Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) (20 page)

‘Merry Christmas, Mum! Merry Christmas Dad!’ Frankie shouldered open her parents’ front door, her arms cradling a small but precarious pile of presents.

Vanessa appeared from the kitchen wearing a Santa hat and a scarf of tinsel around her neck. In one hand she held a mince
pie, in the other was a flute of champagne.

‘Merry Christmas, darling!’ she carolled before disappearing back into the kitchen. ‘Doug! Frankie’s here!’

Frankie stamped her feet on the mat to unstick the snow from her soles. The Cooper home was welcomingly warm with the sound of Christmas tunes and the tang of hot mince pies and roasting turkey in the air. She hustled into the kitchen and was accosted by Vanessa with another Santa hat for Frankie.

‘Ow, Mum. Easy on the scalp,’ Frankie winced. ‘You bring
new meaning to Brut force.’

‘Hello, Frankie,’ Doug said, joining them from the lounge. He too was wearing a Santa hat.

Frankie stretched out her lips to greet her father over the presents. He gave her an enthusiastic smacker and laughed.

‘Come on through. Put that lot under the tree.’

‘D’you want some bubbly?’ Vanessa asked.

Frankie wavered. She would love to share Christmas with her parents getting sloshed,
but  racing didn’t stop for anyone. There would still be horses needing their supper on Christmas Day and tomorrow it was off early to Kempton for their Boxing Day meeting where she had two rides on the card.

‘Not just yet, thanks, Mum,’ she called over her shoulder.

She knelt before the small silver tree in the lounge and let her gifts tumble gently onto the carpet to join the rest. She missed the big trees they’d used to have when it would take her, Seth, Vanessa and Doug an entire evening to decorate. Now just a few of her mother’s own crafts dangled from the wire limbs and the old angel sitting at the top had a crooked halo and torn wings.

With a quick peek over her shoulder to make sure her parents were still out of sight, she checked the tags on the other gifts to see which one
s were hers. A small present, the size of a ring box, wrapped in gold foil caught her attention hiding behind the tree. Her fingers stilled over the attached tag. She sighed as she read the single-word inscription in her father’s writing:
“Seth”
.

She heaved herself to her feet, wondering what Doug did with all the unopened presents that he gave her brother. And more curiously, what was in them? She moved to the mantelpiece to look at the rows of Christmas
cards. One of them was from Gracie, the girl Seth had been dating when he’d died. Frankie shook her head. It was sweet of her to remember the Coopers even after five years, but did her season’s greetings mean that she hadn’t moved on either? She moved the card to the side so she could see a photo of her brother.

‘Merry Christmas, Seth,’ she murmured.

*

If Christmas was a time for indulgence then Frankie hoped hers would be with winners. It certainly couldn’t be food. Watching her mother throw back the champagne and mince pies made Frankie even more envious and determined to ride well tomorrow.
With Doug subtly monitoring the cooking over Vanessa’s shoulder, Frankie was more gutted than usual when she could only take a couple of slices from the huge bird. It was roasted to perfection. She went to take a scoopful of Brussels sprouts then remembered she might be spending the night at Rhys’s later so tipped most of them back.

Her parents looked sympathetically at her sparse helping, but neither said anything. They had been there before
, no doubt, when Doug was a jockey.

‘This looks lovely,’ Frankie said brightly.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ She gave Doug a discreet nod of thanks too and he winked in acknowledgement.

‘Let’s tuck in then,’ he said. ‘There’re presents to be opened!’

*

Lunch was followed by a quick refill of glasses (Frankie had caved midway through the meal) before they regathered in the lounge. Vanessa weaved over to the tree, lost her balance
and sat down with a bump.

‘W
hoops, maybe I should just sit down here and pass these to everyone.’

‘Open that one first, Mum. That’s from
Tom.’

Vanessa picked up the gift and tore away the wrapping.

‘Ah, Tom,’ she said, touching her chest. She showed the album of Rod Stewart’s Christmas songs to Doug and Frankie. ‘Bless his heart. I don’t think I have a Christmas album of Rod’s. How is he?’

‘Who?
Rod?’

‘No
, darling. Tom.’

‘He’s okay.
Spending Christmas with his folks down in Weston.’

‘Well,
please tell him thank you very much and there’s a present here somewhere for him too. Now, here’s one for you.’ Vanessa stretched across the carpet to hand a pillow like present to Frankie.

Frankie ripped off the wrapping with zest and pulled out a heavy duffel coat with a fur hood. She leaned over and kissed her father and blew one to her mother.

‘Thank you. I could do with a new coat.’

‘Doug, this one’s for you.’

Vanessa handed him a small present, which hadn’t come from Frankie’s bundle. She and Vanessa waited eagerly for him to reveal it.

‘Cufflinks!’
Doug cheered. ‘A horse on this one and this one says—’ He peered through his glasses at the other cufflink, ‘— “Hung like a”.’ He squinted at a beaming Vanessa. ‘Huh? Oh, right. I get it. Thanks, lovie. Ha ha.’

Frankie was saved from having to admire his present by the Big Ben-tuned doorbell.

‘I’ll get it,’ she said, shaking wrapping paper from her lap. ‘You expecting anyone else?’

‘No, unless it’s Santa,’ Vanessa said. ‘And if it is, tell him he’s a good few hours late.’

Laughing, Frankie jogged down the hall in her socks and opened the front door.

A courier man, dressed in thick motorcycle gear with his helmet visor clipped back, stood holding a wide flat box.

‘Delivery for Miss Cooper?’ he said.

Frankie’s heart bounced around her chest for a moment.

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘Sign here, please.’ He passed her a clipboard and pen and pointed to a space beside her name. ‘Thank you.
Merry Christmas.’

‘You too
. Thank you!’

