The Nurse's Christmas Temptation / A Mistletoe Kiss For The Single Dad

“Love them,” he said, which came as no surprise to her, really. He seemed the type.

“So how come you don’t have a dog or three?”

Cam shook his head. “Maybe one day I will, but right now a pet would tie me down too much. Every time I want to go away I’d have to find someone to look after it.”

Unable to decide whether that was a smart or a selfish way to be, Harmony made no comment. Instead she made soft, hopefully enticing sounds to the alpacas, trying to coax them closer, but they weren’t interested and, after a short time, they turned and started back toward the building.

“That was where Gavin’s parents lived,” Cam said. “He and his four siblings were born and grew up in that crofter’s cottage. Gav built the farmhouse for himself and Hillary when they married, and after his parents had passed away, and none of the children wanted to come back here to live, he converted it into a supplementary barn.”

“Wow. Seven people in that little building? Must have been cramped,” he said as they were heading back to the vehicle.

“I think they were used to it,” he said, as they got back in. “And they spent enough time outdoors to make it doable. They all had to help on the farm when they weren’t at school, and with sheep—which is all Gav’s father had back then—there’s always something needs doing.”

Further conversation was curtailed by the racket of the motor starting up. Then they were off again, heading for the up-thrust of boulders, which she discovered was far larger and higher than she’d first thought.

Cam left the path and bumped across the field, straight for it. Harmony was hanging on, wanting to tell him to slow down but finding the words caught in her throat. He finally slowed, then stopped within a couple of yards of the rocks. When he turned off the vehicle the sudden silence rang in her ears.

There was a wild, stark beauty to the landscape: gray rocks interspersed with autumn-colored ground cover and a few bare-limbed trees. In the sky a raptor of some type circled, and the whisper of the wind was the only sound. When Cam spoke it was in a low tone, as though he didn’t want to break the spell of quietude.

“Come on. Let me show you the best view in all Eilean Rurie.”

They got out, and Harmony followed Cam to the boulders. But when he started to climb she hung back, shaking her head.

“I’m not going up there,” she said, trying not to show her instinctive fear. “I don’t know how to climb.”

Looking back at her, he said, “This isn’t climbing, really. Just a little scramble. It’s perfectly safe, and if you’re not feeling confident go ahead of me and I’ll guide you.”

Oh, how she regretted not wearing the Wellington boots, which would have given her a solid reason not even to attempt the climb. But she’d worn her trainers instead, and with Cam’s eager expression and outstretched hand she was completely torn.

Anything to do with climbing—even what he called a scramble up some boulders—filled her with terror.

“Scared?” he asked, his eyebrows going up. “Are you afraid of heights?”

Was there a condescending note in his question? Whether there was or wasn’t, it got Harmony’s dander up and she lifted her chin.

“No, I’m not,” she said, gathering her courage and stepping up on the first rock. “Lead the way.”

Cam climbed with the ease of familiarity, but made sure to look back often and make sure Harmony wasn’t having any difficulties.

They didn’t talk, except when he warned her of a longer step, or a spot where there was a crack to watch out for. She was obviously inexperienced, hesitating in places, searching for a good hand or foothold in areas where, to him, it was obvious. But he had to admit she was game, and she grew even higher in his estimation.

He’d been sure she’d refuse to go to the top of Ada Tor. In fact, he would swear she’d been petrified when he’d suggested it. Yet here she was, more than halfway to the top, soldiering on. Hard not to admire her grit.

When he got to the top he reached back to help her up the last little bit, but she ignored his hand and scrambled up by herself. As she stood beside him, dusting her hands off on her jeans, he watched her look around, and he saw the dawning pleasure on her face at the vista laid out before her.

The land fell away in dips and swirls, the contours and colors reminding him of a Van Gogh painting, and in the distance lay the sea, a smooth blue expanse so far away. Just visible to the southeast were the roofs of the town, and to the west the little crescent of buildings making up the fishing village. Sheep and a few horses dotted the fields, but it was the quality of the air and the perfect height of the sun that really brought out the island’s splendor.

“How lovely…” she breathed, turning to look back toward where the mainland was just a smudge on the horizon above the trees along the northern coast.

“I told you it was the best view,” he said, and found himself taking in the familiar sight and appreciating it even more than usual. Something in her awestruck expression made him see it through fresh eyes.

“Is this rock formation natural?” she asked, still turning slowly to see everything all over again.

“I think it is,” he replied. “Although there isn’t another like it on the island. Legend has it that there’s a Celtic princess buried under it, but I don’t think it’s true.”

“Hence the name Ada Tor?”

“Yes.”

He sat down on a handy rock, still gazing out. After a moment she joined him, and he shuffled over to give her more room. Her fresh, sweet scent wafted over him and stirred something deep inside.

In the distance a truck rumbled along the road, and she pointed to it briefly. “I can’t get used to seeing so many vehicles here all of a sudden. It’s surprising after hardly seeing any at all.”

“They’re probably delivering Christmas trees to Angus’s farm. He always gets his early because he has so much work to do. The rest will come later in the week.”

Harmony sighed quietly, and he somehow knew she was thinking of her family and all she’d miss this year.

“Will you tell me what you used to do with your gran and your mum for Christmas? I’m curious to know about some of your customs.”

She gave him a sideways glance, before staring out at where the truck had disappeared into a dip in the land.

“It wasn’t much different from other English families, I guess,” she said, but then proceeded to prove herself wrong.

It was as if a dam had broken, and Cam could only listen as she listed all the things she’d be missing this year. There were things he’d never heard of—what on earth was a gizzada, or jonkanoo?—but other things he completely understood. Lots of poinsettias, since they were such a popular tradition in the Caribbean. Watching favorite movies, listening to beloved songs. Decorating the tree together and inviting everyone they knew to come by to exchange gifts and have drinks.

It wasn’t so different from what happened here, he thought as she fell silent. Some different cultural traditions, of course, but the picture she painted of family and friends, of a community sharing laughter and joy, labor and company, was the same.

Without thought he looped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. When she stiffened he almost let his arm drop, but then she turned her face to look at him and he froze, captivated and enticed by her solemn eyes, her soft lips.

The wind had died, and their faces were so close together her breath rushed warm across his mouth. Cam inhaled, wanting to take it into his lungs, hold on to it just for a moment.

Want spiked through his veins, so strong it wrapped around his chest, making it tight. It was there in her eyes too, he thought, the same anticipation and curiosity that was heating him through.

Then she blinked, color flooding her cheeks with a rose-toned blush, and Cam finally heeded the danger signs flashing in his head as they pulled away simultaneously.

The sensation of having her warm, soft body against his side lingered, though, reminding him of what was so close and yet should be ignored.

He cleared his throat, searching for a memory of what they’d been talking about so as to bring them back from the sensual ledge they’d stepped out on. “Christmas at your house sounds wonderful. I’m sorry you won’t have that this year.”

She turned her face away from his, but not before he saw that her eyes were misty.

“I just have to accept it’ll never be that way again,” she said quietly, a little quaver in her voice. Abruptly she rose and turned back toward where they’d climbed up. “Let’s get down now. I have work to do.”

He followed her lead without comment, but inside he was wondering what, if anything he could do to make the season ahead better for her.

Despite knowing it was ridiculous, his heart had ached on hearing her pour out her pain. And he certainly shouldn’t want to hold her, comfort her, kiss her the way he was drawn to do.

Yet that was exactly how he felt.

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