Within Reach

She moved to the window, stepping into a shaft of sunlight and letting it warm her skin.

“What about a nanny? I have no idea how much they are, but my friend Gail uses one. She says it’s a godsend.”

“Yeah? I guess it would be worth investigating. I keep hearing that the day-care places around here have waiting lists as long as my arm.”

“I’ll ask where she got hers and text you.”

“Thanks, Angie. I appreciate it.”

There was a humble sincerity to his tone that made her throat tight.

“How would you feel about me coming over on Sunday and taking Eva shopping for her friend’s present?”

It felt like a pitifully small gesture, all things considered, but at least it was practical.

“I would feel eternally grateful. I have no idea what to buy a six-year-old.”

“Neither do I, to be honest, but we can wing it. What say I swing by to pick her up at two on Sunday?”

“She’ll be ready. Thanks, Angie.”

“It helps me, too, you know,” she said quietly. “Being with the kids. Helping you out.”

He was silent for a moment. “Okay.” There was a wealth of understanding in the single word.

“I’ll see you Sunday.”

“You will.”

She ended the call and stepped out of the sunshine.

Michael was going back to the firm. A good decision, she was sure of it. Her work had saved her during the early, hard months. She was sure it would help him find himself again now.

At least, she hoped so.

* * *

THE REMAINDER OF THE WEEK sped by in a blur. Angie worked late every night, keen to make inroads on the commissions that had been waiting while she was in New York. She allowed herself the small luxury of sleeping in on Sunday before catching up with a friend for lunch. It was just after two when she stopped in front of Billie’s house.

She rang the doorbell, then had a horrible moment where she was suddenly convinced that she’d left her phone behind in the café. She fumbled in her handbag. Her fingers closed around her phone’s smooth contours as the front door opened.

“Hey. Right on time,” Michael said.

She glanced up, a lighthearted retort on her lips. The first thing she registered was his new, crisp haircut and the fact that he was clean-shaven. Then her gaze took in his broad chest in a sweat-dampened tank top and the skin-tight black running leggings moulded to his muscular legs. The words died on her lips and she blinked, momentarily stunned by the change in him.

“You’ve cut your hair,” she said stupidly.

“Yeah. Decided it was time to stop doing my Robinson Crusoe impersonation.”

He gestured for her to enter and she brushed past him. He smelled of fresh air and spicy masculine deodorant. He preceded her up the hall and her gaze traveled across his shoulders before dropping to his muscular backside. Billie had often waxed poetic about Michael’s body, but Angie had always made a point of not noticing—she didn’t want to know that kind of stuff. Now, as he stopped at the kitchen counter, she was forcibly reminded of the fact that he was a very attractive man.

For a moment she didn’t quite know where to look.

“Is, um, Eva ready to go? I thought I’d take her to Chadstone,” she said, naming Melbourne’s biggest shopping center. Her gaze skittered uneasily around the room. It was only then that she noticed the other changes—the kitchen was clean, not a single dirty bowl or plate in sight, and the dining table had been polished to a shine. True, a small stack of neatly folded washing sat at one end, but it looked like a temporary measure this time rather than a permanent fixture. The living room had been cleared of stray books and magazines and abandoned clothes, the cushions on the couch plumped.

Most important, the blinds had been raised, inviting the weak winter sunshine into the house.

She forgot all about her uncomfortable awareness as her gaze met Michael’s.

“Look at you go,” she said quietly.

He shrugged, but she could tell he was pleased she’d noticed the difference. “Getting there.”

It wasn’t only his hair that was different, she realized. His eyes were different, too. Brighter, clearer, more focused. As though he’d ceased looking inward and was ready to engage with the world again.

“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s get this show on the road,” Eva announced as she marched into the room.

She was dressed in a pair of yellow cowboy boots, a bright blue skirt and a poppy-red sweater. Her blond hair had been pulled into two lopsided pigtails and fastened with yellow-and-white polka dot ribbons, and a grass-green handbag hung from her shoulder.

Her mother’s daughter, from top to toe.

“You look like a summer’s day,” Angie said, opening her arms for a hug.

