The Most Magical Gift of All

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘Sweets.’ Imogen corrected him, using the English word and trying to sound like Sophie.

  He laughed. ‘Sweets or lollies, honey, she’s eating way too many of them.’

  ‘I promise I’ll be good.’ Sophie’s eyes danced and her fingers darted towards the bowl.

  ‘Im, it’s tickle time.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Sophie dodged out from the kitchen bench and into the sunroom.

  ‘Get her, Jack.’

  Jack grabbed Sophie around the waist as Imogen hopped off the chair and threw herself at Sophie with a rugby tackle around the knees. Fingers tickled under arms, around waists and behind knees, and laughter rained over them all until, exhausted, the three of them fell onto the couch.

  Sophie ended up across Jack’s chest and Imogen sat on top of Sophie. Sophie’s weight against his body reminded him of the day they’d met. The scent of her hair brought back the memory of how amazing it had been to bury his face in it, and her laughing lips taunted him that they could be his again if he chose. She reminded him of everything he’d given up.

  You’re hiding from the life you want, Jack.

  ‘I surrender.’ Sophie gasped, struggled to sit up, and fell back.

  Imogen crossed her arms and stared down at her. ‘What does that mean?’

  Jack smiled. ‘It means Sophie is going to be a good girl and do what we tell her.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ Sophie tilted her chin back so her eyes met his and he recognised the need burning there as hot as his own.

  I don’t want a relationship, Jack, I just want sex.

  There’s more than one solution to every problem, son.

  Jack couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid.

  Sophie managed to sit up and she lifted Imogen off her lap. Rising to her feet, she tried to tuck her curls behind her ears, but it was a hopeless task and she gave up. Instead, she put her hand out to Imogen. ‘Let’s get back to work, shall we? Those gingerbread men might run away if we leave them alone for too long.’

  This time the British nanny sounded a lot more relaxed, and Jack smiled.

  Sophie sat on the couch with her laptop, reading an email from her father filled with hints about her coming home for a visit, when she suddenly realised the house was uncharacteristically quiet. She glanced towards the corner of the sunroom where less than three minutes ago Imogen had been drawing at her little table. She wasn’t there.

  ‘Imogen.’ Sophie hurriedly pushed back her chair, and started walking down the hall towards the bedrooms. ‘Imogen?’ The room was empty.

  She noticed that the door to Jack’s mother’s room was open and she walked in. ‘Imogen?’

  ‘I hiding here.’ The little girl’s voice was muffled.

  Sophie opened the door to the en suite but it was empty. Puzzled, she called out again. ‘Imogen, where are you?’

  ‘It’s hidey. You have to find me.’

  Sophie smiled at the five-year-old’s version of the game where she’d forgotten to tell the seeker they were playing. ‘I wonder where you can be?’ A moment later she heard a giggle.

  She checked under the bed but all she could see were neatly wrapped Christmas gifts. Perhaps Jack got his organisational skills from Min. ‘You’re not under the bed.’

  Another giggle. ‘I know.’

  The only other place left was the enormous wardrobe with its intricate carving. Surely she wasn’t in there? She put her ear against the door and said, ‘I’m coming to get you.’

  She heard more muffled giggles.

  Opening the latch, she pulled open the door. It was filled with beautiful clothes and boxes of shoes, and it was hard to imagine Imogen could possibly be inside. She peered under the clothes into the darkness and stretched out her hand, expecting to hit the back of the wardrobe, but she only touched space. She moved out some shoe boxes and crawled in.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dim light she made out Imogen sitting in the far corner and cuddling Sheils. She reached out towards her. ‘Gotcha!’

  Imogen squealed with delight and sat in her lap. ‘Look, Sophie, Min has a light.’

  Sophie saw an old-fashioned pull-cord light and she reached up and turned it on. They sat surrounded by shoes and clothes and hats. ‘This is amazing.’

  ‘I like to play here.’ Imogen rested her head against Sophie’s shoulder. ‘Tell me the story about Christmas when you were a little girl.’

