Christmas with her Boss (9 page)

All William had to do was edge Letty back along the ridge—and let Meg take her down.

‘You can't.' William's voice was agonised as they faced this final step, but he knew the facts. Meg was five foot five; he was six feet two. He weighed at least forty pounds more than she did. Everything depended on the guttering holding.

Letty couldn't climb herself. It was Meg who'd support Letty on the way down.

Slowly William edged back along the ridge, lifting Letty
a little at each move. She was so limp, Meg thought. She couldn't get her down if she lost consciousness. But…

‘I'm saving my strength,' Letty whispered.

‘You're a woman with intelligence as well as courage,' William said, and he met Meg's gaze, and she thought…

She thought…

Yeah, well, there wasn't a lot of use going down that path. Of all the inappropriate things to think right now. He looked lean and mean and dangerous. He had torn overalls, bloodstained chest, one arm bared. His expression was grim and focussed. He was totally intent on what he was doing. He looked… He looked…

She knew how he looked. She also knew how he was making her feel, and somehow it made things…

Scarier? That she'd decided she loved a man who was balanced on a crumbling ridge, with her injured grandmother in his arms and her little brother underneath, and if they fell…

Um…get a grip.

She gripped.

William was moving so slowly there was no risk of him overbalancing. He was shifting Letty a few inches at a time.

The wait was interminable.

‘I have you steady.' It was Scott from underneath them. He'd climbed the first ladder and was holding the second.

This was safer—except it meant Scotty was right beneath her.

‘Scott…' she started and she knew her voice quavered.

‘Scott's fine. No one's going to fall,' William said. It was his ‘no one's going home until this is sorted' voice. Meg blinked. Okay, she couldn't defy him on this one.

‘Letty, you need to trust us all,' William said. ‘Meg will catch your legs while you find a footing on the ladder. She'll be right under you, pressing you into the rungs. You'll hold as best you can with one hand. That's all you'll need. Meg will
be guiding your feet, holding you firm. Don't release the first rung until you feel totally stable; stable enough to reach under for the next. If you can't do it then stop until you feel you can. There's no rush. We have all the time in the world.'

All the time in the world. Except Letty looked dreadful. If she fainted…

If she fainted then Meg would catch her and hold her and somehow get her down. No one's going to fall. The guy in the bloodstained overalls had said so.

‘As soon as you have her I'll slide down the ridge the way I came up,' William said. ‘I'll be beneath you.'

‘What, slide and jump?' Meg retorted. ‘You want a broken leg? Scotty's underneath and he'll do any catching.'

‘I will,' Scott said, and Meg looked up and met William's gaze and saw agony. William McMaster depended on no one. For him to depend on a kid like Scott…

No choice. No one's going to fall.

And somehow no one did. Somehow William got a limp and trembling Letty onto Meg's ladder. Somehow Meg held her, guiding her every step of the way. Somehow they climbed down, rung after rung.

‘Women are awesome,' Letty muttered as they reached the lower guttering and manoeuvred across to the next ladder. Meg even managed a smile.

‘You bet. You ready for the next bit, Grandma?'

‘Bring it on.' Letty's voice might be a thready whisper but her spirit was indomitable.

And then it was done. As they reached the ground Letty sagged but Scott was there. It was Scott who lifted his grandmother from the ladder. He had his Grandma in his arms, and then Meg was there, too, hugging them both.

And William was down, as well. He stood back, and Meg saw him over Letty's head, and she reached out and tugged him in as well. Her big, bloodstained hero. Her boss.

William.

They hugged together. Sandwich squeeze, she'd called this when she was little, when the family was celebrating, or something dreadful had happened, or sometimes simply because they could. Because they were family.

And this felt the same. It felt… Family?

Except William wasn't. She knew he wasn't, so it shouldn't hurt when he was the first to pull away.

It did. Even though he must.

‘Let's have a look at that arm,' William said in a voice that was none too steady, and she knew he was feeling the whole gamut of emotions she was feeling. Only maybe not the family one.

There was a woman called Elinor?

Letty's knees had given completely. Scott brought cushions and blankets while Meg and William assessed the damage as best they could. Letty's arm was bound tightly with William's sleeve, but the crimson bloom was spreading.

‘I don't think we should disturb it,' William said. ‘Where's the nearest hospital.'

‘I'm not going to hospital,' Letty quavered and for an answer William simply scooped her up, blankets and all.

