Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep (7 page)

‘This wall here…’ She pointed to the wall that divided the kitchenette from the bookshop.

He had to admire her pluck. But that was all he’d admire. He refused to notice the way her hair gleamed rich and dark in the overhead light—the exact same colour as the icing on Gordon Sears’s chocolate éclairs. He refused to notice how thick and full it was either or how the style she’d gathered it up into left the back of her neck vulnerable and exposed.

He realised she was staring at him, waiting. He cleared his throat. ‘I wouldn’t advise building bookshelves on that wall, Jaz.’ He rapped his knuckles against it. ‘Hear how flimsy it is?’

She stared at him as if she had no idea what he was talking about. ‘I can strengthen the wall if you like.’ But it’d cost and it’d take time…time she wouldn’t want to waste waiting for work to be done if he had her pegged right. ‘I could write you up a quote if you want.’ What the hell. He’d do the job for cost.

‘I don’t want bookshelves there. I just want to know if you’re doing anything to this wall when you start work down here?’

‘No.’ One section of floorboards needed replacing and a couple of bookcases needed strengthening, but not the walls.

‘So I’m free to paint it?’

‘Sure.’ He frowned. ‘But surely it’d be wiser to wait until all the work is finished, then paint it as a job lot.’

She stared at him. Her eyes were pools of navy a man could drown in if he forgot himself. She moistened her lips—lush, soft lips—and Connor tried not to forget himself.

‘I don’t mean that kind of painting, Connor.’

It took a moment for her words to make sense. His head snapped back when they did.

She stared at the wall and he knew it wasn’t pale green paint she saw.

‘I mean to paint a portrait of my mother here.’ She turned, a hint of defiance in her eyes, but her whole face had come alive. So alive it made him ache.

A memorial to Frieda? He wanted to applaud her. He wanted to kiss her. He needed his head read. ‘Do you mean to start it tonight?’

‘No, but I might prime the wall tomorrow.’

For Pete’s sake, did she mean to work herself into the ground? ‘I thought you’d be back at Gwen’s by now.’

‘Hmm, no.’

Something in her tone made his eyes narrow. ‘Why not?’ Jaz and Gwen had been great pals.

She didn’t look at him. She cocked her head and continued to survey the wall.

He resisted the urge to shake her. ‘Jaz?’

‘I think the less Gwen has to see of me, the happier she will be.’

He’d considered Richard’s suggestion that Jaz stay at Gwen’s an excellent one at the time. He’d thought it’d give Jaz a friend, an ally. He’d obviously got that wrong…and he should’ve known better. ‘Sorry.’ The apology dropped stiff from his lips. ‘My fault.’

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘I hardly think so.’

‘I should’ve thought it through. Gwen…she was pretty cut up when you left. She wouldn’t speak to me for months. She kept expecting to hear from you.’

Jaz stiffened, then she swung around, closed the gap between them and gripped his forearms. ‘What did you just say?’

Her scent assaulted him and for a moment he found it impossible to speak. Her face had paled, lines of strain fanned out from her eyes. He couldn’t remember a time when she’d looked
more beautiful. The pressure of her hands on his arms increased, her grip would leave marks, but he welcomed the bite of her nails on his skin.

‘She thought you were friends, Jaz. She cared about you.’ After him and Faye, Gwen and Richard had been Jaz’s closest friends. ‘Then you left and she never heard from you again. You can guess how she took that.’

Air hissed out between her teeth. She dropped his arms and stepped back, her eyes wide, stricken—an animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck; something wild and injured trying to flee. Without a thought, he reached for her. But she pulled herself up and away, drew in a breath, and he watched, amazed, as she settled a mask of cool composure over her features. As if her distress had never been there at all.

Hell! That couldn’t be healthy. He dragged a hand back through his hair, surprised to find that it shook. His heart hammered against his ribcage and he cursed himself for being a hundred different kinds of fool where this woman was concerned.

‘Well—’ she smiled brightly ‘—that’s me done for the day.’ The knuckles on her hands, folded innocuously at her waist, gleamed white. ‘So, if you’ll excuse me…’

‘No!’ He cleared his throat, tried to moderate his tone. ‘I mean…’ Ice prickled across his scalp and the back of his neck. Was it something like this that had tipped Frieda over the edge? ‘I mean, where are you going?’

Her eyes had gone wide again. This time with surprise rather than…He didn’t know what name to give the expression he’d just witnessed—shock, pain, grief?

‘Why, to Gwen’s, of course. I have an apology to make.’ Sorrow stretched through the navy blue of her eyes. ‘I can’t believe how shabbily I’ve treated her. It—’

She waved a hand in front of her face, as if to dispel some image that disturbed her, and he suddenly realised what it was he’d seen in her eyes—self-loathing. She’d never considered herself worthy of his love, or of Faye, Gwen and Richard’s friendship, had she?

