The Nanny Who Saved Christmas

So she could face all this insubstantial, bubble-popping, fake merriment in Melbourne? No, thank you very much! She could put on a happy face and do Christmas. The people at Waminda Downs didn’t know her. They wouldn’t murmur, There, there, the holiday season can be tough sometimes, can’t it? She might not be through with gritting her teeth yet, but she was absolutely positively done with pity.

‘I thought we’d agreed on first names, Cade.’

Very slowly, the tension eased out of him.

She turned back to stare at all the over-the-top Christmasness. ‘My mother would find all this the height of tackiness.’

There was no denying that thought cheered her up.

‘You repeat that to Ella and Holly and I’ll throttle you.’

The words came out on a lazy breath but she didn’t doubt their veracity. She stared down her nose at him. ‘I’m the nanny, not the evil witch.’

‘Just make sure you stay in character.’

She frowned and turned more fully to face him. ‘You don’t exactly strike me as the Santa Claus type yourself, you know?’ And he didn’t. Competent, calm in a crisis, perceptive, she’d peg him as all those things, but joyful and jocund? She shook her head.

‘Just goes to show what you know, then.’

But he shifted on his seat and she remembered he was a father—a single father—and his first priority was making sure his daughters were looked after and happy. ‘I would never ruin the magic of Christmas for any child,’ she assured him.

He surveyed her again and then nodded. ‘Glad that’s settled.’

He still didn’t strike her as Father Christmas material, but there was no questioning his devotion to his daughters. It warmed something inside her that she didn’t want warmed. It made her draw back inside herself. ‘When can I meet Ella and Holly?’

He eyed her thoughtfully, but eventually nodded in the direction of her car window. ‘Right about now, I’d say.’

Nicola turned … and fell in love.

Four-year-old Ella and eighteen-month-old Holly wore the biggest smiles and had the most mischievous faces Nicola had ever seen, and they were dancing down the front steps of the homestead and along the path towards her in matching red and green frocks.

Good Lord! She gulped. She hadn’t factored this in when she’d plotted to keep her distance and maintain her reserve as she implemented her self-improvement scheme.

She pushed out of the car, a smile spreading through her. Children, she made an amendment to her earlier plan, didn’t count. Children didn’t lie and cheat. Children didn’t pretend to be your friend and then steal your fiancé.

She didn’t need to guard her heart around children.

Cade watched Nicola greet Ella and Holly and win them over in two seconds flat.

It wasn’t a difficult feat. He refused to give their perplexing nanny any credit for that. Despite all they’d been through, Ella and Holly were remarkably trusting. They’d have shown as much delight if he’d presented Jerry, the pilot, as their nanny.

But as he watched them, especially Ella, delight in Nicola’s undeniably female presence, his heart started to burn. It should be their mother here. Not a nanny. And no amount of Christmas cheer could ever make that up to his children.

His hands clenched. It wasn’t going to stop him from giving them the best Christmas possible, though.

He pushed out of the car in time to hear Ella ask, ‘Can I call you Nikki?’

Nicola shook her head very solemnly. ‘No, but you can call me Nic. All of my friends call me Nic.’

Ella clapped her hands, but at the mention of friends a shadow passed across Nicola’s face. And just as he had back at the airstrip, Cade found that he wanted to chase that shadow away.

He didn’t know why. His children’s nanny wasn’t particularly winning. She was of ordinary height and weight, perhaps veering a little more on the solid side.When she’d first emerged from the plane and had gazed around with a smile curving her lips, he’d been satisfied. When he’d shaken her hand, he’d been more than satisfied.

And then she’d become stiff and prickly and he hadn’t been able to work out why yet. He was pretty sure he hadn’t frightened her—given his size and the remoteness of the station he’d have understood her apprehension. He was even more certain that she hadn’t wanted to turn around and go back home.

She leant her hands on her knees to talk to his daughters—ordinary hair a nondescript brown and an ordinary face. Ordinary clothes—baggy three-quarter length trousers and an oversized shirt, neither of which did anything much for her. But those eyes—there was nothing ordinary about them. Or their shadows.

