The Ghost of Christmas Past
PAMELA COOK
Chapter 1
Was there anything better than being able to walk from your office—which also happened to be your place of residence—to your favourite cafe for lunch, increase your daily step tally and be back in time for your next client? No—that was pretty much Hannah Rasmussen’s idea of heaven. Especially when the route passed so many gorgeous old houses, their gardens bursting with almost-summer blooms, and the main street of town only had one traffic light. Moving to Yarrabee to set up her own practice had definitely been one of her smarter decisions.
Rounding the corner onto said main street, she turned up the volume on her phone and adjusted her pace to the rhythm of the Calm App’s music-to-walk-by soundtrack. A soothing waterfall trickled through her torso and seeped into her limbs, dissolving the lingering fragments of angst from her last session. Dealing with other people’s problems came naturally, and she’d been trained to keep a firm professional distance, but sometimes keeping her empath tendencies under control was like trying to contain a flock of sheep in a paddock with a broken gate—a few were bound to escape and run wild. And when they did, corralling them again took the emotional equivalent of a highly trained muster dog.
Hence the walk. Hence the app. Hence the lunch. The combination of all three would leave her refreshed and ready to listen to her next client’s problems.
A car door banged, catapulting her out of her reverie. She turned towards the man responsible, about to cross her path.
Spotting her, he pulled up short, an expression somewhere between surprise and horror animating, then clouding, his features. ‘Hannah. Good to see you.’ Based on the twitch in his mouth and the blush staining his cheeks, Hugh Robertson was telling a white lie.
‘Hey, Hugh.’ She brushed a stray hair back under her cap. ‘Been out on house calls?’
He glanced down at the bag in his hand. ‘Ah, yeah. Just heading back into the surgery for the afternoon session. A cat to neuter, I believe.’
‘Sounds like fun.’ Thank God she’d chosen the discipline of psychology over medicine or veterinary science. As hard as it could be, she would never have been up for the blood and gore, human or animal. ‘How’s the family? Eve and the baby doing well?’
Hugh’s pallor turned from pale pink to a bold scarlet. ‘They’re … um … good, everyone’s—’ The poor man could barely stutter out a sentence.
‘Hugh, there’s no need to feel uncomfortable. As I told you when we decided not to date any more, there’s no fighting the power of true chemistry. You and Eve had a thing going long before I came on the scene—’
‘No, honestly, Hannah, we didn’t.’
Why were men so bloody obtuse? Did they have to take everything literally? Apparently she needed to spell it out for him … again. ‘I know there wasn’t anything between you at the time but that’s only because you were both resisting it, and I’m fine with that. I’m happy for you both. Honestly.’
‘Okay.’ His smile was immediate. ‘Thank you.’ He pointed up the driveway towards the converted house that was his vet surgery. ‘I’d better go—’
‘Neuter the cat.’
‘Yep. Might see you at the Christmas Tree Light-Up next week.’
A small twinge pulled at her stomach, as if an invisible hand had pinched the lining. ‘I don’t think so. Work’s pretty busy at the moment.’ Now she was the one stretching the truth.
Hugh pursed his lips and shrugged. ‘See you somewhere soon, then.’
‘No doubt.’
There really was no question they’d run into each other again, sooner rather than later. For starters, her home office was around the corner and secondly, life in a small town was a far cry from the bustling anonymity of the city. It had taken some adjusting, but after almost a year, she was starting to get the hang of being part of a tight-knit community. Thank God she and Hugh had only dipped their toes in the dating pool. It would be a lot more awkward if they’d actually slept together. Love triangles might be great tropes in the romance novels she escaped into every night to help her get to sleep, but being part of one in real life was not on her list of aspirations. And maybe one day in the not-too-distant future, Hugh would be able to look her directly in the eye when they had a conversation. According to the town grapevine, he and Eve were well and truly an item, even if she had just given birth to her former boyfriend’s child.
‘Urgh.’ A shudder rattled through Hannah’s frame as she crossed the road towards the cafe. Relationships were way too complicated. Her job was all the proof she needed, but when Hugh had asked her out, she’d briefly entertained the idea that maybe romance wasn’t best kept between the pages of a novel. ‘Briefly’ being the operative word. Four dates to be precise. And she would not be making that error again anytime soon. Work was more than enough to keep her busy. That, her weekend bush walks and her nightly escape into a literary fantasy world. Plenty.
Heaving out a sigh, she pulled open the door of Something’s Brewing but stopped before she made it to the counter. The interior of the cafe was festooned with silver tinsel, twinkling fairy lights and assorted festive paraphernalia. Her throat thickened. ‘Wow.’ She coughed into her cupped hand. ‘A little early for all this, isn’t it, Clive?’
‘Never too early for some Yuletide cheer. Only a month until Santa arrives.’ The cafe owner-barista pushed a paper bag across the counter, followed by a takeaway cup. ‘You’re right on time. One schnitzel wrap and one oat milk cappuccino.’
‘Thank you.’ She tapped the eftpos machine and found a smile. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘I’ll have your Thursday BLT ready to go.’
‘Great.’ Clive had her lunch orders down pat, and always had them prepared for pick-up. There was something comforting about that sort of efficiency. Although there was nothing remotely soothing about the current decor of the place, which meant she would not be eating in anytime soon.
Closing the door behind her, Hannah made a beeline for the post office, giving only a cursory glance at the painted Santa cut-outs perched above the shop awnings up and down the street. Community cheer was one aspect of small-town life she would not be participating in—one of the many benefits of living solo. She could please herself how she wanted to spend the holiday period, and this year she would be heading bush as usual with a backpack full of books and a phone set to silent. Yes, it was slightly Grinch-like but it wasn’t as if her preference for solitude impacted anyone else. She was a free agent, with no one to answer to but herself and that’s the way it was going to stay.
Having a post box meant she didn’t get caught up in trivial conversations at the counter while going about her business. She plunged the key into the lock, gave it a twist to the left and pulled out the handful of mail waiting inside. She flicked through the first few envelopes on her walk back, coffee in one hand, lunch clutched in the other. Bills, bills and more bills by the looks of it … oh, and one envelope with a UK postmark.