‘Who is it, darling?’
came her mother’s voice from the lounge.

Frankie came back into the lounge, proudly holding aloft the box.

‘That was a courier. It’s for me,’ she said faintly. She sunk onto the sofa and ran her hands over the silver and blue paper. It looked professionally wrapped.

‘What is it?’ Vanessa said, crawling forward on her hands and knees away from the tree.

‘I don’t know.’ Maybe it was because it was so immaculately wrapped or because the paper looked so expensive, but Frankie took extra care to tug the tape free.

‘A giant pizza?’ suggested Doug.

‘Dominos have certainly upped their customer service if it is,’ Frankie replied.

With the paper finally cast aside, Frankie slid open the lid. She gave an involuntary gasp.

‘What is it?’ Vanessa asked again.

Frankie reached into the box and lifted out a
beautifully styled Burberry jumper from a bed of fine tissues.

‘Wow,’ she breathed.

Vanessa, still on all fours, looked up with her mouth open.

‘Who’s it from?’ she said, finding her voice at last.

Still holding the jumper up, Frankie squirmed in her seat to find a card or a note. Doug plucked a small card from the tissues.

‘“To keep you warm when I’m not there.
RB”,’ he read.

Frankie’s mouth fell open in amazement. How could she ever have doubted
Rhys’s resolve? This present must have put him back at least five hundred pounds. You could buy a second-hand car for that.

‘Who’s RB?’ Doug asked.

Frankie’s grin faded. Oh yeah, she’d forgotten this bit might happen.

‘No one,’ she said vaguely and busied herself putting the jumper back in the box.

‘It can’t be no one if he’s sending you designer clothes.’

Frankie shrugged and tried to play it coy.

‘Ooh! Ooh!’ said Vanessa. ‘Let’s guess! Who has those initials, Doug? Russell Brand? Richard Burton?’

‘Isn’t he dead, Mum?’

‘Oh yes. Um—
oh
!’ As obviously the right person entered her mind and she was about to shout it out, Vanessa remembered where she was. She froze with her open smile fixed in position.

Doug looked from his wife to his daughter in frustration.

‘Who? You know who it is, Vanessa. Tell me! I don’t know anyone with those—’ Doug also stopped in mid-sentence. He ran his tongue over his teeth, almost in a grimace.

Frankie inched further away from him on the sofa and discreetly moved the expensive wrapping paper
out of his reach.

‘It’s Rhys Bradford, isn’t it?’ he said.

Half-hiding behind the fluff of the jumper, Frankie nodded. Doug looked panicked. His eyes darted from his daughter to the box to his wife.

‘But what is he doing sending you expensive gifts like that?’

‘Well, um,’ Frankie began. She attempted a consolatory smile. ‘Rhys and I have been seeing a bit more of each other in past days.’

‘Seeing more of each other?
As in dating each other?’ Doug’s face took on a distinct red hue.

‘I guess you could say that.’

Doug leapt to his feet and away from Frankie as if she’d just opened up a box of anthrax.

‘You’re dating Rhys Bradford.’ He said it more as a statement than a question, as if he was trying to get it into his head. He looked at Frankie in disbelief. ‘Why? How? I thought you hated him?’

‘Well, no, not really. I mean, sure, at first he wasn’t my favourite person in the world, but lately—well, lately I’ve seen a different side to him. And I think I maybe misjudged him.’

‘But it’s Rhys Bradford!’ Doug cried.

The pom-pom on his Santa’s hat bounced around as he flung his arms out, making him look like one very unhappy elf. This conversation was never going to have gone well, but it still caught Frankie unprepared. She was torn between her loyalty towards the new Rhys—the
real
Rhys, and the addictive need to please her father.

‘Rhys is good though, Dad. Really he is. He makes me happy. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, of course I want you to be happy! But couldn’t you have found happiness with someone else?’

Frankie bit her lip, resentment that Doug thought she’d had a choice in this matter,
that she’d purposefully fallen for Rhys just to spite him.

‘You don’t know him, Dad. I don’t know what happened in the past with Alan Bradford, but Rhys isn’t like that. He hates his father.’

‘That means nothing though!’ Doug said, ripping the Santa’s hat from his head and flinging it to the ground. ‘You can see he’s just like Alan just in the way he rides.’

‘Doug—
’ Vanessa tried to intervene, but he ignored her.

‘He’s arrogant, he’s coc
ky. I mean just look at that note! What does he mean by “when I’m not there”? Are those the occasions when he’s warming someone else up?’

‘No—
’

‘I know his type better than you think
, Frankie! The Bradfords are all the same. They only know how to look after one person and that’s themselves.’

‘Stop it, Doug!’ Vanessa exclaimed.

Doug and Frankie both stared at her in surprise. Vanessa rarely raised her voice except in song.

‘And you knew about this?’ Doug said,
redirecting his anger. ‘How did you know this–this
gift
was from Rhys Bradford?’

‘Don’t go getting all cross with me, sunshine. Just because I’m quicker than you at name games
doesn’t mean I was in on it.’

Still brained, Doug looked back to Frankie then
crept over to sit beside her again. He looked at her imploringly.

‘Frankie, honey.
I’ve never tried to tell you how to live your life, but you’re making a mistake here. I’m not saying this because of my past, I’m saying this because I love you and I don’t want to see you hurt. Please don’t do this.’

Frankie sighed.

‘Dad, please don’t ask me that. I’m not going to get hurt, and if I do, so what? That’s what life and love is about, right? You can’t hide away from it just because it might turn around and bite you on the arse later on.’

‘Love?’
Doug looked horrified. ‘Who said anything about love? You’re not in love with him, are you?’

Frankie repeated the question to herself silently. A
flutter in her stomach and a tingling of warmth made her cheeks glow and she hid the tiny smile that tugged at her lips.