She snuggled closer and he held her, wanting to prolong this special time together.
Special time?
Why would he think that?
‘We should move,’ she said, but she didn’t make a start and with her warm and shapely body tucked against his, he didn’t feel like arguing.
Mike put a stop to this indulgence.
‘If you two stay much longer you’ll have to climb back over, and I can charge you for being there, you know.’
Jo muttered to herself. Bloody Mike! Just when she was getting herself back together, not to mention revelling being in Cam’s arms, so tightly held, so safe and warm, Mike had to go and spoil it.
She waited for Cam to tell Mike they were coming, but he remained silent and she realised, with a rush overwhelming delight, that he was leaving the decision up to her. That he had no intention of moving until she was ready.
Which led to a further revelation that what Cam had said about loving her must be more than words for only someone who really loved her would consider staying here with her and eventually having to climb the fence.
Again!
‘We’d better go,’ she murmured.
‘Okay,’ he said, and with that he put his arms around and lifted her to her feet.
‘A truly gallant knight would carry you all the way but for all your slight build you’re no lightweight and if I staggered and missed my footing we’d both go crashing to the rocks beneath, then Richard would have more guilt to deal with and he’d come and jump and—’
‘Okay, I get the picture,’ Jo told him, laughing up at him, reading the concern behind the nonsense he was spouting. ‘We’ll walk together.’
And they did, one step in front of the other, holding the fence with one hand, their other hands linked between them.
‘It was a metaphor for life, that walk,’ Cam said later, when, all official business done, they sat on the deck, their chairs close but not touching, eating pizza and looking out to sea. ‘Taking one step at a time, that’s all we can do. Looking to the sun, as you said earlier.’
He put down his crust and turned towards her.
‘Could you possibly see your way clear to take those steps with me?’ he asked, his blue eyes watching her intently, the tension in his face betraying the worry behind his almost casual words.
Jo was as a loss. She knew for sure she wanted to go forward in her life with this man—to take those steps beside him—but so much remained unspoken—love had come too fast.
‘Might it not be love?’
As soon as the words were out there, she realised they’d not spoken of love—not really—so maybe he wasn’t offering it.
Although earlier he’d said—
But she hadn’t.
Now Cam was smiling at her and her heart was melting so maybe it was love.
‘I can’t speak for you,’ he said, lifting her hand and raising it to his lips, pressing kisses on her fingers, one by one, then turning her hand to kiss her palm, a sensation that sent tingles up her spine. ‘But for me it’s love and, yes, we can say it’s come too soon, how can we know, and all of that, but my voice of reason tells me it can’t be anything else, while my voice of passion—well, it’s best we wait until we’re in a dimly lit room without our clothes on before I let it talk.’
He paused, tucking her hand tightly into his and holding it.
‘I’m not a great catch, I realise that—the baggage, for one thing—but I can promise you my love for ever, Jo, for what it’s worth, and should you love me back, I’ll treasure your love above all else.’
‘Even surfing?’ Jo teased, because his words were causing chaos in her body and confusion in her mind and she needed to break the tension sparking in the air around them.
He tightened his hand momentarily on hers, then smiled as he released it, giving it one last kiss before returning it to her lap.
‘Now you’re pushing it,’ he growled, but his eyes were repeating the messages his lips had given earlier and Jo knew she had to answer.
No more jokes.
She clambered out of her deck chair and moved so she could kneel in front of him, her hands on his knees, looking up into his face.
‘What woman could not love a man who makes smiley-face fruit breakfasts for her, who listens to her dredge up all her guilt and anguish, who understands that sometimes there’s no need for words, especially when a hug is available?’
‘But?’ he prompted, no doubt guessing that her cautious self—her voice of reason—would be yelling at her.
‘What do you think?’ It was like a dare—a challenge—to see if he knew her as well as he seemed to think he did.
‘You’re thinking it’s too soon—love can’t happen in a week—but, Jo, darling, something has happened, so let’s follow the path it’s set us on and see where it leads. The steps I want to take with you can be baby steps, not great huge strides. For now, it’s enough for me to know you’re on the journey with me.’
The pause was probably infinitesimal yet it seemed to Jo to stretch for ever.
Then, ‘Well,’ he added, and she stood up, hauling on his hands so he, too, had to stand. She moved into his welcoming arms, pressed herself against his chest and whispered her answer.
A simple ‘Yes’, no qualifications, no doubts or hesitation, just ‘Yes’ to let him know she wanted to walk into the future with him, whether with baby steps or huge strides—they would be doing it together.
She wore the ring he gave her for the first time at the raising of the Christmas tree. Crystal Cove had a sister city—although neither town could qualify for city—in Norway, which sent a Christmas tree every year.
The raising of the tree was the biggest public event of the year in the small town, so Jo was aware her action wouldn’t go unnoticed.
But two weeks after Cam’s proposal she was so in love that not wearing it wasn’t an option. Not only did she want everyone to know she was engaged, she wanted everyone to realise just how much she loved the man who’d come, more or less by accident, into her life.
