by Sarah Morgan
‘I can imagine you in the mountain rescue team,’ Hayley muttered, and then wished she hadn’t when he lifted an eyebrow in question. ‘I mean, you just look the outdoor type,’ she said lamely. ‘What exactly do you do? You go out into the mountains and find people?’ And slide down ropes, and save lives and generally behave like a hero.
Nothing particularly attractive about that, she told herself firmly. He was just doing a job.
‘People often find themselves in trouble in the fells.’
‘Fells?’
‘In the Lake District we call the mountains fells.’ He checked Posy’s knee again. ‘People often underestimate the peaks here. They go out wearing the wrong footgear and with the wrong equipment. And that makes plenty of work for the mountain rescue team. I did it for a few years—my brother still does it. He doesn’t have kids so he can take off at short notice and come back eight hours later without having to worry.’
‘Do you miss it?’
His eyes narrowed, as if he hadn’t asked himself that question. ‘No.’ His gaze slid to Alfie and Hayley sensed that he was protecting his son’s feelings.
Being a single dad had obviously demanded some big sacrifices.
He’d given up something he loved so that he could spend more time with his children.
Her cheeks pink, Hayley looked away from him, telling herself that he wasn’t that attractive. All right, so he could kiss, but just because he had a particular skill in that area, it didn’t make him a good person.
There was certainly no reason for her stomach to feel as though it had been left on the fast spin cycle of the washing machine.
‘Dad, is there any chocolate in those shopping bags?’ Alfie was looking hopefully at the supermarket bags that had been heaped by the door ready to be unpacked. ‘Did you order something to go on the Christmas tree?’
‘Let’s go and take a look.’ Patrick tried to ease the little girl off his lap but she clung to him, her thumb in her mouth, her fist locked in his thick jumper. ‘Sweetheart, Daddy has to spend some time in the kitchen or Christmas isn’t going to happen.’ He bent his head and kissed his daughter’s blonde head, the contrast between strong and vulnerable so vivid that Hayley sighed. Just the sight of Posy’s sweet red stockings against the hard muscle of his thighs was enough to make her tummy tumble.
Oh, help, she didn’t want to feel this way.
This man was no saint.
He’d had sex with her. He hadn’t told her he had children.
‘I’ll sort out the shopping.’ Desperate to look at something other than his unshaven jaw and the tempting line of his lips, Hayley scrambled to her feet, the peas still in her hand. ‘Have you finished with these?’
His gaze searching, Patrick nodded. ‘Yes. Her leg is fine. But I don’t expect you to unload the shopping, Hayley.’
‘It’s fine. Really.’ Decisions, decisions. She really hated making decisions and she was going to have to make one now. Stay or go. Stay or go. Go, obviously. After what had happened, it would be just too embarrassing to stay here, wouldn’t it?
On the other hand, where was she going to go, this late on Christmas Eve?
It would be more sensible to stay. More practical. The last thing she needed was to find herself with nowhere to go. Yes, she’d stay. But not because of Patrick. Her decision had nothing to do with the fact that this man knew how to turn a woman from a solid to a liquid.
She gave a careless shrug, hoping that she looked suitably casual. ‘You haven’t given me a job description, but I presume that unloading shopping is the responsibility of the housekeeper.’
Alfie gave a squeal of delight. ‘You’re staying? Yay! We’ll have a proper Christmas lunch.’ He leapt over to the bags and hugged Hayley, and she hugged him back, a lump in her throat. Over the top of his head, she met Patrick’s steady gaze.
‘You’re staying?’
‘Yes.’ She gave an awkward shrug. ‘And let’s just hope it doesn’t prove to be the second biggest mistake of my life.’
‘The first one being?’
Hayley gave him a meaningful look and guided Alfie towards the bags. ‘Come and show me where everything goes, Alfie.’ She needed to keep busy to stop her brain from working overtime. So far it hadn’t done a good job. Her overactive mind had taken her down routes that had brought her nothing but embarrassment.
Next time she saw a happy ending on the horizon she was going to reprogramme her internal sat nav.
‘There’s chocolate in those bags.’ Alfie bounded over the bags with all the energy of an over-excited puppy. ‘When do we put the turkey in the oven?’
