One Winter's Day: A Diamond in Her Stocking / Christmas Where They Belong / Snowed in at the Ranch

Jesse must have felt her gaze on him because he said something to the two women, turned and headed towards her. He indicated his near-empty tray where a lone piece of chicken sat in a pile of baby spinach leaves. ‘Want some?’

She shook her head. ‘Can’t eat. Too concerned with feeding all of this lot.’

‘You’re sure? You need to keep your energy up. It’s delicious. Made with free-range chicken breast stuffed with organic caramelised tomato and locally produced goat’s cheese and wrapped in Italian prosciutto.’

She smiled. ‘You’re doing a good job of selling it to me, but no thanks all the same.’

‘Can’t let it go to waste,’ he said, popping it into his mouth.

‘Glad you approve,’ she said as he ate the chicken with evident relish. A similar dish had been one of the most popular items in the Sydney restaurant she’d worked in when she’d first come back from France. Served with a salad for lunch, she hoped it would be popular here too.

‘The slow-cooked lamb was a huge success,’ he said. ‘Although some people said they’d prefer an onion relish to the beetroot relish.’

‘Some people,’ she said, arching her brow. ‘How many people? One person in particular, perhaps?’

‘One in particular has never much liked beetroot. He’d like the onion.’

‘So maybe the chef was correct in her guess that that particular person would like the slow-cooked lamb?’

‘Maybe.’

‘You refuse to admit I was right about what you’d like best?’

‘I haven’t finished tasting everything yet. I’ll let you know at the end. By the way, the asparagus and feta frittata was a big hit with the ladies. I told them it was low calorie, though I don’t know whether that’s actually true.’

Was he born with an innate knowledge of what appealed to women? Or was it some masculine dark art he practised to enchant and ensnare them? She could not let herself fall under his spell—it would be only too easy.

‘Make sure you don’t miss out on the apple pie, I’m sure you’ll love it,’ she said. ‘But don’t even think of telling anyone it’s low calorie. I might get sued when my customers start stacking on the weight.’

He put down the tray, leaned across the counter towards her and spoke in a low voice, his eyes warm with what seemed like genuine concern. ‘Seriously, are you pleased how it’s going?’

She nodded. ‘Really pleased. I don’t want to jinx myself but people are booking already for our opening day on Thursday.’

‘The buzz is good. I was on door duty a while ago and had to turn passers-by away. Lucky we put the “Closed for Private Function” sign on the door or I reckon we’d have been invaded.’

‘I’ve handed out a lot of leaflets letting people know about the opening hours and menu.’

‘So everything is going as planned?’

‘I’m happy but—’

‘You’re not happy with the staff.’

Again, she was surprised at how easily he read her. Especially when he scarcely knew her. ‘No. Yes. I mean I’m really happy with the sous chef. He’s excellent. In fact he’s too good for a café and I doubt we’ll keep him.’ She glanced back at the kitchen. But with the noise level of the café there was no way the chef could hear her.

‘You’ll keep him. He’s already got one kid and another on the way. He can’t afford to leave Dolphin Bay.’

‘I don’t know whether to be glad for us or sad for him.’

‘Try glad for him. He’s happy to have a job in his home town. What about the others?’

‘The kitchen hand is great with both prep and clearing up and the waitresses are enthusiastic and friendly, which is just what I want.’

‘I can hear a “but” coming.’

‘The waitress who is also the barista—Nikki. She’s a nice girl but not nearly as experienced with making coffee as she said and I’m worried how she’ll work under pressure.’

‘You know what I said. With a small staff and a reputation to establish you can’t afford any weak links.’

‘I know. And...thanks for the advice.’

He picked up the tray again, swivelling it on one hand. ‘The kitchen is calling.’

She’d noticed how adeptly he’d carried the tray, served the food. ‘You know, if you weren’t an engineer and helping the world, you’d have a great future in hospitality,’ she teased.

‘Been there. Done that. I worked as a waiter for an agency while I was at university. I’m only doing it again to help make Bay Bites a success.’

She bet she knew which agency. It employed only the handsomest of handsome men. It figured they’d want Jesse on their books even if only in university vacations.

Jesse took off again, stopping for a quick word with his mother on his way to the kitchen.

