Christmas Where They Belong. Marion Lennox
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“Julie.” He repeated her name and she stopped dead.
She might have known he’d come.
Dear heaven, he was beautiful. He was tall, almost lanky, still boyish even though he must be—what?—thirty-six by now?
He had the same blond-brown hair that looked perpetually as if he spent too much time in the sun. He had the same flop of cowlick that perpetually hung a bit too long—no hairdresser believed it wouldn’t stay where it was put. He was wearing his normal casual clothes: moleskins, with a soft linen shirt rolled up at the sleeves and open at the throat.
He was wearing the same smile in the caramel-brown eyes she remembered. He was smiling at her now. A bit wary. Not sure of his reception.
She hadn’t seen him for four years and he was wary. She didn’t know where to start. Where to begin after all this time.
Why not say it like it was?
“I don’t think I am Julie,” she said slowly, feeling lost. “At least, I’m not sure I’m the Julie you know.”
Christmas Where They Belong
Marion Lennox
MARION LENNOX is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a “very special doctor”, Marion writes for the Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™ and Mills & Boon® Cherish™ lines. (She used a different name for each category for a while—readers looking for her past romance titles should search for author Trisha David as well). She’s now had well over ninety novels accepted for publication.
In her non-writing life Marion cares for kids, cats, dogs, chooks and goldfish. She travels, she fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost). Having spun in circles for the first part of her life, she’s now stepped back from her ‘other’ career, which was teaching statistics at her local university. Finally she’s reprioritised her life, figured out what’s important and discovered the joys of deep baths, romance and chocolate. Preferably all at the same time!
This book is dedicated to Lorna May Dickins.
Her kindness, her humour and her love are an inspiration for always.
Contents
‘DIDN’T YOU ONCE own a house in the Blue Mountains?’
‘Um...yes.’
‘Crikey, Jules, you wouldn’t want to be there now. The whole range looks about to burn.’
It was two days before Christmas. The Australian world of finance shut down between Christmas and New Year, but the deal Julie McDowell was working on was international. The legal issues were urgent.
But the Blue Mountains... Fire.
She dumped her armload of contracts and headed for Chris’s desk. At thirty-two, Chris was the same age as Julie, but her colleague’s work ethic was as different from hers as it was possible to be. Chris worked from nine to five and not a moment more before he was off home to his wife and kids in the suburbs. Sometimes he even surfed the Web during business hours.
Sure enough, his computer was open at the Web browser now. She came up behind him and saw a fire map. The Blue Mountains. A line of red asterisks.
Her focus went straight to Mount Bundoon, a tiny hamlet right in the centre of the asterisks. The hamlet she’d once lived in.
‘Is it on fire?’ she gasped. She’d been so busy she hadn’t been near a news broadcast for hours. Days?
‘Not yet.’ Chris zoomed in on a few of the asterisks. ‘These are alerts, not evacuation orders. A storm came through last night, with lighting strikes but not much rain. The bush is tinder dry after the drought, and most of these asterisks show spot fires in inaccessible bushland. But strong winds and high temperatures are forecast for tomorrow. They’re already closing roads, saying she could be a killer.’
A killer.
The Blue Mountains.
You wouldn’t want to be there now.
She went back to her desk and pulled up the next contract. This was important. She needed to concentrate, but the words blurred before her eyes. All she could see was a house—long, low, every detail architecturally designed, built to withstand the fiercest bush fires.
In her mind she walked through the empty house to a bedroom with two small beds in the shape of racing cars. Teddies sitting against the pillows. Toys. A wall-hanging of a steam train her mother had made.
She hadn’t been there for four years. It should have been sold. Why hadn’t it?
She fought to keep her mind on her work. This had to be dealt with before Christmas.
Teddies. A wardrobe full of small boys’ clothes.
She closed her eyes and she was there again, tucking two little boys into bed, watching Rob read them their bedtime story.
It was history, long past, but she couldn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t.
‘Julie? Are you okay?’ Her boss was standing over her, sounding concerned. Bob Marsh was a financial wizard but he looked after his staff, especially those who brought as much business to