  This had to stop. Right now. He would make her a cup of tea – if he could find tea bags – offer her dinner, show her to her room, then head outside to feed the llamas and cool his jets. He stirred the stew and tasted it, pleased it was ready. When the kettle had boiled, he filled a pot with water and added fettucine to the bubbling water.

  Dinner was ready five minutes later. He wasn’t sure how hungry she was but he filled two bowls with the pasta and rich beef stew. He hadn’t been able to find tea bags even though he’d searched every corner of his cupboard and he promised himself he would wake up early the next morning, drive into town and purchase every type of tea bag on the shelf.

  While looking for the tea, he discovered a forgotten bottle of red wine in the back. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but somehow the idea of sharing a glass of wine with a stranded visitor seemed the right thing to do. He tucked the bottle under one arm, grabbed the two bowls of steaming stroganoff and headed back to the lounge room.

  He halted in the doorway and his breath snagged in the back of his throat. Hollie was sound asleep on the couch. Unsure whether to wake her or let her sleep, the decision was made when Wiggles got up and licked her face.

  Hollie sat up startled, staring at him guiltily. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

  He placed the bowls on the coffee table. “Don’t be sorry. I can see how tired you are. How about you eat and I’ll show you to your room.” He held up the wine. “Can I offer you a drink?”

  She shook her head. “Normally I’d say yes, but not tonight. Maybe another night.”

  Another night? His heart began to race at the prospect of another night to get to know her. He shook the thoughts in an attempt to dislodge them and deliberately chose the seat farthest from her.

  Her mouth parted and her tongue darted in and out, moistening her lips. Jim shifted in his seat, stared into the fire, willed his brain to move in a different direction than where it was currently heading – which was to get up, pull her into his arms and kiss those soft-looking lips.

  She took a mouthful and groaned. “This tastes amazing.”

  “It’s my mom’s recipe.”

  They ate in silence as the fire cracked and the logs shifted. Outside the window, he could see snow had begun falling again.

  “It’s snowing again,” he said, stating the obvious, but wanting to get his mind onto safer territory.

  She frowned and he found himself liking the way it made her freckles join on her nose. “Does that mean you won’t be able to tow my car out tomorrow?”

  He shrugged. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  Hollie’s breath rushed out and her shoulders sagged. He saw the disappointment written on her face. “So I’ll be stuck here?”

  Jim stood and gathered the empty bowls. Message received, loud and clear. Whatever the weather, he would drag heaven to earth to make sure he was able to tow her car and send her on her merry way. It was obvious the last place she wanted to be was in his home.

  “I’ll make sure you’re not stuck. Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

  Chapter 7

  Half an hour later Jim heard the shower turn off and her bedroom door close. He should at least show her how to turn up the thermostat if she woke during the night, or show her where to find another quilt if she was cold, or show her where he slept. He slapped his head. Stop! He climbed the stairs slowly. His throat felt thick and he was experiencing a strange sense of breathlessness.

  He knocked gently.

  “Come in.”

  He hesitated with his hand still in midair. He didn’t want to walk in on her. He thought she’d open the door a crack and he’d say good night and that would be it until morning.

  He turned the handle and found her cross-legged on top of the covers reading from an electronic tablet. She wore thick flannel pajamas – white, with pink hearts – and hot pink wooly socks on her feet. She’d wrapped one of his towels like a turban around her head.

  Looking at her, he was a goner. He swallowed past the football in his throat. “Did you find everything okay?”

  He tried to block his nose, his eyes, his senses. How was it possible she smelled so amazing? He couldn’t help himself and inhaled deeply. What was that smell? Coconut? Lime?

  “I did, thank you.” She gazed at him with large eyes. “Did you want something else?”

  His mind went totally blank. Why had he knocked?

  She had taken off her makeup and he noted the dark circles, but she still looked gorgeous to him.

  “Y-yes,” he stuttered.

  I want to take that towel from your head and see your hair tumble across your shoulders.

  He shook his head. Where was his brain?

  She stared at him, waiting. Could she hear his pounding heart?

  “I wanted to make sure you know where everything is in case you wake up during the night.”

  “Thanks, that’s really kind of you. And thanks for letting me stay. This room is lovely.”

  He tried to view the room through her eyes. Madison had decorated it as a guest room when they’d first bought the farmhouse, but not long after, she’d been diagnosed with cancer and no one had ever slept in the bed.

  Hollie bounced on the mattress. “I think this is going to be the most comfortable bed in the world.” She leaned forward and he caught a glimpse of the tanned skin at her throat and the top of her breasts. He quickly averted his eyes. “And this quilt is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, stroking the cover.

  He cleared his throat. “Mom made it.”

  “Your mum sounds like a special lady.”

  “She is.”

  There was silence and he shifted from one foot to the other and scraped his fingers through his hair. What was he supposed to say now?

  “Your house is gorgeous. How old is it?”

  How was it possible she looked and sounded like she was totally relaxed and at peace in his home and his heart was racing so fast he thought he was going to have a heart attack?

  He swallowed. “Around one hundred and twenty years.”

  “It feels like it has a history.”

  He pressed his hand to the wall. “It does. Generations of owners have lived and loved in this house. Every one of them has left their mark. Now it’s my turn.”

  She was watching him, and before his thoughts veered in a direction they could not – must not – go, he qui
ckly explained where the thermostat for the furnace was located and showed her where to find extra blankets should she need them. He took a step backward. “Anyways, if you need anything I’m just next door.” He took another step back, paused at the door, smiled. “Good night, Hollie. Sleep well.”

  Because it didn’t matter how tired he was, there was no way he was going to be able to sleep a wink tonight knowing she was in the room next door to his.

  *

  Bright light woke Hollie the next morning. She checked her watch and was surprised it was nearly eight. She’d had almost ten hours sleep and although she’d woken once at around four o’clock to go to the bathroom, she had fallen straight back to sleep. The room had been dark and quiet, the bed cozy and warm, her dreams vivid and . . .

  Her breath caught and a warmth spread through her as she recalled the dreams. For the first time in months, memories of Steve had not stolen her sleep. Instead, she’d dreamed of Jim, dashing through the snow on the back of his snowmobile, rescuing reindeer. She’d dreamed of Jim, chopping down Christmas trees and chasing snowmen. She’d dreamed of Jim kissing her.

  She scrambled out of bed and threw open the curtains. Sunlight glittered like diamonds off pristine white snow beneath a perfect blue sky. Disappointment filled her. It wasn’t snowing and that meant Jim would be able to get her car towed.

  She showered and dressed in the same clothes as the day before, once again glad she’d had a spare pair of underwear and PJs packed in her carry-on backpack. She applied a light covering of moisturizer, mascara and lip gloss. She told herself she wasn’t preening for Jim’s benefit, but she was having a hard time convincing herself. Suddenly the idea of going to the unseen bed and breakfast was no longer appealing.

  The smell of bacon lured her downstairs. Jim stood at the cooktop. Broad shoulders filled out the thick gray cable-knit jumper he wore. She imagined it would match his eyes perfectly. The sweater looked great against his snug-fitting dark denim jeans. She took a moment to appreciate the way his butt filled out the jeans. His hair was still damp from a shower and it curled black around the back of his neck. What was a hot, single man like him doing on a farm in the middle of Ontario?