Abigail Gordon - Winter Wonderland Wishes - A Mummy to Make Christmas / His Christmas Bride-to-Be / A Father This Christmas?

‘Hi, Phoebe—come in.’

He moved back from the doorway and as she stepped inside he couldn’t help but notice as she brushed past him that the back of her dress was cut low and revealed even more of her bare skin. His pulse instantly, and against his will, picked up speed.

‘Phoebe,’ Tilly said as she opened her arms to greet her dinner guest. ‘So lovely you could make it. It’s only casual, but I thought you could meet Dad and chat over a bite to eat since he was feeling a little left out.’

‘It’s my pleasure—thank you so much for inviting me,’ she said, and then, spying the huge Christmas tree, she couldn’t help but comment. ‘That is a gorgeous tree, Tilly. Christmas truly is my favourite time of year.’

The two women walked into the dining room and on their way Phoebe gave her hostess some chocolates she had brought as a thank-you gift. Heath followed, and after hearing the Christmas comment realised that he and Phoebe had less in common than he’d first thought. She was a professional woman, and he had hoped she wouldn’t be the nostalgic type. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

He couldn’t deny to himself that Phoebe was stunning, and in that dress desirable, but he wasn’t looking for a woman to share his life the way his family thought he should. And one night with Phoebe in his bed wouldn’t work any way he looked at it. It would only complicate his life on so many levels, and that was something he didn’t need.

As they entered the dining room, Ken was chatting with Paul.

‘The simple joy of enjoying a pale ale any time I like is my compensation for not being able to operate. But believe me, I would prefer to have the use of my gammy knee than to be sitting around all day,’ Ken said, then paused as he caught sight of Phoebe. ‘Please excuse my bad manners and not standing to meet you,’ he continued with an outstretched hand. ‘I’m Ken Rollins, and you must be Dr Phoebe Johnson.’

Phoebe stepped closer to Ken and met his handshake. ‘Yes, I’m Phoebe, and I’m very happy to finally meet you.’

Ken was impressed with the grip in her handshake. ‘For a slender woman you have a strong handshake. But then you’re a surgeon, so a strong and steady grip is a prerequisite for our shared field of medicine.’

Phoebe wasn’t sure how to react, so she smiled.

‘Please—sit down, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. And sit next to me. I want to hear everything about you that wasn’t written down on your incredibly impressive résumé. I’m sure there’s lots to know.’

‘Fire away,’ she managed to return as she took her seat at the table, hoping his questions would be broad enough to avoid the awkward moments in her recent history.

Tilly began handing the platters of food around and soon everyone was filling their plates, while Paul put the children’s food on their picnic blanket for them to share, then returned to join the adults.

‘So why Adelaide?’ Ken asked as he took a serving of Greek salad, ensuring there was plenty of feta cheese and olives on his plate.

‘The chance to work with you,’ Phoebe replied. ‘I read your most recent paper on improvements to prescribed orthotic devices to control motion and position of the leg during locomotion and I think your work is outstanding. The chance to have you mentor me was too good to pass up.’

‘Well, I must say that is lovely to hear, and I look forward to working with you once my knee is tickety-boo again,’ he told her, with a hint of pride in his expression. ‘So tell me about your family. I picked up from our correspondence that your father works at the White House.’

Ken reached for another shashlik and held the plate so that Phoebe could take one as well.

‘Yes, he’s an advisor to the President. He’s been in the world of politics for over nineteen years. He was in international banking before that.’

‘And you weren’t tempted to follow him into the political arena?’ Heath cut in.

‘Not at all. You see, you’re right—it’s an arena, and that’s why I wouldn’t do it. Sometimes it’s great, but at other times it seems like a fight to the death. I’d rather be repairing bodies than ripping apart political opponents and their policies.’

‘Touché,’ Ken replied with a huge smile.

‘Still, it must be an interesting lifestyle,’ Tilly commented. ‘Do you visit the White House often?’

‘Now and then. But my place is the other side of town, nearer to the hospital. I just hear about it when I visit or call my parents.’

‘I suppose it would be a little like the emergency department of a hospital—with everyone rushing frantically and everything code blue,’ Tilly replied.

Phoebe smiled at her. ‘You’re not too far wrong with that analogy. It’s like everything needs to be delivered or decided yesterday. I would most certainly go mad. My father, however, loves a challenge—he sees the big picture and the changes that need to be made for the disadvantaged and most particularly those with intergenerational problems.’

‘And your mother? What does she do?’ Ken asked between bites.

‘Anything and everything social. Fundraising committees, women’s political auxiliaries—pretty much anything that she believes helps with my father’s career. Along with her bridge club.’

‘So why did you choose medicine?’ Ken asked. ‘With a father in politics and, for want of a better word, a socialite mother, why did you choose to specialise in podiatric surgery?’

‘My best friend Susy’s mother had an accident driving us to school when I was fourteen …’ Phoebe began.

Feeling a little parched from answering all the questions, took a sip of her cold drink before she continued.

‘Anyway, she broke her heel and I was there when the paramedics took her by ambulance to the hospital. Susy and I had both been strapped in the back of the car and didn’t suffer even a scratch. I visited her mother in hospital a few times with Susy, and I became curious and started asking the nurses questions. Then one day her podiatric surgeon came in. I asked him all about the operation and he went into great detail with me and that was it. I knew what I wanted to do with my life.’

‘I’m impressed that you knew at such a young age—’

‘I think that we should let poor Phoebe eat,’ Tilly cut in. ‘She’s been grilled and she’s passed with flying colours, Dad, so now she gets fed and watered.’

They all smiled, and then chatted about themselves so Phoebe could enjoy the delicious dinner Tilly had prepared and also get to know the family.

Everyone but Heath told her something about themselves and their lives. Heath stayed quiet, and Phoebe noticed his jaw clench more than a few times as they talked about Oscar as a baby. It was obvious to Phoebe that it had been a difficult time for him. But why exactly she wasn’t sure, and they all clearly avoided the topic of Oscar’s mother.

‘Do you want to look at the stars?’ Oscar suddenly asked Phoebe as she sat waiting for Heath to bring a drink out to the patio, where everyone had moved after dinner to enjoy the balmy evening.

‘Do you have a telescope?’

‘No, but we can lie on the grass and look up and see them. That’s one of my favourite things to do at night. Grandpa knows lots about stars.’

Phoebe thought it was a lovely idea, and very sweet of Oscar to extend the invitation for her to join him. She stepped out of her shoes and followed him to a patch of lawn just near the patio, where they both lay down on the grass and looked up at the stars twinkling in the ebony sky. The cool ground beneath her bare skin felt wonderful.

‘That’s the saucepan. Can you see it? You have to draw a line between the big star—up there—and the others—just there—and it looks like a saucepan,’ he said, pointing his tiny finger straight up in the air. ‘And it has a handle too.’