‘Car keys,' he snapped at Meg. ‘You sit in the back seat with your grandmother. Scott, are you coming?'

Someone had turned into the drive. Mickey and his Dad, Meg thought, recognising the car, come to play with the Minis.

‘Maybe…maybe I should stay,' Scott managed and then tried to get his voice down a quaver or two. ‘I…Mickey can help me clean up.'

That Letty hadn't squeaked a second protest was scary, but William had her in his arms, heading for the car, and Meg could spare a moment to think things through. Scott loathed hospitals, for good reason. She could see he was torn. She
needed to give him a reason to stay, and she had one. One pregnant cow.

‘I need you to keep an eye on Millicent,' she said.

‘Why?'

‘She's showing the first signs of calving.'

‘My Millicent…' Letty squeaked over William's shoulder.

‘Your Millicent,' Meg retorted. ‘Who's staying in the care of your grandson, and Mickey and Mickey's Dad. There's two for you and three for Millicent. So who's arguing, Grandma?'

‘No one's arguing,' William said. ‘Let's go.'

T
HE
gash on her arm was deep and jagged. The doctors wanted to keep Letty in overnight, an option she wouldn't consider.

‘Just pull it together and let me go. I have a turkey to stuff.'

Finally, they conceded that she could go home, but only after they were sure she was okay. ‘She's lost a lot of blood, she's elderly and she's shocked,' the doctor on duty told them as they wheeled her off to Theatre. ‘We'll tie her down for a couple of hours to make sure there aren't complications. Can you wait?'

‘We can wait,' William said and he and Meg went to sit in the waiting room. Meg picked up a glossy magazine and stared sightlessly at its pages.

He shouldn't go near her, William decided.

Her hands were still shaking.

How could he not go to her? He moved to the seat next to hers and touched her hand.

She put her magazine down and blinked back tears.

So much for not going near her. He put his arm round her and tugged her close.

Her whole body was shaking.

‘It's okay. Baby, it's okay.'

‘I'm not…' She gulped and tried to pull away. ‘I'm not b…baby.'

‘Miss Jardine, it's okay,' he said, and pulled her closer still.

That brought a chuckle, but a watery one. She sniffed and reached for a tissue in her overalls pocket. She blew her nose, hard, and he thought, how could he go back to calling her Miss Jardine? This wasn't his super-efficient PA. This was someone he no longer knew.

Or maybe… Maybe it was just that he hadn't known his super-efficient PA, because it was starting to feel as if he did know this woman, and he wanted to know more.

‘If…if the paparazzi could see us now,' she muttered and he winced. What a thing to think.

They'd come straight from the cow yard. They'd been filthy to begin with and Letty's blood had added a layer that was truly appalling.

‘I think the chances of me being recognised are about zip,' he said. ‘We're safe.'

‘We are,' she whispered. ‘Thanks to you. How did you ever get up on that roof?'

‘I have skills you can't even begin to imagine,' he said, trying to make her smile.

‘Can you fix Santa when we get home?'

‘What?'
He looked at her and discovered she was smiling—she was joking. She was still shaking but there was no way she was sinking into self-pity.

‘I have a better idea,' he said unsteadily. ‘Let's toss a grenade into the fireplace and blast him right out of there. All I've seen so far have been legs. A life without a head can't be all that satisfying. Let's put him out of his misery.'

She choked on something that could be a bubble of laughter or it could be tears, he couldn't decide which, and he hugged her closer and he simply held.

Eventually, the tremors stopped. He didn't let her go,
though. It felt okay to sit here and hold her—as if he had the right.

Did he want the right?

What sort of dumb thing was that to think? The shock of the morning must be getting to him.

She felt right, he thought. Holding her felt right.

But then a nurse came through the door and said, ‘Miss Jardine?' and he was no longer holding her. His side felt cold without her there.

‘Yes?' Meg was still frightened, he thought. She'd risen to face the nurse as if she was bracing for the worst.

She'd seen the worst, he thought. She'd have been here when her mother and stepfather were killed; when Scotty had been so appallingly injured.

She knew what happened when you let people get close.

He rose and stood beside her, and held her as the nurse approached.

But it was okay. ‘Your brother's on the phone,' the nurse said. He watched as she took a deep steadying breath and nodded and moved away from the support of his arm and walked across to the nurses' station to take the call.