Lizzie waved to Maura, and Maura smiled and blew her a kiss. Jesse’s mother was a tall, imposing woman with Jesse’s blue eyes and black hair, though hers was now threaded with grey. Lizzie had taken up with her again as if it had been yesterday that she’d been a teenager helping her in the kitchen and soaking up the older woman’s cooking lore.

Thankfully, Maura had been delighted at the idea of sharing some of the guest house favourites based on the cooking of her Irish youth. They’d made a date for Monday to go through the recipes. Just to go through the recipes, not to talk about Jesse, Lizzie reminded herself. Or to do anything as ridiculous as to ask Maura to show her his baby photos. Her thoughts of him being doted over as a baby had sparked a totally unwarranted curiosity to see what he’d looked like as a little boy.

* * *

As Jesse picked up a tray of mini muffins, he wondered what the heck he was doing playing at being a waiter in a café. He hadn’t enjoyed the time he’d spent in the service industry during university, had only done it to fund his surfing and skiing trips. Being polite to ill-mannered clients of catering companies hadn’t been at all to his liking. In fact he’d lost his job when he’d tipped a pitcher of cold water over an obnoxious drunken guest who wouldn’t stop harassing one of the young waitresses. The agency had never hired him again and he hadn’t given a damn.

He’d promised to help Sandy with the café but the building work he’d already done was more than his sister-in-law would ever have expected. No. He had to be honest with himself. This café gig was all about Lizzie. Seeing her every day. Being part of her life. And that was a bad, bad idea. Even for two hours a day.

Because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. How beautiful she was. Her grace and elegance. Her warmth and humour. Remembering how she’d felt in his arms and how he’d like to have her there again. Her passionate response to his kisses and how he’d like—

In short, he was failing dismally in thinking of Lizzie Dumont as a family acquaintance trying to be friends. Could it ever really be platonic between them? There would always be an undercurrent of sexual attraction, of possibilities. Even in that white chef’s jacket and baggy black pants she looked beautiful. He even found it alluring the way she tasted food in the kitchen—how she closed her eyes, the way she used her tongue, her murmurs of pleasure when the food tasted the way it should.

Lizzie wasn’t sexy in a hip-swinging, cleavage-baring way. But there was something about the way she carried herself, the way she smiled that hinted at the passionate woman he knew existed under her contained exterior.

However, his reasons for not wanting to date her were still there and stopped him from flirting with her, from suggesting they see each other while he was in town. There could be no ‘fun while it lasts’ scenarios with Lizzie. And the alternative—something more serious—was not on for him. The last time he’d tried serious it had taken him years to recover from the emotional battering.

He had fallen so hard and fast for Camilla he hadn’t seen sense. Hadn’t realised when he’d talked to her about his feelings she had answered him with weasel words that had had him completely stymied, fooled into thinking she cared for him. He cringed when he thought about how naïve and idealistic he’d been. When he’d proposed to her she had virtually laughed in his face.

No way would he risk going there again with Lizzie. He had to stop looking at her, noticing her, admiring her.

There was also the sobering truth that Lizzie didn’t seem to want anything to do with him other than as a family friend. In fact he suspected she disapproved of him.

He’d noticed the way she’d watched him as he’d worked the room, offering samples of food, talking up the café, Lizzie’s skills as a chef, the bookshop next door, how it would all work when Bay Bites opened. He’d talked to guys too, but it was the women who’d wanted to linger and chat. As it always had been. And Lizzie was clocking that female attention.

Ever since he’d turned fourteen women had made it obvious they found him attractive. ‘You don’t even have to try, you lucky dog,’ Ben had often said when they were younger.

When his mates had been trying to talk girls into their beds he’d been trying to get them out of his. Literally. More than once he’d come home and found a girl he scarcely knew had climbed through his bedroom window and was waiting for him, naked in his bed.

He’d found that a turn-off rather than a turn-on. He’d had to ask them to leave in the nicest possible way without hurting their feelings. When Jesse made love to a woman it was always going to be memorable—and his choice.

His brother Ben stopped him to snag first one muffin then another from his tray. ‘Sure I can’t convince you to stay in Dolphin Bay and work here? With your way with the ladies, I reckon we’ll double the numbers of female customers. Look at them, flocking to your side like they’ve always done.’

