Christmas at Candlebark Farm (14 page)

‘That's a great memory,' Keira said.

‘It was a beaut Christmas,' Luke agreed.

And it had been. But a few short years later Luke had destroyed all that. He'd made promises he couldn't keep. Tammy hadn't deserved that, and neither had Jason.

He glanced at Keira and resolution gelled in his stomach. He would do all he could to make this Christmas special for her, but he wouldn't make her any promises. He wasn't the kind of man who could be trusted to keep his word.

O
N WEDNESDAY
morning, four days after her miscarriage, Luke set a beautifully carved oak box on the table beside her cereal bowl. Keira stared at it, and wondered how long before she stopped counting off the days.

‘What's this?'

She glanced up at Luke. Just for a moment he looked touchingly uncertain. She didn't know what it was about his rich brown eyes that could have her melting into a puddle in no more than the blink of an eye.

He crouched down beside her. ‘Keira, I don't think your baby was nothing. Neither does Jason. What you said about not being able to have any kind of memorial service—that struck me as pretty important. If Jason and I hadn't been able to have a service for Tammy I don't know how we could've moved on.'

She abandoned her cereal to lean back and press both hands to her chest.

‘Jason and I thought that if it's okay with you, if it's something you'd like to do, we could hold a service in the garden for your baby. I know it's not the same as one in a church or a cemetery, but…we'd like to honour your baby, to remember it. But only if that's okay with you.'

Her eyes filled, and hot tears spilled onto her cheeks. For a moment she couldn't say anything. Finally, she nodded. ‘I'd like that very much…thank you.'

‘Both of us wanted to give your baby something…a token.' He leant out to stroke the box with one tanned finger. ‘This held all my boyhood treasures.' He set a carved ebony figurine of a horse beside it. ‘And this was Jason's most treasured possession when he was younger.' He added a spray of rosemary to the pile without another word.

Rosemary for remembrance…

Her face crumpled. She buried her face in the hanky he handed her. When she was sure of herself again, she lifted her face, blew her nose, and stared at those simple treasures. ‘That's very kind of you and Jason.'

‘I figured you might like to add one or two things of your own.' He rose when she nodded. ‘We'll be out in the garden when you're ready.'

Keira placed the three sets of knitted booties she'd bought from the women's auxiliary stall, a Christmas bib she hadn't been able to resist buying when she'd been waiting for the estate agent one day, and the most colourful of the pictures books, into the oak box. She added the horse and the rosemary. With a kiss, she sealed it. Then she put on her prettiest summer dress and joined Luke and Jason in the garden.

The service was simple but it poured balm on the wound stretching across her heart. Luke said a few words about how much her baby had been wanted and loved…and how much it would be missed. Then he read out a Robert Frost poem, and it was perfect. So perfect that for a moment she couldn't see because tears made the garden blur. Jason read a psalm from the bible, and then Luke pressed a button on the portable CD player he had sitting nearby and the sweet strains of ‘Amazing Grace' filled the garden.

They all sang—not always in key—but Keira didn't care. A fierce love for her baby and for the two males standing either side of her filled her. When the hymn came to an end Luke gestured, and she placed the oak box with all their treasures
into the fresh earth Luke and Jason had turned over. And then they covered it in and planted a wattle tree to mark the spot.

‘Thank you,' she whispered, glancing up at Luke. ‘You don't know how much this means to me.'

Luke's brown-eyed gaze told her he knew exactly what it meant.

They returned to the house and drank coffee, and ate a tea bun that Keira realised Luke must have bought fresh from town that morning.

‘Right,' he said when they were finished, ‘now we're going to make a boiled fruitcake.'

Both Keira's and Jason's jaws dropped. ‘But,' she started, ‘don't you have work to do?'

‘Yep, I have a fruitcake to make.' When she opened her mouth he shook his head. ‘There's a few chores I'll have to take care of later this afternoon, but that's hours away yet. Besides, Jason will help me with them—won't you?'

‘Sure I will.'

He didn't want to leave her alone to mope herself into a depression after that memorial service, she realised. His ongoing thoughtfulness touched her more deeply than she suspected it should. She shrugged that thought off. ‘But…a boiled fruitcake?'

