Christmas Gift: A Family

The offer was very tempting. If she tried to balance the pros and cons, there were so many pros…. Two weeks in London…doing a good deed for Ivy’s sake….

What about the cons? There had to be reasons why she shouldn’t go.

Hugh.

Hugh and his gorgeousness. Two weeks with him and she’d be head over heels in love with the man. Even though he would remain polite and charming, she would fall all the way in love, and she’d come home an emotional wreck.

Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy. Visit her Web site at www.barbarahannay.com

Books by Barbara Hannay

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3841—THE CATTLEMAN’S ENGLISH ROSE*

3845—THE BLIND DATE SURPRISE*

3849—THE MIRRABROOK MARRIAGE*

Christmas Gift: A Family

Barbara Hannay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHRISTMAS EVE. Oh, joy! For Jo Berry it meant sitting behind a shop counter in Bindi Creek, staring out through the dusty front window at the heat haze shimmering on the almost empty main street, and trying not to think about all the fabulous parties she was missing back in the city.

She was especially trying not to think about the office party tonight. Mind you, she had a feeling things might get out of hand. Her friend, Renee, was determined to nail a big career boost by impressing the boss but, apart from buying something clingy and skimpy to wear, her idea of pitching for a promotion usually involved clearing her desk of sharp objects.

Jo still clung to the belief that a girl could smash her way through the glass ceiling via non-stop slog and professionalism, without the aid of deep cleavage, or tying the boss up with tinsel.

Still, she would have liked to be in Brisbane tonight. She enjoyed her friends’ company and it was great fun to be on the fringes of an occasional outrageous party.

It wasn’t her friends’ wild antics that had stopped her from partying in the city. Every Christmas she took her annual leave and travelled home to help out in her family’s shop.

And no, she wasn’t a goody two-shoes, but honestly, what else could a girl do when she had a dad on an invalid pension and a mum who was run off her feet trying to play Santa Claus to half a dozen children while preparing Christmas dinner, plus running Bindi Creek’s only general store during the pre-Christmas rush?

Not that anyone actually rushed in Bindi Creek.

At least…no one usually rushed.

Nothing exciting happened.

And yet…right now there was someone in a very great hurry.

From her perch on a stool behind the counter, Jo watched with interest as a black four-wheel drive scorched down the street, screeched to an abrupt and noisy halt in the middle of the road and then veered sharply to park on the wrong side of the road—directly outside the shop.

A lanky dark-haired stranger jumped out.

A very handsome, lanky dark-haired stranger.

Oh, wow!

He was quite possibly the most gorgeous man Jo had ever seen, not counting movie stars, Olympic athletes or European princes in her favourite celebrity magazines.

In spite of the layer of dust that covered his vehicle and the intense, sweltering December heat, he was dressed in city clothes—tailored camel-coloured trousers and a white business shirt, although as a concession to the heat his shirt was open at the neck and his long sleeves were rolled back to his elbows to reveal lightly tanned, muscular forearms.

Jo slid from her stool and tucked a wing of brown hair behind one ear as she stood waiting for the ping of the bell over the shop door. Please, please come in, you gorgeous thing.

But the newcomer lingered on the footpath, studying her mum’s window display.

Jo couldn’t help staring at him.

As he stood with his wide shoulders relaxed and his hands resting lightly on his lean hips, she decided there was a certain elegant charm in the way his soft dark hair had been ruffled and messed into spikes. And there was definite appeal in the very masculine way he rubbed his lightly stubbled jaw as he studied her mother’s dreadful tinsel-draped arrangement of tinned plum puddings, boxes of shortbread and packets of chocolate-covered sultanas.

He lifted his gaze and peered inside the shop and, before Jo could duck, his eyes—light blue or green, she couldn’t be sure—met hers. Darn, he’d caught her staring.

She felt her cheeks grow hot as he stared back. Then he smiled. But it was rather a stiff smile and she sensed instantly that he was searching for something. By the time he entered the shop her curiosity was fully aroused.

