a girl with engine oil under her fingernails.’
‘There’s such a thing as a nail brush,’ she pointed out, biting back the
‘I suppose, but my mother treats Christmas as a design opportunity. Last year it was silver and white with mauve “accents”.’ She did the thing with her fingers to indicate the quotes.
‘Mauve?’ Annie repeated.
‘With the tiniest, tiniest white lights.’ And, putting on a clipped accent, Xandra said, ‘All terribly, terribly tasteful, dahling.’ Then, ‘Christmas isn’t supposed to be tasteful.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Annie asked, sobering as she thought about the Dickens-inspired designer co-ordinated green, red and gold that traditionally decked the halls of King’s Lacey for the festive season. ‘What is it supposed to be?’
Xandra’s response was a broad grin. ‘Stick around and see what I’ve got planned.’ Then, with a groan as she saw her father, ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
George had emerged from the workshop and was striding purposefully in their direction and by the time she’d managed to start the cold engine he was at the window and she had no choice but to push it open. He was wearing overalls and there was a smear of grease on his cheek that her fingers itched to wipe away before her lips planted a kiss in that exact spot.
Losing her mind, clearly, she decided, keeping her hands firmly on the steering wheel, her eyes firmly on him, managing a fairly coherent, ‘Good morning.’ Unable to resist saying, ‘I hope you managed to sleep well.’
He lifted an eyebrow, acknowledging the reference to her turning him out of his bed.
‘Well enough,’ he replied, although he’d apparently had to think about it. ‘You?’
‘Like a log for the first time in as long as I can remember,’ she said gratefully. ‘Thank you.’
He nodded. ‘You look…rested.’ Then, as he wiped his hands on a rag, ‘Where are you two off to?’
‘We’re going to the farm,’ she said. ‘To buy a tree.’
‘Come on, Annie. Let’s
He put his hand on the open window to keep her where she was. ‘Tree?’ He frowned.
‘A
His jaw tightened. ‘I have heard of it.’ Then, looking at Annie, ‘Have you ever driven a four-wheel drive?’
About to assure him that, despite all evidence to the contrary, she’d not only been taught to drive everything on her grandfather’s estate by an ex-police driving instructor, but had been trained in survival driving, she managed to stop herself.
And not simply because mentioning the fact that her grandfather owned an estate seemed like a bad idea.
‘Why?’ she asked innocently. ‘Is it different to driving a car?’
‘In other words, no,’ he said, opening the door. ‘Shift over, I’ll take you.’
‘Can’t you just take me through it?’ she suggested. ‘I know how busy you are and I’ve put you to more than enough trouble.’
‘You think?’ He held her gaze for so long that she was afraid he knew exactly what she was doing. Then, shaking his head, ‘It’ll be quicker if I run you there.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ she said as she edged her bottom along the seat. ‘It was your mother’s idea and she’s been so kind. It’s the least I can do.’
Xandra was staring straight ahead, rigid with tension.
‘Budge up,’ she urged.
The girl moved no more than a hand’s width and Annie could almost feel the waves of animosity coming off her. Clearly her plan to get father and daughter to bond over the purchase of a Christmas tree wasn’t going to be as simple as she’d hoped.
That said, she was a little tense herself as George squashed in beside her, his arm brushing against her as he reached for the gearstick. He glanced at her, asking her with the slightest lift of his eyebrow if she was all right. She gave a barely discernible shrug to indicate that she was fine.
As if.
She was crushed up against the kind of man who would light up any woman’s dreams, her cheek against his shoulder, her thigh trembling against the hard muscles of his leg. She could feel every move he made, every breath and even the familiar smell of hot oil from the engine of the aged vehicle couldn’t mask the scent of warm male.
It was too noisy to talk but as they came to a halt at a busy roundabout he turned to her.
‘You’ll have more room if you put your arm on my shoulder,’ he said, looking down at her. But for a moment, mesmerised by his sensuous lower lip, close enough to kiss, she didn’t, couldn’t, move. Then, before she could get a grip, ease her arm free and lay it across those wide shoulders, Xandra abruptly shifted sideways.
‘I’m…fine,’ she managed as she reluctantly eased herself away from his warmth.
The Christmas tree farm wasn’t far and they were soon pulling off the road and into an area cleared for a car park.
Beside it was the seasonal shop in a little chalet decorated with fake snow and strings of fairy lights. In front of it there was a children’s ride, a bright red sleigh with Rudolph-complete with flashing nose-and Santa, with his sack of parcels, at the reins.
As soon as they came to a halt, Xandra opened the door and leapt down, not waiting for her or her father, disappearing stiff-legged, stiff-necked into the plantation.
‘Are you coming?’ Annie paused on the edge of the seat, looking back as she realised that George hadn’t moved.
‘You know me,’ he said, his face expressionless. ‘I’m just the driver.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘No. And I am truly grateful to you for stepping in. Xandra wants to decorate the house for your father before he comes home from the hospital.’
Or was it really for him? she wondered.
Despite everything she’d said, he’d said, was Xandra hoping that he’d relent over closing the garage, stay for the holiday? That they’d all have a perfect fairy-tale Christmas together, the kind that proper families had in story books?
Dickens, she thought as she jumped down, had a lot to answer for.
Hitting the uneven ground jarred the ankle she’d wrenched the day before and she gave a little yelp.
And then she moaned.
‘What?’ George asked.
‘Nothing…’ She let the word die away as she hung onto the door.
Muttering something that she was clearly not meant to hear, he climbed out and walked round the Land Rover to see for himself.
‘It’s nothing,’ she repeated, letting go of the door with one hand just long enough to wave him away. ‘I gave my ankle a bit of a wrench yesterday when I stepped in that pothole and just now, well, the drop was further than I thought…’ Enough. Don’t overdo it, Annie, she told herself and taking a steadying breath, she straightened herself, touched her toe to the ground. Bravely fought back a wince. ‘Give me a minute,’ she said with a little gasp. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Let me see.’
She didn’t have to feign the gasp as he put his hands around her waist and lifted her back up onto the seat, then picked up her left foot, resting her ankle in the palm of his hand.
‘It doesn’t look swollen,’ he said, gently feeling around the bone, the instep and he looked up, slate eyes suddenly filled with suspicion.
‘No. I told you. It’ll be fine.’ She slid down, forcing him back, and began to limp after Xandra.
‘Wait!’
‘I promised Hetty I’d keep an eye on her,’ she said, not looking back. ‘Make sure she keeps her ambitions below ceiling height.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ he said, closing the door and coming after her. ‘Here,’ he said, taking her arms and putting them around his neck. She scarcely had time to react to his irritable command before he’d bent and picked
