A Christmas Family Wish (4 page)

Chapter Four

The delicious smell of cooking welcomed Ian as he pushed
open his back door and stepped out of the cold into his cozy kitchen. Rachel
worked at the range, stirring something in a saucepan while another pan
steamed, creating the mouth-watering smell.

Toby kneeled on a chair at the table, a rainbow of crayons
scattered before him. He poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he
drew on a pad of paper. Max had stayed at home with them today. The old dog had
taken to Toby. He sat beside the table, staring up at the boy with adoring dark
eyes.

Ian wasn't used to coming home to a scene of domestic bliss.
Even when Jane lived here with Ella, she never managed to create this welcoming
atmosphere. The tight knot of pain and frustration that ached in his chest
every time he thought of Ella loosened a little and a smile stretched his lips.

Maybe the way to cope with the emotional turmoil his ex and
her husband put him through was to claim a future. Just because he had a
daughter didn't mean he couldn't have a relationship again. Having someone in
his life who loved him and cared for him might help him deal with the hurt. He
realized he'd been living in an emotional vacuum, not letting anyone in.

Max finally noticed him and lumbered over, tail wagging.

"Hello, you silly old thing. Have you had a good
day?" Ian stooped and stroked his dog's head, smoothing the fur around his
ears.

Rachel turned, a bright smile on her face, her shiny dark
hair high on the back of her head in a ponytail—the way she used to wear it all
those years ago.

"Hi, Ian. I'm making spaghetti Bolognese. I found the
ingredients in your freezer and cupboards. I hope it was all right to use
them."

Ian grinned. "Darling, if you want to cook for me, you
can raid my pantry anytime. I normally survive on toast and takeout. Home-cooked
food is a luxury."

Toby hopped down from his chair and grabbed Ian's hand.
"Come and look at my drawing."

"Hang on a minute, pal. I need to take off my
boots." Ian unlaced his work boots, levered them off, then padded to the
utility room in his socks and put the boots on the plastic mat he kept for the
purpose. The sound of the dryer caught his attention. Lots of small boys'
clothes went around and around behind the glass window.

"You been shopping?" he asked, raising his voice
so Rachel could hear him over the noise.

She appeared in the doorway. "No. Your guys rescued
Toby's clothes from the broken chest of drawers. They were fantastic. They've packed
up the contents of my kitchen and brought over other stuff I wanted as well.
The boxes are stored in the room off your office. I hope that's okay. Paula
said you wouldn't mind."

"That's fine." His men had done what he
instructed, although he wasn't about to tell Rachel they were just following
orders. That would sound like he was seeking praise.

Toby waited for him, hopping from foot to foot in his
excitement. He grabbed Ian's hand and towed him towards the table. He climbed
on his chair, beaming with pride. "Look. I've drawn Max. Isn't it
good?"

"Very good." He glanced at Rachel and they shared
a smile. Little children were so refreshingly honest—no false modesty. It was a
shame life knocked that out of them. "I guess you've inherited your mum's
artistic talent. She used to draw wonderful pictures."

He hadn't thought of Rachel's drawings for years. From her
wide-eyed look of surprise, she was amazed he remembered.

Toby frowned. "Mummy doesn't draw."

"She used to. Horses were her favorite subjects."

Toby turned a thoughtful look on his mother. "Will you
draw me a horse, Mummy?"

"Gosh. I don't know if I can. I haven't drawn for
years."

She shrugged in answer to Ian's questioning glance.
"You know what life's like. One gets caught up trying to earn a living and
things like this fall by the wayside."

"I thought art
would be
your living. What
happened to stop you from drawing?"

Rachel glanced meaningfully at Toby. "Other
priorities."

"Come on, Mummy. Please draw me a horse."

"I'm cooking dinner, Toby. Maybe later."

Suddenly Ian wanted to know exactly what had happened to
Rachel since he last saw her. She'd been eighteen and heading to art college.
As far as he knew, she'd finished her course. So, who had screwed up her life,
because it certainly wasn't Toby? He'd put his money on Toby's father. But now
wasn't the time to start questioning her.

