Footsteps on gravel drew her attention back to the car park. To Cole Harrison standing in front of her, tree over his shoulder as if it were a snapped-off branch rather than the whole shebang.

  ‘I’ll get this netted up for you and onto your roof racks.’

  The man was the epitome of efficiency and politeness. She squinted at his profile as he fed the tree into the funnel. The leech incident had taken her mind on a detour.

  ‘So.’ She collected the roof ties from her boot and followed him to the other end of the machine where he was extracting the netted tree. ‘The other day you were driving a ute with a farrier logo right beneath your name.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But you clearly work here.’

  ‘Temporarily.’ He stood the netted tree beside him, arm around it as if giving it a hug. It was a good half-metre taller than him and he had to be around 185 centimetres. Was that thing going to fit on her racks? ‘My stepfather owns the farm but he’s recovering from surgery so I’m helping out during the rush. Owen’s supposed to be here too but he’s shirking.’

  ‘Your stepfather is Uncle Willy?’

  ‘Sure is. Bill to his friends and family but he thought Uncle Willy had a better ring to it.’

  ‘Right, well that’s very … noble of you.’ Noble? Where had that come from? He wasn’t a knight of the Round Table. Although based on his chivalry, he very well could have been one in a past life. If that was a thing.

  Cole shrugged. ‘It’s family. Speaking of which, I have a dinner to get to at my mother’s place. I’d better get moving. I’ll pop this on the roof for you.’

  Giving him a wide berth while he hoisted the tree onto the roof and secured it with the straps she’d fortunately remembered to bring (unlike her boots), Hannah took in the flex of his shoulders and the strong, sure movements of his hands. Her gaze drifted lower to the firm curve of his—

  He turned and she snapped to attention. Squeezed her folded arms against her midline.

  He cupped his chin with his palm and rubbed his fingers along his chiselled jawline. ‘I know this is kind of a strange place to ask this question, and I’m not even sure if you have a partner, but …’ He let out a rough laugh. ‘If you don’t have a partner, would you consider going on a date with me?’

  A date? An image of him smiling at her from across a candlelit table, glass of red wine in hand, shimmered in her mind’s eye. Their knees bumped and his hand—

  Shut that thought down right there, Hannah Rasmussen!

  ‘I can’t date a patient’s brother.’ She blurted it out as if she was Bridget Jones jumping in with the answer at a law society trivia night.

  ‘Okay.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘I thought that might be the case. But worth asking, right?’ He reached up and wiggled the secured tree. ‘You’ll be okay getting it down and into the house?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Oh God, which question was she answering? ‘I mean, the tree. I can get it down. And inside.’ Maybe not, but she needed to hightail it out of here before her out-of-control imagination came up with any more completely inappropriate visions. Or she crossed yet another professional line and changed her answer. She plucked out the notes she’d pulled from her wallet before leaving home and thrust them at him. ‘Thanks so much. For the tree.’

  She stepped towards the car but he made no attempt to move and her arm brushed against his torso as she reached for the door. Her skin prickled, as if a loveliness of lady beetles was tap-dancing up her arm. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she locked the doors just in case he attempted to jump in beside her and pressed the ignition button. In her rear-vision mirror, Cole Harrison stood with one hand on his hip and the other scratching his head, looking confused.

  ‘That makes two of us, buddy.’

  Chapter 6

  The scent of the tree was overpowering. Even here in the bedroom, along the hallway from where she’d somehow wrangled the damn thing upright and secured it in the holder she’d bought at the IGA on the way home. Fresh pine perfume filled her senses. She closed her eyes and felt herself falling, like Alice in Wonderland, down a long, dark, spiral tunnel, her stomach cartwheeling in time with her body, her head spinning as if she’d been hypnotised by the Cheshire Cat. When she landed, there was no white rabbit shouting at her about being late, but there was a tree towering over her head with a very distinct aroma. Tiny needles prickled her bottom where she sat cross-legged on the floor, her Disney Princess jammy pants bunched at the top of her legs.