Why was he only seeing that now?

She glanced at her watch. ‘Where’s the best place to buy a bottle of wine at this time of night? And chocolate. I’ll need chocolate.’

‘The tavern’s bottle shop will still be open.’

‘Thank you.’

She smiled at him and he could see that concern for herself, for the bookshop, had been ousted by her concern for Gwen. He didn’t know why that should touch him so deeply. ‘Can I give you a lift?’

She snorted. ‘Connor, it’s a two-minute walk. Thanks all the same, but I’ll be fine.’

She stared up at him. He stared back. The silence grew and she moistened her lips. ‘I’ll see you later then.’

He nodded, dragged in a breath of her scent as she edged past him, then watched as she let herself out of the shop and disappeared into the evening.

He turned to stare at the wall she meant to paint.

With a muffled oath, he strode into the storeroom, disconnected the computer and tucked it under his arm.

He told himself he’d do the same for anyone.

A
T LUNCHTIME
on Wednesday a group of teenagers sauntered through the bookshop’s door and it immediately transported Jaz back in time ten years.

Oh, dear Lord. Had she ever looked that…confrontational? She bit back a grin. All of them, boys included, wore tip-to-toe black, the girls in stark white make-up and dark matt lipstick. Between the five of them they had more body piercing than the latest art-house installation on display at the Power House Museum. Their Doc Marten boots clomped heavily against the bare floorboards.

Jaz stopped trying to hold back her grin. She shouldn’t smile. They were probably skiving off from afternoon sport at Clara Falls High. But then…Jaz had skived off Wednesday afternoon sport whenever she could get away with it too.

‘If there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know,’ she called out.

‘Cool,’ said one of the girls.

‘Sweet,’ said one of the boys.

Jaz went back to studying the book she’d found in the business section half an hour ago—
Everything You Need To Know About Managing a Bookshop.
So far she’d found out that she needed a new computer and an Internet connection.

One of the girls—the one who’d already spoken—seized a book and came up to the counter. ‘Every week, I come in here to drool over this book. I can’t afford it.’

It was a coffee table art book—
Urban Art
. Exactly the same kind of book Jaz herself had pored over at that age.

‘Look, we know the people who used to work here quit.’ The girl ran her hands over the cover, longing stretched across her face. ‘If I worked here, how many hours would it take me to earn this book?’

Jaz told her.

‘Will you hire me? My name is Carmen, by the way. And I’m still at school so I could only work weekends, but…I’ll work hard.’

Jaz wanted to reach out and hug her. ‘I’m Jaz,’ she said instead. They probably knew that already but it seemed churlish not to introduce herself too. ‘And yes, I am looking for staff—permanent, part-time and casual.’ At the moment she’d take what she could get. ‘How old are you, Carmen?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘I would love to hire you, but before I could do that I would need either your mum or dad’s permission.’ No way was she going to cause
that
kind of trouble.

Five sets of shoulders slumped. Jaz’s grew heavy in sympathy.

‘I hate this town,’ one of them muttered.

‘There’s never anything to do!’

‘If you look the least bit different you’re labelled a troublemaker.’

Jaz remembered resenting this town at their age too for pretty much the same reasons. ‘You’re always welcome to come and browse in here.’ She motioned to the book on urban art.

‘Thanks,’ Carmen murmured, but the brightness had left her eyes. She glanced up from placing the book back on its shelf. ‘Is it true you’re a tattoo artist?’

‘Yes, I am.’ And she wasn’t ashamed of it.

‘And are you running drugs through here?’

What? Jaz blinked. ‘I could probably rustle you up an aspirin if you needed one, but anything stronger is beyond me, I’m afraid.’

‘I told you that was a lie!’ Carmen hissed to the others.

‘Yeah, well, fat chance that my mum’ll let me work here once she catches wind of that rumour,’ one of the others grumbled.

The teenagers drifted back outside.

Drugs? Drugs! Jaz started to shake. Her hands curved into claws. Just because she was a tattoo artist that made her a junkie, or a drug baron?

She wished Mac could hear this.

The whole town would boycott her shop if those kinds of rumours took hold. Very carefully, she unclenched her hands. She drummed her fingers against the countertop for a moment, a grim smile touching her lips. Very carefully, she smoothed down her hair. Her smile grew. So did the grimness.

She hooked the ‘Back in five minutes’ sign to the window, locked the door and set off across the street. ‘You’ll enjoy this,’ she said, without stopping, to Mrs Lavender, who sat on her usual park bench on the traffic island. She reminded herself to walk tall. She reminded herself she was as good as anyone else in this town. Without pausing, she breezed into Mr Sears’s shop with her largest smile in place and called out, ‘Howdy, Mr Sears! How are you today? Aren’t we having the most glorious weather? Good for business, isn’t it?’

