IT WAS THE sound of laughter that woke Tilly the next morning.
Male laughter.
Sunlight was streaming through the curtains in what had always been her own room in this wonderful old, rambling house. In the same moment that Tilly realised it was Christmas Eve, she also realised she’d slept in. For someone who was always awake at the crack of dawn, seven-thirty felt like half the morning had been wasted but she felt too good to beat herself up over it. She had, in fact, had a better sleep than she could remember having in...well...possibly her entire adult life.
She hadn’t even had any dreams, she thought, as she pulled on a pair of cut-off jeans and a tee shirt after a quick visit to the bathroom. Old clothes, because her brain was waking up properly now and she remembered that they hadn’t been able to cut down that baby pine tree her father wanted for the living room. It had been too late by the time she and Harry had got home last night and Tilly had been both physically and emotionally exhausted.
She could hear another shout of laughter as she brushed her hair. Harry’s laughter. Suddenly, it was more than Tilly’s brain that had woken up. Her body was coming back to the land of the living with surprising enthusiasm. She could feel an echo of that heat she’d felt with Harry’s touch when he’d done that bit of play-acting about having fallen in love with her at first sight and it was merging with how she’d felt in the wake of that kiss yesterday—being so hyperaware of every one of her senses—still able to taste him on her tongue, even. But there was a new element to the mix of memories and awareness.
That feeling of safety.
Of hope, perhaps?
Definitely happiness, anyway. Tilly didn’t bother taking the time to find shoes or scrape her hair back into the usual tight braid she wore. She could feel her own laughter on the tip of her tongue as she walked into the living room, despite not knowing what was going on.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.
Both men looked up and the expressions on their faces made Tilly stop in her tracks. Her father’s face was softening with pleasure at seeing her, the crinkles around his eyes and the tenderness of his smile made it almost look as if he was about to shed a tear. It was a look of pure love.
What made Tilly’s heart skip a beat was that there was something in the expression on Harry’s face that was oddly similar. Apart from a spark of something that couldn’t have been more different—an appreciation of what was being seen that not only ignited that heat again instantly but threw a significant amount of new fuel on the blaze. She had to look away before she melted into a puddle.
‘Oh...you’ve got a tree already.’
‘Your man was up early,’ Jim told her. ‘He not only helped me get washed and dressed, he went and found the trees and sent me photos so I could choose the perfect one. We were just waiting for you to get up before he cooks breakfast.’ He winked at Tilly. ‘You’ve found a keeper this time, love.’
Tilly sucked in a breath. How awful would it be if her father realised that she didn’t have any hold on Harry whatsoever so there was no chance of ‘keeping’ him? He wasn’t even planning on staying in the same country as her for much longer. On the plus side, however, at least she didn’t have to worry about her father discovering the truth himself, especially having witnessed that kiss last night.
‘I wanted to help choose the tree.’ She knew she sounded a bit grumpy. She was also staring at the tree propped up in a red bucket, as if she was trying to find fault with a task that had been completed without her involvement. There were strings of lights draped around it and a few decorations had been hung.
‘You needed your sleep, sweetheart.’ Harry was delving into a cardboard box. ‘Oh, my...’ He was laughing again. ‘It’s a leprechaun, so it is.’
Tilly was still staring at the tree as she recognised the decorations already on the tree. The reindeer that looked more like a corgi with very strange ears. The angel that could have been an anaemic bat. ‘Oh, no...how could you, Dad? I thought I threw those dreadful things out twenty years ago.’
‘I rescued the box from the rubbish bin.’ Jim sounded satisfied. ‘You made them and they’re family treasures. And I do believe that’s an elf, not a leprechaun,’ he told Harry. ‘Although, if it makes you feel at home, lad, there’s not that much difference, is there?’
The small figure made out of baked modelling clay had long, spidery green legs and arms and an oversized red hat with a pompom. This was about as embarrassing as having her baby photos displayed. Except, as Harry got to his feet and carried the elf to the tree, he gave her one of those smiles. The kind that was probably responsible for legions of women falling in love with him without any encouragement, but this time it didn’t make her feel the slightest resentment.
It made her smile straight back.
And it made her realise that, after last night, she had stepped into the same space all those other women had visited, only to leave with broken hearts. Luckily for Tilly, she knew that any visit she might be making into Harry Doyle’s fan club was a very temporary thing and, even if there was something real creeping into the game they were supposed to be playing—on her side, anyway—it was only for a day or two, so it couldn’t do any real harm, surely? If anything, it would only make it more convincing when she broke the news to her father that a real relationship had come to an end, with her and Harry going their separate ways.
Harry looped the elf’s string around the tip of a branch. ‘Brilliant idea to put the string in the middle of his back,’ he said. ‘Makes him look like he’s flying. Wait... I know who this is... He’s Super-Elf, isn’t he?’
