Christmas Eve: Doorstep Delivery
highlight_author
Sarah Morgan
highlight_reads
19,0K
highlight_chapters
9
CHAPTER ONE
HAYLEY climbed out of the taxi, slipped on the ice and landed hard on her bottom in the snow.
‘Are you all right, love?’ The taxi driver peered at her and she gave a weak smile as she slithered and slid her way back onto her feet, clutching the door for support and mentally itemising the damage.
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, trying not to picture the bruise that was going to appear later. ‘Fortunately my bottom is big enough to provide a decent cushion. Which is useful because I’m not that great at walking on ice. Actually, I’m not that great at walking on pavements either. I’m the only person I know who can trip on a flat surface.’
The taxi driver chuckled sympathetically. ‘Uncoordinated, are you? I have a sister like that. Always falling over, she is.’ He flicked on the windscreen wipers to clear the snow. ‘It’s been great chatting to you, Hayley. Cheered up my Christmas Eve, you have. Feel as though I’ve known you for years.’
Remembering just how frank she’d been, Hayley squirmed with embarrassment. She’d said far too much. As usual. He knew everything about her except her bra size. Come to think of it, he probably knew that, too, because she had mentioned that she always felt nervous in strapless dresses. In her head she could hear her stepbrother’s mocking voice saying, Hayley doesn’t have an ‘off’ switch. But what was she supposed to do? She’d been in the car for twenty minutes and it would have been rude not to speak. ‘I’m glad you were the one who picked me up from the station, Jack. And I hope you get that hip of yours sorted out soon.’
‘I’m sure I will. The doctors are very clever around here. Good with their hands, you know?’ He gave her a knowing wink and Hayley blushed, wondering what had possessed her to confess that particular bit of her life history.
‘How much do I owe you, Jack?’
‘Nothing. Haven’t enjoyed a fare so much all year. You made me laugh so hard I almost had the car off the road at that last corner,’ he said cheerfully, setting his meter to zero. ‘And if you really want my opinion, I think your family should be ashamed of themselves. If my daughter were a midwife I’d be proud as punch—I wouldn’t be telling her she was wasting her talents and should have been a lawyer. Where would the world be if we all picked our jobs on the basis of how much they pay? No wonder you wanted to come up here and escape. Now, forget about the lot of them and have a good time. I hope the romance works out for you. With any luck he’ll propose by New Year and then you can invite me to your wedding.’
Wedding?
Had she actually confessed that bit of her fantasy?
‘If there’s a wedding, you’ll be there. I’ll need someone rooting for me on my side of the church,’ Hayley said weakly, holding onto the door and wishing she hadn’t revealed quite so much to someone she’d known for twenty minutes. It wasn’t so bad to have told him why she wasn’t going home to her family for Christmas, but it was probably a mistake to have told him about that night.
But she was excited! And happy! And it was all because of a man.
At least now she was in the same country as him, she thought dreamily. The thought that he might be within miles of her made her want to sing and dance. It was only the knowledge that dancing might leave her with two broken ankles that stopped her from twirling in the snow.
That and the fact that she didn’t want to make a bad impression on her new employer.
Brushing the snow from her coat, she thought to herself that for once—just once—it would be nice to be a naturally elegant and dignified person. She would have liked to arrive at her new job as housekeeper looking like one of those women you saw in magazines—long black coat, elegant boots, lipstick…
‘You’ve got snow in your hair, love,’ the taxi driver said helpfully, and then nodded at the house behind her. ‘Well, this is it. High Fell Barn. Nice place. Smart. Like something from one of those fancy architect designed home programmes you see on the TV. I know you haven’t met the family but I can tell you from looking at this that they’re loaded. I wouldn’t mind spending Christmas here myself. Starting to think you might be right to ditch the whole family thing.’
‘Oh, no, I think family is wonderful,’ Hayley said hastily, dragging snow out of her hair with her fingers. ‘Just not my family. And they’d probably be all right if I was different. They’re all scarily clever and co-ordinated and have really well-paid jobs and apartments with big windows and glass—you know the sort of thing. I was the runt of the litter. Well, actually I came from a different litter because they’re my step-siblings. My mum married their dad and they never forgave me for that.’ She was doing it again, talking, talking, talking. ‘Anyway, enough of that,’ she said lamely, and Jack smiled at her.
‘Stepfamilies can be complicated. Everyone knows that. Lots of jealousy there.’
‘I don’t think my step-siblings are jealous,’ Hayley said humbly. ‘More embarrassed to be officially associated with me, I think.’
Whoops—here comes Hayley. How many babies has she dropped this year?
