Dante had more than kept his promise to let the polo world know that Jess was good at her job. The phone had been ringing off the hook since the article was printed. Admittedly, most of the calls had been from reporters wanting to know what the ‘real’ Dante Acosta was like.
‘He’s such a loner and an enigma,’ they’d prompted, ‘while you were a young woman on her own.’
‘I’m a medical professional with a job to do,’ she had reminded them, remembering to add, ‘Happy Christmas,’ genuinely and warmly—because, like her, they were only doing their job.
Happy Christmas.
Jess’s mouth twisted with the pain. She missed Dante so much the words meant nothing. Swiping tears away, she cleaned down the kitchen until it gleamed like never before. Checking the fire, she hung up her apron. With a shake of her head, as if that might knock some sense into it, she thought through the rest of the day. The food was ready. There was nothing more to do, and she longed to get outside. There could be more sheep to find.
* * *
He could go anywhere for Christmas. Invitations were stacked up in a pile on his desk at the estancia. Those from his family had received polite refusals. Those who craved Acosta glitter to brag about went in the bin.
He checked again. Nothing from Jess.
Why should there be?
Shifting position impatiently, he picked up a call from his sister, Sofia. ‘Yes?’
‘Compliments of the season to you too,’ she said dryly. ‘I gather you’re in a good mood.’
‘What do you want?’
Accustomed to his stormy moods since the injury, Sofia gave his bad manners a bye. ‘I’m ringing to tell you not to buy so many presents. A truckload arrived today, when all we want is you.’
‘Another year, perhaps,’ he promised gruffly.
The Acostas always gathered at Christmas to remember their parents, though all five of them under one roof for any length of time could be a recipe for disaster. To put it mildly, they could be fiery. Dante’s eldest brother always referred them to the Argentinian branch of the family which, he insisted, was far better balanced since all the brothers had married. He tried this same lecture each year but, as he remained unattached, it lacked bite.
The problem, Dante reflected, was that none of them was prepared to risk their heart after the crushing grief of losing their parents.
Even him?
Why couldn’t he date Jess in a way she’d find acceptable? What was stopping him giving her the future she deserved?
Only his stubbornness. And possibly Jess’s too.
Glancing at the phone, he felt a stab of regret. He loved his sister, and would miss catching up with Sofia and his brothers at the annual get-together, but this year there was only one place to be.
Why the change of heart?
Try living anything approaching a normal life with one exceptional woman, with whom he had unfinished business, permanently lodged in his mind.
* * *
Everything was ready for whoever dropped by, Jess reassured herself as she left the farm. Gifts for her father were wrapped and ready, together with the ‘little somethings’, as her mother used to call them, for his pals, and for any surprise visitors. She’d brought in extra folding chairs from the barn, so all that remained was to tempt her father back to the house with the promise of a delicious feast.
Financially, the year had ended on a high, mainly thanks to Dante’s purchase of their ponies. It was a real treat to have enough money to buy her father things he’d denied himself for far too long. There would be a satisfyingly large heap of gifts beneath a tree laden with baubles that carried memories. Everything was warm and welcoming, just as her mother would have wanted it to be. The tradition of open house at Bell Farm would continue.
She paused at the top of a rise to stare out over the winter wonderland with its coating of snow and inevitably her thoughts turned to Dante.
Where was he? Who was he with? What was he doing? Would he be lonely? Was his leg still okay?
‘Stop it,’ she said out loud. This was going to be a wonderful Christmas, to which her broken heart was most definitely not invited.
* * *
Dante’s flight through thunderclouds on his way from Spain to England was, to put it mildly, interesting, even in the luxurious surroundings of his private jet. The drive to the farm was even more so. No one was prepared to release a helicopter in such uncertain weather, so he hired a big workhorse-style SUV, but even that was brought to a sliding halt by snowdrifts on the exposed Yorkshire moors.
Grinding his jaw, he grabbed some belongings and set off to walk to the farm. According to the satnav on his phone, he was close to his destination. This wasn’t the way he’d planned to arrive, but Jess wouldn’t care less if he arrived in a helicopter or on foot. Unimpressed by shows of wealth, she was the most down-to-earth woman he’d ever met. She demanded an entirely new rulebook. He was still finessing the detail as he ploughed on through the snow.
