Meredith Webber - Orphan Under the Christmas Tree

More Praise for Meredith Webber:

‘Meredith Webber does a beautiful job

as she crafts one of the most unique romances I’ve

read in a while. Reading a tale by Meredith Webber

is always a pleasure, and

THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE

is no exception!’

— Book Illuminations on THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE

Orphan Under The Christmas Tree

Meredith Webber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover

Title Page Orphan Under The Christmas Tree Meredith Webber www.millsandboon.co.uk

Praise More Praise for Meredith Webber: ‘Meredith Webber does a beautiful job as she crafts one of the most unique romances I’ve read in a while. Reading a tale by Meredith Webber is always a pleasure, and THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE is no exception!’ — Book Illuminations on THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE

Dedication For my sister-in-law Caroline, an inspirational refuge worker

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

For my sister-in-law Caroline, an inspirational refuge worker

SHE was a psychologist.

She should be able to look at a problem, consider it from all angles, and then solve it.

So why was Crystal Cove’s annual bunfight of the raising of the Christmas tree causing Lauren Cooper such grief?

Easy answer!

Nat Williams would be there. Nat Williams, Crystal Cove’s very own surfing superstar, current world number one, had been invited to press the button that would engage the ropes and pulleys that would lift the already decorated tree into position in the middle of the park that ran along the esplanade above the Cove’s sheltered northern beach.

In her head, Lauren could hear her friend, Jo Harris, saying, ‘But you’re over him,’ and Lauren was.

Totally, and years ago, and relieved to be out from under his spell!

Not even heart-broken, not even then at seventeen, so why now, at twenty-nine, did she feel ill at the thought of meeting him again?

Lauren, Crystal Cove’s only practising psychologist, manager of the local women’s refuge and general all-round competent person, rested her elbows on her desk, put her head in her hands, and groaned.

‘Migraine?’

Wrong time and wrong place to be groaning! She’d completely forgotten she was at her desk at the hospital. The problem was she shared her office space with other therapists, and so it was open to any hospital personnel who happened to be wandering around.

She lifted her head and looked at the person who happened to be wandering around right then.

Dr Tom Fletcher, tall, dark, lean, and so handsome just looking at him sometimes took Lauren’s breath away.

‘No, I’m fine,’ she told him as he pulled a chair over from an adjacent desk and settled down across from her.

‘Really fine,’ she emphasised, in case he hadn’t got the message the first time.

‘No, you’re not.’

The words jolted Lauren out of her welter of doubt and anxiety and she frowned at him across the table. Eighteen months ago when Tom had first taken up his position as head of the Crystal Cove hospital, he’d asked her out, and she’d been very, very tempted.

But there was something about Tom Fletcher, with his grey eyes, easy smile and over-abundance of charm that had warned her to steer clear. Going out with Tom Fletcher might have meant getting involved. Getting involved might have meant …

She’d steered clear, reminding herself her life was just perfect as it was! She had a good job, a satisfying challenge in running the local women’s refuge, great friends, family close by—the life she wanted for herself.

The life she’d chosen for herself!

As for Tom, well, her refusal hadn’t dented his confidence. Since his arrival in town she’d watched him flirt with every woman in Crystal Cove; watched him squire any number of them around town, although none of the women he’d dated then deserted seemed to bear grudges against him, singing his praises as a companion, their pleasure in the affair, remaining friends with him even after the relationships had ended.

Tom Fletcher, she’d realised very early on, was one of those men all women loved, and apparently he loved being loved by them, but he was of the ‘love them and leave them’ tribe with no intention of ever settling down.

And to be honest, she wasn’t sure about the affairs or even his prowess as a lover because none of the women ever talked.

Which in itself was odd …

‘Earth to Lauren?’

She stared at him, unable to remember what he’d said, and unable to believe she’d drifted off into her own thoughts while the man, apparently, had something to say to her.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘What was it you wanted?’

You, Tom would have liked to say, but he knew he could never say it. Oh, he’d asked her out once, but fortunately she’d said no, because as he’d grown to know Lauren Cooper he’d realised she was a woman who deserved the best of everything the world had to offer and, as far as men went, that wasn’t him.

‘Nothing,’ he said instead. ‘Except to know if you’re okay. You’re pale as milk, you’re sitting in an empty room way after working hours, and groaning loudly.’

She looked into his eyes and managed a wry smile.

‘Not loudly, surely?’ she queried.

‘Loudly!’ he repeated. ‘It brought me racing from my office.’

Her smile improved.

‘You? Race? Ice-cool Tom? The one who keeps his head when all around are losing theirs, isn’t that the saying?’

‘Well, I hurried,’ he amended then because it was always so—well, nice —to be sitting talking to Lauren about nothing in particular—something that rarely happened in both their busy lives—he added, ‘And you did groan, so tell me.’

If only she could! With a supreme effort of will, Lauren refrained from groaning again.

Although …

She studied him for a moment, considering the bizarre idea that had flitted into her head—checking it from all angles.

Tom was a friend, after all, and what were friends for but to help each other out?

Although might it not be tempting fate?

‘I am a friend.’ Tom echoed her thoughts. ‘So, rather than doing both sides of the argument in your head, why don’t you talk it out with me?’

‘Because it would involve you!’

Was it because the answer had come upon her so suddenly that she’d blurted that out?

‘Aah!’ Tom was grinning at her, laughter dancing in his eyes, mischief gleaming there as well. ‘You’ve killed someone and need help to dig the hole to bury the body!’

She had to smile!

‘Not quite that bad,’ she admitted, ‘although there were times today when I could have strangled an obnoxious eight-year-old who thought hosing all the girls who walked past the refuge was a fun way to pass the afternoon.’

‘Bobby Sims?’ Tom asked, and she smiled again as she nodded in answer to his query. One of the things that made Tom Fletcher so darned appealing—apart from film-star looks—was his empathy. He could sit down with someone and be on his or her wavelength within minutes, or so Lauren had always found.

‘But you didn’t strangle the terror of the refuge, so what’s the problem?’