  The familiar ache that always bored through Sophie when she thought of Christmas rose inside her, but she pushed past it, thinking instead of the Christmas in Surrey spent in a rambling house not dissimilar to this one. She remembered the glowing, open fires, a fresh pine-tree, snow on the ground, playing hide and seek inside the house with Chris and her sisters, and skating on the pond on Christmas afternoon. The memory made her smile. ‘When I was a little girl, a bit older than you, my brother and sisters and I built a snow man.’

  ‘Tell me another Christmas story.’

  ‘My mother used to make plum puddings and hang them in the attic.’ Sophie leaned back against the back of the deep wardrobe and settled in for a story-telling session, because if she’d learned anything in a week it was that Imogen had an inexhaustible amount of questions.

  ‘Dr Armitage, we’ve located Kylie in Tamworth.’ The voice of Carmel the social worker came down the line.

  His anger bubbled out. ‘What guitar-playing country singer did she chase there this year?’

  Carmel ignored his rhetorical question. ‘She said she’s interested in pursuing a career as a country and western singer and she’s agreed to permanent care for Imogen.’

  He grunted. ‘She has this week, anyway.’ Kylie had a history of changing her mind. He remembered the night he’d delivered the bright-eyed Imogen into the world, and the days following when Kylie had toyed with the idea of giving Im up for adoption, before changing her mind at the last minute and thus setting up the roller-coaster that was the little girl’s life.

  ‘No, Jack, we were very clear on what that meant. We offered her extra help and support if she returned to Barragong but she isn’t interested in being a parent any more. The only thing she was quite specific about was that she wants you and Min to raise her child.’

  ‘Respite care is one thing, Carmel, but permanent care is a huge deal.’ Jack rubbed the back of his neck, feeling trapped. ‘I can’t make any decisions until my mother gets back, especially as I’m heading off on long-service leave for a few months.’

  ‘I know it’s a big decision, Jack. Permanent care means you become a father with all the inherent joys and heartaches that role brings. But being a father is a very special thing, and all I’m asking is that you give it due consideration before you reject it out of hand. I’ll be in touch.’

  The line went dead.

  Jack’s head hammered so hard it felt like it would explode from the tension. Imogen needed a family—she deserved that. He had a trip to take—he was owed that. Hell, he’d given it up twice already, and he didn’t want to do it again. The walls of the house pressed in on him, echoing with voices of the past until he thought he’d go mad. He couldn’t stay here any longer. He grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

  Sophie tore off the latex gloves and dropped them in the treatment room’s bin, loving the fact her stitches had come out an hour ago. Diana had removed them and thus ended the incessant itching that had been with her for the last few days. The neat, red line now had a clear plaster over it just for added protection but the cut had healed beautifully. Jack’s handiwork was faultless. It felt great to be doing hands-on medicine again. She felt great. She hadn’t experienced such a relaxed December since she’d been eleven.

  She smiled at her patient. ‘Mrs Stephenson, this ulcer is really nasty and it needs a daily dressing. I’m sure between myself and the nurses we can arrange something so you don’t have to tramp in here every day.’

  ‘You’re a sweet girl, dear, thank you.’ The elderly patient patted Sophie’s hand. ‘I bet
you’re finding Barragong a lot hotter than grey, old England.’

  Sophie laughed. ‘It does seem odd not to have snow and cold weather in December, but I think I prefer your sunshine.’ She’d been mulling over her calm state. Granted, she’d noticed Jack had removed every second Christmas ornament from the stationary surfaces in the house, but she really thought the weather made a huge difference to her well-being.

  You go right ahead and think that in your deluded little world. Jack’s the difference.

  No way, no way, not possible at all.

  ‘Right, then, let’s get you back to your husband.’ Sophie grabbed at the wheelchair handles and started walking quickly, wanting to escape the argument in her head.

  Mrs Stephenson giggled like a girl. ‘Steady there, doctor, there isn’t a fire.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ll slow down—’ But she stopped dead.

  Jack stood at the nurses’ station in black leather trousers and a white T-shirt. He turned and smiled, all wicked charm and bad-boy intent.

  A fast rush of heat whooshed through her body, liquefying every cell, and her grip on the wheelchair handles was the only thing keeping her upright.

