Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep

Not on any day.

She closed her eyes, dragged in a deep breath and tried to slow her pulse, quieten the blood pounding in her ears. She could do this. She could do this. She’d known her first meeting with Connor would be hard. She hadn’t expected to deal with him on her first day though.

Hard? Ha! Try gruelling. Exhausting. Fraught.

She hadn’t known she would still feel his pain as if it were her own. She hadn’t known her body would remember…everything. Or that it would sing and thrum just because he was near.

She hadn’t known she’d yearn for it all again— their love, the rightness of being with him.

Connor had shown her the magic of love, but he’d shown her the other side of love too—the blackness, the ugliness…the despair. It had turned her into another kind of person—an angry, destructive person. It had taken her a long time to conquer that darkness. She would never allow herself to become that person again. Never. And the only way she could guarantee that was by keeping Connor at arm’s length. Further, if possible.

But it didn’t stop her watching him through the shop window as he worked on her sign.

She opened the shop, she served customers, but that didn’t stop her noticing how efficiently he worked either, the complete lack of fuss that accompanied his every movement. It reminded her of how he used to draw, of the times they’d take their charcoals and sketch pads to one of the lookouts.

She’d sit on a rock hunched over her pad, intent on capturing every single detail of the view spread out before her, concentrating fiercely on all she saw. Connor would lean back against a tree, his sketch pad propped against one knee, charcoal lightly clasped, eyes half-closed, and his fingers would play across the page with seemingly no effort at all.

Their high school art teacher had given them identical marks, but Jaz had known from the very first that Connor had more talent in his little finger than she possessed in her whole body. She merely drew what was there, copied what was in front of her eyes. Connor’s drawings had captured something deeper, something truer. They’d captured an essence, the hidden potential of the thing. Connor had drawn the optimistic future.

His hair glittered gold in the sun as he stepped down the ladder to retrieve something from his van.

And what was he doing now? Painting shop signs? His work should hang in galleries!

He turned and his gaze met hers. Just like that. With no fuss. No hesitation. She didn’t step back into the shadows of the shop or drop her gaze and pretend she hadn’t been watching. He would know. He pointed to the sign, then sent her a thumbs up.

All that potential wasted.

Jaz couldn’t lift her arm in an answering wave. She couldn’t even twitch the corners of her mouth upwards in acknowledgement of his silent communication. She had to turn away.

When she’d challenged him—thrown out there in the silences that throbbed between them that she must be the last person he’d ever want to see, he hadn’t denied it.

Her stomach burned acid. Coming back to Clara Falls, she’d expected to experience loss and grief. But for her mother. Not Connor. She’d spent the last eight years doing all she could to get over him. These feelings should not be resurfacing now.

If you’d got over him you’d have come home like your mother begged you to.

The accusation rang through her mind. Her hands shook. She hugged herself tightly. She’d refused to come home, still too full of pride and anger and bitterness. It had distorted everything. It had closed her mind to her mother’s despair.

If she’d come home…but she hadn’t.

For the second time that day, she ground back the tears. She didn’t deserve the relief they would bring. She would make a success of the bookshop. She would make this final dream of her mother’s a reality. She would leave a lasting memorial of Frieda Harper in Clara Falls. Once she’d done that, perhaps she might find a little peace… Perhaps she’d have earned it.

She glanced back out of the window. Connor hadn’t left yet. He stood in a shaft of sunlight, haloed in gold, leaning against his van, talking to Richard. For one glorious moment the years fell away. How many times had she seen Connor and Richard talking like that—at school, on the cricket field, while they’d waited for her outside this very bookshop? Things should’ve been different. Things should’ve been very different.

He’d given up his art. It was too high a price to pay. Grief for the boy he’d once been welled up inside her.

It would take her a long, long time to find peace.

She hadn’t cheated on him with Sam Hancock. She hadn’t cheated on him with anyone, but Connor no longer deserved her bitterness. He had a little daughter now, responsibilities. He’d paid for his mistakes, just like she’d paid for hers. If what her mother had told her was true, Faye had left Connor literally holding the baby six years ago. Jaz would not make his life more difficult.

Something inside her lifted. It eased the tightness in her chest and allowed her to breathe more freely for a moment.

Connor turned and his eyes met hers through the plate glass of the shop window. The weight crashed back down on her with renewed force. She gripped the edges of the stool to keep herself upright. Connor might not deserve her bitterness, but she still had to find a way of making him keep his distance, because something in him still sang to something in her—a siren song that had the power to destroy her all over again if she let it.