Tilly shook her head, but she was laughing along with both the men and it was suddenly easy to push any misgivings about her feelings for Harry aside. ‘I’ll get breakfast started,’ she said. ‘Bacon and eggs?’
‘Sounds great,’ Jim said. ‘I’d kill for a cup of tea too.’
‘How’s that ankle feeling this morning? Have you had some painkillers?’ Tilly went towards her father. ‘I should check the swelling in your toes. And your capillary refill.’
‘Already done,’ Harry said. ‘And I’m happy. As long as he’s careful to keep his weight off that foot, I think he’s well on the road to making a good recovery. Speaking of which—’ Harry headed back to the stack of boxes ‘—we just got a call from the surgeon who took those spikes out of Jase’s arm.’
Flashes of the dramatic rescue of the young farmer replayed themselves in Tilly’s mind, but the overarching memory was that Harry had been by her side. Keeping her safe as she’d tried to keep Jason’s arm safe.
‘Is he okay? Has he had surgery yet?’
‘He was in Theatre within an hour of the helicopter landing, after they got all the imaging they needed to see whether any major vessels or nerves were involved. He got very lucky—the worst damage was a cracked ulnar, which should heal very quickly.’
‘Jase’s dad drove his wife, Sandra, up to Dunedin while his mum looked after the kids,’ Jim added. ‘He got out of surgery about three a.m., but apparently he’s well enough this morning for them to agree to discharging him into our care. I said we’d keep a close eye on him and make sure he’s taking his antibiotics. He should be back in time to catch the village barbecue and carol singing this evening. Which reminds me, Harry...we need to get that Santa suit out and make sure it fits you. I think it’s out in the barn somewhere. Let’s hope the mice haven’t got into the box. Tilly’ll find it, won’t you, sweetheart?’
‘After breakfast,’ she said. ‘It was already on my list. Along with getting that tree decorated—with some proper ornaments. And I want to check on Maggie and then get into Queenstown for a spot of power shopping or there won’t be very much under the tree. Then we’ll need time to get Harry into his Santa outfit before we head into the village. What time does it all start?’
‘Father Christmas needs to be on his throne by five o’clock,’ Jim said. ‘It takes at least an hour for the photos and chats and there’s the games for the kids and then the barbecue. I used to sneak into Sally’s house next door to take the suit off while that was happening, and that way I could go into the church for the carol singing at seven o’clock.’
‘Is there a rule that Father Christmas doesn’t go to church?’ Harry sounded curious.
Tilly nodded. ‘Church is about the real Christmas story. There’s a nativity scene, and old Mrs Baker plays the electric organ for the carols, and everybody gets to hold candles.’
‘And I get to go as me,’ Jim said. ‘It helps keep the secret about who Santa is.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I look forward to this every year. I wonder if I could persuade Lizzie to take me if we can fit the wheelchair into her car.’
‘Lizzie? The nurse who was looking after you yesterday?’
‘That’s her. She’s coming out this morning to make sure I’m behaving myself. And she’s on her own since her husband died a few years ago, so she might like some company on Christmas Eve.’
‘Oh?’ Tilly’s eyebrows rose. ‘Is there something I should know about going on here?’
‘She’s a friend,’ Jim said. ‘That’s all.’ He leaned back against the pillows on the end of the couch. ‘She’ll be happy to help me do the tree if she’s got the time, but I won’t be short on help today. I’ve been getting calls from all over the district. News sure gets around here fast. Who needs social media when you’ve got a country town?’
‘That’s so true,’ Tilly murmured.
It was no surprise that she found herself meeting Harry’s gaze when she glanced in his direction. He knew how she felt about the lack of privacy in country towns. He was also reminding her that nobody was going to hear anything about Tilly’s past from him.
‘You can trust me, Tilly. You know that...’
‘So you don’t have to worry about me being on my own today,’ Jim continued, seemingly oblivious to the silent communication going on in front of him. ‘You’ll be able to take your time and show your man why Queenstown is so famous all over the world.’
Her man.
He was Tilly’s man.
It should have been disturbing to know that he was successfully deceiving a man as nice as Jim Dawson, but instead Harry found he was having no problem with the assumption at all.
He was Tilly’s man. At least until the day after tomorrow, when he had his return flight booked. More importantly, he wanted to be Tilly’s man—in every sense—even if it was only going to be for a blink of time. He wanted to give her the gift of being able to believe in herself and, if she would let him, he wanted to give her the confidence to embrace her sexuality and stop putting up barriers to a future that could include a partner and maybe even children.
