Orphan Under the Christmas Tree

It was Lauren who moved closer, Lauren who put her arms around him, slipping her hands beneath his shoulders so she could reach around his body, then she hugged him tightly to her, her head pressed against his chest, a whispered ‘Thank you for being there for me tonight’ rising up into his ears.

Then, just as he was certain she’d feel his body’s unacceptable reaction to the embrace, she pulled away, picked up the duvet from the floor, and left the room.

CHAPTER THREE

LAUREN shouldn’t have hugged him, she knew. Of course she shouldn’t, especially not without asking, but his words had sounded so bleak and there’d been such sadness lingering in his eyes as she’d stood at the bedroom door that she’d been unable to resist.

The problem was that now, lying on his folded duvet, smelling the man that had permeated it, she could still feel the tremors of—what, attraction?—that hugging him had startled into life. Tremors she hadn’t felt in years but still recognised for what they were—definitely attraction!

In truth, she had always been attracted to Tom—what woman wouldn’t be?—which was why she’d never accepted any of the invitations he’d offered when he’d first arrived in town. Attraction led down pathways she didn’t want to follow. Attraction led to trouble …

And disappointment.

Even disgust from one man she’d gone out with—a man who’d called her names that shamed her even now to think about, a man who had been disgusted when she’d tried to explain it was terror that had stopped her, not a desire to tease and walk away, definitely not a wish to anger him in any way …

Go to sleep, she told herself, trying to shut down her mind, knowing she’d need to be ready for anything the following day. Above her on the bed, Bobby stirred, and Lauren reached up to touch his arm, talking quietly to him, telling him she was there and she’d look after him, although she knew he’d probably moved in his sleep and couldn’t hear her words.

It was enough of a reminder of her responsibility to Bobby that it enabled her, at last, to stop thinking about tremors of attraction, and Tom, and the past, and drift into a deep sleep.

They were both still sleeping when Tom looked into the bedroom at eight the following morning. The revolting nightdress had ridden up so he could see Lauren’s long, slim, tanned legs curled into the folds of his faded navy duvet.

Could he wake up to Lauren underneath that covering? he wondered. Wake up close to her, not practically falling off the edge of his big bed the way he always had when women shared it?

He shook his head at the way his mind was working. It was lack of sleep, and the uncertainty of the outcome of the collapse of the stands, not to mention Bobby’s future, that was making him think things he shouldn’t think. He should go across to the hospital to see the patients they’d admitted, but he knew someone would have phoned him if he’d been needed and, besides, he was reluctant to leave the house without letting Lauren know where he was.

Somehow the sleeping woman and boy had become his responsibilities, and he, who’d shied away deliberately from any responsibility outside his work, was finding it strange but no less binding for that.

They’d have to stay—

‘Good morning? Have you been standing there all night? Scared one of us would wake up and pinch the silver while you slept?’

He looked down to see Lauren smiling up at him, golden hair tousled around her head, looking so unutterably beautiful and desirable his body did its unacceptable reaction thing again.

‘Well?’ the beautiful desirable woman on the floor prompted.

‘I just poked my head around the door to see if anyone was awake. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’

He had to move, get away, stop looking at her, so he hoped she’d say yes to liquid refreshment, but instead she shook her head, said a brief, ‘No thank you,’ then sat up and checked Bobby as she spoke.

‘But we do need to talk,’ she added quietly, standing so the nightdress hem fell down to cover those long, slim legs most discreetly, and walking quietly towards him.

He led the way into the living room, knowing she’d want to stay within earshot of Bobby.

‘So talk,’ he said, and smiled when she stared at him, confusion in her beautiful eyes.

‘Well,’ she finally said, frowning at him now, ‘I’m not sure where to start. Bobby first, of course, and probably we don’t have to talk about him because Mike might have found some relatives but I’d be—I’d be unhappy about letting him go into care if there are no relatives—not right now anyway. And I know I’m not making much sense but Bobby’s had a rough time of things lately, and somehow I’d like to think that even though he’s lost his mother, once he’s over that initial grief, his life might get better.’

