engage her in conversation a couple of times, he’d shrugged and flooded the car with music, negating the need for conversation.
Right now she was scribbling in a notebook, a frown of concentration wrinkling her brow.
“Don’t worry, everything will go like clockwork.”
“I’m not worried.” But the way she gnawed the end of her pencil refuted the statement. And so did the closed, withdrawn expression that had been etched on her face since he’d collected her earlier.
“Try to relax, my family won’t bite.”
“If you say so.”
Callum fell silent.
She must be nervous. That would explain her behavior. They’d spoken several times over the past few days. At first she’d made panicked calls to him about logistics, but each time they’d spoken, she’d sounded more and more like the Miranda he knew. Smart. Confident. Totally together. After consultation with his brothers, and with his parents’ housekeeper, he’d approved all the menus she’d produced-and given her carte blanche to buy whatever she needed.
With the housekeeper’s help, Miranda had decided to employ three women from the local village to help with the birthday party, and to hire the majority of the crockery and cutlery needed from a firm in Ambleside. Much of the produce would come from local suppliers, too, which she’d already organized.
As late as last night, there’d been no problem. So why was she so withdrawn and tense now?
Or was he imagining problems where none existed? Callum shrugged his concern off. It could be that Miranda simply wasn’t a morning person-he’d teased her about that before. Or maybe she needed sustenance.
So fifteen minutes later he pulled off the M6 and headed for an inn set well back from the main road.
She looked up with surprise as he turned into the car park. “Where are we?”
He gestured to a large sign in front of the inn. “The Rose and Thorn.”
She groaned. “That much is evident-I can see the sign.”
His mouth twitched as he sensed her rolling her eyes.
Switching off the motor, he unclipped his seat belt. “I often break the journey here. They serve a good breakfast.” He went round to her side and opened her door. “If you don’t want breakfast, my mother swears by their cream teas.”
She hesitated.
“Come on.” Miranda was shivering as the cold air drifted into the warmth of the Daimler. “There’s a warm fire inside,” he coaxed as she drew her red scarf more tightly around her neck and emerged from the car in a flurry of denim and a bright red woolen coat.
Inside the dining room, the low wooden beams and a fire in the hearth gave the inn a welcoming ambience. Once a plump, smiling woman had taken their orders, Callum watched Miranda’s gaze settle on a large Christmas tree in the corner. Her shoulders sagged imperceptibly.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
Miranda shook her head.
“Don’t fob me off.” He waited, but she still said nothing, though shadows lingered in her eyes. “This is me, Callum. When have you ever not been able to tell me exactly what you think?”
She gestured to the Christmas tree. “This will be the first time I haven’t been with my family for Christmas.” She slanted him a glance from under long, dark lashes and the expression in her melting eyes caught at something deep in his chest. “Nothing you can do about that.”
He exhaled in relief. “That’s all?”
“All? What do you mean ‘all’?” The fire was back in her eyes. “No one is as important to me as Mum and Adrian. Since Dad died we’ve always roasted a Cornish hen-a turkey is too big for the three of us-and prepared all the trimmings. And this year I won’t be there.”
Callum cursed silently as he filled in the unspoken blanks. There probably hadn’t been sufficient money for a turkey after her father’s death. Remorse tugged at him that Miranda would be missing out on precious time with her family because of him.
God, he’d been selfish. If she ever learned how he’d manipulated her, she would be furious. So she had better never learn the truth.
The egg and bacon pie they’d both ordered from the special-of-the-day board arrived, distracting them both for a few minutes.
She continued with a wan smile. “Next year Adrian will probably be gone-out making his own life.”
“That happened for a while with my family. It’s part of growing up. But Adrian will return to the fold.” He thought of his own family. “These days all my brothers go home for Christmas each year. It’s rare that one of us doesn’t make it.”
“Four boys! Your poor mother. It couldn’t have been easy. Isn’t Hunter your stepbrother?”
At the glint of curiosity in her eyes, he explained, “Hunter and Jack are my half brothers. Dad married Mother after his first wife died. He already had Hunter and Jack. Then he and Mother had Fraser and me.”
“I knew you were the youngest, but I wasn’t sure who were your real brothers-you all seem so close.”
“We are close. Hunter and Jack are every bit as much my brothers as Fraser is. And Dad had a busy job so most of the task of bringing us up landed on Mum.” He waited for Miranda to make a comment about how privileged they all were, but she didn’t. “Once Dad retired, Mother was very relieved. She’s always wanted to live in the country-although I don’t think she expected it to be quite so wet in winter.”
Miranda’s eyes were full of longing. “I can understand that-I wouldn’t care about the wet though.”
She’d grown up in the country, he knew. “You miss it, don’t you?”
“I have fond memories of living there. Just the-” she broke off “-the ending wasn’t so nice.”
Callum knew her home had been auctioned off after her father’s suicide-along with most of the furniture and valuables. He’d done what he’d could to help patch up the shambles of her parents’ finances but it hadn’t been enough.
“I think one of the worst things was saying goodbye to Troubadour.”
“Troubadour?”
“My horse. I’d had him since I was thirteen and he was rising three. I loved that horse.”
Another loss.
Her father. Her home. Her horse.
Everything she’d loved. Everything dear and familiar to her. Gone.
Callum fell silent and dug into the bacon and egg pie as if he was waging a battle.
“Look, I don’t know how we got into such distressing topics.” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “It’s too depressing-especially so near to Christmas.”
He laid down his knife and fork. “I think we do need to talk about it,” he said gently. He wanted to reach out and touch the hands he suspected would be ice-cold despite the warmth of the inn’s fire.
“I’d rather not.” She inhaled audibly, and gave him a very fake and, to his mind, a very brave smile. “It’s not practical to live in the country. London is where the work is.”
Her deliberate changing of the subject warned Callum that the past still affected her deeply.
Would she ever be able to let it go?
A restless edginess shook him. He faced the fact that she might never do so. And that would leave them forever estranged. The realization was akin to looking down into a long, dark tunnel, one without a glimpse of day at the other side.
He wasn’t ready to exist in perpetual darkness. He’d find a way to see the sunlight on the other side. Because the notion of never holding her again, never making love to her, was one he wasn’t ready to accept.
It left him with no choice. She was going to hate him for reopening the wounds, but if he didn’t, he might as well kiss any chance of having her back in his bed goodbye now. Without resolving the past, they had no future.
However, now was probably not the best time to address it. Taking the conversational olive branch she’d offered, he gestured around. “The big money might be in London, but surely there are enough places like this where you could have the country lifestyle you want?”
“Maybe, but I never wanted to be an innkeeper-” she pulled a face that he found rather endearing “-or a cafe