‘I know we've left it a bit late, but Christmas isn't complete without fruitcake.'

She started to laugh. ‘I won't argue with that.'

‘And when you were talking about Christmas memories the other day I suddenly remembered that every year I'd help my mother make a boiled fruitcake. It was always a bit of an event.'

She was glad he had at least one good Christmas memory. She watched him dig out mixing bowls from a cupboard. He handed her a sheet of paper. ‘That's her recipe.' He handed Jason a measuring cup before planting himself in
front of the pantry. ‘You better start by reading out the list of ingredients.'

She read the items out one by one, and Luke retrieved them. Jason, reading over her shoulder, started measuring ingredients into bowls. She grabbed a wooden spoon and helped to mix. At some stage Luke put on the CD of Christmas carols and Keira lost herself in the simple pleasure of easy conversation, humming along to old favourites and making a cake.

At some point it filtered into her that she would always mourn the loss of her baby, that she would never stop missing her Munchkin and all that could have been. Motherhood might be closed to her, but it didn't mean life still couldn't be good. At least…bits of it. Like Christmas.

Luke nudged her with a friendly shoulder. ‘You okay?'

‘Sure.' She pasted on a smile and pushed her sombre reflections aside. To help this man and his son have their first good Christmas in three years—that would give her more satisfaction than anything else at the moment. ‘I…' She gestured. ‘This is fun.'

‘Yeah, it is,' he said, as if it had taken him by surprise too.

That was when it hit her that she needed a Christmas miracle, because she'd gone and done the unthinkable—she'd fallen in love with Luke Hillier.

She swallowed. That was crazy nonsense! It was her haywire hormones and nothing more.

Still, it was Christmas. And if she needed a miracle Christmas was the time to ask for one.

 

Keira knew the exact moment Luke stopped in the living room doorway, but she didn't turn around. Her growing awareness for the man continued to disconcert her—especially as she received such conflicting signals from Luke himself.

At times he was utterly concerned and solicitous about her welfare, making sure she wanted for nothing, quietly watching
to make sure she ate enough and that she didn't physically push herself too hard. It made her feel like a princess, a queen. It made her feel not alone. It made her feel…loved.

At other times, though, he was distant, gruff, almost abrupt, as if he were out of patience with her.

And then there were those times when his gaze fastened on her mouth and his eyes would darken, his hands would clench, and something inside Keira would stir to languorous life and hold its breath, waiting for him to kiss her.

He never did.

And she couldn't get the memory of their one kiss out of her mind. The feel of all that firm flesh beneath her fingertips, the rightness of his lips on hers. That kiss had transported her to a place she hadn't known existed—beyond desire to a one-on-one harmony that had made her spirit soar. Her soul hungered to experience it again.

Her lips twisted. Who was she trying to kid? She wanted to seize hold of it and never let go. Luke had experienced the desire, but that soul-to-soul togetherness hadn't reached out and stroked him with its enchanted fingertips. If it had he wouldn't be able to resist kissing her again and trying to recreate it.

So…all in all, it was just as well he didn't kiss her. And the sooner she forgot about kissing the better!

If only she could get her stupid body to believe that. And her traitor of a heart.

Maybe he's giving you time to heal after your miscarriage?

She crushed an almost hysterical desire to laugh. She was leaving for the city next week. Time was the one thing they didn't have.

She bit back a sigh and refused to turn around, even though Luke's presence beat at her and made her skin itch and prickle.

Jason, though, showed no such reticence as he brushed past
Luke to get more staples from Luke's office. ‘Hey, Dad, what do you think?'

This morning she and Jason had gone shopping. They'd bought all the ingredients for Christmas dinner, and some odds and ends to make Christmas decorations. She'd wanted to prove to Luke that Christmas didn't have to cost a lot of money. So this afternoon she and Jason were making angel chains and Christmas lanterns from shiny foil paper and hanging them as they went. Their handiwork draped the mantel-piece, hung from each of the windows, and festooned the French doors that lead out to the veranda.

‘It…uh…looks very festive.'

She finished cutting out her row of angels. Only then did she allow herself to turn and survey Luke's face. He stared around a bit dazed, but not in a bad way, she decided. He just needed to lighten up and let his hair down for a bit.