Christmas wasn’t the time for shadows. And Waminda Downs, this year, was not the place for them.

He hooked a thumb into the pocket of his jeans. Despite what she said, she was running from something. He was certain of it. All the background checks he’d had completed assured him that whatever it was, it wasn’t criminal. The way she smiled at his daughters, her easy manner with them, told him she could be trusted with them, that his instincts hadn’t let him down there.

But could she be trusted to keep her word and not create a cloud over Christmas? Ella and Holly had suffered enough. They deserved all the fun and festivity he could crowd into their days this Christmas season.

Guilt for last Christmas chafed at him, filling his mouth with bile. They hadn’t had a Christmas last year. His lip curled. He should’ve made an effort, but he hadn’t. His hands clenched. Last year he hadn’t been able to pull himself out from under the cloud of Fran leaving … of her almost total abandonment of their daughters … of his failure to keep his family together. He’d let his bitterness, his anger and his despair blight last Christmas.

But not this year. This year no effort would be spared.

As he watched, Ella took one of Nicola’s hands and Holly the other and they led her across to Santa’s sleigh and he thought back to the expression on her face when she’d first surveyed the Christmas decorations—a kind of appalled horror.

Then, unbidden, he recalled a portion of their phone interview last month. ‘Mr Hindmarsh, are you widowed, separated or divorced? I know that’s a personal question and that it’s none of my business, but it can have an impact on the children and I need to know about anything that may affect them.’

He’d told her the truth—that he was divorced. But …

None of the other applicants had asked that question. Nicola had been evidently reluctant to, but she’d screwed up the courage to ask it all the same. His children’s best interests were more important to her than her own personal comfort. That was one of the reasons why he’d chosen her.

Nicola threw her head back now and laughed at something Ella said, and Ella laughed and Holly laughed and all three of them fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Nicola’s face lit up as if from the inside as she gathered his children close to her and the impact slugged him in the gut, making the ground beneath his feet rock.

Blinking, he took a physical step away from the trio.

‘The kids have met the new nanny then?’

He glanced down at his housekeeper, Martha Harrison—Harry for short—as she joined him. ‘Yep.’

‘And they seem to have hit it off.’

Nicola climbed back to her feet, looking perfectly ordinary again as she glanced towards him, her reserve well and truly back in place, and the world righted itself.

He introduced the two women. Harry nodded her approval. It should set his mind at ease. But as Nicola hugged her reserve about her all the more tightly, his unease grew.

He trailed behind as Harry led the way into the house. He waited in the kitchen as Harry and the girls showed Nicola to her quarters. ‘What’s eating you?’ Harry asked, when she returned alone.

‘Where are Ella and Holly?’

The older woman chuckled. ‘Helping Nicola unpack.’

He huffed out a breath. ‘Do you find her a bit … stiff?’

‘She appears to be no-nonsense and low maintenance; that’s good enough for me.’ She shot him a glance as she put the kettle on to boil. ‘Don’t forget she’s a long way from home and this is a lot to adjust to.’

All of those things were true, but …

Cade drew in a breath. He’d let Ella and Holly down enough these last sixteen months. His hands balled to fists. Christmas—bells and whistles … the works—that was what Waminda Downs was getting this year. And he meant to enlist Nicola’s help to ensure it all went as smoothly and superbly as he’d planned.

CHAPTER TWO

AT TEN past six the next morning, dressed in running shorts and an oversized T-shirt, Nicola stepped out of the French windows of her generously proportioned bedroom and onto the veranda. She blinked in the morning sun.

Ten past six? She bit back a whimper. She’d never been a morning person.

Ten past six and it was already getting hellishly warm. It might even be too hot for a run and—

Stop that!

She lifted her chin. She would not sabotage herself before she’d even begun.

Puffing out a breath, she stretched to one side and then the other. She tried to touch her toes. She was here to change. She needed to change. She would change!

She’d exercise if it killed her. She would return to Melbourne better and brighter and smarter.

She gritted her teeth and stretched harder. She’d keep getting up at six a.m. if it killed her too. It gave her a good hour before she needed to make sure her young charges were up and at breakfast, and before the heat of the day settled over the place like a suffocating blanket.