Eva walked into her embrace, resting her head beneath Angie’s breasts.

“I feel like a summer’s day. We’re going shopping.”

Michael smiled ruefully. “Words to make any man quake in his shoes.” He picked up his wallet. “How much money do you need?”

“I have my own money, thank you very much.” Eva pulled an elephant-shaped wallet from her handbag and displayed the two five-dollar bills resting within.

“Not bad, money bags. How about I give Auntie Angie a little extra in case you ladies find something nice that catches your eye?”

Angie shook her head as he offered her two crisp fifties. “I’ve got it covered.”

“You’re doing enough already.”

Before she could protest again, he closed the distance between them and tucked the bills into her coat pocket. She caught another whiff of his deodorant and a faint hint of clean, male sweat.

She cleared her throat. “Well. We should probably get going, little lady. Don’t want to miss out on all the bargains.”

Eva kissed her father goodbye and Angie told him they would be back by five and hustled out the door. She didn’t feel one hundred percent comfortable until she was sliding into the driver’s seat.

Which was dumb. Michael was still Michael, even if he did have an attractive body and a handsome face. Just because she’d suddenly tuned into that fact for a few seconds didn’t change anything.

“Weirdo,” she muttered under her breath.

“Sorry?” Eva said, her face puzzled.

“Nothing, sweetheart.”

And it was nothing. A stupid, odd little moment of awareness that meant nothing to anybody. Shaking it off, she started the car and pulled away from the curb.

* * *

MICHAEL SHOWERED AFTER Angie and Eva had left, taking advantage of the fact that Charlie was enjoying a rare afternoon nap. His legs ached from the run he’d taken after lunch while his neighbor, Mrs. Linton, watched the kids, but for the first time in a long time his body felt loose and easy.

He soaped himself down and allowed himself to enjoy the simple pleasure of warm water and well-used muscles. His thoughts drifted to the afternoon. The odds were good that Charlie would be awake any second now. Maybe they could go to the park. Charlie could run around to his heart’s content and afterward Michael might take a look at the plans Dane had sent over last night.

Michael was still feeling his way toward the whole going-back-to-work thing. He’d spoken to a nanny agency and they were lining up interviews for him for next week and Mrs. Linton had offered to help in the interim, but a part of him was holding back for some reason, not quite ready to commit to the complete resumption of his life. It was one thing to get a haircut and clean the house. It was another thing entirely to draw a line under the past few months and let the world in again.

Dane had clearly taken his imminent return as a given, however—Michael had checked his email last night and found a sizable file waiting for him, complete with brief and draft plans for a luxury beach house the firm had been commissioned to design. One of many projects, apparently, that his fellow partners were happy to hand over the moment Michael returned.

After dressing in jeans and a T-shirt and hooded sweatshirt, he took Charlie to the local park where they swung and climbed and played peekaboo endlessly. There were a couple of other parents hanging around with their kids, one of whom he recognized as a member of Billie’s mothers’ group. He chatted to her politely for a few minutes before Charlie once again demanded his attention. He walked away feeling woefully rusty at the whole small-talk thing.

Later, he was folding the last of the washing when he heard the door open and the sound of Eva’s footsteps pounding along the hall.

“We got the bestest present ever,” she announced as she burst into the kitchen. She held what looked like a set of butterfly wings.

“Wow. They look pretty cool,” he said as Angie followed Eva.

“We had trouble deciding between fairy and butterfly wings. So we got both.” Angie brandished her own shopping bag. “Eva’s going to decide which ones she thinks Imogen would prefer.” Angie’s deep blue eyes were shining with laughter. They both knew that Eva’s choice would be more about which pair of wings she didn’t want.

“Sounds like your mission was achieved.”

“We had a great time. Auntie Angie took me to get my nails done, and we had coffee and bisgotty.”

“Biscotti,” Angie said easily. “Which is a fancy-pants way of saying biscuit in Italian.”

“Biscotti. Bis-cotti,” Eva repeated to herself.

Michael didn’t even try to hide his smile this time, and neither did Angie. He met her gaze again.

“Stay for dinner?”

“Sure. If you’ve got enough to go around.”

