A Bush Christmas (11 page)

Christmas Day dawned bright and sunny. It was going to be hot. Jaime could tell just by the heat coming through the blind.

She lay back in bed and thought about her conversation with her mother the day before. In her all-consuming grief over her father, she'd really forgotten about her mother. Oh, she'd given lip service: ‘Are you okay, Mum?' and all that kind of stuff. But she hadn't
really
appreciated the situation. How lonely her mother must have felt having devoted her whole life to her husband and child. Suddenly Jaime had moved out and then she'd lost Jack.

Blanche was right. Jaime wasn't like her mother. She could never imagine being on this earth simply to please another.

But you'd like to please Stirling McEvoy,
whispered her mind. Okay, well maybe she could imagine it a tiny bit. But the main point to this internal conversation was that she may have been a little harsh with the way she'd treated Blanche. Well, okay, maybe a
big
bit harsh in her attitude towards her mother and new stepfather. After all, it was her mother's decision who and when to marry.

If anyone had tried to tell Jaime what to do, she would have told them to take a long hike. But her mother hadn't. She'd borne the whole ‘Jaime's being difficult' drama with patience. She obviously believed her daughter would eventually come round.

And she was. Finally.

She should at least
try
with Dave. It wasn't his fault he'd been saddled with a dysfunctional stepdaughter.

She jumped out of bed, intent on acting on her new resolution, and promptly kicked a glittering red ball, sending it skittering across the floor towards the window. Dodge appeared out of nowhere, meowing with pleasure as he chased the sparkling decoration under the drapes. Obviously The Cat was having the time of his life with Blanche's decorations. Which led her to thinking about this whole Christmas thing.

As if she could get away from something the
whole
country celebrated, for crap's sake. Of course, she couldn't make other people not celebrate something just because she was sad. The world didn't stop spinning just because Jaime Josephina Hanrahan wanted to get off (more's the pity).

And what's more, her father would have wanted her to embrace Christmas, have fun, do the things that made this festive season special for the Hanrahans. Reminisce over old times, remember the good things. He wouldn't have wanted her to be a miser or a spoilsport.

She rooted out the ball for a still meowing Dodge, sent it spinning across the floor again. She laughed at The Cat's antics, pulled up the blind and allowed the sunshine to pour into the room.

It was Christmas Day. And, goddamn it, she was going to celebrate!

 

Jaime was cooking pancakes, a Hanrahan Christmas tradition, when Stirling walked in through the back door. He was singing ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas' to The Cat, who'd bolted at the sight of Buster the Pup. Old Buster watched it all with a bored expression from his spot on the verandah, as if to say, ‘Young ones these days …'

Stirling was into the second verse when he rounded the kitchen door saying, ‘Something smells nice.' He stopped dead when he saw Jaime, kitted out in red, green and gold, wielding the frypan.

‘Um, am I in the right house?'

Jaime laughed. ‘Yep. If you want Christmas pancakes you are.'

Dave appeared, rubbing his eyes. ‘From that delicious smell, if he doesn't want them I sure do.'

‘Mmm …'

Jaime ignored Stirling and served up three plates of pancakes, dripping with butter and sugar. ‘Help yourself to the lemons. I can even say I had hand in growing them myself.' That was because she found the tree amid a thicket of head-high weeds.

‘Awwww … Jaime, you darling.' Blanche walked in looking groomed and fabulous. ‘Pancakes are one of our Hanrahan Christmas traditions. Jack used to make them.' As she sat down her eyes filled with tears and Dave patted her hand.

Jaime didn't miss the touching moment. The man really
did
care for her mother. Her defences shifted a little more.

‘Valerie emailed overnight,' said Stirling, through a mouthful of pancake. ‘She and Simon are thinking of remaining in Europe another six weeks. Can you see your way clear to stay on?'

Six weeks? Simon?

‘But what about you?' she said, feeling her hackles go up on Stirling's behalf for some ridiculous reason.

‘What about me? I'll be here.'

‘But Simon?'

Stirling looked puzzled. ‘Yes, that's Simon Lucardy … her husband.'

Valerie had a husband? The ‘S' on the bathrobe.