‘Not until the morning.’ Hayley smiled at him. ‘Actually, I think you can cook it overnight in the Aga, but we’re not going to do that. We’ll cook it tomorrow.’
As she unloaded bags and found her way around Patrick’s state-of-the-art kitchen, Hayley couldn’t help wondering if she’d done the wrong thing by staying.
Patrick knew exactly how she felt about him—how could he not? She’d crossed an ocean to find him. Cringing with embarrassment, she put a net of sprouts on the table ready to be prepared. Patrick, on the other hand, had given away nothing.
Frowning slightly, Hayley tipped a container of fresh cranberries into a pan and reached for an orange.
What had he told her about himself?
Precisely nothing.
The only information she had about him was the obvious stuff—like his two children.
He had told her he was divorced, but he hadn’t told her anything else, had he?
She added the zest and juice of an orange to the simmering cranberries.
He hadn’t told her why his relationship had fallen apart. He hadn’t told her why his wife wasn’t spending Christmas with them.
Leaving the cranberries to simmer, she dug around in the fridge, searching for the ingredients for stuffing, her heart rate doubling as Patrick walked into the kitchen, Posy in his arms. ‘Do you have any pork?’
Patrick looked at her blankly and sat Posy on the nearest chair. ‘Pork? As in a joint of pork? I thought we were having turkey.’
‘I need pork for the stuffing,’ Hayley said patiently, and Patrick gave a lopsided smile.
‘I’m lucky if I can get the thing in the oven, let alone stuff it.’
‘It just helps the flavour. Don’t worry,’ Hayley muttered, ‘I’ll see what you have in your fridge.’ She returned to the fridge, found some sausages and parsley and helped herself to an egg. ‘This will do. I don’t suppose you have any chestnuts?’
‘I think there’s a box in the larder, but they’re probably past their sell-by date.’ He produced them and Hayley checked the date and emptied them onto her chopping board.
‘They’re fine. Alfie, can you pass me an apple from the bowl?’
‘I don’t like apples.’ He wrinkled his nose in disgust and she smiled.
‘It’s going in our stuffing. You won’t taste it.’ As she chopped, stirred and cooked, Alfie buzzed around her, helping.
‘What’s that you’re doing now?’
‘Bread sauce.’ She infused the milk with an onion and cloves. ‘It’s delicious. If I do it now, it will be one less thing to worry about tomorrow.’
Alfie was watching, wide-eyed with admiration. ‘Who taught you how to do all this stuff?’
‘I taught myself. I had to. No one else in my family can cook.’ She took the milk off the heat. ‘Well, they probably could cook if they tried. Everyone can cook if they try.’
‘My dad can’t.’ Alfie stood on a chair, slowly stirring cranberry sauce, his lower lip locked between his teeth. ‘And he has tried. His cooking is a disaster.’
‘Thanks Alfie,’ Patrick said dryly, and Alfie shrugged.
‘Even your pasta is gluey.’
‘You’re not cooking it in enough water,’ Hayley said absently. ‘You need a large pan so that it doesn’t stick together. That looks done, Alfie. Take the saucepan off the heat and put it on the
mat to cool. Good boy.’
‘This is so brilliant. Like being in a restaurant or something.’ Alfie lifted the pan carefully and put it on the table. ‘Now what?’
‘We let it cool and then we put it in the fridge.’
Alfie watched, wide-eyed, as she deftly made little stuffing balls. ‘Wow. You are so clever at that. If you’re here with us, who is cooking Christmas dinner for your family?’
Hopefully someone really inept.
Hayley gave a weak smile. ‘They’ll probably go to a hotel to eat.’
‘I bet they miss you.’
Feeling Patrick’s gaze on her face, Hayley tried not to reveal her thoughts. He saw too much.
‘Yes, I’m sure they miss me.’ Like lions missing an antelope. No one to pick on.
Patrick leaned forward and pulled the pan further onto the mat, avoiding disaster. ‘You have brothers and sisters?’
‘Two stepbrothers. One stepsister.’ She kept her tone neutral but knew he wasn’t fooled.
‘You lived with a stepfamily?’
