Sarah Mayberry - Home for the Holidays

“Listen, about last night …”

As Joe said the words he recognized this was the first time they’d been alone since the kiss the day before. He was acutely aware of it and Hannah seemed just as uncomfortable.

Hannah’s gaze flew to his face. “I know, it was a mistake. It was stupid—”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he said before he could edit himself. “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“Oh.” She was silent for a beat or two. “What were you going to say?”

“Go out with me?”

“But—”

“But what?” He took a step closer.

She looked straight into his eyes. In an instant all the heat from last night was there between them. And the only thing he wanted was a repeat of what they’d done the last time they were alone.

Dear Reader,

Mills & Boon ®books hold a very special place in my heart because it was through them that I first discovered my love of romance novels. Both my grandmothers had a stack of Mills & Boon ®books, and I couldn’t get enough of them as I was growing up.

When I first started writing, someone suggested I should write for Mills & Boon and I can remember the utter shock I felt. It simply hadn’t occurred to me that I could be a part of something I adored so much. Now, several years after having my first book published, I still pinch myself every time I see my name on the cover of a book, and I think about both my grandmothers and thank them all over again for introducing me to the world of romance.

I hope you enjoy Home for the Holidays . I got so much out of writing Joe and Hannah’s journey to finding each other and understanding what family means. I love to hear from readers, so please drop me a line at sarah@ sarahmayberry.com if you feel the urge.

Until next time,

Sarah Mayberry

SARAH MAYBERRYis an Australian by birth and a gypsy by career. At present she’s living in Auckland, New Zealand, but that’s set to change soon. Stay tuned! When she’s not writing, she loves reading, cooking and hanging with her friends. Oh, and shoe shopping. Never forget the shoe shopping …

Home For

The Holidays

Sarah Mayberry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Thanks to Neighbours for inspiring this story.

Thanks to Claire and Helen for their wise advice and thoughts on children.

And thanks, as always, to Chris. You rock, in every possible way.

And last, but never, ever least, to Wanda. She knows why.

“DADDY, DO YOU THINK MOMMY will be able to find us in our new house?”

Joe Lawson paused a moment before answering his daughter’s question. Ruby stared at him from her bed, her small, angular face anxious.

“I’ll bet Mommy can find us no matter where we are,” he said.

“That’s what Grandma always says, but I’m not so sure. Melbourne is a long way from Sydney. It took us ages to drive here.”

As he struggled to find an answer, Ruby sighed heavily and tugged the covers closer to her chin.

“I guess I’d better go to sleep. School tomorrow. I need to be fresh.”

She rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes, apparently completely at peace now that she’d voiced her deeper metaphysical concerns.

The joys of being ten years old. If only he could dismiss her question as easily. Not for the first time, he wondered if he’d done the right thing moving the kids away from everything that was familiar to them so that they could be closer to the support his mother could provide.

Be honest. At least with yourself.

The truth was, he’d been more than happy to abandon the family home.

Pulling Ruby’s door shut behind him, he walked up the hall to check on Ben. As he had suspected, Ben was out for the count, his bedroom light still on. Joe watched him for a long moment, noting how thin Ben had become over the past few months thanks to a growth spurt. Soon, his thirteen-year-old son would be able to look Joe in the eye. He tugged the duvet up over Ben’s shoulders, flicked the light off then returned to the living room.

Boxes were still piled against the walls, filled with DVDs, books and God only knows what else, since he’d paid professionals to pack the contents of their former home. The kitchen was equally disastrous. In fact, the kids’ rooms were the only spaces that were even close to being livable.

He stared at the boxes. He hated moving. Always had. Beth had claimed he was the worst packer in the Southern Hemisphere and always supervised him ruthlessly to ensure he was working up to her standards whenever they moved. He was pretty sure Ben had been conceived the afternoon they were packing to leave the small apartment they’d bought when they married. After a day of being dictated to, he’d rebelled against Beth’s bossiness and seduced her on the kitchen floor. She’d been laughing and protesting right up to the moment when he’d tugged her bra down and started kissing her breasts.

He shied away from the memory, as he had from all the other memories that had surfaced during the day. It was impossible not to think about her, though, when he was unpacking the life they’d shared together. The dinner set they’d chosen when they were married. The kids’ finger paintings from preschool she’d saved. Even the damned side-by-side fridge reminded him of how excited she’d been the day it was delivered.

It had been two years. Everyone said time was the great healer—so why did he still burn with anger and grief when he thought about his dead wife?

He forced himself to cross the room and slit the tape on the top carton. The boxes weren’t going to unpack themselves. He peered inside. Books. Good. Books he could handle.

He’d stacked half the contents onto the shelves of the built-in entertainment unit when he found the photo frame. It had been wrapped in several layers of tissue paper, but he recognized it by feel because of its chunky shape. Beth had made it herself as part of a framing workshop and even though it was just the slightest bit off center, it had always held pride of place on the mantel.

He folded the tissue back and stared at the photo inside the frame. They’d been on a family picnic and Beth had asked a passerby to take the shot. The kids were much younger—Ben eight or so, Ruby only five—and Beth’s blond hair was long, well past her shoulders.

He stared into her face. Sometimes he forgot how beautiful she’d been. How could that be when he still missed her like crazy?

His head came up as the low, throbbing rumble of an engine cut through the quiet of the house. A motorbike. A really noisy one. He waited for it to pass by, but the rumble grew louder and louder. Just when it seemed as though the bike was about to race through the living room, it stopped.

Unless he missed his guess, the owner of the world’s noisiest motorcycle was also his new neighbor. Which meant he could look forward to the roar of a badly tuned engine cutting into his peace morning, noon and night.