Not for the first time Hayley indulged in a swift fantasy about her acid-tongued stepbrother choking on a chicken bone and her saving his life with a skilfully performed Heimlich manoeuvre. Of course, he’d be blubbering with gratitude, her whole family open-mouthed with awe at her hidden talents, begging her forgiveness for having so grossly underestimated her.
We had no idea, Hayley.
Trying not to dwell on how inadequate her family made her feel, Hayley stared at the huge glass windows and the snow-covered roof of the barn. Despite the size of the place, it was the most welcoming building she’d ever seen. Lights twinkled along the front of the barn and through the window she could see a haphazardly decorated Christmas tree standing guard over piles of brightly wrapped parcels.
To the side of the barn was a wide stream in full flow, the winter silence disturbed by the roar and rush of white water as it frothed down from the top of the icy fells.
‘That’s the beck.’ The taxi driver nodded. ‘That’s what we call it in these parts. In summer it’s no more than a trickle of water but now, with the snow melting…’
‘It’s fantastic.’ After the urban chaos of Chicago, Hayley savoured the sound of the water smashing over the rocks on its way down the mountain.
Behind the barn stretched acres of fields, sparkling white with snow, and beyond that the forest and the mountains. Pine trees stood tall and straight as sentries either side of the barn, tiny twinkling lights twisted through their branches.
It was like something from a Christmas card. She half expected to see Santa and a team of reindeer hauling a large sack towards the gently smoking chimney.
‘It’s enough to lift your spirits, isn’t it?’ The taxi driver grinned at her. ‘Talking of which, it’s time I went home and lifted spirits with the wife. Brandy is her tipple. You never know—I might get lucky. Hope you do, too.’
‘I don’t know—I’m starting to think this might have been a mistake,’ Hayley confessed, cautiously letting go of the car door and pushing her hands into her coat pockets for extra warmth. ‘I don’t even know where the guy lives. I just know it’s the Lake District.’
‘But you know he works at the hospital so he should be easy to track down once Christmas is over.’
Desperate for reassurance, she bit her lip. ‘Do you think it’s crazy to have come all this way to find a guy I’ve only met once?’
‘I think it’s brave.’
‘Brave as in stupid or brave as in courageous?’
‘If you hadn’t done it, you would have spent the rest of your life thinking, What if he was the one? And what if he was? You’d have thrown it all away. What’s the worst that can happen? He can reject you and you’ll be a bit embarrassed. So what?’
Feeling her nerve seep out of her like air from a punctured tyre, Hayley decided that if she was going to find the courage to carry out this plan, she needed to end this conversation. ‘Thanks for the lift, Jack. Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas to you.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Will you make it to the door without slipping?’
‘Probably not, but don’t worry—bruises suit me. I look good in blue and purple.’ Hayley smoothed her hair, even though she knew that without a pair of straighteners and half an hour in front of a mirror her attempts to look groomed wouldn’t make an impact.
With a final wave and toot of his horn, Jack drove away and Hayley was left staring at the house.
A pair of child’s red Wellington boots were tipped over in the snow, and a tiny shovel had been discarded on the path, as if the owner hadn’t been able to wait to run back inside this wonderful house and prepare for Christmas.
It wasn’t a house, Hayley thought wistfully. It was a home.
A dream home.
And inside was a family who needed her—a family who wasn’t going to spend the whole festive season treating her as the entertainment.
So why was she suddenly nervous?
Well, because she was always the same about decisions. Right thing, wrong thing? This or that? Invariably she jumped in with both feet and then realised that the other way was the better way. In fact, she’d spent most of her life unravelling the consequences of decisions she’d made.
When she’d been miles away in Chicago, Christmas with a bunch of strangers had seemed like a brilliant idea. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure.
She was about to take a job with a family she’d never even met, in a part of the country she didn’t know. And all so that she could avoid her own agonising family Christmas and track down a gorgeous stranger she’d spent one night with.
When she’d come up with the plan it had seemed bold and proactive.
A plan worthy of a competent, twenty-first-century woman.
Hayley swallowed. She didn’t need her step-siblings to point out that she wasn’t really a competent, twenty-first-century woman.
If she were a competent, twenty-first-century woman she wouldn’t have slunk out of an impossibly sexy man’s swanky hotel room before he’d woken up, neither would she have been wearing the previous night’s dress and a scarlet face that announced her sins to anyone who happened to be looking. And she definitely wouldn’t have left her knickers on his bedroom floor! A twenty-first-century woman would certainly have been able to find her knickers in the dark. Except that a twenty-first-century woman wouldn’t have needed to. She would have woken up next to the impossibly sexy man, calmly ordered room service and then handed him her phone number or left with her head held high.
