The Most Magical Gift of All (6 page)

Blessedly alone.

She absently scratched her arm, recalling the trip with Imogen who'd constantly asked her questions and had wanted her to hold conversations with the toy emu
that looked like it needed a jolly good wash.
Just shut up, Sophie, you're not Mum.

She shut out her younger sister's voice. Sophie knew that she and kids didn't match, and the journey with Imogen had stressed her more than dealing with casualties of war, so she was glad she didn't have to do a repeat performance. The thought of returning to the lovely homestead and having it all to herself wrapped around her like a warm blanket on a cold night.

As for leaving Jack behind, well he'd made that unexpectedly easy. Not one trace of the man she'd been so inextricably drawn to existed any more. She ached for the loss of all that wicked charm.

A jet of anger spouted up, fizzing in her veins. OK, so it was pretty uncomfortable meeting up again so soon after completely uninhibited sex, especially as they'd never planned to meet again—but it wasn't like she'd come chasing after him. She'd been forced to find him because of the child, and she had no intention of hanging around and intruding on his holiday. Her being here certainly didn't warrant rude avoidance tactics like this or a complete personality change.

It was like a stranger had moved right in.

And right now that stranger was royally ticking her off with the way he was storming towards the residence section of the hotel as if she didn't exist. Well, she had a few questions she needed to ask him before she left, and not just about Lara. With a quick jog, she caught him up. ‘How long will it take for the plane to get to Adelaide?'

He didn't slow his gait. ‘With this weather, about an hour, and the bowel surgeon's ready and waiting for her, so she'll go straight to Theatre.'

‘That long?' Man, Australia was a big country. ‘Will the surgeon ring?'

Jack snorted—an unexpectedly sharp and bitter sound. ‘No. We're the country doctors, so it's our job to ring him.'

The harsh, half-laugh settled over Sophie like a prickle, making her frown. ‘That sounds almost disillusioned.'

He dodged her seeking eyes and ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched tight-white. ‘
That's
why I need a holiday.'

Perfect segue
. ‘Right. About that holiday—you seem to have forgotten someone.'

He stopped abruptly, the blue of his eyes sparking a deep and dramatic violet like the rays of the setting sun. ‘Of course I didn't forget someone.'

‘Then why was a child literally dumped at the house? The mother didn't even come inside.' Righteous anger bubbled inside her. ‘If I hadn't been there, Imogen would have been totally alone. Why would the woman act like that?'

‘Because her mother is am immature, self-centred—' He pulled in a breath, visibly stopping himself from saying anything more.

Protecting her? Why? Past lover? Ex-wife?
‘Is Imogen your daughter?'

‘No!' The word, loaded with indignation and effrontery, shot out of his mouth like the bullet from a gun. ‘God, you think I'd leave town without considering the care of my child?'

She tried not to sway backwards as the force of his words hit her in the chest. ‘I have no idea what to think. We hardly know each other.'

A flash of the man she'd tumbled into bed with
surfaced for a fraction of a second and a sizzle of her own heat scorched her. But almost instantly his cool, professional persona shot back into place, dousing her reaction like water against flames, and leaving her unsettled and fidgety. She tilted her chin. ‘Let me rephrase that: just because we had sex, it doesn't mean I know what your values and ethics are.'

He stiffened; it was like every word he spoke was being chiselled out of him. ‘My mother, who also lives at Armitage House, is a registered foster carer and Imogen comes to us for respite care. I'm registered as well, as I live in the house, but Mum—Min—is really the main care-giver. She notified the authorities that she wasn't available for three weeks in December and she told Kylie, Imogen's mother. I have no idea why Kylie left Imogen with you, but thank you for bringing her here; I'll deal with it.'

‘Brilliant. I'm glad it's all sorted.' Her words rushed out, clipped and brisk with relief. Thankfully she was now off the hook as far as Imogen was concerned. But the unsettled, edgy feeling that should have disappeared now she knew the whole story didn't fade. It not only stayed with her, it grew stronger.

Quicksand warning. Soft cliff-edge. Avalanche area. Time to leave. Get out now.

She was an expert at leaving and she recognised the signs to go. ‘Well, it's a long drive back, so I'll say goodbye.' Her hand shot out automatically for a handshake before she realised how ludicrous that was given what had gone down between them.

He stared at her hand hovering between them, watching it drop back by her side. ‘There's no need for goodbyes, Sophie.'

Her head shot up, her gaze meeting those piercing
eyes, and despite their complete absence of wild fun her heart somehow hammered ridiculously hard against her ribs. ‘Excuse me?'

Resignation crossed his face and he sighed. ‘I need you to drive me and Imogen back to Barragong.'

No, no, no, no, no. Sex and goodbye—that was the deal.
The goddess of free love had the decency to look sheepish and apologetic.