‘Good afternoon,’ she said warmly. He was close enough now for her to see that his eyes were green rather than blue and fringed by the blackest of lashes. ‘Can I help you?’

This time his smile was of the slightly crooked variety, the kind that should come with a health warning about dangers to women.

‘I’ll just look around for a moment,’ he said, casting a doubtful glance at the bags of sugar and flour and the shelves of tinned food that filled the store.

As soon as he spoke Jo realised he was English. His voice was deep and rich—refined and mellow—reminding her of actors in Jane Austen movies and men who lived in stately homes surrounded by green acres of parkland and edged by forest.

‘Look around as much as you like,’ she said, trying to sound casual, as if divine Englishmen were a regular part of life in Bindi Creek. And then, because he wasn’t a local, she added, ‘Just sing out if I can be of any help.’

At times like this, when the shop wasn’t busy, she usually amused herself by trying to guess what a customer might buy. What was this guy after? Engine oil? Shaving cream? Condoms?

From the far side of the shop he called, ‘Do you have any dolls? Perhaps a baby doll?’

Good grief.

‘I want the best possible gift for a little girl.’ It was a command rather than a request. ‘Little girls still play with dolls, don’t they?’

‘Some of them do. But I’m sorry, we don’t have any dolls here.’

He frowned. ‘You must have little tea sets? Or perhaps a music box?’

In a general store in the middle of the outback? Where did he think he was? A toy shop? ‘Sorry, we don’t have anything like that.’

‘Nothing suitable at all?’

Think, Jo, think… She walked towards him along the aisles, checking the shelves as critically as he had. Food, household items and pet supplies, a few basic hardware products, a tiny collection of paperback novels… ‘I assume you’re looking for a Christmas present?’

‘Yes, for a little girl. She’s five years old.’

It was the same age as her little sister, Tilly. Jo shook her head. ‘I’m afraid you’re not going to have much luck here.’

She pointed to the old-fashioned glass jars on the counter. ‘We have some fancy sweets and chocolates especially for Christmas.’

‘I guess they might do.’ He groaned and ran long fingers through his ruffled hair. Jo caught the glint of gold.

‘I’d better get something as a fallback.’ He began to pick up items at random—throw-away pens, Christmas decorations, a wooden ruler and a school notebook.

Thinking of the beautiful baby doll with a complete change of clothes that she’d bought in Brisbane for Tilly, Jo decided he definitely needed help. But given their limited stock it wasn’t going to be easy.

How intriguing…What was this man doing out here in the middle of nowhere?

‘How far are you travelling?’ she asked.

‘To Agate Downs.’

‘Oh, I know that property. The Martens’ place. It’s not far. So you’re looking for a present for the little girl they’re caring for, are you?’

He looked startled. ‘You know her?’ He moved closer, his expression more intense.

‘Ivy? This is a small town. Sure, I’ve met her. Do you know what she likes?’

His throat worked. ‘No, I’ve never met her.’

‘She’s a lovely little thing.’ Jo was being totally honest. She’d been quite smitten by the little girl. She had the most exquisite face Jo had ever seen on a child and her prettiness was all the more striking because it contrasted so strongly with the ugly scars on her arm. The poor little mite had been terribly burned in an accident a few years ago. ‘Ivy’s been in here to shop with Ellen Marten a couple of times this week.’

‘Really?’

The eagerness in his voice and his eyes was perplexing. Jo looked at him sharply. Was she getting carried away or was there a resemblance between this man and the child? Ivy’s hair was dark and her eyes were clear green like his.

What was going on? Could he be Ivy’s father? Jo didn’t like to be too nosy, so she hadn’t asked the Martens about Ivy’s parents, but she’d heard rumours about a tragedy and there’d actually been talk about an estranged father coming to claim her.

Her customer sighed and gave a little shake of his head. ‘I’d completely forgotten that a little girl at Christmas needs a present.’

She felt a rush of sympathy. Come on, Jo, do something to help.