A ripple of mischief squirmed through her. She grabbed a wad of tack and rose, moving to where Luke slouched in the doorway. ‘Here—you can help me.' She handed him one end of her angel chain and pointed to the top of the doorframe. He obediently reached up and pressed it into place, giving Keira a pleasing eyeful of broad shoulder and rippling muscle as he did so.

‘My turn.' She stood on tiptoe, one hand on Luke's shoulder for balance as she reached above her head. One of Luke's hands automatically went to the small of her back to steady her, and it felt so good there she took her time fixing her foil angels into place.

‘Are you almost finished?' he eventually ground out.

It made her grin. ‘Not quite.'

With a flourish she pulled a spray of mistletoe from her pocket and dangled it above their heads. ‘Know what this is?'

He scowled. ‘Mistletoe.'

His utter lack of enthusiasm made her laugh. She tacked it
into place. When she was done, his hand immediately dropped from her waist, but she left her hand resting on his shoulder. ‘Oh, no, you don't, Luke Hillier. Not so fast. You've been caught under the mistletoe.'

His jaw dropped. ‘But…but that's cheating!'

‘Face it, Luke.' She drew her hand down from his shoulder to his chest in a slow, lingering curve, relishing every contour and the way his muscles tightened at her touch. Beneath her palm his heart thudded, and the hot male feel of him branded itself on her skin. ‘You're going to have to kiss the lodger.'

He really did need to lighten up. She shimmied in closer, lifted her face. ‘C'mon, you can do it.' She sent him her cheekiest grin and pointed to her cheek. ‘Right there, Hillier.'

Her grin faded, however, as Luke lifted one large hand and curved it around the back of her head, his thumb running lightly back and forth over the pulse at the side of her throat. ‘You like playing with fire, Keely?'

His eyes darkened. His lips—those sure, firm lips—parted as if to allow him to draw more breath into his lungs. Oh, dear Lord! Her pulse went mad and the strength drained from her limbs. Her hand fisted into the cotton of his shirt as his mouth descended.

He pressed the lightest of kisses to the side of her neck, just below her ear, his breath teasing her overheated flesh as his mouth moved to her cheek. ‘Here? Is this where you meant, Keely?'

She tried to nod, but she couldn't move. She could barely swallow as that thumb moved back and forth. Back and forth over that pulse point in a barely there skin-on-skin touch until need screamed through her. Just by the touch of his thumb!

And the warm pressure of his hand curling around her scalp.

And the dark promise in his eyes.

And those wicked lips.

‘I consider myself more of a traditionalist, however.'

Those sinful lips curved upwards and her breath hitched.

‘I prefer lip-on-lip contact.'

Oh, he couldn't mean—

He touched his lips to the corner of her mouth. Her knees shook. He touched his lips to the other corner, lingering until white-hot tendrils whipped through her. He drew back, gazed at her long and hard, as if he meant to savour every single moment of the lip-on-lip contact he'd promised, and it drew her as taut as a newly strung bow. With agonising slowness he eased forward again. His lips brushed hers, feather-light, magical, and then he eased back, just as her lips opened in an attempt to deepen the fleeting caress. He grinned down at her, as if he knew exactly what havoc he'd played on her senses.

‘How was that, Keely? Pass muster?'

She straightened, swallowed, and unclenched her hand from the cotton of his shirt. ‘You better watch yourself, Hillier.' She smoothed the cotton out. ‘I'll be spending the rest of Christmas trying to catch you beneath the mistletoe.'

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘I consider myself duly warned. Now, enough of this seasonal silliness.' He smiled as Jason came back in with a box of staples. ‘I need the pair of you to help me unload the car.'

Keira and Jason stared at each other, and then at him.

‘I…uh…' He shuffled his feet and looked deliciously out of his depth. He waved a hand at the decorations she and Jason had made. ‘It appears that great minds think alike,' he muttered.

With that, he strode from the room. Keira hesitated for half a second before following him out through the back door and down the steps towards the barn, doing what she could to get her hormones back under some semblance of control. All around her the wheat waved golden in the fields. High in the sky cirrus clouds traced tracks of foam. In two days it would be Christmas…and Luke had just kissed her! She jumped up and high-fived a branch in a nearby bottlebrush tree.