Kiwi Summer Christmas by Kris Pearson

Author:Kris Pearson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: family relationships, falling in love, new beginnings, new zealand love story, the right man, rural romance, farm setting, feelgood fresh start, hot farmer, the right woman
Publisher: Kris Pearson

Chapter 5 – Exiled in Siberia

“Get rid of this awful big animal,” a woman yelled. Slightly foreign. Very agitated.

“Jess!” Brigitte called again, hating the high-pitched squeals Jess was now making, desperate to find her and make them stop.

Not in the bird-patterned bedroom. Maybe the next one? She flung that door open and found a too-blonde woman in a filmy pink nightgown hanging on to Jess’s collar as though her life depended on it and whacking the dog’s hindquarters with a big rubber-soled tartan slipper. Jess somehow managed to bark past the strangling collar, but was whimpering horribly as her bad hip was repeatedly hit.

“Stop that,” Brigitte yelled. “Stop hurting my dog.”

“Your dog?” That was Bruce, probably the owner of the nasty tartan slipper, bursting into the room behind her.

The woman stopped, mouth open, slipper upraised. Brigitte wrenched it out of her hand and slapped it down on the bed.

“No call for that,” Bruce protested. Brigitte had no idea whether he was addressing her or the woman in the bed. Presumably she was the Annie that Steve had mentioned earlier?

“Jess,” she crooned, kneeling down and throwing her arms around the old dog’s neck. “Darling, it’s all right now. She won’t do it again. Hush.” Jess was trembling. Brigitte was shaking like a tree in a force nine gale.

“Brigitte, what the hell’s going on?” Now Steve was in the room, too.

She raised her head. Saw Annie clutching her inadequate nightgown around her breasts. Heard the shuffle-and-clank of Steve’s mother arriving.

“Lindy!”

“It’s not Lindy, Mum. This is Brigitte, the new shepherd.”

“That’s Lindy’s dress. Why is she wearing it? Why did you say she could wear it?” Her voice rose to a hysterical scream.

Brigitte swallowed. Who the heck was Lindy?

“Oh Geez,” Steve groaned. “Is it really Lindy’s?”

Brigitte stared at him, still on her knees and with her hands buried in Jess’s dense coat, kneading the old dog in a comforting massage. “I presumed it was your mother’s dress. Who’s this Lindy she keeps mentioning?”

He squeezed his eyes closed and swayed, almost as though he might topple over. “My twin sister,” he croaked. “My dead twin sister. The ghost of this house for the last thirteen years.”

“Steven!” his mother exclaimed, eyes wide and shocked.

“Totally true, Mum. Don’t try and pretend otherwise.”

“But Lindy’s dress…”

Steve let out a monumental sigh. “Thirteen years ago, Mum. How could you expect me to remember something like that?”

One hand flapped and a crutch hit the wall. “I keep those dresses safe so I can remember everything about my lovely daughter.”

“And I know plenty about my sister without obsessing over her damn dresses.” He narrowed his eyes until they were barely slits. “We were two halves of the same person. Twins. Closer than any normal brother and sister for fifteen years.” His lips pressed together in a pained twist. “Don’t you think I miss her like fury?” He expelled another fierce breath. “And because of the way you are about her, I’ve had to rein it in. Well, this time I’m letting it out.

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