New Year Kisses: His Cinderella Mistress. Lucy King

what’s happened?’ May looked at her concernedly. ‘You were bright and bubbly this morning, before the accident. Perhaps that bump on the head was more serious than we initially thought. Perhaps we should call Dr. Young—’

      ‘I don’t need a doctor, May.’ Not that sort of doctor, anyway! She forced herself to relax slightly, turning to smile at her sister. ‘It’s just a bump,’ she insisted lightly—the throbbing pain at her temple was nothing compared to the one in her heart. And a medical doctor could do nothing to cure that! ‘Look, I’ll just drive down and see if it’s possible to tow the car out of the ditch,’ she offered as a compromise. ‘The fresh air will probably do me good,’ she added encouragingly.

      May still didn’t look convinced, frowning up at her concernedly. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be going out again later this evening?’

      January blinked, no longer able to hold her sister’s gaze. ‘Change of plan,’ she dismissed. ‘Look, it’s cold out here, why don’t you go back inside?’ she suggested with an encouraging smile. ‘I promise I won’t be long.’

      ‘Okay,’ May sighed. ‘I’ll have a mug of hot tea waiting for you when you get back.’

      January gave an inner sigh of relief at her sister’s belated capitulation, starting the noisy tractor engine before giving her sister a friendly wave and driving out of the farmyard.

      She just needed some time to herself. Time to work out exactly what had been happening the last couple of days. Time to consider exactly what Max Golding had been doing the last couple of days!

      Because, despite what he had said before she’d abruptly ended their telephone conversation, she couldn’t help thinking that he had to have known all the time that she was one of the Calendar sisters.

      Was that the real reason he had shown such a marked interest in her? Had it all been some sort of devious plan on his part, to divide the sisters and, in doing so, perhaps conquer?

      That was her worst fear, the dread that held her in partial shock at the realization of exactly who he was. Because last night, as the two of them had kissed, January had known that she was falling in love with Max, that perhaps she already was in love with him.

      He was like no other man she had ever known, was possessed of a self-confidence that was totally reassuring, was obviously intelligent, as well as sophisticated, his wealth beyond question.

      She had simply been swept off her feet by him!

      But was she meant to have been? That was the question that plagued her battered and bruised heart.

      One thing she knew for certain: once he had had time to think this thing through, it wouldn’t take Max too long to make an appearance at the farm. Which was another good reason for her to make herself scarce from the farm as much as possible over the next few days.

      Although that didn’t appear much of a likelihood as she turned the tractor round a sharp bend in the snow-covered track and found a car creeping slowly along from the other direction, blocking her own way in the process, the person behind the steering wheel visibly Max Golding!

      January braked so sharply to avoid actually driving into him that the tractor instantly came to a shuddering halt, Max obviously breaking at the same time, the wheels on his car not having quite the same traction as the vehicle skidded slightly but didn’t quite go off the track.

      January stared at him in absolute horror; the last thing she had expected was that Max would actually drive out to the farm almost immediately after she had so abruptly terminated their telephone call. She had thought she had some hours to gather her own scattered defences, possibly twenty-four hours if Max needed the same time to think that she did.

      But as he climbed out of the car she realized how wrong she had been. He was no longer wearing the ‘tailored suit and handmade shoes’ that May had taken such glee in watching him get muddy yesterday—and that had struck such a chord with January last night when she’d thought of them. Now he was dressed in a thick blue sweater and denims, heavy hiking boots to protect his feet—obviously he had learnt his lesson about suitable clothing for visiting a working farm the previous day!

      Her fingers clenched about the steering wheel as he approached the tractor, his expression grim. What was he going to say to her? What were they going to say to each other?

      Attack is better than defence, she remembered her father once telling them, pushing open the cab door to climb down onto the running-board before lowering herself down into the snow, her head back challengingly as she waited for Max to reach her side.

      ‘I didn’t know, January,’ came his first abrupt comment.

      She gave a humourless smile. ‘Didn’t know what, Mr Golding?’ she scorned. ‘That my surname is Calendar? That I’m one of the three sisters who owns the farm the corporation you work for is trying to buy out? Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe!’ she derided hardly.

      And she did find it hard. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Max should turn out to be the lawyer who had sent that initial letter on behalf of the big American corporation he obviously worked for. That he was the same man who had visited May on the farm yesterday. The same man who was trying to persuade them into selling the farm.

      Too much of a coincidence, in those circumstances, that the two of them should have met at all. Even allowing for such a coincidence, it was doubly hard to believe that Max would have made such a beeline for her in the way that he had if it weren’t for the fact that he already knew she was one of the sisters who was proving so intractable to the financial offers he was making on behalf of the Marshall Corporation.

      Max’s expression was grim. ‘I can’t help what you believe, I can only repeat that until a short time ago I genuinely had no idea what your surname was, or who you are.’

      And she could only repeat—inwardly, at least—that she didn’t believe him!

      She gave him another scathing glance. ‘What are you doing here, Mr Golding? I’m sure my sister May has already made it more than plain that we aren’t interested—’

      ‘Will you stop calling me by my surname in that contemptuous way?’ he protested irritably. ‘It was Max before. And I’m still Max.’

      Not in the same way, he wasn’t. He was the enemy now. The known enemy. Untrustworthy. Worse, he was devious.

      ‘And, yes, your sister May did make it quite clear to me yesterday that you aren’t interested in selling the farm,’ he continued impatiently. ‘Now that I know of the family connection, the likeness between the two of you, apart from the colour of your eyes, is quite remarkable,’ he allowed heavily. ‘I simply wasn’t looking for that likeness when I visited the farm yesterday.’

      ‘No?’ January derided disbelievingly. ‘Then you’re going to get even more of a shock when—or if!—you meet March; “like three peas in a pod”, our father used to say about us,’ she told him dismissively.

      ‘I said there was a likeness, January; the way you look, the sound of your voice, is utterly unique,’ he assured her evenly.

      Her mouth twisted humourlessly. ‘Of course it is,’ she humoured scathingly. ‘Well, if you wouldn’t mind moving your vehicle out of my way; some of us have work to do.’

      Max looked at her closely, a frown between his eyes as his gaze narrowed. ‘Is that bump on your head from the accident earlier?’

      Her gloved hand moved up instinctively to cover the discolouration at her temple. She would be lying if she claimed that it didn’t hurt, because it did; she just had no intention of discussing her injury—or her inner pain—with Max Golding!

      ‘January?’ he prompted sharply.

      ‘Yes, it is,’ she confirmed dismissively. ‘If you turn your car around in the gateway just behind you—’

      ‘January, I am not interested in discussing turning