Free A Yorkshire Christmas by Kate Hewitt Page A

hand. “Where is she?”
    “She died a long time ago, Molly.” Noah gave her an apologetic smile. “I was only about your age.”
    “And what about your father?” Molly asked slowly. “My grandfather.” Claire could see the girl was making connections, pieces clicking into place as her father became more of a real person, someone with family himself, with a history.
    “He died too, five years ago,” Noah said quietly.
    “Did I ever meet him?”
    Pain flashed across his face like lightning and he shook his head. “No.”
    Molly looked as if she wanted to ask more questions, and some deep-rooted instinct made Claire swoop in.
    “These ornaments look great. How about we finish our hot chocolate and then hang them on the tree?”
    Molly picked up her cup, thankfully distracted, and Noah’s gaze met Claire’s over the top of the little girl’s head, his mouth curving in a smile of gratitude.
    And even though it wasn’t anything much, just a smile, Claire felt a shivery rush of sensation through her insides. Noah Bradford’s smile did things to her.
    They finished their hot chocolate and ate the sandwiches and soup Claire had made, and then Noah hefted the box into the sitting room where he’d managed to rig the tree up, next to the fireplace. Soon Molly was busy retrieving the treasured ornaments from the box, exclaiming over each one before hanging them on the tree.
    Noah sat on the sofa and watched her, a smile on his face that made Claire ache to see it. He looked so happy and sad at the same time, both proud and regretful. Sharing Christmas with the daughter he never saw had to be bringing all sorts of emotions to the forefront.
    “Aren’t you going to hang any?” Molly asked Claire after she’d put at least a dozen on the tree.
    “Oh, I don’t know…” Somehow, even though she’d been spending time with them all day, hanging ornaments on the tree felt like an intrusion into their family.
    “Go on,” Noah encouraged her. “You aren’t that much of a Scrooge, are you?”
    “A Scrooge,” she exclaimed in only semi-mock outrage. “I’m not a Scrooge.”
    Noah arched an eyebrow, his gaze locked on hers. “Yet you wanted to spend Christmas by yourself?”
    “As did you,” she shot back, and then could have bitten her tongue. What would Molly think if she believed her father wanted to spend Christmas on his own? Thankfully she hadn’t seemed to have heard; she was hanging a large glass globe filled with fluttering golden stars on the tree.
    “I didn’t think I had any choice,” Noah said and Claire cocked her head.
    “Isn’t there anyone you could have spent Christmas with?” she asked quietly, so Molly wouldn’t hear.
    Noah shrugged. “My brother David, maybe. But he’s busy with his own life and family.”
    She frowned. “Aren’t you part of that family?”
    “I’m a bit of a black sheep.” Noah leaned forward and took an ornament from the box; it was a silver snowflake, just a little bit tarnished. “Here you go.”
    Silently, Claire took it from him, her fingers brushing his as his gaze held hers. A black sheep, who stayed to run his family farm?
    Why wasn’t he close to his brother? What had his childhood been like, if his mother had died when he was no more than Molly’s age? She wanted to know the answers to those questions and more, Claire thought as she turned and hung the snowflake on the tree. She wanted to know more about this man.
    She didn’t get a chance to ask Noah any questions, though, for Molly bounced back towards them with more ornaments, insisting that Noah take his turn, and then all three of them were decorating the tree until the box was empty and the boughs were weighed down with balls and baubles, knitted Christmas figures and painted pine cones.
    As soon as the tree was done Molly planted her hands on her hips and looked around at the rest of the sitting room with its shabby sofas and worn rugs, the bookcases stuffed with old paperbacks, and the