Oh, God, he wasn’t going to let it go, was he? ‘My dad left when I was little. My mum married her boss. He already had three children. End of story.’ Except it wasn’t the end of the story and she had a feeling he knew it.
‘My mum left, too.’ Alfie said the words casually but Hayley sensed the depth of emotion behind his simple confession and felt as though her heart was being tugged out of her chest.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Patrick still, but Alfie was looking at her and she knew he was waiting for her to respond.
Suddenly she wished she’d done a degree in child psychology—at least then she would have known just the right thing to say. ‘That must have been very difficult for you.’
‘It was sort of difficult.’ Alfie gave an awkward shrug. ‘She went on Christmas Eve. Two years ago.’
‘Christmas Eve?’ Horrified, Hayley’s eyes flew to Patrick but he was watching his son.
‘We’re doing pretty well, aren’t we, Alfie?’
‘Brilliantly. We’re a team. Team Buchannan, that’s us. High five, Dad.’ Slapping his palm against his father’s, Alfie slid off the chair and walked over to the fridge. ‘The only thing wrong is that no one in our team is good at cooking. Sometimes Stella helps us, and that’s good. She can make gingerbread men. Can you make gingerbread men, Hayley?’
Still choked at the thought that their mother had left on Christmas Eve, Hayley struggled to answer. ‘Yes,’ she said huskily, feeling a rush of anger towards a woman she didn’t even know. ‘I can make gingerbread men. Who is Stella?’
Patrick stirred. ‘A friend.’
Friend? Hayley felt a stab of jealousy and then realised how ridiculous it was to feel jealous of this man. They didn’t have a relationship, did they?
‘Stella used to be engaged to Uncle Daniel but he didn’t want to get married because he thinks he won’t be a good father.’ Alfie pushed the fridge door shut, a yoghurt in his hand. ‘Which is rubbish, because he’s pretty cool at a lot of things, but he doesn’t think so, so he told Stella that he wouldn’t marry her. That was the same Christmas Mum left, so Stella came here and cooked lunch and it was brilliant. And she and Dad drank a lot.’ He dug a spoon out of the drawer and Hayley’s eyes flew to Patrick, who rolled his eyes in apology, his neutral expression revealing nothing about what must have been a hideous time.
Oblivious to his father’s discomfort, Alfie dug the spoon into the yoghurt. ‘And then Stella went away for ages because she was so upset that Daniel wouldn’t marry her, but she still sent me nice presents. Then she came back.’ He licked the spoon. ‘And then she and Uncle Daniel were trying not to kiss each other all the time, and—’
‘Alfie.’ Patrick’s tone was mild. ‘Enough. Eat your yoghurt and stop talking.’
‘I’m just telling Hayley about our family.’
‘You’ve told her enough.’
‘But I haven’t finished.’ The spoon still poised in the air, Alfie frowned at his father. ‘I haven’t told her the best bit.’
‘Go on, then,’ Patrick said wearily, rubbing his fingertips across his forehead. ‘Tell her the best bit. Whatever that is. But make it quick.’
‘Uncle Daniel is going to propose to Stella. Tomorrow.’
Patrick made a choked sound and suddenly sat upright. ‘He is what?’
‘He is going to propose to her.’ Smug now he had his father’s attention, Alfie slowly finished his yoghurt. ‘He told me. I saw the ring. He’s putting it in her Secret Santa—you know, you buy a present for someone at work, and—’
‘I know what Secret Santa is.’ Patrick interrupted him impatiently. ‘What’s this about a ring? Since when has my brother decided to propose and how come you know about it?’
‘I helped him decide. He wanted to marry her, really, but Stella wants lots of babies and Uncle Daniel is worried he won’t be a good dad. So I sort of helped him out with some tips.’ He saw his father’s astonished look and shrugged. ‘It wasn’t that hard. Uncle Daniel was OK when he looked after us when you were in America. Posy and I liked being with him. I just told him that. And he listened.’
Hayley couldn’t hold back her laughter. ‘So your brother is getting married?’
‘So it would seem.’ Patrick ran a hand over the back of his neck and looked at his son as though he were a stranger. ‘Where do you get all this information?’
