Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep (12 page)

‘Just over there.’ Jaz nodded and he found Melly sitting on the grass with her new friends.

‘Finished?’ she asked.

He nodded.

‘May I see?’

She asked in the same shy way she’d have asked eight years ago. He smiled. He felt tired and alive and…free. ‘If you want.’

She was by his side in a second. She turned back to the first page in the sketch pad. He’d lost count of how many pictures he’d drawn. His fingers had flown as if they’d had to make up for the past eight years of shackled inactivity.

Jaz sighed and chuckled and teased him, just like she used to do. She pointed to one of the drawings and laughed. ‘Is that supposed to be a bird?’

‘I was trying to give the impression of time flying.’

‘It needs work,’ she said with a grin.

He returned her grin. ‘So do my slippery dips.’

‘Yep, they do.’

The laughter in her voice lifted him.

‘But look at how you’ve captured the way the light shines through the trees here. It’s beautiful.’

She turned her face to meet his gaze fully and light trembled in her eyes. ‘You can draw again, Connor.’

Her exultation reached out and wrapped around him.
He could draw again.

He couldn’t help himself. He cupped one hand around the back of her head, threaded his fingers through her hair and drew her lips down to his and kissed her—warm, firm…brief. Then he released her because he knew he couldn’t take too much of
that. ‘Thank you. If you hadn’t badgered me…’He gestured to the sketch pad.

She drew back, her eyes wide and dazed. ‘You’re welcome, but—’ she moistened her lips ‘—I didn’t do much.’

Didn’t do much.

‘You had it in you all the time. You just had to let it out, that’s all.’ She reached up, touched her fingers to her lips. She pulled them away again when she realised he watched her. Her breathing had quickened, grown shallow. She lifted her chin and glared at him. ‘If you ever turn your back on your gift again, it will desert you. For ever!’

He knew she was right.

He knew he wanted to kiss her again.

As if she’d read that thought in his face, Jaz drew back. ‘It’s getting late. We’d better start thinking about making tracks.’

She didn’t want him to kiss her.

He remembered all the reasons why he shouldn’t kiss her.

‘You’re right.’

He tried to tell himself it was for the best.

Jaz found Connor sitting on the sales counter munching what looked like a Danish pastry when she let herself into the bookshop at eight o’clock on Monday morning.

‘Hey, Jaz.’

She blinked. ‘Hello.’

What was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be upstairs working on her flat? The absence of hammering and sawing suddenly registered. Her heart gave a funny little leap. ‘Is my flat ready?’

‘We’re completing the final touches today and tomorrow, and then it’ll be ready for the painters and carpet layers.’

She’d already decided to paint it herself. It’d give her something to do. Funnily enough, though, considering how she’d expected her time in Clara Falls to drag, this last week had flown.

She’d have the carpet laid in double-quick time. She wasn’t spending winter in the mountains on bare floorboards. Once her
furniture was delivered from Connor’s, she could paint and decorate the flat in her own good time.

She edged around behind the counter to place her handbag in one of the drawers and tried to keep Connor’s scent from addling her brain. Handbag taken care of, she edged back out again—his scent too evocative, too tempting. It reminded her of that kiss. That brief thank you of a kiss that had seared her senses.

Forget about the kiss.

‘Did you want me for something?’

His eyes darkened at her words and her mouth went dry. He slid off the counter and moved towards her—a hunter stalking its prey. He wore such a look of naked intensity that…Good Lord! He didn’t mean to kiss her again, did he? She wanted to turn and flee but her legs wouldn’t work. He reached out…took her hand…and…

And plonked a paper bag into it.

‘I thought you might like one.’

Like one…? She glanced into the bag. A pastry—he’d given her a pastry. In fact, he’d handed her a whole bag full of them. ‘There’s at least a dozen pastries in here.’

‘Couldn’t remember what filling you preferred.’

She almost called him a liar. Then remembered her manners. And her common sense. Who knew how much he’d forgotten in eight years?

But once upon a time he’d teased her about her apple pie tastes.

She wished she could forget.

Her hand inched into the bag for an apple Danish. She pulled it back at the last moment. ‘I don’t want a pastry!’

