Her Christmas Eve Diamond

by Scarlet Wilson

  Cassidy nodded. ‘Ah...the truth comes out.’ She walked over to the hot food and lifted a plate. ‘Why didn’t you just say? You could have used my washing machine.’

  ‘You’d do my washing for me?’

  Cassidy shuddered. ‘No. I said you could use my washing machine. I didn’t say I would do it for you. Anyway, that’s one of my rules.’

  He watched as she selected a roll, put something inside and picked up a sachet of ketchup.

  ‘What do you mean—one of your rules?’

  She lifted a mug and pressed the button for tea. ‘I have rules. Rules for the ward, rules for life, rules for men and rules for Christmas.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Okay, now you’ve intrigued me. Either that, or you’re a total crank—which is a distinct possibility.’ He picked up his coffee. ‘So, I’m interested. I know about the rules for the ward but tell me about these rules for men.’

  She handed over her money to the cashier and sat down at a nearby table. ‘They’re simple. No overseas men.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that one. And I’m not impressed. What else?’

  ‘No washing. No ironing. No picking up after them. I’m not their mother. Do it a few times and they start to expect it. I get annoyed, then I start picturing them as Jabba the Hut, the fat, lazy monster from Star Wars, and yadda, yadda, yadda.’ She waved her hand in the air.

  ‘I was right. You are a crank.’ He prodded her roll. ‘And what is that? Everyone around here seems to eat it and I’ve no idea what it is.’

  ‘It’s slice.’

  ‘Slice? A slice of what?’

  ‘No. That’s what it’s called—slice. It’s square sausage. A Scottish delicacy.’

  ‘That’s not a sausage. That looks nothing like a sausage.’

  ‘Well, it is. Want to try a bit?’ She held up her roll towards him.

  He shook his head. ‘That doesn’t look too healthy. Apart from the pizza the first night I met you, you seem to spend your life eating salads or apples. I’ve never even seen you eat the sweets on the ward.’

  ‘But this is different. This is Saturday morning. This is the bad-girl breakfast.’ She had a twinkle in her eye as she said it.

  Brad moved closer, his eggs abandoned. ‘Should I keep a note of this for future reference?’

  There it was again—that weird little hum that seemed to hang in the air between them. Making the rest of the room fall silent and fade away into the background. Making the seconds that they held each other’s gaze seem like for ever.

  But he kind of liked that. He kind of liked the fact that she didn’t seem to be able to pull her gaze away any more than he could. He kind of liked the fact that once he was in the vicinity of Cassidy, his brain didn’t seem to be able to focus on anything else. And from right here he could study the different shades of brown in her eyes—some chocolate, some caramel, some that matched her chestnut hair perfectly.

  Whoa! Since when had he, Brad Donovan, ever thought about the different shades of colour in a woman’s eyes? Not once. Not ever. Until now. Where had his brain found the words ‘chocolate’, ‘caramel’ and ‘chestnut’?

  ‘Maybe you should.’ The words startled him. There it was again, something in the air. The way at times her voice seemed deeper, huskier, as if she was having the same sort of thoughts that he was.

  But what did she think about all this? Was he merely a distraction? After all, she didn’t want a man from the other side of the world; she wanted a Scotsman. And he clearly wasn’t that. So why was she even flirting with him?

  But now her eyes were cast downwards, breaking his train of thought. There was a slight flush in her cheeks. Was she embarrassed? Cassidy didn’t seem the bashful type. Maybe she was having the same trouble he was—trying to make sense of the thoughts that seemed to appear as soon as they were together.

  He didn’t like silence between them. It seemed awkward, unnatural for two people who seemed to fit so well together.

  He picked up his fork and started eating his eggs. ‘So, tell me about the Christmas rules?’

