Christmas at Candlebark Farm by Michelle Douglas

He glanced down, but she’d obediently closed her eyes. Slowly, he removed the cloth. He’d keep talking if it helped, but…what did he talk about?’
    â€˜Tell me those three good things about your day—three things you’re grateful for.’
    One side of his mouth kicked up. She was irrepressible. Not to mention persistent. ‘Three good things…’ he said, playing for time. ‘Uh…one—I had a great dinner cooked for me.’ Until all that talk about Tammy it had been great. The food had been spectacular.
    â€˜Lasagne is my signature dish,’ she whispered. ‘You’d better lower your expectations for tonight.’
    â€˜I’ll be grateful for anything you cook.’ He’d definitely received the better part of the deal they’d made. He rushed on, because he wanted her to rest and not talk. ‘Two—I got to help you out today a little, and make sure you didn’t get ripped off.’
    â€˜Help a lot, you mean.’
    Her voice had gained in strength, but she still kept her eyes closed. Her lashes were fair—the same red-gold as her hair—but they were long, and they rested against her cheeks in a curling sweep that he wanted to trace with a fingertip. He curled his fingers into his hands and held them in his lap.
    â€˜How was it to see John after so long?’
    The question took him off-guard. He’d had to brace himself for the meeting, but he and John had fallen into their old pattern as if it the last three years had never happened. ‘It was…good.’ And he meant it.
    â€˜I don’t really understand what’s going on, but you can’t honestly believe the things Tammy’s parents accuse you of?’
    Not literally, perhaps. But Brenda had sensed his doubt and he deserved her scorn.
    â€˜John doesn’t believe a word of it.’
    She was right, he realised. Today had proved that.
    â€˜I bet there are more like him in the town too.’
    Could she be right?
    â€˜What’s your third thing?’
    He floundered for a moment, trying to come up with something. Then it hit him. ‘Jason paid me a compliment at dinner.’
    Her eyes opened. ‘That’s nice.’ And then she smiled. All her colour had returned. She held her arms out to inspect them. ‘Of course—pressure points. Thank you.’
    â€˜You’re welcome.’
    â€˜Are you angry with me for the things I said earlier about Jason?’
    He had been angry, but he could see now that his anger had been directed at himself, not her. ‘I’m not angry with you, Keira.’ And with that admission came the realisation he wanted to fight for his son, whatever the cost to himself.
    â€˜I thought maybe I ought to apologise.’
    He shook his head. ‘You’ve held a mirror up to me, and I can’t say I much like what I see.’
    â€˜You should smile a bit more, and you shouldn’t cut yourself off from your friends, but…I like what I see.’
    And, although he knew it wasn’t what she meant, he suddenly noticed how her nightshirt had shucked up to reveal a tantalising length of thigh. He dragged his gaze away, clenched his hands tighter, and rested his head against the cupboard behind. ‘I don’t want Jason becoming a hermit. That means setting him a better example.’
    â€˜Luke, you’re kind and generous to lone pregnant women in distress. You fight a fair fight, you’d never cheat someone, and you work hard. I think you’re the perfect example. With Jason, all you need to do is talk to him—you’ll see.’
    He turned his head to meet her gaze. Her eyes had gone liquid warm. It filled him with corresponding warmth. He reached out and touched her face. ‘So young…so wise,’ he murmured.
    Her skin was soft, and her breath hitched when he traced the contour of her cheek with his fingertip. Her eyes darkened, desire flaring