Christmas with her Boss (13 page)

That was a crazy thing to think—but how could he think it was crazy when his hands were cupping her face and he was drawing her in to meet him? How could he think he was crazy when his mouth was lowering to hers and she was so sweet, so beautiful, so right?

She melted in to him, her mouth seeking his, her hands taking his shoulders so she could centre herself, be centred. Her need was as great as his. He could feel it in the urgency of her hold, in the fire he felt the moment he found her mouth.

She wanted him. He felt her need and his whole body responded. Their kiss was suddenly urgent, hard, demanding. It was as if a magnetic field had been created, locking them to each other, two force fields meeting as they must, with fire at the centre.

He wanted her. He wanted her fiercely, with a passion that rocked him. He felt…out of control.

Maybe he was out of control. It was Christmas Eve. He was in the centre of a paddock somewhere in Australia—he didn't truly know where—with a woman he'd thought he knew but he now realised he hadn't known at all.

His Meg.

No. Just Meg. Her own beautiful self.

He deepened the kiss and she responded with heat and need, her lips opening, her tongue searching. Oh, but he wanted her… His hands were on her breasts, but she was wearing overalls. How did you get through overalls?

She was buttoned to the throat. No. Not buttons. Studs.
They unfastened with satisfactory pops. Underneath the overalls was a lacy bra, and underneath the bra… His breath drew in, with awe and wonder.

His hands were cupping her, and he'd never felt such beauty. He'd never wanted a woman so much as he wanted Meg right now.

No woman before had been Meg.

He rolled back with her and she came, smiling down into his eyes. They were lying full length, wanting each other with a desperate heat they could read in each other's eyes.

She was above him, smiling in the moonlight. Meg, his beauty. Her skin was pale and luminous, she almost seemed to shine.

They were on a horse rug or somesuch, something she'd spread in the middle of a cow paddock. No pillowed bed could feel better. No bed could feel more right.

‘You're not taking your overalls off,' she whispered and he realised with a shock that she was laughing. ‘Not fair.'

His overalls were all in one. He'd pulled them on in a rush. Underneath… Well, there wouldn't be a lot of finesse in his undressing.

‘You're wearing a bra,' he managed. ‘I don't believe I'm wearing anything.'

Her chuckle was so sexy it took his breath away. ‘I think that's good.'

‘You don't want me out of my overalls,' he said but he couldn't say it with any degree of certainty. This night…anything was possible this night.

‘And if I do?'

There was a statement to take his breath away. But a man had to have sense, even if finding it almost tore him in two. ‘I'm not…' Hell, it was so hard to get his voice to work. ‘I'm not carrying condoms.'

She paused at that. She stilled. He kissed her again, a
gentle, wondrous exploration that left him wanting more. Much more.

Why hadn't he thought of condoms? Of all the stupid…He didn't even have them in his bag back at the house.

He'd hardly packed thinking he was about to seduce his PA.

And Meg was tugging away, propping herself up on her arms, considering him in the dim light. ‘How big's your head?' she asked and he blinked.

‘Pardon?'

‘Millicent operated with no condoms,' she said, her voice husky and shaken. ‘Look what happened to her.'

He laughed, but it was a shaken laugh. He pulled away a little, sense returning. A little.

‘We can't,' he managed. ‘Unless Santa arrives right now.'

‘I didn't put condoms on my Santa list,' she whispered, her voice laced with a thousand regrets.

‘That's not efficient of you.'

‘I'm not feeling efficient.'

‘You don't look efficient,' he said and he tugged her to him again and held. He just held. ‘My obstetrician extraordinaire.'

‘Hey, you turned the leg. Maybe you've found your new calling.'

‘I'm not ready for a new career. If it's all the same to you, I think I'll stick to the old one,' he said. But, the moment he said it, he knew it was a mistake.

Or maybe it wasn't a mistake. Maybe it was simply the truth, which had to be put out there.

It had killed the moment. Meg moved back, squatted back on her heels and looked at him for a long moment, as if searching his face. And, whatever she was looking for, she didn't find it. She smiled again, a wry little smile with all the regret in the world, and she tugged her overalls up to decency.

‘Well, that was fun,' she said and suddenly he had Miss Jardine back—clinical, cool, ready to move on. ‘Birth does crazy things to your head. Imagine how I'd feel if ever I was around a human birth. Lucky I'm not. But enough. It's three hours till milking. I need some sleep.'

