A Mommy for Christmas by Caroline Anderson Page A

stopped eating and Freya stopped crying and swivelled her head round and looked up at her hopefully. James just shrugged.
    â€˜Whatever,’ he said, and she carried Freya through, Rory limping behind them, and they had tea and biscuits in her sitting room in front of cartoons, and it was just like having one of her brothers there with his kids.
    Except for one very glaring difference. None of her brothers, whether blood, adoptive or foster, had ever made her feel the way James did. Good job, too, she thought, because her thoughts were seriously X-rated, but he just looked so good in those lovely washed-out old jeans with the top button undone and a T-shirt dragged on hastily and those somehow curiously sexy bare feet propped up on her coffee-table as if he belonged there.
    â€˜There’s an icepack in my freezer if you think he needs it,’ she told James, and he went and investigated and came back with it a moment later, wrapped in a tea-towel, and laid it over Rory’s knee.
    â€˜I think it’s fine,’ he said, peering at it as he covered it, ‘but it won’t hurt to be careful. And as for you, young lady, I think you’ve had enough biscuits.’
    â€˜I think we all have, probably,’ Kate said with a laugh, and offloading his daughter onto his lap, she put them back in the kitchen and came back, removing the towel as she did so and shaking out her hair. It tumbled over her shoulders like wet rope, and she sighed. ‘I’ll never get a comb through it,’ she said, and looked up to find him watching her oddly.
    Very oddly, as if he, too, was having X-rated thoughts, and the breath jammed in her throat.
    Oh, help. If this wasn’t one-sided, if they were going to become crazily aware of each other all the time, it was going to make working with him a nightmare.
    She looked away hastily, scooped up their cups and turned off the television. ‘Sorry, guys, I have to get dressed and sort my hair out. You’ll have to go home.’
    â€˜What—properly home?’ Rory said, looking aghast, and James, catching his expression, looked gutted.
    â€˜Next door, silly,’ she said with a grin. ‘Go on. Off you go. I won’t be long.’
    â€˜Then can we come back?’
    â€˜Rory,’ James said firmly, steering him towards the door with a hand on his shoulder and propelling him through it. ‘Thanks for the tea and biscuits.’
    â€˜My pleasure,’ she said, blowing a kiss to Freya, and he shut the door and left her in peace.
    Except it didn’t feel like peace, it felt curiously empty and lonely…
    Â 
    James heard the door open and saw Kate come out of her house. Opening his door, he hailed her.
    â€˜Kate! I need to speak to your parents.’
    â€˜Why?’ she asked, turned back and coming towards him. ‘Is there a problem?’
    â€˜No, not at all. I just need to sort out something about rent.’
    â€˜James, they won’t take anything.’
    â€˜Then we’ll move out.’ He was adamant about it. ‘They must have a tariff—some kind of letting fee.’
    â€˜No, they don’t,’ she said a little too quickly. ‘It’s only used for the family. We call it a holiday cottage, but it’s really just a guest annexe. And you’re my guest, so that’s fine.’
    Was she lying? Impossible to know, but there were all sorts of overheads. ‘I need to pay the running costs, at least,’ he protested. ‘I need to speak to them, Kate. Today.’
    â€˜Well, come with me, then, I’m going over there now.’
    So he rounded up the children from in front of the television and they all trailed across the farmyard and into the lovely old Tudor house that was her family home.
    Sue was in the kitchen, up to her elbows in flour. ‘Dan’s coming for lunch tomorrow, so I thought I’d get ahead a bit,’ she told Kate. ‘He’s got a new