Chapter Two
Rhys had wondered if he’d know how to recognize the new childminder when she stepped off the train, but he spotted her almost right away, what with the luggage and her wide, curious gaze sweeping the station, clearly looking for someone.
She also looked American, which everyone but Americans understood.
When he lifted a hand, her expression brightened, lips curving.
She seemed to recognize him, and Rhys wondered briefly if Eloisa had given her a picture or description.
Either way, his new caregiver looked like someone who preferred books to an athletic field.
She wasn’t very tall, with a small, narrow frame, and a pale oval face framed by light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail.
He closed the distance. “Catriona?” he asked, noting how the biting wind was already putting color in her cheeks.
She held a hand out. “Yes, and you’re Dr. Harmon.”
She’d said it as a statement not a question, and he thought she might have spent two years here studying but she still sounded American too.
American speech tended to move faster and was often friendlier and more forward with a sense of energy and optimism, whereas English speech left space for more subtext or even irony.
“No problem getting here?”
“None.” She smoothed a wayward tendril of hair away from her eyes. “Thank you for coming to get me.”
“Thank you for taking on my hellions.”
Her dark brow arched slightly. “Now you call them that.”
Catriona might barely reach his chest, but her personality wasn’t small.
She exuded confidence, and her quick, articulate responses would make Jillian sit up and take notice.
He was glad too. He loved his daughters dearly, but he hadn’t raised them to ride roughshod over others.
Rhys’s father had been strict and Rhys’s earliest lessons hadn’t been learning letters or numbers, but values—honesty, self-discipline, humility, respect.
But respect was the value his father said would serve Rhys best. Respect for animals, respect for women, respect for your elders, respect for your betters.
These values had been ingrained in him from such a young age that it never crossed his mind his values weren’t universally shared, much less by his wife.
Lyndsey didn’t like disciplining the kids.
She didn’t want to be mean, and she was afraid the girls wouldn’t like her if she enforced rules.
So, Rhys became the rules guy. The unfun parent.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? We have an hour before we need to be back. I thought we could get a bite before we return,” he said, taking her suitcase from her.
Her brow furrowed as he swept her case from her. “Where are your girls?”
“They are at the cottage. Mrs. Johnson offered to stay with them while I picked you up. The girls were delighted by the opportunity to do some baking with her.”
Cat didn’t know who Mrs. Johnson was, but she understood holiday baking. It was something she did every year with her mother, and then with Grandmother Betty. “That sounds like fun.”
“Maybe for them,” he answered dryly. “But not sure how Mrs. Johnson is faring. As I mentioned on the phone, Jillian is in a difficult phase right now, and I’m not comfortable leaving her with Mrs. Johnson too long, especially when she’s doing a favor for me.”
“If we do have time, that would be wonderful. The pastry I ate on the train just made me hungrier.”
“Great. We’ll go to the car and head to a favorite tearoom of mine that is also on the way home.”
In the car park, Rhys unlocked the doors with his remote and then, after stowing her suitcases in the boot, opened the passenger door for her. “Are you familiar with Derbyshire?”
She shook her head as she settled into her seat and buckled the seatbelt. “No. Other than what I’ve read in books, and most of that was from the 1400 to 1700’s.”
“So, not very modern.”
Her lips curved and her eyes gleamed. “Not very.”
*
The tearoom was crowded and cozy, a small sanctuary of warmth against the gray December afternoon. Condensation blurred the windows, softening the view of the cobbled high street and the cars parked crookedly by the green. The air inside smelled of spices, sugar, and all things delicious.
Cat wrapped her hands around her teacup, grateful for the heat.
Her fingers trembled, more from nerves than cold, and she didn’t know why she was suddenly nervous.
Maybe because she’d been hired sight unseen, she felt extra pressure to make a first impression, or maybe it was because he was nothing like she’d imagined.
She thought of doctors, especially surgeons, as intense and a little nerdy, but Dr. Harmon looked as if he’d stepped straight out of a glossy London magazine spread.
It wasn’t just his height, either, but his broad shoulders, his upper body strongly defined in the tailored dress shirt.