She had slunk out like a criminal, ensuring that there was no chance he would ever call her, because he didn’t have her number.
All he had was her knickers.
At least Cinderella had had the sense to make it a shoe, Hayley thought gloomily as she picked her way through the snow to the front door. Losing a shoe made you seem slightly dippy and a little romantic—although it made it difficult to walk, of course. But losing knickers…
She didn’t even want to think about how losing a pair of knickers made you look.
Prince Charming would never have roamed his kingdom looking for the bottom that fitted the knickers, would he?
Cross with herself, she kicked a lump of snow and watched it scatter. She’d met the man of her dreams and then she’d walked out! What an idiot. Her step-siblings would have laughed themselves sick. Soppy, romantic Hayley, always dreaming of marriage and happy endings.
Hayley sighed. She wasn’t that old-fashioned. She had spent the night with him—although her embarrassingly quick surrender had had more to do with his superior seduction technique than her impressive decision-making abilities.
But she wasn’t going to think about that now. She wasn’t going to think about his skilled hands, or his clever mouth or the way he knew exactly where to touch and how…
Oh, God, please, please, don’t let him reject her. Please let him be dreaming of her right now. And most of all please let him have spent the past few weeks frantically calling detective agencies trying to track her down. All I know about her is that she has great taste in underwear.
Surely he was going to be pleased to see her?
Imagining his reaction to her unexpected arrival brought a smile to her face. Perhaps she’d better make sure that their first meeting took place in private in case he just hauled her into his arms and proposed on the spot.
She wondered what her stepsister would say when she met him.
How did our Hayley ever get herself a man like that?
Smiling at her own fantasies, she reached towards the doorbell.
Patrick pushed the haphazardly wrapped presents under the tree and looked at his ten-year-old son. ‘Alfie, why are you looking at the clock?’
Alfie gave a guilty start. ‘I don’t keep looking at the clock.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘Well, it’s Christmas Eve. I—I’m excited.’ Alfie’s gaze slid furtively to the door. ‘Daddy, don’t you wish you had someone to help cook the turkey?’
‘I can cook a turkey.’ Patrick added a strip of sticky tape to a parcel that was bursting out of its wrapping.
‘Last year you said if you ever saw a turkey again it would be too soon.’
Patrick winced. Was Christmas ever going to run smoothly? ‘That was last year. I’ve studied a cookery book. I don’t foresee any complications.’ He tried to look confident. He could perform a Caesarean section in less than four minutes if the need arose. Why did he struggle to cook a turkey?
‘If you had a wife, she could cook the turkey.’
‘That isn’t a reason to get married. These days, women don’t always like doing that sort of thing.’ Patrick extracted himself from under the tree, his wide shoulders dragging through the branches and sending a shower of needles over the pale wooden floor. ‘Why are you talking about wives? We’re going to have a great Christmas. You, Posy and me.’
‘And the kittens.’
‘And the kittens.’ Remembering the kittens, Patrick frowned. ‘That woman who phoned earlier is coming to look at them any moment now. With any luck she’ll fall in love with them and that will solve one of our problems.’
‘The kittens aren’t a problem!’
‘Having four of them is a problem.’ Seeing the forlorn look on Alfie’s face, Patrick felt a flash of guilt and squatted down in front of his son. ‘Alfie, we cannot keep four kittens.’
Alfie fiddled with a bauble on the tree. ‘What if the woman gets here and she doesn’t want the kittens?’
‘Why wouldn’t she want the kittens? That’s why she’s coming.’ Patrick scooped up a pile of discarded books and stood up. ‘Take this lot up to your bedroom, will you? We need to make room for all the new mess you’re going to make on Christmas Day.’
Alfie looked up at him, a flash of desperation in his eyes. ‘Do you promise that whatever happens you won’t be angry?’
Patrick frowned. ‘Alfie, what is going on?’ He forced himself to ask the question that always niggled at the back of his mind. ‘Are you missing Mum? Is that what this is about?’
Alfie rubbed his foot along the groove in the floor. ‘Do you miss her?’
How did you tell a child that divorce had come as a blessing?
‘Your mum and I made a mistake when we got married,’ Patrick said gruffly. ‘It happens. It has nothing to do with you. We both love you.’
‘But you didn’t really love each other.’
