For Want of a Christmas Miracle

By Olley White

When one down-on-his-luck gardener and one garden centre owner meet, neither could predict the attraction they’d feel towards each other. Toby is just about turning round the business he’d inherited from his dad, and it’s all going well—until a risk he took looks like it might not pay off. Rhys’s employment at Toby’s garden centre is temporary, just to cover the Christmas sales, and frankly he’d much rather be outside gardening. And avoiding Christmas.

When an accident means Toby can’t be at work at a crucial time, it’s time for Rhys to step up to the mark. But can the Christmas Scrooge make the difference required for the man he’s starting to love?

For Want of a Christmas Miracle contains adult content suitable for mature readers only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: NineStar Press
• Release date: Dec 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9781911153030

Book preview

Table of Contents

For Want of a Christmas Miracle

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Epilogue

About the Author

NineStar Press, Ltd.

For Want of a Christmas Miracle

Holiday Hopes: Book One

Olley White

Dedication

To all my family, blood and chosen, I love you from the bottom of my heart.

Chapter One

The soil was hard and unforgiving, but Rhys didn’t care. Despite the brisk wind and the fact he was wearing only a thin T-shirt with his jeans, sweat slid down his back. Placing his booted foot on top of the fork, he pushed down again before turning the soil over. The rhythm was soothing and familiar; it was what he knew. As the wind whipped at his hair and blew pleasantly cool against his bare arms, he let himself forget. Even the smattering of rain that blustered from time to time didn’t distract him from his pattern of dig and turn, dig and turn.

Soon enough though, the light faded from the day and Rhys had to leave the garden. As he tidied away the tools and knocked politely at the back door, he thought it was stupid to feel so melancholy. Is that you done, love? The older lady opened the door, and light and warmth spilt out. The smell of a chicken roasting made Rhys’s stomach rumble, and he was glad Daphne was hard of hearing.

Yep. All done for today. Tom will be ’round next week though, Daphne. Today is my last day. As he spoke, he pulled his fleece on, the late autumn air cooling him quickly now he’d stopped working.

No, Rhys love. I thought you’d be working for old Bill ’til he was ready for his grave.

So did I. Rhys silenced the thought and forced a smile onto his face. Things change, Daph. Tom is Bill’s nephew, and he’ll see you right, so don’t worry. I hate to dash off, but I’ve got to catch the last post, and if I don’t go now, I won’t make it.

He would; last post wasn’t for another hour, and even if he didn’t have a car, it wouldn’t take long to get to the post office for a stamp. He couldn’t take rehashing the conversation about what he was going to do now with one more person though. All week he’d been explaining to clients that it wouldn’t be him tending their gardens any more. All week he’d made up bullshit about it being time to move on and looking for new horizons, and each time it became harder for him to force the lies from his mouth.

Daphne got the hint, though, and had parcelled him up a slice of homemade cake—lemon drizzle this week—and assurances that she was going to miss his green touch in the garden. His cheeks ached by the time he slid into the driver’s seat of his ancient Vauxhall Astra and finally let the smile drop from his face.

* * * * *

You applied for that job at Brambley Garden Centre, then? his mum asked as she spooned up a great mound of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

Yes. The answer sighed out of Rhys, and he scooped up a forkful of potato in the hopes that his mum hadn’t heard the note of resigned indifference he had about the possible job.

Employment’s employment, Rhys. She offered him the jug of gravy again—they weren’t posh enough to have an actual gravy boat—and continued, You’re lucky to have jobs to apply for. You’re more than qualified and it’s close by.

And it’s temporary and in town. He frowned and muttered, And seasonal, which is shop talk for Christmassy.

Guilt tugged at him when his mum sighed. She was only trying to help. Putting her cutlery down, she looked pointedly at him. Temporary and in town is better than nothing. Temporary and in town pays the bills for a few months at least. And it’s not exactly a thriving metropolis; it’s just a market town.

Attacking the chicken pie in front of him, he filled his mouth again to stop himself from reacting to his mother’s sharp tone. She was right, after all. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to throw his toys out of the pram and shout that he was too qualified for the job or the fact it did matter that it was temporary and in town because he wanted permanent and out of town. As ever, Mum was right—wishing didn’t pay the bloody bills. What was it his nan used to say? Wish in one hand, crap in the other, and see which fills up first?

I know, Mum. It’s just…

Not what you wanted?

Not what I wanted, Rhys agreed. I worked hard for Bill. For him to give it all away… it galls me. A familiar anger crept into him. His jaw clenched, and he ground his teeth together remembering the landscaping business he’d worked at since leaving sixth form.

Family will always come first, his mum said. She wasn’t entirely convincing though.

Even when family is the nephew you last saw when he was a child and who didn’t give two hoots about you until there was the possibility of a ready-made business?

Even then, son, even then.

* * * * *

Getting the job at the garden centre was much easier than Rhys thought it would be. Morning news was always full of tales of the unemployed and how difficult it was to get a job these days. Apparently this didn’t apply to jobs that