His Christmas Angel. Michelle Douglas

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.’

      Her words were soft and spoken with real pleasure. It made him ashamed of avoiding…

      He drew in a deep breath. ‘I heard about Brian. I’m real sorry, Cassie.’

      That curtain of hair fell across her face, hiding it. Her hands trembled and a shaft of pain shot straight through him.

      

      Cassie’s insides knotted and twisted. Her face tightened. None of the platitudes she normally mumbled rose to her lips or to her rescue. She tried desperately to untwist, unknot, unwind herself.

      Idiot. Did you really think you could get through an entire conversation without Brian being mentioned?

      She flicked her hair back, recognised the concern in Sol’s eyes and hated it. For a moment she was tempted to let her hair fall back to hide her eyes, to help her lie, but she couldn’t lie—not to Sol. He’d know.

      ‘Last Christmas was hell.’ That at least was the truth. She twisted her wedding band round and round her finger. ‘So, I’m making doubly sure this Christmas isn’t.’

      Gratitude surged through her when with one curt nod he let the subject drop. She cleared her throat.

      ‘What are your plans? Are you staying for Christmas?’

      ‘Yep.’

      Delight tiptoed through her. ‘But that’s fabulous.’ Christmas was only nine days away. She risked a glance at his face but she couldn’t read it. It brought her up short for a moment, then she shrugged. Ten years was a long time. ‘What will you do on Christmas Day?’

      He raised an eyebrow, took one look at her face, then grimaced. ‘Sorry to burst your bubble and all, but Christmas is just like any other day as far as I’m concerned.’

      ‘Is that so?’ She folded her arms.

      He shifted in his seat. ‘Look, I—’

      ‘It used to mean a lot when we were kids and we didn’t get a Christmas.’

      ‘Is that why you have to have a Christmas now?’ he shot at her.

      ‘Is that why you don’t?’ she shot back, just as quickly.

      They stared at each other for a moment, then laughed. But she settled on one thing then and there. Sol was having a Christmas this year whether he said he wanted it or not. Everyone needed a Christmas.

      And Sol hadn’t had one since he was twelve.

      She glanced across at him. Man, oh, man, it was good to have him home. She drank in the sight of him while he stared out at the yard with that shuttered half-gaze she remembered so well. Sol had always been a good-looking boy. But that was what he’d been when he’d left. He had certainly changed since then. He had grown up now.

      He was a man. And what a man.

      A pulse started to throb at the base of her throat. He was every kind of hunk she could think of and then some. He was going to set the female population of Schofield on its collective head.

      His eyes hadn’t changed, though. Still black, still piercing, still kind. And given half a chance they could probably still see right through her. She lifted the kitten clambering up her leg into her lap. She couldn’t give Sol that chance—not even a quarter of that chance. The kitten settled into her lap, purring.

      She glanced around the Adams’ back veranda. It and the attached laundry ran the length of the house. She sprang to her feet and walked its length, glancing right and left then swung back, clutching the kitten to her chest. ‘Sol, I need a favour.’

      ‘Anything.’

      A shockwave rippled through her at the promptness of his reply, at its certainty. ‘Is that wise?’ she demanded. He chuckled, and the sound of it washed over the surface of her skin with the velvet warmth of hot chocolate. She wanted to stretch and purr beneath it.

      ‘I may not have clapped eyes on you for ten years, Cassie Campbell…Parker, but I still know you.’

      ‘I might have changed.’

      He paused. His eyes raked over her and darkened. ‘You have at that.’

      Cassie fell back into her chair. She crossed her right leg over her left. Her foot bounced and wouldn’t stop. She set it on the floor, but that set her knees jiggling. She crossed her legs again and let the foot bounce.

      ‘Lookin’ good, Cassie.’

      Her foot stopped mid-bounce. His eyes roved over her face, and her skin flushed everywhere his gaze touched.

      ‘Real good.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she croaked. She seized her glass.