Silver Christmas
by
Helen Scott Taylor
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Copyright © 2015 Helen Taylor
Cover design © Helen Taylor
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The right of Helen Taylor to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act, 1988.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Copyright owner.
Chapter One
Jennifer Dean sat in her parked car, watching the children as they streamed out of Rosemoor village school at the end of the day. She ignored the small children and concentrated on the older ones. Her Chloe would be ten now, in the top class, although Jennifer hadn't set eyes on her since she was a newborn.
Raising her phone, she glanced at the screen, at the photograph Owen Bramwell had sent her of Chloe eleven months ago, last Christmas. How much might Chloe have changed in a year? In the photo, the girl's long dark hair was loose around her shoulders, laughter in her brown eyes as she held up a huge black Labrador puppy.
Jennifer moved her gaze between the phone screen and the children, trying to identify her daughter, her chest tight with remorse that she might not even recognize her own child. Some of the kids left on bicycles, some dashed out to meet mums and dads, while the rest set off in twos and threes along the edge of the road to walk home.
A constant stream of cars arrived at the school in the picturesque Cotswold village, their headlights on against the early twilight at the start of December as they vied for parking spots. A large black four-wheel drive with the Rosemoor estate motif of a gold angel inside a red Tudor rose drove up and parked on the opposite side of the road. Her heart jolted and her breath froze as the door opened and Owen stepped out.
Jennifer sank low behind her steering wheel, her heart pounding at the thought of being caught here watching. Not that she was really doing anything wrong. Nobody had ever told her to keep away from Chloe, nobody except Owen. He might not recognize her now, anyway, not with the long blond hair she'd been so vain about chopped short, and she'd lost a lot of weight in the hospital.
She hadn't set eyes on Owen since the day he took Chloe from her, ten years, three months, and four days ago. He hadn't changed much. Reluctantly, she noticed he was still handsome, maturity making him even more good looking. The last ten years had been kind to him, his hair still thick and dark, his shoulders broad and his waist trim. He still had that arrogant air about him as if he were the master of all he surveyed, and he was, more or less. The Bramwell family owned most of the village.
Yet she didn't care if he was gorgeous and loaded, there was no way on earth Jennifer would ever let herself fall under his spell again. She was here for one reason—to get to know her daughter.
The other parents turned and greeted Owen, stepping aside to make way for him as he strode towards the school. Jennifer remembered the way he'd been back when she met him, throwing money around, sweeping her off in his sports car to house parties in mansions and castles with the nobility. It was as if she'd fallen through a rift into an alternate reality where people didn't have to work for a living. Stupid, naive girl that she was, for a short while she'd been dazzled.
Owen raised a hand in greeting as he approached the school gate, and Jennifer followed his gaze. She pressed a hand to her mouth, her heart pounding as a tall, slim girl with long dark hair tied back in a ponytail made her way through the throng of students.
Jennifer's phone slipped from her fingers, hitting the steering wheel with a clunk, but she barely registered the sound. It seemed impossible that the tiny baby she'd handed over to Owen so rashly had grown into this beautiful girl.
"My daughter," she whispered, her voice little more than a croak. "My Chloe." Tears filled Jennifer's eyes, and she sucked her lips to hold the flood back.
Owen put his arm around Chloe's shoulders, and kissed her cheek. A sob tore at Jennifer's chest. Pain shot through her body from the scar on her belly. She pressed a hand against the place where she'd been shot by poachers in Africa, and gritted her teeth until the ache subsided.
Lying in the back of the wildlife warden's pickup, she'd thought she would die. As blood and sweat soaked her clothes, her belly was a burning clench of pain. One of the rangers had leaned over her, pressing on her wound to stop the bleeding, and told her to focus on someone she loved. As she'd drifted in and out of consciousness, all she could think of was her sweet baby in her arms, her tiny Chloe.
Jennifer watched surreptitiously as Owen and Chloe climbed into their vehicle to be greeted by a rabble of excited dogs with wagging tails. Then the vehicle drove off. Once it turned at the end of the road and disappeared, she gave herself a moment, wiping her eyes and checking her face in the mirror. She didn't want to turn up at Rosemoor Farm looking a mess.
When she was satisfied with her appearance, she started her car and moved off along the road. In the last ten years, time seemed to have stood still in Rosemoor. The ancient stone cottages of golden Cotswold stone lined the narrow street, and she had no trouble remembering the way to Rosemoor Farm.
At the entrance to the driveway, she pulled up at the cattle grid between the imposing stone pillars topped with statues of the Rosemoor angels, and sucked in a steadying breath before continuing on, her headlights cutting through the gloom.
Rosemoor Farm was lit up like a beacon in the wintry countryside, the Jacobean house too grand to be called a farmhouse. She pulled up beside Owen's vehicle, her pulse racing. She was so close to what she'd dreamed of during the months she spent in the hospital. The only barrier now was Owen Bramwell, and she wasn't sure what reception to expect from him.