  Cassidy sat back in her chair, a huge smile appearing on her face in an instant. Her eyes went up towards the ceiling. ‘Ah, Christmas, best time of year. I love it, absolutely love it.’ She counted on her fingers. ‘There are lots of rules for Christmas. You need to have a proper advent calendar, not the rubbish chocolate kind. You need the old-fashioned kind with little doors that open to pictures of mistletoe and holly, sleighs, presents and reindeer. Then your Christmas tree needs to go up on the first of December.’ She pointed her finger at him. ‘Not on the twelfth or Christmas Eve, like some people do. You need to get into the spirit of things.’

  ‘Should I be writing all this down?’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic. Then there’s the presents. You don’t put them under the tree. That’s a disaster. You bring them out on Christmas Eve.’

  Brad was starting to laugh now. The enthusiasm in her face was brimming over, but she was deadly serious. ‘Cassidy, do you still believe in Santa Claus?’

  She sighed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re a Christmas Grinch. There’s no room for them in my ward.’

  The Christmas Grinch. Actually, for the last few years, it would have been the perfect name for him. It was hard to get into the spirit of Christmas when you didn’t know where your little girl was. Whether she was safe. Whether she was well. Whether she was happy. Cassidy did look literally like a child at Christmas. This was obviously her thing.

  He tried to push the other thoughts from his mind. He was trying to be positive. This year he wasn’t going to fall into the black hole he’d found himself in last year, dragged down by the parts of his life he couldn’t control.

  ‘Any other Christmas rules you need to tell me?’

  ‘Well, there’s all the fun stuff. Like trying to spot the first Christmas tree someone puts up in their window. I usually like to try and count them as I walk home from work every day. Then trying to guess who has got your name for the secret Santa at work. And the shops—I love the shops at Christmas. The big department store on Buchanan Street has the most gorgeous tree and decorations. They’ll be up in a few weeks. You have to go and see them. And there will be ice skating in George Square. We have to go to that!’

  ‘But it’s still only October. We haven’t had Hallowe’en yet.’ Brad took a deep breath. He had an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘We celebrate Christmas in Australia, too, you know. It might be a little different, but it’s every bit as good as it sounds here. Where I live in Perth, everyone has Christmas lights on their houses. We have a huge Christmas tree in Forrest Place that gets turned on every November. Okay—maybe the temperature is around forty degrees and we might spend part of the day on the beach. But it’s still a fabulous time. I’m gutted I won’t be there this year.’

  He was pushing his Christmas memories aside, and curiosity was curling at the bottom of his stomach. Little pieces of the puzzle that was Cassidy Rae were clicking into place. ‘Have you ever celebrated Christmas anywhere else?’

  Cassidy shook her head fiercely. ‘I couldn’t for a minute imagine being anywhere other than here at Christmas. Sometimes it even snows on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Then it’s really magical.’

  Brad frowned. ‘Didn’t you even celebrate Christmas in Spain with your fiancé?’

  Cassidy looked at him as if he had horns on his head. ‘Absolutely not.’

  He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Surely it doesn’t matter where you celebrate Christmas—it’s about who you celebrate with. It’s the people, Cass, not the place.’ He willed his voice not to break as he said the words. She would have no idea how much all this hurt him.

  Cassidy was still shaking her head, and Brad had the distinct feeling he’d just tiptoed around the heart of the matt
er. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to leave. She wouldn’t even consider moving anywhere else.

  In some circumstances it might seem fine, patriotic even. But it irritated Brad more than he wanted to admit. How could Cass be so closed-minded? Was this really why she wouldn’t even consider a relationship with him? Not that he’d asked her. But every day they were growing closer and closer.

  Why hadn’t he told her about Melody yet? The most important person in his life and he hadn’t even mentioned her existence. He’d heard from his lawyer yesterday. Still no news. Still no sign. America was a big place. They were searching every state to see if Alison had registered as a doctor, though by now she could be married and working under a different name. If that was the case, they might never find her. And that thought made him feel physically sick.

  His brain was almost trying to be rational now. Trying to figure out why Alison hadn’t contacted him.