  A soft thud on the floorboards made her jump and she sucked in a mouthful of air as she turned. ‘Oh, it’s only you.’ She breathed out as Bustopher Jones padded towards her and hopped into her lap. She scratched under his chin in the spot she knew he loved best and he purred his love. ‘You scared me, Buster, you naughty boy.’ The cat closed his eyes beneath the long white hairs of his eyebrows. He’d been asleep on the end of her bed when she’d crept downstairs. Maybe he’d wanted to see what Santa had left for him too.

  Hannah glanced towards the mantlepiece to where the family stockings hung in a neat row. Hers, Madeleine’s, Mummy’s and Daddy’s, and Buster’s. He didn’t seem in a hurry to find out what was in it, so she turned her attention back to the package in front of her and a fuzzy feeling warmed her insides. She knew it was from Santa because his presents weren’t wrapped. He didn’t have time for that, not with so many houses to visit, all those chimneys to slip down and windows to climb through. This present was definitely from Santa. Angel, the doll she’d asked for, stared out from where she was trapped inside the box, her beautiful blonde hair falling to her knees, her eyes big and blue, her cheeks soft and pink. And her dress: purple velvet, the colour of the flowers in the garden, the ones that smelt so pretty but which made Hannah sneeze if she got too close.

  Her tummy tightened, as if it was a sponge being squeezed by two strong hands, and she bit down on her bottom lip. Mummy was always so strict about everyone getting up together on Christmas morning to open the presents, but surely it wouldn’t hurt if she just opened this one? She stared down at Angel, at her rosy lips, her secret smile. Hannah was six now, old enough to know dolls couldn’t talk, but when she leaned in she could almost hear Angel whispering: Let me out, I want to play with you. Please let me out.

  One more look over her shoulder was all it took. One burst of orange cordial rushing through her body. She tugged at the seal, ripped open the lid and pulled her Angel free. Holding the doll to her cheek, she closed her eyes and breathed in the toy-store smell. ‘I’m so happy you’re mine.’

  ‘Hannah.’

  Her mother’s cranky voice made her jump.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I, um …’ Tears pooled in her eyes. She was going to be in so much trouble. ‘I just—’

  ‘What have we said about waiting until everyone is awake?’ Mummy’s face was all wrinkled and her hands sat on her hips as if she was doing the teapot song and about to pour herself out. She dropped her arms to her sides, marched forwards and collected both box and doll. ‘As much as I hate to do this …’ She let out a long, low sigh.

  Hannah was on her feet in a second. ‘No, Mummy, that’s mine, Santa left it for me.’

  ‘You need to learn to listen, Hannah. For now, the doll is going into time out.’

  A pain made Hannah’s chest crunch up, like she’d tripped over and fallen on a sharp rock. ‘No, Mummy, please.’

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Daddy’s quieter, sleepier voice soothed the ache. He stood in the doorway in his Christmas boxers and T-shirt, the one with the laughing reindeer on the front. But not even that could make Hannah smile right now.

  ‘Someone decided to open her presents early.’ Mummy again, in that voice she only used with Daddy, Angel tucked under her arm, the doll’s hair all messed up from how she’d been grabbed. Mummy whispered something in Daddy’s ear, her frown melting away. And then she was gone, back up the stairs to put Angel in the top of the cupboard where all the toys went for punishment. But it wasn’t Angel’s fault. Why did Mummy have to be so mean?

  Hannah’s head hit the floor with a bang when she threw herself down, big fat tears wetting her cheeks and horrible hard hiccups shaking her ribs.

  ‘Come on, munchkin, it’s okay.’ A warm hand pressed against her back, then slid around her waist and then another on the other side and she was lifted through the air. Daddy held her against him as if she was a baby again. She was certainly crying like one.

  ‘But that …’ she double-sniffed, trying so hard to get the words out, ‘… that was my present from Santa.’