He watched her as she spoke. She seemed totally unconscious of how she looked. How many women did he know who could be so unaware of what they were wearing? His comment about her clothes had made her smile but she certainly wasn't thinking about them.

He watched her talk; he watched her as she replaced the receiver. He watched the quiet dignity as she thanked the nurse. He watched her walk back to him and he thought, she's a woman in a million. A woman to change your life plans for?

How crazy a thought was that?

‘Our phone's back on,' she told him. ‘It came back on just after we left. The line must be mended. Mickey's mum and
dad are both there now and Jenny's stuffing our turkey and making brandy sauce. Millicent's calving hasn't progressed any further—Ian thinks the calf's a while off. The boys are playing with the cars. Jenny's called in the neighbours and three men are up on the roof putting tarpaulins over the capping in case there's rain before we can get a builder in. Oh, and they've fixed Santa Claus.'

‘They've fixed…'

‘But his sleigh's broken beyond repair. There's nothing they can do about that so Santa's escape route's gone. We're stuck with him.' She was smiling now, though her smile was a bit watery.

‘Hooray,' he said faintly, and he couldn't keep his gaze from her face. Why hadn't he realised just how beautiful she was? He'd been blind.

‘Hooray at last,' she repeated and her voice softened. ‘It's all okay again. I have help. Scott says there's no rush to get home. Christmas is back on track. And…and it's thanks to you,' she said, and choked a bit again. ‘You saved Letty. You saved us.'

‘There's no need for hyperbole,' he said, embarrassed. ‘You did some saving as well.'

‘There's no way I would have got up on that roof in time to stop her falling.'

‘You don't know what you can do until you must.'

‘Indeed you don't,' she said, and her eyes were shining and she was close enough to touch. Close enough to…

She backed away, as if suddenly something had touched her, reminded her. ‘I… that's all I wanted to say,' she faltered.

Was it all he wanted to say? He wanted more. He wanted to kiss her. In the middle of the emergency waiting room. With patients, medics, relatives everywhere.

He definitely wanted to kiss her.

‘No,' she said, and he met her gaze with a jolt of shock. Of
course. This woman was seriously good. She anticipated his needs. That was what he paid her for.

She'd anticipated this one and she was refusing.

‘I… I don't think we need to stay here,' she managed. She glanced at her watch, and that tiny movement put more distance between them. It made what he wanted to do even more impossible. ‘We should do something while we wait. Go down and look at the sea?'

‘How about shopping?' he suggested. ‘I checked yesterday—every shop in the city will be open today.'

‘You're joking,' she said, startled. ‘Walk through the Christmas crowds looking like this? We look like something out of
Chainsaw Massacre.
'

‘Hence my shopping plan. Are you hungry?'

Her eyes widened at that, as if remembering something important.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘Yes, I am. Whatever happened to breakfast?'

He grinned. ‘I guess it's still waiting beside the toaster at home.'
Home?
The word seemed to jar, and he corrected himself. ‘Back at the farm.'

‘We could grab a sandwich at the hospital cafeteria. I guess there is a hospital cafeteria.'

‘I refuse to have hospital sandwiches on Christmas Eve. What I suggest…'

‘Here we go.'

‘What?'

‘What you suggest…'

‘What's wrong with that?'

‘It's just
What I suggest
is McMaster for
What's going to happen
.'

‘I'm open to discussion,' he said, wounded, and she was smiling again. More. She was laughing at him.

It was such a weird sensation that he felt winded.

No one laughed at him.

He kind of…liked it.

He grinned, and she grinned back, and suddenly there was such a frisson of tension between them that if a nurse hadn't approached he would have thrown reserve, caution, sense to the wind and taken her in his arms and kissed her, right on the spot. He still might…but the nurse was walking right up to them, speaking to Meg but glancing at him, as if he was included in this too.

Almost as if he was family.

‘The stitching's done,' she said. ‘The doctors used a very light general anaesthetic—they thought it was more appropriate, given how shocked she is—and we're popping in a little plasma to get her blood pressure up faster. I suspect she'll sleep for two hours at least. Can you give us that time before you take her home?'

‘Yes,' William said before Meg could answer. ‘Yes, we can.' He glanced at his cellphone and smiled. ‘Hey, I have reception. I'll give you my number. Can you ring us when she wakes? Meanwhile, I suggest Miss Jardine and I find something decent to wear and then eat.'

