But there was something about him that had put her on edge from the first time she’d looked him in the eyes. He was, she had to admit, a fine specimen. Handsome, in a rugged, outdoorsy kind of way, with brown hair just shy of ginger and blue-gray eyes, his looks alone made him a standout. Couple his face with a body that looked amazing even in a wetsuit, and Harmony knew he must make women’s heads turn faster than wheels on ice.
But it wasn’t his looks that were making her snarky. There was an air about him—an aura of confidence and ease that, conversely, made her tense and jumpy. And when he’d mentioned Christmas, just as she’d promised herself a hiatus from the entire season, it had brought all her pain flooding back.
For almost as long as she could remember Christmas had been a special time for Mum, Gran and Harmony. There was always a flurry of baking, both English treats and Jamaican. And a night specially planned to trim the tree while listening to a variety of holiday music or old movies.
They’d also watch Greetings from Yaad, an hour-long special filmed in Jamaica, in which people could wish their loved ones in England a Merry Christmas. Harmony had used to dislike the amateurishly filmed show, until Gran had said, “We may not know any of these people, but it makes me happy to hear the accents of my youth.”
That had always led to conversations about old times in Jamaica, and even how things had been for Gran when she’d first moved to England. She’d been part of the Windrush generation, coming from the colonies to help with the rebuilding efforts in the UK after World War II. She’d had to leave all her family behind, including Mum, but once she’d gotten herself a job and somewhere to live she’d started saving so she could send for her husband and daughter.
Grandpa had decided he didn’t want to live in England, so eventually Mum had travelled to the UK with her Uncle Shorty, Gran’s brother. Uncle Shorty, a perennial bachelor, had settled in Birmingham, but had come to visit every Christmas until he died, adding to the family fun. Harmony could still remember his plaid driving cap, his booming laugh and the way the scent of smoke and cologne clung to his clothes.
On Christmas Eve they’d have neighbors and friends in and out of the house, each one of them bringing a little gift, receiving goodies in return.
Until they’d passed away her other grandparents had come too, on Christmas morning, even after Dad hadn’t been there anymore, and all Harmony remembered was the joy and closeness. The laughter and sometimes a few shared tears too.
All that was gone now—and darn Dr. MacRurie for reminding her of what she’d lost this year.
But it wouldn’t do to start their working relationship off on a bad footing, and she wondered if it would be politic to apologize to him for her behavior.
Harmony considered that option, then dismissed it. Unless he brought it up, she wouldn’t either. Less said, soonest mended, right?
Suddenly realizing she was in danger of having the doctor come up and find her still standing there like a ninny, Harmony quickly took off her coat and shoes, stowing them in the entryway closet. Then she took a really good look around.
The apartment was a lot larger than she’d expected, with an L-shaped living and dining room and a kitchen almost as big as her mum’s. There were also not two but three good-sized bedrooms, all tastefully decorated with a combination of new and more traditional furniture. And the bathroom, with its deep soaker tub and a separate shower, made her coo.
The entire space had obviously been modernized, but whoever had done it had been careful to keep a lot of the original Victorian elements. The living room fireplace, which was lit, had the most amazing carved mantel and pillars, along with a tile surround and hearth. There were medallions on the ceiling, and intricately carved jambs around the doors. Even the door knobs were decorative, and Harmony found herself smiling as she palmed one of the floral patterned porcelain ovoids.
She staked out the bedroom she wanted, which had a sleigh bed and large windows that were letting in the last of the afternoon light. Outside was a tiny balcony, just big enough for a miniscule wrought-iron table and matching chair, and in the distance was Rurie Manor, sitting in solitary splendor on the top of a gently sloping hill.
It looked gorgeous, and she wondered if she’d get a chance to see the inside. Although if it had been turned into a hotel, she might be disappointed.
Hearing Dr. MacRurie coming up the stairs, she went back into the living area just as he came through the front door.
“Here you go,” he said, putting down her suitcase, seemingly not at all put out by her ill-mannered behavior. “Have you decided which room you want? I’ll put your case on the luggage stand for you.”
“Thank you. That one,” she said, pointing to the still open door, determined to put her best foot forward.
He wheeled the suitcase across the living area, speaking as he went. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Caitlin and her husband had a dog, so I gave them a cottage instead—for convenience. Knowing you’d have to be here over the holidays, I figured this place is big enough that if you have someone come for Christmas they can stay with you.”
There he went with the whole Christmas thing again!
“I won’t.” It came instinctively, pain pushing the brusque words out. Drawing herself up, and not wanting to sound as churlish as she felt, she added, “But thank you.”
“Oh.” He’d put her bag in the room and was standing in the doorway, his gaze sharp. But all he said was “Well, if that changes you’ll be all set. But if not at least you won’t be bored. This time of year is nice and busy.”
“This time of year? What’s so special about it?”
Giving her a surprised glance, he said, “Caitlin didn’t tell you?” Then he answered his own question. “Of course, she had other things on her mind. Eilean Rurie is famous for its Winter Festival. Well, it used to be called the Christmas Festival until the eighties, when my grandfather changed the name. We’re called the North Pole of Scotland, and we attract hundreds of people every year.”
Oh, come on.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.”
He gave her one of his killer smiles, and Harmony’s stomach fluttered, making her look away in case her reaction showed.
“Did you know that celebrating Christmas—well, really it was Yule back then—was banned in Scotland in the sixteenth century? Christmas Day wasn’t made a public holiday until 1958, and Boxing Day was only recognized in the seventies. My great-grandfather decided he wanted to make the holidays a big splash, and encouraged all the islanders to do it too, once the ban was officially lifted. It evolved into the Christmas Festival, and then the Winter Festival, and it’s grown with each year.”
Plunking herself down onto the squishy sofa, Harmony only just stopped herself from putting her head in her hands in disbelief. Hundreds of people, running around singing carols and doing who knew what else?
Just shoot me now!
Yet the smile on the doctor’s face told her there was only one of them in the room who viewed the upcoming festivities with horror. The happy anticipation on his face spoke volumes, and it made Harmony pull herself together once more, even while wondering how many other times this man was going to throw her off-kilter.
“How on earth do you accommodate hundreds of people here? The village doesn’t look big enough.”
“Well, the manor has a lot of rooms, and most of the villagers offer bed and breakfast services, using their spare rooms, or even small apartments attached to their houses. Most of the temporary staff are island kids coming back for winter break, but the others who don’t have a place to stay have dormitories behind the church. A couple of really entrepreneurial