Stirling explained to an interested Dave and Blanche, ‘Simon's a QC in Melbourne. When Valerie and Mum inherited the farm, he couldn't move up here, so I did.'

Valerie and his mum? That made Valerie his–

‘My Aunt Valerie's a fair bit younger than Mum but she loves the farm. Mum and Dad retired a few years back so I came home to run the place with Valerie.'

Jaime sat down with a loud thump.

Blanche took in her daughter's pale face. ‘What's wrong, Jaime? You're as white as a ghost.'

‘Nothing,' she said smiling. ‘Nothing at all.'

 

They were all down by the river. Christmas tinsel swung like gossamer threads from the massive red gum trees. Baubles spun in the sun and there was even a Christmas tree thanks to Dave.

The big man had his arm around her mother. As she glanced across he gave her a salute with his can of beer. The man was well on the way to being very pissed, but happy too. Blanche was getting on like a house on fire with Irene, Susan and Sharyn (with a ‘y' not an ‘o').

Her mother had loved her footbath and was planning on using it when she got home after partying the afternoon away. And Jaime's orange macramé owl wasn't
too
bad. The Cat hadn't liked it though, preferring to try to scratch the wooden eyes out and unravel the loose fibre strands when no one was looking. Jaime made sure she stayed ‘not looking' for as long as she could.

‘Hello there.' It was Stirling. He had a basket and an esky in his hands. ‘Want to come with me for a bit?'

She looked up into a pair of flinty blue eyes and smiled.

Looking as delicious as that, she'd go anywhere with this man.

‘Sure, where are we going?'

‘You'll see.'

They quietly slid from the group, past Ryan and his backpacker who were trading Christmas bon-bon jokes with Bluey and Joan, past her mother and a gaggle of other women, past Dave and the blokes talking serious hunting stuff, through some trees and further along the river. At the bend, Stirling took Jaime's hand to help her over some rocks and he didn't let it go. His big paw swallowed her fingers. They felt nice there. Safe. Content.

Suddenly they rounded a corner and there was a massive old eucalypt standing with resplendent limbs stretched out across both bank and water. Under it was a rickety table, two plastic chairs and what looked like some fishing rods ready for use.

Stirling stopped, turned her towards him. He gazed down at her with tenderness. ‘Your mum said last Christmas Day you went fishing with your dad. I thought …' He took a breath and then went on, ‘I thought maybe you'd like to do that again, rather than … well, you know … celebrate with the others.'

She went to say something but he held up a hand. ‘Let's just go sit down.'

Jaime nodded, still marvelling at the kindness of the man. A bloke who was usually so reserved who made a career out of pissing her off.

‘You sit here and I'll just bait up your rod,' he said.

Jaime sat down on the seat heavily and took the proffered rod. She watched as the man loaded a wriggling worm onto her hook. (He even had an ice-cream container of fresh bait!)

‘Are you going to cast it, or do you want me to?' Stirling's little laugh was half wry, half unsure.

Jaime figured she'd better say something. ‘Stirling–'

He interrupted, ‘Irene, Susan and Sharyn helped me out with lunch. It's in the esky along with a nice bottle of wine. Ryan sent that. In the basket is a rug, our cutlery and stuff, and they promised me there is not one Christmas decoration in there.'

He …
they
… had gone to all this trouble for
her
?

‘And I know you said you didn't do Christmas presents but I've got you a little something.'

He dragged over the basket he'd placed on the ground, rooted around in it for a bit. ‘I'm hoping you'll take it as a keepsake of Polly's Plains. Seeing I made it myself it shouldn't count on your “no-go” list.'

He pulled out a small parcel wrapped in brown paper, walked over and gently dropped it in her hands. She gazed at it in wonder. A gift. After everything that'd happened over the past fortnight, he'd made a gift? With shaking hands she opened the outside wrapping, then the enclosed white tissue paper. Drew in a breath.

There, lying nestled amongst the soft thin folds, was a beautifully made leather belt, chocolate brown with whirls and swirls of decorative quilling covering the whole circumference. It was gorgeous. It must have taken him hours. Days even.

‘I hope you like it.' Stirling again sounded unsure.