‘Ha ha,’ he said, ignoring the bait, conscious that Lizzie might overhear the conversation with his brother.

As he’d said to Lizzie, his prowess with the opposite sex was greatly exaggerated. And he hadn’t taken advantage of his gift with women. He had always been honest about his feelings. Dated one girl at a time. Made it clear when he wasn’t looking for anything serious. Bailed before anyone got hurt. Let her tell everyone she had dumped him. Had stayed friends with his ex-girlfriends—as far as their boyfriends or husbands would allow.

But today, seeing himself through Lizzie’s eyes, he wasn’t so sure he was comfortable with all that any more. Most of his Dolphin Bay friends were married now. Though the guys moaned and complained about being tied down, he didn’t actually believe them when they said they envied him his life. They seemed too content.

Now he sometimes wondered what they really thought about him being single as he faced turning thirty. He knew the townsfolk had laid bets on him always staying a bachelor. It was beginning to bug him. But he had never treated their interest in his ladies’ man reputation as anything other than a laugh; never talked about the reasons he’d stayed on his own.

He hadn’t told anyone in Dolphin Bay—even his family—about what had happened with Camilla. Had never confided how the deaths of his sister-in-law Jodi and little nephew Liam had affected him. How terrified he’d been at seeing Ben suffer the life-destroying pain caused by the loss of love. On the cusp of manhood, Jesse had resolved he would never endure what Ben had endured. He’d put the brakes on any relationship that threatened to get serious.

Gradually, however, he’d realised Ben’s pain should not be his pain. That he had to love his own way, take his own risks. He’d let down his guard by the time he’d met Camilla and hurtled into a relationship with her. Only for her callous rejection of his love to send him right back behind his barricades.

Was that enough now?

He looked over to Lizzie but she had disappeared into the kitchen again. He’d seen yet another side of her today. Calm. Competent. Ruthlessly efficient under pressure. He liked it.

He admired her for her commitment. Surely a café serving toasted ham and cheese sandwiches—even if she called them croque monsieur—was a huge comedown for someone with Lizzie’s career credentials. Dolphin Bay must be just a pit stop for Lizzie. She had a half-French daughter. How long before she got fed up with flipping fried eggs and turned her sights back to Europe?

Or did he have that wrong? It was logical for him to base future plans purely on his career. Maybe it wasn’t so for Lizzie. She was a mother—perhaps that was why she could settle for Bay Bites? Maybe because it was in the best interests of her daughter.

He couldn’t imagine how it would be to put someone else first. Wife. Child. Suiting himself had seemed just fine up to now. A charming Peter Pan. That was what Camilla had called him at their most recent encounter. She’d said it with a laugh. Hadn’t meant it to sound like an insult. But it had stung just the same. And made him think.

He headed back into the fray. ‘Be quick before these muffins are all snatched off the tray,’ he said to the nice redhead friend of Evie’s. ‘They’re made with organically grown rhubarb, locally produced sour cream—in fact from Evie’s farm—and—’

The girl picked one up from the tray, sniffed it, broke off a piece, tasted it. ‘And pure maple syrup from the forests of Quebec, if I’m not wrong—together with Queensland pecans,’ she pronounced.

He stared at her, taken aback. ‘Sounds good to me. I’ll check with the chef.’ He must ask Lizzie. He really wasn’t cut out to be a waiter.

* * *

Lizzie slumped in one of the bentwood chairs, exhausted. The guests had gone. The clearing up was done. The staff dismissed. Only Sandy, Ben and Jesse remained.

Sandy was incandescent with joy. ‘Ever since I first set foot in the bookshop, I dreamed of there being a café next door. If today was an indication of how it’s going to turn out, I think my dream is on its way to coming true. Thanks to my sister.’

She grabbed both Lizzie’s hands and pulled her to her feet. ‘Hug,’ she commanded. Lizzie smiled and did as she was told. If she could repay Sandy’s kindness with a successful café she’d be happy.

‘C’mon, Ben too,’ said Sandy. ‘And you, too, Jesse. Group hug. Family hug.’

