Barbara Hannay - Christmas Gift - A Family

The offer was very tempting. If she tried to balance the pros and cons, there were so many pros…. Two weeks in London…doing a good deed for Ivy’s sake….

What about the cons? There had to be reasons why she shouldn’t go.

Hugh.

Hugh and his gorgeousness. Two weeks with him and she’d be head over heels in love with the man. Even though he would remain polite and charming, she would fall all the way in love, and she’d come home an emotional wreck.

Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy. Visit her Web site at www.barbarahannay.com

Books by Barbara Hannay

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3841—THE CATTLEMAN’S ENGLISH ROSE*

3845—THE BLIND DATE SURPRISE*

3849—THE MIRRABROOK MARRIAGE*

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

CHRISTMAS EVE. Oh, joy! For Jo Berry it meant sitting behind a shop counter in Bindi Creek, staring out through the dusty front window at the heat haze shimmering on the almost empty main street, and trying not to think about all the fabulous parties she was missing back in the city.

She was especially trying not to think about the office party tonight. Mind you, she had a feeling things might get out of hand. Her friend, Renee, was determined to nail a big career boost by impressing the boss but, apart from buying something clingy and skimpy to wear, her idea of pitching for a promotion usually involved clearing her desk of sharp objects.

Jo still clung to the belief that a girl could smash her way through the glass ceiling via non-stop slog and professionalism, without the aid of deep cleavage, or tying the boss up with tinsel.

Still, she would have liked to be in Brisbane tonight. She enjoyed her friends’ company and it was great fun to be on the fringes of an occasional outrageous party.

It wasn’t her friends’ wild antics that had stopped her from partying in the city. Every Christmas she took her annual leave and travelled home to help out in her family’s shop.

And no, she wasn’t a goody two-shoes, but honestly, what else could a girl do when she had a dad on an invalid pension and a mum who was run off her feet trying to play Santa Claus to half a dozen children while preparing Christmas dinner, plus running Bindi Creek’s only general store during the pre-Christmas rush?

Not that anyone actually rushed in Bindi Creek.

At least…no one usually rushed.

Nothing exciting happened.

And yet…right now there was someone in a very great hurry.

From her perch on a stool behind the counter, Jo watched with interest as a black four-wheel drive scorched down the street, screeched to an abrupt and noisy halt in the middle of the road and then veered sharply to park on the wrong side of the road—directly outside the shop.

A lanky dark-haired stranger jumped out.

A very handsome, lanky dark-haired stranger.

Oh, wow!

He was quite possibly the most gorgeous man Jo had ever seen, not counting movie stars, Olympic athletes or European princes in her favourite celebrity magazines.

In spite of the layer of dust that covered his vehicle and the intense, sweltering December heat, he was dressed in city clothes—tailored camel-coloured trousers and a white business shirt, although as a concession to the heat his shirt was open at the neck and his long sleeves were rolled back to his elbows to reveal lightly tanned, muscular forearms.

Jo slid from her stool and tucked a wing of brown hair behind one ear as she stood waiting for the ping of the bell over the shop door. Please, please come in, you gorgeous thing.

But the newcomer lingered on the footpath, studying her mum’s window display.

Jo couldn’t help staring at him.

As he stood with his wide shoulders relaxed and his hands resting lightly on his lean hips, she decided there was a certain elegant charm in the way his soft dark hair had been ruffled and messed into spikes. And there was definite appeal in the very masculine way he rubbed his lightly stubbled jaw as he studied her mother’s dreadful tinsel-draped arrangement of tinned plum puddings, boxes of shortbread and packets of chocolate-covered sultanas.

He lifted his gaze and peered inside the shop and, before Jo could duck, his eyes—light blue or green, she couldn’t be sure—met hers. Darn, he’d caught her staring.

She felt her cheeks grow hot as he stared back. Then he smiled. But it was rather a stiff smile and she sensed instantly that he was searching for something. By the time he entered the shop her curiosity was fully aroused.

‘Good afternoon,’ she said warmly. He was close enough now for her to see that his eyes were green rather than blue and fringed by the blackest of lashes. ‘Can I help you?’

This time his smile was of the slightly crooked variety, the kind that should come with a health warning about dangers to women.

‘I’ll just look around for a moment,’ he said, casting a doubtful glance at the bags of sugar and flour and the shelves of tinned food that filled the store.

As soon as he spoke Jo realised he was English. His voice was deep and rich—refined and mellow—reminding her of actors in Jane Austen movies and men who lived in stately homes surrounded by green acres of parkland and edged by forest.

‘Look around as much as you like,’ she said, trying to sound casual, as if divine Englishmen were a regular part of life in Bindi Creek. And then, because he wasn’t a local, she added, ‘Just sing out if I can be of any help.’

At times like this, when the shop wasn’t busy, she usually amused herself by trying to guess what a customer might buy. What was this guy after? Engine oil? Shaving cream? Condoms?

From the far side of the shop he called, ‘Do you have any dolls? Perhaps a baby doll?’

Good grief.

‘I want the best possible gift for a little girl.’ It was a command rather than a request. ‘Little girls still play with dolls, don’t they?’

‘Some of them do. But I’m sorry, we don’t have any dolls here.’

He frowned. ‘You must have little tea sets? Or perhaps a music box?’

In a general store in the middle of the outback? Where did he think he was? A toy shop? ‘Sorry, we don’t have anything like that.’

‘Nothing suitable at all?’