She wanted Connor and his disturbing presence and soul-aching scent out of her shop. She tossed the bag of Danishes onto the counter with an insouciance that would’ve made Mr Sears blanch. ‘Why are you here, Connor? What do you want?’

‘I want to thank you.’

‘For?’

‘For your advice to me about Melly. For making me draw again.’

He’d already thanked her for that—
with a kiss!

She didn’t want that kind of thanks, thank you very much. Her heart thud-thudded at the thought of a repeat performance, calling her a liar.

‘I think I’ve made a start on winning back Mel’s trust.’

‘If Saturday’s evidence is anything to go by, I think you’re right.’ And she was glad for him.

Glad for Melly, she amended.

Okay—she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, slid her hands into the pockets of her trousers—she was glad for both of them, but she was gladder for Melly.

‘Look, Jaz, I’ve been thinking…’

Her mouth went dry. Something in his tone…‘About?’

‘What if you didn’t leave Clara Falls at the end of this twelve months?’

Her jaw dropped.

He raised both hands. ‘Now hear me out before you start arguing.’

She supposed she’d have to because she appeared to have lost all power of speech.

‘What if you opened your art gallery in the mountains? It has two advantages over the city. One—lower rents. And two—you’d get the passing tourist trade.’ He spread his arms in
that
way. ‘Surely that has to be good.’

Of course it was good, but—

‘There’s an even bigger tourist trade in Sydney,’ she pointed out.

‘And you’ll only attract them if you find premises on or around the harbour.’

She could never afford that.

‘What’s more, if you settle around here you’ll be close to the bookshop if you’re needed, and it’s an easy commute to the city on the days you’re needed in at the tattoo parlour.’

He spread his arms again. ‘If you think about it, it makes perfect sense.’

‘No, it doesn’t!’

He didn’t look the least fazed by her outburst. ‘Sure it does. And, Jaz, Clara Falls needs people like you.’

She gaped at him then. ‘It’s official—Connor Reed has rocks in his head.’ She stalked through the shop to the kitchenette. ‘People like me?’ She snorted. ‘Get real!’

‘People who aren’t afraid of hard work,’ Connor said right behind her. ‘People who care.’

‘You’re pinning the wrong traits on the wrong girl.’ She seized the jug and filled it.

He leant his hip against the sink. ‘I don’t think so. In fact, I know I’m not.’

She would not look into those autumn-tinted eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, she lifted a mug in his direction in a silent question. Common courtesy demanded she at least offer him coffee. After all, he had supplied the pastries.

‘Love one,’ he said with that infuriating cheerfulness that set her teeth on edge.

He didn’t speak while she made the coffees. She handed him one and made the mistake of glancing into those eyes. Things inside her heated up and melted down, turned to mush.

No mush, she ordered.

That didn’t work so she dragged her gaze away to stare out of the window.

‘Clara Falls needs you, Jaz.’

‘But I don’t need Clara Falls.’

He remained silent for so long that she finally turned and met his gaze. The gentleness in his eyes made her swallow.

‘That’s where I think you’re wrong. I think you need Clara Falls as much as you ever did. I think you’re still searching for the same security, the same acceptance now as you did when you were a teenager.’

Very carefully, she set her coffee down because throwing it
all over Connor would be very poor form…and dangerous. The coffee was hot. Very hot. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘You might not want to admit it, but you know I’m right.’

‘Garbage! You’re the guy with rocks in his head, remember?’

‘Frieda knew it too. It’s why she wanted you to come back.’

Her mother’s name was like a punch to the solar plexus. She wanted to swing away but there wasn’t much swinging room in the kitchenette, and to leave meant walking—squeezing—past Connor. If he tried to prevent her from leaving, it would bring them slam-bang up against each other—chest-to-chest, thigh-to-thigh. She wasn’t risking that.

She tossed her head. ‘How do you know what my mother thought?’

He glanced down into his coffee and it hit her then. ‘You…the pair of you talked about me…behind my back?’

‘We’d have been happy to do it to your face, Jaz, if you’d ever bothered to come back.’

