Christmas Gift: A Family

She hadn’t quite completed the gift-wrapping saga when there was a knock on her bedroom door. ‘Who is it?’ she called softly, not wanting to wake her sisters in the next room.

‘It’s Mum.’

‘Just a minute.’ Jo had been wrapping her mother’s presents—French perfume and a CD compilation of her mum’s favourite music from the sixties and seventies—so she slipped these quickly under her pillow. ‘I’m almost finished.’

When she opened the door her mother looked strangely excited. ‘You have a visitor.’

‘Really? Who is it?’

‘An Englishman. He says his name’s Hugh Strickland.’

An arrow-swift jolt shot through Jo. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’ Margie Berry’s brow wrinkled into a worried frown. ‘Who is he, love? He seems very nice and polite, but do you want me to send him away?’

‘Oh, no,’ Jo answered quickly. ‘He’s just a customer. He—he was in the shop this afternoon.’

‘Yes, he told me that. He said you were very helpful.’ Margie looked expectant, but Jo was reluctant to go into details.

Her mind raced. Why was Hugh here? He was supposed to be at Agate Downs. ‘W-where is he?’

‘I found him on the back veranda, talking to Dad and the boys, but it’s you he wants. He asked for you ever so politely, so I told him to wait in the kitchen.’

‘The kitchen?’ Her bedroom had been bad enough and Jo winced when she tried to picture Hugh Strickland in their big old out-of-date kitchen, cluttered this evening with the aftermath of Mum’s Christmas baking. Somehow the image wouldn’t gel.

Jo was gripping the door handle so hard her hand ached as she let it go. This didn’t make sense. ‘Did you ask him why he wants to see me?’

Margie gave an irritated toss of her head. ‘No, I didn’t.’

Jo wished she had a chance to check her appearance in the mirror, but her mother was waiting with her hands on her hips and a knowing glint in her eyes. Besides, what was the point of titivating? Hugh Strickland had already seen her today and she would look much the same as she had earlier. Her smooth brown hair was cut into a jaw-length bob that never seemed to get very untidy and she wasn’t wearing make-up, and there wasn’t much she could do to improve her plain white T-shirt and blue jeans.

Just the same, she felt nervous as she set off down the passage for the kitchen, as if she were going to an audition for a part in a play but had no idea what role she was trying for.

Hugh was standing near the scrubbed pine table in the middle of the room and the moment she saw him she went all weak-kneed and breathless.

And that was before he smiled.

Oh, heavens, he was good-looking. She’d been beginning to wonder if perhaps her imagination had exaggerated how gorgeous he was.

No way. His dark hair was still spiky, but that was part of his appeal, as was the five o’clock shadow that darkened his strong jaw line. And beyond that there was a subtle air of superiority about him—a matter of breeding perhaps, something unmistakable like the born-to-win lines of a well-bred stallion.

But behind his charming smile she could sense banked-up emotion carefully held in check. What was it? Anger? Impatience? Dismay?

She wondered if she should ask him to sit down, but his tension suggested he’d rather stand. Why had he returned so soon?

He answered that question immediately when he held out the pink plastic bag she’d given him. ‘I came to return this.’

Frowning, Jo accepted it. She could feel the shape of the fluffy unicorn still inside. Her mind raced, trying to work out what this could mean. ‘Couldn’t you find your way to Agate Downs?’

‘I found the place,’ he said. ‘Your directions were spot on.’

‘So what happened? Weren’t the Martens home?’

‘I turned back without seeing them.’ A muscle worked in his jaw and he dropped his gaze. His face seemed to stiffen. ‘I had second thoughts. It’s the wrong time.’

‘Oh.’ What else could she say? This was none of her business. ‘That’s a—a pity.’ A few hours ago it had been vitally important that Hugh made a good impression on the child. And it had seemed important that it happened today. Jo pressed her lips together, fighting the impulse to interrogate him.

He looked up briefly and she caught a stronger flash of emotion in his intense gaze before he looked away again. Was it anger? ‘I didn’t want to spoil Ivy’s Christmas. I—I mean—her guardians knew that I was on my way, but I realised it would be intrusive.’

She wondered how Hugh Strickland would react if he knew that the locals were gossiping about him.

His eyes sought hers again. ‘I suddenly thought how it would be for Ivy to have a strange man turning up on her doorstep on Christmas Eve, claiming—’ He broke off in mid-sentence.

Claiming…what? Jo’s tense hands tightened around the package and the unicorn let out a sharp squeak. She was so uptight that she jumped.

‘So what will you do now?’ she asked.

‘I’ve found a room at the pub.’

‘Oh…good.’

‘I’ll stay there till Christmas is over and I’ll go back to the Martens’ place on Boxing Day.’

Jo thrust the unicorn back into his hands. ‘If you’re still hoping to see Ivy, you must keep this. You’ll need it.’

Their hands were touching now, and as they both held the package she was exquisitely aware of Hugh’s strong, warm fingers covering hers.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I came here tonight because I wanted to give this back to you in time for your family’s Christmas. There won’t be the same pressing urgency for a gift for Ivy once Christmas is over. And this was really meant for one of your sisters.’

He was looking directly into her eyes and making her heart pound.

Their gazes remained linked for longer than was necessary, and Jo knew she would always remember the shimmering intimacy of his green eyes as he looked at her then and the heated touch of his hands on hers.

It was almost depressing to realise that memories of this handsome stranger were going to haunt her nights and linger in her daydreams…for ages into the future…

‘Please keep the unicorn.’ She felt so breathless her voice was hardly more than a whisper. ‘Believe me, little girls always like presents.’

He sent her a quick smile. ‘If you insist. I’ll trust your deep understanding of what little girls like. The only one I know well is my goddaughter, but she’s only six months old, so our communication has been somewhat limited.’

‘Believe me, where presents are concerned, little girls are no different from big girls; they never get tired of receiving gifts.’

His eyes flashed confident amusement.

‘But I’m sure you already know that.’

‘Indeed.’

But then he seemed to remember something else and almost immediately his smile faded.