Winter Wonderland Wishes: A Mummy to Make Christmas / His Christmas Bride-to-Be / A Father This Christmas?

It had been decided that it was time they returned to Washington and settled down. They were both single and in their early twenties, and the families’ combined strategy had been to use the wedding as their wayward daughters’ entrée into the right circles. They’d hoped that a society wedding would help the girls meet potential husbands and leave their wild life behind them.

Unfortunately that had never happened. They’d flown in a few days before the final dress fittings and managed to ruin Phoebe’s life in the process.

Looking back, Phoebe realised that everything about that day had been wrong, but at the time she hadn’t been able to step back far enough to see it for what it really was. But now she could. The three months since the scheduled wedding day that never happened had given her time to see Giles for the man he was. Controlling, calculating and ambitious. There was nothing wrong with ambition, but, fuelled by his other character flaws and good looks, it made for a man who would do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted—and apparently with whomever he wanted. A misogynist, with a lot of family money and connections.

Phoebe would be eternally grateful to the best man, Adrian, who had delivered the bad news the day before their nuptials. She appreciated that it had been a difficult call for him, but knew he had spent a number of months working closely as a political intern with her father and respected him enormously. Adrian had told Phoebe that he cared too much for her and her family to stand by and let Giles hurt her. He’d broken the boys’ club rules and she knew he would no doubt pay the price with his peers. She also knew that her father would do his best to support him, but Adrian was not motivated by professional gain and that made his act even more admirable. Honesty in the political arena was rare, and Phoebe and her father were both grateful.

Phoebe’s head was spinning as she was finally called up to one of the immigration booths. She dragged her hand luggage behind her and handed over her passport. Then, with everything in order, her visa was stamped and she was waved through to collect her luggage.

‘Enjoy your stay, Miss Johnson.’

Phoebe’s lips curved slightly. It was an attempt at a smile but she was still not sure how she felt and whether she had just made another of life’s bad calls—a huge error she would live to regret almost as much as accepting the first date with Giles and, six short months later, his proposal in the opulent wood-panelled and chandelier-filled dining room of that five star hotel in Washington.

The ring was a spectacular four-carat diamond, set in platinum, and it had been served on a silver platter alongside her crème brûlée dessert. A single strategically placed violin had played as Giles had fallen to one knee. But it had only been a fleeting kiss on the forehead he’d given her when she’d agreed to be his wife.

It hadn’t been a passionate relationship, but she had still believed their life together could be perfect. He wasn’t one to show public displays of affection and she had accepted that. In hindsight, she suspected he preferred to look around at all the enamoured faces in the room rather than at hers. He had enjoyed the attention the proposal had focused on him. In person and in the media.

As she shuffled through the airport to collect her checked baggage Phoebe drew a deep breath and thought about the irony of his reticence in showing any public display of affection with her while enjoying very private displays of affection with other women. And she felt sure there had been more than the two she knew about. It was all about appearances. And what happened behind closed doors seemed inconsequential to him.

She shuddered with the thought of how close she’d come to being his wife. And the lies that would have been the foundation of their marriage.

No matter what lay ahead, her life had to be better than that.

CHAPTER TWO (#uac37a972-452e-56b1-a828-7026e8ac2f2f)

THE MOMENT PHOEBE saw the sign ‘Welcome to Adelaide’ she decided she would quiet her doubts. There was no room for second-guessing herself. She was already in her new home. This is it, she said to herself silently as she collected her luggage and then made her way to the cab rank. No turning back now.

The airport was only twenty minutes from the centre of town, where she would be living. The town she would call home for six months. Six months in which she hoped to sort out her life, her head, and if possible her heart—and forget about the man who had seduced her bridesmaids.

‘You were supposed to meet potential husbands—not hump the groom!’ she muttered under her breath.

Phoebe noticed the cab driver staring at her strangely in the rear vision mirror. His eyes widened. She realised that her muttering must have been audible to him and she bit her lip and looked out of the window in silence.

Phoebe paid the driver, giving him a generous tip. She had been told it was not necessary in Australia, but it was second nature. He placed her suitcases on the pavement and tucked the fare into his pocket. She was left standing in the heat.