The rush of words stopped abruptly and she looked directly at him, her gaze so deliberate Tom wasn’t altogether surprised when she asked, ‘What happened to you? Back when you were Bobby? Will you tell me? It’s not idle curiosity, I hope you know that, but if you’ve been where he is now, then maybe your experience will help.’

Lauren guessed immediately that he wasn’t going to tell her. It was as if he’d lowered shutters on his face, right there while she was watching him.

The memories must be bad—really bad for him to shut her out like that—and a tremendous sense of guilt that she’d pried swept through her.

Without further thought, she got up from her chair and went to sit on the arm of his, resting her hand on his shoulder.

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ she assured him. ‘I should have known better than to ask. It was just that Bobby—well, you don’t have to say anything and maybe I will have a cup of tea and if you don’t mind staying here to listen for him, I can probably find my way around your kitchen and fix it for myself, would you like one?’

The words rattled out, her uneasiness added to by the tension she could feel beneath her fingers, Tom’s muscles as tight as steel hawsers. But as she stood, desperate to escape the terrible atmosphere in the room—the atmosphere she had caused—he caught her hand and pulled her back and she landed in his lap, her face close enough to see the lines of tiredness in his face and read memories he didn’t want to think about in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, touching that ravaged face.

‘Don’t be,’ he said, then he put his head down on her shoulder, slipped his arms around her body, and just rested there, holding her, until she felt his body relax and his lips, surprisingly, move against the skin on her shoulder in what felt like a kiss.

He lifted his head—it couldn’t have been a kiss—and looked her in the eye.

‘Do you believe in fate?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said, ‘well, not entirely. I don’t think every single thing in our lives happens for a reason, if that’s what you mean by fate.’

‘Neither do I, but with Bobby coming into our lives right now, I have to wonder.’

Our lives? Lauren thought, but she didn’t query it out loud. Tom had something he wanted to say and she didn’t want to divert his train of thought, although ‘our lives’ had brought her tremors back again and, given that she was still sitting on his knee, the tremors were likely to get the wrong idea.

‘My parents and my older sister were killed in a car accident when I was six. I survived and was taken in by Children’s Services until a relative was found—a grandmother I’d never met because my parents had been cut off from their families. Cue violins for real Romeo and Juliet family feud scenario but they didn’t die tragically young, my parents. They lived on to have two children then died.’

Lauren rested against him, wanting to hug him as she’d hugged Bobby, wanting to hug the six-year-old orphan Tom had been, but she held back, wary of distracting him from a story that sounded rusty, as if it was a long time since it had been told—if ever …

‘It didn’t work out with Grandmother, so Children’s Services were called in again—and again, and again, and again. I wasn’t the kind of kid foster-families liked—not quiet and biddable and appreciative of all they were doing for me. I was rebellious and loud and full of hate and denial. When I was fifteen I finally got lucky with some foster-parents who ignored all the horrible bits of me, and concentrated on some glimmer of good that no one else had found. Perhaps I hadn’t had it earlier, I don’t know. They were kind people—all of them were kind, in fact—but these two encouraged me to put all my anger and energy into my school work, hence the doctor you see before you.’

Long pause.

Should she break the silence?

But how?

Her mind had gone on strike back when he’d said ‘Grandmother’ and Lauren had envisaged a stern, upright woman who didn’t know how to handle a bereft little boy …

A granny or a nana might have known—would have known for sure—but a grandmother?

Unable to think of a single thing to say, Lauren rested against this man she’d never known existed inside the Tom she did know, and hoped her closeness might ease some of the pain this delving into his past had caused.

He didn’t seem to object. In fact, his arms tightened around her and they sat in warm, comfortable silence, and maybe would have sat like that all day had Bobby not let out a yell from the bedroom, which sent her scooting off Tom’s knee and hurrying in that direction.

‘Hi, Bobby,’ she said as she walked into the bedroom, her heart aching as she looked at the sleep-rumpled little boy.