‘So, they raise the tree?’ They were driving down to the esplanade where the tree would reign supreme until the new year when Cam asked the question. ‘Pull it up with ropes while we all watch?’
Jo grinned at him.
‘It’s more than that! You’ll see. In fact, as we’re in the official party thanks to Helene Youngman thinking you’re the bee’s knees, you’ll get an excellent view.’
To Cam’s surprise the tree wasn’t just a tree. Well, it was—a huge, weighty pine—but its boughs were already hung with decorations and once it was in place in a specially designed container, someone would flick a switch and it would rise up into position, brilliant in its splendour, a focal point of the Cove’s Christmas.
Even with the tree still resting on the ground, Jo’s face shone with happiness, and he marvelled that with all the pain she’d had in her life, the open, innocent delight of a child was still there inside her—inside this woman he loved.
And looking at the tree, all ready to be raised, and at the faces of the people all around it, waiting for the yearly ceremony, he realised that the same joy in simple pleasures was inside him as well. Apart from surfing, he’d thought he’d lost all that, but obviously finding love—finding Jo—had given it back to him.
He turned to her and put his arms around her, bending to kiss her on her lips.
‘What’s that for?’ she demanded, being Jo, and he smiled at her.
‘For giving me back the power to look at a Christmas tree and smile—to see enjoyment and know I’m sharing it—to feel what other people are feeling—simple pleasure.’
Now she kissed him, standing up on tiptoe.
‘Has to be love, doesn’t it?’ she whispered.
‘It has to be,’ he confirmed.
Orphan
Under The
Christmas Tree
By
Meredith Webber
More Praise for
&nb
sp; Meredith Webber:
‘Meredith Webber does a beautiful job
as she crafts one of the most unique romances I’ve
read in a while. Reading a tale by Meredith Webber
is always a pleasure, and
THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE
is no exception!’
—Book Illuminations on
THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE
For my sister-in-law Caroline, an inspirational refuge worker
Recent titles by the same author:
MELTING THE ARGENTINE DOCTOR’S HEART
TAMING DR TEMPEST
SHEIKH, CHILDREN’S DOCTOR … HUSBAND
These books are also available in ebook format
from www.millsandboon.co.uk
CHAPTER ONE
SHE was a psychologist.
She should be able to look at a problem, consider it from all angles, and then solve it.
So why was Crystal Cove’s annual bunfight of the raising of the Christmas tree causing Lauren Cooper such grief?
Easy answer!
Nat Williams would be there. Nat Williams, Crystal Cove’s very own surfing superstar, current world number one, had been invited to press the button that would engage the ropes and pulleys that would lift the already decorated tree into position in the middle of the park that ran along the esplanade above the Cove’s sheltered northern beach.
In her head, Lauren could hear her friend, Jo Harris, saying, ‘But you’re over him,’ and Lauren was.
Totally, and years ago, and relieved to be out from under his spell!
Not even heart-broken, not even then at seventeen, so why now, at twenty-nine, did she feel ill at the thought of meeting him again?
Lauren, Crystal Cove’s only practising psychologist, manager of the local women’s refuge and general all-round competent person, rested her elbows on her desk, put her head in her hands, and groaned.
‘Migraine?’
Wrong time and wrong place to be groaning! She’d completely forgotten she was at her desk at the hospital. The problem was she shared her office space with other therapists, and so it was open to any hospital personnel who happened to be wandering around.
She lifted her head and looked at the person who happened to be wandering around right then.
Dr Tom Fletcher, tall, dark, lean, and so handsome just looking at him sometimes took Lauren’s breath away.
‘No, I’m fine,’ she told him as he pulled a chair over from an adjacent desk and settled down across from her.
‘Really fine,’ she emphasised, in case he hadn’t got the message the first time.
‘No, you’re not.’
The words jolted Lauren out of her welter of doubt and anxiety and she frowned at him across the table. Eighteen months ago when Tom had first taken up his position as head of the Crystal Cove hospital, he’d asked her out, and she’d been very, very tempted.
But there was something about Tom Fletcher, with his grey eyes, easy smile and over-abundance of charm that had warned her to steer clear. Going out with Tom Fletcher might have meant getting involved. Getting involved might have meant …
She’d steered clear, reminding herself her life was just perfect as it was! She had a good job, a satisfying challenge in running the local women’s refuge, great friends, family close by—the life she wanted for herself.
The life she’d chosen for herself!
As for Tom, well, her refusal hadn’t dented his confidence. Since his arrival in town she’d watched him flirt with every woman in Crystal Cove; watched him squire any number of them around town, although none of the women he’d dated then deserted seemed to bear grudges against him, singing his praises as a companion, their pleasure in the affair, remaining friends with him even after the relationships had ended.
Tom Fletcher, she’d realised very early on, was one of those men all women loved, and apparently he loved being loved by them, but he was of the ‘love them and leave them’ tribe with no intention of ever settling down.
And to be honest, she wasn’t sure about the affairs or even his prowess as a lover because none of the women ever talked.