It was a dry heat, like the Nevada desert, and it engulfed her like a hot blanket dropped from the sky. She was grateful that she had changed on the two-hour stopover in Auckland, and was now wearing a light cotton sundress and flat sandals. She lugged her heavy suitcases, one at a time, up the steps to the quaint single-fronted sandstone townhouse that she prayed had air-conditioning. The suitcases were so heavy it would have cost a small fortune in excess baggage if her father hadn’t insisted on paying for her first class flight.

On Phoebe’s personal budget, post hand-beaded wedding dress, along with the purchase of the maid of honour’s and the bridesmaids’ dresses, beautifully crafted designer heels for four, three pearl thank-you bracelets and half of a non-refundable European honeymoon, she could only have managed a premium economy flight. But she’d been so desperate to leave Washington for the furthest place that came to mind she would have rowed to Australia just to get away from the drama of the cancelled wedding and her desolate mother.

Phoebe drew another laboured breath. A week ago she’d known little of Adelaide, save the international bike race and the tennis that took over the city in January. Her career as a podiatric surgeon specialising in sports-related conditions made her aware of most large-scale sporting events worldwide. She hoped that her skills would be utilised in Adelaide, a city ten thousand miles from home. She was there with no clear plan for the future. She did, however, have a job.

Her father had been wonderful. It was fortunate for Phoebe that his role at the White House gave him the knowledge and connections to assist her, which meant that her application to practise in Australia had been fast-tracked. She met all of the criteria, and her credentials were impeccable, so approval had been granted.

She’d had the option of a small practice in Adelaide or a much larger practice in Melbourne that focused entirely on elite sportsmen and women. While the second option was her dream job, it was still a few weeks off being secured, and Phoebe had liked the idea of leaving town immediately. She had also done some research around the sole practitioner, Dr Ken Rollins, a podiatric surgeon in his early sixties with an inner-city practice and the need for an associate for six months. The position sounded perfect. His research papers were particularly interesting and Phoebe looked forward to working with him.

So she was more than happy with her decision. They were two very different opportunities, but she felt confident she had made the right choice.

Opening the door to her leased townhouse was heavenly. It was like opening a refrigerator. The air-conditioning was on high and the blinds were half closed, giving a calm ambience to the space. There was a large basket of fruit and assorted nibbles on the kitchen bench. Her father, no doubt, she mused.

She dropped her bags, closed the front door and wandered around the house for a moment before she found the bedroom and flung herself across the bed. Embarrassed at remembering what she’d said to herself in the cab, she kicked off her shoes and then reminded herself that the driver would have witnessed far worse than a jet-lagged passenger’s mutterings. The pillow was so cool and soft against her face as she closed her heavy eyes. Exhaustion finally got the better of her and she fell into a deep unexpected sleep.

It was nearly four hours before Phoebe stirred from her unplanned afternoon nap. Her rumbling stomach had woken her and she remembered the basket she had spied on her arrival. The fruit was delicious, and she had opened the refrigerator door to find sparkling water, assorted juices, a cold seafood platter, two small salads and half a dozen single serve yoghurt tubs.

Thanks, Dad.

She smiled. She knew her father must have called the landlord and arranged for the house to be stocked. She knew, despite what she said, that he felt to blame for the way everything had turned out as he had introduced to her young, ‘going places’ political intern fiancé.

John Johnson had thought Giles was a focussed young man with a huge career ahead of him and he’d had no hesitation in introducing him to Phoebe. He’d been polite, astute, with no apparent skeletons in the closet, and from a well-respected Washington family. But they had all been hoodwinked.

There was no way that John could have foreseen the disaster. And he had done everything in his power to get her away from the situation when it had turned ugly. Phoebe would never blame him for anything.

After eating, Phoebe showered and sent her father a text message to let him know she was safe and sound and to thank him for everything he had arranged. Then she raised the air-conditioning temperature enough to ensure that she didn’t freeze during the night before setting the alarm on her phone and climbing back into bed.