‘And if I want hospital sandwiches?' Meg muttered but she was smiling too.

‘I'm your boss,' he said. ‘That has to count for something.'

 

It counted for a lot, and so did money. Meg was simply led by William's ‘suggestions'.

First, he took her to what the nurse had told him when he'd enquired was ‘the classiest clothes shop in town'.

‘She needs a frock,' William said to the bemused assistant. ‘Or more. I suggest she buys three and everything that goes with them. Shoes, whatever.' He laid his credit card on the counter. ‘Whatever it takes.'

‘This feels like
Pretty Woman
,' Meg muttered. ‘I'm not for sale.'

‘I'm not buying.'

She met his gaze. Something passed between them, changed.
I'm not buying
.

Of course he wasn't, Meg thought. He had Elinor and women of her ilk. He escorted women from the pages of glamour magazines.

And, again, he knew what she was thinking. ‘You're my PA,' he said, his tone softening. ‘Nothing more. Don't get any ideas, Jardine. It's just that I don't like my PA in blood-spattered overalls.'

He sounded suddenly formal and she shivered. The warmth that had been growing inside, the comfort she'd felt as he'd held her, the bud of an idea, shrivelled.

The idea had been stupid—but she had to move on.

‘And I don't like my boss in blood-spattered overalls,' she managed and tilted her chin.

‘Which is why I'm heading to the place Scott showed me yesterday to buy even more jeans,' he said. ‘So I'll leave you to it. No shaking while I'm gone. Everything's fine.'

And, before she could guess what he intended, he took her hands, tugged her towards him and kissed her lightly on the lips. Only it wasn't how she wanted to be kissed. It was back to where she'd started. It was a
Pretty Woman
kind of kiss. Take my plastic and buy what you need. I'll comfort you and care for you, because you're part of my entourage.

‘Don't look like that, Miss Jardine,' he said softly. ‘I'm not buying your soul. I'm only returning you to respectability.'

‘Meg,' she said, and if she sounded forlorn she couldn't help it.

‘I believe it should be Miss Jardine.'

‘Willie,' she snapped and, before he could guess what she intended back, she grabbed his hands, tugged him toward her
and kissed him as well. Harder. Defiant. ‘Willie,' she said again and glowered.

His lips twitched. There was laughter behind his eyes. And admiration.

And something more?

Something quickly quelled. Something he didn't want to admit?

No matter, it was gone, he was gone, and she was left with his plastic.

‘Wow,' the sales assistant breathed as he disappeared into the crowd of last minute Christmas shoppers. ‘I wish my boyfriend would do something like this.'

‘He's not my boyfriend.'

‘Oh, but he's gorgeous.'

‘In blood-stained overalls?'

‘He'd be gorgeous in anything,' the girl breathed. ‘Oh, miss… Oh, let's find you the prettiest dress in the shop. With a guy like that letting you use his credit card, you want to be gorgeous.'

‘With a guy like that I should wear a faded bag over my head,' Meg muttered but the sales assistant was already hauling out offerings.

She should not accept his money. But…

I suggest…

This was W S McMaster talking. Her boss, giving orders. If she put things back on their rightful footing, she'd accept.

Miss Jardine would accept. It was only Meg who was having stupid quibbles.

‘Show me what you have,' she said, resigned. Two more days of autocracy and he'd be gone. Or sooner. She should check the news on the air strike.

Why didn't she want to?

‘What about this?' the sales assistant asked, and held up a dress that made her gasp. It was pretty in the real sense of
the word. It was a nineteen-fifties halter neck, cinch-waisted frock with a full circled skirt. It was white with red dots. It was young, frivolous and so far away from what Meg always wore that she shook her head before she thought about it.

She wore sensible black skirts and white shirts, or she wore overalls, or she wore jeans, and somewhere at home she had a pale grey skirt for church and funerals.

She did not wear polka dots.

‘Something sensible,' she said.

‘It's Christmas,' the girl said and then she looked at Meg's overalls. ‘And…excuse me for asking, but that looks bad.'

‘It nearly was bad.'

‘So it could have been bad,' the girl said and Meg realised she was in the hands of a master saleswoman. ‘And, if it had been, you'd never have got the chance to wear polka dots. And he…' she looked meaningfully in the direction William had gone ‘…would never have seen you in polka dots.'