by Sarah Morgan
‘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 touc
h, 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 hers
elf 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.