A Bad Boy for Christmas (10 page)

B
eing on the
periphery of the great Jackson integration plan had its benefits, decided Mia three days later. Creative girl-pal types to talk design with, should she have the inclination. Sun and surf and a laid-back holiday village to get lost in. Seafood, fresh off the boat and hand delivered by Caleb, who seemed to have taken over the role of liaison in Cutter’s absence.

Because Cutter had been absent.

Mia hadn’t seen him since the kiss.

Nash was back from Melbourne though, so that was good. He’d brought a semi-trailer car transporter back with him and was busy cramming it full of old cars and farm vehicles. The Jacksons had let him park the rig at the marina and the filling of it was providing common ground for all of them. Nash was trying, bless him, to both get some work done and make himself available to anyone who wanted to get to know him.

“Is it easier to deal with them one on one?” Mia asked when Nash came into the shop with Thai salad for her lunch.

“Yes.”

“How about without me around? Is it easier to deal with them then?”

“It is.”

“The sister thing freaks them out?”

“More like the fireworks between you and Cutter freak them out.”

“The fireworks have stopped. There’s only a smoldering unexploded rocket shell left,” she reminded him.

“Probably what they’re worried about.”

“Are you worried?” she asked, as she took the top off the takeaway and poked around in it with the little plastic fork. “Because I can head back to Melbourne if you want. I don’t have to be here.” She offered up a small smile. “Life to live back there and all that.”

“You’re ready to leave?”

“Not what I said.”

“You are, I can tell.”

“Depends if I’m being of any use to you here or just getting in the way. I don’t want to be in the way, Nash. Ever. I just—I don’t know what I’m achieving here. If anything.”

“Makes two of us,” he muttered.

“Your father can always come to you, now that he knows you exist,” she offered tentatively.

“Maybe.” Nash wasn’t always easy to read, but this time she could see the defeat in him. “So what’ve you been up to today?”

He was changing the subject and she let him do it. “Well, this morning I hit the beach at six a.m. sharp to watch the surfers sit there and stare at the horizon. Usually I swim but today a pair of sharks swam by. They were baby bull-nosed sharks according to Maree who serves me coffee every morning at the café. Since then, I’ve made sandcastles, walked along the shore, and sold six beeswax candles and two seashell curtains.”

“Have you been anywhere near a tattoo gun? And before you say yes, re-touching Beryl’s old ink doesn’t count.”

“Does too. Beryl’s a treasure trove. That woman has work by Kasi on her back and I get to study it.”

“Studying isn’t the same as doing. What about your waiting list back home? What’s happening with it?”

“It’s still waiting,” she said. “And then there’s the gelato I had this afternoon and the vanilla slice I ate for breakfast.”

“That’s boredom food.”

“And the fish Caleb brings round. I won’t find fresher.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t started catching the fish yourself.”

“That’s next week’s treat. Got to pace myself.” Okay, maybe she was a bit bored. She did have a life back in Melbourne. One she was neglecting. A lively workplace and a waiting list for her services, all true. Friends to pass time with and a vibrant city on her doorstep.

No water, though.

Surprisingly, she was beginning to appreciate the moods of the ocean.

“Did I tell you Bree and Zoey are trying to get me to pose for some fashion magazine while almost wearing one of the gowns Zoey’s making? That’ll be fun if I ever say yes. Not everyone’s avoiding me. I’m a busy woman.”

That got a smile out of him.

“I’ll be a catwalk model next.” May as well try and turn his smile into a grin.

“Aren’t you too short for that?”

“Or the face of fancy perfume.”

“That I could believe. Want to come look at a 1952 FJ Holden with me this afternoon?” he said next.

“Yes,” she said emphatically. “I love those cars.” Never mind that she only had a passing memory of what one looked like.

“Pick you up at five. Be prepared to swing by the marina afterwards to pick up the carrier if I buy the car.”

“Maybe you should drop me back here before you do that last bit.”

“You’re avoiding the marina?”

“You probably don’t need to know that I kissed Cutter while you were away and he’s been avoiding me ever since.”

Nash stared at her in silence for a good long while before speaking. “You’re right, I don’t need to know that. Five sharp. Be ready. I’ll feed you pizza afterwards.”

“You’re an entertainment
hound
.”

“And you could be a little more grateful,” he said dryly, passing Beryl as he headed out the door.

“What’d that one want?” Beryl asked.

“Answers from a man who’s not here to give them.” Mia pushed back her hair and threw herself on Beryl’s mercy. “Can you think of anyone who might have known Liza Nash back when she was a girl? Someone who knew her well? What she was like. What made her the way she was.”

“That’s what Nash wants? Information about his mother?”

“A father who gives a shit might have been nice too, but I don’t see one of those anywhere, do you?”

Beryl ignored that particular question in favor of addressing Mia’s earlier one. “Let me ask around. I might be able to find someone willing to talk about Lizzie. There won’t be many. Not a lot of people in this town who want to get on the wrong side of the Jacksons.”

“Nash is a Jackson.”

“Yeah,” said Beryl. “That’s the problem.”

*     *     *

The trouble with
being in charge and used to getting exactly what he wanted was that when things
didn’t
go Cutter’s way it drove him bananas.

And when Cutter went bananas the going got rough for everyone.