This was all so unlike the Stirling McEvoy she knew. That man was as solid as Ayers Rock. This one was so uncertain. What was going on?

‘Do you like it?'

There was that tentativeness again. ‘
I love it!
It's the most fabulous present anyone's ever given me.' Her father included.

Finally, Stirling looked a bit surer of himself. More like the Stirling she knew.

But now she felt so guilty. She hadn't got him anything.

Hang on. She clutched at her back pocket. Yes! It was still there. She hadn't washed this pair of cut-offs since their trip to town. She drew out the shop-wrapped package. ‘I'm sorry, it's a bit battered.'

Stirling smiled. ‘That's usually the way with you, Princess.'

Jaime laughed. He was right.

His pleasure when he opened up the package and saw the belt buckle was worth all the Jimmy Choos money could buy.

‘I can see I'm going to have to make another belt,' he said.

‘Nah. You can just lend it to me if you like.' She laughed until she felt a big hand clasp her chin and tip her face up towards him. She sobered. The look in his eyes was so intense. So beautiful. So full of wonder, and a little bit of something else? Oh boy, maybe this was why he–

She watched as his lips descended. Felt her own mouth reach up towards his. When they finally touched, it was like she'd died and gone to heaven. Any thoughts of why, how and who fled her mind. All his warmth and tenderness was poured into that one kiss. It was divine. Stirling pulled her into his hard body, deepened the kiss. She responded with glee, her tongue probing, flitting here and there, until the man
holding her groaned and held on tighter. His hands came around her back to stroke her skin lightly, sending quivers of desire racing through her.

When Stirling pulled back, it was with rueful regret. ‘We'd better stop before I do something stupid.'

‘Not stupid. That's my job,' said Jaime. ‘But you can kiss me like that anytime you like.'

‘I plan on taking you up on that,' said Stirling. ‘However, at the moment, if we're going to eat fish for dinner, we'd better get to it.'

‘I've got an idea,' said Jaime. ‘Did you say there's a rug in that basket?'

Stirling nodded, his expression one of cautious amusement. ‘Yes, I think I did mention that.'

Jaime let out a whoop. ‘I'm onto it,' she yelled as she sprang for the basket. Dragging out the rug, she spread it on the riverbank, grabbed hold of a fishing rod, cast the line, then sat it on the chair. She then did the same with the second one. ‘Oh, what a shame,' she said with mock-despair. ‘All the chairs are taken. I guess we'll both just have to lie down on the rug.'

Stirling shook his head and grinned. ‘I'm thinking you're right.'

‘So let's get down and dirty.'

‘You reckon?'

Jaime took in his half-pensive expression. Oh my God! The man was shy!

‘Well, that's only if you can handle it,' she said with a smile.

‘Oh, I think I can manage,' he said, before crash tackling her to the ground. He started to tickle her. Across her bared belly, down her sides, tickling, tickling until she had no breath left to beg him to stop.

And then he lay over her, stared down into her eyes and set about kissing her all over again.

 

Sometime later, as she was cuddled into his broad and deliciously comfortable chest, she said, ‘Stirling?'

The man beneath her was lazily twirling a lock of her hair around in his fingers. ‘Yep?'

‘I was just wondering, do you think … I mean … well …?'

‘C'mon, Princess, just spit it out.'

‘Well, I realise you've gone to all this trouble here for me.' She threw her hand out to encompass the table and chairs. ‘And I really appreciate it. But I was thinking,' and she then allowed the words to spill out in a rush, ‘how about we head back and have Christmas with the others?'

Stirling frowned. ‘Are you sure?' While his brow did its collapsing trick, Jaime did what she'd been wanting to do for weeks. She put her hand up and gently caressed his forehead, the side of his face, his cheeks. Smoothed out the lines.

‘What about your dad and all that stuff?'

Jaime smiled up at the man who was peering down at her with such concern. He really was a wonderful man. Just like her dad.

‘He'd want me to celebrate, not be sad.' She rolled over and looked up at Stirling. ‘Mum and I had good talk. I'm going to try and get on better with Dave.'

‘He seems like a nice bloke.'