Christmas at Waratah Bay

by Marion Lennox

  “Really often, when my family is here.”

  “So it’s not like you care about your cows?”

  “I care about my cows.”

  “More than your family?”

  “That’s a great question from someone who hasn’t seen Harold for how many years?”

  There was a moment’s stillness and then she said, very softly: “Butt out of what’s not your business.”

  “It’s the business of anyone who loves Harold.”

  “If you want me to leave, just say so. Harold doesn’t know he’s coming here yet. We can still go to his house. Just say the word.”

  More silence.

  She would leave, he thought. He just had to say. Her face was expressionless in the moonlight. Blank. Like a puppy expecting to be kicked? But she looked . . . used to it, he thought. She was waiting for the kick, but not bothering to cringe, because she knew it wasn’t worth it.

  What was this woman’s story?

  Butt out of what’s not your business. Her words seemed to echo. He couldn’t ask, but he found his preconceptions shifting a little. She’d left school as a teenager. She’d trained as a nurse, and she’d put in some hard, physical work this afternoon. There must be things in her background . . .

  “Well?” she demanded. “Do you want me to go?”

  “No,” he said at last, grudgingly. “You’ve invited Katie and her brood. You need to feed them.”

  “I didn’t invite them.”

  “If it weren’t for you they wouldn’t have stayed.”

  “And wouldn’t that have made you feel like the original Scrooge?”

  “I’ve given my family enough!” It was an explosion, too loud, too angry. The dogs on the veranda moved back a little, and Bing growled. He clicked his fingers, Bing sidled up to him and he scratched his ears. The small action settled him. Calm down, he told himself. This is only for Christmas.

  “How much is enough?” Sarah asked.

  “I don’t . . . ”

  “I only ask because I’m curious. How much family do you need to have before you start wanting out?”

  “Your family wanted out years ago.”

  “They certainly did,” she agreed. “Out, all the way. So now, it’s like I’m on the outside, looking in. Trying to figure how people can make you claustrophobic. It could happen,” she conceded. “If I’m here for a few days over Christmas it might even happen to me.”

  “It takes years before you learn.”

  “Can you unlearn? How long have you been on this place?”

  “Sarah . . . ”

  “Yeah, I know, not my business,” she said, cordially, and knelt down and fondled Bing’s ears. Under her t-shirt the puppy squirmed and she tugged him out. She set him down on the veranda and he wobbled a couple of puppy steps and sat down.

  Bing nosed him and he looked up and whined.

  Before he could help himself, Max found himself picking him up and cradling him, rolling him upside down so he lay in his big hands.

  The puppy wriggled to make himself more comfortable, then looked up with total trust. He really was the ugliest puppy. He was so ugly he was cute.

  The puppy wriggled again and Bing nosed him and plopped down beside Max, as if to say if you want to take him on, I’m with you. This one’s okay.

  Bing was right between Max and the girl beside him. The obvious place for Bing to be was on Max’s far side, away from Sarah but Bing was pressed really close to Sarah. Like, he was approving of Sarah as well.

  “He really is adorable,” Sarah said, leaning over to stroke her puppy’s tummy. “He’s beautiful.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Every mother thinks their kid’s beautiful.”

  “You really do intend adopting him?”

  “I already have. Done deal. One look and my heart was his.”

  And she spoke lightly, easily, but underneath . . . He could hear the depth of feeling. He could feel the commitment.

  “Sarah . . . ”

  “Mmm?”

  But he didn’t know what he wanted to ask. He wasn’t all that sure what was going on. They were sitting on the top veranda step. The night was warm around them. They really were the most beautiful pajamas . . .

  The most beautiful woman . . . .

  Yeah, here you go, he told himself, harshly, forcing his mind to be practical. One woman slips into your life and suddenly all your vows seem to be on shaky ground.

  Because, sitting here in the moonlight, they did seem shaky.