‘Meg…'

‘No,' she said.

‘No?'

‘No.' She met his gaze, calm and cool in the moonlight, and if there was bleakness behind it there wasn't anything he could do about it. ‘This was moon madness. We both know it, and it bears out my decision that I need to quit. What if there'd been a condom round tonight? We'd have been lost.'

Lost. The word hung between them, loaded with too many meanings.

‘Will you help me pack up?' she said. ‘Millicent will be fine for what's left of the night. It's lovely and warm. She has a fine heifer calf to clean and she'll do it better without us.'

‘Heifer?'

‘A little girl. I think we'll call her Milly. Millicent, mother of Milly. It has a fine ring to it, don't you think?'

She was talking for the sake of talking, he realised. She was putting emotion aside.

‘I don't want to leave you,' he said simply and she looked at him for a long moment, considering, and then she shook her head.

‘You can't take me with you. I don't fit. I did when my role was PA. No more. Somehow we've messed this and all there is now is for us to get on with our lives. You've got Ned and Pip and Elinor waiting for you back in New York, and you have your life there. I have a grandma and a little brother, and dairy cows and dogs and one brand new calf. That's enough to keep any girl happy.'

‘Is it?'

'Yes,' she said, rising and dumping ropes into buckets. ‘Yes, it is. Yes, it must be.'

W
ILLIAM
woke to an operatic soprano belting out
Silent Night
right underneath his attic. Letty was singing along, almost louder than the soprano. A couple of dogs were joining right in.

Five-thirty. He'd been in bed for what—two and a half hours—and he'd lain awake for at least one of them.

He groaned and put his pillow over his head and then Scotty started singing too, and more dogs joined in, full howl.

Christmas. Hooray.

Feeling more like Scrooge every minute, he hauled his jeans on and staggered downstairs. The kitchen table was groaning with food in various states of preparation. Letty was wearing a truly astonishing crimson robe and a Santa hat. Scotty was sitting in his pyjamas, shelling peas. The difference between now and yesterday was astonishing.

‘Happy Christmas,' Letty said, beaming. ‘Great pecs.' Then, as he tried to figure whether to blush, she motioned to the sound system in the corner where, mercifully,
Silent Night
had just come to an end. ‘My favourite carol. You want us to play it again?'

‘She'll make you sing,' Scotty warned and William looked at the pair of them and saw exactly why Meg loved them to bits. A blushing adolescent and an old lady with her arm bandaged to her elbow, a lady who had almost died yesterday,
who was now stirring something vaguely alcoholic, or possibly more than vaguely.

‘Eggnog,' Letty said, following his gaze. ‘Just on finished. You want first glass?'

‘At five-thirty in the morning?'

‘Yeah, it's late,' Letty said. ‘Meg's already milking, without her eggnog. You want to take some over to her?'

‘No,' he said, revolted.

‘What's wrong with my eggnog?'

‘If I'm going to help her milk, I need to be able to count teats.'

‘He has trouble getting to four, Grandma,' Scotty said kindly. ‘We'd better let him off eggnog till the girls are milked.' He hesitated. ‘You will help milk, won't you? Meg said you helped so much last night that she wouldn't wake you, but she'll be ages alone.'

‘I could help,' Letty said darkly. ‘Only she won't let me.'

‘With your arm? You're as dodgy as I am,' Scott retorted and once again William was hit with the sensation that he was on the outside, looking in. Family?

‘Okay, toast and coffee and no eggnog until afterwards, but there's home-made raspberry jam,' Letty told him, moving right on. ‘And real butter. None of that cholesterol-reducing muck this morning.'

‘Grandma…' Scott said and Letty grimaced and held up her hands in surrender.

‘I know. Back to being good tomorrow. You needn't worry, young man; I intend to be around to boss you for a long time to come.'

‘So no more Santa rescues.'

‘I'll be good,' she said and William saw a flash of remembered terror from yesterday and he thought she wasn't as tough as she was making out. She was brave, though. And he saw
Scott worrying about her and he thought that courage came in all guises.

They were all brave. And Meg… What she'd been trying to do for all of them since her parents' death…

‘So you know about Millicent's calf,' he ventured, feeling really off centre, and they both grinned, happiness returning.

‘Of course we do,' Scott said. ‘She's gorgeous. And Meg said you got a backward hoof out. I wish she'd called me. I could've have helped.'

