All They Need (13 page)

Now, she watched as her father, brother and brother-in-law took in Flynn's leather boots and designer jeans and cashmere sweater and felt herself prickle defensively on his behalf.

“You owe me fifty bucks,” Harry said to Jacob as they moved to one side to make way for the tie she and Flynn carried.

Mel threw her brother a sharp look, ready to step in if it looked as though he and her brother-in-law were making a joke at Flynn's expense.

Her brother shrugged a big shoulder. “I bet Jacob you'd rope your mate into helping out.”

“For your information, Flynn volunteered,” she said as she and Flynn set down their tie.

Flynn immediately nodded toward her father. “Good to see you again, Mike.”

“You, too. Don't suppose you've met my son, Harry?” her father said, jerking a thumb toward her brother. “And the idiot with the nicotine addiction is Jacob, my son-in-law.”

“So, how'd Mel talk you into helping out? Bribery?
Threats?” Harry wanted to know as he and Flynn shook hands.

Flynn shot Mel an amused look. “Like Mel said, I volunteered.”

“You poor sucker.” Harry slung his arm around Mel's neck and pulled her into a loose headlock.

“Do you mind?” Mel said. She tried to wriggle free, but Harry simply ignored her.

“You should know she's been luring guys to their deaths for years now, making them do stuff they don't want to do. My sister, the siren of Frankston.”

Mel gasped with only partly feigned indignation. “Excuse me?”

“Don't play dumb. Remember Peter O'Donnell?” Harry addressed his comments to Flynn. “Idiot went on the Forty Hour Famine with her and passed out during a footy match he was so hungry. Then there was Simon what's-his-name. He painted her name along the side of his car when she broke up with him. Oh, God, and that one who kept playing his guitar outside her bedroom window…” Harry made a pained strangling sound.

“They were all years go,” Mel explained for Flynn's benefit. Although, by the looks of things, he was clearly enjoying the Porter family cabaret act. “
Plus,
I didn't ask them to do any of those things. Anyway—” she jammed her elbow into her brother's ribs, but Harry only tightened his grip on her neck “—you're the one who's the biggest man-slut this side of the equator, so you can hardly talk.”

“Yeah, except you don't see me roping any of my girlfriends in as free labor.”

“Flynn's not my boyfriend, and I didn't rope any
body into anything. Unlike you, you big petrol-head, Flynn happens to enjoy gardening.”

She elbowed him again, harder this time, and took advantage of his instinctive flinch to slip out from under his arm. Feeling more than a little hot and flustered thanks to her brother's manhandling, she straightened her top and adjusted her ponytail before glancing at Flynn to see how he was handling it all.

Now that the floor show was over, he was talking quietly with her father about his car, one hand tucked into his back pocket, his posture relaxed.

The last of her protectiveness slipped away as she watched her father laugh at something Flynn was saying. It had only been five minutes, but already the Porter men liked Flynn about five-hundred times more than they'd ever liked Owen.

She frowned. The odds were good that Flynn wasn't going to be spending a lot of time with her family, so working up a sweat over whether they liked him or not was a waste of time—and yet she wanted them to like him, very badly, because she liked him and she wanted other people to see the same good qualities in him that she did.

She turned away, fussing with her work gloves, swiping at the small splinters and other debris on her T-shirt and jeans, thrown and more than a little overwhelmed by her own feelings. This…
thing
with Flynn was getting out of hand, taking on a life of its own. She'd resisted it every step of the way, yet somehow he was still standing here in her yard, talking and laughing with her family.

She slapped her gloved hands together loudly, a physical expression of her inner frustration and confusion. Four sets of eyes turned to her expectantly and
she realized she'd inadvertently drawn everyone's attention. “Who wants to go grab another tie with me?”

She marched toward the house before anyone could respond and, more importantly, before she could do or say anything too stupid.

 

T
WO HOURS LATER
, Flynn released the trigger on the circular saw.

He pushed the safety glasses high on his forehead and brushed wood splinters off his forearms as he inspected the cut he'd made.

