Christmas at Waratah Bay Read Online Free Page A

it’s hardly been changed since he lived there.”
    “You said he won’t . . . ”
    “He won’t come home with me,” he said. “But if you’re there, I don’t think there’d be an argument. I assume you know the big house? You were there as a child. I assume you remember it?”
    Did she remember it? She loved that house. She thought of that appalling winter when she was fifteen and so miserable she wanted to die. She thought of Harold, and the gift he’d given her that year, and despite the fact that she had to stay in control in front of this man— she must —she felt her eyes well with tears. She gave her face an angry swipe and she hauled herself under control.
    “Yes,” she snapped. “Of course I remember it.”
    “So what if we tell Harold that I’ve invited you both to stay with me. Just for Christmas. I don’t use the bedroom he used. He sold me most of the furniture with the house, so it’s pretty much intact. You can have . . . whichever bedroom you used. You can treat the house as yours.”
    “For Christmas.”
    “I’m not offering an extended stay.”
    “I’m not asking.”
    “So you’ll come?”
    “He’d love it,” she whispered. “One last time at the Bay. Oh, Max, you might be a judgmental creep, but that’s really kind.”
    “Wow, thanks . . . ”
    But, she’d moved on. “We could set a tree up in the living room, but it’d have to be big. Huge. Do you have a truck? Of course you have a truck, you’re a farmer. And there are boxes full of decorations in his attic—unless you’ve tossed them. Have you tossed them?”
    “No . . . ”
    “Well, then. And the dogs. You said his dogs are there. Really?”
    “Really.” He seemed confounded.
    “Well, then,” she said again and she beamed, a beam that lit the room, a beam that told him exactly why she made a living as a supermodel. “I was about to write you off,” she told him and before he knew what she was about she’d crossed the room, reached up—and kissed him. It was a featherlight touching of the lips, nothing more, and it shouldn’t have had the power to do anything. The fact that it rocked him was . . . was . . .
    “I’ve changed my mind,” she said, before he could react and she reached back to the kitchen table and grabbed her purse. “I’ve decided you’re a very nice man, all the more because you’ve made your offer before I’ve had the chance to unpack. Christmas at Waratah Bay. This will be fantastic, I know it. Okay then, Max Ramsey, enough of your gloomy predictions. Enough of your negativity and your pox on family. For now, for this Christmas, we’re Harold’s family. So let’s go get ourselves a Christmas tree and get on with it.”

Chapter Three
    ‡
    W hat had he done?
    He’d invited this woman home for Christmas.
    He didn’t do Christmas. He guarded his solitude like diamonds. He loved walking from room to room, alone. He loved sitting by the fire at night, the only sound the crackling of burning logs and the occasional wuffle of dogs.
    He loved the fact that Waratah Bay was his alone. He’d had a lifetime of chaos. This place was home and nowhere else had ever felt that way.
    But it was about to get invaded.
    They were bumping down the track, off on a Christmas tree hunt. Sarah was sitting beside him, dressed now in jeans, t-shirt and trainers. Dressed for work? He didn’t think so. The jeans were pristine and both her t-shirt and trainers were gleaming white. She’d tied her sleek hair back into a pony tail with a white ribbon. She’d emerged from her bedroom declaring she was ready for work, but she still looked like she could sashay down any catwalk in the world and look at home.
    Home. There was that word again.
    Home now for Max was glorious solitude and this woman was moving right in.
    One woman and one elderly man. Just for Christmas. He could do this.
    Get the tree and get on with it.
    He had three dogs and a chain saw in the back of the truck. There