She'd thought he was a selfish rich boy who would dump her the moment he heard she was pregnant; instead he'd offered her an engagement ring. The problem was it came with a condition. Owen wanted her to be a full-time mother or have no part in Chloe's life.
She'd worked too hard at her studies to give up her dreams, and she'd let him cut her out of Chloe's life. Now she was no longer a naive student. Owen's wealth and status didn't intimidate her anymore. She wanted to get to know her little girl, and nothing was going to stop her.
• • •
"I'm going upstairs, Dad," Chloe said after she hung up her coat and took off her school shoes.
"Okay." Owen paused from making a cup of tea and watched his daughter rush out of the door into the corridor, her black Labrador on her heels. She had to do everything at a hundred miles an hour. He must be getting old because he felt tired just watching her. "Don't let Paddy jump on the bed," he shouted after her, certain he was wasting his breath. That dog ruled the house.
His own two dogs—Zack, a Jack Russell, and Heidi, an elderly border collie—both positioned themselves at his feet and stared up at him hopefully as he broke a chocolate chip cookie and popped half in his mouth.
"No. Sugar is bad for you," he said, well aware he was a hypocrite because it was bad for him as well. He grabbed a couple of small dog treats from the caddy on the counter and gave them one each before pouring hot water on the tea bag in his mug.
He added milk to his tea and leaned back against the counter, rolling his eyes at the ceiling as his daughter and Paddy thundered around upstairs like a couple of elephants. She and that dog
were crazy when they were together, but he couldn't help smiling.
The oven timer dinged and Owen set aside his mug, grabbed the oven mitts, and pulled a pot roast from the oven. He lifted the lid and inhaled the mouthwatering smell. Old Mrs. Tiptree who helped out with the cleaning and cooking was a gem.
As he set the pot roast back in the low oven to keep warm until dinner time, someone knocked. Zack and Heidi sprang to life and raced for the back door, barking. A cacophony of dog claws on the stairs and parquet floor of the corridor heralded Paddy belting in full tilt, nearly demolishing a kitchen chair as he skidded around the corner and followed the other dogs to greet or eat the visitor.
Owen glanced at the clock and sighed. No doubt it would be someone with a problem they had to have solved right now. Why couldn't the Rosemoor tenants ring the emergency help number they'd been given? Surely it wasn't too much to ask for a little time to himself in the evenings.
Stuffing the second half of the cookie in his mouth, he padded along the hallway to the back door in his socks.
"Quiet," he shouted at the excited dogs, and pushed them back so he could reach the door. He pulled on the door handle, his fingers through Paddy's collar so the Labrador didn't launch himself at the person outside and flatten them.
A woman stood in the pool of illumination from the security light, her slight frame swamped in a pink winter coat a couple of sizes too big, her hands deep in her pockets. He squinted at her short blond hair and fine features, sure he'd seen her before but unable to place her.
"Sorry, it's difficult to keep track of all our tenants. Do you rent one of the estate cottages?"
The words were barely out of his mouth when recognition hit—like a hammer to his chest. His breath froze. Shock, anger, and hope all flared through him while she stood silently, her bloodless lips pressed tight.
"Jenn?" What had happened to her? She looked so different.
Owen's grip on Paddy's collar slipped and the dog bounded out, his tail wagging as he greeted Jennifer. She turned her attention to the three dogs as they swarmed around her, withdrawing her slim, pale hands from her pockets to stroke and pet the eager canine faces.
"Sit," she said softly, and all three dog bottoms hit the ground, tails still wagging furiously as she made a fuss of them.
She'd always had a way with animals, as if they longed to please her and would do anything she asked. He'd forgotten that about her.
"I didn't recognize you at first," he said needlessly and swiped a hand over his mouth. He noticed more details now, small red scars from newly healed injuries on her chin and the right side of her face, and how frail she was. "Are you sick?"
"Recovering."
She raised blue eyes to him, unbelievably blue—he'd forgotten that too. Teamed with the slant of her cheekbones and spiky short blond hair, she looked like a supernatural creature, an angel or maybe a fairy. He nearly laughed at the thought. He'd always been a little crazy around her. Looked like that hadn't changed.
He blew out a breath, smoky in the cold air, and realized he should invite her in and not leave her standing outside in the cold, especially if she'd been sick. But Chloe might come downstairs.
Owen glanced over his shoulder, his muddled senses focusing back on what was most important, or more correctly who was most important. Since the moment Owen first held his baby girl in his arms, she'd become the center of his world.
If Jennifer wanted to meet Chloe, it had to be done right. He had to prepare Chloe, give her time to get used to the idea. Not just spring her mother on her.
"I'd like to talk, Owen."
"Yes." He ran a hand back over his hair and made a decision. "Let's go to the estate office to talk."
Lines appeared on Jennifer's pale forehead, but she must realize he wasn't going to invite her inside right away. He grabbed his old yard coat from the hook by the door and shrugged it on as he stuffed his feet in his Wellington boots, and then picked up the bundle of keys. Before he stepped out, he called the dogs and shut them inside.
