Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep (11 page)

‘Are you getting the tattoo?’ Mel breathed, awe audible in every word.

‘I’m getting a picture of my little girl tattooed here.’ Jeff touched a hand to the top of his left arm.

‘Where is she? Can we play?’

He shook his head. ‘She’s a long way away.’

Melly bit her lip. ‘Is it going to hurt?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will it help if I hold your hand?’

‘Yes, it will.’ With a glance at Connor, Jeff picked Melly up in his great burly arms. Connor sensed that with just one word or look from him, Jeff would release Mel in an instant, but something in the man’s face and manner, something in the way Jaz regarded him, held Connor still.

Then they all moved to the back of the shop.

The tattoo took nearly two hours. Connor had never seen anything like it in his life. Beneath Jaz’s fingers, a young girl’s face came alive.

This wasn’t just any simple tattoo. It was an indelible photograph captured on this man’s arm for ever.

It was a work of art.

Mel watched Jaz’s movements quietly, solemnly. She held Jeff’s hand, stroked it every now and again. Finally she moved to where Connor sat, slid onto his lap and rested her head against his shoulder. He held her tight, though for the life of him he couldn’t explain why. Her relaxed posture and even breathing eventually told him she’d fallen asleep.

At last, Jaz set aside her tools and stretched her arms back above her head. She held up a mirror for Jeff to view the finished tattoo. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply.

Jaz leant across then and placed a kiss in the centre of Jeff’s forehead. ‘May she live in your heart for ever,’ she whispered.

That was when Connor realised why he held Melly so tight.

That tattoo wasn’t a work of art. It was a memorial.

‘Cherish her,’ Jeff said with a nod at the sleeping child.

‘I will,’ he promised.

Then Jeff left the room, closely followed by Mac, and Connor expelled one long breath. He reached out and touched Jaz’s hand. ‘That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.’ He didn’t smile. He couldn’t. But he wanted her to know how much he admired her skill and generosity.

When she turned, he could see the strain the last two hours had put on her—the overwhelming responsibility to do her absolute best work, not to make a mistake. It showed in her pallor, the lines around her eyes and mouth.

He adjusted the child in his arms, rose and put one arm around Jaz’s shoulders. ‘Let me take you home.’

For a moment he thought she would lean into him, but then she stiffened and edged away. ‘Mac will take me home, thanks all the same. Enjoy the rest of your day, Connor.’

Before she could move fully away, Melly stirred, unwrapped an arm from around her father’s neck and wound it around Jaz’s. It brought Jaz in close to Connor again—her arm touching his arm, his scent clogging her senses. The more of him she breathed in, the more it chased her weariness away.

‘That was way wicked!’ Melly said.

A spurt of laughter sprang from Jaz’s lips at the sheer unexpectedness of Melly’s words. She tried to draw back a little to stare into Melly’s face. Melly wouldn’t let her draw back any further than that. ‘Where did you pick up that expression?’

‘Carmen Sears. She looked after me for a couple of hours yesterday and I think she’s way wicked too.’

Jaz grinned. She couldn’t help it. Although she kept her gaze on Melly’s face, from the corner of her eye she could see Connor’s lips kick up too. Her heart pounded against the walls of her chest as if her ribcage had shrunk.

‘Can we go on our picnic now, Daddy?’

‘Your wish is my command.’

‘I want Jaz to come on our picnic too.’

Jaz stiffened. She tried to draw away but Melly tightened her hold and wouldn’t let her go. Oh, heck! Connor had told her he didn’t want her as part of Melly’s life. She should imagine that included attending picnics with her.

‘Princess, your wish is
my
every command,’ Connor started.

‘You’re going to say no.’

Melly’s bottom lip wobbled. It wouldn’t have had such a profound effect on Jaz if she hadn’t sensed Melly’s valiant effort to hide it. Connor’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

‘Sweetheart, Jaz isn’t anyone’s to command. She’s her own princess. We don’t have the right to tell her what to do.’

