Chapter Seven
As usual, Rhys woke before dawn. Years of surgical schedules had trained him to function on limited sleep, and normally he liked the early hours—the quiet, the sense of control before the world intruded. But this morning, he didn’t reach for his laptop or his notes.
Instead, he sat up in bed, shivering a little at the cold as he listened to the stillness inside the house while outside the wind rattled the window panes.
It was going to be colder today than yesterday. If it snowed again today, the snow might stick through the afternoon into the evening. But he wasn’t ready for proper snow, that had to wait until closer to Christmas. He still had much to do first.
Downstairs he turned on the furnace and quickly built up the fire in the sitting room. The kitchen was already cozy thanks to the old Aga, and he started a pot of coffee knowing that Catriona would want a cup when she woke, too.
As he moved around the kitchen the first gray light seeped over the fields. The snow had melted but there were puddles here and there next to the gravel road, but his thoughts weren’t there outside, but rather here in the cottage with Cat very much on his mind.
He wasn’t the sort of man who shared things easily—or at all—and yet something about her invited honesty.
He hadn’t ever met a woman quite so … real.
She was open and honest, and best of all, kind.
She’d been tired yesterday, and he saw how much effort it cost her to keep everything together, and she had.
He’d loved Lyndsey, but Lyndsey loved drama and excitement and when tired, her emotions got bigger and louder.
Maybe that was why he found himself appreciating Cat’s quiet strength, and her resolve to do her job and do it well.
Last night, as he fell asleep, he recognized how much he needed her here now, helping them this Christmas.
But he also recognized he needed to do more.
He’d vowed that this holiday in Derbyshire would be a special one, filled with new memories and traditions, but so far, he hadn’t delivered on that.
Time to do better, starting today.
Rhys grabbed a bowl and began cracking and whisking eggs.
He reached for a skillet and began lining up bread, bacon and sausages on the counter.
The girls had once loved his scrambled eggs, but he couldn’t remember when he last made them a proper breakfast. Usually now it was a boiled egg and soldiers, something fast on weekends, and even then, usually it was Charlotte making the breakfasts before they left for school as he’d already be at the hospital.
He had the rasher of bacon in a pan when he heard soft footsteps.
“Daddy?” Olivia stood in the doorway, her hair tangled, her face sleepy but hopeful. “You’re cooking breakfast?”
“I thought I’d see if I could remember how to make scrambled eggs. It’s been a long time.”
She grinned and pulled a chair from the table toward the counter. “Can I help?”
“Of course.” He handed her the whisk and let her beat away at the eggs, frequently sloshing bright yellow yolk over the edge of the bowl but it didn’t matter. Olivia was smiling and delighted to be helping him.
After the eggs were ready to be cooked, he had her set the table and perhaps the plates slightly didn’t match, and the silverware was in the wrong place, but it worked and it even made his heart turn over. Olivia, his baby, wasn’t a baby anymore. She was growing up so fast, but then they all were.
When Jillian appeared, she stopped short at the sight of him standing at the stove. “You’re making breakfast?”
“Yes,” he said, keeping his tone easy. “It’s edible, I promise.”
Jillian gave a small, skeptical huff but sat down anyway. Olivia passed her a slice of toast, and for a moment, the normalcy felt almost real.
Cat appeared last, her long dark hair still damp from a shower, wearing a soft dark green sweater and faded jeans.
She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. “Well,” she said, smiling faintly, “this is unexpected.”
“It’s Saturday. Thought I’d give you a break,” Rhys said.
Her eyes warmed. “That’s very kind of you.”
He shrugged. “Seemed overdue.”
Cat stepped around him to pour herself a cup of coffee. “What can I do?” she asked, after taking a quick necessary sip.
“Nothing. Everything is on the table.”
The four of them ate together, the morning light growing stronger through the windows.
The girls bickered softly about the weather, and whether or not it would snow again, and Cat smiled when she thought no one was looking, and Rhys was glad to see her smile.
The last few days had been stressful for her, and he was ready for things to settle.
He also needed them to settle. Cat had assured him last night she was fine, but no one did well with unrelenting stress.
He’d cut his day shorter today, get home earlier, and take the girls off of her hands so she could do something she enjoyed … even if that was just to take a nap.
*
Cat had woken up determined. She’d promised Olivia a tree, and she meant to keep that promise. Jillian couldn’t be allowed to make all the decisions for the family.