  ‘And you know the rules. You have to wait for everyone on Christmas morning.’

  Rules, rules. There were so many rules. Don’t leave the table until you’re finished. Don’t speak with your mouth full. Take your shoes off at the door. No TV in the morning. Lights out at seven o’clock. Rules for everything every day. Why did there have to be rules for Christmas too?

  ‘Come on now, take a big breath. You know Mummy’s not a morning person. And she’s worked hard to make sure we all have the best day. She just wants everything to be perfect.’ He gave a small chuckle, like he’d been tickled under the chin. ‘I’m sure she’ll let you have your doll later.’ He turned around so Hannah could see the tree from where her head rested against his shoulder, strings of soft white lights shining like strands of Nana’s pearls. ‘And you have more presents to open once your sister is up.’

  That was true. There were other things under the tree. A scooter—that would be Maddie’s—and some smaller things, plus the wrapped presents that would be from Mummy and Daddy. She did one last sniff and rubbed her knuckle against her cheek as she snuggled into her father’s neck. He was warm and cuddly and smelt like apple pie. With his arms around her, she always felt safe. And loved.

  ‘How about we see if the reindeers ate the carrots we left and if Santa drank the beer?’ There was a cheeky sound to Daddy’s voice as he glanced towards the stairs.

  ‘But Mummy and Maddie aren’t here.’

  ‘We’ll just take a quick look,’ he whispered, ‘and keep it our secret.’

  A party popper exploded deep in her belly. ‘Can we?’

  ‘Mmm-hmm.’ He was already walking towards the front door. ‘And then you can help me cut the ham, and I might even sneak you a piece.’

  A giggle bubbled up her throat. She squeezed Daddy’s neck. He always made everything all right again. She loved Mummy, but when she was sad or angry or didn’t know what to do with her feelings, it was Daddy who made her better again.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  She nodded. Yes.

  Daddy reached out and grabbed the doorknob. ‘Close your eyes.’

  This was one of the best parts of Christmas, seeing the half-eaten carrots and the empty bottle of beer, knowing that Santa and the reindeers had been, that something so magical was real.

  ‘Here we go …’

  She scrunched her eyes tighter, held her breath, her whole body tingling.

  A sound much louder than an opening door ruptured the night. Hannah sprang upright, staring into the darkness. A bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating the garden furniture outside her window. She’d opted for no blinds or curtains when she moved in, preferring to wake up with the sun and watch the wrens hop through the hedge fringing the verandah, but maybe there was an argument for some kind of barrier between her and the outside world. At least on nights like this.

  Sinking back against the pillow, she focused on one part of her body at a time to ease the tension she knew hadn’t come from the storm. Not memory, not dream, but halfway between. Every memory of childhood Christmases was associated with her father. His strong hands lifting her into the air to place the star on top of the tree; his laughter echoing down the hallway as he chased her and Maddie into the backyard, pretending to be a reindeer on the loose; the gentle lilt of his voice as he read them their favourite stories, doing all the voices from Scrooge to the Grinch to Frosty the Snowman. He’d loved everything about it and his enthusiasm had been infectious, setting the tone year after year.

  Until the year it all came to a screaming stop.

  Chapter 7

  ‘Coming to the tree lighting tonight?’ Crystal poked her head around the edge of the door, her bright-eyed expression matching her hopeful tone.

  ‘No, I …’ Hannah pointed to the pile of documents on her desk. ‘Paperwork to finish up and then prep for the weekend conference.’

  ‘Oh, come on.’ Crystal stepped into the office, leaving the door behind her open. Light from the stained-glass window in reception cast a multicoloured honeycomb pattern across the timber floor. ‘It’s Friday evening. Everyone in town will be there. You need to experience the full Yarrabee spirit if you want to call yourself a local.’