And it felt as if they’d both taken the first step in the right direction last night at the lake. Tilly was wearing shorts this morning, that showed off those long, slim legs. Not only that, she hadn’t scraped her hair back in that severe style. It was falling in long, loose waves right down her back and, like her mother in that old photo, she was looking impossibly gorgeous.
Even better, when he’d watched her walk into the living room this morning, he could see and feel the difference in the way Tilly was moving in her own skin—more freely, as if an outer shell was much less of a filter to what others could see. She looked...more relaxed. Happier, even?
Whatever. Harry had felt an unspoken but surprisingly strong bond with Jim Dawson in that moment, as they’d both watched her come into the room. For very different reasons, maybe, they both felt proud of her, didn’t they? The world, for both of them, had just become a little brighter thanks to Tilly’s presence. Happiness was contagious, wasn’t it? And it could be given and received at exactly the same time, which only made it bigger.
Better.
They were all at ease with each other enough for banter and laughter to be only a breath away. Soft poached eggs on the toast made from yesterday’s sourdough loaf, along with crisp bacon and grilled home-grown tomatoes tasted better than any breakfast Harry had ever had and he blamed Tilly’s cooking, a little later, for how tight the Santa suit was when he had to squash the pillow in to do up the wide black belt.
‘It’s perfect,’ Tilly told him. ‘You’ve just got the wig and hat, and the beard, to go on. Oh...and the glasses, of course.’ She held out the round gold-rimmed spectacles.
‘I’ll melt,’ Harry warned. ‘Have you any idea how hot this outfit is?’
Jim laughed. ‘They’ll find a shady spot for you. And a cold beer when no one’s looking. It’s all in a good cause, lad. You’ll be amazed what you’ll find out about Craig’s Gully. Hope you’re good at keeping secrets.’
Harry let himself catch Tilly’s gaze again. He’d already done his best, this morning, to reassure her that he would never betray her trust, but it was good to be able to say it aloud.
‘Keeping secrets is one of my superpowers,’ he told Jim. ‘Even the torture of being cooked alive in a Santa suit won’t drag them out of me.’
He collected another secret or two after as he and Tilly enjoyed a late lunch at one of the many appealing eateries in the wharf-side area by Queenstown’s Lake Wakatipu, in the heart of a crowded shopping district that offered everything from local crafts to designer fashion. Sheltered from the sun by big umbrellas, they ate crayfish salad and watched people bustling past doing their last-minute Christmas shopping.
‘Do you think Maggie was being honest when she said she was feeling good today?’ Harry was frowning. ‘You know her a lot better than I do.’
‘I think she was.’ Tilly nodded. ‘When you were taking the kit back out to the car she told me not to worry because she wasn’t going to die this year. She said there was no way she was going to spoil the memory of Christmas Day for any of her grandies.’
‘I love Maggie,’ Harry said. ‘I’d love to have had a grandma like her.’
‘Me too.’ Tilly smiled. ‘But how lucky was I to have her as a surrogate mum when I needed one.’
Perhaps they were both thinking about their mothers as they ate in silence for a while. Harry felt the need to lighten the mood and a glance at the lake, where people were water-skiing in the distance and kayaking closer to shore, made it easy to change the subject.
‘There’s so much to do here, isn’t there?’ he commented. ‘One of those travel shops we passed had a window full of the stuff you can do around here, and I was having a look while you were choosing that bunch of flowers. You can do four-wheel drive excursions up the Skippers Canyon, Lord of the Rings tours, jet boat adventures. And isn’t this where bungee jumping got invented?’
‘It really started on a Pacific Island and then got copied by some English guys who were into dangerous hobbies, but this was certainly where it became a thing.’
Harry was still scanning the lake. ‘What’s the big boat coming in? It looks like a steamship.’
‘It is. It’s our iconic TSS Earnslaw, which I believe is the only remaining coal-fired steamship that takes passengers in the southern hemisphere. I remember my first cruise when I was about four and I thought it was the most exciting thing ever.’ Tilly bit her lip. ‘Is this when I should confess I’m a total wimp and I’ve never done the jet boats in the rapids or gone up the Skippers and I have no desire at all to do a bungee jump?’
Harry pulled in a breath, ready to tell Tilly that the last thing in the world he would ever call her was a wimp. That he knew exactly how much courage it had taken to keep her dreadful secret and not only face life but to succeed in everything she’d chosen to do.
He wanted to tell her that, no matter what, he admired her immensely. And that, even if he didn’t really have any right to be, he was enormously proud of her. But the opportunity to say anything vanished before the words had gathered coherently because Tilly jumped to her feet.
‘On second thoughts, we don’t have time for confessions. And I’m sure you’ve heard enough of mine, anyway.’ Tilly wrinkled her nose as she turned away. ‘Why don’t you stay here and enjoy the view while I finish up getting the boring bits and pieces like wrapping paper and ribbons. I know Dad’s favourite shop too, and I’ll pop in to get him a new shirt. Something he might not choose for himself.’