Guilt swamped her. And regret. How could she have put her mother through so much? Frieda had only ever wanted Jaz’s happiness. Jaz had returned that love by refusing to set foot back in Clara Falls. She’d returned that love by breaking her mother’s heart.

Connor swore at whatever he saw in her face. He set his mug down and took a step towards her. Jaz seized her coffee, held it in a gesture that warned him he’d wear it if he took another step. ‘Don’t even think about it!’ If he touched her, she’d cry. She would not cry in front of him.

He settled back against the sink.

‘I know I am responsible for my mother’s death, Connor. Rubbing my nose in that fact, though, hardly seems the friendly thing to do.’

Frown lines dug furrows into his forehead, drew his eyebrows down low over his eyes. ‘What the hell…! You are not responsible for Frieda’s suicide.’

He believed that, she could tell. She lifted her chin. He could believe what he liked. She knew the truth.

He straightened. ‘Jaz, I—’

‘I don’t particularly want to talk about this, Connor. And, frankly, no offence intended, but nothing you say will make the slightest scrap of difference.’

‘How big are you going to let that chip on your shoulder grow before you let it bury you?’

‘Chip?’ Her mouth opened and closed but no other words would emerge.

‘Fine, we won’t talk about your mother, but we will talk about Clara Falls and the possibility of you staying on.’

‘There is no possibility. It’s not going to happen so just give it a rest.’

‘You’re not giving yourself or the town the slightest chance on this, Jaz. How fair is that?’

Fair? This had nothing to do with fair. This had to do with putting the past behind her.

‘Have you come back to save your mother’s shop? Or to damn it?’

How could he even ask her that?

‘You need to start getting involved in the local community if you mean to save it. Even if you are only here for twelve months.’

She didn’t have to do any such thing.

‘The book fair is a start.’

He knew about—?

‘You’ve done a great job on the posters.’

Oh, yes.

‘But you need to let the local people see that you’re not still the rebel Goth girl.’

Darn it! He had a point. She didn’t want to admit it but he did have a point.

‘You need to show people that you’re all grown up, that you’re a confident and capable businesswoman now.’

Was that how he saw her?

She dragged her hands back through her hair to help her think, but as Connor followed that action she wished she’d left her hands exactly where they were. Memories pounded at her. She remembered the way he used to run his fingers through her hair, the way he’d massaged her scalp, how it had soothed and seduced at the same time. And being a confident and capable businesswoman didn’t seem any defence at all.

‘The annual Harvest Ball is next Saturday night. I dare you to come as my date.’

He folded his arms. His eyes twinkled. He looked good enough to eat. She tried to focus her mind on what he’d said rather than…other things. ‘Why?’ Why did he want to take her to the ball?

‘It’ll reintroduce you to the local community, for a start, but also…it occurred to me that while it’s all well and good for me to preach to you about staying here in Clara Falls and making it a better place, I should be doing that too. I think it’s time Mr Sears had some competition for that councillor’s spot, don’t you?’

She stared at him. ‘You’re going to run for town councillor?’

‘Yep.’

Being seen with her, taking her to the ball, would make a definite statement about what he believed in, about the kind of town he wanted Clara Falls to be. Going to the ball would help her quash nasty rumours about drugs and whatnot too.

‘Our going to the ball…’ she moistened her lips ‘…that would be business, right?’

She’d made her position clear on Saturday during the picnic. He’d agreed—history didn’t repeat. For some reason, though, she needed to double-check.

‘That’s right.’ He frowned. ‘What else would it be?’

‘N…nothing.’

The picture of Frieda she’d started on the bookshop’s wall grew large in her mind. The darn picture she couldn’t seem to finish.
Have you come back to save your mother’s shop? Or to damn it?

She wanted to save it. She had to save it.

She shot out her hand. ‘I’ll take you up on that dare.’

He clasped her hand in warm work-roughened fingers. Then he bent down and kissed her cheek, drenched her in his scent and his heat. ‘Good,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven next Saturday evening.’

‘Well—’ she reclaimed her hand, smoothed down the front of her trousers ‘—I guess that’s settled, then. Oh! Except I’m going to need more of my things.’ Something formal to wear for a start and her strappy heels.