Abandoning the books, Patrick squatted back down in front of his son. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘We didn’t. Not enough to make marriage work. We’d only known each other a month when we decided to get married.’ He didn’t add that Carly had become pregnant on purpose. ‘We didn’t know each other well enough and it’s important to take the time to get to know someone. I didn’t make your mum happy.’
‘Is that why she was always yelling at you?’
‘She didn’t always yell,’ Patrick said tactfully, but Alfie interrupted him.
‘She yelled all the time. And that day she left—two Christmases ago—she shouted at you because you went to deliver those triplets when she had lunch on the table.’
Patrick knew from experience that there was no point in lying. ‘That’s right, she did. She was upset.’
‘She said she was thinking of getting pregnant again because that way she might at least get to see you in the damn antenatal clinic.’
Patrick pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose, knowing that this wasn’t the time to lecture on language. He was just relieved that neither of his children appeared to have inherited his ex-wife’s filthy temper. ‘She was very angry with me,’ he said evenly. ‘She’d made plans for a special Christmas, but I was on call at the hospital and I—well, in my job, I can’t always plan.’ Not for a moment would he tell the child that his mother had liked the idea of being married to a wealthy obstetrician, but not the reality. ‘Why are we talking about this now?’
‘I don’t know.’ Alfie shrugged. ‘Because it’s Christmas and Mum left at Christmas.’
‘Christmas can be a difficult time for lots of families,’ Patrick said roughly, watching his son’s face. ‘Is it full of bad memories for you?’
‘No. I like being with you,’ Alfie said honestly. ‘I like the fact that there’s no shouting because you never shout. Does it make me bad that I don’t miss her?’
Was that what had been worrying the child? Guilt that he didn’t miss his mother? ‘It doesn’t make you bad.’ Anger towards his ex-wife shot through him like white heat and Patrick hugged the boy tightly, feeling his heart split in two.
Alfie gave a croak of protest. ‘Daddy, you’re squeezing me!’
‘Sorry.’ His tone gruff, he released his hold. ‘I love you. You know that, don’t you?’ The words came easily, driven by a burning determination to be a better father to his son than his own father had been to him. To feel, and to express those feelings without embarrassment.
‘And I love you.’ Alfie was openly affectionate. ‘And you’re the best doctor in the world, everyone says so. If you have to go to the hospital this Christmas, I’ll come with you. We’re a team. Team Buchannan. Do you think they’ll have chocolates?’
Touched by the hero-worship, Patrick smiled. ‘Stacks of them. Maggie is saving you the best. And, Alfie, I’m not the best doctor in the world.’
‘You are. You’re so cool. You saved Matt’s little sister’s life when she was born—she would have died if it hadn’t been for you. And Jenna’s mum says she’d marry you if you asked her.’
Startled, Patrick lifted his eyebrows. ‘You heard her say that?’
‘Yes. I heard her talking to another mum on the phone. She said you were really hot. But I don’t see how she could have known what temperature you were because you weren’t there and, anyway, it had just snowed. You made me wear a vest. How could you have been hot?’
Patrick let out a long breath and made a mental note to keep his distance from Jenna’s mum. ‘Well—I—’
‘Do you want to get married again, Dad?’
Patrick felt the conversation spiralling out of control. ‘Marriage is a big thing,’ he said carefully, ‘and when you’ve been wrong once, it makes you wary about doing it again. But maybe one day. If I know someone really, really well.’ He wouldn’t be making the same mistake he’d made with Carly. No more whirlwind relationships. Trying not to think about the girl he’d met in Chicago, he concentrated on his son. ‘Do you want me to get married again?’
‘It would be nice to have someone on our team who can cook.’
‘I can cook.’ Patrick picked up the books again. ‘Just wait until tomorrow.’
Alfie looked unconvinced. ‘Will you poison us? Uncle Daniel said the emergency department is always full on Christmas Day of people being poisoned with salmon—something, but I don’t get how a turkey can turn into a fish.’
‘Salmonella. It’s a bacterium. And I’m not going to poison you.’ Patrick dropped a kiss on his son’s head. ‘Time to wake Posy from her nap.’ He lifted his head as the doorbell sounded. ‘Ah—that will be the lady who wants the kittens.’
Alfie gulped and the guilt was suddenly back in his eyes. ‘I’ll get the door. You get Posy.’
Hayley stood on the doorstep, trying to look the way a competent housekeeper was supposed to look.
Fingering the advert in her pocket, she suddenly felt nervous. Must like children and be able to cook turkey. What exactly was this family expecting? A cross between Mary Poppins and a celebrity chef?
Thumps and childish shrieks came from behind the door and suddenly it was tugged open and a young boy stood there. There was a large blob of chocolate on his sweatshirt.
