Once Upon A Christmas. Sarah MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘I have a little girl.’
They shared a smile of mutual understanding. ‘And the bond between a little girl and her daddy is so special, isn’t it?’
Bryony tensed and then she smiled. ‘It certainly is,’ she croaked, feeling as though she’d been showered with cold water. ‘Very special.’
She directed the man to the children’s ward and stared after him, feeling sick inside.
She loved Lizzie so fiercely that she rarely thought about the fact that her little girl didn’t have a father. She had plenty of father figures—her two brothers and Jack, and she’d always consoled herself that they were enough. But Lizzie obviously didn’t think so or why would she have asked for a father for Christmas?
Lizzie wanted the real thing. She wanted a father to tuck her up at night. A father who would read to her and play with her. A father who would panic and leave a meeting because she was sick.
Bryony gave a groan and covered her face with her hands. How was she ever going to satisfy Lizzie’s Christmas wish this year?
How was she going to produce a father when she didn’t even date men and hadn’t since Lizzie had been conceived? And not even then, really.
Bryony let her hands drop to her sides, torn with guilt at how selfish she’d been. Because of the way she felt about Jack, she’d shut men out of her life, never thinking about the long-term effect that would have on Lizzie.
It was true that she didn’t want a man in her life, but it was also true that Lizzie needed and wanted a father.
And suddenly Bryony made a decision.
She was going to stop dreaming about Jack Rothwell. She was going to stop noticing his broad shoulders. She was going to stop noticing the way his cheeks creased when he smiled. She was going to stop thinking about what he looked like with his shirt off. In fact, she was going to stop thinking about him altogether and start dating other men.
Finally she was going to get a life.
And Lizzie was going to get a daddy.
CHAPTER TWO
BRYONY paused outside the entrance to the pub, her breath clouding the freezing air. She could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and music coming from inside, and she lifted her chin and pushed open the door.
They were all there. The whole of the mountain rescue team, most of whom she’d known for years, crowding the bar and laughing together. In one corner of the bar a log fire crackled and the room was warm and welcoming.
‘It’s Blondie!’
There were good-natured catcalls from the moment they spotted her and Toby, the equipment officer, slipped off his stool and offered it to her with a flourish.
‘Hi, guys.’ She settled herself on the stool and smiled at the barman. ‘Hi, Geoff. The usual, please.’
He reached for a bottle of grapefruit juice. ‘On the hard stuff, Bryony?’
‘That’s me.’ Bryony nodded her thanks and lifted the glass in a salute. ‘Cheers, everyone. And happy birthday, Oliver.’
Her brother grinned. ‘Thanks, babe. You OK?’
‘I’m fine.’ In fact, she was better than fine. She was brilliant. And she was finally going to restart her life.
As if to test that resolve, Jack strolled over to her and dropped a kiss on her cheek.
‘What did the blonde say when she walked into the bar?’
‘Ouch,’ Bryony answered wearily, rolling her eyes in exasperation. ‘And, Jack, you really need some new jokes. You’re recycling them.’
He yawned. ‘Well, I’ve been telling them for twenty-two years—what do you expect?’
‘A bit of originality would be nice,’ she said mildly, taking another sip of her drink and making a point of not looking at him. She wasn’t going to notice Jack any more. There were plenty of men out there with good bodies. He wasn’t the only one. ‘Maybe I should dye my hair brown to help you out.’
‘Brown? Don’t you dare.’ Jack’s voice was husky and enticingly male. ‘If you dyed your hair brown, you’d ruin all my jokes. We love you the way you are.’
Bryony took a gulp of her drink. He didn’t love her. And he never would love her. Or, at least, not in the way she wanted him to love her.
‘Bry, are you free on Thursday or Friday?’ Oliver leaned across the bar and grabbed a handful of nuts. ‘Mum wants to cook me a birthday dinner, whole family and Jack in attendance.’
Bryony put her glass down on the bar. ‘Can’t do Thursday.’
Jack frowned. ‘You’re on an early shift. Why can’t you do it?’
Bryony hesitated. ‘Because I have a date,’ she said finally, and Oliver lifted his eyebrows.
‘A date? You have a date?’
Jack’s smile vanished like the sun behind a cloud. ‘What do you mean, you have a date?’ His voice was surprisingly frosty. ‘Since when did you go on dates?’
Bryony took a deep breath and decided she may as well tell all. ‘Since I saw Lizzie’s Christmas list.’
At the mention of Lizzie, Jack’s expression regained some of its warmth. ‘She’s made her list already?’
‘She has indeed.’
‘Don’t tell me.’ His voice was indulgent. ‘She wants something pink. A new pair of pink wings for her fairy costume?’
‘Nope.’
Oliver looked at her searchingly. ‘Well? We’re all dying to hear what she asked for. And what’s it got to do with you going on a date?’
Bryony sat still for a moment, studying her empty glass. ‘I’m going on a date,’ she said slowly, ‘because Lizzie wants a daddy.’ She looked up and gave them a bland smile. ‘Lizzie has asked for a daddy for Christmas.’
There was a long silence around the bar and the men exchanged looks.
It was Jack who eventually spoke first. ‘Does she realise that they’re not all they’re cracked up to be?’
There was bitterness in his tone and Bryony frowned slightly. She knew that his parents had divorced when he’d been eight and she also knew that it had been a hideously painful experience for Jack.
But it was unlike him to ever mention it.
Like most men, Jack Rothwell didn’t talk about his feelings.
‘A daddy?’ Oliver cleared his throat and exchanged looks with Tom. ‘Does she have anyone in particular in mind?’
Bryony shook her head. ‘No. She’s leaving the choice up to Santa, but Mum gave me the letter and she’s listed the qualities she’s looking for.’
‘She has?’ Oliver gave an amazed laugh and glanced round at the others. ‘And what are they?’
Bryony delved into her pocket and pulled out a rumpled piece of paper. She cleared her throat and started to read. ‘I want a daddy who is strong so that he can swing me in the garden. I want a daddy who is funny and makes jokes. I want a daddy who lets me watch television before school and who won’t make me eat sprouts because I hate them and I want a daddy who will meet me at the school gate and give me a hug like the other daddies sometimes do.’ Bryony broke off at that point and swallowed hard, aware of the stunned silence around her. ‘But most of all I want a daddy who will hug my mummy and stay with us for ever.’