  But they were good vows, and he needed to remember them. He’d seen what emotional entanglement had meant for his mother; it meant chaos. He’d also seen what had happened to Harold. Harold had fallen in love with a gorgeous American. She’d been a real beauty, Harold had said wistfully, showing him a picture of the lovely, laughing Lorissa—the woman who’d been his bride and then proceeded to rob him of everything he had.

  This girl was that woman’s daughter.

  This woman was far too close for comfort.

  He should edge away, but that’d seem crass. Bing was wedged in between them, seemingly taking warmth from both of them as he nosed the puppy. The puppy stretched his head back and Bing licked from tail to chin.

  Gerome practically purred.

  *

  Was there anything sexier than man with puppy? If there was, Sarah had yet to see it.

  Max was your quintessential farmer, a big guy, dressed in battered jeans with his shirt sleeves rolled, his arms all brawn, his big hands sinewed and toughened from hard manual work. Right now, his hands formed a cradle. Gerome lay cocooned by their strength. He was fed, warmed and secure. He was way too skinny but right now his tummy was nicely rounded with the top-up supper she’d just given him.

  Max was stroking his tummy. Gerome had his eyes closed in bliss. Whatever nightmares lay in this little guy’s past, they no longer mattered.

  And Sarah found herself suddenly thinking of her own childhood, her own nightmares. And how this farm had been her sanctuary, her one true thing.

  She’d had to leave—of course she had. This place had never been her home.

  Gerome would have to leave. She’d take him back to New York. She’d do the best she could for him, but would he ever be happier than he was right now, cradled by Max, surrounded by the smells of other dogs, safe in Max Ramsey’s world.

  She sniffed. She couldn’t help it. Emotions were suddenly getting the best of her.

  She shouldn’t have come. Suddenly this was all so seductive, this place, this night . . . this man.

  “Sarah?”

  “Mmm.” She sniffed again.

  He shifted a little, setting Gerome on his knees. Gerome whimpered a little in protest but then, knees were pretty warm, too, and Bing took over the tummy rubbing. Okay, tummy licking but it was obviously close enough.

  “You’re crying,” Max said and Sarah’s sniffs got desperate.

  “I’m not.” She didn’t cry. She never cried. What was she on about? Of all the stupid . . .

  And Max was delving into a pocket, handing over a handkerchief. A great, sensible man’s hanky. She’d never seen such a thing. She eyed it in awe.

  “I can’t possibly . . . ”

  “Go ahead. It’s what it’s for.” He grinned. “Not for looking, for blowing.”

  Okay, one more sniff and the need got urgent. She blew, hard, then blew and mopped some more.

  And as if driven by some sixth sense, Bing suddenly backed out from between them. There were no barriers, and a man’d have to be harder than Max to resist. He edged closer and hauled her against him. She resisted for a moment and then slumped, her body melting against his as she took the comfort he offered.

  “Hey . . . ” He held her close, wanting to hold her even closer but her distress was too obvious. “Want to tell Uncle Max?”

  She choked on a hiccupy laugh, and blew her nose again and mopped.

  “Nothing . . . nothing to tell. Sorry, I’m just a bit
emotional and I don’t know why. It must be this place.” It might be this man, too, but she wasn’t telling him that. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid, but I was so happy here.”

  “You never tried to come back?”

  “There were . . .reasons. I’m back now, but Harold has so little time.”

  “At least you came.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sarah . . . It’s okay,” he said, holding her closer still. “Maybe just one day at a time, hey?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sarah?”

  “Mmm.”

  “You finished with that hanky?”

  “I . . . ” She sniffed one last time and looked down at it with regret. What a way to treat a thing of beauty. Vintage linen . . . awesome. “Yeah, but I’ll wash it before I give it back.”

  “Tomorrow. But that’s for tomorrow. Tonight’s for now. Sarah, would you mind if I kissed you?”

  Silence stretched out between them, a loaded silence, full of stuff she didn’t understand, couldn’t possibly understand. Why? This man thought she was some sort of pond scum. This man didn’t want her here.

