Christmas at Waratah Bay Read Online Free PDF Page B

why.
    Um . . . enough. She’d heaved up the base of the trunk, seemingly ready and willing to drag the tree to the truck by herself.
    Um . . . not. A guy had some pride.
    “I can do it,” she said, as he moved to take her place, and she sounded indignant.
    He grabbed the trunk but she hung on. “I will do it,” she snapped and all of a sudden he heard . . . what? Longing in her voice? It didn’t make sense, but it was enough to make him stand back, then grab the tail end of the tree so the two of them were doing the carrying. She conceded that to him at least, and together they hauled the tree back to the truck.
    It really was too big, he thought as they heaved it onto the tray. This was a tree for a major Christmas celebration instead of for a quiet Christmas for one reclusive farmer, one New York supermodel flying in and out for a fleeting visit, and one dying old man.
    “It’s not over the top,” Sarah said grimly, as if she could read his thoughts. “I haven’t ever given him a Christmas. I will do this.”
    Forget boundaries. “Why haven’t you ever given him a Christmas?”
    “For reasons that don’t concern you.”
    “You’ve written every week but never visited?”
    “Don’t judge me.”
    But, she’d told him nothing, and it was pissing him off. He’d bared his soul; what about her? “I already have judged,” he snapped. Your whole family . . . Do you know how alone Harold’s been? He broke his hip two years ago and no one came near?”
    “He broke his hip?” She turned and stared. “He never . . . ” She stared for a moment longer, saw the truth of it, then closed her eyes as pain washed over her face. “How . . . how badly?”
    “Bad. It got infected. There were a few days . . . “But he stopped as her look of anguish deepened.
    “He never said,” she managed. “He never told me. There’s hardly been a gap in the letters until now. A couple of late ones, but none missed. It must have been while I still couldn’t afford to phone. I guess . . . ”
    “I guess he only told you what he wanted you to know.”
    “I did the same for him,” she whispered. “I’m just glad that finally this time I could come. You know, I guess I hoped he’d go on forever. Just the same. Harold would always be here for me. But then, the letters stopped and I panicked and rang the hospital. I should have . . . ”
    “Your whole family should have.”
    “Leave it,” she snapped. “I’m here now. I came. I know I should have come earlier, but your judgment isn’t helpful. And, don’t you dare put on that scornful face in front of Harold or he’ll have your guts for garters. He loves me.”
    “Guts for garters?” he said faintly. She was glaring at him, her fury and distress a heady mix. She had a smear of pine-sap marring one of her extraordinary cheek bones. There were pine needles in her hair. She looked . . . she looked . . .
    Um, don’t go there. You do not want to feel desire for a woman who’s a fleeting apparition, a shadow from Harold’s past, a woman flying in and out of the country to assuage a guilty conscience.
    Except desire wasn’t something he could turn on and off at will. He looked at her, and he knew very well what he was feeling.
    She was gorgeous.
    She was angry, accusing, upset. She was sap-stained and lovely.
    She was not the least interested in desire.
    “Let’s get this over with,” she snapped in words eerily reminiscent of his past vows, and he caught himself and grabbed a rope and started tying the tree down onto the tray.
    And then, they both paused.
    A car was heading toward them along the unsealed road. It was dirt-white, old, battered, and flying toward them far too fast.
    Max’s truck was parked by the roadside, not far enough off to be safe. Instinctively he grabbed Sarah’s arm and hauled her back, behind the tray. The car was swerving in the dust, skidding, obviously driven by someone trying to impress, someone out