Snowed In For Christmas. Caroline Anderson
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She dropped her hand. ‘Start what again?’
He was silent for long moments, then his mouth flickered into a smile filled with remorse and tenderness and pain. ‘Christmas. Nothing else. I know you don’t want more than that.’
Didn’t she? Suddenly she wasn’t so sure, but then it wasn’t what he was offering, so she nodded and stepped back a little and tried to smile.
‘OK. No more snide remarks, no more cheap shots, no more bickering. And maybe a bit more respect for who we are and where we are now?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Sounds good to me,’ he said gruffly, and he smiled again, that same sad smile that brought a lump to her throat and made her hurt inside.
How long they would have stood there she had no idea, but there was a crash from the kitchen and she fled, her heart in her mouth.
She found Josh on the floor looking stunned, a biscuit in his hand, the wire rack teetering on the edge of the worktop and a chair lying on its side, and guilt flooded her yet again.
‘Is he all right?’
‘I think so.’ She gathered him up, and he clung to her like a little monkey, arms and legs wrapping round her as he burrowed into her shoulder and sobbed. ‘I think he’s probably just frightened himself.’
And her. And Sebastian, judging by the look on his face.
He reached out a hand and laid it gently on Josh’s back. ‘Are you OK, little guy? You’re really in the wars today, aren’t you?’
‘I’ve told him so many times not to climb on chairs.’
‘He’s a boy. They climb. I was covered in bruises from falling off or out of things until I was about seventeen. Then I started driving.’
She gave him a dry look. ‘Thanks. It’s really good to know what’s in store.’
He smiled at her over her son’s head, and this time it was a real smile. His soft chuckle filled the kitchen, warming her, and she sat down on the righted chair and hugged Josh and examined him for bumps and bruises and odd-shaped limbs.
Just a fright, she concluded, and a little egg on the side of his head, but that could have been from standing up under the desk.
‘Tea?’ Sebastian offered, and she nodded.
‘Tea sounds like a good idea. Thank you.’
‘Universal panacea, isn’t it? When all else fails, make tea.’
He put the kettle on and went back to his study to bring his mug and the uneaten biscuit, pausing for a moment to take a few deep breaths and slow his heart rate. He’d had no idea what they’d find, and the relief that Josh seemed to be OK was enormous.
Crazily enormous. Hell, the little kid was getting right under his skin—
He strode briskly back to the kitchen, stood his mug on the side of the Aga so it didn’t cool any more and made her a fresh mug.
‘How is he?’
‘He’s fine, aren’t you, Josh? It’s probably time he had a nap. I usually put him down after lunch for a little while. I might go up with him and read for a bit while he sleeps.’
He frowned as he analysed an unfamiliar emotion. Disappointment? Really? What was the matter with him?
‘Good idea. I’ll get on with my work, and then we’ll decorate the tree later.’
* * *
‘Mistletoe?’
He’d cut mistletoe, of all the things! Like that was really going to help—
‘I know, I know,’ he sighed shortly, ‘but it is Christmassy, and everything else was out of reach or too tough, and I could cut it with scissors, and I have no idea where the secateurs might be. I made sure it didn’t have berries on, either, in case Josh should try and eat them, because they’re poisonous. But there is one bit of holly—for the Christmas pudding.’
She tipped her head on one side and eyed him in disbelief, trying not to laugh. ‘The Christmas pudding?’
‘Absolutely. You have to have a bit of holly on fire in the middle of the Christmas pudding when it’s brought to the table. It’s the law.’
She suppressed a splutter of laughter. ‘Is that the same law that says that lights must be white? My, aren’t we traditional?’ she teased, but he just folded his arms and quirked a brow.
‘Absolutely. Christmas is Christmas. It has to be done properly. Have you got a problem with that?’
She smiled slowly. ‘Do you know what? You’ve got a good heart, Sebastian Corder, for all you’re as prickly as a hedgehog. And no, I don’t have a problem with that. Not at all.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Good. Right. So, what’s next?’ he asked, avoiding her eyes and fluffing up his prickles.
Still smiling, she handed him the boxes of stock cubes and a few other little things she’d found that could be wrapped, and they sat down at the table, gave Josh a piece of paper and a pencil to do a drawing, and made little parcels for the tree.
She’d snapped off some twigs from a shrub outside the sitting room window, and once the other parcels were done they made them into little bundles to dangle on the tree.
‘Finger,’ he demanded, and she put her finger on the knot and he tugged the gold ribbon tight, and made a loop to hang it by.
‘You’re good at this. You might have found your vocation.’
‘I have a vocation.’
‘What, making money?’
He sighed and put the little bundle of sticks down on the growing pile.
‘George—’
She raised her hands. ‘It’s OK, I’m sorry, cheap shot.’
‘Yes, it was. And I don’t just spend it all on myself. I employ a lot of people, and I support various charities and organisations—and I really don’t need to explain myself to you.’
She searched his eyes. ‘Maybe you do,’ she said softly. ‘Maybe you always did, instead of just rushing off and doing.’
‘Yeah, well, there’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then, and as you were kind enough to point out to me when I was asking about David, it’s actually none of your business. Now, are we going to finish this tree or not?’
He got to his feet, scooping the little parcels up in his big hands and heading out of the door. She grabbed the fir cones, ribbon and scissors and stood up. He was never going to change, never going to compromise. The word wasn’t even in his vocabulary.
‘Josh, come on, we’re going to decorate the tree,’ she told her son, and he wriggled down off the chair and followed her into the sitting room.
‘IT LOOKS GOOD.’
She put the baby monitor on the coffee table, sat down at the other end of the sofa and studied the tree with satisfaction.
Not exactly elegant, with its slightly squiffy little parcels and random bunches of twigs and soggy fir cones—well, the top half wasn’t so bad, although there were a few odd bits up there just to link it in so it didn’t look like a game of Consequences—but it looked like a proper, family Christmas tree.
And that brought a huge lump to her throat.
Josh had had so much fun putting all their home-made bits and pieces on there, and Sebastian hadn’t turned a hair when he’d pulled too hard and the whole tree had wobbled. He’d just got a bit