The Single Dad's New-Year Bride. Amy Andrews

      ‘Hey, Tom,’ she said as the little boy wandered over. ‘Did you lose your father again?’

      ‘Nah, he’s coming too.’

      Hailey helped him up onto the stone seat beside her. It was one of several placed periodically along the perimeter of the railing. Tom ran his truck back and forth along the rail, making engine noises.

      The little boy looked even paler in the moonlight. Unnaturally pale. ‘Did you get the truck for Christmas?’ she asked.

      Tom nodded.

      ‘It’s a beauty.’

      Tom shrugged. ‘It’s OK.’

      Hailey laughed. ‘Didn’t you want a truck?’

      He shook his head. ‘I wanted a baby brother.’

      ‘Ah.’ Hailey smiled. ‘I see.’

      ‘Daddy said that Santa can’t give noonan beans as presents.’ Tom sighed. ‘He said we needed a mummy for that.’

      Hailey bit her lip to stop laughing again. Tom was looking at her solemnly, obviously taking the subject very seriously indeed. So, there wasn’t a mother on the scene? ‘Right, yes, that’s true.’

      ‘Are you a mummy, Hailey?’

      Hailey felt the laughter die in her throat. Nearly. Close. She’d been so close. She shook her head and forced a smile to her lips.

      Callum escaped towards the balcony gratefully, pushing through the throngs that had gathered around the dance floor. It was only a few minutes until the clock clicked over into the new year and he didn’t want to spend it with a bunch of half-inebriated strangers, kissing each other. He wanted to spend it with Tom. There’d been a few times when he hadn’t been sure if his son would even make another year—the fact that he had was definitely worth celebrating.

      He opened the French doors slightly and halted abruptly, his hand still on the handle. Tom was conversing with the woman from earlier. Hailey. Tom had taken a real liking to her. Her laughter floated towards him and he found his gaze drifting over her form. It had done that a little too much already tonight but the moonlight was silhouetting her figure so perfectly it was practically impossible not to do so.

      She was short, barely taller than Tom perched on the chair next to her. Heavy ringlets escaped from a pile of hair arranged decoratively on the top of her head, brushing her bare shoulders and spilling down her back. Her red ballgown, cinched in at the waist, emphasised its narrowness and the sultry curve of her hips.

      Callum felt a tug in his chest, seeing their heads close together, watching his son smile up at the mysterious Hailey. Tom had been through so much in his six years the fact that he could still smile was a miracle. He remembered her protective arm around Tom earlier and felt oddly unsettled.

      He pushed the door fully open. ‘Here you are,’ he said, moving onto the balcony. ‘I’m sorry, I hope he’s not bothering you again.’ Callum drew level with Tom and put his arm around his son’s shoulders. It was his job to protect Tom. His job. He’d been doing it solo for six years.

      Hailey smiled at Tom’s father, the moonlight complementing the planes and angles of his face. Hailey, well used to having to look up at people, found he redefined the phrase to crane one’s neck—she felt like a dwarf beside him. His mouth drew her gaze. It would have looked perfectly at home on a statue—the lips full and perfectly formed.

      ‘No, we were just discussing the pros and cons of little brothers. Weren’t we, Tom?’

      Callum groaned and ruffled Tom’s hair. ‘Don’t encourage him, please.’

      ‘Hailey hasn’t got any brothers either, Daddy. But she’s got two sisters and a growed-up nephew called David and a baby niece called Birdie, and she’s gonna be an aunty again in the middle of the year.’

      Callum found himself wondering why she didn’t have a couple of kids of her own. The image of her hand reaching for Tom’s revisited him. Surely a woman this gorgeous was well and truly spoken for? He noticed the absence of rings on her fingers. ‘Birdie?’

      ‘Bridie.’ Hailey corrected Tom’s error with a laugh.

      ‘Ah. Tom still had problems with his pronunciation.’

      ‘I noticed.’ Hailey smiled. ‘That’s what I like about him the best,’ she said, winking at Tom, and was rewarded with a giggle.

      They were interrupted by the ballroom erupting into a raucous countdown. ‘Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…’

      ‘Is it nearly midnight o’clock, Daddy?’ Tom asked.

      Callum chuckled. ‘Nearly.’

      ‘Fifty-two, fifty-one, fifty…’

      ‘You’d better get back in there,’ Callum said, looking down into her face. The moonlight emphasised the cute spray of freckles across her nose, illuminating each and every one. ‘Your partner is probably looking for you.’

      ‘Oh, no.’ Hailey shook her head. ‘I’m here by myself.’

       What the…? Why had she told him that?

      ‘Forty-two, forty-one, forty…’

      Interesting. ‘Here, matey, I got you one of these,’ Callum said, handing a party blower to a suddenly excited Tom, who was hopping from one foot to the other as the crowd continued to count down. ‘When everyone shouts “Happy New Year”, we’ll blow them together, OK?’

      ‘But what about Hailey, Daddy? She needs one too.’

      ‘Oh, no.’ Hailey shook her head, realising belatedly they probably didn’t want an interloper. ‘It’s fine. I’ll leave you guys to bring in the new year with father-son whistleblowing.’

      ‘Thirty-seven, thirty-six, thirty-five…’

      ‘No. Don’t go, Hailey, wait. We have more at the table. I’ll get you one,’ Tom said, leaping down from the chair and racing back inside before Hailey could stop him.

      She watched him go, the plea in his high boyish voice clawing at her gut and freezing the self-preservation streak that had urged her to leave. What was she doing? She wasn’t supposed to be getting involved like this any more—particularly with strangers.

      Still, she didn’t want to go inside. She told herself it was because of all the midnight merriment that was about to erupt. It was easier than thinking it was about him. The man she was now alone with. The stranger with heat in his eyes.

      ‘Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…’

      Hailey glanced at him. He was looking down at her, his grey-eyed gaze compelling. Somewhere inside her head she knew she should get the hell off this balcony and leave this man with his motherless little boy and their story well alone. She didn’t know what it was and she didn’t want to. But she found herself mesmerised by his eyes. She could hear the unsteadiness of her breath.

      ‘Ten, nine, eight…’

      Her pulse pounded through her head. This was crazy, this unwanted, almost electric attraction. It couldn’t be happening. And yet it was. How could a complete stranger be so utterly fascinating?

      ‘Three, two, one. Happy New Year!’

      The ballroom erupted on a surge of cheers, breaking their intense connection. Hailey dragged her eyes away; her gaze, coming to rest on the mass of noonan beans, as Tom would call them, visible through the French doors. There was much hugging and kissing as ‘Auld Lang Syne’ was played.

      She envied them their carefree revelry. She felt like she’d aged a couple of decades this last eighteen months, her previous flibbertigibbet existence blown to the four winds. And now this. A totally unexpected reaction to a perfect stranger. Even now, desperately concentrating on the crowd through the