‘There'll be lots of calves for you to help in the future,' Letty said roundly. ‘We'll get
your
leg right first. We're just lucky William was able to help. We're very pleased to have you here,' she said to William. ‘Now, Meg checked the news before she milked and she says the planes are running again. She and Scott checked flights and there are some available. She said to tell you when you woke up. But you don't want to leave yet, do you?'

‘I…'

Did he want to leave? They were looking at him expectantly. Over in the dairy, Meg was milking, alone.

His world was twisting, as if it was trying to turn him in a direction he hadn't a clue about.

‘I do need to go,' he said at last and it was as if the words were dragged out of him. ‘If I help with the milking now, Scott, would you mind making me a list of flights and times?'

‘Today?'
‘Yes, please.'

‘You really want to leave?' Scott demanded incredulously, and William thought about last night, thought about holding Meg. Thought about holding Meg again.

If he got any closer…

If Letty had fallen yesterday… If Scotty had been killed in that accident…

If anything happened to Meg…

Do not get close. Do not open yourself to that sort of pain.

‘I don't want to go,' he said, striving not to let his voice sound heavy. ‘How could I want to leave Letty's eggnog? But I do need to get back to Manhattan as soon as possible. So please let me know which flight might be available.'

‘Okay,' Scotty said and, even if the kid did sound disappointed, William couldn't let that stand in the way of a decision that must be made.

He headed back upstairs to dress and, as he did, Letty adjusted the sound system. Next on the playlist was
Deck the Halls
and she turned the sound up even louder.

This place was crazy.

Of course he had to get out of here.

 

Meg was milking, head down behind a cow. When he reached the yard she didn't emerge, just kept on doing what she was doing. Killer and the rest of the dog pack greeted him with pleasure but there wasn't a lot of pleasure emanating from Meg.

That had to be okay by him. Maybe it was even sensible. He ushered the next cow into a bale and started doing what had to be done. He was getting good at this. Where could he use this new skill when he left?

Would he ever milk a cow again?

‘Happy Christmas,' Meg said at last from behind her cow and he thought she sounded exhausted. Had she slept at all?

He wanted to tell her to go back to bed, that he'd take over. He couldn't. Yes, he'd learned new skills but he couldn't milk by himself yet.

If he left today… Would she be milking the cows alone?

‘Happy Christmas,' he replied at last. Cautiously.

‘The airlines are back. I'm sorry but I didn't have time to check flights before milking.'

‘Not good enough,' he growled, trying for a smile, but she stiffened and said nothing.

‘I was joking.'

‘I know.'

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘Bad joke.'

‘I'm sorry too,' she said, straightening and heading out to fetch another cow in. ‘Last night…it should never have happened. It was like… I'd been so worried. It was reaction; nothing more.'

‘It felt like more.'

‘Well, it wasn't,' she snapped. ‘Fortunately, the airlines are operating. We'll see if we can get you a flight out tonight.'

‘What about milking?'

‘What about milking?'

‘Who's going to do it?'

‘I will,' she said. ‘I've done it alone plenty of times before. It just takes longer.'

‘You're exhausted already.'

‘Kerrie's back tomorrow—she's coming for lunch today so maybe she can even help tonight—and I can sleep in the middle of the day.'

‘And then you need to job hunt.'

‘I believe I'm still employed by you until my contract expires.'

‘So you are.'

‘So I'll keep the office operating here as my contract specifies. That'll give me time to find something else.'

They were being absurdly formal, he thought, but maybe formal was the only thing to be.

‘What sort of job do you want?' he asked.

‘I'm a qualified accountant.'

‘You'll do accountancy in a provincial city?'

‘What's wrong with that?'

‘What a waste.'

She didn't bother responding. She just kept right on milking.

‘You don't need to keep the office operating,' he said at last.

‘You can't dismiss me without notice.'

‘I'm not dismissing you. I'll pay you till the end of your contract.'

‘Then I'll work till the end of my contract. I've taken enough from you. I can't take any more.'

‘I'd like to give more.'

‘Like what?' she said from behind her cow and he thought about it. What would he like to give her?

Money. Security. The knowledge that she wouldn't have to get up to milk a cow unless she wanted to.

The ability to drop everything and be with Scott when and if he needed further operations. The ability to care for Letty as she needed to be cared for. Financial freedom to call the vet whenever she needed the vet.