“It’s nothing fancy, just pasta. And there’s always enough pasta.”

“No,” Eva groaned. “We always have spaghetti.”

“I think you might be exaggerating a little there, sweetheart.”

“We had it last night, and Wednesday night, and Monday night.”

Michael frowned, ready to correct her. Then he realized she was right. “Those were all different pastas.” He sounded lame, even to himself. The truth was, he was a competent cook, but not a very imaginative one.

“Have you made anything yet?” Angie asked.

“No. I was about to start on the sauce. Which will be different from the other sauces we had during the week,” he said for Eva’s benefit.

She gave him a skeptical look, as well she might. There was only so much a man could do with tomatoes, onion and ground meat.

“If you want to take a break from the kitchen for the night, I could make us Mexican. I picked up a few groceries while we were out so I’ve got a taco kit and the makings for a salad in the car,” Angie said.

“Yes!” Eva jumped up and down on the spot, hands in the air.

“Mexican it is, then,” Angie said.

The dinner prep passed quickly, punctuated with lots of laughter. The Mexican feast elicited loud approving noises from his children—a hint, in case he’d missed the earlier message, that he needed to add a little more variety to their weekly menu.

Charlie was rubbing his eyes by the time they had finished eating and Michael took a chance and settled him in his bed. Miraculously, Charlie’s eyes shut after only ten minutes of story.

When Michael returned to the kitchen, Angie was seated at the counter, her chin propped on her left hand as she sketched rapidly in a notebook.

“Guess who’s already asleep?”

She glanced up, her blue eyes unfocused for a few seconds as she dragged herself back from whatever creative space she’d been in.

“Really? He’s down already?”

“The magic of the park.”

“Wow. They should put that in a can. It would sell like hotcakes.”

“You want a coffee?”

“Sure.”

He glanced to the living area and saw that Eva had crashed out on the couch, too. Unusual for her, but maybe the shopping had worn her out. He pulled mugs from the cupboard and grabbed the French press. He turned to check if Angie wanted some chocolates with their coffee and saw that she was once again absorbed in her notebook, this time writing small, neat notes to herself in the margin.

She was so self-contained, one of the calmest people he knew. In fact, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’d seen her really agitated or distressed. She approached everything with an interested, open-minded curiosity and an unfailing, quiet sense of humor. She was good company, good to spend time with.

All of which made her apparently perpetual single status baffling to him. It wasn’t as though she was hard on the eyes. She might not be conventionally beautiful, but her long, oval face and deep blue eyes were very appealing. She had a sleek, subtly curved body that was more athletic than va-voom, but there was no denying that she was an attractive woman. Very attractive.

He knew through Billie that Angie’s love life was hardly a barren desert—there were men, not too many, but enough—yet none of them seemed to stick. He also knew via his indiscreet wife that there had been one man years ago who Angie had been crazy about. Was she still holding a candle for him? Or was it simply a matter of her not being interested?

Behind him, the kettle clicked to announce it had boiled. He started to make the coffees as the doorbell rang through the house.

He frowned. It was nearly eight-thirty, and the days of people dropping in unannounced had gone with Billie.

“I’ll finish this. You get the door,” Angie said.

“Thanks.”

He made his way up the hall and opened the door to find the woman he’d run into in the park earlier on his doorstep, a piece of paper in hand.

“Michael. Hi. Remember me? Gerry.” She gave a self-conscious laugh.

“Of course,” he said, even though he’d forgotten her name the moment she’d reintroduced herself this afternoon. He simply didn’t have room for that sort of thing in his head right now.

“Sorry to show up on your doorstep like this, but I was thinking about Charlie this afternoon and I realized that you’ve probably been out of the loop a bit since we all used to contact Billie for things… Anyway, I thought you might be interested in this.”

Gerry thrust the piece of paper at him and he saw that it was a flyer advertising a sing-and-dance event at the local indoor play center.

“A bunch of us are going to make a day of it, take a picnic, that sort of thing.” Gerry smoothed a hand over her deep red hair.

“Thanks. I’ll see if we can make it. Charlie thinks he’s a rock star, so it’s all about singing and dancing for him.”