She just wanted to be fresh and not suffering the effects of jet-lag.

Eight hours later, as Phoebe lifted the blinds and looked across the Adelaide parklands, she felt refreshed. She had never flown such a distance and had expected to be exhausted, but she was feeling better than she had in months. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

The view from her bedroom window was picturesque. The morning sun lit up the large pinkish-grey gum trees towering over the beautifully manicured gardens. The flowers were in bloom in the garden’s beds and it was like a pastel rainbow. It was a new beginning.

She reached for her phone and took a snapshot, sent it to her father in a quick text, then headed for the shower. She wasn’t about to be late for her first day on the job. She wanted to get there early and learn the ropes before the patients arrived. Working with an older, more experienced specialist would be a learning experience for Phoebe, and she was excited by the prospect. It would keep her mind off everything she had been through.

Ken Rollins’s papers focussed on his holistic and conservative approach in treating lower limb conditions, using a variety of modalities such as gait retraining, orthotic therapy, dry needling and exercise modification. Phoebe had printed the most recent before she’d left Washington and she’d read it on her flight over. He would be a great mentor.

It was going to be a much-needed change and Phoebe couldn’t be more optimistic. After all, she had heard Adelaide was the place to raise children or retire, and it had the highest aging population of any other capital city, so she assumed there would be a lower than average population of single men. Single, arrogant, self-serving men, all incapable of remaining faithful. There truly couldn’t be a better city in the world for her at that moment, but for the fact that she knew she would miss Christmas with her family. It was her favourite time of year. But it was the price she had to pay for her sanity.

As Phoebe stepped out of her house half an hour later the heat of the day was already building. She felt glad she had chosen a simple cream skirt that skimmed her knees, a black and cream striped blouse and black patent Mary Jane kitten heels with a slingback, so she didn’t need to wear stockings. Her shoulder-length chestnut hair was pulled into a high ponytail and she had applied tinted sunscreen, a light lip gloss and some mascara.

She hoped the practice rooms would be as cool as her townhouse. Her previous address at this time of the year was freezing cold at best and icy on bad days. She knew she wouldn’t cope in the heat for too long, but felt confident that the inner-city practice would be cool as a cucumber.

Unfortunately, as she discovered five minutes later, she couldn’t have been more wrong. The air-conditioning at the practice had been working overtime during the heatwave. Phoebe had arrived when the city had been sweltering for close to a week. The infrastructure of the old building was buckling and clearly the air-conditioning had been the first thing to succumb. It was like a sauna as she entered, and she wondered if it wasn’t cooler outside than inside the old building.

A bell above the door had chimed as she’d walked in but the waiting room was empty and it appeared no one had heard her enter. Standing alone in the uncomfortable, stifling air she felt sure that in minutes she would be reduced to a melting mess. Not a great first impression, she surmised as she looked around anxiously, all the while hoping that Ken Rollins would appear at any minute and take her into the air-conditioned section of the practice. There had to be an air-conditioned part.

Then, in the distance, she heard a noise and saw a very tall male figure walking down the corridor towards her. She blinked as she saw that he was bare to the waist with a white hand towel around his neck. She pinned her hopes on the fact this man was working on the air-conditioning and that he was good at his job, because she was wilting quickly. And she doubted her more senior boss would enjoy working in these conditions either.

She couldn’t help but notice as he drew near that the man was wearing dress pants and highly polished shoes. Although nothing covered his very chiselled, sweat-dampened chest.

‘I’m looking for Dr Ken Rollins. I’m Dr Phoebe Johnson from Washington.’

‘You’re Phoebe Johnson?’ the man said, with a look of surprise on his handsome face and doubt colouring his deep voice.

‘Yes, I am. Did he tell you I was arriving?’

The man wiped his forehead and then his hands on the towel he was carrying, then stretched out his free hand. ‘I’m Heath Rollins, Ken’s son, and I’ve been expecting you.’

His voice was sonorous and austere. And the frown on Phoebe’s face did little to mask her confusion. Why on earth was he expecting her and why was he half naked?

‘So are you here to repair the air-conditioning for your father?’