At the thought of Ella and Holly, she couldn’t help but smile. The two little girls were delightful. While they might’ve presented her with the biggest flaw in her maintain-a-dignified-distance plan, she didn’t regret amending that plan to not include them.

Children didn’t pretend to be your friend and then tear the heart out of your chest with treachery and double-dealing.

The bitterness of that thought took her off guard. She brushed a hand across her eyes and straightened. Diane and Brad hadn’t meant to fall in love with each other. They hadn’t meant to hurt her. For heaven’s sake, it had all happened three months ago!

She scraped the hair off her face and pulled it back into a ponytail, concentrating on her breathing until the ache in her chest started to subside.

A lot of people who come out here are running away …

She wasn’t running away. It was just …

Seeing Brad and Diane together had become harder, not easier and she didn’t know why. She only knew she couldn’t spend this Christmas in Melbourne while continuing to maintain her sympathetic, understanding and oh-so-mature façade. She wasn’t up to indulging in the usual jolly Christmas with her friends this year. She was out of jolly.

But she’d find it again. Somehow.

She adjusted her cap as Sammy, Ella and Holly’s eight-month-old Border collie pup, came skidding around the side of the house to race up to her, full of excitement and delight at the sight of her. Children and dogs were the flaw in her plan. He rolled onto his back and she obligingly rubbed his tummy.

‘You want to come for a run, Sammy?’ She straightened and set off down the back steps. He scurried after her. ‘Perhaps you can give me some pointers—’ she sighed ‘—because I don’t think I have ever been for a run in my life.’

He cocked his head to one side and watched her when she halted and planted her hands on her hips. ‘Okay, Sammy, here’s the plan. We’ll jog to the perimeter fence—’ she pointed ‘—and then around to that point there.’ She indicated a second spot. Both spots were well away from outbuildings and cattle yards. ‘Then we’ll make our way back to the homestead.’

Nicola Ann, tell me you are not talking to a dog.

Nicola gritted her teeth and ignored her mother’s imaginary voice.

At least you’re finally going to exercise.

That almost made her turn back.

Sammy jumped up to rest his front paws against her thighs. She patted him. ‘You don’t care if I’m fat or frumpy, do you, Sammy?’ It was one of the reasons she loved dogs … and children. Sammy wagged his tail and it gave her an absurd kind of comfort. ‘Okay, then.’ She hauled in a less-than-enthusiastic breath. ‘Tally-ho.’

She started to jog. Her brand new sports bra was supportive, but not quite as supportive as she’d hoped. Maybe she needed to adjust the straps again. Though, if she tightened them any further she’d cut off the circulation altogether. The bra started to scratch and irritate the sides of her breasts. It hadn’t done that in the fitting room. ‘No pain, no gain,’ she muttered to Sammy. She’d bought an identical sports bra in a size smaller for Month Two when she’d lost some weight. Both bras had been horrendously expensive. When she’d paid for them she’d told herself the expense would provide her with an added incentive to exercise. She’d thought the expense would translate into comfort too. She’d been wrong about that.

By the time she and Sammy reached the fence she was gasping for air. She sagged against a fence post. It took a concerted effort not to sink to the ground. Oh God! She glanced at her watch.

Three minutes?

No!

She shook the watch. She held it to her ear. It ticked away in perfect working order. She swallowed. ‘Okay, Sammy, amended plan,’ she panted. ‘We jog for three minutes, then walk for three minutes.’

She set off again, fighting doubts and discouragement. She’d known this would take time. It wasn’t possible to undo a lifetime of couch-potato-ness in just one day. Besides, she had a lot of chocolate sultanas to shift from her hips and thighs.

To distract herself from bursting lungs and legs that had started to burn, she forced herself to gaze at her surroundings. The quality of the light would’ve stolen her breath if she’d had any to spare. The clear blue of the sky and the sun low in the sky behind her outlined everything in perfect clarity. It enchanted her, even as half her attention had to remain on the path she took to avoid tussocks of grass and rocks that had definite ankle-turning potential.

She glanced at her watch and sighed. ‘Time to jog again, Sammy.’