  This man was holding her close, her puppy was on his knee, his strength and warmth were crazily seductive, she was where she wanted to be most in the world, and he’d just said one day at a time. Tonight’s for now.

  A kiss . . .

  She should run a mile. She should . . .

  She didn’t. She turned her face up to look at him.

  “Yes, please,” she said—and he did.

  *

  As kisses go, it was amazing. A truly excellent kiss. Almost, one might say, mind-blowing.

  It was gentle—it had to be as with pup on his knee he couldn’t turn and take her into his arms without Gerome tumbling off. So, he held her with one arm, he waited until she tilted her face to his—and then his mouth lowered onto hers.

  And the night stilled. No, the night disappeared. There was only this man, this moment, this touch.

  This fire.

  For that’s what it was. She couldn’t believe he was kissing her. The moment she’d seen him she’d thought he looked so sexy he made her knees wobble, and what he’d done for Harold . . . Harold would have been in a nursing home long ago if it weren’t for this man. Then there were the dogs. Harold’s dogs were ancient. One a scraggy old collie who spread hair wherever he went, an ancient fox terrier, and both of them . . . well, to say air freshener was required when they were around was an understatement. And yet, he’d taken them in, and he cared. And now, she’d seen the way he reacted to Katie and her family, even though he was driven against the ropes, trapped in a family Christmas he didn’t want.

  She’d watched him stroke Gerome, cradle Gerome, and inside something had twisted.

  Lust? Yeah, but more. It was desire, and it wasn’t just physical. She’d fought to ignore it—how complicated could Christmas get?—but as soon as his mouth lowered onto hers, she knew she was lost. Her body simply seemed to melt. All she could feel, all she wanted to feel, was Max.

  He felt like . . . home?

  How corny was that? How sexy? Not sexy at all, she thought with the tiniest space in her brain available for anything bar sensation. This place felt like home, not this man.

  But he did. The heat of his touch, the way her body responded to him, the way his arm tugged her close, molding her against him, the way he was still aware of the pup on his knees, but his mouth was doing such things, and she was all desire, all aching need, and yet he cared about her pup . . .

  She was imploding. She heard herself whimper and thought was that me? How? Why?

  She’d been kissed before—of course she had.

  Never like this. Never remotely, close to this.

  She was simply surrendering. This was just a kiss, a touch between a man and a woman on a beautiful December night, and yet it was so much more . . .

  Enough, she told herself. Enough, enough, enough. Just let yourself go. Just kiss and be kissed.

  Just surrender to this moment and this man.

  *

  He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Of all the stupid . . .

  Yeah, well, if you thought about it analytically, before the act, it was stupid. Only, it had happened, it was no longer before the act, he was kissing Sarah and analytic thinking didn’t come into it.

  There was only sensation.

  This lady sure packed a punch.

  Yeah, well, maybe she was practiced, he thought as he tasted her, as his mouth enveloped hers. This woman was a top model, and as such she’d been hunted by some of the most eligible men on the planet.

  Only her kiss didn’t feel practiced. It felt . . . astonished. Sweet. Surrendering with wonder. Almost virginal.

  Virginal? What sort of thought was that? She couldn’t possibly be.

  But the way she melted . . . It was enough to make a man melt himself. It was enough to make a man want to pick her up and carry her inside and make . . .

  Um . . . no. Spend the night with her? Have his family find them in bed together in the morning?

  Have Katie smile at him in relief, that he’d found a woman to share . . .

  Whoa. Just focus on the kiss. It was so worth focusing on.

  But, amazing or not, and this kiss was growing more amazing by the moment, the old fears had suddenly found a toehold and were clambering aboard. Love. Commitment . . .

  It was only a kiss. It shouldn’t mean . . .

  “Max?” And suddenly, appallingly, she was tugging away. “What is it?”

  “What’s . . . what?”

  “You were kissing me and suddenly . . . I felt . . . like you were somewhere else.”