Words poured out on a stream of agitation. ‘But you're on holidays; you have the motorcycle and your mobile phone so surely you can sort the problem out from here?'

‘The problem?' His eyes flashed with judgement as a vein throbbed in his neck. ‘Imogen is a
child
, not a problem.'

She tugged at a curl and slammed it hard behind her ear as the feeling of being chastened by her school mistress took her back fifteen years in a heartbeat. ‘I didn't mean to infer—'

He raised his hand to silence her. ‘Whatever. The case worker wants Imogen back in Barragong tomorrow and that means me too. The problem is that it's sensibly illegal for a child under the age of eight to ride pillion on a motorcycle. As I thought I was on holidays and not going anywhere tonight, I've had a few beers, so driving is out of the question and that's why we need you to drive us back.'

His words rained down on her, full of precise organisation, and she struggled to connect all the dots. ‘Right…tomorrow.' The day that came after this night. The day she'd expected to wake up all alone in Armitage House to start her stint in Barragong. But now she'd awaken to face a man she'd thrown herself at because she'd never expected to see him again. A man who was looking at
her now as if she was completely asexual and just part of his current problem. She stifled a groan, hoping the red earth beneath her feet would open and up and swallow her.

It was like he'd read her mind and, without a glimmer of the lust that had shone so brightly in his eyes earlier in the day, he stared at her, his stance practical and no-nonsense. ‘I don't like this any more than you do. Hell, this is supposed to be
my
holiday, and if I could avoid going back I would. It's one night. You take the back wing of the house and Imogen and I will be in the front. I promise we won't even see each other in the morning before you leave for work.

‘By the time you get home, Imogen will be in the care of a foster family and I'll be gone.' His attempt at a smile didn't quite come off. ‘It's just a slight hiccup in our original plan of goodbye, and we're adults, right? We can do this?'

‘Sure.' But her heart tugged strangely at the empty look in his eyes and she wished she could put back the spark that had greeted her so enthusiastically a short nine hours ago.

J
ACK
had developed a loathing for his phone. ‘Yes, I'll hold.' He ground out the words, trying to maintain his veneer of civility. He'd spent most of the day either caring for Imogen, or in the home office on the phone. He'd been dealing with bureaucrats, social workers, case managers and the police, trying to find out where Kylie had vanished to and trying to find a foster family who could care for Imogen. Trying to sort things out so he could leave town.

He had squat.

As promised, he'd stayed out of Sophie's way since they'd arrived back last night. He'd only caught a couple of glimpses of her, which was the only thing going his way right now. Every time he saw her he was reminded of the tickle of her hair, the way her exotic scent scudded rampant desire through his veins, and how wonderful it had felt making love to her.

Don't go there. It's never going to happen again.

He was leaving in the morning. He had to. He should have been gone already, but everything had taken longer than he'd wanted it to. He tugged at the collar on his polo shirt and silently breathed, ‘Hurry up,' into the phone. It was four-forty-five in the afternoon and he was close to a solution; he was sure of it.

‘Dr Armitage.' The too-calm voice of Carmel, the social worker, grated against his frustration. ‘Sorry for the delay, but there are no new developments. We'll continue to try and locate Kylie, but even if we find her we have grave concerns about returning Imogen to her care. Given Kylie's recent behaviour, coupled with last year's episode, we feel that it wouldn't be in Imogen's best interest for her to return to her mother. We've drawn up the paperwork making arrangements for on-going foster care until Kylie makes a choice. Either she accepts our help and works towards being deemed a fit parent, or she decides she no longer wants to raise her child. Given her history there's a strong chance she may wish to place Imogen into permanent care.'

He ploughed his hand through his hair. ‘You're not telling me anything I don't already know. I agree, Imogen needs stability, and a foster family would give her that.'

Carmel made a sympathetic murmuring sound before pausing for a beat. Goose bumps instantly rose on Jack's arm.

‘Jack, we could place Imogen with another family, but that would mean her leaving Barragong and I'm sure you'll agree that really isn't in the best interests of the child. We're certain that isn't what either you or your mother would want. We really appreciate you caring for Imogen while your mother's on her well-earned holiday and I'm sure it's what she'd want as well.'

What about my well-earned holiday?
But voices from the past suddenly started talking over him, competing for air space in his head. His father's warmth:
Jack, as doctors we don't just treat the sick in this town. We're a moral compass, a barometer of social conscience—it's our duty.

Mary's ultimatum:
Jack, it's me or this town.

His own voice:
It's my life too.

‘Jack?' Imogen, clutching Sheils and a large piece of paper, peeked around the door before running over to him and climbing onto his lap.