‘Like a pink one?’
‘Yeah...’ Tilly grinned. ‘Perfect. I’ll say it’s from both of us.’
‘He might hate it.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll never even know if he doesn’t wear it. You’ll be on the other side of the world by then.’ Tilly was making it sound like a good thing that he’d be so far away. ‘We’ll have to head back in an hour at the latest, so we’ve got time to turn you into Father Christmas.’
‘I’ll go for a wander myself,’ Harry said. ‘Meet you back where we parked?’
‘Good idea. Hey...find yourself some swimming shorts. The forecast is good for tomorrow, and we’ll have plenty of time to go for a swim.’
Harry did find himself some shorts he could swim in. He bought a box of craft beer and had it gift-wrapped for Jim, but then a window display in an artisan’s workshop caught his eye and he knew exactly what he’d been hoping to find.
Something that would remind Tilly of this blip of time in her life.
That would remind her of him...
She’d done her best to forget about it.
She’d kept herself busy ever since she’d woken up this morning, but it didn’t seem to be helping.
Matilda Dawson wanted Harry to kiss her again and the wanting had been getting stronger and stronger all day. It had kicked into action when he’d given her that look—the one that told her what she already knew—that there was no doubt at all that she could trust him.
The wanting had gone up several notches as he’d kept her laughing over breakfast and she had hoped that the privacy of the old stone-built barn when they went to find the Father Christmas costume might have been enough for the desire to become contagious, but there was no hint that Harry was even thinking about it.
Why would he? Tilly thought. He’d only kissed her last night because they were being watched by her father and it was like producing an ace from his sleeve in the game they were playing.
So maybe we should give him something more interesting to see...?
He’d held her so close last night, beside the lake, but maybe she’d imagined that he ended up looking at her as if he was thinking of kissing her again? Why would he when she’d just finished telling him about the trauma of having been forced to have sex? Maybe all that had been in that look was what she had felt in their closeness. That understanding and tenderness on his part. That feeling of safety on Tilly’s part that had unlocked something deep inside that she’d thought she’d lost for ever—the ability to trust a man she didn’t know, along with a physical yearning that had clearly distilled into something so much stronger for having been ignored for so many years.
She couldn’t initiate something herself, though, in the barn or anywhere else for that matter. Not after the way she had involuntarily reacted to Harry’s kiss last night. What if he didn’t actually want to kiss her again? And, even if he did, what if she had a panic attack or something in response to anything more than simply a kiss? Even if there was only a limited time that she would be working with Harry before he went home to Ireland, the fact that he knew about something so intimate—so humiliating—about her would make everything so much worse.
So...it had to be Harry’s choice if or when anything else was going to happen between them. If that turned out to be nothing or never, Tilly still had something that she was always going to be very thankful for. The gratitude made her invent a reason to escape from Harry during their shopping trip to Queenstown. She wanted to find a gift that was special enough to make him realise that he’d given her much more of a gift than giving her father a happy Christmas believing that his daughter had found true love.
Harry had given her the gift of being able to believe that he was right. That there was nothing wrong with her and that she didn’t deserve the horrible label of being frigid that she’d allowed herself to believe. Because nobody who had an aversion to sex could feel this level of desire. Or this need for something Tilly had believed she could never want again and...and it was making her feel alive.
Not the kind of alive that had become almost an addiction in the last ten years—with that adrenaline rush of facing an intense situation when someone’s life was in danger and your heart was racing and every sense was heightened. The kind of rush that was the reason why she loved working in the emergency department so much and could never have imagined wanting the quieter working life of a rural GP.
But this kind of alive could also make your heart speed up, couldn’t it? It could heighten every sense like taste and touch and make even the colours around you and the warmth of the sunshine on your skin seem more intense. Maybe the difference was the destination. The aftermath of fighting for someone’s life could leave you feeling either victorious or defeated but it was also a state of being that was hard to unwind from.
The destination that this kind of being alive could take you to was the complete opposite.
Peace.
Contentment.
The feeling of coming home after a long day’s work, where you could take a deep breath and simply be...
Like the way she’d felt in Harry’s arms last night, when the tears had gone and her fear had been washed away with them.
The feeling of home but with the bonus of not being there alone.
With that thought humming in the back of her mind, it turned out to be very easy to choose the gift she was searching for.
It had everything. It would remind Harry of his time in New Zealand. It had a meaning that captured the essence of what he had given her with the promise of potentially a new life. It was something he could keep close so he would never forget, but he could also keep it private. As private as the secret he was keeping on her behalf.
Best of all, he would be able to see it. And touch it. And it would remind him of her.