They set off at a jog, slower this time, and when her lungs started to burn again she reminded herself how much her new trainers had cost—four times what she’d paid for the bras. She was going to get her money’s worth out of them. She could keep running for another—she glanced at her watch—one and three quarter minutes. She glanced down at her feet to admire the way the red dirt had already tarnished the brand-new perfection of her trainers when Sammy chose that moment to leap in front of her in pursuit of a grasshopper. It happened too quickly for her to avoid contact with him, to dance out of the way, to regain her balance or for anything except a full-frontal plough on her stomach through red dirt. When she came to a halt she blinked and spat out the grit that had found its way into her mouth.

Very elegant, Nicola.

True. But she took a few seconds to savour the sweet stillness of her body until Sammy, distracted from his prey by her fall, chose that moment to plaster wet licks all across her face.

‘Sammy, heel!’

Sammy immediately obeyed as a shadow fell across her.

Oh, God! Cade. With a groan she rolled over and sat up. Why did her most undignified and humiliating moments have to occur in full public view?

‘Are you hurt?’

‘No.’

He turned and waved some signal and that was when she saw another two men—workers of Cade’s, she supposed—standing outside the barn. They returned to work. The realisation that so many people had witnessed her pathetic attempt at fitness, not to mention her clumsiness, made her cheeks burn and her hands clench.

‘C’mon.’ Cade held a hand out to her.

Scowling at him and telling him to go away obviously wasn’t an option, so she put her hand in his and let him haul her to her feet. He hitched his head in the direction of the homestead and didn’t release her until she nodded her agreement.

Wiping the dirt from her face and the front of her T-shirt … and her shorts and her knees, she managed to avoid his eye. ‘You don’t need to escort me back.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

His voice shook with laughter. She closed her eyes, more heat scorching her cheeks. She wasn’t sure what was worse—him being aware of her utter mortification or him thinking her cheeks were this red from such a pitiful amount of exercise.

‘I want to make sure you haven’t really hurt yourself—twisted an ankle or a knee—but you seem to be walking all right.’

If that was a cue to make her trip up, she had every intention of disappointing him. ‘I’m fine.’ Except for a bruised ego.

‘Good. Then you and I are going to have words.’

Her heart sank. Marvellous.

He made her sit on the back steps while he inspected her knees and elbows for scratches. ‘We’re a long way from a doctor,’ he said when she started to object.

She stared at the sky and tried to ignore the warmth of his fingers on her flesh.

Finally he subsided onto the step beside her. ‘So what’s with the jogging?’

Heat flared afresh in her face and neck. ‘Oh, I …’

She had to look away. There was something about those blue eyes that saw too much. He’d laugh at her. Her lips twisted. Just like her friends in Melbourne would’ve laughed if they’d seen her earlier this morning. The butt of oh-yet-another joke.

‘Nicola?’

What the hell? She lifted her chin. She was through with turning herself inside out to please other people. ‘I thought I’d take advantage of all the wide open space and fresh county air to …’ she swallowed in readiness for his laughter ‘… to try and get fit.’

She clenched her hands. Strong in body. Strong in mind. It might not happen overnight, but she could work towards it. She could change. She gritted her teeth. Losing her fiancé to another woman did not make her a loser or a failure.

‘Dry dusty air at this time of year more like.’

She didn’t say anything.

‘You didn’t have a water bottle with you.’

That was when it hit her—he hadn’t laughed yet. And one look at his face told her he wasn’t going to. He didn’t think her plan of getting fit was stupid at all. Instead, he was going to tell her off for not taking a water bottle. ‘I thought with it being so early and all …’

‘If I see you without a water bottle the next time you go jogging, we will have serious words, you understand?’

She swallowed and nodded.

He frowned. ‘It’s a bit early for New Year resolutions, isn’t it?’

‘Getting fit and losing weight was this year’s resolution,’ she sighed. ‘I’m trying to get it in under the wire.’

His chuckle held no malice or ridicule. It warmed her blood. ‘Getting fit is an admirable goal, but losing weight …’ He shook his head. ‘Seems to me women get too hooked up on that stuff.’