The voices muted into an uneasy silence as all the tightly wound frustration seeped out of him and a sudden, unsteady peace took its place. He blew out a long, decision-making breath, said goodbye and ended the call. He couldn't fight it any longer. Imogen's welfare was first and foremost and he grudgingly accepted he was in Barragong until his mother returned. The town had won this round, but he wasn't giving up on his long-awaited holiday. He'd get the bike delivered from Parachilna and he'd take off again on New Year's Day. He smiled at the thought. A new year and a new start—it held a certain cosmic rightness.

He ruffled Imogen's hair. ‘Did you finish your picture? Let's take a look.'

She rolled it out on the desk. A bright-yellow sun, a wobbly house and a red stick-figure. ‘Who's that?'

‘Santa.' She stared up at him, her brown eyes strikingly similar to Sophie's. ‘Jack, will Santa find me here?'

His heart ripped for this little girl whose unstable life meant she had no idea where she was living week to week. He mightn't be able to take his longed-for trip but he loved Christmas and it would be no problem at all to give Imogen the best Christmas season a kid could have. ‘Let's write Santa a letter right now and tell him that you're going to be at Min and Jack's house.'

She clapped her hands and snuggled in closer as if her whole body had just relaxed. ‘And Sophie's.'

Sophie.

His fledgling peace shattered like glass and he swallowed a groan against a constricted throat. How could he have forgotten Sophie? The dynamically gorgeous, free-spirited Sophie, who with one look from those chocolate eyes had him hard and wanting. Sharing a house with her would be like the temptation of a Christmas gift under the tree, all wrapped and waiting, and him not being allowed to open it. This situation was the
very
reason he avoided liaisons in Barragong. In town, he was the doctor. Outside of town he was Jack, and no one in Barragong knew what he got up to and that way no one talked about it. Mary's departure had given them a field day and he was never giving the town that sort of gossip power again.

Avoiding Sophie for less than a day had been possible. Avoiding her for a month while sharing a house with her would be totally impossible. He dropped his head onto Imogen's dark curls. How had his holiday just turned into an endurance test?

 

A prickly sensation brushed Sophie's bare arm and she jumped, her fingers batting at the feeling.

Diana laughed. ‘It's not a spider, it's just tinsel. The pin holding it on the ceiling must have fallen down.'

Leave the tinsel up, Sophie, so Christopher can enjoy it when he comes home.
The ghost of her mother's voice made Sophie shiver and she didn't try to explain that a spider would have been preferable to the Christmas decoration. She'd been totally unprepared for the hospital's Christmas-decoration onslaught that had taken place overnight. ‘I'm surprised you decorate.'

The pregnant nurse stared at her as if she'd just landed from another planet. ‘It's December.'

Sophie tried to laugh off her anxieties. ‘I know, but it's summer here, so hardly Christmassy.'

Diana spoke patiently as if she was explaining to a child. ‘We mightn't have cold weather, open fires and snow, but it's still Christmas.' She gave an encouraging smile. ‘It's a great time for you to be here, and just you wait, we'll get you involved in everything so you'll have a totally memorable Aussie Christmas.'

Sophie's chest tightened and the need to leave pummelled her.
You left Asia for this?
She breathed in slowly. How dumb had she been, thinking that because December fell in summer in Australia it would mean Christmas wasn't a big deal? She abruptly closed the file on the computer and jumped to her feet, needing to get out of the walls that seemed to be closing in on her. ‘I have to go, but ring me if Mrs Retallick's temperature goes up.'

Without waiting for Diana's reply, she walked quickly out into the heat, gulped in air and headed for the four-wheel-drive. She turned up the air conditioner full blast, turned up the music full blast, threw the gearstick into drive and pulled onto the road, heading to Armitage House.

Jack will be gone, Jack will be gone.

She realised with a start that she'd put those four words into a chant in time with the beat of the music. If willing him to be gone worked, then he'd be long gone by now, and he
had
to be gone. She needed the house to herself; after the hospital's decoration frenzy she desperately needed a tinsel-free zone.

She hadn't heard from Jack but she hadn't expected to because the situation with the child had nothing to do with her. He wanted so badly to be gone from Barragong
that she had every faith he'd have sorted things out and taken off again on his long-awaited trip.

She relaxed into the drive and almost missed the turn-off. With a spray of gravel, she pulled hard left at the yellow-barrel post box and caught a flash of red and green, but she was going too fast to really see what it was. She glimpsed more flashes of red and green in the trees and slowed down, fascinated by the colourful birds with green backs and red, blue and yellow stripes on their chests. She'd have to look them up in one of the bird books in the homestead's library. As she crossed the cattle grid, she held her breath, and then in a delicious rush of relief she let it go. The circular drive was empty. No car. No motorcycle.

Thank you.

