“Whangarei. Why?”
“Just wondered.” He didn’t elaborate, and she heard the clink of ice cubes being swirled in a glass.
“What are you drinking?” she asked.
“A very nice ten-year-old Islay malt.”
“Ooh. Bowmore? Ardbeg?”
“Laphroaig actually. I’m impressed. You like whisky?”
“I do. I haven’t had a glass since Ryan was born, though. He doesn’t sleep well and I get up several times a night. I worry that I won’t hear him if I’ve had a drink, especially since he started having asthma attacks.” She gave a long sigh. “I’d kill for a drink now though. Maybe I’ll treat myself to one next weekend.”
“Why, what’s happening then?”
“It’s my birthday.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. The ripe old age of twenty-seven! Obviously it depends whether Ryan’s out of hospital, but I think he’ll probably be discharged tomorrow as he’s doing so well. Mum wants to give me a break and said she’d stay with him once he’s asleep so I can have the night off. She wants me to go away somewhere.”
“Sounds like a great idea.”
“Yeah, although I probably won’t go. You know what it’s like. The guilt weighs too heavily.”
“You have to look after yourself too, Erin.”
She loved the way he said her name. “I suppose.”
“I mean it. We’re no good to our children if we’re exhausted. We all need time off to regenerate. You should take your mum up on it if she’s generous enough to offer to help.”
“I’ll think about it.” She knew she’d probably say no, though. As appealing as a night on her own in a hotel sounded, she’d only end up lying awake worrying about Ryan, and drinking on her own was rarely fun.
She yawned, and Brock laughed. “I’d better let you go to sleep. I’m sure you’re shattered.”
A surge of disappointment nearly made her complain like a toddler having to leave a party, but she bit her lip and just said, “Well, it was lovely to talk to you.”
“Likewise. I’m glad Ryan’s on the mend.”
“I’m sorry about your wife, Brock.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t drink too much, eh?”
He chuckled. “Nah, I won’t. I was planning to sit up and play some moody guitar, but you’ve lifted some of my melancholy. I think I’ll go to bed soon, too.”
“I’m glad I could help,” she said sincerely. “It’s the least I could do after all the times you’ve helped me.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” His voice was filled with smiles. “Sleep well.”
“You too.”
“Night.” He ended the call.
Erin slipped the phone back into the pocket of her jeans. She stood and leaned over Ryan, bent and kissed him on the cheek, then climbed back onto her bed.
Her eyelids drooped, and she turned onto her side, studying the Christmas lights through her lashes.
A smile remained on her lips until she’d drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Three
Brock had forgotten how hot the dog suit was.
That morning, the clouds that had covered the country for weeks had finally cleared, and summer had hit New Zealand with a vengeance. The children’s ward of Whangarei hospital had air conditioning, but the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows felt like a blowtorch on the fur that covered him from head to toe.
Luckily, he’d been sensible enough to wear shorts but, beneath the suit, sweat ran down his back and his T-shirt stuck to his skin. Christ knew what his hair would look like when he eventually removed Dixon’s head.
“Stop moaning,” said the woman standing by his side. Georgia ran the Far North branch of We Three Kings, coordinating fundraising opportunities and the wishes for sick kids, and organizing the guys’ visits to the hospitals. “Matt never moans like this.”
“Matt absolutely moans as much as me,” Brock grumbled. “It’s a family trait. All the King males are renowned for it. You only think he doesn’t because you’re soft on him.”
Even through the tiny eyeholes of the suit, he saw the way Georgia’s cheeks reddened. He was right—she was soft on his brother.
But she just said, “Rubbish,” turned on her heel, and walked off to the next ward.
Chuckling, Brock picked up the large sack of presents and followed her. He and Georgia had already delivered some free medical equipment to the hospital, and now it was time to help the kids. Compared to the families in the hospital, his troubles were inconsequential, and he pushed his discomfort away, ready to concentrate on the two children in the room who were sitting up in their beds, eyes wide at the sight of the real Dixon the Dog coming to visit them.
