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She’d always been the rip-the-bandaid-off type, so once she started moving, she practically ran right to the front door, Copper at her heels. The porch light snapped on—a motion detector light—which was good because it meant Zach would really be able to see her outfit. It was the pièce de resistance. She knocked on the door, rapping faster and harder than she’d meant to, but no matter.
Footsteps thudded on the other side of the door. She took a deep breath, then launched into her song, pitching her voice as loud as it would go so he’d be sure to hear. “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a puppy and a”—she thrust the box she’d brought forwards so the picture of the fake Christmas tree would be visible just as the door jerked open—“fake tree!”
The last note of her song died on Lena’s lips as a man practically exploded out of the house. “What the hell’s going on?”
Copper let out a sharp warning bark as Lena scrambled backwards, out of his way.
The tall, powerfully muscled man standing before her, bare chest heaving, his gaze darting as he scanned the front yard, was one hundred percent hot especially with the tattoo snaking around his bicep, but he was also one hundred percentnother boyfriend.
2
NAUGHTY OR NICE
Heath Fletcher practically knocked the girl—woman—in the Santa hat over as he barged out the door and onto the porch. If she was a druggie, and given how she was dressed and the song she was belting out that seemed possible, then she probably wasn’t by herself. Meth-heads casing houses didn’t usually work alone. He didn’t see anyone else besides the dog, who let out a sharp warning bark, but it was getting dark.
“Who are you?” The box the girl was holding dropped to the porch with a thud and Heath jumped in his skin, clutching the door jamb as a wave of dizziness came over him.
Bloody hell. Not again.That was always the first symptom. If he could just keep breathing normally…
“No. Who the hell areyou? And what are you doing—” His chest tightened painfully and he couldn’t get the rest out, not with the way his lungs were seizing up and his heart was damn near punching out of his ribcage. Christmas Girl must’ve seen the way he tensed up, because she took another step away from him, her hands palm out in surrender. He’d scared her.Wasscaring her. Even though she was the one invading his space.
He didn’t mean to yell at her, but she’d startled him. Worse than startled. No one drove all the way down Diggers Lane and onto his driveway by accident. The only visitors he ever got were delivery people, and that was how he liked it. Except he hadn’t ordered anything, especially not a plastic Christmas tree, and he wasn’t expecting any packages from anyone else, either. Christmas Girl most definitely wasn’t wearing any kind of official uniform or—he glanced at her car—driving an official delivery vehicle. Which meant she had no good reason to be at his house. His heart rate kicked up another notch. No one came to his house unannounced, especially not a lone Christmas caroler twelve days before Christmas. That was the whole point of living where he did: he wanted the solitude. He needed the peace and quiet.
“I’m sorry. I’m looking for Zach. Is he here?” Christmas Girl—an American, judging by the flat nasal twang of her accent—craned her neck as if to peer past him into the house and it took all he had not to bolt back inside and slam the door in her face. She looked sweet, even with her brow wrinkled in confusion. Some part of his brain could recognise that much, even if the lizard part still thought she was out to rob him or worse.
“Who?” He tried to make his voice sound less gruff, but it must not have worked because the dog barked at him again, the reindeer antlers it was wearing slipping sideways.
“Copper! Ssh!” The girl bent to straighten the antlers and her own hat drooped towards her ear. She took a deep breath, fixed the Santa hat, and went on. “I’m looking for Zach Redemer. I’m Abilene Snowden—Lena, his girlfriend? And this is his address. At least”—the furrow between her eyebrows deepened as she looked up at him. She had pretty dark eyes, and a spill of brown waves framed her face—“I thought it was.”
“There’s nobody named Zach here.” Even to his own ears his voice sounded clipped and irritated. He didn’t like being interrupted. He didn’t like being asked questions that made no sense. He sure as hell didn’t appreciate having his dinner ruined by a panic attack he was barely keeping at bay.
Some emotion he couldn’t place swept across her face—something different from the confusion that creased her brow and the fear that had her inching away since he’d yanked the door open. Something deeper. She shook her head as if to clear whatever it was and gave him a smile. Her mouth quirked up just a little higher on one side. “I’m so sorry. I must be lost. Can you tell me how to get to Number Four Diggers Lane?”
Heath’s heart rate ticked higher, even though his logic brain told him he was probably overreacting again—he’d done the same thing the last time a stranger knocked on his door, and that had turned out to be his neighbour bringing over tomatoes from her garden and a dozen eggs from her chickens.Hyper-vigilant.That was the word the doctor at the DVA had used. He had to calm down and get his logic brain and his lizard brain on the same page.
He took in a deep breath and focused on the spectacle before him.Name three things you can see.Santa hat, dog’s antlers, tartan bow. Still his heart rate climbed.Three more.Christmas Girl—Abilene—wore a green scooped tank top emblazoned with red, glittery words reading “NaughtyandNice.” A string of flashing mini-Christmas lights hung from her neck and dipped into her cleavage, illuminating the front of her shirt in a way that highlighted the fullness of her breasts. Her short skirt might’ve shown off her lean, muscled legs, but it was also the most garish thing he’d ever seen, made of what looked like holiday neck ties, each with a different red or green pattern. Tacky didn’t even begin to cover it. Nor did it take into account the snow-flocked plastic Christmas tree she’d dropped onto his veranda.
Two things you can smell.There was the faint smell of puppy, though her dog looked almost fully grown. And there was her—cinnamon and something else spicy. Ginger? Plus something flowery. He took a breath, deeper this time. The sensory exercise was working.
One thing you can hear.Her voice. “Excuse me? Can you?”
He dragged his eyes away from the curves her outfit hugged. “Can I what?” He’d lost the thread of conversation, but he could breathe again and his heart rate was almost back to normal. Almost. Until his gaze landed on her full lips. Which made zero sense. He’d gone from thinking she was casing the place to wanting to kill him to— He wished he’d used the thirty seconds it would’ve taken to throw on a shirt.
“Can you tell me how to get to Number Four Diggers Lane. I can’t figure out how I missed it.” She flashed that crooked smile again, which would’ve been cute if it had reached her eyes. Her fingers found the top of her dog’s head. He was still making her nervous. Good.
“Look. I don’t know how you got this address or why you’re here. I’m not expecting—”
Her face went ashen. “I don’t… I’m sorry. No one’s expecting me, so Zach couldn’t have told you. I’m here to surprise him—for Christmas.”
She didn’t seem high, but maybe she couldn’t understand his accent. Or maybe she was dimmer than her lightbulb earrings, pretty but not bright. He tried again, speaking slower. “Zach’s not here. So whatever you’re trying, it’s time to give it up and get going.” He put an extra edge into his voice. He was done with whatever this situation was, and his dinner was getting cold.
She took a step away from him. “Do you know when Zach will be back?”
“I told you. No one named Zach lives here. Never has.” Heath didn’t like the way her colour went from pale to almost green. He had to stop himself from asking if she was all right. It was probably a trick of the Christmas light necklace. Or maybe she was a really good actress. “Think you’d better get going now.”
“But Zach’s been living here since August. That’s what he told…” She shook her head and her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. That other emotion he hadn’t been able to place was in her eyes again. Disappointment. Hurt. That’s what it was.
When she spoke again, her voice wavered. “I’ll just—I’m not sure what—There’s been some kind of misunderstanding. I’m so sorry to bother you. C’mon Copper.” She whirled round, her skirt flaring as she did, and speed-walked back to the plain white sedan parked next to his ute, the dog trotting after her.
