Christmas With The Single Dad. Sarah Morgan
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and an oversized shirt, neither of which did anything much for her. But those eyes—there was nothing ordinary about them. Or their shadows.
Christmas wasn’t the time for shadows. And Waminda Downs, this year, was not the place for them.
He hooked a thumb into the pocket of his jeans. Despite what she said, she was running from something. He was certain of it. All the background checks he’d had completed assured him that whatever it was, it wasn’t criminal. The way she smiled at his daughters, her easy manner with them, told him she could be trusted with them, that his instincts hadn’t let him down there.
But could she be trusted to keep her word and not create a cloud over Christmas? Ella and Holly had suffered enough. They deserved all the fun and festivity he could crowd into their days this Christmas season.
Guilt for last Christmas chafed at him, filling his mouth with bile. They hadn’t had a Christmas last year. His lip curled. He should’ve made an effort, but he hadn’t. His hands clenched. Last year he hadn’t been able to pull himself out from under the cloud of Fran leaving … of her almost total abandonment of their daughters … of his failure to keep his family together. He’d let his bitterness, his anger and his despair blight last Christmas.
But not this year. This year no effort would be spared.
As he watched, Ella took one of Nicola’s hands and Holly the other and they led her across to Santa’s sleigh and he thought back to the expression on her face when she’d first surveyed the Christmas decorations—a kind of appalled horror.
Then, unbidden, he recalled a portion of their phone interview last month. ‘Mr Hindmarsh, are you widowed, separated or divorced? I know that’s a personal question and that it’s none of my business, but it can have an impact on the children and I need to know about anything that may affect them.’
He’d told her the truth—that he was divorced. But …
None of the other applicants had asked that question. Nicola had been evidently reluctant to, but she’d screwed up the courage to ask it all the same. His children’s best interests were more important to her than her own personal comfort. That was one of the reasons why he’d chosen her.
Nicola threw her head back now and laughed at something Ella said, and Ella laughed and Holly laughed and all three of them fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Nicola’s face lit up as if from the inside as she gathered his children close to her and the impact slugged him in the gut, making the ground beneath his feet rock.
Blinking, he took a physical step away from the trio.
‘The kids have met the new nanny then?’
He glanced down at his housekeeper, Martha Harrison—Harry for short—as she joined him. ‘Yep.’
‘And they seem to have hit it off.’
Nicola climbed back to her feet, looking perfectly ordinary again as she glanced towards him, her reserve well and truly back in place, and the world righted itself.
He introduced the two women. Harry nodded her approval. It should set his mind at ease. But as Nicola hugged her reserve about her all the more tightly, his unease grew.
He trailed behind as Harry led the way into the house. He waited in the kitchen as Harry and the girls showed Nicola to her quarters. ‘What’s eating you?’ Harry asked, when she returned alone.
‘Where are Ella and Holly?’
The older woman chuckled. ‘Helping Nicola unpack.’
He huffed out a breath. ‘Do you find her a bit … stiff?’
‘She appears to be no-nonsense and low maintenance; that’s good enough for me.’ She shot him a glance as she put the kettle on to boil. ‘Don’t forget she’s a long way from home and this is a lot to adjust to.’
All of those things were true, but …
Cade drew in a breath. He’d let Ella and Holly down enough these last sixteen months. His hands balled to fists. Christmas—bells and whistles … the works—that was what Waminda Downs was getting this year. And he meant to enlist Nicola’s help to ensure it all went as smoothly and superbly as he’d planned.
AT TEN past six the next morning, dressed in running shorts and an oversized T-shirt, Nicola stepped out of the French windows of her generously proportioned bedroom and onto the veranda. She blinked in the morning sun.
Ten past six? She bit back a whimper. She’d never been a morning person.
Ten past six and it was already getting hellishly warm. It might even be too hot for a run and—
Stop that!
She lifted her chin. She would not sabotage herself before she’d even begun.
Puffing out a breath, she stretched to one side and then the other. She tried to touch her toes. She was here to change. She needed to change. She would change!
She’d exercise if it killed her. She would return to Melbourne better and brighter and smarter.
She gritted her teeth and stretched harder. She’d keep getting up at six a.m. if it killed her too. It gave her a good hour before she needed to make sure her young charges were up and at breakfast, and before the heat of the day settled over the place like a suffocating blanket.
At the thought of Ella and Holly, she couldn’t help but smile. The two little girls were delightful. While they might’ve presented her with the biggest flaw in her maintain-a-dignified-distance plan, she didn’t regret amending that plan to not include them.
Children didn’t pretend to be your friend and then tear the heart out of your chest with treachery and double-dealing.
The bitterness of that thought took her off guard. She brushed a hand across her eyes and straightened. Diane and Brad hadn’t meant to fall in love with each other. They hadn’t meant to hurt her. For heaven’s sake, it had all happened three months ago!
She scraped the hair off her face and pulled it back into a ponytail, concentrating on her breathing until the ache in her chest started to subside.
A lot of people who come out here are running away …
She wasn’t running away. It was just …
Seeing Brad and Diane together had become harder, not easier and she didn’t know why. She only knew she couldn’t spend this Christmas in Melbourne while continuing to maintain her sympathetic, understanding and oh-so-mature façade. She wasn’t up to indulging in the usual jolly Christmas with her friends this year. She was out of jolly.
But she’d find it again. Somehow.
She adjusted her cap as Sammy, Ella and Holly’s eight-month-old Border collie pup, came skidding around the side of the house to race up to her, full of excitement and delight at the sight of her. Children and dogs were the flaw in her plan. He rolled onto his back and she obligingly rubbed his tummy.
‘You want to come for a run, Sammy?’ She straightened and set off down the back steps. He scurried after her. ‘Perhaps you can give me some pointers—’ she sighed ‘—because I don’t think I have ever been for a run in my life.’
He cocked his head to one side and watched her when she halted and planted her hands on her hips. ‘Okay, Sammy, here’s the plan. We’ll jog to the perimeter fence—’ she pointed ‘—and then around to that point there.’ She indicated a second spot. Both spots were well away from outbuildings and cattle yards. ‘Then we’ll make our way back to the homestead.’
Nicola Ann, tell me you are not talking to a dog.
Nicola gritted her teeth and ignored