“All done?” Mel asked from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder. “All done. Last piece, too. Now we just have to fill these suckers with topsoil.”

“He says as though it's going to be a walk in the park getting all that dirt from one end of the property to the other.”

She moved off to talk to her brother-in-law and Flynn's gaze drifted over her body. It was a warm day for winter and she'd long since stripped down to a bright blue tank top and a pair of faded jeans. The stretch knit fabric hugged her breasts and belly, flaring out over her hips. With her cheeks shiny from exertion and a handful of loose curls forming a fuzzy nimbus around her face, she looked like an advertisement for the great outdoors. Full of life and sexy as hell.

His gaze gravitated to the thin strip of bright orange satin visible on her left shoulder. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed Mel's bra strap today—it had been playing peek-a-boo with him on and off all afternoon—and it definitely wasn't the first time he'd gotten a little lost inside his own head as he imagined her generous curves cupped in tangerine lace and silk.

He suspected he should probably be trying to rein in his schoolboy fantasies, but sometime during the past few days he'd decided to accept the inevitable where Mel was concerned. He was falling for her—hard. He'd tried in the past to make himself fall for women and failed, and he figured it was probably just as futile to try to stop himself from falling, too.

So here he was. Falling.

Where he was going to land was anybody's guess because Mel was still a closed book to him. Sometimes he was sure they were on the same page. Others he had no idea what she was thinking or feeling. To say it was driving him crazy was something of an understatement.

“How you going with that last piece?” Harry called.

Flynn jerked his attention to the here and now. “Ten seconds.” He pulled on his gloves before lifting the shortened tie from the twin sawhorses and carrying it to where Harry and Mike were using a plumb bob and spirit level to line up the final wall of the last garden bed. They worked together to ensure it was in line and level, fixing it in place with big coach bolts that had been weather-treated to resist corrosion.

“Excuse me, fearless leader,” Harry said to Mel once they'd finished. “When might your faithful servants expect to be fed?”

“Mom said she'd make sandwiches. I'll call and let her know we're ready to eat.” Mel pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed.

Flynn admired the length of her athletic legs as she propped her butt against one of the completed walls while she waited for her call to connect.

“The eagle has landed, Mom,” she said into the phone.

She listened for a few seconds before bursting out
laughing. As always, the rich, full sound made Flynn smile in response. Mel shot a mischievous look at her brother. “Mom says you're more of a vulture than an eagle, Harry.”

“Tell Mom she's a riot. And if I'm a vulture, she's a turkey.”

Mel dutifully relayed his message to their mother. She was grinning fit to bust when she hung up. Flynn had a sudden image of her as a kid, mischievous and full of beans, more than ready to give as good as she got.

It struck him suddenly that this was the first time that he'd seen Mel truly carefree, her habitual wariness completely absent. Clearly, she felt safe with her family.

And, perhaps, with him?

“What's so funny?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Mom said she's going to accidentally drop all the cheese-and-pickle sandwiches on the floor as payback,” Mel said as she pocketed her phone.

“Are we talking Mom's floor? Because everyone knows you could perform surgery on Mom's floor.
Your
floor, on the other hand…”

They continued to bicker cheerfully, Jacob and Mike throwing their two cents in when the mood struck them. Flynn watched from the sidelines, enjoying the interplay and this rare insight into Mel with her guard down.

“What's this I hear about me being a turkey? Harold Neville Porter, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

A slim woman of average height entered the clearing bearing a tray piled high with sandwiches. He guessed she must be in her early fifties, although she was dressed like a much younger woman. Her sweater
was red and tight, the V-neck cut low, and her jeans fitted snugly from thigh to ankle. Her hair was a color somewhere between caramel and blond, and she was wearing the kind of makeup his own mother usually reserved for big occasions. Large gold hoops dangled from her ears, while a series of chunky metal bracelets clanked at her wrist.

“Easy with the Neville, Mom,” Harry said with a grimace.

“Easy with the ugly poultry references, Harold,” she said.

“You started it with the vulture thing,” Harry said.