If she’d been half a stone lighter and had taken more care with her appearance, maybe Brad wouldn’t have dumped her for Diane.

Cade sent her a lazy appraisal from beneath heavy-lidded eyes and it did something ludicrous to her insides, made them light and fluttery. She didn’t like it.

‘Anyway, you look just fine to me,’ he said with a shrug.

Her hands clenched. She didn’t want to look just fine. She wanted to be gorgeous, stunning … confident. She wanted to knock a man’s socks off.

She had a horrid sick feeling that even if she did lose half a stone and took more care with her appearance, she would never be able to achieve that anyway.

His eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘I don’t want you getting obsessive about your weight while you’re out here, dieting and exercising to within an inch of your life.’

She understood where Cade’s concern came from. She wasn’t a primary school teacher for nothing. ‘I have no intention of being obsessive about anything. And I promise I will not send Ella or Holly any negative body image messages.’

He stared at her. It made her self-conscious. She made a show of looking at her watch. ‘It’s nearly time to get Ella and Holly up for breakfast.’

She stood and made her escape.

When Nicola and the children entered the kitchen a short time later, it was to find Cade seated at the kitchen table too. Nicola’s appetite promptly fled.

He glanced up. ‘You must be hungry after your morning’s exertions.’

His words emerged with a lazy unconcern, but his eyes were keen and sharp. She lifted her chin. ‘Absolutely.’

She might have no appetite to speak of, but there was no way she could refuse to eat breakfast. Not after their earlier conversation. The thing was, she had no intention of obsessively dieting. She just meant to avoid cakes and biscuits and chocolate sultanas and all those other yummy things while she was here.

She ate cereal and yogurt. She tried not to focus too keenly on Cade’s bacon and eggs and beans on toast. Cereal and yogurt—yum, yum.

Liar.

She might not be able to summon up much enthusiasm for a high fibre, low fat breakfast, but she was well aware that Cade took note of everything that passed her lips. So she ate. It should’ve irked her that he watched so closely. For some reason, though, she found it strangely comforting instead.

When they finished, he rose. ‘There’s something I want to show you, something I think you’ll be interested in.’

Wordlessly she followed him through the house. He wore jeans that fitted him to perfection. The material stretched across lean hips and a tight butt and she couldn’t drag her gaze away. Her throat hitched. Awareness—sexual awareness—inched through her. Her blood heated up and a pulse started up deep in the centre of her. She moistened her lips, curled her fingers and wondered—

No way!

She slammed to a halt. No way!

He turned back, frowned. ‘What’s up?’

Her racing pulse slowed as his expression filtered into her panicked brain. The denial in her throat died. She shook herself. This man didn’t see her as anything other than an employee. He certainly didn’t see her as an attractive, available woman. She might doubt her own strength, but she didn’t doubt his.

She’d come here to toughen up, to face reality and get stronger. Lusting after her boss was not the answer.

‘Nicola?’

She shook herself. ‘I just had one of those thoughts, you know? A bolt from the blue, but … Did I leave the oven on?’

He leaned towards her. ‘What? In Melbourne?’

She nodded.

‘And?’

‘No, I’m certain I turned it off.’

He frowned. ‘You sure about that? You want to ring someone to check?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m positive I turned it off.’

With a shake of his head, he continued down the corridor. He flung open a door near its far end and strode into the darkened room to lift the blinds at the window. She followed him in, glanced around and her jaw dropped. ‘You have a home gym?’

There was a treadmill, an exercise bike, a rowing machine and a weight machine. Oh, this would be perfect! She walked about the room, her fingers trailing across the equipment. ‘This is amazing,’ she breathed. ‘Is it okay if I use it?’

‘Sure.’ Then his face tightened up. ‘Someone may as well. I don’t think anyone has been in here, except to clean, since Fran left.’

Fran?

‘My ex-wife and the girls’ mother,’ he said, answering her unspoken question.

He didn’t smile. His face remained tight and it warned her not to ask questions. He obviously had his demons too. It took an effort of will not to reach out, though, and place her hand on his arm in silent sympathy. When he turned and left, she counted slowly to ten before she closed the door and followed him.

‘How was your day?’