Christmas with her Boss (11 page)

The whole scenario was too hard. There was only one thing to do here.

She looked back down at her egg—firmly—and concentrated—firmly—on her truly excellent breakfast.

 

There wasn't a lot of conversation after that. After their third coffee William rang the hospital while Meg stared into the dregs of her cup. He put it onto speaker so Meg could hear the nurse's response.

‘She's still asleep. Yes, she's fine. I promise we'll ring you the moment she wakes.'

‘So let's walk,' he decreed and Meg could only agree. She didn't want to go back to the hospital and wait. And think.

Think of what she was walking away from.

So they walked down to the beach, and Meg slipped off her sandals and headed for the shallows.

William watched her from further up on the sand. He kept his shoes on. He'd swapped his boots for a pair of casual loafers but he wasn't taking the next step. W S McMaster with bare feet, walking in the shallows? Unthinkable.

She walked along, letting the last run of the waves lick over her toes, kicking sprays of water up in front of her.

William walked parallel to her but fifteen feet up the beach. She was in the shallows. He was on solid sand.

Solid sand?

There was no such thing, she thought. Nothing was solid. Everything was shifting.

Why wasn't he taking his shoes off? Why wasn't he coming close?

She knew why. She even agreed it was sensible that he shouldn't.

The wind was warm on her face. The sand and salt between her toes felt fabulous. All it needed was for William to take fifteen steps and take her hand and life would be…

A fairy tale.

So get real, she told herself and kicked up a spray of water so high she soaked the front of her dress. This guy is a billionaire from Manhattan—my ex-boss. I'm unemployed, with a hundred dairy cows, a little brother and a grandma who needs me and will need me for years.

She kicked the water again and glanced sideways at William.

He wasn't looking at her. He was striding along the beach as if he was there to walk off his too-big breakfast and that was that.

And why shouldn't it be that? The man hadn't been to the gym for two days. He'd be suffering from withdrawal.

‘You go on by yourself,' she called to him. ‘Burn some energy. I'm happy to stay here and kick water.'

He glanced at her and nodded, brisk, serious.

She turned to watch the windsurfers and he headed off along the beach. Alone.

 

He was being a bore.

He didn't know what else to be.

There were a thousand emotions crowding into his head right now and he didn't know what to do with any of them.

She was beautiful. There was a really big part of him that wanted to head into the shallows—with or without shoes—and tug her to him and hold.

How selfish would that be?

She wasn't like any woman he'd dated. He'd selected her with care as his Australian PA and that was what she was qualified to be. She was smart, efficient, unflappable. Loyal, honest, discreet. Sassy, funny, emotional.

Trusting and beautiful.

He didn't have a clue what to do with all these things. He moved in circles where women knew boundaries; indeed, they wanted them. He was an accessory, a guy with looks and money who was good for their image. No one had ever clung.

Meg wasn't clinging. The opposite—she was walking away.

That was good. She knew the boundaries. She knew they'd overstepped them so she was protecting herself. She had the right.

And if he stepped over the boundaries after her, like walking into the water now and taking her hand, pretending they could just be a normal couple, boy and girl…

He didn't do boy and girl. He had to leave; he knew no other way of living.

Do not depend on anyone.

He could depend on Meg.

No. She'd resigned. The thought hurt. He tried to drum up anger but it wasn't there. All that was left was a sense of emptiness, as if he'd missed out on something other people had. How to change? If he tried… If he hurt her…

He walked faster, striding along the hard sand, trying to drive away demons. He stopped and looked back, and Meg
was a red and white splash of colour in the shallows, far behind.

In a day or two she'd be further away. She'd get some sort of hick job and be stuck here, milking her cows. Taking care of Letty and Scott.

It was her choice.

He picked up a heap of seaweed and hurled it out into the shallows, as if it'd personally done him injury. That was what this felt like, but he couldn't fault Meg. She was protecting herself, as he protected his own barriers.

She had the right.

He'd choose another PA and move on.

But first…he had to get Christmas over. Bring on Santa Claus, he thought grimly, followed by a plane out of here.

