Christmas at Candlebark Farm by Michelle Douglas Page A

in their depths. An answering flame flared to life inside him. He turned to cup her cheek more fully, to tip up her chin. Her lips parted, her gaze fastened on his lips, and the pulse at the base of her throat beat like a wild thing.
    He started to lower his mouth, his mind blanked of everything except the way she lifted her face to his, how her lips parted, filling him with an anticipation that had the blood roaring in his ears.
    â€˜Oh!’ She pressed her fingers to his mouth with a groan just seconds before his lips could claim hers. For a brief moment she rested her forehead there. ‘Bad idea,’ he heard her whisper. ‘Very bad idea.’
    She was right, of course.
    In the ordinary course of events he’d have disentangled himself and stormed off, flaying himself for so completely forgetting his resolutions. But he didn’t know if sudden movements would make her nausea return, and although he knew he’d flay himself for his weakness later, he didn’t have the energy for anger at that moment either.
    She removed her hand from his lips, edged back. ‘This really is a most irrational time of day.’
    She was doing her best to keep things light. For both their sakes he had to play along. ‘Disrupted sleep patterns can play havoc with a person’s judgement.’ And obviously their sanity. ‘Sleep deprivation is a form of torture.’
    â€˜Believe me, at the moment so is my breath. It reeks! You’ve had a lucky escape, Luke Hillier. I best go and brush my teeth.’
    He threw his head back and laughed. He had no idea how she could dispel the tension so easily, but he was grateful for it—another one of those things he could add to his list of good things to be grateful for. He helped her to her feet. ‘Goodnight, Keira.’
    â€˜Goodnight, Luke.’
    But after she left Luke couldn’t help wishing they’d both been irrational for just a little bit longer.
    He knew he’d really flay himself for that thought later.
    Â 
    For dinner the following evening Keira cooked steak and steamed new potatoes, and served them with a salad. As far as Luke was concerned it was as good as the previous night’s lasagne.
    Jason must have enjoyed it too, because, although subdued,he ate everything placed in front of him. He even went back for a second serving of potatoes.
    Luke followed suit and then, as casually as he could, asked, ‘What do you have on for tomorrow? Any plans?’
    Jason’s fork, heaped with potato, halted halfway to his mouth. He stared at Luke as if he couldn’t quite process the question. Luke’s gut clenched. Had he cut himself off so completely from his son that a simple question could stupefy him?
    Luke sliced a potato in two, although he no longer had the appetite to eat it. ‘I really want that boundary paddock sown this autumn, but there’s a lot of work to do before then. If you don’t have any plans for tomorrow, and could see your way to giving me a hand, I’d be grateful.’
    â€˜Yeah? Sweet!’ Jason’s eyes lit up. But in the next instant he assumed that whole teenage nonchalant slouch again. ‘I mean—yeah, no sweat.’
    Luke tried to hide his grin. ‘Thanks, son.’ He tucked in to his potato with renewed enthusiasm.
    After dinner Jason didn’t immediately leap up from the table, so Luke pulled in a deep breath. ‘I was rummaging through one of the sheds the other day, looking for a crowbar, and came across a couple of boxes your mum and I brought back from the city.’
    â€˜Some of Mum’s things?’ Jason stared at him. ‘I thought Gran and Grandad had all her stuff.’
    Luke rubbed a hand across his nape and forced himself to keep talking. ‘This is stuff we bought together. Plus some books and photo albums.’
    Jason leaned forward eagerly. ‘Can I see? I—’
    He broke off and eyed Luke warily, as if he