When his gaze fell on the woman standing at the side of the bed on his right, Brock stopped in his tracks. It was Erin—he knew it instinctively. How he knew, he wouldn’t have been able to say. He’d had no idea what she looked like. She could have been four feet tall, weighed two hundred pounds, and had hair like a scarecrow for all he knew. Not that it would have made any difference if she had, he reminded himself. This wasn’t a romantic visit—he was here because it was Ryan’s birthday and he felt sorry for the boy.
Even as he thought the words, he knew he was fooling himself. He couldn’t deny he was here for Erin too.
The woman whose jaw had dropped when he’d entered the room walked around the bed and stopped, staring at him with wide eyes. It had to be Erin. She looked exactly the way he’d pictured her when he’d talked to her the previous night: tall, curvy, and with blonde hair in a simple braid that hung over one shoulder. She also had a pretty face and a beautiful smile that shone as bright as the summer sun.
Wow.
Georgia looked over her shoulder and beckoned to him with a frown. He wrenched his gaze away from the woman and walked into the room.
“Hello boys,” Georgia said. “Santa heard that you have both been unwell, and he’s sent someone special to see you. Do you know who this is?”
“It’s Dixon!” Both boys screamed in delight.
The adults in the room laughed, and Georgia grinned at Brock. “That’s right,” she said. Turning to look at the boy on the left, she asked, “What’s your name?”
“Tom,” the lad said, eyes open so wide Brock worried they might pop out and roll across the floor.
“Well, Tom, Dixon has a special present for you,” Georgia said. “Would you like to see it?”
Tom bounced on the bed, clearly thrilled to meet the dog from the Ward Seven gang. Brock’s throat tightened. Tom had a Carmel the Cat bracelet holding the tube going into his hand and a Koru the Kiwi attached to his pulse oximeter, while the boy opposite him—who must be Ryan—had a Dixon spacer lying on his bed and a Pepper the Pukeko hanging from his drip. He made a mental note to tell Matt, who would be thrilled to know his characters were helping kids right across the country.
Lowering the sack on his back, he reached in, pulled out one of the boxes, and took it over to Tom. The boy accepted it with an open mouth.
“Say thank you, sweetie,” his mother prompted.
“Thank you,” the boy mumbled, holding the box as if it were a priceless artefact.
Brock patted the boy on the head with his big paw. The box only contained a large plush Dixon, but he had no doubt that to Tom it would be more precious than gold.
Georgia moved forward, holding up her phone. “Would you like a photo taken with Dixon?” she asked Tom. “Then you can show your friends that you met him.”
The boy nodded, and Brock leaned down and put his arm around him. Tom beamed, and Georgia took the shot as the adults around them laughed. “I’ll get it printed and put into a nice frame, and I’ll send it on to you,” Georgia told Tom’s mother.
Brock waved goodbye, and then it was time to move to the next patient. He walked across the floor, suddenly conscious of the huge feet he wore and hoping he didn’t trip up as the young woman standing patiently beside
the bed watched him approach.
“And what’s your name?” Georgia asked the boy.
“Ryan,” he said shyly, lifting his spacer so he could suck on the paw of the miniature Dixon.
It was Erin with him—Brock had been right. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was only a foot away from her now, and up close she was even more beautiful than she had been from across the room. She wore faded jeans and a T-shirt that had been tie-dyed with an orange sunburst pattern, but it still didn’t outshine her dazzling smile. I should have brought sunglasses, he thought. He wouldn’t see properly again for hours.
Georgia’s mouth formed an O of fake surprise. “Oh, Ryan, a little bird told me it’s a very special day for you.”
Ryan rose up onto his knees. He was a cute lad with dark curls, a button nose, and innocent It wasn’t me, it was like that when I got here eyes.
“Was it Pepper?” Ryan asked.
Erin tipped her head at him. “Was what Pepper, sweetie?”
“The little bird who said it was my birthday.” He pointed up at the toy clipped to his drip. “Was it Pepper the Pukeko?”