‘Would you like some of these?’ she asked, lifting the lid on a huge jar of chocolates wrapped in red, silver and gold foil. ‘Ivy’s quite partial to them.’ Just yesterday she’d slipped the little girl a chocolate when Ellen Marten wasn’t looking and she’d been rewarded by a beaming smile.

‘I’ll take the lot,’ he said, looking exceptionally pleased. ‘And I’ll have a couple of tins of the shortbread and a bag of those nuts.’

Jo lifted the metal scoop and said, ‘Perhaps I could gift wrap these things to make them look a little more festive?’

She was rewarded by another of his dangerous smiles. ‘That would be wonderful.’

Leaning one hip against the counter, he folded his arms across his chest and watched her as she began to wrap his purchases in red sparkly paper. She felt self-conscious as his green eyes watched her hands at work, cutting and folding paper, reaching for sticky tape and then measuring lengths of shiny silver and gold ribbon.

If it had been any other customer she would have chattered away, but she was too absorbed by the mystery of his connection with Ivy.

He didn’t seem in a hurry so she took her time making the gifts as pretty as she could, adding a sprinkle of glitter and a tiny white fluffy snowman on the chocolates.

‘Thank you so much, that’s terrific.’ He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, extracted several notes and held them out.

She noticed the glint of gold again. He was wearing a signet ring, engraved with a crest and worn on his little finger.

‘You will charge extra for all the trouble you’ve gone to, won’t you?’ he said.

‘Not when it’s Christmas.’ She sent him a quick smile as she handed him his change.

She expected him to leave then, but he continued to stand there, looking at the bright parcels on the counter with a long distance look in his eyes, as if he were lost in thought.

‘Was there something else?’ she asked tentatively. She wouldn’t mind at all if he wanted to stay longer. Nothing else like him was likely to happen to her this Christmas.

‘If only I could take something more exciting, something Ivy would really love,’ he said and he glanced behind him to the slightly dusty row of reading material and reached for a comic book. ‘What about this?’

An Action Man comic? Jo did her best not to look shocked. ‘I don’t think Ivy’s started school yet,’ she suggested gently. ‘I’d be surprised if she could read.’

He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘It would have been so simple to pick up a toy in Sydney. There isn’t time to ring a city toy shop and fly something out, is there?’

‘Well…no. I shouldn’t think so…’ Goodness, if he was prepared to hire an aircraft, this must be important. He must be Ivy’s father—and he must also be a man who made sure he got what he wanted. No wonder a box of chocolates seemed unsatisfactory, even with the pretty wrapping.

‘There are no other shops around here?’

‘No toy shops, I’m afraid. Not unless you want to backtrack about two hundred kilometres.’

With an air of resignation he began to gather up his parcels, but he moved without haste.

‘You really want to make a big impression on Ivy, don’t you?’ Jo suggested.

He nodded. ‘It’s vitally important.’

There was an intensity in his voice and a sadness in his eyes that sent an unexpected tiny pain sweeping through her. How awful for him if he was Ivy’s father, but had never met his daughter. And where was Ivy’s mother? What tragedy had occurred? Jo’s own family were very close and her soft heart ached for him.

‘Well…thank you very much for all your help,’ he said, turning to go.

Oh, crumbs. She felt rotten about sending him away with such inappropriate presents. ‘Look,’ she said to his back. ‘If this present is really important, I might be able to help you.’

He turned and looked at her, his green eyes intense. Fuzzy heat flashed through her.

‘I have a mountain of toys that I’ve bought for my brothers and sisters,’ she said. ‘Probably more than I’ll need. If—if you’d like to take a look at them, you’re welcome. We should be able to find some little toy to add to the chocolates.’

His green eyes studied her and she tried to look calm and unaffected, but then he did the crooked smile thing and her insides went crazy.

‘That’s incredibly kind of you.’

‘I’ll just call one of my brothers to come and mind the shop,’ she said. ‘Wait here.’ And, before he could protest, she hurried away through a door at the back of the shop.

It led directly into their house.

Down the central hallway she rushed, heading straight for the backyard where she knew from the boys’ shouts that they were playing cricket. And with every hasty step she fought off doubts.