Mel leaned in close to her father and whispered, ‘But Jaz might like to come.’

He hesitated. He nodded. Then he smiled. ‘I guess you’d better ask her, then.’

‘Princess Jaz, would you like to come on a picnic with us?’ She turned pleading eyes on Jaz. ‘Please?’

Thank you, Connor Reed! So she had to play bad guy, huh? She wondered if she could lie convincingly enough not to hurt Melly’s feelings. The hope in the child’s face turned Jaz’s insides to…marshmallow.

‘I would love to come on a picnic with you, Princess Melly…’ That wasn’t a lie. ‘But I’m very tired.’ That wasn’t a lie either. ‘And I really should get back to the bookshop.’ That was only half a lie.

‘But you’re still sad!’

Melly’s grip eased, but she didn’t let go. Her bottom lip wobbled again, making Jaz gulp. If Melly cried…

‘Please come along with us, Jaz.’

Connor’s voice, warm and golden, slid through to her very core. Her decidedly marshmallow core.

‘I’d like you to come along too.’

She had to meet his gaze. Those words, that tone, demanded it. Her breath hitched. His autumn-tinted eyes tempted her…in every way possible.

She shouldn’t go.

He couldn’t really want her to tag along.

‘Bonnie and Gail have the shop under control,’ Mac said from the doorway. ‘Go on the picnic, Jaz, it’ll do you good.’

Three sets of eyes watched her expectantly. ‘I…’ Exhilaration raced through her veins. ‘I think a picnic sounds perfect.’

‘Good.’

If anything, Connor’s eyes grew warmer.

Oh, dear Lord. What had she just agreed to?

Melly struggled out of her father’s arms to throw her arms around Jaz’s middle. ‘Yay! Thank you.’

She smoothed Melly’s hair back behind her ears. ‘No, sweetheart,
thank you
for inviting me along. It’ll be a real treat.’

She glanced up at Connor and for some reason her tongue tried to stick fast to the roof of her mouth. ‘I’ll…umm…just go grab my things.’

In the end, Melly decided it was too far to go to the botanic gardens and chose a picnic spot near Katoomba Cascades instead. Jaz couldn’t remember a time when egg-and-lettuce sandwiches or apple turnovers had tasted so good.

After they’d eaten, they walked down to the cascades. The day was still and clear and cool. Jaz drank in the scenery like a starving woman. She hadn’t forgotten how beautiful the mountains were, but her recollections had been overshadowed by…other memories.

Melly’s chatter subsided abruptly when they returned to the picnic area. She stared at the children playing in the playground—two swings, a tiny fort with a climbing frame and a slippery dip—and the hunger in her face made Jaz’s heart twist.

Melly swung around, her gaze spearing straight to Jaz’s, a question in her eyes that brought Jaz’s childhood crashing back—the crippling shyness…the crippling loneliness.

She made herself smile, nodded towards the playground. ‘Why don’t you go over and make friends?’ Then she remem
bered Connor. Not that she’d ever forgotten him. ‘We don’t have to go home yet, do we?’

‘This is Princess Melly day.’ He spread his arms as if that said it all.

Jaz wished he hadn’t spread his arms quite so wide or in that particular fashion. If she took just one step towards him she’d find herself encompassed by those arms.

A small hand slipped inside Jaz’s, hauling her back. Melly stared up at her with such trust in her autumn-tinted eyes—eyes the spitting image of Connor’s—that it stole her breath.

‘But what do I say?’ Melly whispered.

Jaz dropped her duffel bag to the grass and knelt down beside Melly. She took a second look at the children playing in the playground. Tourists. ‘I think you should go over and say: Hello, I’m Melly and I live near here. Where do you live? And then…’ Jaz racked her brain. She remembered her own childhood. She could sense Connor watching them intently, but she did what she could to ignore him for the moment. ‘Remember that story we read—was it Tuesday or Wednesday? The one with the wood sprites and the water nymphs.’