Mr Sears jerked around from the far end of the shop and his eyes darkened with fury, lines bracketing his mouth, distorting it.

‘I’ll take a piece of your scrumptious carrot cake to go, thanks.’

The rest of the bakery went deathly quiet. Jaz pretended to peruse the baked goodies on display in their glass-fronted counters until she was level with Mr Sears. ‘If you refuse to serve me,’ she told him, quietly so no one else heard her, ‘I will create the biggest scene Clara Falls has ever seen. And, believe me, you
will
regret it.’ Her smile didn’t slip an inch.

Mr Sears seized a paper bag. He continued to glare, but he very carefully placed a piece of carrot cake inside it. It was a trait Jaz remembered, and it brought previous visits rushing back. He’d always treated his goods as if they were fine porcelain. For some reason that made her throat thicken.

She swallowed the thickness away. ‘Best bread for twenty miles, my mother always used to say,’ she continued in her bright, breezy, you’re-my-long-lost-best-friend voice. A voice that probably carried all the way outside and across to where Mrs Lavender sat grinning on her park bench.

Carmen emerged from the back of the bakery. ‘Hey, Dad, can I…’ She stopped dead to stare from her father to Jaz and back again. She swallowed, then offered Jaz a half-hearted smile. ‘Hey, Jaz.’

‘Hey, Carmen.’ Carmen was Gordon Sears’s daughter? Whew! His glare grew even more ferocious. She grinned back.
That
was too delicious for words. ‘And I’ll take a loaf of your famous sourdough too, Mr S.’

He looked as if he’d like to throw the loaf at her head. He didn’t. He placed it in a bag and set it down beside her carrot cake. His fingers lingered on the bag, as if in apology to it for where it was going.

Jaz grinned and winked as she paid him. ‘It’s great to be back in town, Mr S. You have a good day now, you hear?’

He slammed her change on the counter.

‘And keep the change.’

She breezed back outside.

To slam smack-bang into Connor. His hands shot out to steady her. His eyes danced with a wicked delight that she feared mirrored her own. ‘Lunchtime, huh?’

‘That’s right. You too?’

‘Yep.’

His grin widened. It made her miss…everything.

No, it didn’t! She stepped away so he was forced to drop his hands. ‘I’d…er…recommend the carrot cake.’

‘The carrot cake, huh?’

‘That’s right.’ She swallowed. ‘Well…I’ll catch ya.’ Oh, good Lord. Had she just descended into her former teenage vernacular? With as much nonchalance as she could muster, she stalked off.

His laughter and his hearty, ‘Howdy, Mr S,’ as he entered the bakery, followed her up the street, across the road and burrowed a path into her stomach to warm her very toes.

She unlocked the bookshop door, plonked herself down on her stool behind the sales counter and devoured her piece of carrot cake. For the first time in her life, Mr Sears’s baked goods didn’t choke her. The carrot cake didn’t taste like sawdust. It tasted divine.

When she closed her eyes to lick the frosting from her fingers all she saw was Connor’s laughing autumn eyes, making her feel alive again. In the privacy of the bookshop, she let herself grin back.

An hour after she’d last seen him, Connor stormed into the bookshop with a computer tucked under one arm and the diminutive Mrs Lavender tucked under the other.

Jaz blinked. She tried to slow her heart rate, did what she could to moderate the exhilaration pulsing through her veins. Just because she was back in Clara Falls didn’t mean she and Connor were…anything. In fact, it meant the total opposite. They were…nothing. Null and void. History. But…

No man had any right whatsoever to look so darn sexy in jeans and work boots. Thank heavens he wasn’t wearing a tool belt. That would draw the eye to…

No, no, no. Jaz tried to shoo that image right out of her head.

Connor set the computer on the counter. Jaz glanced at it, then back at him. She moistened her lips, realised his gaze had narrowed in on that action and her mouth went even drier. ‘I know the question is obvious, but…what is that?’

‘This is a computer I’m not using at the moment and is yours on loan until you get a chance to upgrade the shop’s computer. This—’ he pulled a computer disk from his pocket ‘—is the information my receptionist—the receptionist that I didn’t fire and who is a whiz at all things computer—managed to save from your old hard drive. Including several recently
deleted files.’ He set the disk on top of the computer. ‘She’s hoping it will go some way to making amends for any previous inconvenience she’s caused you.’

Jaz stared at him, speechless.