  He was a good father—committed to Melody and her upbringing. He’d wanted a say in everything and that had kind of spooked Alison, who liked to be in control. And if she’d really met someone and fallen in love, he could almost figure out why she’d done things this way.

  If she’d told him she wanted to move to the US, there would have been a huge custody battle. But to steal his daughter away and let eighteen months pass with no contact? That, he couldn’t understand—no matter what.

  He almost wanted to shout at Cassidy, It’s the people, Cass—always the people. He couldn’t care less where he was in this world, as long as he was near his daughter.

  His mind flickered back to the four tightly packed boxes stuffed in the bottom of the wardrobe in his bedroom. Eighteen months of his life, with a private investigator in Australia and one in the US. Eighteen months when almost all his salary had gone on paying their fees and jumping out of his skin every time the phone rang.

  No one could keep living like that. Not even him. It destroyed your physical and mental health. So he’d tried to take a step back, get some normality back into his life. He was still looking for his daughter and still had a private investigator in the US. But now he didn’t require a daily update—an email once a week was enough. And the PI was under strict instructions to phone only in an emergency.

  He looked at the woman across the table. He still couldn’t get to the bottom of Cassidy Rae. She’d received another one of those phone calls the other day and had ducked out the ward, talking in a low, calm voice.

  What on earth was going on?

  * * *

  Cassidy stared across the table. Maybe she’d gone a little overboard with the Christmas stuff. She always seemed to get carried away when the subject came up. It looked as if a shadow had passed across Brad’s eyes. Something strange. Something she didn’t recognise. Was it disappointment? She drew her breath in, leaving a tight feeling in her chest. She didn’t like this.

  But she didn’t know him that well yet. She didn’t feel as if she could share that it was just her and her gran left. And she wanted to hold on to what little family she had left. Of course Christmas was about people—even if they didn’t know you were there.

  She reached across the table and touched his hand. Every single time she touched him it felt like this. A tingle. Hairs standing on end. Delicious feelings creeping down her spine. The warmth of his hand was spreading through her.

  He looked up and gave her a rueful smile, a little sad maybe but still a smile.

  ‘Let’s talk about something else. Like Hallowe’en. We usually have a party for the staff on the ward. I had it in my flat last year, but I think yours would be the perfect venue this time.’

  Brad’s smile widened. He looked relieved by the change of subject. ‘I guess a Hallowe’en party wouldn’t be out of the question in the House of Horrors.’

  ‘It’s not a House of Horrors. Why don’t we just tell people we’ve got a theme for the year? It could be Hallowe’en-slash-fancy-dress, 1960s-style?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘I suppose we could do that. Are you going to help me with the planning?’

  ‘Of course.’ Cassidy stood up and picked up her plate and mug, ‘Come on, it’s time to go back upstairs. We can talk about it as we go.’

  He watched her retreating back and curvy behind. One thing was crystal clear. This woman was going to drive him crazy.

  30 October

  Brad opened the door as yet another party reveller arrived. Bert had retreated to his basket, now in Brad’s pink bedroom, in sheer horror at the number of people in the small flat. It seemed that inviting the ‘medical receiving unit’ to a party also included anyone who worked there, used to work there or had once thought about working there.

  It also included anyone who’d ever passed through or seen the sign for the unit.

  ‘Love the outfit!’ one of the junior doctors shouted at Brad. He looked down. Cassidy had persuaded him to go all out, and his outfit certainly reflected that. The room was filled with kipper ties, psychedelic swirls, paisley patterns, and mini-skirts and beehives. For the men, stick-on beards seemed to be the most popular choice, with lots of them now sticking to arms, foreheads and chests.

  Brad pushed through the crowd to the kitchen, finding an empty glass and getting some water. It was freezing outside, but inside the flat he almost felt as if he were back in Perth. He’d turned the cast-iron radiators off, but the place was still steaming, even with the windows prised open to let the cold air circulate.

  He felt someone press at his back. ‘Sorry, it’s a bit of a squash in here.’ He recognised the voice instantly.