She opened the front door and the coolness trapped by the thick stone walls welcomed her home. She dropped her bag and keys on the massive hall stand, and delight rushed through her. She'd have a lemon, lime and bitters out by the pool, enjoy a swim and then barbeque herself a steak. Life was good. Like an excited child, she started to dance down the very long hall.

‘Put the angel on top.' Imogen's high, sweet voice drifted down the hall.

‘The angel it is, sweetheart.' Laughter clung to Jack's baritone rumble.

Sophie stopped so fast she almost teetered over her toes and her blood swooped to her feet. She swayed and grabbed at the doorway's architrave.

‘Sophie.' Imogen ran over to her and grabbed her hand. ‘Look at what Jack and me did. There's lights too.' With her large brown eyes shining, the child tugged her towards the biggest
faux
fir Christmas tree Sophie had ever seen in a house.

Her mouth dried as she took in the tree dripping with baubles and tinsel, and then it parched completely when her gaze focussed on Jack. He stood on the top of a ladder with a star in one hand and an angel in the other. Sunlight poured through the bay window, picking up the traces of silver tinsel and cobwebs that clung to his polo shirt and the streak of dirt that dusted his cheek. Gone was the
über
-uptight doctor who had appeared last night in Parachilna. Right now he looked like her rumpled, dark-haired god whose brooding good looks would instantly tarnish all the gold of the angels with a glance from those stunning eyes.

Her lungs cramped.

Imogen tugged at her hand. ‘Isn't it beautiful?'

Yes, he is.

‘You can touch it if you're careful,' Imogen instructed.

Leave the tree, alone, Sophie. Nobody touches the tree.

‘No.' The word shot out of her mouth harsh and loud, and Imogen's face fell. Sophie bit her lip and tried to steady her ragged breathing.

Jack put the angel on the very top of the tree and with calf-muscles flexing came quickly down the ladder. Without looking at Sophie, he bobbed down so he was at eye level with Imogen, his dimple twinkling in his cheek. ‘I think Sophie's a bit surprised that we've done such a great job so quickly, but we'll finish this tomorrow. How about you watch a Christmas DVD while I talk to Sophie?'

Imogen stared longingly at the box with a picture of a train on it and hesitated, her bottom lip drooping slightly. She finally looked back at Jack, her expression half-resigned. ‘OK.'

She picked up her emu and Jack walked her to the TV room. He returned a moment later, closing the hall door firmly behind him, the aloof stranger firmly back in place. It was like he was two different people in one gorgeous package.

Sophie finally found her voice, although her brain was still playing catch-up. ‘You're still here.'

He shrugged. ‘I am.' He rounded the island bench and pulled open the fridge door. ‘I think you need a drink.'

She folded her arms across her chest, mostly to stop herself from shaking. ‘I'm on call.'

He grimaced. ‘You're on call for this damn town for the next three months, but tonight we both need a drink.' He twisted the black cap off a green wine-bottle and poured two glasses of sauvignon blanc. The only sounds in the room were the glug of the wine, the ticking of the clock and the hum of the fridge.

‘Take a seat.' Cool and polite, he carried the bottle and glasses on a tray and motioned her to the couch.

She didn't move. She didn't want to sit. His overly restrained energy, the tone of voice, his instructions—everything about him reminded her of Simon. This starchy Jack completely unnerved her. She'd been much more relaxed around the bad boy, who by default had expected nothing of her and from whom in turn she'd expected nothing. She stared, hoping to glimpse the man she'd seen for a moment at the top of the ladder, because then she'd find the man she'd slept with. ‘Sit, Sophie.'

The command was unmistakeable and much to her chagrin she sat down hard—not because she wanted to but because her knees had buckled under her as the trickles of dread in her veins morphed into a cascade.
Her fingers closed around the proffered stem of the wine glass, deliberately avoiding Jack's. He sat down at the far end of the three-seater couch, but it wasn't far enough away, and his masculine scent and aura slammed into her as if the distance between them was mere millimetres rather than sixty centimetres.

She forced herself to speak. ‘You're not leaving, are you?'

‘No.'

She drained her half-filled glass in one long gulp and with a shaking hand put it down on the coffee table.

Jack cleared his throat. ‘Imogen needs some sort of security, and until my mother gets back from her cruise and we plan for the future I'm it.'

You got through last night, what's another day or so?

Last night we didn't have a Christmas wonderland.

‘When exactly does she get back?'

‘Christmas Eve.'

‘Christmas Eve.' She heard the screech in her voice, as loud and as harsh as a galah. ‘That's three weeks away.' Her heart hammered and her vision swam as control raced away from her. Now she had the trifecta: a Christmas tree, a child, and a man she'd technically had sex with, except that wild and glorious man had vanished and a serious man had appeared in his place. Her eczema prickled.