  Terrific. Not only was she achingly lovely, she was also fey. For he had been somewhere else, a teenager, surrounded by needy kids, an appalling mother, the demands and demands and demands made by love and commitment.

  “Not . . . maybe not such a good idea if we’re spending Christmas together,” he managed and she looked at him in the moonlight for a long moment. Once more, he got that impression. Definitely fey.

  “Maybe not.” To his infinite regret she tugged away, lifted Gerome from his knee and rose. “Sorry.”

  “It wasn’t,” he managed, “you who instigated it.”

  “No, but I sat on your verandah in my pajamas.”

  “Totally irresistible,” he said, and she managed a chuckle.

  “I modeled these pjs. They gave them to me after the shoot. Not bad, huh?”

  She was deliberately making the situation light again. He should be grateful. He was, he told himself. He had to be.

  “I won’t wear them near you again,” she said, hugging Gerome close. “And I’ll tell my sponsor they work. You could write a review if you want—How I Was Seduced by PJs.”

  Then she hesitated. “Max, that was a very nice kiss, but you’re right, it’s unwise. We don’t need to make this any more complicated than it already is. Gerome and I will go to bed now. We’ll take Bing, too, if it’s okay by you. But meanwhile . . . thank you for having us. Thank you for inviting Harold and me, and thank you for making Katie welcome.”

  “She’s my sister. You don’t need to thank me.”

  “Would you have turned her away if I hadn’t been here?”

  He sighed. “No.”

  “So I’m not responsible.”

  “It’s not your fault, no. And Harold . . . ” He had to say it. “It’s a great idea to be bringing him home for Christmas. If you can manage it . . . He’s my friend, so it’s me who should be thanking you.”

  “Even though you thought I was appalling,” she asked.

  “I don’t know anything about you,” he conceded. “I thought you were a money hungry step-daughter, here for the kill.”

  “And now? Post-kiss?”

  “Now I’m reserving judgment.” He summoned a grin. “Regardless of the kiss, I’ll see how well you can cook the turkey.”

  “Hmm,” she said and went silent.

  “
Sarah?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Even if you burn it, it’s okay,” he conceded. “If you keep Harold happy and you keep my family out of my hair, all is forgiven.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she said and tilted her chin a little, a gesture he was starting to know—and like. But she didn’t look like she liked him. She looked . . . defiant. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, formally now, and the kiss suddenly seemed a very long time ago. “Very kind indeed. I’ll take you up on your offer of Bing, Mr. Ramsey, but only for Gerome’s sake. For the rest, I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can. So, you can forgive me from a distance. Thank you, Mr. Ramsey. It was a very nice kiss and it’s a very nice night, but I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight.”

  She clicked her fingers. Bing took a step toward her, then turned back and looked at him—and the look the dog gave him was almost reproachful.

  And then, dog and girl and pup disappeared into the house and he was left with his solitude.

  *

  What? What had just happened? He replayed the night over in his head but at the end of two replays, he didn’t have a clue.

  He’d kissed her. He shouldn’t have.

  She was angry with him.

  Yeah, well, that’d be the kiss. You didn’t kiss a woman and then tell her it was a mistake.

  Even if it was?

  It was.

  He rose and stared out into the night. The stars were hanging low over the ocean. This was the most beautiful place on earth, a place of peace and solitude.

  And now . . .

  He’d hurt her. She’d sounded defiant, but he knew he’d hurt her.

  He didn’t do relationships. Had he learned nothing?

  A couple of days, he told himself. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Harold would come home, they’d have Christmas and then everyone would leave.

  Life would settle.

  Harold’s dogs were lying on the veranda behind him. Now, as if they sensed that he needed . . . something . . . they edged forward.

  Katie’s dogs had been in the shadows as well and as if signaled, they headed for him as well.

  Four dogs. Two more in the house and how many people?

  He scratched ears—eight ears because a man had to be fair. He sat on and waited for the night to settle. The dogs settled around him.

  He’d only ever wanted one dog. A man had to have limits.