  Mrs Stephenson sighed and gave Jack a wave as she leaned back to Sophie. ‘That young man is a wonderful doctor, and very easy on the eyes.’

  Sophie’s tight throat only managed a squeak in reply. Was the Jack she wanted so badly really back?

  Jack strode over, concern and conscientiousness clear on his handsome face.

  Her stomach rolled in disappointment. Perhaps he wasn’t back after all.

  He squatted in front of the wheelchair. ‘Elsie, what happened to your leg?’

  ‘Now, Jack, don’t fuss. Sophie here has me all sorted out, and it might have taken me fifty-five years but I have David well trained to cook and clean.’

  Mr Stephenson stepped up, a large and benevolent smile on his face. ‘Don’t listen to a word, Jack. I taught her everything she knows.’

  Jack stood up, laughing, and shook David’s hand. ‘Sophie, David and my father threw legendary barbeques that could only be described as gourmet.’

  David nodded and Sophie knew both men were thinking of Dr Armitage senior who for that moment seemed to be in the room with them. In the last couple of weeks, she’d often thought he was visiting with Jack.

  David covered his wife’s hand. ‘Ready to go, love?’

  Elsie gave a long sigh. ‘Yes, and I’m looking forward to one of your lovely cups of tea. Everyone here tries, but they can’t make one as well as you.’

  Diana waddled over with a large plastic bag full of dressing packs. ‘Elsie, we’ve got a roster going, so if you have your shower at nine and then lie on the bed with the ulcer open to the air one of us will be there at ten each day.’

  Elsie accepted the large bag, placed it on her lap and glanced at everyone. ‘Will I be able to go to Carols by Candlelight on Christmas Eve? My granddaughter’s in the nativity play and I’ve made her wombat costume. I really want to see her in it.’

  Jack grinned. ‘Well, as a fellow costume maker…’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Sophie gave a snort. ‘If I remember correctly, I was the one who got covered in feathers and battled the temperamental glue-gun.’

  Jack smiled sagely and spoke directly to Elsie. ‘I made the tea.’

  Elsie patted his arm and then beamed up at Sophie. ‘A good man knows when to hang back, dear, and when to step up. Tea is probably what you needed.’

  Sophie remembered how stressed she’d been with the costume and how Jack had removed the sticky mess from her lap, sat down next to her and passed her a cup of fragrant Earl Grey tea. The shifting sensation she’d experienced on and off in the last two weeks tilted again, sending dangerous waves of longing and belonging through her.

  Don’t be ridiculous, you didn’t need tea. You need and want what Jack won’t give—uncomplicated sex.

  Sophie glanced at her watch. ‘Diana, can you please escort David and Elsie out to the car? Otherwise I’ll be late for kinder pick-up and Imogen gets anxious.’

  ‘No problem.’ The nurse ushered the Stephensons towards the front door.

  Jack stayed put.

  She bit her lip and gave him a long look, not certain what was going on, but being a lot more cautious than she’d been the first day she’d met him when she’d missed all the signs that he was a sheep in wolf’s clothing. God, he was gorgeous. And untouchable. Rather than put herself through the agonies of wanting, she headed towards the other exit. He easily fell into step beside her and she could feel his gaze lazily drifting over her.

  She spoke briskly. ‘I’m glad you went for a ride.’

  ‘I made a different choice.’

  His words were her words coming back to her—words she thought he hadn’t even heard. She walked outside, the heat hitting her like a fist. ‘That’s great, but why are you here now? I thought you were doing afternoon clinic today, and it doesn’t start until two.’

  His eyes sparkled with swirls of violet and blue. ‘You’re right, it doesn’t, but I came to get you.’

  Her heart picked up only to plummet again. ‘I have to collect Imogen.’

  He slid his hand along her palm, his fingers wrapping around hers. ‘Imogen’s on a play date.’

  Her heart hammered so loudly she could hardly hear her own words. ‘A play date? What’s that?’

  ‘It means she’s at the Dempseys’ house playing with Lochie until you collect her at two.’ He leaned in close, his eyes hungry for her and his words heavy with need. ‘We have two hours where no one needs us.’