And then they'd all live happily ever after?

I
T WAS
a subdued trio who returned home. Letty was stretched out on the back seat, dozing. The doctors had been inclined to keep her; she'd woken enough to be stubborn but she was sleeping now.

Meg sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. As if she was enduring something that had to be endured.

He'd made a few desultory attempts at conversation but had given up. So much for his smart, sassy PA. Now she was just…Meg. Someone he once knew?

Just concentrate on driving, he told himself. When he got back to the farm he'd move onto evening milking. The phone line was working again so after milking he could use the Internet; keep himself busy.

‘By the way, I've organised your satellite connection,' he said and Meg cast him a glance that was almost scared.

‘You what?'

‘While you were dress shopping. It only took me minutes to buy what I needed, and the Internet place was open for business. It seems satellite dishes make great Christmas gifts. Even I couldn't get them to erect it today, but first working day after Christmas it'll be here.'

‘I can't afford…'

‘It's paid for. Three years in advance.'

‘No, thank you,' she said in a tight, clipped voice. ‘Three dresses are enough.'

But… ‘Are you out of your mind?' Letty was suddenly awake, piping up from the back seat in indignation. ‘Meg, what sort of gift horse are you looking in the mouth here? Scotty will love it. You know there'll be times still when he's stuck at home in pain. You can't say no to that.'

‘Letty, I'm no longer working for Mr McMaster,' Meg said. ‘So I can't take expensive gifts.'

‘You're not working for him?'

‘She's resigned. Tell her she's daft,' William said.

‘No,' Letty said, surprisingly strongly. ‘My Meg's not daft. If she's quit there's a good and sensible reason. But a satellite connection…that'd be a gift to Scotty and me, not to Meg, wouldn't it, Mr McMaster?'

‘William,' he said and he almost snapped.

‘William,' Letty said. ‘Scott's friend. My friend. Meg, dear, William has more money than he knows what to do with, and he's just given us a very fine Christmas gift in return for a bed for Christmas. And…' She hesitated, but she was a wise old bird, was Letty. ‘And you don't want anything in return, do you, Mr McMaster?'

‘William!'

‘William,' Letty said obediently. ‘But you're not buying Meg with this. She doesn't owe you anything, right?'

‘Right,' he said and glanced across at Meg. Her face was drawn, almost as if she was in pain.

He hated that look. He didn't know what to do about it.

‘Then I accept on Scotty's behalf,' Letty said across his thoughts. ‘And your bed for Christmas is assured.'

 

When they'd left the farm it had been almost deserted. When they turned back into the driveway there were more than a dozen vehicles parked under the row of gums out front.

‘Uh-oh,' Letty said, peering dubiously out of the window. ‘This looks like a funeral.'

‘If it hadn't been for William, it would have been,' Meg said, and once again William thought she sounded strained to breaking point. ‘If Scott's done something else stupid…'

But it seemed he hadn't. When they pulled up, women emerged from the house, men appeared from the yard, kids appeared from everywhere.

‘They called a working bee,' Scott said, limping across to the car on his crutches and tugging open the back door to make sure for himself that his grandmother was in one piece. ‘They said you had enough on your plate, Meg. And they knew you'd left the hay till after Christmas, so they brought slashers and they've done three whole paddocks. They're bringing in the last of it now.'

‘You're kidding,' Meg whispered, but she was staring across to a hay shed which had stood almost empty this morning and now looked three-quarters full. ‘In what—four hours?'

‘We can work when we want to.' It was Jenny, coming forward to give her friend a hug. ‘We were thinking we'd help after Christmas but when this happened I said to Ian, why not now?' She cast a curious glance at William. ‘She needs looking after, our Meg.'

‘I do not,' Meg said, revolted.

‘She doesn't,' Scott said and Jenny grinned and hugged him as well until he turned scarlet in embarrassment.

‘Okay, she doesn't. As long as you and Letty stop doing darn fool things when she's not around,' Jenny retorted.