Melly nodded.

‘Well, perhaps you could tell them about the wood sprites and water nymphs that live in the Katoomba Cascades.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the cascades. ‘I’m sure they’d love to hear about that.’

Melly’s face lit up. ‘Can I go play, Daddy?’

He spread his arms again. It made Jaz gulp. ‘Is your name Princess Melly?’

Melly giggled and raced off.

Connor lowered himself to the grass beside Jaz, stretched out on his side. ‘Thank you.’

‘I…’ Her tongue had gone and glued itself to the roof of her mouth again.

‘You said exactly the right thing.’ He frowned. ‘How’d you do that?’

Her tongue unglued itself. ‘Why, what would you have said?’

‘I’d have probably told her to just play it by ear.’

Jaz shook her head. ‘I remember what it was like to be Melanie’s age…and shy. I’d have wanted some clear instructions or suggestions about how to get the initial conversation started. You can play it by ear after that.’

Connor watched Melly. ‘It seems to be working.’

Warmth wormed through her. ‘I’m glad. She’s a delightful little girl, Connor. You must be very proud of her.’

He glanced up at her. ‘I am.’

She gripped her hands together. ‘I’m sorry I came along today,’ she blurted out. But it was partly his fault. He’d caught her at a weak moment.

He shot up into a sitting position. ‘Why?’ he barked. ‘Haven’t you had a nice time?’

‘Yes, of course, but…’ She stared back at him helplessly. ‘But you didn’t want me as part of Melly’s life, remember? I was supposed to keep my distance.’ She lifted her hands, then let them fall back to her lap. ‘But I didn’t know how to say no to her.’ She glared. ‘And you didn’t help.’

She didn’t know if it was a grimace or a smile that twisted his lips. ‘She wanted you to come along so badly. I didn’t know how to say no to her either.’

What about him? Had he really wanted her to come along?

She halted that thought in its tracks. She didn’t care what Connor wanted.

‘I seem to recall you saying you didn’t want me as part of your life either.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘That was just me wanting to say something mean back to you.’ It had been about erecting defences.

‘It wasn’t mean. It was you telling the truth, wasn’t it?’

She had no intention of letting him breach those defences. ‘Yes.’ She pulled in a breath. ‘There’s a lot of history between us, Connor.’

He nodded.

‘And I have no intention of revisiting it.’

‘History never repeats?’ he asked.

‘Something like that.’

‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re right.’ He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes on Melly. ‘It doesn’t mean you and Mel can’t be friends, though, does it?’

She blinked. ‘But you didn’t want me to…’

‘For better or worse, Melly likes you, she identifies with you.’ He met her gaze head-on. ‘But can you promise me that you won’t leave again the way you did the last time?’

‘Yes, I can promise that.’ She’d grown up since those days. ‘It’s funny, you know, but it’s nice to be back.’ She gestured to the view spread out before them. ‘I’ve missed all this. When I do get the bookshop back on its feet, I mean to come back for visits.’

She’d promised Gwen.

She’d promise Melly too.

‘I have no intention of hurting your little girl, Connor.’

‘I know that.’

She turned and stared back out at the view.

T
HE
hunger in Jaz’s face as she stared out over the valley made Connor’s gut clench.

This was her home. She might not be ready to admit that to herself yet, but the truth was as clear to him as the nose on her face…and the fullness of her lips.

He tried to drag his mind from her lips, from thoughts of kissing her. Jaz had made her position clear—there would be no him and her again.

He didn’t know why that should make him scowl. It was what he wanted too.

No, he wanted to kiss her. He was honest enough to admit that much. But she was right. There was no future for them.

But now that she was back in Clara Falls, she shouldn’t have to leave in twelve months’ time. Not if she didn’t want to.

He thought back to Mac—the cheek kisser; Mac of the tattoo parlour. He rolled his shoulders. ‘You’re good with kids.’ Did she plan to have children of her own?