‘Hi.’ He gave her a tentative smile and then glanced nervously over his shoulder. ‘You’ve come about the advert?’
‘Yes.’ Hayley took an instant liking to him. ‘You must be Alfie. You look exactly the way you sounded on the phone.’ Sweet, bright, bouncy, straightforward—nervous?
‘I wasn’t sure you’d come.’
Hayley wondered why he was nervous. Was he scared his new housekeeper was a dragon? ‘I’ve been dying to meet you.’ She gave him a friendly smile. ‘I spoke to your dad briefly—is he in?’
The anxiety in the child’s eyes bordered on panic. ‘Yes. But there’s something I need to—’
‘Alfie?’ A deep male voice came from behind him and a man strolled towards the door, a little girl in his arms. ‘Is it the lady who rang about the advert?’
‘Sort of.’ Throwing Hayley a desperate look, Alfie shrank to one side and Hayley frowned slightly, disturbed that he seemed to be afraid of his father.
Hoping that she wasn’t about to spend Christmas with a family even more dysfunctional than her own, she turned to introduce herself and gave a gasp of shock.
It was him!
Here. And every bit as good looking as she remembered in a rough, male I-can-kill-a-lion-with-my-bare-hands sort of way.
The smile started inside her and spread to her lips. What a fantastic coincidence! She wouldn’t even have to take the trouble to track him down. He lived right here, in this beautiful barn with two beautiful children, and—
Her thoughts came crashing to a halt.
He lived with two beautiful children?
His two beautiful children?
Oh, God, he had children.
He wasn’t an indecently handsome sex god, he was a faithless rat.
The shock was like a fist punching her hard in the stomach. Hayley gave a whimper of disbelief. Please let it be a mistake. Please. Don’t let them be his children. Let him be looking after them for someone else.
No, no no…
But even as she stared in horror at her fantasy man, the little girl burrowed sleepily into his shoulder.
‘Want to go back inside, Daddy,’ she mumbled, and Hayley felt her happiness evaporate in an instant.
All that was left of her bright, shiny new life was the bitter, grey sludge of melted dreams.
So much for her fantasy man.
So much for imagining that he’d been thinking about her.
No wonder he hadn’t contacted her.
He had another life. A family.
What now? How on earth was she going to get out of this mess she’d made for herself?
Hi, there, I came to find you but you’re not the man I thought you were, so I’m going home now. And, by the way, I hope you trip and bash your head on something really hard.
A cold sweat of panic drenched her skin. What if his wife was in the house? Dear God, how was she going to face the woman? There was no way she’d ever threaten anyone’s family.
Horrified, Hayley started to back away but her feet shot in different directions and she ended up flat on her back in the snow.
‘Ow.’ Pain mingled with humiliation as she stared up at the grey winter sky. And then she was being hauled to her feet—easily, as if she weighed nothing, the strength in his muscular grip making her feel light and feminine.
‘Hayley?’ His tone was guarded and his sexy blue eyes held a glimmer of disbelief. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Well, obviously it isn’t that easy to walk in the snow,’ she said defensively, and he frowned slightly.
‘I meant—what are you doing here?’ he said gently, and Hayley realised that he hadn’t yet worked out that she was the one who had answered his advert for a housekeeper.
What a nightmare.
How was he going to react when he discovered that his dirty little secret was supposed to be spending Christmas with them?
Looking at the two vulnerable children clinging to him, she felt a flicker of anger. It would serve him right to have a moment of panic. It might make him think twice before he did the same thing again.
He reached out a hand and touched her hair and all her violent thoughts faded away. Hayley gazed up at him for a moment, completely disorientated by his touch, oblivious to the snow that had managed to find its way inside her clothes. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Removing a pine cone from your hair.’ He held up the small brown cone that was dusted with snow. ‘I thought it might be uncomfortable.’
Nowhere near as uncomfortable as realising that your dream of the future had just crashed and burned.
‘Dad? What’s going on?’ Alfie’s puzzled enquiry drew nothing more than a lift of an eyebrow from his father.
He showed no sign of guilt. His handsome face wasn’t shifting into a sheepish look. He wasn’t sending her silent messages. He was as relaxed as if he’d just opened the door to a carol singer.
Maybe he had affairs all the time. Maybe that was why he’d been so good at it—lots of practice.
The thought made her want to stuff a handful of freezing snow down the front of his trousers. She was sure that Diana, her stepsister, would have slapped his face at this point and then turned and stalked away. But Hayley had never hit anyone in her life and really effective stalking required good balance so that was out of the question.