Alarmed, Lizzie stiffened. ‘I don’t think—’

But, before she knew it, both she and Sandy were enveloped in a bear hug from tall, blond Ben whom she already loved as a brother. Then Jesse joined in and it was a different feeling altogether. Every nerve went on alert as she felt Jesse’s strong arms around her, was pulled against the solid wall of his chest, breathed in his maleness and warmth. Could he feel her heart pounding at his nearness?

She could never, ever think of Jesse as a brother.

And right at this moment it was darn near impossible to think of him only as a friend.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE NEXT DAY, mid-morning, Jesse drove from the boathouse where he was staying towards Silver Gull beach. He knew the surf would be flat with just the occasional swell; he’d checked it while he was on his early morning run just after dawn. But that didn’t bother him. Surfing wasn’t possible right now, with his shoulder injury. He couldn’t paddle out to where the waves would usually be breaking and he couldn’t use his shoulders to get him into a wave. That right shoulder was aching today. Carrying all those food-laden trays yesterday probably hadn’t been the wisest thing he could have done in terms of shoulder rehabilitation.

But he could swim. Cautiously. No freestyle. But some breaststroke. Maybe some back-kick that left his shoulders right out of it. Heck, just to float around would be better than nothing.

The beach should be near-deserted at this time of morning. It wasn’t as popular as Big Ray, which was one of the reasons he liked it. All the early morning runners and dog walkers would have gone home by now and October wasn’t yet peak swimming season. Although it was gloriously sunny, with very little breeze, the water was still too cold for all but the intrepid to swim without a wetsuit.

The first thing he saw as he approached the beach access was Lizzie’s small blue hatchback parked carefully off the road. He didn’t know whether to be glad or annoyed she was here. The more he saw of her, the more he was perturbed by his attraction to her. That group hug the night before had tested his endurance. Having Lizzie back in his arms—well, half of Lizzie considering the nature of a group hug—had brought desire for her rushing back in a major way. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since.

For a long moment he left the engine idling. Go or stay?

No contest, he thought as he killed the engine. It wasn’t a good idea for Lizzie to be swimming by herself. Not at Silver Gull with its dangerous rip undertow that could pull an unwary swimmer out to sea. He needed to keep an eye on her, keep her safe. He zipped himself into his wetsuit, grabbed a towel and headed towards the sand dunes that bordered the southern end of the beach.

As he’d thought, there wasn’t another soul there. Almost straight away he saw Lizzie on the sand halfway between where the gum trees grew down to the edge of the beach and where the small breaking waves swirled up onto the sand in lacy white foam. She was lying on her back on a bright pink towel, her lovely body covered only by a turquoise and white checked bikini. Her long slender limbs were stretched out in total relaxation, her pale hair loose and glinting like silver in the sunlight, an expression of bliss on her face.

Jesse clenched his fists by his sides and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. It would have been better if he’d kept on driving and gone to a different beach.

He could not deny there had been times since he’d met Lizzie that he had wondered how she looked under her clothes. But the reality of her in the skimpy bikini far surpassed any fantasy—her breasts high and round, her hips flaring gently, her body slender not skinny. She was perfect in every way. He couldn’t help but observe that she had certainly filled out since her teenage years.

He coughed to alert her to his presence, not wanting to be seen to stare at her for so long it could be perceived as untoward. Startled, she sat up quickly, looked up at him. She took off her sunglasses and then used her hand to shade her eyes, blinking to focus on him. ‘Jesse. You...you surprised me.’

He wasn’t sure whether it was shock or pleasure he saw in her eyes. ‘Catching some rays?’ he asked, trying to sound casual when all he could think about was how sexy she looked in that bikini. Of how, in fact, the design of a bikini didn’t so much cover up but draw attention.

‘I desperately need to get some colour,’ she said, stretching out her arms with unconscious grace. ‘Feeling the sun on my skin is heaven. There won’t be much beach time once the café opens.’

Already the smooth skin of her shoulders was tinged with gold. ‘Are you planning to swim?’ he asked.

She turned to look towards the water, calm, translucent, sparkling in the sunlight as far as the eye could see. ‘Just thinking about it now. The water looks so inviting.’

‘It will be very cold in.’

She indicated the beach bag to the left side of the towel. ‘I borrowed Sandy’s wetsuit.’