She knew it was impulsive, but somehow this was something she had to do. Poor little Ivy deserved a proper Christmas present. And of course spending more time with Ivy’s gorgeous father was simply a chore to be endured…

She managed to convince her brother Bill that he was needed and then she almost ran back through the house. She was a touch breathless as she re-entered the shop.

The Englishman was still there, looking strangely out of place beside a mountain of dried dog food. He seemed to be making polite conversation with old Hilda Bligh, the town gossip.

‘There you are, Jo,’ said Hilda. ‘I was just telling Mr Strickland that if the shop’s empty we usually holler until someone comes.’

Goodness, Hilda already knew the man’s name. No doubt the old girl had been treated to one of his dangerously attractive smiles.

‘Sorry, Mrs Bligh, you know what Christmas Eve can be like. Here’s Bill. He’ll look after you.’

Jo glanced towards the Englishman, feeling rather foolish because she was about to invite him into her home and she didn’t know the first thing about him. ‘Can you come this way?’ she asked him.

‘It was very nice to meet you, Mr Strickland,’ called Hilda Bligh, smiling after him coyly.

Jo led the man through the doorway and into the shabby central passage that ran the full length of their house.

‘So you’re Mr Strickland?’ she said once they were clear of the shop.

‘Yes, my name’s Hugh—Hugh Strickland. And I believe you’re Jo.’

Jo nodded.

‘Short for Josephine?’

‘Joanna.’ She held out her hand. ‘Joanna Berry.’ Somehow it seemed important to shake hands—to make this exchange businesslike. But it wasn’t exactly businesslike to have her hand clasped warmly by Hugh Strickland.

‘I take it Hilda Bligh filled you in?’ she asked.

‘Indeed and with astonishing attention to detail.’

She groaned. ‘I hate to think what she’s told you.’

Hugh smiled. ‘I don’t think she told me what you scored on your spelling test in the second grade, but I believe I know just about everything else.’

‘I’m sorry. Outback towns are so—’

‘Exposing?’

Jo nodded her head and sighed. This really was the weirdest situation.

‘Yes, well…’ She took a deep breath. ‘We’d better take a look at these toys. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you into my bedroom.’

‘Really?’

He didn’t look shocked—he was too smooth for that—but Jo knew he was surprised. She made a joke of it. ‘Of course I don’t usually invite strange men into my room within minutes of meeting them.’

Amusement sparkled in his eyes. ‘Mrs Bligh didn’t mention it.’

Thank heavens he had a sense of humour.

‘I’ve hidden the presents in there, you see, and I can’t bring them out or one of the children might find them.’ She turned and led him down the passage.

But, despite her matter-of-fact air, she was suddenly nervous. It didn’t seem possible that she was actually doing this. She, ordinary, average Jo Berry, was taking a man who was a mixture of every gorgeous British actor she’d ever swooned over into her dreadful bedroom.

It was more than dreadful. She’d taken all her favourite bits and pieces to decorate her flat in Brisbane, so her room was as bare and as ugly as a prison cell.

It held nothing more than a simple iron bed with a worn and faded cover, bare timber floorboards, a scratched, unvarnished nightstand and an ancient wardrobe, once polished silky oak, but painted creamy-orange by her father during one of Mum’s decorating drives. The old Holland blind that covered her window was faded with age and had a watermark stain where rain had got in during a storm several summers ago.

‘Perhaps this isn’t a good idea,’ Hugh said. ‘I can’t take gifts from your family.’

‘But isn’t it vitally important to have a present for little Ivy?’

‘Well…’

Without further hesitation, Jo dragged her suitcase out from under the bed. ‘Luckily I haven’t wrapped these yet,’ she said, looking up at him over her shoulder.

And he was smiling again—that dangerous smile—with his eyes fixed directly on the expanding gap between her T-shirt and her jeans.

Heaving the suitcase on to her bed, she began hauling gifts out to pile on her bedspread.

