Golden Christmas by Helen Scott Taylor Read Free Book Online Page B

and let him think she was asleep, but she
didn't want to.
    Using the footstool, she climbed down from
the high bed and pulled on the fluffy robe she'd found on the back
of the bathroom door.
    She opened the door a crack and glanced out.
Jonathan stood there in his padded blue jacket and jeans with Honey
at his side. Then she remembered he couldn't see what a mess she
looked, so she opened the door wider.
    "Honey and I wondered if you'd like to come
and play ball with us?" Jonathan grinned and held up the yellow
tennis ball in his long fingers, those fingers that had caressed
her face and hair and explored more intimate places in her
dreams.
    Vicky pressed a hand to her chest against a
whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She wanted to spend time with
him, but she shouldn't. "I've only just woken up. I'm not dressed
yet."
    "Oh. Sorry to disturb you. Hope it isn't too
early." Jonathan frowned. "I tend to get up when Honey does."
    "No, it's not you, it's me. I'm late getting
up. I didn't sleep well."
    "I hope the bed's comfortable."
    "The bed's wonderful. I just have things on
my mind."
    Jonathan backed off a pace, sympathy written
on his face, obviously thinking she was referring to her husband
and son, just as she'd intended him to.
    His shoulders dropped and he pushed the ball
in his pocket. "Maybe I'll see you later then." He turned and
walked away, tapping his cane on the wall. Guilt flashed through
her, and she hated herself for disappointing him.
    "I want to have a run this morning," she
said, raising her voice. "Perhaps we can do something this
afternoon?"
    Jonathan stopped and turned, the grin back on
his face. "I'll give you the guided tour of the house, if you
like."
    "That would be great."
    "A guided tour it is then, followed by tea
and cake."
    Vicky dressed in running gear and did her
muscle stretches on autopilot. Her thoughts lurched from Colin and
Josh to Jonathan and back, her emotions a snarl of grief, guilt,
hope, and a low-burning excitement that brought on more guilt. She
ran down the stairs and burst out into the frosty air, her breath
steaming as she jogged along the path around the house and headed
to the long route that followed the boundary of the twelve-acre
garden.
    She needed to push herself to the limit and
exhaust herself so she couldn't think. Yet the harder she tried to
ignore her troubling feelings, the more they crowded in on her.
Even with music pounding in her ears at full volume, thoughts of
Jonathan crept into her mind—how understanding he'd been when she
bared her soul in the pub, his obvious joy at meeting the puppies,
the gentle way he'd touched and kissed her.
    She staggered to a halt on the ridge above
Rosemoor Hall and bent, hands on her thighs, chest heaving, sweat
pouring off her. This wasn't achieving anything except nearly
killing her.
    Gradually she recovered her breath and
straightened. She turned her back on the house and stared unseeing
at the idyllic rural view.
    Would Colin be upset if he knew she had
feelings for another man? Stupid question. Of course he wouldn't.
He'd tell her to move on and live her life. He'd want her to be
happy again. But that was so unfair. Why had he been taken when he
was such a good, kind man, and such a loving father?
    Tears flooded Vicky's eyes. She slumped down
on a block of stone, pulled off her gloves, and rested her head in
her hands. Her memories of what Colin and Josh looked like had
faded. Soon her two boys would only exist in photographs.
    Vicky must have spent hours huddled on the
rock, her arms wrapped around her knees. When she heard Jonathan
calling her name, the sky hung low, gray and overcast. Dusk had
come early, shadows casting dark menacing blotches on the path.
    Stirring, she rose, her muscles too stiff to
run, her hands so cold she could hardly bend her fingers. She trod
carefully down the slippery steps, already icing over in the late
afternoon chill, and headed across the lawn. Jonathan stood outside
the back door, under the