A Yorkshire Christmas (7 page)

And yet how could she? Did Noah even know where his daughter was? Holly Cottage was a good fifteen minutes from his farm, plodding through snow-covered fields.

Besides, Molly looked small, maybe only seven or eight years old. Claire
had
to help.

Squaring her shoulders, she started over. As she came closer she saw the girl had a notebook on her knees, and was busily sketching something, her head bent over the paper. Claire took a step closer.

“Hey, there.”

Startled, the girl whirled around, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she caught sight of Claire. She sniffed, wiping her face with her arm, the other hand clutching the notebook.

“Hey.”

“Are you Noah Bradford’s daughter, by any chance?” Claire asked, and the girl’s eyes narrowed further.

“How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess. He told me you were coming, and I know he lives right across there.” She pointed in the direction of Ayesgill Farm.

The girl just hunched her shoulders further, tucking her chin towards her chest. Claire tried for a smile. “What are you drawing?” she asked, and in response the girl slammed her notebook shut; Claire had only glimpsed a few starkly drawn lines.

“Nothing.”

“Does your Dad know you’re out here?”

A brief and telling hesitation, and then she said, defiantly, “He doesn’t even care.”

“I’ll bet he does,” Claire answered steadily. “What’s your name?”

“Molly.”

“Hi, Molly, I’m Claire. And I was going to walk over to your dad’s farm to return his flashlight. Torch, that is.” She hadn’t been intending to do that, having made a resolution to avoid Noah Bradford for the duration of her stay, but she would now. “Why don’t you come with me? It’s awfully cold out here.”

Molly looked torn between telling Claire to shove it and wanting to cling to her. Such a little girl with so many big feelings, Claire thought sadly. She knew how that felt, trying to grapple with all the frustration and loneliness and fear. She’d had all the trappings of the perfect family, the perfect childhood, and that was all they’d ever been. Trappings.

“Fine,” Molly finally said rather ungraciously, and scrambled off the wall.

They started across the field, the snow soft and wet now, having started to melt under the pale winter sunshine. Neither of them spoke, but Claire knew sometimes she just had to let the silence be, rather than fill it with so many empty words.

Still, she was hard pressed not to blurt out a question, because she was wondering whether Noah knew his daughter was out roaming the fields, or if he was worried about her. She also wondered why Molly looked so defensive and tucked in on herself, and who or what was the cause of her wariness. Noah—or her mother? Or someone else entirely?

The farmhouse had appeared on the horizon when Claire finally broke.

“Does your dad know you’re out here, Molly?”

Molly tucked her chin against her chest. “No, but he was busy anyway. He doesn’t care about me.”

“Why do you say that?”

One bony shoulder lifted in a shrug. “He didn’t even want me to come stay.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Claire protested and Molly shrugged again. Claire thought about the conversation she’d overheard in the supermarket. Noah hadn’t seemed as if he was unwilling to take Molly, but he’d been definitely reluctant. Claire suspected, however, that was because of the short notice, not that he didn’t want to spend time with his daughter.

Or was she making assumptions, because she wanted him to be that way? She’d done the same with Mark. She’d bought into the whole trying-to-be-a-good-dad shtick he’d had going, hook, line, and sinker. Even the memory of how willingly gullible she’d been, when any number of signs had been glaring at her all along, made her cringe in shame.

“He hasn’t even decorated for Christmas,” Molly said suddenly. “There isn’t even a
tree
.” She turned to Claire, her eyes suspiciously bright even as she glared. “He didn’t want me to come for Christmas. I
know
he didn’t.”

Claire opened her mouth to say
He wasn’t expecting you for Christmas
when she closed it again, realizing that might not be the most sensitive thing to say. She had no idea what kind of arrangement Noah had with his ex, or why his daughter had been dumped on his doorstep at the last minute.

Her silence, however, seemed only to confirm Molly’s belief that her father didn’t want her there, for she pursed her lips and looked away, the classic kid’s silent I-told-you-so. Claire sighed inwardly, wishing she were better equipped for these kinds of conversations.

As soon as they stepped into the farmyard, Noah’s dog set up a frenzy of barking. Seconds later Noah flung open the door; he was wearing a thermal shirt, this one in dark gray, and another pair of faded jeans. Plain clothes, but he looked good in them. Amazing, actually, and Claire tried not to let her gaze linger on his taut belly or powerful thighs. This was a very inconvenient time to indulge her attraction.

“Molly…” Noah took a step towards his daughter, looking as if he wanted to grab her in a hug, or maybe shake her until her teeth rattled. Probably both. “Where were you?”

“I just went for a walk.”

“You could have told me—”

Molly just sniffed, her chin jutted out, and shouldered past Noah into the house.

Noah watched her walk past before turning to Claire with a smile that would have seemed wry if there hadn’t been so much sadness in his eyes. “You found her?”

“She was sitting on the wall outside Holly Cottage.”

“I went out to check on the animals, and when I came back in she was gone. I was just about to go looking for her with Jake.” He glanced down at the collie that was thrusting his head between Noah’s knees, tongue lolling out.

Claire smiled at the sight even as her heart twisted in sympathy. “Things going okay?” she asked and he shrugged, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Not really. She’s taken it into her head that I don’t want her here and nothing I do or say seems like it’s going to prove her otherwise.”

“That’s tough.”

“Yeah.” Noah squinted, his gaze on the snow-shrouded fields. “We haven’t had an easy relationship,” he said after a moment. “From the beginning.”

Claire knew she shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t want to know, but the words bubbled up anyway. “Were you together with her mother for long?”

Noah’s face darkened and he pressed his lips together. “It’s complicated.”