His features were appealing and strong, almost classically handsome, but it was his light hazel eyes, and his focused, intent expression, that made her feel prickly and sensitive.
It struck her that he was nobody’s fool, and unless he was a beast to work for, she didn’t understand why he’d found it so challenging finding a caregiver for two young girls.
“I know it was a bit of a rush for you to take the morning train,” he said, “but I appreciate it. I need to make progress on my book, and the fact that I haven’t is testing my patience.
” He stirred his tea once, efficiently, then set the spoon down in precise alignment with the saucer’s rim.
His voice was deep, low, authoritative, the kind of voice that could calm a patient or quickly silence an argument.
“A medical book?”
“I’m turning a research project and paper into a book. Hospitals like that sort of thing. Makes them look good and all that.”
“My father was a doctor, but he didn’t do projects, papers, or books. He was a family practice doctor in Ypsilanti, just outside Ann Arbor.”
“The best kind of doctor,” Rhys answered. “Takes care of not just the whole family, but the community.”
“I never thought of it that way, but yes. Seemed like everyone knew him.”
“I sometimes wish I’d gone that direction.”
“We need great surgeons too.”
“I wouldn’t call myself great.”
“You don’t have to. I did some research and the experts in your field called you great.”
He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with praise.
“As I said on the phone, Jillian is going through a challenging phase, and she holds considerable influence over her sister Olivia. Olivia very much wants to remain in her sister’s good grace, so she tends to do whatever Jillian says.
But don’t be fooled. Olivia is a softie, and she won’t enjoy hurting your feelings. ”
“But Jillian will.”
His expression didn’t outwardly change but something that looked like weariness flickered in his eyes.
“She will. Or at least she’ll try.” He fell silent, drumming his fingers briefly on the table.
“She succeeded with our last careminder—the poor woman didn’t even last a week with us.
Which means Jillian is feeling rather powerful at the moment.
The first few days might be hard. I don’t want you to take anything personally.
I don’t know how one wouldn’t, but if you can remember this isn’t about you, that would help. ”
“You mentioned she’s twelve?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “She’s bright. Sensitive.
But this year…” His jaw tightened slightly.
“This is the first Christmas for the girls without their mum with them. Olivia misses her, but Jillian is taking it far harder. She’s making it far harder.
She’s angry, and confused, and she’s going to push you, and test you.
But it’s not just you. She’s not happy with me, either. ”
“Because…”
“I’m not forcing her mother to spend the holidays with us. I haven’t trapped her in the cottage against her will.”
Cat fought to check her smile. Rhys Harmon was quite dry, as well as very engaging. “So, you’ve still been celebrating Christmas together all these years?”
“It’s been four.” He gave her a look as if daring her to challenge him. “We thought it best when we separated to continue celebrating special occasions like birthdays and Christmas together.”
“It is a big change, not having your parents with you for Christmas. I can see why she’s upset.”
“Even though I’m here and not heading to the Caribbean.”
“Is that where their mother is?”
“Soon. She’s still in London, packing and wrapping up whatever she needs to wrap up, and then she’ll be flying to St. Bart’s for Christmas and New Year’s.”
“So, the girls won’t see her at all for Christmas?”
“No.” His brow creased and then he glanced up at her. “She suggested they have a celebration when she returns. But that didn’t go over particularly well. I thought maybe they could have an early Christmas together, but she hadn’t done any shopping yet and needed to focus on her trip.”
“No wonder your daughters are struggling. It’s one thing to spend Christmas Day with you, and then Christmas Eve with her, or vice versa, but to go all of the holiday without being together? At least your oldest, Jillian, feels safe enough with you to let you know she’s mad. That’s a positive.”
“Is it?” he asked, doubtfully.
“I was very hard on my grandmother after—” Cat broke off, shifted in her chair, uncomfortable. “After things changed at home. It’s hard to feel safe after big changes. Hard to trust.”
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them, a contrast to the bustling tearoom with its soft clatter of cups and hum of conversation.
“Your parents divorced?” he asked.
Her throat tightened, but she fought to keep her tone light. “Died. Together. When I was ten.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded because she couldn’t bring herself to speak just then, not with the intense wash of emotions.
“You were so young.”