They saw Rhys off, who promised to be back in time for lunch, and so once he was gone, the girls dressed quickly, all in agreement that if they wanted to surprise him then they had to be quick.
By nine, she and the girls were wrapped in coats and scarves, trudging toward Bakewell with purpose and good cheer. The lane was muddy, the air cold and damp, but the girls didn’t seem to mind today. Olivia skipped ahead, humming carols, and even Jillian looked less guarded than usual.
Bakewell was bustling when they arrived—the market square strung with lights, the smell of roasted chestnuts and gingerbread in the air. Shop windows glittered with garlands and ribbons, and a brass quartet played “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” outside the bakery.
“Let’s start there!” Olivia cried, pointing to a greengrocer’s stall with Christmas trees propped along the wall.
Cat smiled. “All right, but we’re getting something small. We have to carry it home.”
Famous last words.
Half an hour later, Cat found herself staring at a tree that could have comfortably graced the Langley Park ballroom. It was tall, fragrant, full—and entirely unreasonable.
“This one,” Olivia said with conviction. “It’s the right shape, the right space between the branches, the right everything.”
“But it’s enormous,” Cat said faintly. “It won’t even fit through the cottage door.”
“Maybe … but only if you tilt it and jam the branches,” Jillian said, smirking.
“Absolutely not.”
But Olivia was already giving the vendor pleading eyes, and Jillian looked oh so smug, and because Olivia was the one who wanted the tree, Cat sighed and handed over a few crumpled notes.
The shopkeeper cheerfully wrapped the tree in netting and helped drag it to the curb. “You’ll manage, love,” he said with an encouraging wink.
Cat looked at the tree, then at the road home, then back at the tree again. “Manage,” she repeated under her breath. “Right.”
Just as she was trying to figure out how, a familiar black Range Rover pulled into the square and slowed beside them. The window rolled down.
Rhys.
He looked both exasperated and faintly amused. “I thought you might need a hand.”
Cat could have laughed with relief. “How did you know?”
“Mrs. Johnson just left the butcher’s and saw you three struggling with the tree. She called me and said you girls are in need of rescuing.”
“You have impeccable timing,” Cat said, setting the tree down, and detangling a strand of hair that had become embedded in a fir branch already.
“I pictured something a little smaller,” he said dryly, parking at the curb, and getting out of the car.
A car honked as it was forced to drive around Rhys, but Rhys paid the driver no attention.
Olivia ran to him, delighted. “Daddy, look! Isn’t it perfect?”
Rhys took one long look at the tree—then at Cat—and raised an eyebrow. “Perfect,” he said gravely. “It’s a very nice Nordmann fir. Though I’m not sure it will fit through the cottage door.”
Jillian grinned. “I told her she’d be jamming the branches.”
“Traitor,” Cat muttered, earning a giggle from both girls.
Together, they wrestled the tree into the back of the Range Rover, branches brushing against the windows. Cat was laughing by the time the hatch finally latched.
Rhys shook his head. “I leave you three alone for one morning, and you buy half a forest.”
“It was a democratic decision,” Cat said primly, sliding into the passenger seat. “I was overruled.”
He glanced at her, mouth twitching. “You don’t seem too unhappy about it.”
She smiled, feeling more cheerful than she had since arriving. “Maybe I’m not.”
*
The short drive back to Langley was full of chatter with Olivia describing the open-air market, Jillian explaining—with the air of an expert—the difference between English and American Christmas trees. He had no idea how she knew the difference, but she was right.
When they reached the cottage, he helped them haul the tree from the back of his car before he half dragged, half shoved the tree through the front door while the girls cheered him on. Once in the cottage, he positioned the tree in a corner of the sitting room.
The top of the tree brushed the ceiling, and needles scattered across the floor. But Olivia was delighted. She spun in a slow circle, eyes wide. “It’s perfect,” she whispered again.
Rhys looked around—at his daughters laughing, at the too tall tree overwhelming the room, and Cat, who stood beside the hearth, flushed and smiling, her hair falling from what he had come to recognize as a perpetually loose ponytail, dark wisps around her face.
She was beautiful. Not almost beautiful, or a little bit beautiful, but to use Olivia’s favorite word—perfectly—beautiful, and he was very glad she was here with them.
*