“Aw.” Erin gave the sexy laugh that Brock had heard on the phone, and he was lost. For the first time in two years, he thought maybe his heart wasn’t as frozen solid as he’d feared.
Georgia chuckled at Ryan’s comment. “That’s right, honey. Pepper told me it was your birthday today. How old are you?”
“I’m two,” Ryan announced proudly.
“No sweetie, you’re three now,” Erin reminded him.
“Oh.” Ryan looked confused. “I forgot.”
“Because it’s your birthday,” Georgia reminded him. “You’re a whole year older. And Dixon has a special something for you.”
Brock held up Dixon’s big paw and curled his thumb and little finger so they touched, leaving the rest of the dog’s big fingers pointing up.
“Three special somethings,” Georgia corrected. “What do you have in the sack, Dixon?”
He pulled out the same sized parcel he’d given to the rest of the kids in the hospital—a large, plush Dixon in a box, neatly wrapped by Georgia herself. Ryan squealed and took the box with a big “Thank you!”
Next, Brock took out a flat parcel, which was a DVD of the newest series of the cartoon TV show of Ward Seven. Ryan took the present with an open mouth.
Brock held out his hand, palm uppermost.
“How many presents do you have, Ryan?” Georgia bent and asked him.
“Two,” Ryan counted, holding them up.
“And how old are you?”
He grinned—his mother’s smile, bright and beaming. “Three!”
“One more present please, Dixon!” Georgia declared.
Brock pulled out the last, special parcel and gave it to Ryan. It was a large, flat box.
“Can I open it, Mummy?” the boy asked, eyes wide. Erin glanced at Brock as if asking permission.
Putting his arm around the boy, Brock tugged a little at the wrapping paper, and Ryan tore it off. He squealed at the sight of the box of Lego dinosaurs, then turned and threw his arms around Dixon.
Brock hugged him back, touched by the boy’s affection, and glanced up at Erin. She was staring at them, clearly baffled as to how he knew that was what her son had been asking for. Next to her, the older woman who was presumably her mother smiled.
Ryan had his photo taken with Dixon too, and then it was time to move on to the next wards, as Georgia wanted to finish giving the children presents before their tea was served.
Brock waved goodbye to everyone and walked to the door, then stopped when he felt a hand on his arm.
“Wait.” It was Erin. He turned and looked down into her bright eyes. “Um… I just wanted to say thanks,” she said. She bit her lip, and he could see she was dying to ask how he knew about the Lego set.
Georgia—who was in on the whole thing—grinned at them. “Aw, does mummy want a hug from Dixon too?”
Brock chuckled and put his arms around Erin, and she laughed and hugged him as the children cheered. As a rule, he didn’t speak in the Dixon costume, but he put his mouth close to her ear and murmured, “I’ll be back when I’ve finished. Need to talk to you.”
He moved away. Her eyes had widened, but he didn’t wait for her to say anything, just smiled inside the suit and followed Georgia out of the room.
Chapter Four
Erin watched Dixon the Dog walk off to the next ward. Her heart hammered and the surprise had made her breathless. When he’d said those words, she’d been certain it sounded like the man she’d spoken to the night before.
Brock was here? Had he been coming all along or had he organized the event just for her?
A nurse stopped next to her and smiled at the squeals that echoed from the next ward. “That’s cheered them all up,” she said.
Erin cleared her throat. “Has the visit been organized for a while or was it arranged today?”
“Oh we booked it months ago,” the nurse advised. “Dixon comes here every few months to give gifts to the kids.”
Erin nodded, annoyed at her own disappointment. Of course he hadn’t arranged it all for her. It had just been a coincidence that Ryan had been admitted the day before Brock was due to visit.
And yet how had he known about the Lego dinosaur box that Ryan had seen before he went into hospital? Erin had already bought him a box of Lego for his birthday, and he’d been delighted with it, but she’d made a mental note to get the new dinosaur box for him for Christmas. How had Brock known that, or again, was it just another coincidence?
Her mind whirling, she went back to Ryan’s bed. He’d already opened the box of Lego, and her mother was helping him sort out the pieces.