‘I'm going to be around,' Meg said. ‘I'll try and find a job locally. I… I don't want to be away any more. But for now…thank you all so, so much. I'm incredibly grateful. But I need to get Letty inside. She needs to sleep.'

‘I'll carry her,' William said but one of the neighbours
stepped forward and lifted Letty from the car before he could.

‘We're local,' he said to William, quite kindly, but firmly for all that. ‘We look after our own. Cows are on their way up now, Meg. You want some help with tonight's milking?'

‘You've done enough,' Meg said.

‘This guy'll help?' It seemed everyone was looking at William.

‘He's promised to.'

‘Is he any good?'

‘At milking? He has untapped potential,' Meg said and people laughed and gathered their kids and said their goodbyes and left.

Meg tucked Letty into bed and fussed over her. Scott limped over to the cow yard and William followed.

‘We should start,' Scott said.

William looked at the brace on Scott's leg and said gently, ‘Is that okay? That you help with milking?'

‘It has to be. I'm tired of waiting for it to heal.'

‘So it's not okay.'

‘Meg and Grandma fuss that if my leg gets kicked we have to start over again. But I'll be careful.'

‘Or not. How about you supervise while I do the hands on?' William eyed the mass of cows pressing against the yard gate. He eyed the waiting bales. Nothing to this. Except…Maybe you had to do stuff to the vat for pasteurisation or…or something. He didn't want to waste a whole milking. ‘Do you know how this works?'

‘Course.'

‘Then you give me instructions and leave me to it.'

‘I can help.' Scott squared his shoulders. ‘I know I was dumb trying to put that Santa up. I never dreamed Grandma'd try and fix it. But I'm not completely helpless. This leg'll soon be better. I can look after them.'

William looked into his drawn face. He saw reflected horror from this morning's accident. He saw the unmistakable traces of years of pain and he saw tension, worry, the pain of being a kid without a dad, an adolescent trying desperately to be an adult.

‘I know you can,' he said softly. ‘If you must. But I'm at a loose end right now, and it seems everything else is taken care of. So you sit on the fence and tell me your plans for your car restoration and in between plans you can tell me how to turn this milking machine on and let these girls get rid of their load.'

 

Scotty must be exhausted. Meg arrived at the dairy, back in her milking gear, and one glance at her little brother told her he was close to the edge. Physically, he was still frail. This morning would have terrified him and, with all the neighbours here helping, his pride wouldn't have let him stop.

She wanted to grab him down from the fence, hug him and haul him off to bed. But he was talking to William, who appeared to be underneath a cow, and she knew that pride still played a part here.

‘So you two reckon you can run this place without me?' she enquired and William emerged from behind the cow and grinned.

‘Nothing to this milking game. I'm about to add Milker to my CV.'

‘How is he, Scotty?' she asked and then corrected herself. ‘Sorry, Scott.'

‘You can still call me Scotty if you like,' her brother conceded. ‘In private.'

‘In front of William's not private.'

‘No, but he's okay.'

That was a huge concession, Meg thought. There'd been
a few guys in her past—of course there had—but Scott had bristled at all of them.
He's okay
. Huge.

‘Just because he bought you bits of cars…' she managed, feeling choked up.

‘No, he really is okay. Is Grandma asleep?'

‘Almost,' she said and here was a way to let him off the hook without injuring any more of that fragile manly ego. ‘She wants to say goodnight to you. Do you reckon you could stay with her while we milk? I'm still a bit worried about her.'

‘Sure,' Scott said and slid off the fence and again she had to haul herself back from rushing forward to help. ‘Watch William with those cups, though. Four teats, four cups. It's taking him a bit of time to figure it out.'

‘Hey!' William said, sounding wounded, and Meg laughed and watched her little brother retreat and thought this was as good as it got.

But it was so fleeting. Tomorrow or the next day, William would be gone.

It was okay. This was the right thing to do. She had no choice but to resign. A PA, hopelessly devoted to her boss? That was pathetic and she knew it.

She glanced at him and thought, dumb or not, she was hopelessly devoted. She had no choice but to get as far from William as possible.

‘He's a great kid,' William said and she flushed and started milking and didn't answer.