“Now, now, children. Let's not argue when there are sandwiches to be eaten,” Jacob said, stepping up to take the tray from Mel's mother's hands.

“Thank you, Jacob,” Mel's mother said pointedly. Then she glanced past his shoulder and caught sight of Flynn, her brown eyes suddenly bright with curiousity. “Hello. I don't think I know you.”

“This is Flynn, Mom. Flynn, this is my mother, Valerie.”

“Nice to meet you, Valerie.”

“Please, call me Val.” She smiled, her gaze sweeping his body in a disconcertingly thorough survey.

Out of the corner of his eye, Flynn saw Mel frown.

“Did you bring anything to drink, Mom?” Harry asked.

“The cooler's in the back of the car.”

Harry sighed and headed for the path.

“Can you grab some serviettes from the kitchen?” Mel called after him. “Second drawer down to the left of the dishwasher.”

“Sure. Anything else you need while I'm at it? Shoes shined, your taxes done?”

Mel didn't respond, which struck Flynn as being a missed opportunity. He glanced over and caught Val giving Mel a big thumbs-up, accompanied by what he could only describe as a salacious wink and a gesture in his direction. Unaware that she was being observed, Mel frowned and shook her head, a signal that Flynn guessed was meant to inform her mother that she was barking up the wrong tree. Val's mouth turned down at the corners and she mouthed the words
Why not?
at Mel. At which point Mel caught his eye.

He offered her his best innocent smile and watched as a tide of pink washed up her face. She turned away and started fussing pointlessly with the garden tools. He decided to take it as a hopeful sign.

A few minutes later Harry returned with a cooler full of canned drinks. Val placed both the cooler and the tray of sandwiches together on the grass and Mike, Harry and Jacob dropped to the ground and dove in. Flynn loitered, waiting until Mel sat before oh, so casually taking the spot beside her, feeling about as suave and sophisticated as a fourteen-year-old with his first crush, and probably just as obvious.

“So what do you do, Flynn?” a voice asked from his other side and he realized Mel's mother had nabbed the spot next to him.

“I work in property development.”

“Help yourself to a sandwich before my son hoovers them all up,” Val said. “The Porter family motto is He Who Hesitates is Lost. You'll starve if you hang back.”

She waited until he had his mouth full before hitting him with her next question. “I believe I've heard Mel mention that you bought Summerlea recently. That's a big project to take on.”

Flynn swallowed before responding. “I figure if I
take it bit by bit, I'll eventually get things under control. And if that turns out to be completely delusional, I can always call in the pros.”

“So you like a bit of handyman work, do you?” Val asked.

“I'm more of a gardener, to be honest. But I'd like to think I'm not completely useless with a power drill.”

“You should talk to Harry. He does some handyman work on the side.”

“Mom.” Mel's voice held a not-so-subtle warning.

“Thanks, I will,” he said, shooting Mel a look to let her know he didn't mind her mother's suggestion. He was new to the area, and he'd much prefer to have someone he knew working with him than a random tradesperson he'd plucked from the phone book or the classifieds.

“And are you married, Flynn?” Val asked, nibbling delicately on the crust of a chicken salad sandwich.

Mel choked and he glanced at her in enquiry.

“Need me to Heimlich you again?” he asked.

“No,” she said, her eyes watering.

He grabbed a can of Coke from the cooler. Pulling the tab, he passed it to her. When he returned his attention to Val, her expression indicated she was still waiting for his answer.

“I'm not married,” he said.

“Ah. Divorced, then?”

Mel sighed loudly. “Mom. I swear—”

“How else am I supposed to get to know people if I don't ask questions?”

“I don't know—maybe you could wait until it comes up in conversation?” Mel suggested.

“As if Flynn's going to talk about his divorce with a total stranger.”

“Thank you for making my point for me,” Mel said.

She successfully changed the subject after that, and once the sandwiches had been polished off Val went home. After twenty more minutes of lounging in the warm winter sunlight, they roused themselves and started the first of many trips transferring the topsoil from the front lawn to the garden beds.