Which in itself was odd …
‘Earth to Lauren?’
She stared at him, unable to remember what he’d said, and unable to believe she’d drifted off into her own thoughts while the man, apparently, had something to say to her.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘What was it you wanted?’
You, Tom would have liked to say, but he knew he could never say it. Oh, he’d asked her out once, but fortunately she’d said no, because as he’d grown to know Lauren Cooper he’d realised she was a woman who deserved the best of everything the world had to offer and, as far as men went, that wasn’t him.
‘Nothing,’ he said instead. ‘Except to know if you’re okay. You’re pale as milk, you’re sitting in an empty room way after working hours, and groaning loudly.’
She looked into his eyes and managed a wry smile.
‘Not loudly, surely?’ she queried.
‘Loudly!’ he repeated. ‘It brought me racing from my office.’
Her smile improved.
‘You? Race? Ice-cool Tom? The one who keeps his head when all around are losing theirs, isn’t that the saying?’
‘Well, I hurried,’ he amended then because it was always so—well, nice—to be sitting talking to Lauren about nothing in particular—something that rarely happened in both their busy lives—he added, ‘And you did groan, so tell me.’
If only she could! With a supreme effort of will, Lauren refrained from groaning again.
Although …
She studied him for a moment, considering the bizarre idea that had flitted into her head—checking it from all angles.
Tom was a friend, after all, and what were friends for but to help each other out?
Although might it not be tempting fate?
‘I am a friend.’ Tom echoed her thoughts. ‘So, rather than doing both sides of the argument in your head, why don’t you talk it out with me?’
‘Because it would involve you!’
Was it because the answer had come upon her so suddenly that she’d blurted that out?
‘Aah!’ Tom was grinning at her, laughter dancing in his eyes, mischief gleaming there as well. ‘You’ve killed someone and need help to dig the hole to bury the body!’
She had to smile!
‘Not quite that bad,’ she admitted, ‘although there were times today when I could have strangled an obnoxious eight-year-old who thought hosing all the girls who walked past the refuge was a fun way to pass the afternoon.’
‘Bobby Sims?’ Tom asked, and she smiled again as she nodded in answer to his query. One of the things that made Tom Fletcher so darned appealing—apart from film-star looks—was his empathy. He could sit down with someone and be on his or her wavelength within minutes, or so Lauren had always found.
‘But you didn’t strangle the terror of the refuge, so what’s the problem?’
Lauren shifted her attention away from Tom—too distracting—looking around the room, feeling so ridiculous she wondered if she could make up some story to explain her groan and he’d go away and she’d find an excuse to just not go to the tree raising.
Except she had to go!
As her eyes came back to rest on Tom’s face, he lifted one eyebrow, a trick she’d tried and failed to master in her youth, and she knew he deserved an honest answer.
‘You’ll think I’m stupid,’ she began, then was furious with herself for being feeble enough to utter such an inanity. ‘No, I am stupid. And pathetic, and ridiculous, and I’ve got myself into a tizz over nothing so best you just slope off to wherever you’re going and leave me groaning into my hands.’
Lauren didn’t do stupid. That was the first thought that came into Tom’s head as he listened to her castigate herself. Of all the women he’d ever known, she was the most sensible, practical and level-headed, guided by what had always
seemed a boundless store of common sense and a determination that bordered on ruthless—at least, where keeping the women’s refuge open was concerned. As far as he knew, in her private life she was just that, private—she lived alone and seemed to like it that way—but stupid? Never!
‘I’m not going,’ he announced. ‘Not until you tell me what’s got you frazzled like this. Is it Christmas? Does your family make a big deal of it, so you have relatives who bore you stupid descending on you for weeks at a time, and people arguing about who’s doing the cake and the best stuffing for the turkey?’
That won a smile, but it was wan and he realised that, subconsciously perhaps, he’d been worried about Lauren for a while. She was still as beautiful as ever, having good bone structure so tiredness didn’t ravage her features as it did some people. But she was pale, and the dark shadows beneath her eyes had deepened so they had a bruised look.
The smile had dried up while he was thinking about her looks, and she was frowning at him now.
Quite ferociously, in fact, so the words, when they came, seemed to have no meaning—certainly nothing to connect them to a ferocious frown.
‘I want to ask you out,’ she said, her eyes, a golden, greeny-brown and always startling against her golden blonde hair, fixed on his, no doubt so she could gauge his reaction.
Challenging him, in fact!
‘Okay,’ he managed, though battling to process both the invitation and the fierceness of it, which made the slight start of pleasurable surprise he felt quite ridiculous. ‘When?’
‘Tonight,’ she said. ‘In fact, right now—we should be leaving any minute.’
‘But it’s the great tree raising do tonight,’ he reminded her. ‘We’re both going anyway. The entire hospital staff was invited.’
No reaction beyond another, barely suppressed groan, so he took a wild guess.
‘Do you mean after the tree raising? Dinner somewhere perhaps?’
New Doc in Town / Orphan Under the Christmas Tree Page 17
