One Winter's Day: A Diamond in Her Stocking / Christmas Where They Belong / Snowed in at the Ranch. Marion Lennox
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TWO
JESSE NEARLY LAUGHED out loud at the expression of dismay on Lizzie’s face. She so obviously didn’t want to work with him any more than he wanted to work with her. Not after her behaviour at Ben and Sandy’s wedding.
He could brush off his reputation as a player—but that wasn’t to say he liked it. And he hadn’t liked being made a fool of by Lizzie in the public arena of his brother’s wedding reception. He hadn’t appreciated having to make so many gritted teeth responses to his Dolphin Bay friends as they’d asked why Lizzie had left him high and dry when they’d so publicly been having a good time together. That had been difficult when he’d had no idea himself. There had been only so many jokes about whether he needed to change his deodorant that he could take. His banter had run dry long before he’d realised Lizzie wasn’t coming back.
He indicated the packages propped up against the wall. ‘Right now I’m here to help you get those artworks up on the walls.’
‘I’m not sure I need help,’ she said, folding her arms in front of her. ‘I’m quite capable of placing the artwork myself.’
Lizzie’s looks were deceptive. Tall and slender with a mass of white blonde, finely curled hair, she gave the initial impression of being frail. But he knew there was steel under that fragile appearance. Her arms might be slim but they were firm with lean muscle. At the wedding she’d explained that hauling heavy cooking pans around a restaurant kitchen was a daily weight training regime.
‘No,’ he said curtly. ‘That’s my job and I’m here to do it.’
‘What about your shoulder? Surely you shouldn’t be lifting stuff.’
‘Canvas artworks? Not a problem. This phase of my rehab calls for some light lifting.’
‘But I need time to sort through them, to decide which paintings I like best.’
Her bottom lip stuck out stubbornly. She was putting up a fight. Tough. He’d promised Sandy he’d help out. For the years Ben had been immersed in grief, Jesse felt he had lost his adored older brother. Sandy’s love had restored Ben to him. He could never thank her enough. If that meant having to spend too much time with her sister, he’d endure it. Lizzie could put up with it too.
He thought into the future and saw a long procession of family occasions where he and Lizzie would be forced into each other’s company, whether they liked it or not. He had to learn to deal with it. So would she. And he would have to forever ignore how attractive he found her.
‘That’s where we read from the same page,’ he said patiently, as if he were talking to a child. ‘You choose. I hammer a nail in the wall and hang the picture. Then the artists want the rejects back ASAP.’
She looked startled. ‘Rejects? I wouldn’t want to offend any artists. Art appreciation is such a personal thing.’
‘The artists have supplied these paintings to be sold on consignment,’ he explained. ‘You sell them through the café and get a commission on each sale. If they don’t get hung this time, maybe they’ll survive your cull next time.’
Lizzie nodded. It was the first time she’d agreed with him, though he sensed it took an effort. ‘True. So I should probably compile an A-list for immediate hanging and a B-list for reserves. The Bs can then be ready to slip into place when the As are sold.’
‘In theory a good idea. But keep the grading system to yourself. This is a small community.’
‘Point taken,’ she said, meeting his gaze square on. ‘I’ll defer to your small-town wisdom. We city people don’t understand such things.’
He didn’t miss the subtle edge of sarcasm to her words and again he had to fight a smile. He’d liked that tough core to her.
In fact when he’d met Lizzie at the pre-wedding party in Sydney for Ben and Sandy, he’d been immediately drawn to her. And not just for her good looks.
With her slender body, light blonde hair and cool grey eyes set in the pale oval of her face, she’d seemed ethereally lovely. But when she’d smiled, her eyes had lit up with a warmth and vivacity that had surprised him.
‘Let’s celebrate these long-lost lovers getting together in style,’ she’d said with a big earthy laugh that had been a wholehearted invitation to fun. From then on, the evening had turned out a whole lot better than he’d expected.
Lizzie had made him laugh with her tales of life in the stressful, volatile world of commercial kitchens. That night had been memorable. So had the wedding reception a few days later. She’d kept him entertained with a game where she made amusing whispered predictions about the favourite foods of the other guests. All based on years of personal research into restaurant guests’ tastes, she’d assured him with a straight face.
He hadn’t been sure whether she was serious or not. Thing was, she’d been right more often than she’d been wrong. She’d had him watching the wedding guests as they made their choices at the buffet. He’d whooped with her when she’d got it right—his father heading straight for the fillet of beef—and commiserated with her when she’d got it wrong—an ultra-thin friend of the bride loading her plate with desserts. The game was silly, childish even, but he had thoroughly enjoyed every moment of her company. Those moments out on the balcony where she’d come so willingly into his arms had been a bonus.
At that time, he’d been in dire need of some levity and laughter, having just unexpectedly encountered the woman who had broken his heart years before. He’d first met the older, more worldly-wise Camilla when he’d been twenty-five; she’d been a photojournalist documenting his team’s rebuilding of a flood-damaged community in Sri Lanka. He’d thought he’d never see her again after their disastrous break-up that had left him shattered and cynical about love, loyalty and trust.
At the wedding, lovely, spirited Lizzie had been both a distraction and a reminder that there could be life after treacherous Camilla.
Until Lizzie had walked out on him at the wedding without warning.
And now he was facing a completely different Lizzie. A Lizzie where it seemed as if the spark had fizzled right out of her. She was chilly. Standoffish. Hostile, even.
It made him wonder why he had found her appealing. He’d been so wrong about Camilla; seemed as if he’d misjudged Lizzie too.
He hadn’t been on top of his game at that time; that was for sure.
And now, by the mere fact her sister was married to his brother, he was stuck with her. Trouble was, he still found her every bit as beautiful as when he’d first met her.
The sooner they got the paintings hung and the boxes unpacked, the sooner he could get out of here and away from her prickly presence. He’d endured some difficult situations in his time. But it looked as if putting up with Lizzie was going to be one of the most difficult of all. Even twenty minutes with her was stretching his patience. But there was work to be done and he’d made a commitment to Sandy.
He’d break his time working with Lizzie into manageable blocks. He reckoned he could endure two hours of forced politeness in her company; manage to ignore how lovely she was. He’d make a strict schedule and stick to it. He looked at his watch. One hour and forty minutes to go. ‘Let’s get cracking on sorting those paintings. There’s an amazing one of dolphins surfing I think you might want to look at first.’
* * *
Under her breath, Lizzie let off a string of curse words. She swore fluently in both English and French—it was difficult not to pick up some very colourful language working in the pressure cooker atmosphere of commercial kitchens.
But these days she kept a guard on her tongue. No way did she want Amy picking up any undesirable phrases. So she kept the curse words rolling only in her mind. This particular stream was directed—non-verbally of course—towards her sister. What had Sandy been thinking to trap her in such close confines with Jesse Morgan?
He