Just Another Miracle!

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘I don’t think you people are going anywhere tonight,’ he said gravely. ‘Damned snow’s at it again—there’s a regular blizzard out there.’

  ‘What?’ James came to his feet and crossed to the door, opening it a crack and staring blankly out across the yard. A moment later he shut the door and turned to Poppy, his eyes wide with astonishment. ‘I can’t even see the barn. It’s just a whiteout. It’s come out of nowhere.’

  ‘You’d better stay the night—Poppy, the boys can go together in the spare room,’ Audrey said, ‘and James can have the room next to you. The bed isn’t enormous, but it’s comfortable and it beats being stuck in a blizzard.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of putting you to so much trouble —’ James began, but Audrey cut him off with a wave of her hand.

  ‘And I wouldn’t dream of letting you take the boys out in this weather except in extreme emergency. Poppy, love, give me a hand with the sheets, could you?’

  James put a hand on Audrey’s shoulder and pushed her gently back into her chair. ‘Poppy and I can do it—you sit here.’

  She looked at him in amazement. ‘Are you sure?’

  His mouth tipped. ‘I do know how to make a bed.’

  ‘Of course you do, but you’ve been busy all day—’

  ‘And you haven’t?’

  She smiled. ‘Go on, then. You and Poppy go and do it. You know where the sheets are, darling?’

  Poppy nodded and led the way upstairs. How was James going to take this? she wondered. She had caught a glimpse of the snow, flying horizontally, and knew that the farm would be cut off by morning. The fine white powder would blow off the field opposite and fill up the lane, and that would be it—till Tom went out with the tractor and cleared it.

  Poppy wondered how hard she’d have to bribe Tom not to clear the lane until later, to give James and the boys a day together in the snow...

  She reached the top of the stairs and pulled fresh sheets out of the airing cupboard, then led James into the boys’ room.

  They made up the twin beds quickly, then went into the little room next to Poppy’s. There was a communicating door, and James eyed it thoughtfully.

  ‘Will I be safe?’ he murmured with a slight smile.

  Poppy met his eyes, and her heart jerked in her chest. ‘Safe?’ she said with a little grin. ‘I would think so—unless you count the spiders.’

  He chuckled, but as they bent over the bed and their hands touched Poppy felt heat shoot up her arm and almost jerked away. Lord, she only had to be in the same room as him and her hormones went crazy! What was wrong with her?

  They went back down and found the family had moved through to the drawing room. Tom and the boys were sprawled in front of the fire with Bridie, and she was lying on her back, tongue lolling, lapping up the boys’ attention.

  ‘Shameless hussy,’ Tom growled affectionately, and her tail swooshed happily. Poppy checked her watch, and gave the boys a meaningful look.

  ‘Oh, Poppy, not yet!’ George pleaded, hugging the dog against his chest. ‘We have to feed the lamb!’

  ‘Yeah—poor Hector. He’ll be hungry and cold—’

  Poppy’s laugh cut them off. ‘That little chap won’t be hungry for hours, and there’s no way he can be cold under the heat lamp. Come on.’

  They went, and after she had tucked them in she went back down and settled herself in the corner of the sofa with her tapestry, watching James and her father out of the corner of her eye. Her brothers went up to bed, then her parents, leaving her alone with James and the dog and instructions to feed the lamb one last time and take the dog out before they retired for the night.

  ‘Will we disturb them if we don’t go up now?’ James asked her.

  She shook her head. ‘Not if we’re quiet. Why?’

  He met her eyes. ‘Because I just want to sit here with you for a while by the fire, and...’

  ‘And?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just sit.’

  Poppy smiled. ‘How bucolic.’

  His chuckle was rich and warm. He got up, leaving his armchair and coming to sit at the other end of the settee. Poppy had her feet up, and he tucked them into his lap and rubbed her cold toes. ‘You’re freezing,’ he told her.

  ‘My toes are always like ice.’

  ‘You should wear shoes.’

  ‘I hate shoes.’