Freedom to have a bit of fun.

But this was nothing he could do. He'd given Scott his old cars. He'd given Meg dresses and he'd given them all the satellite dish. He knew without asking that she'd accept nothing else.

So there was nothing more he could do. There was nothing more he should do. As soon as his flight was confirmed, he could walk away and not look back.

That was what he wanted, wasn't it? Anything else was way too complicated.

Dogs. Cows.

Family.

‘We'd best get a move on,' she said across his thoughts.
‘We don't do Santa until the cows are done and then there's church and then there's eggnog.'

‘You don't do eggnog until after Santa and church?'

‘Not very much,' she said and managed a smile. ‘Grandma doesn't tip up the brandy bottle until we're all safe home.'

 

Milking finished, William swished the dairy while Meg went to check on Millicent and the brand new Milly. They were standing contentedly in the home paddock, Milly at her mother's teat, no sign of the trauma associated with her birth.

If she was a hard-headed businesswoman, she'd remove the calf now, Meg thought ruefully as she looked down at the pretty little calf. After the first few hours, when the calf had taken the all important colostrum, efficient dairy practice was to remove the calf and get the cow straight into mass production.

Only neither Letty nor Meg were hard-headed. The calves stayed with their mothers until Letty decreed they were ready to be independent, which lost them milk production but probably made them a healthier herd. Or possibly made them a healthier herd. Or not.

It was a decision of the heart, not of the head.

‘Like me stopping working for William,' she told Millicent and sat on the edge of the trough while she watched the cow and her new little calf. Killer nosed up beside her and shoved his head against her ribs. She hugged him tight and suddenly she felt like crying.

‘And that's also dumb,' she told Killer. ‘Why cry? For that matter, why quit? Working for the McMaster empire's the best job I've ever had. Why can't I keep on doing it? Why can't I ignore how I feel about him and get on with it?'

She knew she couldn't.

He was watching her. He was sluicing the yard but she could feel his gaze. She hugged her dog hard, then straightened her
shoulders and rose and tried to look professional, as if she was examining cow and calf as a proper dairy farmer should. In terms of what she could make from them.

Millicent's eyes were huge and contented and maybe a little bit wondrous. While Meg watched, she started to lick her calf and the little calf kept right on feeding.

Drat, those tears kept right on welling.

‘Happy Christmas, you great sook,' she told herself angrily and swiped at her cheeks with venom. ‘Get a grip. And stop crying right now.'

She had to stop crying. William was finished in the yard. She should wait for him and walk him back to the house.

He was helping her. It'd be only civil to walk back.

But the feeling of that kiss of the night before was too huge, too raw, too real. It was threatening to overwhelm her.

‘If I head back now I get first shower,' she told Killer. ‘That's what a hard-headed, professional dairy farmer should do. And that's what I am.'

Right.

‘Go fast before he catches up.'

Even more right. Or not.

 

He'd never seen a Christmas tree like it.

They'd been so busy, William had hardly been in the sitting room until now, but after a second breakfast and a little eggnog—yes, the serious stuff would come after church—Letty bossed them into the sitting room for present opening.

The tree was real but it wasn't pine. ‘There are no pines here and there's no way I'm spending money importing one,' Letty growled, following his gaze. ‘This might not be what you're used to, but it's okay with us.'

It was a small gum tree in a vast pot on wheels. ‘We pull it in and pull it out every year,' Letty said while Meg said nothing. ‘This year's the last for this tree; she's getting too
big. We'll plant her out but there's already a new one coming on to take her place.'

And that made him feel weird as well. The thought of such continuity. A long line of trees, each taking its turn as a Christmas tree before growing to be one of the huge gums that surrounded the farm. Fantastic. And sort of…grounded. Good.

The decorations were great as well, all home-made, some wonderful, some distinctly corny.

‘They date from the time Meg arrived here,' Letty said proudly. ‘She made paper chains, her mum made the balls and lanterns, then Scotty came along and here's his kindergarten things…'

‘Grandma…' Scott said, revolted, and Letty chuckled and tossed him a gift.

It was a sweater. Home knitted. Scott made a truly manful effort to look pleased and the hug he gave his grandma was genuine. He put it on. Red and green stripes. Just the thing…

‘For winter,' he said, and Letty beamed with pleasure.

Meg said, ‘But take it off before you faint in the heat.'