‘You don't agree?' he asked after she'd cupped her first cow.

‘Of course I agree.'

‘But you're not talking.'

‘It's been a big day.'

‘But it's normal again now,' he said gently. ‘Though it's a shame you felt the need to change. I liked your dress.'

‘I'll wear it again tomorrow.' She gathered her emotions
and told them firmly to behave. Two days max and he'd be gone. ‘Tell me about Pip and Ned. Do you have Christmas gifts for them?'

‘I do.'

‘What?'

‘Bubble guns,' he said. ‘Battery powered. Ten bubbles a second and they're seriously big.'

‘You sound like you tried them out.'

‘Why wouldn't I?'

Whoa… The thought of W S McMaster with a bubble gun… ‘Whereabouts did you try them out?'

‘On my balcony. I sent bubbles over Central Park.'

She giggled. Then she remembered he was going home and she stopped giggling.

‘Meg?' he said softly from behind a cow.

‘Yes?'

‘Reconsider.'

‘Quitting?'

‘Yes.'

‘No.'

‘Why not?'

‘Not negotiable,' she said. ‘Being your assistant means being aloof.'

‘You were never aloof.'

‘I was aloof in my head.'

‘And you're not now?'

‘No,' she said shortly. ‘Can we keep on milking?'

‘Of course we can. As long as you keep on thinking about reconsidering.'

‘I can't.'

‘Don't think can't. Think of all the reasons why you just might can.'

‘That's a crazy thing to say.'

‘Resigning's a crazy thing to think.'

 

Only of course she was right and it was non-negotiable. They both knew it.

They finished milking, they cleaned the yard, they worked in tandem and mostly they worked in silence. Then they headed inside and ate the last of the trifle and bread and ham in that order because Letty and Scott were both deeply asleep and it didn't seem to matter what order they ate in.

William thought back to Christmas Eve meals he'd had as a child. Christmas had been an excuse for socializing, which meant huge parties of very drunk people. Because it was Christmas his parents had insisted he be part of it. At Christmas they had to pretend to be a family.

Here…for the past two days they'd lived on Letty's vast trifle and chunks of the huge Christmas ham and fresh bread and butter, eating as they felt like it, and it had felt… okay. Sensible. Delicious, even. But not…right?

The world seemed out of kilter somehow, William thought as he washed the dinner dishes and Meg wiped beside him. It felt so domestic, and domestic was something he'd never felt. Doing the washing-up with his PA was weird. All of today had been weird.

He'd lost his PA.

He'd lost Meg.

‘We have the Internet back on,' Meg said as she put away the last plate. ‘There's a phone connection in the attic—I use the attic as an office when it's not a spare bedroom—so you can catch up on the outside world before you go to sleep.'

‘And you?'

‘I'm checking on Millicent and then I'm going to bed. Christmas or not, it's still a five a.m. start. Goodnight, William.'

‘Do you want help with Millicent?'

‘She's not looking much different to this morning. I doubt if anything's happening tonight. Goodnight,' she said again,
and she took the torch and headed out through the back door. The day was ended.

He'd check the Internet. He'd see what was happening with air traffic. He hadn't even checked today; maybe it was resolved.

Maybe he could leave.

Meg had already left.

 

Maybe things
were
happening tonight. She'd started again. Millicent was back to being uncomfortable, or more than uncomfortable, Meg thought. Her tail was constantly high, her back was arched and her eyes told Meg that she was in pain.

‘Hey, it's okay,' Meg told her, fondling her behind the ears, scratching her, letting her rub her big head against her chest. This cow had been raised as a pet. She was a big sook and Letty loved her.

A normal dairy farmer would go to bed now, set the alarm and check her in a couple of hours. But, when she stepped back, Millicent's eyes widened in fear. Meg sighed and went back to the house and fetched a folding chair, a lantern, a book and a rug.

‘Happy Christmas,' she told Millicent as she settled down to wait. ‘You and me and hopefully a baby for Christmas. We should do this in a manger. Or, at the very least, at the bottom of the haystack.'