Page 64 of Harry

“Yes.” She jammed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and eyed the smoke curling towards the ceiling. “You’re smoking.”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“You only smoke when you’re stressed.”

“Stop making a big deal out of it.” Taking it out, he stubbed the cigar out on a tray he had brought out with him and tossed it outside. “All done. Happy?”

“Look, if you don’t want to go…”

“Too late. Mother called and we have cocktails in precisely five minutes. And the opening of presents.” He lunged forward so abruptly, it caused Shep to yelp in surprise.

“Down boy.” Placing a soothing hand on the dog’s collar, he patted him softly, before giving him a nudge inside the house. “Let’s get this over and done with, shall we?”

She didn’t like his tone or the way he looked and had no idea what to do. Placing a hand on his arm as he was about to descend the steps, she forced him to stop.

“Let’s call and tell her that I’m not feeling well. Please.”

His expression softened, and he struggled to get out of the deep depression that was settling over him.

“Trying to take care of me, love?”

“Yes. It’s kind of my job and I happen to take it seriously.” Her hands lifted to touch his firm jaw. “I hate to see you hurting.”

He turned fully to face her, his hands going around her thick waist. “You make it bearable.” He admitted. He felt the flutters and as usual it did something to him. “We’ll do the dinner thing and then come back here for our own brand of celebration. Okay?”

She nodded. “We won’t stay very long. I can tell your mother that I am not feeling well.”

He smiled at that and pressing a kiss on her forehead, he closed his eyes and inhaled her scent. God! He could literally feel the tension easing out of him.

Crushing her to him, he held her for a few seconds to gather his strength. “I’m fine.” He whispered in her hair. “You make it all better.”

She felt her own anxiety ebbing as she held onto him.

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“Okay, let’s get this over with.”

*****

The manor was ablaze with lights, with bulbs hanging from the well-manicured shrubberies lining the perimeter walls and the numerous trees dotting the grounds. It was not snowing, but the weather was icy, giving the indication that the prediction of a white Christmas was right on the ball.

The double doors were swept open by a beaming Rosie who was wearing a snowy white apron over a fussy red dress with a big green bow at the waist. Her salt and pepper hair was braided, and she was wearing earrings.

“Come in,” she urged, “it’s cold as the dickens out there.” She took their jackets and touched Harry gently on his jaw, dark brown eyes examining his face closely.

“Drinks in the yellow salon. Your mother and a few friends are already there.”

“Friends?” Harry reared back and stood there in the wide hallway. “What friends?”

“The McKenzie’s are here from Ireland.”

His expression turned remote, and Janelle wished she could read what was happening.

“Who are they?”

“Old friends!” He said briefly.

Rosie folded her large hands in front of her and gave him a reproving look before turning to Janelle with a fond smile. “They are more than that. Harry grew up with their daughter.”

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