She laughed a little too loudly. “Oh, he’s adorable. And so is Eva. Such lovely kids.”

There wasn’t much he could say to that and not sound like a monstrous egotist, so he simply smiled politely. Gerry started talking about the next mothers’ group get-together and insisted on passing over another list with everyone’s phone numbers, indicating her own.

“Anything you need, babysitting, whatever, you call me,” she said. “I’d be happy to help out any way I can. I know how tough it is doing it all alone.”

They had been talking on the doorstep so long he suspected he probably should have invited her inside, but just when he was prodding himself to do so she palmed her car keys and took a step away.

“I’ll see you around, Michael.”

“Sure. And thanks for this, Gerry. I appreciate it.”

She waved a hand to indicate it wasn’t a big deal and then took off up the driveway, her high heels loud against the concrete. He shut the door and returned to the kitchen. Two mugs sat steaming on the counter. Angie had a small, wry smile on her face.

“One of Billie’s mothers’ group friends with a playdate thingy,” he explained, brandishing the flyer before using a magnet to fix it to the fridge. “I ran into her in the park today.”

“Was that what that was about?” Angie asked, eyebrows arched knowingly.

He stared at her blankly. “What else would it be?”

She gave a small laugh. “Michael, she was hitting on you.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“Um, yeah, she was. Totally hitting on you. Who drops by with a playdate reminder at eight-thirty on a Sunday night?”

He shook his head. “You’re wrong.”

She didn’t say anything, but her expression did.

“She’s married, Angie. She has kids.”

“She has kids, yes, but not all the women in that group were married, you know. Ever heard of single parenthood and divorce?”

He shrugged, sick of the subject. “Fine. Maybe she was hitting on me. If you say so.”

He grabbed his mug and took a mouthful of strong, hot coffee. Angie had made it exactly the way he liked it.

“She won’t be the last, you know.”

“I don’t care.”

She eyed him sympathetically, hands wrapped around her mug, elbows propped on the counter.

“You might eventually.”

He set his cup down so firmly it made a loud crack against the marble surface. “No, I won’t.”

Why was Angie pushing this? She, of all people, should understand that Billie couldn’t be replaced.

Afraid he’d say something he’d regret, he went to put his daughter to bed.

CHAPTER THREE

ANGIE WATCHED MICHAEL’S retreat, wishing back her impulsive words.

He’d been genuinely surprised and not a little uncomfortable when she’d pointed out that the woman had been flirting with him. She should have bitten her tongue then, when it was clear that the subject of him being a hot commodity in the singles market wasn’t something he was ready to consider.

Her gaze fell on the milk, abandoned on the counter. Grabbing it, she slid off her stool and returned it to the fridge. Michael had looked so grim when she’d hinted that other women might be interested in him. So sad and serious.

He’d loved Billie so deeply, so devotedly. Angie was an idiot for even raising the subject of him moving on.

She turned to find Michael standing barely a foot behind her.

“Sorry,” he said simply and sincerely. “I overreacted.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She fought the urge to take a step away. She didn’t want Michael to think he made her uncomfortable—he didn’t—but she was very aware of how close they were standing.

He smiled faintly. “Good old Angie, always letting me off the hook. Have I told you lately that you’ve been fantastic?”

“Um…no?” This close, she could see tiny flecks of amber in the depths of his gray-green eyes. She stared, fascinated.

“Thank you, Angie.” He reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder. His thumb grazed the sensitive skin of her collarbone as he gave her a quick, light squeeze before moving away. “You want to watch a movie?”

She frowned, unsettled by the small contact and the fact that she could still feel the heat of his hand.

This was Michael, after all.

He glanced over his shoulder, waiting for her answer. The ring of a cell phone cut through the room.

“That’s mine,” Angie said, crossing to where she’d dumped her handbag at the far end of the dining table. She checked the caller ID but didn’t recognize the number. “Angela Bartlett speaking.”

“Angie, it’s Tess.”

“Oh. Hey.” Angie frowned. Tess was a fellow tenant in the Stradbroke building, and while they were friends, it was unusual for her to call like this. “How are things?”