He gritted his teeth. ‘Might be an idea to put it on.’

‘I will soon. I’m enjoying—’

‘Put it on now, will you.’ His voice came out harsher than he had intended.

She frowned. ‘But—’

‘I can’t talk to you while you’re wearing that bikini.’ He spoke somewhere over her head, not trusting himself to look at her.

‘But it’s a modest bikini—’

‘It does nothing to hide what a beautiful body you have. That’s more than a guy who’s trying to be just friends can take.’

‘Oh,’ she said and blushed so the colour on her cheeks rivalled that of her towel.

He tossed her his navy striped towel. ‘Here. Cover up, will you.’

She caught the towel. ‘Sure. I didn’t think...’ She pulled his towel around her, twisting to tuck it into her bikini top between her breasts. Lucky towel. Then she went to get up from the sand.

Automatically, he offered her his hand to help her. For a long moment she just stared at it with an expression he couldn’t read. Then she put her narrow hand in his much larger one. He pulled her to her feet, unable to keep his eyes from how lovely she was.

She faced him, standing very still. She was tall, but he was taller and she had to look up to him, exposing her slender neck, her delicate throat where he could see a pulse throbbing. Their gazes locked. Her grey eyes seemed brighter, perhaps reflecting the blue of the sky and the sea. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

Jesse still held her hand and when she made no effort to free it he tightened his grip—now he had her so close he couldn’t bear to let her go. He noticed a few grains of sand sprinkled on her cheek, maybe from where she’d pushed her hair away from her face. Reluctant to let go of her hand, he used his other hand to gently wipe off the tiny grains from where they adhered to her smooth skin.

She closed her eyes with a flutter of long fair lashes and he could feel her tremble beneath his touch as his fingers then traced down her cheek towards her mouth. He traced the outline of her soft, lovely mouth with his fingers and now it was he who trembled with awareness and a stunned disbelief she wasn’t pushing him away.

Her lips parted just enough for her to breathe out a slow sigh and open her eyes. Jesse saw in them both wariness and desire. ‘Jesse, I...’ Whatever she might have been about to say faltered to nothing. She swayed towards him.

He dropped his hand and used it to take her other hand and pull her closer to him, so close he could feel the heat from her sun-warmed body. He pressed his mouth to hers in a soft questioning kiss—she gave him the answer he wanted with the pressure of her lips back on his. As he deepened the kiss he felt the same fierce surge of possessive hunger he’d felt the first time he’d kissed her. Had kissed her, then been parted from her through a stupid misunderstanding before he’d had the chance to think about what that flare of attraction between them could mean.

Six months between kisses and she tasted the same. Felt the same. And he wanted her just as much—more. She kissed him back with a fierce intensity that sent a surge of excitement pulsing through him. He dropped his hands so he could lock his arms around her. With a little murmur she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him close. The towel slid to the sand between them. ‘Leave it,’ he growled against her mouth then slanted and deepened the angle of his kiss.

The longing for her he’d been holding back overwhelmed him. All this platonic friendship stuff was bulldust as far as he was concerned. He’d wanted her from the time she’d first swept him up with her warmth and laughter, set him the challenge of that cool exterior and the promise of passion beneath. He slid his hands up her slender waist, skimmed her small, firm breasts as her heart thudded under his hand and she gasped under his mouth.

* * *

There were master chefs, master sommeliers, master chocolatiers—but Jesse was truly a master kisser, Lizzie mused, her thoughts barely coherent through a fizz of excitement. Delicious shivers of pleasure tingled across her skin as Jesse worked seductive magic with his lips and tongue. The scrape of the stubble on his chin was an exciting contrast to the softness of his mouth; the hard strength of his body to the tenderness of his hands on her bare skin. The last man to kiss her had been Jesse six months ago. The way he kissed her now was everything she’d remembered, everything that had excited her that night on the balcony and awoken needs she’d tried to deny.

She’d been daydreaming about him when she’d been lying on the beach—and then suddenly he’d been there, as if conjured up from her fantasies. She was so dazed that before she knew it she was in his arms, with no time to worry about whether it was right, wrong or ill-advised. Another public kiss with Jesse? Her craving to be close to him was so strong the possibility of being caught again, being teased again, had scarcely registered.