‘Uncle Daniel and I had a long talk this morning. And, anyway, I see things.’ Alfie dropped the empty yoghurt pot in the bin. ‘I know about se—I mean, you know what. I can’t say the “s” word in front of Posy because she’s too young.’
‘Quite right,’ Patrick said faintly, ‘and so are you, frankly.’
‘Dad, you’re behind the times. Two of the boys in my class have girlfriends.’
Patrick closed his eyes. ‘Alfie, you are ten years old. You are not having a girlfriend.’
‘It’s all right,’ Alfie said kindly, ‘you can stop panicking. All the girls in my class are pretty yucky, to be honest. I wouldn’t want to kiss any of them. At the moment I prefer football.’
‘I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies,’ Patrick muttered under his breath, casting Hayley a look of comical disbelief. ‘How did we get onto this subject? I thought we were talking about your family?’
‘My family is boring by comparison.’ She laughed and Alfie looked at her closely.
‘But they’re the reason you moved to America? Because they made you feel like you couldn’t do anything? If you ask me, they’re dumb. And anyone who can cook like you shouldn’t have to prove anything to anyone.’ Having made that announcement, he strolled out of the room, leaving Hayley staring after him.
Patrick cleared his throat. ‘I apologise for Alfie. He’s always been pretty direct. Probably my fault.’
‘I think he’s very special.’ Hayley rescued the bread sauce, desperately wishing that Alfie hadn’t left the room. Without him she was too aware of Patrick.
Oh, God, she shouldn’t be here.
She’d taken a risk—exposed her feelings—and now she felt like an utter fool because she had nowhere to hide.
He knew how she felt about him.
And she knew how he felt about her.
She stirred the bread sauce vigorously to avoid having to look at him.
He’d taken advantage of being away from his children to have some easy sex. And she’d been easy sex. And she was angry and humiliated that she’d allowed her dreamy personality to turn a steamy encounter into something more.
Even though she was trying to be pragmatic about the whole thing, his assumption that her reason for tracking him down must be because she was pregnant had crushed her. His reaction was so far removed from the one she’d expected. She’d honestly thought he’d felt the same way about her as she did about him. Of course she had or she would never have travelled all this way and risked making a fool of herself. It hadn’t occurred to her that she was m
aking a fool of herself.
Alfie bounced back into the room. ‘Come and see your room, Hayley. You’ll love it. It has a sloping ceiling and a really cool bathroom with a drench thing.’
Hayley looked down at him for a long moment and then turned her head to look at Patrick.
He held her gaze and something flickered between them.
Hayley dismissed it as her imagination. She wasn’t making that mistake again. Wasn’t assuming there was a connection where there was none.
‘I’d like you to show me my room,’ she said to Alfie, and he grinned happily.
‘Your room is right next to mine. If you’re lonely, you can sleep in my spare bunk.’
Hayley couldn’t help smiling. ‘That’s really generous of you, Alfie. I might just do that.’ He was the sweetest, most engaging child she’d ever met. ‘Come on, then. Show me the room.’
Relieved to escape from Patrick’s brooding gaze for a short time, Hayley followed Alfie up the beautiful wooden staircase and up to the top floor of the barn. He pushed open a door and Hayley gave a gasp of surprise because nothing had prepared her for the breathtakingly beautiful view from the room.
Floor-to-ceiling windows faced open fields, framing the snow-covered trees and the mountains behind. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she said weakly, ‘It’s stunning.’ Was he a millionaire or something? The house was incredible.
‘You should see my dad’s bedroom. It’s huge. So is his bed. Mind you, he needs an enormous bed because Posy often crawls in with him in the middle of the night.’ Alfie darted across the bedroom and pushed open another door. ‘This is your bathroom. The window goes all the way along so you can still see the view from the bath. You’ve gone really red—I suppose you’re worrying about someone seeing you naked, but they won’t. We don’t have any neighbours, which is quite useful when Posy is having one of her tantrums.’
Hayley, whose colour had more to do with inappropriate thoughts involving Patrick’s bed than modesty, managed a smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll remember that.’
‘I’m just saying that you don’t need to worry too much about wandering around with no clothes on.’