"I can watch the stove for a little while. You draw
your son a horse." He took the stirring spoon from her hand.

Rachel blinked her huge blue eyes at him in that innocent
way he used to think was put on to make her look cute and vulnerable. Now he
realized she was simply uncertain.

He rested a hand on her back and smiled. "Go on, Rach.
Give it a try."

She sat down, took a piece of paper from Toby's pad, and
sharpened a pencil. Toby kneeled beside her on his chair, bouncing with
expectation.

Ian kept half an eye on the pasta and sauce, his attention
mostly on Rachel. She bit her lip then sketched a line, quickly followed by a
few more. He'd watched her draw many times. The process never failed to
fascinate him.

To start with, the pencil marks looked like a random
assortment of lines. As she continued, everything came together, a recognizable
shape emerging from the muddle as if by magic. He had no idea how she did it. But
she was darn good at drawing.

"You've still got it," he said as a rearing horse
appeared on the page.

"Wow, Mummy." Toby held the drawing up, his eyes
like saucers. "I never knew you could do stuff like this."

"This is the first picture I've drawn since you were
born," she said, her tone wistful.

"You must draw some more." Toby ripped another
sheet of paper from his pad and shoved it in front of her.

"He's right," Ian said.

Rachel laughed and stood up. "Not now. I have a dinner
to serve, a dinner that smells like it's burning."

"Oh, sh…sugar." Ian dragged the pan of sauce off
the heat. He'd completely forgotten to stir it while he watched Rachel. She did
that to him, he remembered, mesmerized him. He could lose himself watching the
expressions flit across her face, her grin, the sparkle of enthusiasm for life
in her eyes. Although he hadn't seen much of that sparkle since she'd moved
into his house. Somewhere along the line she'd lost that.

He fetched bowls from the cupboard and passed silverware to
Toby to set the table. Then he grated cheese while Rachel served up the pasta
and added a generous dollop of meaty sauce to each bowl.

Ian was enjoying himself more than usual. Even Max seemed to
have more energy. Instead of lying in his bed looking bored, the dog sat by the
table watching the goings-on, nipping in between their legs to lick up some
cheese crumbs that hit the floor.

They sat around the table, eating and chatting. Rachel
repeated how wonderful his crew was to have rescued Toby's clothes. "So I
won't have to buy any more after all," she said with a sigh of relief.

Was she short of money? It hadn't occurred to him that Jeff
Carne's daughter might be hard up. He'd have to bear that in mind and make sure
she didn't have unnecessary expenditures while she stayed with him. How things
had changed. Once he'd been the pauper; now money was the one thing he had
plenty of.

"Do you mind if I put up some Christmas decorations
this weekend," she asked. "I had promised Toby we would."

"I don't have any, but we can buy some." Ian
hadn't celebrated Christmas since Jane and Ella moved out of Meadow Sweet Farm.
He hadn't planned to this year, either. As usual, Jane and her jerk of a
husband would probably keep him from seeing Ella at Christmas, but at least the
thought of spending Christmas with Toby and Rachel gave him something to look
forward to.

"I've got decorations. Your guys rescued them from my
closet this morning. They're in your storeroom with my other stuff."

"We can cut a tree from the little copse between the
fields. There are plenty of pines out there."

"Thank you, Ian. I'll cook you a lovely Christmas
dinner to pay you back for all you've done for us."

Rachel gripped his hand, her fingers slender and feminine
against his larger fist. He turned his hand, capturing hers and squeezing.
Already he knew he would miss her and Toby when they moved out.

***

Rachel sang as she drove to work, heading along the motorway
towards the airport. She joined the line of traffic crawling towards the car
park, but even the usual traffic jam didn't dampen her spirits. Crazy as it
seemed, she felt happier today than she had in ages, even though her house was
half fallen down and she was staying with Ian.

