His Christmas Angel

‘You’re not joining us?’

‘I’m watching the test match, as you well know, missy.’

‘Well, don’t let me keep you.’

Sol watched in amazement as a reluctant grin spread across Alec’s face. He couldn’t remember Alec smiling for…well, he guessed it’d be eighteen years.

‘Watch your back around this one,’ he told Sol. ‘She’s just as likely to stick the knife in and twist it as not.’

It was the longest sentence Alec had uttered in the last half an hour. Sol had been gone for ten years. Ten years. But when he’d walked through the front door Alec had glanced up and muttered, ‘So you’re back, then,’ as if Sol had just returned from the corner shop.

He’d been tempted to walk back out and book into a motel.

‘And don’t you forget it.’ Cassie laughed as Alec wheeled back inside. She poured out two glasses of water and pushed one towards Sol. ‘He’s getting better. He didn’t bellyache at me about the kittens.’

‘Why do you say he’s scared?’

She frowned, as if he’d disappointed her. ‘Wouldn’t you be scared if you were dying, Sol?’

He stared back, speechless. Ice trickled down the collar of his shirt and dripped down his backbone.

Cassie’s eyes widened, then her hand flew to her mouth. ‘You didn’t know?’

Nope. Nobody had bothered mentioning that.

‘But isn’t that why you’re home? I thought you’d talked to Dr Phillips.’

‘I did.’ He dragged a hand down his face. ‘All he said was Alec needed to go into the nursing home. And that he expected a spot to become available after Christmas.’

Air whistled between her teeth. ‘Of all the spineless…Wait till I get hold of him. I’m sorry, Sol, I’d never have blurted it out like that if—’

‘It’s not your fault, Cassie.’ It was his. He’d stayed away too long. Questions clamoured through him, but as a kitten used his leg as a scratching post one of the least pressing popped out of his mouth. ‘What are you doing with all these kittens?’

‘They’re Christmas presents for my senior citizens.’

Who were her senior citizens? Water sloshed over the sides of his glass as he dropped it back to the table. ‘Good God, you’re not giving one to Alec, are you?’

‘What do you think?’ she snorted. ‘Besides, you can’t have pets at the nursing home.’

A hard ball settled in the pit of his stomach as he watched a kitten attack the shoelaces on one of her sneakers. A sneaker attached to a long, lean leg. His eyes travelled upwards. Man, did she have great legs or what? They were firm and shapely, as if she got enough to eat these days.

She hunched over and smoothed the skirt of her dress over her knees. ‘You never called him Dad, did you? You always called him Alec.’

The huskiness of her voice hauled him back. His lips twisted as he met her gaze. ‘Nobody could ever accuse Alec and me of being close, now, could they?’

‘No,’ she agreed. She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. Condensation gathered beneath it. ‘He’s changed, Sol.’ Her finger stilled. ‘He hasn’t had a drink in two years.’

Was she serious? The hard ball in his stomach grew. Was it the drink that had made him sick? Why else would she…? ‘What are you trying to say, Cassie?’

She hesitated, then her lips twisted into a wry smile. ‘Have you come home to make your peace with him, Sol?’

‘Or?’

‘Or to gloat?’

He leapt to his feet. ‘You think I’ve—’

She held a finger to her lips and hitched her head in the direction of the door. ‘Mind the kitten.’ It scampered between his feet and settled under his chair. Another one joined it. Gingerly he lowered himself back to his seat, but he couldn’t unbend his backbone.

‘Look, Sol, I do understand.’

He wished to hell he did.

‘I had a mother like Alec, remember?’

Yeah, he remembered. Some days he wished to hell he could forget. ‘And you always called her Mum. Did you make your peace with her before she died?’

A curtain of hair fell across her face, hiding her eyes, and he immediately regretted his harshness. He shouldn’t take this out on her. She was the last person who deserved it.

‘No, I never made peace with my mother. She never stopped drinking long enough for me to try it.’

Hell, she wasn’t going to cry, was she? Cassie never cried. He hadn’t—

‘And now she’s dead.’ She smiled at him. A sad little smile that speared right through the centre of him.

He reached out and covered her hand with his. ‘You didn’t deserve that, Cassie.’

She turned her hand over and squeezed. ‘Neither did you.’

A great hole opened up inside him when she tugged her hand free.

‘I hear you’re a hotshot architect these days.’

She didn’t want to talk about the past. She’d moved on. He set his shoulders. So had he.

‘Have you come home to build me that tree house?’

Her words startled a laugh as memory flashed through him. ‘I’d forgotten all about that.’

‘I hadn’t.’

Something in her tone had his eyes swinging back to hers. She had the most amazing eyes—violet, with the deep, soft texture of velvet. He had a feeling she remembered everything. He shied away from the thought. ‘I even drew up plans for that tree house.’ How could he have forgotten? He’d slaved over those drawings for weeks.

‘I remember those too.’ Her laughter engulfed him in warmth. ‘We couldn’t find a tree big enough to house it.’

‘I aimed high.’

‘And you succeeded.’