But the thing that was really keeping her rooted to the spot were the two children hovering close to Patrick—was that his name or had he lied about that, too? It wasn’t their fault that their father was fuelled by high-octane testosterone levels and a superstud sex drive. They shouldn’t have to suffer. She wasn’t going to be responsible for breaking two little hearts on Christmas Eve. And if he had any sort of decency he’d help her find a polite excuse and leave, otherwise she had a fairly good idea of what she was going to do with the carving knife and her plan didn’t require a turkey.
‘I told your dad my name on the phone.’ Proud of her improvisation, she locked gazes with Patrick, giving him her best I-know-what-you’re-up-to-but-I’m-not-going-to-drop-you-in-it-yet look but his features remained impassive.
She envied his composure. His face revealed nothing. Nothing. Not a glimmer. Definitely not the sort of man who would reveal his bra size to a taxi driver.
‘You’re the woman who phoned? It was you?’
‘Yes.’ And she was wondering why she hadn’t recognised his voice. Presumably because she hadn’t expected to hear it. It hadn’t occurred to her that he had anything to do with the advert she’d answered.
The coincidence was ridiculously unfair.
It couldn’t happen to anyone but her.
And now she had to work out a way to unravel the mess, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything while he was staring at her. Those deep blue eyes made her mouth dry and her heart bumped against her chest. At one point during their fantasy night she’d even felt pleased that he’d left the light on because it had meant she could stare at him and marvel that such an indecently handsome man was in bed with her.
She should have known it was too good to be true.
Realising how naive she’d been, Hayley wanted to hide herself in a hole.
Why hadn’t it occurred to her that he might be married?
She was stupid, stupid, stupid.
Of course a man as gorgeous as him was going to be married.
She’d chased all the way from Chicago to follow a dream that didn’t even exist. It was too embarrassing for words.
For him it had just been a one-night stand. Hot sex. This was the twenty-first century—the divorce rate was higher than ever and people’s priorities had changed. Her friends had short, meaningless relationships, didn’t they? Some even boasted about it—as if the ability to have sex without feeling was something to be proud of. A sign of the times. Progression. People did it all the time.
Other people.
Not her. She was out of step. And that was the reason she was here, instead of just filing the night away in her memory.
Alfie was looking at her anxiously. ‘You came because of the advert.’
‘That’s right.’ And she’d been excited by the prospect of spending Christmas with a family other than hers.
‘You answered the advert?’ Patrick gave a faint frown, as if he found that surprising. Then he gave a little shrug. ‘In that case, why are we all standing on the doorstep? Let’s show you the kittens.’
‘Kittens?’ It was Hayley’s turn to look confused. ‘What kittens?’
‘Our kittens. The kittens in the advert.’ Patrick pushed the sleeves of his jumper up his forearms in a casual gesture that made her stomach curl with desire.
How could a man’s arms be sexy? Those dark hairs were like a declaration of his masculinity. And why did he have to have such a good body? She’d spent an entire night exploring every muscular curve of his powerful physique.
Reminding herself that his wife probably did the same thing all the time, Hayley dragged her eyes away from his arms and his body and focused on the tumbled blonde curls of his daughter. His daughter. If looking at her didn’t kill her libido, nothing would. He wasn’t available. He’d never been available. Even for that one special night, he hadn’t been hers.
‘I don’t know anything about kittens.’ If he was making up some story to satisfy his son, she wished he’d at least make it plausible.
‘You said you answered the advert,’ he said patiently, and Hayley wondered why he was trying to make her look stupid.
‘I did. The advert asked for a live-in housekeeper over Christmas. Someone to cook a turkey.’
‘I didn’t advertise for a housekeeper.’
‘I spoke to you a few hours ago.’ How could a man look so good dressed in faded jeans and a black jumper? ‘I asked you about the children. You told me that you had two—a boy and a girl.’ He’d look good in anything, she decided. And nothing.
His eyes were narrow and assessing. ‘We were talking about the kittens,’ he breathed. ‘We have kittens that need a good home. A boy and a girl—which is what I put in the advert. No mention of a housekeeper. Nothing about turkeys.’
He was going to pretend he didn’t know?
Hayley dug in her pocket and pulled out the crumpled advert. ‘Here.’ She pushed it into his hand, noticing that the little girl had inherited her father’s killer blue eyes. ‘Someone who knows how to cook a turkey—that’s what it says.’
‘Can I see that?’ His fingers brushed against hers and that touch was sufficient to ignite the same powerful chemistry that had made her forget morals, common sense and her own rules and spend the night with a stranger.
