Christmas Eve: Doorstep Delivery

Christmas Eve: Doorstep Delivery Sarah Morgan Christmas Eve: Doorstep Delivery Sarah Morgan www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) Table of Contents Cover Page (#ub73f59b8-c535-547b-820c-c91baf89dd43) Title Page (#u53672857-b587-52a9-a6ec-1522bd9bd160) About the Author (#u2089082a-9d03-5df0-86d2-90c5cd7ee44b) Prologue (#u511474e1-2b43-5e2e-997b-56b8312db5dc) Chapter One (#u97a525ae-4a3c-534a-8c1d-7687bba5d8f8) Chapter Two (#u42983fed-749d-540a-b789-ff4573e52870) Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) Sarah Morgan is a British writer who regularly tops the bestseller lists with her lively stories for both Mills & Boon® Medical? Romance and Modern? Romance. As a child Sarah dreamed of being a writer, and although she took a few interesting detours on the way she is now living that dream. She firmly believes that reading romance is one of the most satisfying and fat-free escapist pleasures available. Her stories are unashamedly optimistic, and she is always pleased when she receives letters from readers saying that her books have helped them through hard times. RT Book Reviews has described her writing as ‘action-packed and sexy’. Sarah lives near London with her husband and two children, who innocently provide an endless supply of authentic dialogue. When she isn’t writing or nagging about homework Sarah enjoys music, movies, and any activity that takes her outdoors. Prologue PATRICK strode through the doors of the labour ward, his bleep and his phone buzzing simultaneously. Pushing open the doors of the delivery room, he walked straight into an atmosphere of palpable tension. His eyes met those of a white-faced midwife. Despite the soothing words she was muttering to the panicking mother, there was no missing the strain in her expression and her relief at seeing him. ‘Cord prolapse, Patrick. The trace has shown persistent variable decelerations and prolonged bradychardia. I’ve put her in the knee-elbow position, they’re preparing Theatre and I’ve emergency-bleeped the anaesthetist. I’m so sorry to drag you out of your meeting. I know the chief exec gets furious when you go running off.’ ‘It’s not a problem.’ Patrick shrugged off the jacket of his suit, slung it over the back of the nearest chair and unbuttoned his shirtsleeves. ‘Ed?’ He turned to his registrar and noticed that he looked unusually stressed. ‘She needs a crash section,’ his colleague muttered in an undertone. ‘After I called you, I put a line in and infused 50 mils of saline into her bladder, as you instructed. Did I miss anything?’ ‘Did you do an ultrasound?’ ‘Yes. There’s good blood flow through the cord.’ ‘All right. Good job. So we’ve bought ourselves some time.’ Patrick rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. ‘You say she isn’t suitable for a general anaesthetic?’ ‘That’s right.’ The registrar handed him the notes but Patrick gave a brief shake of his head and walked to the head of the bed. ‘Hello, Katherine. I’m Patrick Buchannan, one of the obstetric consultants.’ ‘I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want a Caesarean section,’ the mother wailed. ‘I want to have this baby naturally. That’s why I only came into hospital half an hour ago. I knew this would happen. I knew if I came in earlier, you’d muck about with me.’ She was kneeling face down on the trolley, her bottom in the air in an attempt to prevent the cord being compressed between the pelvis and the baby’s head. ‘I feel ridiculous in this position. It’s so undignified.’ ‘This position is saving your baby’s life.’ Patrick squatted down next to her so that he could have a proper conversation and build a connection with the labouring woman. ‘Do you understand what is happening, Katherine?’ ‘Yes. You’re going to cut me open instead of letting me have the baby the way nature intended!’ The woman was sobbing now, her head on her arms. ‘I hate you. I hate you all. Oh God, why did this have to happen?’ ‘You’re very tired, Katherine.’ Patrick spoke gently. ‘From what I’ve been told, you were in labour for a long time at home before you came to us.’ ‘I didn’t want to come to you at all! I just want to have the baby naturally.’ Seeing how terrified she was, Patrick felt his heart twist in sympathy. ‘You can’t have this baby naturally, sweetheart. It’s too much of a risk. The cord is prolapsed—that means that it’s dropped down below the baby’s head. That’s why you’re lying in this undignified position. The cord is your baby’s blood supply—if that blood supply is obstructed, the baby could die.’ Katherine gave a low moan and turned her blotched, tearstreaked face to him. ‘Don’t say that! Don’t say that!’ ‘It’s the truth. And I won’t lie to you.’ ‘You’re putting pressure on me to have the one thing I don’t want!’ ‘I’m putting pressure on you, that’s true—but because this is a medical emergency, not for any other reason.’ ‘You’re a surgeon. You’d much rather intervene than let women do it by themselves.’ ‘I’m the last person in the world to intervene surgically when there is another option.’ Patrick spoke quietly, holding up his hand to silence his registrar, who had drawn breath to speak. ‘Katherine, if I thought you could deliver this baby yourself, I’d let you do it.’ Katherine sniffed, but she kept her eyes on his, desperate for reassurance and guarantees. ‘How do I know you don’t just want to get home in time for Christmas?’ Patrick smiled. ‘Because it isn’t Christmas Eve until tomorrow. I’ve done all my shopping, the turkey is in the fridge and my kids don’t want me home until they’ve ‘secretly’ wrapped my presents. If I turn up now, I’ll be in trouble.’ Katherine’s breath was jerky from crying. ‘I can’t have a general anaesthetic.’ ‘So I understand. Don’t worry. I know the whole thing sounds scary and you feel out of control.’ Patrick rubbed his hand over her shoulder to reassure her. ‘I’m going to ask you to trust me to do what’s best for you. Can you do that? I promise you that everything I do will be for you and the baby. Not for me.’ ‘If I can’t have an anaesthetic—’ ‘We’ll give you a spinal. You won’t feel any pain, I promise.’ ‘Is that like an epidural?’ ‘Similar.’ Keeping his hand on her shoulder Patrick stood up, his gaze flickering to the senior midwife in the room. ‘Is the anaesthetist on his way?’ ‘He’s meeting us in Theatre,’ the registrar said, and then lowered his voice. ‘Can he put in a spinal when she’s in the Trendelenberg position?’ ‘Who is the anaesthetist?’ ‘Gary Clarke.’ Patrick gave a faint smile. ‘Gary could put in a spinal if she was hanging from the ceiling. I’m going to go and scrub. I’ll see you in there.’ Katherine gave a little moan. ‘It’s going to go wrong. I know it is.’ ‘No, it isn’t.’ Maggie, the senior midwife, took over the role of offering moral support. ‘Patrick is the best there is. He’ll have your baby safely delivered in less time than it takes you to make a cup of tea. Come on, now, love. I know it isn’t what you planned, but you have to think of the baby.’ ‘Kathy.’ Her husband added his pleas, ‘I know you’re scared but you have to do this.’ Katherine looked at Maggie, panic in her eyes. ‘Would you let him deliver your baby?’ ‘Patrick did deliver my baby,’ Maggie said gruffly. ‘I had a condition called placenta praevia, which is when the placenta is lying across the cervix. Patrick did my Caesarean section. And that was seven years ago when he was still a registrar. He was brilliant even then, and he’s had tons of practice since.’ Katherine gave a choked laugh. ‘Perhaps you should start a fan club for him.’ ‘I’m too late. If you go on the internet you’ll find loads of threads devoted to chatting about how brilliant he is. We get women coming up from London just to see him because he’s an expert in premature labour. You see? He can even teach those London doctors a thing or two.’ Katherine groaned. ‘It’s just that I hate needles, I hate operations.’ She hiccoughed. ‘I hate—’ Knowing that he couldn’t proceed until the anaesthetist arrived, Patrick turned his attention back to the labouring woman. ‘It’s difficult when things don’t go the way you planned. I understand that. When my daughter was born the whole thing was a nightmare from beginning to end, and I’m an obstetrician. Nothing went the way I wanted it to go.’ He didn’t add that his wife had blamed him. Ex-wife, he reminded himself wearily. She was his ex-wife. Katherine’s face was discoloured from crying, her eyes tired after a long labour. ‘I wanted to have this baby at home.’ ‘And having a baby at home can be a wonderful experience, but there are certain times when that just isn’t safe,’ Patrick said softly, ‘and this is one of them.’ She gave a strangled laugh. ‘I thought you’d lecture me for staying at home for so long.’ It wasn’t the time to tell her she should have come into hospital hours ago. What was the point in adding to her guilt and worry? What he really needed to do was gain her confidence. ‘I’m a great supporter of home birth, providing the circumstances are right. This isn’t one of those circumstances.’ Katherine looked at him, exhausted, confused and wrung out by the whole physical and emotional experience of childbirth. ‘I don’t want anything to happen to the baby.’ ‘I know you don’t.’ Patrick watched as the foetal heart monitor showed another dip. ‘The baby isn’t happy, Katherine. We need to do this, and we need to do it now. Maggie, can you bleep Gary again? Tell him I want him up here any time in the next two seconds. The rest of you—transfer her into Theatre while I go and scrub. Move.’ Patrick changed quickly and then started to scrub, allowing the hot soapy water to drain down his arms. ‘She’s ready.’ Another the midwife hurried up to him. ‘We’ve taken blood for cross-matching and she’s breathing 100 per cent oxygen. Gary is doing a spinal. He says can you please start soon because he’s getting bored.’ Patrick gave a smile of appreciation and moments later he was gloved and gowned, scalpel in hand. ‘If you need any advice, Gary, just let me know,’ he said smoothly, exchanging a glance with his colleague. ‘Katherine, if you feel anything at any point, you just tell me. Are you all ready for Christmas?’ He chatted easily, the words requiring no concentration, all his focus on the technical operation he was performing. Even though the foetal heart was stable, he knew that time wasn’t on his side. He also knew that he didn’t intend to lose this baby. ‘I’ve bought the presents.’ Katherine’s voice was wobbly with nerves. ‘I’m supposed to be picking up the turkey tomorrow.’ The staff draped sterile cloths in such a way that Katherine couldn’t see what was happening. ‘Someone else can do that for you—it will be good practice for your husband.’ Patrick held out his gloved hand and the midwife assisting him passed him the instrument he needed. ‘Any tips on cooking turkey are gratefully received. Last year it was a disaster, I ended up cooking cranberry omelette. My children have never forgiven me.’ His gloved fingers widened the incision he’d made and he glanced at the clock. Three minutes. The door to Theatre opened and the paediatrician hurried into the room, ready to take the baby. ‘Good timing. Come on, little fellow.’ Patrick eased the baby out and there was a collective sigh of relief when the child started to bawl loudly. ‘You have a son, Katherine. Merry Christmas.’ He allowed the mother to see and touch the baby briefly before handing the boy to the hovering paediatrician. ‘Nothing to worry about. We just need to check him over, Katherine.’ Leaving the baby in the hands of his colleague, Patrick turned his attention back to his own job. Delivering the placenta and then closing. He worked quickly and quietly, aware of Katherine and her husband in the background talking in low, excited voices. ‘That was fast, even for you.’ Watching him close, Maggie opened another suture for him. ‘A new record. I think you could just be a genius.’ Patrick grinned. ‘I do love a bit of hero-worship. Does all this admiration mean you’re willing to perform that traditional midwifery task of making me a cup of tea when I’ve finished here?’ ‘Don’t push your luck, handsome. I didn’t train for all those years to make you tea.’ Maggie handed him a swab. ‘And, anyway, you won’t have time to drink it.’ ‘That’s probably true.’ ‘I don’t know why you’re complaining. You have Christmas off.’ Patrick’s fingers worked swiftly and skilfully. ‘This will be my first Christmas at home with my kids in years.’ ‘Want me to come and cook that turkey for you?’ Maggie winked saucily and Patrick smiled. ‘You’re happily married. Behave yourself.’ Watching what he was doing, she opened a sterile dressing. ‘Tom Hunter is on call over Christmas. If his wife delivers, you might have to come in anyway. He doesn’t trust anyone else. He’s going to have a nervous breakdown if you’re not here.’ ‘I saw Sally in clinic today. She won’t deliver until Boxing Day at the earliest.’ Patrick secured the dressing. ‘This year, I’m going to eat my turkey in peace. That’s if I manage to work out how to cook the damn thing. Katherine. I’m done here.’ He smiled at the patient. ‘I’m going to get cleaned up, we’ll transfer you to the ward and then I’ll come and see you.’ The woman’s eyes were misted with tears of gratitude and euphoria. ‘Thank you. Thank you for saving my baby—and thank you for making the whole thing so unscary. I’m sorry I was so pathetic. You are a fantastic doctor and your wife is a lucky woman.’ There was sudden tension in the operating theatre and several of the staff exchanged embarrassed glances, but Patrick simply smiled. ‘Unfortunately my now ex-wife would have disagreed with you,’ he drawled, stepping back from the operating table and ripping off his gloves. ‘She would have been the first to tell you that fantastic doctors make lousy husbands. I’ll see you later, Katherine. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.’ He stayed longer in the shower than he should have done, feeling the hot water sluice over his bare flesh while he tried shut down his thinking. Lousy husband. That was what he’d been to Carly, wasn’t it? Feeling the familiar stab of guilt, he turned off the water and cursed softly. He’d already promised himself that he wasn’t going to spend another Christmas brooding over Carly. What was the point of going over it again? Of asking himself if he could have done more? He dressed quickly and walked down the corridor of the bustling maternity unit to his office, frowning when he saw the stack of paperwork on his desk. Picking up the first file, he sat down just as the door opened and Maggie slunk into the room, an anxious look on her face and a box of chocolates in her hand. ‘These arrived from the woman we delivered yesterday. You’d better have one before they all go.’ Scrutinising him closely, she closed the door behind her and walked across the room. ‘Katherine has just gone to the ward. Paeds are happy with the baby which, by the way, is now named Patrick Gary.’ Reflecting on how his friend and colleague would greet that news, Patrick smiled. ‘As long as it isn’t Gary Patrick.’ Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘You two are ridiculously competitive. I don’t know how you managed to be in the mountain rescue team together and not push each other off a cliff.’ She stuck the box of chocolates on his desk and sighed. ‘All right. I’ll come straight to the point. Are you OK? You didn’t have to answer that woman’s question about your wife. She’s really worried she upset you. We’re all worried about you.’ ‘She didn’t upset me.’ Patrick signed a document that had been left out for his attention. ‘I’m fine, Maggie.’ And the last thing he wanted to talk about was his ex-wife. But Maggie showed no sign of shifting. ‘I know you hate this time of year—have you heard from her? Has she been in touch?’ ‘No.’ Resigned to having the conversation he didn’t want to have, Patrick put his pen down. ‘She sent a card and a cheque for me to choose something for the kids.’ The anger rushed through him but he controlled it, as he always did. He’d trained himself to be civilised about the whole thing for the sake of the children. He didn’t want them to feel like tennis balls being thumped between two players. ‘She said I was more likely to know what they wanted than she was.’ Margaret’s mouth tightened with disapproval and Patrick knew what she was thinking. The same thing he’d been thinking—that Carly should have known exactly what to buy her own children for Christmas. ‘It’s been two years since she walked out, Patrick. It’s time you found someone else. Let’s face it, it isn’t going to be hard.’ Patrick gave a faint smile of mockery. ‘Not hard at all to find someone you want to spend your life with and trust with your children’s happiness.’ ‘All right, all right—it’s hard.’ Maggie pushed the box of chocolates towards him. ‘The kids are lucky to have you. You’re such an amazing dad.’ Patrick’s jaw tensed. If he was so amazing, why were his children living without their mother? ‘Maggie, I appreciate your concern but you don’t need to worry about me. The children and I are fine. Goodness knows, my life is complicated enough without adding in a relationship.’ He helped himself to a chocolate. ‘Does this have nuts in it? I hate nuts. You midwives always know the chocolates by heart.’ ‘That’s because we eat too many of them. That one’s caramel. And relationships don’t have to be complicated, Patrick.’ ‘Mine always seem to be.’ ‘That’s because you picked the wrong woman last time. Next time choose a nice, kind motherly girl who would love those gorgeous children of yours and be proud to be with a high-flying doctor.’ ‘I don’t want a nice, kind, motherly girl.’ Patrick unwrapped the chocolate and ate it. ‘I want a raving nymphomaniac with the gymnastic skills of an Olympic athlete.’ Margaret choked with laughter. ‘And there was me thinking you need someone intelligent you can have a conversation with. I never knew you were so shallow. Or are you just trying to shock me?’ ‘I’m trying to shock you.’ And move her off the subject of his ex-wife. ‘What about that girl you met when you were in Chicago?’ Patrick sighed. ‘Remind me why I told you about that?’ ‘I caught you in a weak moment.’ Smiling, Maggie settled herself on the edge of his desk. ‘You really liked her, didn’t you?’ ‘I spent twenty-four hours with her, Mags,’ Patrick said carefully, pushing aside the memory of a girl with long legs and an endless smile—and a night that would stay with him for ever. ‘Hardly a recipe for happy ever after.’ ‘You should have taken her number.’ ‘She didn’t give me her number.’ Patrick sat back in his chair, a wry smile on his face. ‘Clearly she didn’t want to repeat the experience.’ Maggie started to laugh. ‘Is that really what you think? It’s far more likely that she felt awkward at having spent the night with you and slunk out of your room before you woke up.’ Not having considered that possibility, Patrick frowned. ‘She seemed pretty confident.’ ‘Was that before or after you’d removed her clothes?’ ‘Does it make a difference?’ ‘Of course it does! Confident women are often full of insecurities when they’re naked. That’s why we prefer to keep the lights off.’ They’d kept the lights on. All night. ‘Enough!’ Patrick aimed the chocolate wrapper towards the bin in the corner of the room. ‘You and I may have been colleagues for years but there are limits.’ ‘I’m just saying that maybe she didn’t want you to see her in daylight.’ ‘She showed me around the hospital in daylight.’ ‘But presumably she was wearing clothes at that point.’ Maggie dipped her hand into the box and pulled out a chocolate. ‘Trust me, it’s different. If I ever went to bed with you, I’d want the lights off.’ ‘If I ever went to bed with you, your husband would kill me.’ Patrick emptied the contents of his in-tray into his briefcase. ‘Can we drop this conversation? Relationships aren’t a priority for me at the moment. And if you ever mention this to anyone else on the unit, I’ll drown you in the birthing pool.’ Maggie looked smug. ‘You really did like her.’ ‘Yes.’ Exasperated, Patrick reached for his coat. ‘Yes, I liked her. Satisfied?’ ‘You liked her a lot.’ ‘Yes, I liked her a lot.’ ‘Was she pretty?’ ‘Very.’ ‘Did she make you laugh?’ Patrick thought about the day they’d spent together. ‘Yes. She was fun. She smiled all the time.’ Which had been a refreshing change after Carly’s endless moaning. ‘And you didn’t take her number?’ Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘I thought you were supposed to be clever.’ ‘Clever enough to spot when a relationship isn’t going to work.’ Patrick put his coat on. ‘If she’d wanted me to have her details, she would have left her number. And even if she’d left her number, it would have been somewhere in Chicago because that’s where she lives.’ He snapped his briefcase shut. ‘I, on the other hand, live in a small corner of England. Even if she hadn’t made her feelings clear by slinking out of my bedroom, I wouldn’t get in touch with her. It would never have worked and I don’t need another romantic disaster.’ ‘So that’s it, then?’ ‘That’s it. It was just one night and the only reason you even know about it is because you have an uncanny ability to prise information from the innocent.’ ‘I care about you. You deserve to be with someone special.’ ‘My kids are special. I’m with them.’ Patrick walked towards the door. ‘Any luck finding an extra midwife willing to work over Christmas?’ ‘No. So far that particular miracle hasn’t happened. I’m just hoping that no one has contractions on Christmas Day because there’s definitely no room at this inn.’ ‘You can call me if you’re desperate. I can always bring the children in with me. They can sit in the staffroom with the chocolates.’ ‘We’d love to see them. I haven’t seen Posy for a few months. But I don’t want to call you in over Christmas. You deserve the break.’ Maggie walked to the door. ‘I’m glad you didn’t take the job in Chicago. I would have resigned and gone with you. Tell me honestly—were you tempted?’ Yes. Because if he’d taken the job, he would have seen the girl again. He’d even picked up the phone once, but had put it down again before it could ring. What would he have said? Hi, you know that night of hot sex we shared? Any chance you could give up your job and your life in the States and come and live over here so that we can do it again? Patrick sighed. He didn’t even have to say it aloud to know it sounded ridiculous. He’d already wrecked one woman’s life. He wasn’t going to do the same thing a second time. ‘I wasn’t tempted.’ Reminding himself that he had two young children depending on him, he glanced at the clock. ‘I’m off home. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. I’ve promised to spend it with my children. This raving nymphomaniac you’re finding me…’ He gave Maggie a slow smile. ‘Just make sure she has a passion for sexy underwear.’ He regretted the words immediately. She had worn the sexiest, classiest underwear he’d ever seen. Just thinking about the provocative silky knickers he’d found on the floor of his room the next morning made him glad he was wearing his coat. ‘Go home and do battle with that turkey,’ Maggie said cheerfully. ‘I’ll see you in three days.’ Discovering that there was nothing like the thought of cooking a turkey to cure a man of an attack of lust, Patrick groaned. ‘I’d forgotten about the turkey. I’d rather deliver triplets than cook a turkey.’ Maggie gave a choked laugh. ‘Welcome to the festive season. Merry Christmas, Patrick.’ ‘Merry Christmas.’ Patrick felt exhausted as he thought of the challenge ahead of him. ‘Yet another family Christmas that I’ll mess up. Alfie still hasn’t let me forget last year’s turkey disaster. I need a miracle.’ Chapter One HAYLEY climbed out of the taxi, slipped on the ice and landed hard on her bottom in the snow. ‘Are you all right, love?’ The taxi driver peered at her and she gave a weak smile as she slithered and slid her way back onto her feet, clutching the door for support and mentally itemising the damage. ‘I’m fine,’ she lied, trying not to picture the bruise that was going to appear later. ‘Fortunately my bottom is big enough to provide a decent cushion. Which is useful because I’m not that great at walking on ice. Actually, I’m not that great at walking on pavements either. I’m the only person I know who can trip on a flat surface.’ The taxi driver chuckled sympathetically. ‘Uncoordinated, are you? I have a sister like that. Always falling over, she is.’ He flicked on the windscreen wipers to clear the snow. ‘It’s been great chatting to you, Hayley. Cheered up my Christmas Eve, you have. Feel as though I’ve known you for years.’ Remembering just how frank she’d been, Hayley squirmed with embarrassment. She’d said far too much. As usual. He knew everything about her except her bra size. Come to think of it, he probably knew that, too, because she had mentioned that she always felt nervous in strapless dresses. In her head she could hear her stepbrother’s mocking voice saying, Hayley doesn’t have an ‘off’ switch. But what was she supposed to do? She’d been in the car for twenty minutes and it would have been rude not to speak. ‘I’m glad you were the one who picked me up from the station, Jack. And I hope you get that hip of yours sorted out soon.’ ‘I’m sure I will. The doctors are very clever around here. Good with their hands, you know?’ He gave her a knowing wink and Hayley blushed, wondering what had possessed her to confess that particular bit of her life history. ‘How much do I owe you, Jack?’ ‘Nothing. Haven’t enjoyed a fare so much all year. You made me laugh so hard I almost had the car off the road at that last corner,’ he said cheerfully, setting his meter to zero. ‘And if you really want my opinion, I think your family should be ashamed of themselves. If my daughter were a midwife I’d be proud as punch—I wouldn’t be telling her she was wasting her talents and should have been a lawyer. Where would the world be if we all picked our jobs on the basis of how much they pay? No wonder you wanted to come up here and escape. Now, forget about the lot of them and have a good time. I hope the romance works out for you. With any luck he’ll propose by New Year and then you can invite me to your wedding.’ Wedding? Had she actually confessed that bit of her fantasy? ‘If there’s a wedding, you’ll be there. I’ll need someone rooting for me on my side of the church,’ Hayley said weakly, holding onto the door and wishing she hadn’t revealed quite so much to someone she’d known for twenty minutes. It wasn’t so bad to have told him why she wasn’t going home to her family for Christmas, but it was probably a mistake to have told him about that night. But she was excited! And happy! And it was all because of a man. At least now she was in the same country as him, she thought dreamily. The thought that he might be within miles of her made her want to sing and dance. It was only the knowledge that dancing might leave her with two broken ankles that stopped her from twirling in the snow. That and the fact that she didn’t want to make a bad impression on her new employer. Brushing the snow from her coat, she thought to herself that for once—just once—it would be nice to be a naturally elegant and dignified person. She would have liked to arrive at her new job as housekeeper looking like one of those women you saw in magazines—long black coat, elegant boots, lipstick… ‘You’ve got snow in your hair, love,’ the taxi driver said helpfully, and then nodded at the house behind her. ‘Well, this is it. High Fell Barn. Nice place. Smart. Like something from one of those fancy architect designed home programmes you see on the TV. I know you haven’t met the family but I can tell you from looking at this that they’re loaded. I wouldn’t mind spending Christmas here myself. Starting to think you might be right to ditch the whole family thing.’ ‘Oh, no, I think family is wonderful,’ Hayley said hastily, dragging snow out of her hair with her fingers. ‘Just not my family. And they’d probably be all right if I was different. They’re all scarily clever and co-ordinated and have really well-paid jobs and apartments with big windows and glass—you know the sort of thing. I was the runt of the litter. Well, actually I came from a different litter because they’re my step-siblings. My mum married their dad and they never forgave me for that.’ She was doing it again, talking, talking, talking. ‘Anyway, enough of that,’ she said lamely, and Jack smiled at her. ‘Stepfamilies can be complicated. Everyone knows that. Lots of jealousy there.’ ‘I don’t think my step-siblings are jealous,’ Hayley said humbly. ‘More embarrassed to be officially associated with me, I think.’ Whoops—here comes Hayley. How many babies has she dropped this year? Not for the first time Hayley indulged in a swift fantasy about her acid-tongued stepbrother choking on a chicken bone and her saving his life with a skilfully performed Heimlich manoeuvre. Of course, he’d be blubbering with gratitude, her whole family open-mouthed with awe at her hidden talents, begging her forgiveness for having so grossly underestimated her. We had no idea, Hayley. Trying not to dwell on how inadequate her family made her feel, Hayley stared at the huge glass windows and the snow-covered roof of the barn. Despite the size of the place, it was the most welcoming building she’d ever seen. Lights twinkled along the front of the barn and through the window she could see a haphazardly decorated Christmas tree standing guard over piles of brightly wrapped parcels. To the side of the barn was a wide stream in full flow, the winter silence disturbed by the roar and rush of white water as it frothed down from the top of the icy fells. ‘That’s the beck.’ The taxi driver nodded. ‘That’s what we call it in these parts. In summer it’s no more than a trickle of water but now, with the snow melting…’ ‘It’s fantastic.’ After the urban chaos of Chicago, Hayley savoured the sound of the water smashing over the rocks on its way down the mountain. Behind the barn stretched acres of fields, sparkling white with snow, and beyond that the forest and the mountains. Pine trees stood tall and straight as sentries either side of the barn, tiny twinkling lights twisted through their branches. It was like something from a Christmas card. She half expected to see Santa and a team of reindeer hauling a large sack towards the gently smoking chimney. ‘It’s enough to lift your spirits, isn’t it?’ The taxi driver grinned at her. ‘Talking of which, it’s time I went home and lifted spirits with the wife. Brandy is her tipple. You never know—I might get lucky. Hope you do, too.’ ‘I don’t know—I’m starting to think this might have been a mistake,’ Hayley confessed, cautiously letting go of the car door and pushing her hands into her coat pockets for extra warmth. ‘I don’t even know where the guy lives. I just know it’s the Lake District.’ ‘But you know he works at the hospital so he should be easy to track down once Christmas is over.’ Desperate for reassurance, she bit her lip. ‘Do you think it’s crazy to have come all this way to find a guy I’ve only met once?’ ‘I think it’s brave.’ ‘Brave as in stupid or brave as in courageous?’ ‘If you hadn’t done it, you would have spent the rest of your life thinking, What if he was the one? And what if he was? You’d have thrown it all away. What’s the worst that can happen? He can reject you and you’ll be a bit embarrassed. So what?’ Feeling her nerve seep out of her like air from a punctured tyre, Hayley decided that if she was going to find the courage to carry out this plan, she needed to end this conversation. ‘Thanks for the lift, Jack. Merry Christmas.’ ‘Merry Christmas to you.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Will you make it to the door without slipping?’ ‘Probably not, but don’t worry—bruises suit me. I look good in blue and purple.’ Hayley smoothed her hair, even though she knew that without a pair of straighteners and half an hour in front of a mirror her attempts to look groomed wouldn’t make an impact. With a final wave and toot of his horn, Jack drove away and Hayley was left staring at the house. A pair of child’s red Wellington boots were tipped over in the snow, and a tiny shovel had been discarded on the path, as if the owner hadn’t been able to wait to run back inside this wonderful house and prepare for Christmas. It wasn’t a house, Hayley thought wistfully. It was a home. A dream home. And inside was a family who needed her—a family who wasn’t going to spend the whole festive season treating her as the entertainment. So why was she suddenly nervous? Well, because she was always the same about decisions. Right thing, wrong thing? This or that? Invariably she jumped in with both feet and then realised that the other way was the better way. In fact, she’d spent most of her life unravelling the consequences of decisions she’d made. When she’d been miles away in Chicago, Christmas with a bunch of strangers had seemed like a brilliant idea. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure. She was about to take a job with a family she’d never even met, in a part of the country she didn’t know. And all so that she could avoid her own agonising family Christmas and track down a gorgeous stranger she’d spent one night with. When she’d come up with the plan it had seemed bold and proactive. A plan worthy of a competent, twenty-first-century woman. Hayley swallowed. She didn’t need her step-siblings to point out that she wasn’t really a competent, twenty-first-century woman. If she were a competent, twenty-first-century woman she wouldn’t have slunk out of an impossibly sexy man’s swanky hotel room before he’d woken up, neither would she have been wearing the previous night’s dress and a scarlet face that announced her sins to anyone who happened to be looking. And she definitely wouldn’t have left her knickers on his bedroom floor! A twenty-first-century woman would certainly have been able to find her knickers in the dark. Except that a twenty-first-century woman wouldn’t have needed to. She would have woken up next to the impossibly sexy man, calmly ordered room service and then handed him her phone number or left with her head held high. She had slunk out like a criminal, ensuring that there was no chance he would ever call her, because he didn’t have her number. All he had was her knickers. At least Cinderella had had the sense to make it a shoe, Hayley thought gloomily as she picked her way through the snow to the front door. Losing a shoe made you seem slightly dippy and a little romantic—although it made it difficult to walk, of course. But losing knickers… She didn’t even want to think about how losing a pair of knickers made you look. Prince Charming would never have roamed his kingdom looking for the bottom that fitted the knickers, would he? Cross with herself, she kicked a lump of snow and watched it scatter. She’d met the man of her dreams and then she’d walked out! What an idiot. Her step-siblings would have laughed themselves sick. Soppy, romantic Hayley, always dreaming of marriage and happy endings. Hayley sighed. She wasn’t that old-fashioned. She had spent the night with him—although her embarrassingly quick surrender had had more to do with his superior seduction technique than her impressive decision-making abilities. But she wasn’t going to think about that now. She wasn’t going to think about his skilled hands, or his clever mouth or the way he knew exactly where to touch and how… Oh, God, please, please, don’t let him reject her. Please let him be dreaming of her right now. And most of all please let him have spent the past few weeks frantically calling detective agencies trying to track her down. All I know about her is that she has great taste in underwear. Surely he was going to be pleased to see her? Imagining his reaction to her unexpected arrival brought a smile to her face. Perhaps she’d better make sure that their first meeting took place in private in case he just hauled her into his arms and proposed on the spot. She wondered what her stepsister would say when she met him. How did our Hayley ever get herself a man like that? Smiling at her own fantasies, she reached towards the doorbell. Patrick pushed the haphazardly wrapped presents under the tree and looked at his ten-year-old son. ‘Alfie, why are you looking at the clock?’ Alfie gave a guilty start. ‘I don’t keep looking at the clock.’ ‘Yes, you do.’ ‘Well, it’s Christmas Eve. I—I’m excited.’ Alfie’s gaze slid furtively to the door. ‘Daddy, don’t you wish you had someone to help cook the turkey?’ ‘I can cook a turkey.’ Patrick added a strip of sticky tape to a parcel that was bursting out of its wrapping. ‘Last year you said if you ever saw a turkey again it would be too soon.’ Patrick winced. Was Christmas ever going to run smoothly? ‘That was last year. I’ve studied a cookery book. I don’t foresee any complications.’ He tried to look confident. He could perform a Caesarean section in less than four minutes if the need arose. Why did he struggle to cook a turkey? ‘If you had a wife, she could cook the turkey.’ ‘That isn’t a reason to get married. These days, women don’t always like doing that sort of thing.’ Patrick extracted himself from under the tree, his wide shoulders dragging through the branches and sending a shower of needles over the pale wooden floor. ‘Why are you talking about wives? We’re going to have a great Christmas. You, Posy and me.’ ‘And the kittens.’ ‘And the kittens.’ Remembering the kittens, Patrick frowned. ‘That woman who phoned earlier is coming to look at them any moment now. With any luck she’ll fall in love with them and that will solve one of our problems.’ ‘The kittens aren’t a problem!’ ‘Having four of them is a problem.’ Seeing the forlorn look on Alfie’s face, Patrick felt a flash of guilt and squatted down in front of his son. ‘Alfie, we cannot keep four kittens.’ Alfie fiddled with a bauble on the tree. ‘What if the woman gets here and she doesn’t want the kittens?’ ‘Why wouldn’t she want the kittens? That’s why she’s coming.’ Patrick scooped up a pile of discarded books and stood up. ‘Take this lot up to your bedroom, will you? We need to make room for all the new mess you’re going to make on Christmas Day.’ Alfie looked up at him, a flash of desperation in his eyes. ‘Do you promise that whatever happens you won’t be angry?’ Patrick frowned. ‘Alfie, what is going on?’ He forced himself to ask the question that always niggled at the back of his mind. ‘Are you missing Mum? Is that what this is about?’ Alfie rubbed his foot along the groove in the floor. ‘Do you miss her?’ How did you tell a child that divorce had come as a blessing? ‘Your mum and I made a mistake when we got married,’ Patrick said gruffly. ‘It happens. It has nothing to do with you. We both love you.’ ‘But you didn’t really love each other.’ Abandoning the books, Patrick squatted back down in front of his son. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘We didn’t. Not enough to make marriage work. We’d only known each other a month when we decided to get married.’ He didn’t add that Carly had become pregnant on purpose. ‘We didn’t know each other well enough and it’s important to take the time to get to know someone. I didn’t make your mum happy.’ ‘Is that why she was always yelling at you?’ ‘She didn’t always yell,’ Patrick said tactfully, but Alfie interrupted him. ‘She yelled all the time. And that day she left—two Christmases ago—she shouted at you because you went to deliver those triplets when she had lunch on the table.’ Patrick knew from experience that there was no point in lying. ‘That’s right, she did. She was upset.’ ‘She said she was thinking of getting pregnant again because that way she might at least get to see you in the damn antenatal clinic.’ Patrick pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose, knowing that this wasn’t the time to lecture on language. He was just relieved that neither of his children appeared to have inherited his ex-wife’s filthy temper. ‘She was very angry with me,’ he said evenly. ‘She’d made plans for a special Christmas, but I was on call at the hospital and I—well, in my job, I can’t always plan.’ Not for a moment would he tell the child that his mother had liked the idea of being married to a wealthy obstetrician, but not the reality. ‘Why are we talking about this now?’ ‘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 touch, 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 herself 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. Alfie’s face was scarlet. It was obvious that he hated being in the wrong. Hayley knew that feeling. ‘Uncle Dan left his credit card by the phone,’ the child mumbled, and Patrick’s mouth tightened. ‘And you took it?’ ‘If he was careless enough to leave it lying around then he can’t complain if it was abused,’ Hayley said firmly, glaring at Patrick as he sent her a slow, fulminating look. Really, he was hardly in a position to be self-righteous, was he? He turned back to Alfie, who was gazing at Hayley as though she were a lifebelt and his father was a giant wave. ‘I’ll pay him back, Dad. I promise. I’ll clear snow or something and earn some money.’ ‘How could you place an advert? Didn’t the newspaper know you were a child?’ ‘They asked me how old I was and I made a joke of it. I said my dad had no idea how to cook a turkey and I needed an expert.’ ‘So if she rightly insisted on checking with a grown-up, how did this advert…’ Patrick waved the cutting slowly ‘…end up in the paper?’ ‘Uncle Daniel walked back into the room and I told him he needed to just say that the advert was all fine.’ Alfie swallowed. ‘And he did that. He wasn’t concentrating. Posy was coughing really badly. He thought he was confirming the kitten advert.’ Patrick scanned the crumpled, torn newspaper in his hand. ‘Instead of which he confirmed an advert for a housekeeper to come and spend Christmas with us.’ ‘I thought if it worked out all right, you’d be pleased,’ Alfie confessed in a small voice. ‘And then when I woke up today, I wasn’t so sure. I thought you might be angry. Are you really angry, Dad?’ Alfie looked so forlorn that Hayley’s spine stiffened at the injustice of it. Poor Alfie. She glared at the back of Patrick’s head, determined not to notice his cropped dark hair. Who cared if he looked macho? And good shoulders weren’t everything, were they? He was a snake. How dared he give his son that you’ve-disappointed-me-with-your-behaviour look, while betraying his marriage vows in every empty bed he could find, and with a woman who had no taste in lipstick. Hayley was about to leap passionately to Alfie’s defence when Patrick tugged the boy into his arms. ‘How can I be angry when it’s my fault for being so lousy at cooking Christmas dinner?’ His tone gruff, he released his son and ruffled his hair. ‘I like the fact you saw a problem and tried to solve it. And I’m proud that you used your initiative.’ He spoke quietly, keeping the conversation between him and his son. ‘I also like the fact that you’ve been honest with me and not tried to duck out of it. But it was wrong of you to use Uncle Daniel’s credit card, Alfie. That was stealing. We’ll need to talk about that later.’ Hayley subsided slightly, although she was still simmering at his devoted dad act. Devoted dads didn’t take advantage of their sex appeal, did they? Devoted dads weren’t supposed to turn into sex gods in their spare time. Patrick straightened and looked her directly in the eye and Hayley glared back, hoping he couldn’t read her mind and wishing she could look as cool and unflustered as he did. ‘There’s been a mistake.’ As his eyes flickered to her mouth she wondered exactly which mistake he was referring to—the advert, or the night they’d spent together. ‘I can see that. You obviously don’t want a housekeeper so I’ll leave you to cook your own turkey and I hope you find a good home for the kittens.’ Trying to maintain her dignity, she picked up her bags and smiled at Alfie. ‘You have a lovely Christmas. I hope Santa brings you everything you want.’ Proud of the way she’d handled herself so far, Hayley knew that what she needed to do next was turn and walk away, but walking on snow hadn’t been a great success so far, had it? And, anyway, where was she supposed to walk to? They were in the middle of the countryside with snow-capped mountains behind them and the stream in full flood only a few steps away. If she stalked off here, her body would be discovered frozen in the morning encased in a layer of ice and very possibly washed into the next valley. And dignity and hypothermia were definitely incompatible. ‘Go back inside. It’s freezing. I’ll call a taxi.’ Hopefully before his wife emerged to see what was going on. At least he didn’t know she’d come here specifically to see him. That was one small consolation. ‘You can’t go!’ Alfie sounded horrified. ‘And we do need a housekeeper. Dad can’t cook a turkey, honestly. And if you leave, you won’t be able to surprise your friend. Remember? You told me that on the phone. You said you were coming over to surprise a special friend and you needed somewhere to live while you tracked him down.’ Oh, no. No, no, no. Feeling Patrick’s gaze on her face, Hayley wanted to throw herself into the stream. Her impetuous nature had got her into some embarrassing situations in the past, but none quite so embarrassing as this one. It was almost as bad as that day at school when she’d discovered that her stepbrother had planted a camera in the girls’ showers. All she needed now was for Patrick to produce her knickers from his pocket and her humiliation would be complete. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. ‘You came here to look for…someone?’ His pause was significant and Hayley felt her face fire up to a shade that probably matched the dreadful Mrs Thornton’s vampire lipstick. How dared he look amused? Obviously he was a sadist as well as being hugely insensitive. And an adulterer. This situation was about as amusing as discovering you were the only one in fancy dress and everyone else was in black tie. As the list of his crimes grew longer, Hayley grew more affronted. ‘I’m not looking for anyone. I mean—I might have been, originally, yes…’ She knew she was babbling incoherently, but all hope of a smooth response had deserted her. ‘My friend let me down.’ She looked at him pointedly and saw his eyes narrow slightly. ‘So I won’t be looking for him.’ ‘Is that right?’ His soft drawl was as annoying as his blank expression and Hayley wondered whether falling face down in the snow would put out the fire in her cheeks. Deciding that she needed to make her exit no matter how undignified, Hayley started to back away but Alfie grabbed her arm. ‘No, I won’t let you go! Dad, tell her she has to stay! I know you didn’t put the advert in, but she’s here now and think how great it would be to have someone helping over Christmas. Dad? Say something.’ Chapter Two SHE had the sexiest mouth he’d ever kissed. Not beautiful—her mouth was too wide to qualify for beautiful—but soft, full and with a slight pout that made a man think the most basic, primitive thoughts. And then there was the tiny dimple in the corner that was so deliciously feminine. Suddenly Patrick wished life wasn’t so complicated. All he wanted to do was throw her over his shoulder and carry her up to his bed. The fact that she was flustered, embarrassed and visibly angry with him did nothing to cool his libido. Far from it. It just reminded him how refreshingly open she was with people. He’d seen that from the first moment they’d met—been intrigued by just how much she’d divulged about herself as she’d shown him around the hospital. He even found her slightly ungainly battle with the ice appealing. The fact that she didn’t seem fully in control of her legs simply reminded him that she had incredible legs. Incredibly long legs. A vivid image of exactly how long her legs were brought a groan to his lips but he managed to stifle it. Why did everything about her make him think of sex? He remembered the moment when she’d landed flat on her back in the snow. For an unsettling moment, the contrast between her dark hair and the white powder had reminded him of how she’d looked against the sheets in his hotel room and he’d been on the verge of lowering himself on top of her and doing what he was burning to do when Alfie had disturbed his red-hot daydream. And now his son was looking at him, waiting for an answer. Dragging his mind away from sex, Patrick tried to remember the question. But what did you say to a woman with whom you’d been intimate but hadn’t expected to see again? Hi, there—what are you doing on my doorstep? Patrick stood in silence, the reality of his life squashing the fantasy. He felt the children looking at him and he knew that, no matter what he said next, someone was going to be hurt. If he told her that they didn’t need a housekeeper then she’d be hurt and so would Alfie. If she stayed— He dismissed the thought impatiently. How could she possibly stay? They always said that the past would catch up with you, but he hadn’t expected it to catch up with him this quickly—hadn’t thought his children would find out about what had happened in Chicago. On the other hand, there had to be a reason why she was here. And only one reason came to mind. She was pregnant. She had to be pregnant. It was the only explanation for the fact that she was standing on his doorstep on Christmas Eve. She’d travelled over six thousand miles to talk to him. Patrick closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to stay calm and think clearly. He still didn’t understand how her visit to the UK had somehow become entangled with Alfie’s innocent advert for a housekeeper. All he knew was that his private moment of self-indulgence was no longer private. And the fact that she was pregnant… Biting back a word he tried never to say in front of his children, Patrick ran his hand over the back of his neck and concentrated on her face. If he looked at his kids he’d just feel guilty and lose his thread, and that wasn’t going to help anyone. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/sarah-morgan/christmas-eve-doorstep-delivery/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.