He started towards the estate office but without consciously making a decision to do so, he diverted and instead unlocked the sliding door to the goat shed. He stepped inside and pressed the first switch on the large electrical control panel just inside the door. The three strip lights illuminating the service area at the front where the feed was weighed came on.
Owen waited for Jennifer to enter then slid the door closed against the cold. He wandered to the fence that divided this area from the goat pen. Resting his forearms on top of the metal barrier, he stroked the closest Nubian goats with their attractive floppy ears and roman noses. Out of habit, he cast his gaze along the fences, because these little devils were master escapologists.
The silence was broken by their bleating and the rustling of their feet in the newly spread straw. When he needed to think, he sometimes came out to the goat shed at night. There was something about these friendly, inquisitive animals that set him at ease, like being among friends.
After a moment, he turned. His back to the fence, he faced Jennifer. In the unforgiving UV light, he could see her scalp through her short hair. A memory surfaced from long ago, of sliding his fingers through her silky golden locks, bringing with it longings and emotions he had long since shut away.
He ruthlessly shoved the memory back in its box and anger rose. This woman had broken his heart and abandoned her baby. He would not let her hurt him again.
Chapter Two
Jennifer pushed her chilly fingers into the fleece lining of her coat pockets and shuffled her feet against the cold. After five years in Africa followed by months in the hothouse temperatures of the hospital ward, she was finding it difficult to acclimatize to wintery England.
"I'm sure you know why I'm here. I want to see Chloe." Jennifer met Owen's dark, brooding look but it was too intense, and she let her gaze slide past him.
The curious goats crowded along the fence, noses prodding Owen for attention. It was almost impossible to equate the playboy she'd known ten years ago with this man in a muddy coat and Wellington boots in front of her. She couldn't get her head around it.
"You took your time coming back." Anger laced Owen's low clipped words.
She wasn't having that. "You were the one who sent me away."
"I did no such thing. I asked you to marry me and be a mother to our child."
"No. You told me to give up my plan to go to college so I could marry you and become a full-time mother." Jennifer swallowed back the knot of resentment she'd lived with since the day she walked away. "You made me choose between my baby and my dream of being a veterinarian."
"That's because I thought any sane woman would choose her child." Owen threw up his hands and paced away from her into the shadows. He stood with his back to her for a moment before he turned and walked back.
"I wanted you here with us, not at college in London for five years. You didn't need a career. I could have given you everything you wanted." He swiped a hand across his face, appearing to struggle to stay in control. "Chloe needed you," he added softly, the accusation hitting its mark.
Tears pricked Jennifer's eyes and she turned aside, pulling a hand from the warmth of her pocket to wipe her lower lashes. She swallowed back the tangled, twisted emotions that made her want to shout at him. He'd always known how to push her buttons, and fighting wouldn't do her any good.
She turned to face him and looked him in the eye. "You told me that unless I married you and gave up college, you'd make sure I never saw my baby again."
"It was an emotional time. I was angry."
"I'd just had a baby. My hormones were all over the place, and I was vulnerable. You should have been understanding and given me time instead of pushing me away."
Owen closed his eyes and pressed his lips into a flat line. When he opened his eyes again, they glistened with tears, and it shocked her.
"I know." His words dropped into the silence and seemed to hang there, echoing back through ten years of g
uilt and regret. She'd been prepared to fight him in the courts for access to her daughter. She'd not expected him to admit he'd been at fault as well.
"So you'll let me see Chloe?"
"Of course. All that matters is doing the best for my darling girl."
For a split second, Jennifer thought he was referring to her. Something inside long dead flared back to life like a tiny fire in the darkness. Then she understood his darling girl was Chloe.
"Not here, not now, though," he said. "I need to prepare her to see you."
"What did you tell her about me?"
"The truth, of course."
Pain clenched like a fist around Jennifer's heart. "That I gave her up when she was a newborn?"
"No. That you have an important job making sick animals better, and you can't be with us."
Jennifer grabbed at a wooden bench for support as her breath jolted in with shock. She folded over against the stab of pain from her scar. She'd been sure he'd have poisoned Chloe against her, and feared her daughter might not want to see her. Yet he'd been kind.
"I always hoped you'd come back." Owen was right beside her now. His arm slid around her, supported her, and she had to fight the urge to lean into him as the pain burned in her belly.
This meeting wasn't going at all as Jennifer had expected. It was so much better and so much worse.
• • •
Owen guided Jennifer a few steps to a bucket, turned it over, and helped her sit down on the makeshift seat. She'd been pale before but now she had a blue-gray tinge around her mouth and eyes, and he was worried she might pass out.
Protective feelings flooded him. He crouched in front of her, taking her slim hands in his as he peered into her face. "What's wrong with you, Jenn?" The terrifying c-word floated in his mind, but he wouldn't say it. Although she had scars on her face, they had obviously come from an injury and not a disease.
"I was shot."
He swore under his breath, the word out before he could stop it. "How on earth . . . ?"
"I've been working for a wildlife charity in Africa."
Silver Christmas Page 1