  He shook his head and bent over, huffing hot air into ner socks and making her toes curl. The look in his eyes was every bit as hot, and she felt her heart trip and race a little, sticking in her throat and jamming the breath so she had to think how to drag the air in and out.

  ‘James...’ she, began, but her words trailed to a halt and he lungs suddenly started working overtime. He lined his head, his eyes riveted by the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under the ancient sweatshirt, and then he looked up and met her eyes, and the raw need in his was nearly her undoing.

  She swung her feet to the ground and stood up, dropping her tapestry back in the bag and wondering how much she would have to unpick to get rid of her mistakes. ‘We ought to feed Hector,’ she said, and her voice sounded scrapy and out of practice.

  She didn’t wait to see if he would follow, but clicked her fingers for Bridie and went out into the kitchen. He was right behind her. ‘Here,’ she said, chucking him her father’s old thick parka and boots, ‘put these on if you’re coming out.’ Then, tugging on her coat and boots, she headed for the door.

  ‘Where do you get the milk?’ he asked, appearing at her shoulder as she turned the handle and stepped out into the howling blizzard.

  ‘I have to milk one of the old ewes,’ she yelled over the noise.

  The screaming wind drove the snow straight into their . faces, and she tucked her head down and ran across the yard, Bridie bouncing at her side and James behind her. They all but fell into the barn, and Poppy banged the snow off her shoulders and shook her hair to free it of the tiny dry flakes.

  James fingered the snow on his jacket. ‘It’s very dry,’ he murmured. ‘It’ll settle.’

  Poppy nodded. ‘We’ll be cut off by the morning with this wind.’ She met his eyes. ‘Will that be an insurmountable problem?’

  He shrugged. ‘It won’t have to be. Do you have a fax modem?’

  She chuckled. ‘We’re poor farmers, James. What do you think?’

  He smiled, and she felt guilty for deliberately misleading him, even if it was for his own sake. The fact was they had an office filled with computer equipment of one sort or another, and they had been on the Internet for years. The trouble was, if he knew that, he’d spend the day communicating with his office and not having fun with the boys—and with her.

  She stifled her guilt. He deserved a day playing truant. It would do him good. Let the Frisbee earn her keep holding the fort. Doubtless the bossy creature would be in her element.

  ‘Helen will cope,’ she said encouragingly. ‘Here, hold this.’ She handed him a little pail, scraped her hair back into a ponytail band and took the pail from him again, then, kneeling down in one of the pens, she milked one of the old, patient ewes with the competence born of years of practice. She poured the milk into Hector’s bottle and screwed on the teat, went over to the lamb’s pen and climbed in with him. ‘Join me?’ she offered, scooting over on the straw to make room for James beside her.

  He hesitated for a second or two, then, hitching up his trousers, he clambered over the side of the pen, eyed the straw suspiciously and lowered himself down beside her.

  There was only barely enough room, so the hard length of his thigh was trapped against hers, and the jut of his hip pressed her side, and because there was nowhere else for his arm to go he put it round her. He was tense for a moment, then with a muted sigh he settled his hand against her shoulder and squeezed gently. Poppy felt a surge of affection—and something else. Something much more troubling that she didn’t want to confront, at least not yet. She put it aside and concentrated on the lamb.

  He was hungry, but
ting the bottle and clamouring for his food, and she tipped the bottle, put the teat in Hector’s greedy little mouth and smiled. ‘Better now?’ she asked him softly.

  ‘Looks better to me,’ James said quietly from just behind her.

  With a contented sigh she leant against him, rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Hector was butting and slurping at the bottle, there were warm shufflings and grunts from the other pens, and Poppy thought it wouldn’t be a bad sort of place to be born. Everyone felt sorry for Mary and Joseph, but it could have been worse. The animals gave the whole thing a sort of earthy peace—unlike the clinical efficiency of a modern teaching hospital. She’d done part of her nursery nurse training in a hospital delivery unit, and she’d hated it. After home it had seemed so noisy and technical.