‘And this—’ he placed his hands on Mrs Lavender’s shoulders ‘—is Mrs Lavender who, if you remember, owned the bookshop before your mother. A veritable fount of information who is finding herself at a bit of a loose end these days, and who would love to help out for a couple of hours a day, if you’re agreeable.’

Agreeable? Jaz wanted to jump over the counter and hug him!

‘Gives me a front row seat for watching all the drama. I’ll enjoy seeing Gordon Sears brought down a peg or two.’ Mrs Lavender’s dark eyes twinkled.

Jaz slid out from behind the counter and wrapped her arms around the older woman. Over the top of Mrs Lavender’s head, she met Connor’s eyes. ‘I don’t know how to—’

‘How’s Gwen?’

She straightened and smiled, smoothed down her hair. ‘Great.’ The word emerged a tad breathy, but Connor was looking at her with such warmth that for a moment she didn’t know which way was up.

‘Gwen is great.’ Gwen had accepted her apology. They’d shared the bottle of wine, they’d eaten the chocolate and they’d forged the beginnings of a new friendship.

He reached out, touched her cheek with the back of one finger. ‘Good.’ Then he stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Time for me to get back to work. I’ll see you ladies later.’

He turned, left the shop and disappeared. Only then did Jaz realise he hadn’t given her time to thank him. He hadn’t given her time to refuse his kindness either. She reached up to touch the spot on her cheek where his finger had lingered for the briefest, loveliest moment.

‘Come along, Jaz. We’ve no time for mooning.’

Mooning? Who was mooning? ‘I’m not mooning!’

She gulped. Mrs Lavender was right. She had no time for mooning. Absolutely no time at all.

But that afternoon, before it was time to close the shop and walk Melly home, Jaz’s painting supplies were delivered to the bookshop. Connor must’ve searched through her boxes until he’d found everything she’d need to paint her portrait of Frieda.

She carried the box through to the stockroom, rested her cheek against it for a moment, before setting it to the floor and walking away. It didn’t mean anything.

‘Have you thought any more about telling your daddy about Mrs Benedict?’ Jaz asked Melanie as she walked her to Mrs Benedict’s front gate that afternoon.

The child drew herself up as if reciting a lesson. ‘I’m not to worry Daddy about domestic matters. He has enough to worry about.’

‘Domestic matters?’

‘It means household stuff, money and babysitters,’ Melly said, rattling each item off as if she’d learned them by heart. ‘I checked,’ she confided. ‘So I’d get it right.’

‘Did Daddy tell you not to worry him about domestic matters?’ No matter how hard she tried, Jaz could not hear those words emerging from Connor’s mouth.

‘Grandma did.’

Jaz wondered if she’d go to hell for pumping a child so shamelessly for information. It wasn’t for her own benefit, she reminded herself. It was for Melanie’s. She wanted the child safe and happy. She couldn’t even explain why, except she saw her younger self in Melanie.

That and the fact that Melanie was Connor’s child. The kind of child she’d once dreamed of having with Connor.

Which made her sound like some kind of sick stalker! She wasn’t. She just wanted to do something…good.

‘I think your daddy would be very sad to hear you say that.’

‘Why?’

‘I think he’d be very interested in everything you do and think, even the domestic ones.’

‘Nuh-uh.’ The child stuck her chin out and glared at the footpath. ‘He was supposed to take me out on the skyway on Saturday, but he didn’t coz he had to work.’

Connor had broken a date with his daughter to work on the sign for Jaz’s shop!

‘Grandma made me promise not to nag him to take me Sunday because she said he’d be tired from working so hard and would need to rest.’

‘That was very thoughtful of you.’

Melly glanced up, spearing Jaz with a gaze that touched her to the quick. ‘I don’t think he needs to work so hard, do you?’

Jaz thought it wiser not to answer that question. ‘Perhaps you should tell him you think he’s working too hard.’

Melanie shook her head and glanced away. Jaz wondered what else Grandma had made Melanie promise.

‘Order, everyone. Order!’

Connor winced. Gordon Sears had a voice that could cut through rock when he was calling a meeting to order. Connor shifted on his seat. Beside him, Richard half-grinned, half-grimaced in sympathy.

‘Now, are we all agreed on the winter plantings for the nature strip?’

There were some mutterings, but a show of hands decided the matter. Connor marvelled that it could take so long to decide in favour of hyacinths over daffodils. Personally, he’d have chosen the daffodils, but he didn’t much care. It certainly hadn’t warranted half an hour’s heated debate.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost Mel’s bedtime. He hoped his father was coping okay. He tapped his foot against the floor. He didn’t like leaving Mel with his parents two nights running. With his mother mostly confined to a wheelchair these
days, he considered it too much work for his father. But Russell Reed adored his granddaughter. Mel put a bounce in the older man’s step. Connor couldn’t deny him that.