“Well that was weird,” Erin said. “Totally didn’t expect that.”
Karen Bloom looked up and winked at her daughter. “The universe has a strange way of working things out.”
Erin narrowed her eyes. Her mother had a mischievous look about her that suggested she knew more about Brock’s visit than she was letting on. Erin opened her mouth to ask another question, but a nurse appeared to do a series of checks and then it was teatime, so she pushed everything to the back of her mind and concentrated on her son.
She’d bought him a cake, and Karen nipped out to light the candles then brought it in while some of the nurses and the adults in the room sung him happy birthday. Erin’s throat tightened as Ryan’s eyes glowed and he rose to blow out the candles.
For a panicky hour the day before, his breathing had gotten so bad she’d worried he wouldn’t see his birthday. Closing her eyes, she said a quick thank you prayer to the hospital, the nurses, Three Wise Men, and anyone else who might be listening for their help in saving his life.
“Ms. Bloom?”
Erin opened her eyes as she felt a hand on her arm and turned to see the pretty young woman who’d come into the ward previously with Dixon.
“Hi,” the woman said. “Do you have a moment?”
Glancing at Ryan, Erin saw him busy sorting out his Lego again. Her mother flicked her fingers at her, shooing her away.
“Sure,” Erin replied.
“I’m Georgia,” the woman said, leading the way out of the ward and down the corridor. “Dixon wondered whether you had a minute for a quick chat.”
“Oh, yes of course.”
“He’s in here.” Georgia stopped outside a closed door. Glancing around to make sure there were no children watching, she opened the door, waited for Erin to enter, then closed it behind her.
It was a tiny office, the table at the far end stacked with papers and folders, the window above it casting late afternoon sunlight across the man in the process of removing the Dixon the Dog head of his costume. He’d already taken off the large fur paws and, as she watched, he lifted the head and tucked it under his arm.
Jaw dropping, Erin stared at him.
After he’d mentioned the Herald article on the Three Wise Men, she’d made a mental no
te to check him out on the internet, but when they’d finished their phone call she’d gone straight to sleep, and today she’d been so busy she hadn’t had time to look him up.
She’d had no idea what he looked like. All she’d known was that she liked the sound of his voice. She would never have expected him to look so… well… gorgeous.
True, all she could see was his head, but he had short dark hair threaded with gray at the temples, warm brown eyes, and a face she could have stared at for hours without getting bored.
“We meet at last,” he said, and grinned, his eyes creasing at the edges.
“Brock.” She couldn’t have fought the smile that spread across her face even if she’d wanted to. “How lovely to finally meet you.”
He put Dixon’s head into a large black bag and gestured at the rest of the costume. “I’m so hot in this outfit. You could cook muffins in it. You don’t mind if I strip off, do you?”
Is the Pope Catholic? Erin shook her head. “No, of course not. Go ahead. Do you… ah… want me to turn around?” Please, please, don’t say yes.
An impish smile curved his lips. “It’s okay, I am wearing shorts.” He opened a Velcro flap at the front and undid the zip. “Do you think Ryan enjoyed his surprise?”
“I know he did. He’ll talk about nothing else for weeks.” She tried not to stare as Brock eased the suit off his shoulders, let it drop, and stepped out of it. He hadn’t lied—he wore a T-shirt and shorts underneath, but he was obviously hot because the T-shirt was soaked through and sticking to his muscular body.
Ooh.
“Yuck,” he said and pulled a face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think this through. It’s not the best way to meet a lady for the first time.” Grabbing the wet T-shirt at the back of his neck, he tugged it off, then gestured to a clean one hanging over the nearby chair. “Pass me that, will you? Sorry.”
Wordlessly, she handed him the clean tee, trying to resist the urge to fan herself at the sight of his naked torso. Jeez, the guy had a body that made her mouth water. He wasn’t ripped, exactly, but his muscles were tight and toned enough to tell her he took care of himself without standing in front of the mirror with weights every day preening.
The Perfect Gift: A Christmas Billionaire Sexy Romance (Three Wise Men Book 1) Page 3