  This—this was bliss by comparison. Apart from anything else, she had James to lean on.

  Hector finished his bottle and snuggled down against her leg, and she tilted her head and looked at James.

  ‘OK?’ she asked softly.

  He nodded. ‘Has he finished?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ Then his hand came up and captured her chin, and his mouth settled softly over hers.

  Heat exploded in her, and with a muffled cry she moved into his arms and lost herself in the magic of his kiss. She slid her hands up round his neck and buried her fingers in his hair, sampling the soft, silky curls, testing the texture, tousling them curiously. She wondered if his chest had hair on it and, if so, how it would feel, but there were too many clothes in the way and besides, it would be crazy to take this kiss any further.

  As if he read her mind, James lifted his head and dropped a gentle kiss on her brow. ‘We ought to go back inside,’ he murmured huskily.

  ‘Mmm.’ Still she lingered, her fingers threaded through that wonderfully silky hair, and then at last she moved away. Her fingers felt cold, a little bereft. With a sigh she eased the sleeping lamb under the lamp, built up the straw round him to make a little nest and then stood, brushing the loose straw from the back of her coat.

  James followed her out of the pen, then, whistling up Bridie, she checked the two collies in their kennel, topped up their water and ran back across the farmyard, her head tucked down to dodge the whirling snow.

  They all but fell into the kitchen, laughing at their headlong flight from the elements. They kicked off their boots, hung up their coats and then Poppy went over to the Aga, leant against the front and grinned at James. ‘Fun, eh? Not exactly what you thought you’d be doing when you left for work this morning!’

  ‘Not exactly,’ he said, returning her grin, ‘but you’re right, it is fun. Especially some of it.’

  Heat brushed her cheeks, as she remembered the kiss in the warmth of Hector’s pen, and she turned and picked up the kettle.

  ‘Fancy a cup of tea or coffee before we turn in?’ she offered a little breathlessly.

  ‘Cocoa?’ he said hopefully.

  ‘Sure.’ She put milk on to heat, heaped cocoa into the mugs with loads of sugar, then poured the boiling milk on and stirred it before dolloping cream on the top.

  ‘Cream?’ He sounded scandalised.

  Poppy grinned. ‘Have to do it properly.’

  She dropped into a chair, stuck her feet up on another one and sighed with contentment. She would definitely have to bribe Tom not to get the tractor out too early tomorrow, she thought. Sitting here like this with James was just altogether too addictive.

  ‘Tell me about the farm,’ James said lazily, sprawling out with his cocoa in one hand and fondling the dog’s ears with the other. So Poppy told him how many acres they had of what crops, and what livestock they kept now, and how it had changed since she’d been a child, and although she couldn’t believe he wasn’t bored to death he didn’t seem to be.

  Finally, though, she couldn’t suppress her yawns any longer. She was tired, and although she wanted nothing more than to stay here with James all night, she knew it was foolish to sit up so long. The twins would be up at the crack of dawn regardless of how much or how little sleep Poppy had managed to fit in. Anyway, her parents would be half awake until they heard the house settle for the night, so it was only fair to go up.

  She led James up the back way to the little landing outside their rooms, and then tipped her head back to look up at him. She considered giving him a kiss, but then thought better of it. She might not be able to trust herself to stop at a kiss, and her parents were just down the landing and doubtless listening to every creak. ‘Goodnight, James,’ she said with a wistful smile, and turned and went into her room, closing the door softly.

  She heard his close, then his quiet tread as he walked to the connecting door.

  It opened to reveal him standing there. ‘Don’t I get a kiss goodnight?’ he whispered gruffly.

  She couldn’t resist him. She didn’t want to resist him. She went into his arms, slid hers up round his neck and threaded her fingers through that irresistible hair. His mouth found hers, tasting faintly of cocoa and cream, and she sighed and leant against him.

  She never meant the kiss to escalate out of control, but as their bodies touched through the thin barrier of their clothes the heat exploded between them. With a deep, muffled groan James anchored her head with one hand, hauled her up against him with the other and plundered her mouth until she thought her legs would melt.