Determined to look as indifferent as he did, Hayley yanked her hand away and pushed it into the pocket of her coat. If her hands were in her coat then she couldn’t give way to the temptation and touch him, could she?
‘I don’t know anything about this advert.’ He scanned it swiftly, a puzzled frown on his face. ‘It’s our phone number, but—’ His voice tailed off and he slowly turned his head and looked at his son, his blue eyes suddenly dark with suspicion. ‘Is this the reason you’ve been so jumpy all day?’
Pinned by his father’s sharp, questioning gaze, Alfie shrank against the door. ‘I can explain…’
Patrick was ominously still. ‘I’m waiting.’
Alfie fiddled with his sweatshirt and gave an audible gulp. ‘Uncle Dan was placing that advert for the kittens when you were away having that interview in Chicago and he was looking after us. He kept saying, “Problem solved,” and I thought if we got ourselves a housekeeper, that would be another problem solved.’
‘Are you saying that Uncle Daniel placed this advert for a housekeeper?’
Alfie stared up at his father in silence, apparently frozen to the spot. ‘No.’ His denial was a tiny squeak. ‘That was me. I did it. It wasn’t Uncle Dan.’
Hayley wondered why the child’s mother couldn’t cook the turkey. Was she hopeless in the kitchen? Or maybe super-stud kept her too busy in the bedroom, she thought miserably. Or perhaps his wife thought cooking was beneath her, like her stepsister did.
Hayley watched as Patrick gradually coaxed the truth from his son. She sensed that he was angry—he had to be angry—and she braced herself for him to yell.
Suddenly she couldn’t bear it.
The little boy was so sweet, he didn’t deserve to be yelled at by a father who couldn’t keep his trousers zipped.
But Patrick didn’t yell. Instead, he hunkered down in front of his son. ‘You advertised for a housekeeper over Christmas?’
‘We need someone, Dad,’ the boy blurted out. ‘You’re good with babies, but you’re hopeless with turkeys. And the rest of the Christmas stuff. And you’re bound to be called to the hospital because you always are and then you’ll call Mrs Thornton—and I hate Mrs Thornton. Her lips are too red. It’s like she’s drunk blood or something.’ The child glanced at Hayley and she gave a sympathetic shrug.
‘That can happen with red lipstick,’ she muttered. ‘You have to be really careful with the shade. I once had one that made me look as though I’d been punched in the face. Hopeless.’
Alfie gave a delighted laugh while Patrick looked at her with incredulous disbelief.
Hayley stiffened defensively. ‘What?’ She was fed up with him looking at her as though she was from another planet. ‘I happen to agree with Alfie. Red is a very dodgy shade. And, anyway, whoever wears red lipstick for babysitting?’
‘She wears it because she fancies my dad,’ Alfie told her, and Hayley rolled her eyes.
Another one?
The man was even having sex with the babysitter. Had he no shame?
‘Can we get back to the subject?’ His voice slightly tighter than it had been a few moments earlier, Patrick ran his hand over the back of his neck and turned his attention back to his son.
‘Where did you get the money for the advert?’
He would have made a good interrogator, Hayley thought moodily, remembering how much information she’d given him during their day and night together. Every time he’d looked at her with those sexy blue eyes, she’d divulged another personal detail.
Alfie’s face was scarlet. It was obvious that he hated being in the wrong.
Hayley knew that feeling.
‘Uncle Dan left his credit card by the phone,’ the child mumbled, and Patrick’s mouth tightened.
‘And you took it?’
‘If he was careless enough to leave it lying around then he can’t complain if it was abused,’ Hayley said firmly, glaring at Patrick as he sent her a slow, fulminating look. Really, he was hardly in a position to be self-righteous, was he?
He turned back to Alfie, who was gazing at Hayley as though she were a lifebelt and his father was a giant wave. ‘I’ll pay him back, Dad. I promise. I’ll clear snow or something and earn some money.’
‘How could you place an advert? Didn’t the newspaper know you were a child?’
‘They asked me how old I was and I made a joke of it. I said my dad had no idea how to cook a turkey and I needed an expert.’
‘So if she rightly insisted on checking with a grown-up, how did this advert…’ Patrick waved the cutting slowly ‘…end up in the paper?’
‘Uncle Daniel walked back into the room and I told him he needed to just say that the advert was all fine.’ Alfie swallowed. ‘And he did that. He wasn’t concentrating. Posy was coughing really badly. He thought he was confirming the kitten advert.’
Patrick scanned the crumpled, torn newspaper in his hand. ‘Instead of which he confirmed an advert for a housekeeper to come and spend Christmas with us.’