She definitely shouldn’t have asked. Claire took a step back. “Well, I should go get my car.”

“Your car! I completely forgot about it.” Noah shook his head. “With Molly coming, it slipped my mind—”

“It’s not your responsibility, Noah—”

“I said I’d help—”

She shrugged. “I can manage.”

“I’m sure you can, but it will take you an age, doing it by yourself. Anyway, Molly and I could use a distraction.” He turned back into the house. “Molly! Fancy an adventure?”

Claire didn’t hear the girl’s reply but moments later Molly came slinking out, arms folded across her chest. “What kind of adventure?”

“Claire’s car is stuck in a snow bank. How about we dig it out, and then go find our Christmas tree?”

Molly’s glance slid from Noah to Claire, and Claire could tell she was wondering just what was between her and Noah. Did she see Claire as some kind of threat?

“I arrived from the States yesterday,” she said to Molly lightly. “I’m only staying for a week, but I managed to put my car right in a snow bank on the very first day.”

She felt Noah give her a look, although what it signified she had no idea. Had she been too obvious, stating how temporary her situation was? Not just for Molly’s sake, but for Noah’s, and most importantly, for hers.

Nothing about this will last.

“I suppose so,” Molly said, and went inside to get her coat.

Ten minutes later, Noah had driven them to the road where Claire’s poor Civic was buried under a mini-mountain of snow.

“Time to dig, I think,” he said, and the four of them, Jake included, started chucking snow off the car.

Claire was focused on simply uncovering her car, when somehow an armful of snow hit her back. She turned around, but both Molly and Noah were still digging. Maybe it was an accident, she decided, and turned around again.

Wham
. Another armful of snow hit her in the back, and when she whirled around this time Noah was looking all too innocent and Molly’s gaze was darting between Claire and her dad, her expression one of cautious excitement.

Claire put her hands on her hips. “Are you trying to start a fight?”

Noah raised his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

She almost laughed aloud at his oh-so-innocent face. “I think you know very well what I’m talking about.”

Noah turned to Molly, his innocent, bewildered expression endearingly exaggerated. “Do you know what she’s talking about, Molly?”

Molly’s gaze darted once more between the two adults, and Claire’s heart twisted to see the slight confusion on the girl’s features, as if she wasn’t used to this kind of teasing, but she thought she might like it.

“No,” she finally said. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Okay, then,” Claire said. “I guess it was my mistake.” She gave them both a lingering look, and saw something flare in Noah’s eyes. Relief that she was playing along, for Molly’s sake? Or something else, something deeper, that she was already feeling in herself?

Don’t fall for him, Claire. It will go nowhere.

It’s just a snowball fight.

She heard the two separate voices in her head, the battle of her conscience, and decided, for the moment anyway, to ignore both.

She turned back to the car and as fast as she could, scooped up some snow, packed it into a ball, and then whirled around, flinging it towards Noah just as she saw him tossing an armful towards her.

“Argh!” Snow hit her full in the face and she wiped it away, her cheeks stinging from the cold, her eyes streaming. Her snowball, she saw, had landed harmlessly on Noah’s chest, dusting his coat with snow. “Now you’re asking for it,” she said, and reached for more snow.

After that, things got pretty silly. All three of them started flinging snow, and Claire could hear Noah’s trash-talking her—you call that
throwing
?—and Molly’s sudden squeals of laughter. Both warmed her heart, even as her body froze under Noah’s onslaught of well-aimed missiles.

After about fifteen minutes, she finally begged for mercy, cowering behind her mostly-uncovered car while Noah stood above her, hands on his hips, and Molly jumped up and down, more animated than Claire had ever seen her.

Claire glanced up at them both through her fingers, her hands covering her face. “And I thought you’d come out here to help me,” she said in a mock whimper.

“Your car is uncovered, isn’t it?” Noah answered.

He reached down to help her up, and Claire couldn’t suppress the sparks that shot up her arm as she slid her gloved hand in his. She didn’t even want to.

He pulled her up easily and she let go of his hand with reluctance, yet also as quickly as she could.

This was all getting just a little too cozy, and yet she craved it, the closeness, the fun, even the excitement. When had she last laughed like this? Not since Mark, certainly.

“Mostly uncovered,” she told him with a nod towards her car, and with a few broad sweeps of his arm Noah had the rest of the snow off of it. “You want me to reverse it out of the bank?” he asked and although feminist pride made Claire tempted to say she could do it, she’d rather he did.

“Yes, please.”

Minutes later Noah had her car in the middle of the road, facing the right direction. No reason, then, not to go home and curl up by the fire, mark a few essays.

And that sounds like so much fun
. But perhaps a needed return to normality.

“Well, thank you for rescuing my car,” she said, “even if you did soak me in the process. I’ll leave you to get your Christmas tree.” With an awkward little wave for them both Claire started towards her car.

Molly’s wobbly voice stopped her in her tracks. “But aren’t you coming with us?”

‡

C
laire turned around
to see Molly looking woebegone, and Noah clearly alarmed as he glanced down at his daughter.

“Claire’s busy, Molly—”

Molly’s face had closed up, her mouth pinched. She nodded once, accepting this explanation without a single argument, and that was what made Claire change her mind. If Molly had whined or pitched a fit, she might have been able to dismiss it as schoolgirl theatrics. But the way the little girl so silently, staunchly accepted someone disappointing her made everything in Claire ache.

“Not that busy,” she said, and saw hope dawn in both Noah and Molly’s eyes. “Where are you going to get the tree?”

“Dad’s going to cut it down himself,” Molly said, her voice touched with pride, and Claire could have wept at the look of surprised gratitude on Noah’s face. She hadn’t heard Molly call him Dad before.