  She squirmed closer, a little whimper of frustration escaping from her throat, and she felt a great shudder go through James. His arms loosened, his mouth softened and lifted, his kisses becoming soft and tender, little butterfly kisses all over her cheeks and throat, and then finally he eased away from her.

  She looked up into his molten gold-green eyes and was stunned by the longing she saw there. She’d thought her own need was great, but James needed her in a different way, a more fundamental way, as if his very soul would wither without her.

  I love you...

  Had she said the words? Had he? Or had they merely hovered on the tip of her tongue?

  ‘Goodnight, Mary Poppins. I’ll dream of you,’ he murmured, and then, stepping back, he closed the door with a quiet but definitive click.

  He must be crazy. He had been safely at work, out of reach of this siren with her soft voice and womanly body and generous mouth. A groan dragged itself up from his boots and he rolled his face into the pillow and muffled it in the nick of time.

  He wanted her. She was just a pace or two away, just on the other side of the door—the door that taunted him. It would stay shut. He knew that, and so did Poppy. He wondered if she also realised that once they were home the story might be quite different. There were no doors there that would keep them apart. Once they were asleep the boys were out for the count. Would he be able to resist Poppy then?

  Did he want to? Did she want him to?

  He didn’t know. He didn’t think so, but then he remembered her mother, and the promise he had made her that he would look after Poppy and not have a short affair with her.

  Was he ready to give her more? Did he want to? Did she want him to?

  That was a quite different question, and one that filled him with doubt and concern.

  Perhaps he’d better keep all doors shut, both now and in the future. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the repercussions if any of them opened and he went through into an uncharted future...

  The snow was wonderful. The strong wind had piled it up in huge drifts in the lane, and it was banked up in front of the tractor shed ten feet high, covering it to the eaves.

  There was no way they were going anywhere, and Poppy was hugely relieved that it wouldn’t be necessary to bribe Tom, because he was already giving her searching looks. In fact, she was surprised he hadn’t said anything about the communicating door, but perhaps that would come later.

  Meanwhile, she thought, the fates had played right into her hands with the weather. The wind had dropped, the sun was struggling to come out and if it hadn’t been for the snow
it would have been a lovely early spring day.

  As it was, it was a magical world and one Poppy was determined they would enjoy. James and the boys would have a wonderful day together, and then they would have another evening with everyone gathered by the fire, with the family’s gentle camaraderie to help him unwind and relax.

  It was hard to get the boys to stay inside long enough to eat breakfast, though, and as soon as they had bolted their food they wrapped up well in borrowed scarves and hats and dashed over to the barn to see Hector. He had already been fed by Audrey at five, and would be due for another feed quite soon.

  ‘Why don’t we build a snowman first?’ Poppy suggested, and took them up to the end of the garden where there was a flat lawn. There they rolled up huge balls of snow, piled one smaller one on top of a huge one, patted it down and smoothed the join, then found pebbles for the eyes and a stick for his nose and a slice of sugarbeet for his mouth. Poppy looked out an old hat and scarf and shoved a makeshift twig pipe into his mouth, and he was done.

  ‘Wonderful. I wish I had the camera,’ James said regretfully. Poppy went and found the family camera, and her mother took photos of all of them together, grouped round their snowman, and then more of the children having a snowball fight, and even one of James stuffing a handful of snow down Poppy’s neck in retaliation.

  One to show the grandchildren, Poppy thought wistfully, and wondered if there ever would be any or if she was dreaming.

  Then it was time to feed Hector again, and then go inside for some hot chocolate and a slab of her mother’s madeira cake, still warm from the oven and tangy with the juice of fresh lemons squeezed over the top as it came out of the oven.

  After their elevenses they went for a yomp with the camera to see the spectacular ice-sculpture of the snowdrifts, and came back and listened to the news reports that declared Norfolk at a standstill.

  ‘There. It’s everyone-I doubt if you could have got to work from home,’ she told James breezily.