She turned back. He could tell she was trying to hold back a grin. ‘You sound surprised.’

‘Guess I’ve never really thought about it before.’ He paused. ‘You and Mac seem close.’

Her lips twisted. She all but cocked an eyebrow. ‘We are. He and his wife Bonnie are my best friends.’

He felt like a transparent fool. He rushed on before she
could chide him for getting too personal. ‘What are your plans for when you return to your real life in the city?’

She blinked and he shrugged, suddenly and strangely self-conscious—like Mel in her attempts to make new friends. ‘You said that returning to run the bookshop was a temporary glitch.’

‘It is.’

She eased back on her hands, shifted so she no longer sat on her knees, so she could stretch the long length of her legs out in front of her. Without thinking, he reached out to swipe the leaves from her trouser legs.

She stiffened. He pulled his hand back with a muttered, ‘Sorry.’

‘Not a problem.’

Her voice came out all tight and strangled. Oh, yeah, there was a problem all right. The same problem there had always been between them—that heat. But it hadn’t solved things between them eight years ago and it wouldn’t solve anything now.

He just had to remember not to touch her.

‘Your plans?’ he prompted when she didn’t unstiffen.

‘Oh, yes.’ She relaxed. She waved to Melly on the slippery dip. She didn’t look at him; she stared out at the view—it was a spectacular view. He didn’t know if her nonchalance was feigned or not, but it helped ease the tenseness inside him a little—enough for him to catch his breath.

He made himself stare out at the view too. It
was
spectacular.

Not as spectacular—

Don’t go there.

‘I mean to open an art gallery.’

He stared at her. Every muscle in his body tensed up again. ‘An art gallery?’ An ache stretched through him. He ignored it. ‘But don’t you run a tattoo parlour?’

‘And a bookshop,’ she reminded him.

She smiled. Not at him but at something she saw in the middle distance. ‘Mac and I financed the tattoo parlour together, but Mac is the one in charge of its day-to-day running. I’m more of a…guest artist.’

The thought made him smile.

‘I’m pretty much a silent partner these days.’

‘Perhaps that’s what you need at the bookshop—a partner?’

She swung around. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Then, ‘No.’ She gave a decisive shake of her head. ‘The bookshop is all I have left of my mother.’

‘And you don’t want to share?’

Her eyes became hooded. ‘It’s my responsibility, that’s all.’ She turned back to the view.

‘So the art gallery, that would be your real baby?’

She lifted one shoulder. ‘I guess.’

‘Where are planning to set it up?’

‘I’d only just started looking for premises when Mum—’

She broke off. His heart burned in sympathy.

‘I found wonderful premises at Bondi Beach.’

Despite the brightness of her voice, her pain slid in beneath his skin like a splinter of polished hardwood. He wanted to reach for her, only he knew she wouldn’t accept his comfort.

He clenched his hands. ‘Bondi?’ He tried to match her brightness.

‘Yes, but I’m afraid the rent went well beyond my budget.’

‘I bet.’ It suddenly occurred to him that the rents in the Blue Mountains weren’t anywhere near as exorbitant as those in the city.

‘An art gallery…’ He couldn’t finish the sentence. All the brightness had drained from his voice. He could see her running this hypothetical gallery, could almost taste her enthusiasm and drive. He could see her paintings hanging on the walls. He could—

‘Which brings me to another point.’ She turned. Her eyes burned in her face as she fixed him with a glare. ‘You!’

He stared back. Somewhere in the background he heard Melly’s laughter, registered that she was safe and happy at the moment. ‘Me?’ What had he done?

She dragged her duffel bag towards her. The bag she’d refused to leave in the car. The one she hadn’t allowed him to carry for her on their walk. She’d treated it as if it contained something
precious. He’d thought it must hold her tattooing gear. He blinked when she slapped something down on his knees.

A sketch pad!

Bile rose up through him when she pushed a pencil into his hand. ‘Draw, Connor.’