‘I thought if it worked out all right, you’d be pleased,’ Alfie confessed in a small voice. ‘And then when I woke up today, I wasn’t so sure. I thought you might be angry. Are you really angry, Dad?’ Alfie looked so forlorn that Hayley’s spine stiffened at the injustice of it.
Poor Alfie.
She glared at the back of Patrick’s head, determined not to notice his cropped dark hair. Who cared if he looked macho? And good shoulders weren’t everything, were they? He was a snake. How dared he give his son that you’ve-disappointed-me-with-your-behaviour look, while betraying his marriage vows in every empty bed he could find, and with a woman who had no taste in lipstick.
Hayley was about to leap passionately to Alfie’s defence when Patrick tugged the boy into his arms.
‘How can I be angry when it’s my fault for being so lousy at cooking Christmas dinner?’ His tone gruff, he released his son and ruffled his hair. ‘I like the fact you saw a problem and tried to solve it. And I’m proud that you used your initiative.’ He spoke quietly, keeping the conversation between him and his son. ‘I also like the fact that you’ve been honest with me and not tried to duck out of it. But it was wrong of you to use Uncle Daniel’s credit card, Alfie. That was stealing. We’ll need to talk about that later.’
Hayley subsided slightly, although she was still simmering at his devoted dad act. Devoted dads didn’t take advantage of their sex appeal, did they? Devoted dads weren’t supposed to turn into sex gods in their spare time.
Patrick straightened and looked her directly in the eye and Hayley glared back, hoping he couldn’t read her mind and wishing she could look as cool and unflustered as he did.
‘There’s been a mistake.’ As his eyes flickered to her mouth she wondered exactly which mistake he was referring to—the advert, or the night they’d spent together.
‘I can see that. You obviously don’t want a housekeeper so I’ll leave you to cook your own turkey and I hope you find a good home for the kittens.’ Trying to maintain her dignity, she picked up her bags and smiled at Alfie. ‘You have a lovely Christmas. I hope Santa brings you everything you want.’
Proud of the way she’d handled herself so far, Hayley knew that what she needed to do next was turn and walk away, but walking on snow hadn’t been a great success so far, had it? And, anyway, where was she supposed to walk to? They were in the middle of the countryside with snow-capped mountains behind them and the stream in full flood only a few steps away. If she stalked off here, her body would be discovered frozen in the morning encased in a layer of ice and very possibly washed into the next valley. And dignity and hypothermia were definitely incompatible. ‘Go back inside. It’s freezing. I’ll call a taxi.’ Hopefully before his wife emerged to see what was going on.
At least he didn’t know she’d come here specifically to see him.
That was one small consolation.
‘You can’t go!’ Alfie sounded horrified. ‘And we do need a housekeeper. Dad can’t cook a turkey, honestly. And if you leave, you won’t be able to surprise your friend. Remember? You told me that on the phone. You said you were coming over to surprise a special friend and you needed somewhere to live while you tracked him down.’
Oh, no. No, no, no.
Feeling Patrick’s gaze on her face, Hayley wanted to throw herself into the stream. Her impetuous nature had got her into some embarrassing situations in the past, but none quite so embarrassing as this one.
It was almost as bad as that day at school when she’d discovered that her stepbrother had planted a camera in the girls’ showers.
All she needed now was for Patrick to produce her knickers from his pocket and her humiliation would be complete.
He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. ‘You came here to look for…someone?’ His pause was significant and Hayley felt her face fire up to a shade that probably matched the dreadful Mrs Thornton’s vampire lipstick.
How dared he look amused? Obviously he was a sadist as well as being hugely insensitive. And an adulterer. This situation was about as amusing as discovering you were the only one in fancy dress and everyone else was in black tie. As the list of his crimes grew longer, Hayley grew more affronted.
‘I’m not looking for anyone. I mean—I might have been, originally, yes…’ She knew she was babbling incoherently, but all hope of a smooth response had deserted her. ‘My friend let me down.’ She looked at him pointedly and saw his eyes narrow slightly. ‘So I won’t be looking for him.’
‘Is that right?’ His soft drawl was as annoying as his blank expression and Hayley wondered whether falling face down in the snow would put out the fire in her cheeks.
Deciding that she needed to make her exit no matter how undignified, Hayley started to back away but Alfie grabbed her arm.
‘No, I won’t let you go! Dad, tell her she has to stay! I know you didn’t put the advert in, but she’s here now and think how great it would be to have someone helping over Christmas. Dad? Say something.’