  Did Hannah want to call herself a local? It had been ten months since she’d made the move, initially to work with people traumatised by the fires before making the decision to stay, but she still didn’t feel like she’d laid down roots. She had the house and practice and a few acquaintances but no real friends. ‘I thought you had to be here for a full decade to qualify for that label.’

  ‘Well, maybe.’ Crystal pulled a lipstick from her handbag, popped it open and managed to apply it flawlessly without the use of a mirror or phone. Truly a miraculous feat. ‘But you have to start somewhere. Plus, there’s a street market and food stalls so you can grab a bite out and not have to cook. That will free up more time. And you get to catch some Christmas spirit while you’re at it.’

  Two very salient points. The fridge was currently bare so she’d either have to shop or grab takeaway, and maybe she could soak up some much-needed jollity.

  ‘Sounds good.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘I’ll see you there.’

  ‘Don’t forget your Santa hat!’ Crystal wriggled her fingers in a jazz-hands kind of farewell.

  The hat would not be happening. But there was something about that woman’s cheeriness that was one hundred percent infectious.

  Once again, Crystal was right on the money when she said the whole town would be out in force. Both sides of the main street were lined with cars, the footpaths crowded with stalls stocking everything from crocheted dolls to homemade jam, organic honey to handcrafted pottery … If she did have anyone to buy for, this would be the ideal opportunity. But she and her mother and sister had ceased the present-buying travesty years ago. Would Lenore and Nancy be into exchanging gifts? And even if they were, what could two women in their early seventies possibly need?

  It was a balmy twenty-five degrees, an ideal summer twilight temperature, perfect for a stroll and browse. A second-hand book stall caught her eye. Most of her reading was on Kindle these days but she did have some spare shelves to fill. The books were in mint condition and organised into genres. Hannah made straight for the romance section, scanning the titles. A few copies of the Bridgerton series, which technically should be in the historical section, a couple of dog-eared rural romances and the turquoise spine of The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood, a book she’d always meant to read. Nothing like a good enemies-to-lovers plot to get you turning the page. She plucked it from the table and opened the cover. Reading the first line pre-purchase was a habit she couldn’t seem to break.

  ‘I wouldn’t have picked you for a romance reader.’

  Oh God, it was him. The gravelly tone was a dead giveaway, not to mention the way the sound of his voice immediately had her senses tingling. She snapped the book shut and tucked it under her arm, arranging her face into as neutral an expression as possible before she turned around.

  ‘And I wouldn’t have picked you for a stickybeak.’ Looking slightly to the left of his face meant she didn’t have to look into those bewitching eyes. All she had to do was be polite and make a quick exit.

  Even without looking directly at him, it was clear he’d dressed up for the outing. Forest green checked shirt, black jeans and that Chris Hemsworth beard.

  ‘How’s the foot?’

  Foot? What foot?

  ‘The leech bite.’

  Oh God, did he have to mention that particular embarrassment? ‘A little itchy,’ she admitted. ‘But I’ll live.’

  He laughed at the echo of his assessment at the scene of the bite. ‘Touché. And you got the tree up okay?’

  She shrugged. Dragging the tree off the roof and wrangling it into the lounge room had been no mean feat but those Pilates classes had definitely paid off. ‘It was a little challenging, but I got there.’ What was it about this man that turned her voice from smooth professional to flirtatious schoolgirl? Whatever it was needed to be boxed up and locked away, hidden in a cupboard with a sign reading FORBIDDEN, the key tossed into the middle of the ocean. ‘Is Owen in town with you?’

  Cole’s eyes darted from side to side, as if he were looking for a fast exit. ‘No. He wanted to visit one of his mates so I dropped him off and said I’d pick him up in an hour. I guess tree lighting isn’t that exciting for a fifteen-year-old boy.’ His mouth twisted into a knot. ‘I’m trying to give him a little rope, show him I trust him, but it’s tough when I know how easily influenced he can be.’

  ‘You have sole responsibility for him?’ Even with an incapacitated stepfather, it seemed like a big ask.