Panic gripped him.

She opened the sketch pad. ‘Draw,’ she ordered again.

She reached over and shook his hand, the one that held the pencil, and he went cold all over.

‘No!’

He tried to rise, but she grabbed hold of his arm and wouldn’t let it go.

‘I don’t draw any more,’ he ground out, trying to beat back the darkness that threatened him.

‘Nonsense!’

‘For pity’s sake, Jaz, I—’

‘You’re scared.’

It was a taunt, a challenge. It made him grit his teeth together in frustration. His fingers around the pencil felt as fat and useless as sausages. ‘I gave it up,’ he ground out.

‘Then it’s time you took it back up again.’

Anger shot through him. ‘You want to see how bad I’ve become, is that what this is about?’ Did she want some kind of sick triumph over him?

Her eyes travelled across his face. Her chin lifted. ‘If that’s what it takes.’

Then her eyes became gentle and it was like a punch to the gut. ‘Please?’ she whispered.

All he could smell was the sweet scent of wattle.

He gripped the pencil so hard it should’ve snapped. If she wanted him to draw, then he’d draw. Maybe when she saw how ham-fisted he’d become she’d finally leave him in peace. ‘What do you want me to draw?’

‘That tree.’ She pointed.

Connor studied it for a moment—its scale, the dimensions.
They settled automatically into his mind. That quick summing up, it was one of the things that made him such a good builder. But he didn’t deceive himself. He had no hope of being a halfway decent artist any more.

It didn’t mean he wanted Jaz forcing that evidence in front of him. She sat beside him, arms folded, and an air of expectation hung about her. He knew he could shake her off with ease and simply walk away, but such an action would betray the importance he placed on this simple act of drawing.

He dragged a hand down his face. Failure now meant the death of something good deep down inside him. If Jaz sensed how much it meant—and he had the distinct impression she knew exactly what it meant—he had no intention of revealing it by storming away from her. He’d face failure with grace.

Maybe, when this vain attempt was over, the restlessness that plagued him on bright, still days would disappear. His lips twisted. They said there was a silver lining in every cloud, didn’t they?

Just when he sensed Jaz’s impatience had become too much for her, he set pencil to paper.

And failed.

He couldn’t draw any more. The lines he made were too heavy, the sense of balance and perspective all wrong…no flow. He tried to tell himself he’d expected it, but darkness pressed against the backs of his eyes. Jaz peered across at what he’d done and he had to fight the urge to hunch over it and hide it from her sight.

She tore the page from the sketch pad, screwed it into a ball and set it on the ground beside her. Sourness filled his mouth. He’d tried to tell her.

‘Draw the playground.’

He gaped at her.

She shrugged. ‘Well…what are you waiting for?’ She waved to Melly again.

Was she being deliberately obtuse? He stared at the play
ground, with all its primary colours. The shriek of Melly’s laughter filled the air, and that ache pressed against him harder. In a former life he’d have painted that in such brilliant colours it would steal one’s breath.

But that was then.

He set pencil to paper again but his fingers refused to follow the dictates of his brain. He’d turned his back on art to become a carpenter. It only seemed right that his fingers had turned into blocks of wood. Nevertheless, he kept trying because he knew Jaz didn’t want to triumph over him. She wanted him to draw again—to know its joys, its freedoms once more…to bow to its demands and feel whole.

When she discovered he could no longer draw, she would mourn that loss as deeply as he did.

When he finally put the pencil down, she peeled the page from the sketch pad…and that drawing followed the same fate as its predecessor—screwed up and set down beside her.

‘Draw that rock with the clump of grass growing around it.’

He had to turn ninety degrees but it didn’t matter. A different position did not bring any latent talent to the fore.

She screwed that picture up too when he was finished with it. Frustration started to oust his sense of defeat. ‘Look, Jaz, I—’

‘Draw the skyway.’

It meant turning another ninety degrees. ‘What’s the point?’ he burst out. ‘I—’

She pushed him—physically. Anger balled in the pit of his stomach.