He thought about Jess with each step, and what he owed her for restoring the strength in his leg. Most of all he thought about holding her. Maybe that was a stretch. There were no guarantees where Jess was concerned. She’d pick her own route through life.
Pausing to look around and get his bearings, he was grateful for the map on his phone. There were no recognisable landmarks. Everything was covered in a blanket of snow. Even the road had become one with the field. Jess’s home turf seemed determined to show him an increasingly hostile face. If Jess did the same, he was wasting his time.
Pulling up his jacket collar, he pushed on. There was an occasional flicker of light and a glimpse of colour down the hill, where a cluster of homesteads sat squat in the snow. He exhaled on a cloud of humourless laughter. Why was he surprised that a woman from such a bleak and forbidding landscape would be anything but strong and self-determining?
It had occurred to him that Jess might refuse to see him. Who rocked up unannounced on Christmas Eve? It couldn’t be helped. He wasn’t going anywhere until they met up face to face. Jess had rocked his world on its axis and there was no way he’d let this go. If he reached the village—when he reached the village, Dante amended—he’d surely find lodgings for the night. The roads were impassable, so he was stuck here whether Jess agreed to see him or not.
After another half a mile or so, he stopped to blink and rub snow from his eyes, seeing shadows moving in the distance. As he drew closer, he realised the shadows were men working in the field. Driven almost sideways by gusting wind, they were attempting to heave sheep out of a ditch. Several more animals were stranded, and he didn’t hesitate before pitching in.
Fate had dealt him a kindness, Dante concluded as he worked with the other men. Rescuing the terrified animals built an instant camaraderie that allowed him to ask the way, enquire about lodgings and even learn something about Jess.
* * *
The moors had a peculiar stillness that only descended after a recent fall of snow. It was like being alone on the planet, without even birdsong to keep her company, Jess mused as she trudged on. She was keeping a lookout for her father and for his friends, as well as any stranded animals she might find along the way. She’d come prepared, with a snow shovel strung across her shoulder on a strap.
She paused for a moment when she got to the brow of the hill. The view was immense. Now the snow flurries had died down she could see right across the moors to Derbyshire. But it was only a temporary respite because snow had started falling again.
Bringing her muffler over her mouth, she prepared to slither down what was now a treacherous slope. Halfway down, she dug in her heels and skidded to a halt. An SUV was stuck in a snowdrift and tilted on its side. Thoughts flashed through her head. Up
permost was saving whoever was in the vehicle before they froze to death. Hurtling down the bank regardless of safety, she sucked in great lungsful of air. She had to conquer that panic. She’d be no use to anyone like this.
Once she’d gathered herself, another question occurred: who drove a flashy SUV in the village?
Could it be Dante?
Don’t be ridiculous, she railed at her inner voice. Why would Dante come here on Christmas Eve? There were no ponies to buy. He’d bought them all. And would a billionaire’s Christmas include the simple pleasures of a small isolated village on top of the Yorkshire moors? He had absolutely no reason to come here.
That didn’t stop her wading through the sometimes thigh-high snow. She had to reach the SUV. Not only would the driver and any passengers be in danger of freezing inside the vehicle; if they left it they could quickly become disorientated, and the result would be the same. Wind chill was deadly, and it was vital they reached safety and warmth soon.
Fast progress was impossible, which gave Jess’s thoughts the chance to run free. Maybe Dante had somehow heard that Bell Farm was throwing its doors open to all-comers at Christmas. It wasn’t beyond the bounds of reason that he’d spoken to her dad but, whoever was in that vehicle, or maybe wandering around lost on the moors, she had to do her best to find them.
There were times when Jess thought her feet would freeze into icicles and break off. This wasn’t helped by the local brook being covered by a thin layer of ice beneath a concealing carpet of snow. She yelped as her feet sank beneath the surface yet again, but now she was within touching distance of the vehicle and she pressed on.
Swinging the snow shovel off her shoulder, she braced herself for whatever, or whoever, she might find inside. Was she too late? What if Dante had driven up to the moors? Why hadn’t she had the courage to tell him how she felt before now? It wasn’t as if she was shy or retiring. Tears froze on her face as she frantically dug out the snow. Why had she never told him she loved him? Why had she held back?