Their Christmas Miracle. Barbara Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ her eyes at him. “Are you saying you want me to go back to London with you tonight?”

      His eyes widened. “Are you telling me you don’t want to come home?”

      “We only just met,” Rosalind said. It was too soon. Granted his story was compelling, but it was still a story. “You expect me to accept what you’re telling me because you have a phone full of photographs?” Photographs of her, she added silently. They terrified her, because they revealed a life about which she knew nothing.

      Shaking her head, she said, “I’m not ready.”

      She thought about how agitated Collier got when she mentioned not wanting to find herself. It was nothing compared to the look of horror her current answer generated. Seriously, though, wouldn’t she be a fool to go along without some kind of tangible proof? Besides photos, that is. After all, photographs could be manipulated.

      “Do you really think I would go through the bother of manipulating photographs and then flying all the way up here just to trick you?” he said when she commented as much. “For God’s sake, I thought you were dead.”

      So he kept saying, and if Rosalind were to base the truth solely on his reactions, there’d be no argument.

      “Look at it from my point of view. You’re a stranger.” Her conscience winced at the pain that passed across his face. To her, he was a stranger though, and no matter how handsome and persuasive his story may be, she needed to be sensible. “You come in here out of the blue with hugs and photos and expect me to take you at your word when I can’t even remember my own birthday.”

      “February the twenty-fourth.”

      “Thank you, but you’re missing my point. Would you pick up and leave your safe haven based on a handful of photographs and the word of someone you just met?”

      Crossing her arms, she leaned on the sill and waited for her words to sink in. She could see from the way he stepped back that her argument made sense.

      “What is it you need?” he asked.

      Good question. Answers to what happened to her would be a nice start. “Time,” she told him. “You’re moving too quickly. I know you said I’ve been missing for months, but I need time to wrap my head around everything you’ve told me.” As well as she could anyway. “And I need proof. More proof I mean, beyond the photos in your phone.”

      “All right. I’ll have a package sent to you first thing tomorrow. You get email up here, right?”

      She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes. The restaurant has an email account.”

      “All right, then. You want proof, proof you shall get. Anything you need if it will help bring you home.”

      With that, she expected to leave. Instead, he moved closer. So close that Rosalind could smell the faint scent of musk on his suit jacket.

      “I still can’t believe it’s really you,” he whispered. “I’ve missed you, Rosie.”

      He lifted his hand and she tensed thinking he was about to hug her again. The notion wasn’t as off-putting as it should’ve been. Rosalind blamed his eyes. In the shadows, they were like midnight. A woman could get lost in eyes like that if she wasn’t careful.

      “Space,” she managed to whisper just as his fingers were about to brush a hair from her temple. “I’m also going to need space so I can truly think.”

      Disappointment flashed in his eyes, but he stepped back like a gentleman. “Of course. Take all the time and space you need.”

      “Thank you.” She let out her breath. “I appreciate your patience. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go upstairs and lie down. My head is spinning.”

      Once again, Thomas fought the urge to chase her as she rushed away. Patience, he reminded himself. Patience and space. He had to remember how overwhelming his news must feel to her. Hell, it was overwhelming to him.

      Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Linus strolling toward him, a glass of amber liquid in hand.

      “Here. Figured you might need one,” he said.

      Taking the glass, Thomas took a long drink, savoring the burning sensation as the liquor went down his throat.

      “McKringle went upstairs to check on Rosalind. I said I would check on you. Conversation go okay?”

      “She needs more proof before she’ll believe me,” Thomas told him.

      “Smart decision.”

      Yeah, it was, and, as she’d said, one he would’ve made himself. Once she read her history, he had no doubt Rosalind would realize he was telling the truth.

      Thomas took another sip. “I can’t believe it, Linus.” He might as well be walking in a dream. “How many times did you talk with McDermott about his factory? And she was right down the road.” Dear God... “I didn’t want to stop for dinner.” If not for Linus’s insistence, he would never have learned that Rosie had survived. When he thought how close the miss had been, he felt sick.

      “How did she get here? Her car was on the West Coast.” Linus asked. “Did she say? McKringle wouldn’t answer my questions.”

      “She doesn’t know,” Thomas said. “She doesn’t remember anything prior to meeting McKringle on the motorway.”

      That included him. Thomas wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. A bit of both, he decided.

      So many nights he’d lain awake blaming himself for the accident. She wouldn’t have been at the country house if I hadn’t been such a muleheaded fool.

      “And now she’ll be home for Christmas.” He said the words out loud as much for reassurance as anything. “Maddie’s going to be thrilled.”

      “What about you?” Linus asked.

      That was a silly question. “Of course I’m happy. Don’t be daft.” He drained the last of his drink in one final swallow. McKringle hadn’t undersold; the Scotch was superior.

      “I know you’re happy, Thommy-boy.” Thomas winced. He loathed his childhood nickname. “Anyone who saw your face when she walked in would know.”

      Thomas still couldn’t believe the moment was real. That an hour ago he’d been a widower, and with one blink of an eye, his family was returned. It was a dream come true.

      Making Linus’s question all the more strange. “If you don’t mean happy my wife’s alive, then what do you mean?” he asked.

      His brother leaned against a table edge, bringing them eye to eye. It was rare for the youngest Collier to be serious, so the sober expression made Thomas’s pulse pick up. “Are you going to tell her the entire circumstances?” he asked.

      “What am I supposed to say? By the way, did I mention I was a lousy husband and that’s the reason you were driving around up north in the first place?”

      “You weren’t a lousy—”

      But СКАЧАТЬ