His family needed fixing and no one was doing it.

Nash needed answers and the one man who could give him some was being uncommonly silent. That was the main problem, as Cutter understood it. All the peripheral problems were simply piling in on top of it.

Christmas was coming, and that was a busy time for him, what with everyone wanting seafood to put on their plates. Then there were the Christmas party rounds that cemented ongoing working relationships with yachtsmen and tradesmen, suppliers and customers. Cutter had never quite appreciated how much his mother regularly did by way of organizing their social obligations so that they didn’t drown in them.

He’d snapped at Zoey this morning for smiling at him wrong, before turning straight back around, dropping to his knees, and begging her to help him organize invitations and catering for the Christmas party at the marina. He hadn’t done it yet. There was no space left in his head for any of it.

She’d said yes, no problem, she and Bree would take care of it with pleasure, and he’d damn near wept.

He was working his butt off and he was two men short for the trawler tonight. His grandfather would captain if asked and Cutter could work the deck alone if he had to, but it wasn’t ideal. Caleb had a day full of divers tomorrow and Eli was taking a boatload of sports fishermen out at dawn, so he couldn’t ask them.

He rounded the side of the boatshed, phone to his ear as he heard yet one more no-can-do from one of his casual deckhands.

That was when Nash’s red beast rumbled up and Mia jumped out of the passenger side, all long creamy legs, windblown hair and easy smile. The top she wore was a new one on her, pale pink and pretty. A denim skirt peeked out from beneath it, and her hair, as usual, was a wavy mass that reached half-way down her back.

“
Damn
it’s hot,” she said.

Well, it was
now
.

“Water’s that way,” he said. “Run to the end of the jetty and keep going.”

“And hello to you too,” she said, her smile faltering.

Could be that his helpful advice had been misconstrued. “Or there’s cold drinks in the fridge. Help yourself.” Was that better?

Her wary gaze said probably not.

He cast his eye over the cars on the semi-trailer and saw nothing but rust, rust and more rust. Christ. And then his brother appeared, looking so much like the man Cutter saw in the mirror every morning in spite of the jeans and steel capped boots that Cutter’s breath faltered.

He didn’t think he was ever going to get used to having another man look just like him.

“Hey.” Nash nodded. “Hope you don’t mind me parking this here. Eli said it’d be okay and that he’d keep an eye on it.”

“For how long?”

“A few days. Less if you have a problem with it.”

“I don’t have a problem with it.” He had a problem with the world. “Mia!” he barked.

“I’m right here,” she said dulcetly. “You captain boats with that roar?”

Matter of fact, yes. “Sorry.” He ran a hand over his head and held out his phone. “Let me try that again. Please, Mia, would you take a photo of me and Nash in front of the semi?”

“For posterity? Can’t your sister-in-law the photographer take one?”

“She’s not here, you are, and I need it now.”

She took the phone from his outstretched hand, her fingers brushing like hot silk over his palm. Whatever this was between them, absence hadn’t made it any weaker.

Her gaze caught his and he thought he saw apology in it.

Apology because she wanted him.

Damn but he hated this situation. Gritting his teeth, he headed for the cab. “Get the signage on the door in the picture as well.”

Jackson Nash
, it said.
Car restoration.

“Yes, boss.”

“Please,” he grated as he hauled his brother close by way of slinging his arm around the other man’s neck.

“So, uh, that looks great,” Mia said after a moment. “Are we doing smiles?”

“Just take the pic,” he said while Nash remained silent.

She did what he asked and handed the phone back to him.

He looked at the pic. Neither of them were smiling and the resemblance was uncanny.

He sent it to his father without pause and then looked back along the row of old bombs. “So is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“The two old Ford tabletops have good margins in them,” Nash offered after a pause. “I picked up the ’52 Holden because I know someone who’s been looking for one. Old American models are good if they’re rare enough. I’m always on the lookout for old, original engines if they’re good enough.”

Cutter nodded, impatience riding him hard as he waited for some kind of response from his father. “I’m interested. I am. Caleb and I used to mess around a bit fixing old cars and bikes. Nothing like this though.”

The phone in his hand vibrated suddenly and Cutter looked at it and smiled grimly. “Give me a minute, would you?” He put the phone to his ear. “Dad? Hey. You get the picture?”

“Your mother did.”

“Great. Hope she likes it. Look, everyone’s flat-out here in the lead-up to Christmas. I’m going to put Nash on the phone and you and he are going to arrange a time to meet.”

“Son, your mother—”

“Can deal with it, same as the rest of us are dealing with it. Here he is.”

Cutter held out the phone.

When Nash took it, wariness in his every move, Cutter turned away. “Mia, you want to walk with me a bit?”

Turned out she did.

I
t had been
ruthlessly done, Cutter’s reminder to his father that the older man had obligations he needed to address. Mia waited until they rounded the corner of the building, out of hearing range, before she spoke. “Is this a good time to tell you that I really like it when you get all take charge and impatient? How did you know Nash needed that?”

“We all needed it.”

“Where are we going?” He was heading towards the end of the jetty and she eyed it warily.

“To sit on the edge of the boardwalk and watch the tide roll in until Nash is finished.”

“You really think your father’s going to talk to him for long?”