What she was looking for were the stocking fillers she’d bought to help her mother out—small fluffy toys, plastic spiders, dress-up jewellery, fishing lures, puzzles…

But she more or less had to get everything out because these things were mixed in with the main presents—the action figures and video games for Bill and Eric; the books and CDs for the older boys; the ‘magic’ magnetic drawing board and hair accessories for Grace and the baby doll for Tilly.

She glanced up at Hugh and felt a pang of dismay when she saw the look in his eyes as he stared at the doll.

As baby dolls went, it was perfect. She’d been thrilled when she’d found it. It came in a little cane carry basket with a pink quilted lining and there was also a feeding bottle and a change of clothes.

‘You have quite a treasure trove here,’ he said.

‘I need to negotiate a bank loan every year just to cope with Christmas,’ she joked.

‘Six brothers and sisters…’

‘Mrs Bligh told you that too?’

He nodded and smiled, then looked back at the bed. ‘I’d pay you anything for that doll.’

Jo thought of Ivy. She was such a sweet little thing and for a fleeting moment she almost weakened. But then she came to her senses. ‘Sorry. Not possible. That’s earmarked for Tilly.’ She reached for a fluffy lavender-hued unicorn. ‘What about this? Unicorns are all the rage with the pre-school set.’

One dark eyebrow lifted. ‘I would never have guessed. I’m completely out of my depth when it comes to little girls.’

‘Or there’s this—’ She reached for some multicoloured plastic bangles, but stopped when she heard the sound of giggling on the other side of the door. Her stomach plunged.

Tiptoeing to the door, she listened. Yes, there was another burst of giggles.

Carefully, she opened the door a crack and found Tilly and Eric crouching there, their eyes dancing with merriment. ‘Get lost, you two.’

‘Bill says you’ve got a man in there,’ said Tilly.

‘That’s none of your business. Now run away.’

Eric bumped against the door as if he wanted to push it open, but Jo blocked it with her hip.

‘Is he your boyfriend?’ asked Tilly.

‘No, of course not. Now scram, both of you!’

Face aflame, Jo slipped back through the narrow opening, slammed the door shut and locked it again. Embarrassed, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, hardly daring to look at Hugh, but when she did she saw that he was standing in the middle of the room with his hands thrust in his trouser pockets, wearing an expression that was a complicated mixture of amusement and impatience.

‘I do appreciate your efforts.’ He gallantly remained silent about the antics of her siblings. ‘But I think I’d better be off.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Will you take the unicorn?’

‘Are you sure you can spare it?’

‘Absolutely. Right now, I’d be happy if you took all the presents. I might yet disown my entire family.’

He flashed her a smile. ‘Just the unicorn would be terrific, thank you.’

Jo thrust the fluffy toy into a non-see-through pink plastic bag and handed it to him. ‘Done.’

As she hastily transferred everything back into the suitcase and dropped the lid, Hugh reached for his wallet again.

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No money. It’s for Ivy.’ Quickly she opened the door.

‘I must say I’m terribly grateful to you,’ Hugh said. ‘I would have hated to turn up at Agate Downs on Christmas Eve without the right gift.’

His smile and his confession, delivered in his beautifully modulated, polite English voice, had the strangest effect on Jo. She had to fight off a weird impulse to bar the door so he couldn’t leave.

‘Well,’ she said, pushing such silliness out of her head and turning briskly businesslike again. ‘I mustn’t keep you any longer, Mr Strickland. I’m sure you need to be on your way and I’d better relieve Bill in the shop.’

He hurried off then. After delivering one last quick but sincere thank you he made a hasty farewell, heading out the front door in record time.

Leaping into his vehicle, he pulled out from the kerb at the same reckless speed with which he’d arrived.

And Jo was left feeling strangely deflated.

Her thoughts returned to where she’d been before he’d arrived. Remembering her friends at the office Christmas party in the city, all having a ball.

While Hugh Strickland, possibly the dishiest man in the world and as close to Prince Charming as Jo was ever likely to meet, was riding off in his glittering coach—well, OK, his four-wheel drive. Roaring down a bush track.