A Father This Christmas?. Louisa Heaton

stared at him hard, but he looked away from her and down to his son, ruffling his hair.

      * * *

      He’d kept them there as long as he could, but eventually Jacob had watched as his son and Eva left the department.

       Hell of a first day!

      He’d expected fireworks. He’d expected ups and downs. But not this. Never this!

      Three years. He’d been a father for three years. Years that he’d spent in Africa, tending to the poorest and sickest of people, with almost no modern medical facilities. Watching people die needless deaths, getting depressed, drinking too much...

      Thank goodness he’d stopped with the alcohol. That had been a stupid path to go down. But what with Michelle and The Wedding That Never Was, he’d felt entitled to a drink. And the drink had helped numb his thoughts. About Michelle. About Eva.

      She’d been the last thing he’d expected at that party.

      He’d gone there expecting to say goodbye to a couple of friends—people who had been there for him after Michelle, who had let him crash on their floors despite the stuff going on in their own lives—and there she’d been. Standing on the far side of the room, in a dress that hugged in all the right places. That flaming red hair had made her stand out in a room of mousy browns and she’d had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, her lips curved in a half-smile.

      Something about her had intrigued him.

      Who was she? What was she doing there?

      The very fact that he’d actually been thinking those questions had woken something in him. Something that he thought had died along with Michelle. And when he’d held her in his arms to dance, her soft curves moulded into his body, as if she’d been carved specifically for him, he’d turned to mush.

      He’d wanted to kiss her. Had wanted to taste her. Possess her. All other thoughts—all the pain, all the grief, all the torment that he’d spent months trying to get rid of—had suddenly dissipated.

      All there had been was Eva.

      And she’d kept quiet. Not told him he was a father. Not tracked him down. If she had he could’ve been... He could’ve had...

      He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

      She was doing it again. Muddling his mind. What was it with women who did this?

      He had to think clearly again. There was a reason he didn’t like to revisit his past.

      Jacob strode back into the department and picked up a patient file. No matter what, life was now going to be different. He’d get to know Seb. Slowly. Not rush it. He’d get to know his son. Let Seb get to know him. Do I want to see my family again?

      The last time had been on his wedding day. The day that Michelle had died. Almost five years ago.

      Since then, he’d been running. Running from his family...running from those who said they loved him because he couldn’t cope with them. Couldn’t think about dealing with their pity and their sympathy and their sad looks, their supportive pats on his back. He’d not wanted to face any of that. Nor would they have wanted to give it if they knew the whole truth of what had happened that day...

      But he could be different now. Couldn’t he? It wasn’t just him anymore—he wasn’t alone now. He had a son, and his son would need him. He refused to let Seb be without his father for a moment longer.

      And it was nearly Christmas. Traditionally a time for family. Perhaps now was the time for him to start building some bridges? Maybe let his parents know about Seb? Maybe Eva would let him take Seb for a visit? They’d love that. Love Seb. And Seb would love Jacob’s old childhood home. The smallholding. The animals there. The old orchard where Jacob had spent so many hours himself.

       I can’t go. There are too many memories there of Michelle...

      It was too much to think of going there.

      Michelle had grown up right next door. His English rose, with her gorgeous straw-coloured hair that had floated and billowed in the breeze. He could picture her everywhere there. In the orchard. The barn. The house. He could hear her laughter even now, as she danced away from him, always out of reach.