  ‘Where have you been? Wow!’ Cassidy had helped him carry all the food and drink for the party up to the flat. Then she’d disappeared to get changed. His eyes took in her short red Star Trek dress, complete with black knee-high boots and gold communicator pinned to her chest. She pressed the button. ‘How many to beam aboard?’

  ‘You didn’t tell me we were doing TV. Not fair. How come you get to look smart and sexy and I get to look like some flea-bitten wino?’

  She laughed and moved forward. ‘I’m still in the sixties. The first episode of Star Trek was screened in 1966. I’m in perfect time.’

  Someone pressed past her and she struggled to keep her glass of wine straight, moving so close to Brad that their entire bodies were touching. Her eyes tilted upwards towards him. ‘I kind of like your too-tight shirt and shaggy wig. It suits you in a funny way.’

  ‘Well, that outfit definitely suits you. But I feel as if you’ve fitted me up. I bet you had that sexy fancy-dress outfit stashed somewhere and were just looking for an excuse to give it an outing.’ His broad chest could feel her warm curves pushing against him.

  ‘You think I look sexy?’ Her voice was low again and husky. Her words only heard by him. Someone else pushed past and she moved even closer in the tiny kitchen. ‘How many to beam aboard?’

  They jumped. Startled by the noise. Brad grabbed her hand and pulled her through the door, past the people in the sitting room dancing to Tom Jones and the Beatles, and into the pink bedroom, pushing the door closed behind them.

  Cassidy let out a little gasp. The pink shiny bedspread was gone, replaced by a plain cotton cream cover and pillowcases. But the dark pink lampshades hadn’t been replaced, leaving a pink glow around the room. ‘Too many people falling off your bed?’

  He pulled the wig from his head, revealing his hair sticking up in all directions. ‘Now, why would you think that?’ There was a smile on his face as he stepped closer, pushing her against the door. His eyes were fixed on hers. His hand ran up her body, from the top of her boot, touching the bare skin on her legs, past the edge of her dress to her waist.

  ‘Why would something like that even occur to you, Cass? Why would it even enter your mind? Because you keep telling me that we’re friends. Just friends. You don’t want anything more—not wit
h someone like me, someone from Australia.’ Or someone with a missing child.

  Cassidy’s heart was thudding against the inside of her chest. From the second he’d closed the door behind them she’d been picturing this in her head. No. Not true. From the first day that she’d met him she’d been picturing this in her head. It had taken her two glasses of wine to have the courage to come back to his flat tonight.

  The tension had built in the last few weeks. Every lingering glance. Every fleeting touch sending sparks fluttering between them. It didn’t matter how much her brain kept telling her he was the wrong fit. Her body didn’t know that. And it craved his touch.

  This wasn’t meant to be serious. Serious had been the last thing on her mind—particularly with a man from overseas. But even though she tried to push the thoughts aside, Brad was rapidly becoming more than just a friend. She loved the sexual undercurrent between them, and the truth was she wanted to act on it. Now.

  She leaned forward, just a little. Just enough to push her breasts even closer to him. If he looked down, all he would be able to see now was cleavage. ‘How many to beam aboard?’ The noise startled both of them, but Brad only pulled her closer. She reached up and pulled the communicator badge from her dress, tossing it onto the bed behind them. ‘I hate it when the costume takes away from the main event.’

  She could see the surprise in his eyes. He’d expected a fight. He’d expected her to give him a reason why he shouldn’t be having the same thoughts she was.

  She smiled, her hand reaching out and resting on his waist. ‘Sometimes my body sends me different messages from my brain.’

  Brad lifted a finger, running it down the side of her cheek. The lightest touch. Her response was immediate. Her face turned towards his hand, and his fingers caught the back of her head, intertwining with her hair. She leaned back into his touch, letting out a little sigh. Her eyes were closed, and she could feel his stubble scraping her chin, his warm breath near her ear. ‘And which message are you listening to?’ he whispered as his other hand slid under her dress.