  ‘No one needs us?’ Her brain turned to sludge as her blood sped through her body, firing off every pleasure point and making them hum with vibrating need. She tried hard to hold onto common sense and control but the goddess had already slipped into something more comfortable. For two weeks Jack had been determined not to have sex in Barragong and now suddenly the bad boy was back. It didn’t make sense.

  Does it matter why?

  ‘Sophie.’ Jack’s eyes bored into her and her name came out on a moan.

  All thoughts vanished. ‘If we have two hours to ourselves, why are we standing here?’

  His eyes flared with heat and his lips pressed against hers in a kiss so hot, hard and fast it sucked the breath from her lungs.

  He pulled back. ‘You’re right, we’re wasting time.’ Striding out, he tugged her behind him, and ten paces later they stood next to the silver-and-black motorcycle that was glinting in the sunshine. He tossed her a helmet, swung his legs over the bike and a moment later the engine roared to life. He turned towards her and smiled.

  Oh, yes. Her Jack was back. She swung up behind him, wrapped her arms around him and let the breadth of his back and the heat of his body flood into her. She breathed in the scent of leather, sweat and sunshine as her legs contoured to his and her head rested on his shoulder. She’d longed to touch him for so long and she soaked him up like a dry sponge absorbing water, feeling her body opening up and expanding in a way it never had before.

  The bike tore down the familiar road, taking the turn at the yellow forty-four-gallon drum, and the homestead came into sight. Anticipation of tumbling into bed with Jack almost made her lose her balance but he didn’t cross the cattle grid into the drive. Instead he turned left and jolted down a rocky dirt-red track.

  Simmering anticipation turned to abject frustration. What was he doing? They had two hours, so why was he wasting time? The bike turned again, this time away from the rocky, grassless plains and down a steep incline until the road flattened out again. Majestic river red-gums, gnarly and scarred, some with trunks the width of a small car, lined a dry, rocky creek bed, and behind them the sheer cliffs of a gorge towered above. The red, brown and yellow colours of the rocks contrasted dramatically against the eucalypt, green leaves and white bark. It was hot, harsh and one of the most vividly beautiful places she’d ever seen.

  Jack stopped the bike. He swung off, removed his helm
et and rummaged around in the panniers. Then he stripped off his leathers.

  Sophie’s questions about what Jack had planned stalled as she was deliciously sidetracked by watching his long, muscular legs appear. The questions resumed when he pulled on a pair of shorts. ‘Why are we here, Jack?’

  He gave her a smile that only generated more questions than it answered. ‘Trust me, Soph.’

  She realised with a start that she did. She trusted him absolutely.

  Pulling out a small day-pack from the panniers, he held out a crumpled sun-hat. ‘Put this on and the adventure begins.’

  She jammed it on her head, then his hand grabbed hers and they walked further along the creek bed. The need to talk vanished and the only sounds she could hear were the clink of the rocks under her feet, the occasional squawk of a black cockatoo and the sound of her breathing.

  Jack suddenly stopped, and with his arm around her shoulder he pointed up high on the cliff wall and whispered, ‘Yellow-footed rock wallaby.’

  She squinted and then gasped in delight as she saw in the dark shadows of a cliff ledge a small wallaby with a grey body, yellow-furred legs and a beautiful black-and-yellow-striped tail. ‘That’s amazing.’

  He grinned and started walking again, and soon turned left, heading into a narrower part of the gorge. The rocks underfoot became damp, and occasional puddles of water appeared. They started climbing up massive rocks that had been smoothed by millions of years of water rushing over them at various times.

  Jack scaled the rocks with the expertise of someone who’d done this climb many times before, and as he advanced each level he kneeled down, extended his arm and hauled Sophie upwards. She gripped his hand, needing his help to scramble up, and loving the chance to touch him.

  Water seeped through the rocks and unlike lower down, where the cliffs were bare, vegetation clung to the sheer faces. She could see trees growing out of the rocks and she wondered how they clung there with scant soil to hold them in place. She took a moment to catch her breath and looked up. High above her a wedge-tail eagle circled, looking for lunch from an unsuspecting snake sunning itself in the sunshine.