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 driveback 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.
*
Cat couldn’t rememberwhen she’d last laughed so hard.Watching Rhys wrangle that tree through the narrow cottage door and then get it upright in the stand was more fun than she imagined.He wasn’t a small man, but the tree still towered over him, and she wondered what she was thinking, letting Olivia convince her to get such a big tree, but here they were, and it was lovely and fresh and made the cottage smell unbearably good.
While she swept up the pine needles, Rhys said he’d look for a dustpan and he disappeared into the kitchen, but then she heard him on the phone.Cat heard only fragments of his conversation, despite his deep voice carrying.
“Yes,” he said, “not sure where they would be, but Mrs.Booth said there were boxes we could have, or use, for the holidays.If it’s too much trouble, don’t worry about it.”
But then he was off the phone and back with the dustpan.The girls were starving by now, and Cat examined the refrigerator and pantry for something she could whip up for lunch when suddenly Mr.Trimble’s blue truck appeared outside.
The older man stepped out, his cap pulled low against the cold, his cheeks ruddy from years outdoors.“Well then, Dr.Harmon,” he said cheerfully, reaching across the seat of his old truck to retrieve a big soup pot.“Mrs.Johnson thought you all might need something warm to eat after your adventure into Bakewell.She had a pot of beef and barley broth on the stove at the big house and sent some for you, along with a loaf of nice bread she picked up at the bakery in town.”
Cat was delighted.“I was just wondering what to make,” she said, taking the soup pot from him while Olivia accepted the loaf of crusty bread.“Tell her she’s an angel.This is exactly what we needed.”
Rhys didn’t seem as impressed.“Is that all you have, Trimble?”
The older man smiled widely as he walked around to the back of his truck and opened his tailgate.“I also understand you’re in need of a bit of Christmas.”
Olivia ran back out to join them.Jillian stood on tiptoe trying to see what was in the back of the truck.
“We are indeed,” Rhys said.
“Then I think you’ll be pleased.”Mr.Trimble began lifting large brown boxes from the back of the truck and began loading Rhys up.“Mrs.Booth said these haven’t been used up at the big house in years.You’ll find enough lights and baubles here to decorate all of Derbyshire, I reckon.”
“Are those for us?”Jillian asked, unable to hide her excitement.
“For you, Miss Jillian, and your sister,” Trimble said with a wink, following Rhys into the house with two big boxes of his own.“Courtesy of Langley Park.”
The girls rushed forward to peek inside as the boxes were set on the floor of the sitting room and the tops were opened.A shimmer of color met their gaze—silver, red, and gold ornaments, old glass birds, wide satin ribbons, strands of beads tangled among the faded tissue paper.
“They’re beautiful,” Jillian breathed.
Trimble nodded, pleased.“Aye,” he said looking at the little girls crouched around the boxes.“Did you know some of these were here when your dad was no older than you, I expect.”
“Really?”Olivia said, looking at her father.“They almost look better than him.”
“Not fair,” Rhys chided, but he was smiling and so were the girls.
Mr.Trimble tipped his cap to Cat and the girls, then headed for the door.“Enjoy yourselves, now, and let me know if you need anything else.”
“Please thank Mrs.Johnson and Mrs.Booth,” Cat said.“They’ve helped make today very special for all of us.”
“I will indeed.”