“I’ve got some bad news. There’s been a break-in at the Stradbroke. A whole bunch of studios have been trashed.”

“What?” Cold shock washed through her. “How bad is it?”

“I have no idea how bad yours is, but mine’s a wreck. They stole my computer, my iPod, even my freakin’ kettle, can you believe that? And they trashed all of my latest canvases.”

Angie could hear the quiver in Tess’s voice. She was a tough nut. If she was teary, things must be pretty bad. Angie closed her eyes. If they had somehow managed to get into her safe, she was completely screwed. She had two sets of rings in there waiting for delivery, and she’d recently received a shipment of gold. Not to mention the thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth of gems.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said.

“I’ll be here. Surrounded by all this crap.”

Angie ended the call and scooped up her bag.

“What’s wrong?” Michael took a step toward her.

“There’s been a break-in at the studio. Mine and a bunch of others have been trashed.” She fumbled in her handbag for her keys. Her hands were shaking so much it took a couple of attempts to get a grip on them.

This could be the end of her business.

“Has someone called the police? How bad is it?”

“I don’t know. I need to go….” She started to leave, her thoughts racing ahead of her.

“Angie.”

Michael’s hand caught her arm as she was opening the front door. “Drive carefully, okay? Any damage has already been done, so you speeding there isn’t going to change anything.” His voice was calm and steady. Grounding.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right.”

“Keep us in the loop, okay?”

“I will.” She gave him a small, grateful smile before exiting the house.

The moment she was in the car all her worries rose to the surface again but she resisted the impulse to floor it, Michael’s words still echoing in her mind. There was no point adding a speeding fine—or worse—to tonight’s woes. Whatever they might be.

She found a parking spot around the corner from the building and ran the half block to the entrance. Her footsteps sounded loud in the stairwell as she climbed to the fifth floor. She could see evidence of the break-in as she climbed—graffiti and broken glass—and there was more when she arrived on her floor. Glass glinted on the tiles in the corridor, and every door along this side hung open drunkenly, regardless of the security measures the individual tenants had in place. A couple of police officers stood at the far end of the corridor, talking. One of them started walking toward her the moment they saw her.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, miss. This is a crime scene.”

“I’m a tenant—studio twenty-three. My neighbor told me my space has been broken into.”

The policeman consulted his notebook. “Number twenty-three. That makes you Angela Bartlett.”

“That’s right.”

“You can go in to assess the damage and tell us what’s missing, but I need you to not touch anything until our crime-scene people have finished collecting evidence.”

“Okay. Sure. Whatever you want, I just need to see my studio.”

She was aware of the anxious pounding of her heart as she followed him around the corner. She could see her door hanging open.

“They hit every studio?” she asked, her gaze darting left and right as she inspected the damage to her neighbors’ spaces as they passed. What she saw only increased the anxiety tightening her chest—smashed furniture, toppled bookcases.

“On this level, yeah. Downstairs they were a bit more discriminating.” The cop halted. “Okay, here we are. Remember, no touching anything until the team’s been through.”

She nodded, her gaze fixed on the doorway. She sent up a prayer to the universe.

Please let them have not broken into the safe.

She stepped over the threshold.

The first thing she registered was the black paint sprayed across the wall, a huge, furious four-letter word six feet high. Paint had dribbled down to the floor, which was covered with broken glass from the framed artwork they had torn off the walls. The mid-century sideboard that had housed her books and keepsakes had been tipped over, spilling its contents, and her table and chairs had been smashed.

Her gaze zeroed in on the safe. Relief pounded through her as she saw that while the dull gray metal was scarred and pitted around the locking mechanism and it had been dragged a few feet from its position in the corner, the door remained closed.

“Oh, thank God,” she said, closing her eyes for a brief second.

That was one disaster averted, at least. She turned to inspect the rest of her space and sucked in a dismayed breath when she saw her workbench. The intruders had sprayed black paint over all her tools—the leather hammer she’d used for more than ten years, her vernier caliper, her flexi-drive drill, all the drill bits and mops and burrs… Again, she reached out but caught herself in time.