the time Lena’s plane touched down humour had been restored and Damon and Poppy had vacated the bar in favour of waiting for Lena at the arrival gates.
When Lena did finally emerge, she did it from a customs side door, meaning that customs had processed her separately, and she walked with the aid of a stick and the speed of a ninety-year-old. Her once gamine face now looked gaunt and the glaze in her eyes told him that pain ruled her these days. An airport employee walked beside her, towing a suitcase, and the relief on his face as Lena spotted them and waved was palpable.
So much for the full recovery Lena had been spouting about over the phone for the past two weeks.
‘Miss West preferred not to avail herself of our wheelchair services,’ said the airport employee, and with an almost-salute and a harried smile he handed the luggage off to Damon and disappeared back the way he’d come.
‘Told you I could walk,’ said Lena into the silence that followed, and Damon drew her silently into his arms for a hug, horrified anew by his sister’s frailty and the quiet terror he saw in Poppy’s eyes as she stared at her sister.
‘You look wonderful,’ said Lena as Damon released her. ‘Both of you. It’s so good to see you.’
More ‘you look wonderfuls’ and none of them true, followed by ‘how was your flight?’ and then came the question Damon really didn’t want to answer. ‘Have you heard from Jared?’
‘No,’ he murmured. ‘Nothing.’
‘Did you look into finding him?’
‘Yeah,’ he said gruffly, and with a warning glance at Poppy. ‘Nothing yet.’
Poppy picked up on his silent cue and didn’t add to the conversation, but he could tell by her frown that they’d be discussing what to tell Lena and what not to tell her later. Nothing being Damon’s preference by far.
‘I’ll bring the car around,’ he said and nodded towards the nearest door and fled with the luggage before either of his sisters could stop him. He didn’t cope well with the battering Lena had taken. He couldn’t look at her without remembering just how close they’d come to losing her, and if he knew his response was childish and unhelpful, well … Jared’s had been worse.
Jared had damn near lost his mind when the doctor had told them that if Lena lived, chances were she wouldn’t be able to walk.
Lena had been under Jared’s command when she’d been injured—a simple recon of a suspected biological weapons lab in East Timor had gone badly wrong. The last thing Lena remembered was heavy crossfire, sticky blood, and lying in the dirt and looking up at the sky. God only knew what Jared remembered about the way things had gone down, or what he held himself responsible for.
Jared had haunted the hospital until Lena had regained consciousness. He’d told Lena that the mission had been compromised from the start and that he had some business to attend to. He’d told her he’d be back as soon as he could.
That had been six months ago.
Damn right ‘Have you heard from Jared?’ was the first question everyone in this family asked.
Supper that evening had a festive note to it, thanks in no small measure to Ruby Maguire’s pampering.
A tree had appeared in the atrium. A fibre-optic plastic fantastic, with a scattering of perfectly wrapped presents beneath—including one for him from his father that Damon knew full well meant that Ruby had shopped again for him on his father’s behalf.
The tree should have looked gaudy but dim the regular lights and set it to shining and it looked magical instead. Fine wine filled the wine chiller and the light supper fare Russell pulled from the fridge found immediate favour with the girls.
‘Dad, is there something you’re not telling us?’ asked Lena from her perch on the sofa as Poppy beat an unhurried path to the bar, poured two glasses of wine and took one over to Lena with low-key grace and unobtrusiveness. ‘Supper is perfect, Poppy’s just handed me a glass of my favourite white, there are fresh flowers everywhere, and are those fairy lights out on the terrace? They are, aren’t they? I’m sensing a woman’s touch. And not just a housekeeper.’
‘Ruby’s been in,’ said Russell, offhand, and Damon smothered a grin as Lena tried to digest that little snippet without giving in to rampant curiosity.
‘Ruby’s Dad’s social planner,’ Damon murmured helpfully.
‘His what?’
‘She’s doing Christmas for him,’ he added, unable to resist winding his sister up just that little bit more.
‘Ruby’s the daughter of an old colleague of mine,’ said Russell evenly. ‘She needed a job. I gave her one. You’ll meet her tomorrow. I’ve invited her to dine with us.’
‘As your … companion?’ asked Poppy delicately as she handed their father a G and T and dangled a beer in front of Damon. A beer Damon ignored, so intent was he on hearing his father’s reply.
‘Ruby’s younger than you are, Poppet. Credit an old man with some sense.’
Poppy wiggled the beer in front of Damon’s face. Damon took it and remembered how to breathe.
‘So why is she joining us for dinner?’ asked Lena.
‘Ruby’s on her own this Christmas due to … unforeseen circumstances,’ said Russell. ‘I thought you’d enjoy her company and she yours. Damon’s met her.’
Yes, he had. And he hadn’t exactly come away unscathed.
His sisters were eyeing him speculatively. ‘What?’ he asked warily.
‘What’s she like?’ asked Lena.
‘Organised.’ And because he knew his sisters well enough to know that they’d be wanting more, he added, ‘Confident.’
‘Attractive?’ asked Poppy.
‘I guess,’ he muttered and watched in dismay as Poppy and Lena exchanged glances.
‘What?’
‘He likes her,’ said Lena. ‘Yeah, I’m getting that too,’ murmured Poppy.
‘How?’ he wanted to know. ‘How could you possibly get that from this conversation?’
‘Instinct,’ said Lena sagely.
‘Not exactly an accurate science,’ he countered.
Poppy just smiled.
‘So what was Ruby before she became a Christmas elf?’ asked Lena. ‘A stranded socialite?’
‘A corporate lawyer,’ said his father. ‘She’ll go back to practising some form of law soon, I believe. Just not corporate.’
‘Why not corporate?’ asked Lena.
‘Why not ask her yourself?’ Damon murmured and earned another set