‘Stop your whining,’ she snapped.

His hands clenched. ‘You push me again…’

‘And you’ll what?’ she taunted.

He flung the sketch pad aside. ‘I’ve had enough!’

‘Well, I haven’t!’ She retrieved the sketch pad and slapped it back on his knees. ‘Draw the skyway, Connor!’

Draw the skyway?
He wished he were out on that darn skyway right now!

His fingers flew across the page. The sooner this was over, the better. He didn’t glance at the drawing when he’d finished. He just tossed the sketch pad at Jaz, not caring if she caught it or not.

She did catch it. And she stared at it for a long, long time. Bile rose from his stomach to burn his throat.

‘Better,’ she finally said. She didn’t tear it from the sketch pad. She didn’t screw it up into a ball.

‘Don’t humour me, Jaz.’ The words scraped out of his throat, raw with emotion, but he didn’t care. He could deal with defeat but he would not stand for her pity.

In answer, she gave him one of the balled rejects. ‘Look at it.’

He was too tired to argue. He smoothed it out and grimaced. It was the picture of the playground. It was dreadful, horrible…a travesty.

‘No,’ she said when he went to ball it up again. ‘Look at it.’

He looked at it.

‘Now look at this.’ She stood up and held his drawing of the skyway in front of her.

Everything inside him stilled. It was flawed, vitally flawed in a lot of respects, and yet…He’d captured something there—a sense of freedom and escape. Jaz was right. It was better.

Was it enough of an improvement to count, though?

He glanced up into her face. She pursed her lips and surveyed where he sat. ‘This is all wrong.’ She tapped a finger against her chin for a moment, then her face cleared. She seized her duffel bag. ‘Come with me.’

She led him to a nearby stand of trees. He followed her. His heart thudded in his chest, part of him wanted to turn tail and run, but he followed.

‘Sit there.’

She pointed to the base of a tree. Its position would still give him a good, clear view of Melly playing. Melly waved. He waved back.

He settled himself against the tree.

‘Good.’ She handed him the sketch pad and pencil again. She
pulled a second sketch pad and more pencils from her bag and settled herself on the ground to his left, legs crossed. She looked so familiar, hunched over like that, Connor thought he’d been transported back eight years in time.

She glanced across at him. ‘Bend your knees like you used to do…as if you’re sitting against that old tree at our lookout.’

Our lookout.
Richardson’s Peak—out of the way and rarely visited. They’d always called it
their lookout
. He tried to hold back the memories.

Jaz touched a hand to the ground. ‘See, I’m sitting on the nearby rock.’

It wasn’t rock. It was grass, but Connor gave in, adjusted his back and legs, and let the memories flood through him. ‘What do you want me to draw?’

‘The view.’

Panoramas had always been his speciality, but he wasn’t quite sure where to start now.

He wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t a waste of time.

‘Close your eyes.’

She whispered the command. She closed her eyes so he closed his eyes too. It might shut out the ache that gripped him whenever he looked at her.

It didn’t, but her voice washed over him, soft and low, soothing him. ‘Remember what it was like at the lookout?’ she murmured. ‘The grand vista spread out in front of us and the calls of the birds…the scent of eucalyptus in the air…’

All Connor could smell was wattle, and he loved it, dragged it into his lungs greedily.

‘Remember how the sun glinted off the leaves, how it warmed us in our sheltered little spot, even when the wind played havoc with everything else around us?’

His skin grew warm, his fingers relaxed around the pencil.

‘Now draw,’ she whispered.

He opened his eyes and drew.

On the few occasions he glanced across at her, he found her
hunched over her sketch pad, her fingers moving with the same slow deliberation he remembered from his dreams.

Time passed. Connor had no idea how long they drew but, when he finally set aside his pencil, he glanced up to find the shadows had lengthened and Jaz waiting for him. He searched the picnic ground for Melly.