In fact, her good mood was
because
she was staying
with Ian. A warm, welcoming atmosphere filled his house, with its lovely cozy
kitchen and the pretty bedroom. He smiled at her and asked her how she felt as
if he really cared. She was so used to living with a man who thought only of
himself, it was a revelation.

She swung her car into the multistory car park, found a
space, and cut her engine. The clock said she had twenty minutes until her
shift started. Still humming, she locked her vehicle and crossed the road to
the terminal building, heading for her airline's office.

"Morning," she said as she pushed through the
door, the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee greeting her.

She examined the schedule to find out which flights she was
assigned to, and frowned when she didn't see her name on the list. Foreboding
whispered through her. There was something wrong here.

"Excuse me, Natasha." Rachel caught the shift
supervisor's eye. "I'm not listed on the schedule."

"You didn't get the e-mail from Personnel?"

Rachel's chest tightened, her pulse rate increasing.

"No. I haven't had access to a computer for a few
days." She never bothered to check e-mails on her phone. There was a
glitch and only half of them showed up.

"You'd better come into my office for a moment."
Natasha gestured her through the door.

This might be nothing. She shouldn't start worrying yet. But
even as she told herself to stay calm, her heart thudded in her chest.

Rachel followed Natasha into the small room and she shut the
door behind her. The older woman turned, a sympathetic smile on her face.
"I was told to remove you from the schedule. I'm sorry, love."

"For today?"

"For the foreseeable future."

Rachel swallowed around the tight lump in her throat. Were
they firing her? What for? Surely they wouldn't be mean enough to penalize her
for taking two days off after her house was nearly crushed. "Do you mind
if I use your computer to check my e-mail? I need to find out what's going
on."

"Of course, love. You sit here." Natasha patted
the back of the chair, then moved away from her desk to make room. Rachel
opened her e-mail account and located the message from Personnel. It had
arrived four days ago, on the day of the storm. The day
before
she was
absent. Frowning, she opened the document and read what it said.

Captain Gregory Barrett had accused her of harassing him at
work and she was required to attend a disciplinary meeting at nine that
morning. Rachel pressed a hand to her throat, nausea burning inside.

After she left Greg, he started making complaints about
her—false complaints. But he always managed to come up with a witness who'd say
exactly what he wanted them to say. He was such a manipulator.

Why couldn't other people see through the surface charm to
the conniving bastard he was underneath? He wasn't the one being victimized
here. She was!

Her hand shook as she clicked the mouse to shut down the
page. She already had two warnings on her record over Greg. This time they
would fire her for sure. She considered walking away now, forgoing the
unpleasant interview. Why go through the ordeal when she would lose her job
anyway? But she could not leave without trying to defend herself.

"Trouble with your ex again?" Natasha was one of
the few people who didn't think the sun shone out of Greg's backside. Her
daughter had married a man who behaved just like him.

Rachel nodded, her thoughts too scattered to answer. She had
to pull herself together before this interview. She pressed a hand to her
forehead and closed her eyes. Just when she thought the problems were being
handled, something else hit her.

Now she had to find another job or she couldn't afford her
mortgage. Why did this have to happen when everyone was winding down for the
holidays? The chance of getting another job before Christmas was slim.

"You'd best make your way over to Personnel if you need
to be there by nine." Natasha patted Rachel's arm. "Good luck,
love."

Still reeling, she gathered her handbag and coat and
threaded her way through the crush of vacationers and businesspeople trailing
luggage behind them. The airline's main office was about fifteen minutes' drive
away. She climbed in her car and concentrated extra hard as she drove the few
miles in heavy traffic. A traffic accident would be the final straw and it
seemed fate had it in for her. She arrived just in time, parked outside the
square gray building, and headed in through the glass doors.

She reported to Reception and sat nervously perched on the
edge of the leather sofa in the waiting area. At nine thirty, she was called
into a conference room where a man and a woman sat on the other side of the
huge light wood table. She'd gone through this twice before and knew the
routine.

"Good morning, Miss Carne. Please take a seat."
The manager in charge of ground staff spoke first. The woman at his side was
unfamiliar, probably from Personnel.