A Puppy for Christmas: On the Secretary's Christmas List / The Patter of Paws at Christmas / The Soldier, the Puppy and Me

The telephone on Bree’s desk began to ring.

‘Bye, then, Jackson,’ she said tightly, reaching for the mobile.

Jackson had absolutely no intention of going anywhere until he found out who the call was from, knowing it could be Roger Tyler or the mysterious David. Or it could be neither of them, Jackson acknowledged, reproaching himself.

‘Oh, hello, Roger,’ Bree greeted brightly, even as she shot Jackson an irritated glance. ‘Just a minute, Roger.’ She put her hand over the mouthpiece and looked at Jackson enquiringly. ‘Is there something else I can help you with before you go …?’

Jackson’s nostrils flared. ‘I guess Tyler does know what nine o’clock in the morning looks like after all!’ he growled.

The other man had certainly been quick enough off the mark in calling Bree today! Not that Jackson was in the least surprised. Bree had looked beautiful last night. She was also warm, with a dry sense of humour that made her fun to be with, and—damn it! Damn, damn, damn it!

‘I’ll see you later,’ he rasped harshly when Bree gave no reply to his taunt, striding out into the hallway and picking up the gaily wrapped Christmas present for Danny’s teacher from the hall table before leaving.

Well, he hadn’t so much left the house as slammed out of it, Jackson recognised with a self-disgusted wince as he slid behind the wheel of his sleek black sports car.

What the hell was the matter with him today?

Bree was the matter, came the instant reply. Bree and the two men who had suddenly appeared in her life and now vied for her attention.

Attention Jackson realised he wasn’t at all happy to share …

Bree was tired and bad-tempered by the time she struggled back from the hot, crowded shops later that evening, loaded down with bags.

She’d only had a few Christmas presents to buy—things for her parents, Danny and Jackson, and a little something for Mrs Holmes—and after only an hour in the shops she had managed to find suitable presents for everyone except Jackson.

Jackson.

Bree had absolutely no idea what to buy for the man who had everything—and what he didn’t have he could easily go out and buy!

No—it wasn’t just that, Bree acknowledged wearily as she removed her shoes before putting the kettle on for a much-needed cup of tea. It was the change in her relationship with Jackson that was causing the problem—not Bree having no idea what to buy him. The previous month she had chosen a nice sweater to give him for his birthday without any trouble whatsoever. The previous month. Now it wasn’t so easy to choose something suitable.

She couldn’t buy Jackson another jumper, and he didn’t wear formal shirts unless he absolutely had to—and even then he had pure silk ones specially made. A book seemed too impersonal. As did aftershave.

After three more hours of wandering fruitlessly around the shops Bree had had to admit defeat: she simply had no idea what to get Jackson for Christmas!

Now, in the emptiness of her apartment, she briefly wished that she had accepted Roger Tyler’s second invitation to dinner. But only briefly. She had enjoyed his company the evening before, but not enough to encourage him by going out with him again tonight. Her life already seemed complicated enough without—

‘What on earth …?’

Bree hurried out into the hallway. After the briefest of knocks, the internal door to her apartment had been slammed open with such force that it crashed into the wall before springing back again.

Jackson easily caught the edge of the door as it rebounded, his expression grim as he glared down the hallway at her.

‘It’s about time you got back!’ he snarled accusingly.

Bree recoiled slightly from the vehemence of his tone.

‘I was only gone a couple of hours—’

‘And while you’ve been out enjoying yourself the whole household has been in uproar!’ Jackson roared, stepping into the apartment and closing the door firmly behind him before striding purposefully down the hallway, muscles flexing beneath his fitted black T-shirt and faded denims.

Bree would hardly call shopping for Christmas presents in shops that were hot, stuffy and crowded ‘enjoying herself’. But Jackson didn’t look as if he was in the mood to argue the point.

She hurried after him. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, but—Wait—what sort of uproar?’

Jackson continued to scowl as he turned. ‘Beau escaped out of the kitchen, and Mrs Holmes didn’t notice he was gone for several minutes. By which time he had chewed his way through the wrapping paper on half a dozen Christmas presents under the tree, before proceeding to knock the whole damned tree over on top of himself.’

‘Is he all right?’ Bree gasped anxiously, imagining that tiny puppy buried under the eight-foot Christmas tree.

Jackson’s eyes narrowed in warning. ‘I should have known you would be more concerned about the puppy than the chaos he’s caused!’

‘Yes … Well …’ She had the grace to look briefly apologetic. ‘Christmas presents can easily be rewrapped, and the tree righted, but if Beau has been hurt—’

‘The puppy’s fine,’ Jackson snapped. ‘And the tree is now standing—even if some of the lights are broken and the decorations slightly askew. And even as we speak Danny, with the dubious help of Beau, is rewrapping the Christmas presents.’

Bree visibly brightened. ‘Then it would appear that the crisis is over.’

The renewed anger glittering in Jackson’s eyes as he glared down at her didn’t give the impression that he agreed!

CHAPTER EIGHT

BREE shifted uncomfortably as she followed Jackson into her small sitting room.

‘Shouldn’t you be going back upstairs now …?’

‘Mrs Holmes is supervising the rewrapping of the Christmas presents—she felt it was the least she could do after allowing Beau to escape,’ Jackson explained distractedly.

‘Oh.’ A frown creased Bree’s brow. ‘I … You aren’t going to send Beau back as you threatened to do yesterday, are you?’

He raised derisive brows. ‘What do you think?’

She gave a wry smile. ‘I think you might have a fight on your hands from Danny if you tried to do that now!’

Jackson tilted his head to one side and looked at her speculatively. ‘You like doing that, don’t you?’

She looked puzzled. ‘Doing what?’

Jackson smiled knowingly. ‘Invoking Danny’s name as a stick to beat me with!’

‘Oh!’ Bree gasped as guilty colour warmed her cheeks. ‘I—Well, I—’

‘Didn’t think I’d noticed?’ Jackson taunted. ‘Oh, I’ve noticed, Bree; I’ve just never had reason to argue the point.’

‘Until now …?’

‘No, not even now.’ He sighed. ‘When you’re right, you’re right. Danny would never forgive me if I even attempted to part him from Beau!’

‘No,’ Bree agreed softly.