His Christmas Bride. HELEN BROOKS

just don’t want you hurt again, that’s all,’ Melissa said woefully. ‘You’re not a toughie like his other women.’

      ‘I’m not keen on the idea myself.’

      ‘And, you’re right, I do think you ought to start dating. There are lots of lovely men out there who would give their eye teeth to have someone like you,’ Melissa said earnestly. ‘Men like Greg, who are gorgeous but still real family-men and completely faithful to one woman. Good, honest, reliable men.’

      Greg preened.

      Blossom didn’t like to point out that, perfect though Greg was for her twin, he would drive her mad after ten minutes. Instead, she smiled, saying, ‘We’ve done this one to death before, sis. And you’re looking tired; I think you ought to go for a nap. You don’t want to overdo it now you’re back home.’

      Greg was instantly all concern as Blossom had known he would be. Between them they managed to persuade Melissa to go and lie down, and Greg led her sister out of the room as though any sudden movement would cause her to break.

      Blossom carried the coffee cups through to the kitchen, but instead of loading the dishwasher she stood gazing idly at the blue sky dotted with cotton-wool clouds. In truth the conversation with Melissa had unnerved her more than a little. It was stupid to go out with Zak Hamilton tonight, be it on a friendship basis or whatever else. A bit like sticking your head in the jaws of a crocodile and not expecting it to do what crocodiles did.

      She made a sound of deep irritation in her throat. She wasn’t going to think about all this right now. She was going to fetch her nieces and nephew from nursery once she’d finished the chores here and then fix lunch for everyone. This afternoon she would take the children to the nearby water-park. She’d keep busy and active and not allow herself to dwell on the evening ahead for one moment. And when it came she’d play it by ear. She was getting this all out of proportion, for goodness’ sake. The man had asked her out for a meal, no strings attached, no expectations. And after tonight she’d probably never run into him again.

      ‘No probably about it.’ She watched a tiny blue-tit hanging from a nut holder. He was having the most marvelous time. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’

      Why was she standing here talking to herself? Tut-tutting again, she loaded the dishwasher, cleaned the kitchen floor, did a couple of other chores, and then picked up the car keys from the coffee table and went to fetch the children.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘SO WHAT are you going to wear?’

      The children had been fed, read to and were now fast asleep. The stuffed shoulder of lamb Blossom had bought ready-prepared earlier that day was cooking gently in the oven, and Greg had instructions when to put the roasted vegetables in to join it. She had bought a raspberry trifle for pudding, so that was simple enough. Having bathed, and with her wet hair turban-style in a handtowel, Blossom was standing looking at her meagre wardrobe when Melissa drifted into the room.

      ‘I thought you were sitting having a glass of wine before dinner!’ Blossom accused. ‘Relaxing with your husband?’

      ‘I was. I shall be again soon. So, what are you going to wear tonight?’ Melissa repeated.

      ‘There’s not a lot of choice.’ When Greg had called to say Melissa had been rushed into hospital, Blossom had grabbed whatever was handy and stuffed it willy-nilly into a suitcase. ‘I only brought two dresses with me. I’ve got jeans and shorts and T-shirts, of course. And a pair of trousers I bought last year.’

      Melissa dismissed these with a wave of her hand. ‘I like that dress,’ she said, pointing to a cream-and-caramel flowered frock with spaghetti straps. ‘Those colours look good on you.’

      The dress was fine, but she hadn’t brought anything to go with it, and although it was July the evenings could still turn chilly when the sun went down. When she voiced this, though, Melissa’s eyes lit up. ‘Wait there.’ She was back in two minutes, holding a cream ruche-cashmere cardigan and a pair of high wedge-heeled mules in the same colour. ‘Bought these a couple of weeks ago to go with a pink dress I’m wearing for a wedding next month,’ she said happily. ‘You can borrow my diamond bracelet and studs, too, they’d look perfect with this.’

      ‘I can’t wear these when you haven’t even worn them yet,’ Blossom protested. ‘What if I spill something down the cardy?’

      ‘When you’ve been an absolute angel, shooting down here and looking after everyone for days on end? I think so,’ Melissa said firmly. ‘Ooh, and I’ve some gorgeous nail varnish, “opal fire”, to set those mules off. Twinkling toes and all that.’

      ‘Melissa, this isn’t a date.’ If she had been feeling panicky before her sister had come in, she felt a hundred times worse now.

      ‘I know, I know,’ Melissa said soothingly. ‘But you can’t go out with a man like Zak and look anything less than perfectly turned out. Not with the sort of women he’s seen with.’

      Funny, but that didn’t help.

      At eight-twenty-five Blossom was ready. She had sent Melissa downstairs a long time before this; her sister had been in danger of reducing her to a gibbering wreck.

      Blossom stood staring at herself in the bedroom mirror. She couldn’t remember the last time she had taken such trouble with her appearance, but it had been worth it. The divorce had robbed her of her self-confidence so badly she’d only wanted to melt into the woodwork when she’d gone out since then. And that wasn’t like her. From a child she had always been the chatty, adventurous one, probably to compensate for not matching up to Melissa in looks, although she hadn’t realised this until all the heart searching since Dean had left her. But tonight she didn’t look too bad. Pretty good, in fact. Passable, at least.