Richard turned then too, saw her and waved. She lifted a numb arm in response. He said something to Connor and both men frowned. As one, they pushed away from Connor’s van and headed for the bookshop door.

A shiver rippled through her. She shot to her feet. She had to deal with more Connor on her first day? Heaven, give her strength.

The moment he walked through the door all strength seeped from her limbs, leaving them boneless, useless, and plonking her back down on the stool.

‘Hello, again,’ Richard said.

‘Hi.’ From somewhere she found a smile.

She glanced sideways at Connor. He pursed his lips and frowned at the ornate pressed-tin work on the ceiling. She found her gaze drawn upwards, searching for signs of damp and peeling paint, searching for what made him frown. She didn’t find anything. It all looked fine to her.

Richard cleared his throat and she turned her attention back to him with an apologetic shrug.

‘These are the keys for the shop.’ He placed a set of keys onto the counter in front of her. ‘And this is the key to the flat upstairs.’ He held it up for her to see, but he didn’t place it on the counter with the other keys.

Connor reached over and plucked the key from Richard’s fingers. ‘What did my receptionist tell you about the upstairs flat?’

Her stomach started to churn. ‘That you’d given it a final coat of paint last week and that it was ready to move into.’

Connor and Richard exchanged glances.

‘Um…but then you’re a builder, not a painter, right?’

He’d painted the sign for the shop, so maybe…

She shook her head. ‘Painting the flat isn’t your department, is it?’

‘No, but I can organise that for you, if you want.’

‘You didn’t think to check with me?’ Richard asked.

The thought hadn’t occurred to her. Though, in hindsight… ‘She said she was contacting me on your behalf. I didn’t think to question that. When she asked me if there was anything else I needed done, I mentioned the sign.’ She’d wanted it bright and sparkling. She wanted her mother’s name loud and proud above the shop.

‘I’m sorry, Jaz,’ Connor started heavily, ‘but—’

‘But I’ve been given the wrong information,’ she finished for him. Again. From the expression on his face, though, she wouldn’t want to be his receptionist when he finally made it back to the office. Shame pierced her. She should’ve known better than to lump Connor with the meaner elements in the town.

She swallowed. ‘That’s okay, I can take care of the painting myself.’ She wanted to drop her head onto her folded arms and rest for a moment. ‘What kind of state is the flat in?’

‘We only started tearing out the kitchen cupboards and the rotting floorboards yesterday. It’s a mess.’

Once upon a time he’d have couched that more tactfully, but she appreciated his candour now. ‘Habitable?’

He grimaced.

‘Okay then…’ She thought hard for a moment. ‘All my stuff is arriving tomorrow.’

‘What stuff?’ Connor asked.

‘Everything. Necessary white goods, for a start— refrigerator, washing machine, microwave. Then there’s the furniture—dining table, bed, bookcase. Not to mention the—’

‘You brought a bookcase?’ Connor glanced around the shop. ‘When you have all these?’

For a brief moment his eyes sparkled. Her breathing went all silly. ‘I’ll need a bookcase in the flat too.’

‘Why?’

The teasing glint in his eyes chased her weariness away. ‘For the books that happen to be arriving tomorrow too.’

Connor and Richard groaned in unison. ‘Has your book addiction lessened as the years have gone by?’ Richard demanded.

They used to tease her about this eight years ago. It made her feel younger for a moment, freer. ‘Oh, no.’ She rubbed her hands together with relish. ‘If anything, it’s grown.’

The two men groaned again and she laughed. She’d actually laughed on her first day back in Clara Falls? Perhaps miracles could happen.

She glanced at Connor and pulled herself up. Not those kinds of miracles.

‘Relax, guys. I’ve rented out my apartment in Sydney. Some of my stuff is to come here, but a lot has gone into storage, including most of my books. Is there room up there to store my things?’ She pointed at the ceiling. ‘Could you and your men work around it?’

‘We’ll work quicker if it’s stored elsewhere.’

It took her all of two seconds to make the decision. ‘Where’s the nearest storage facility around here? Katoomba?’ She’d organise for her things to go there until the flat was ready.

Connor planted his feet. ‘We’ll store it at my place.’

She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He stuck his jaw out and folded his arms. ‘It’s my fault you thought the flat was ready. So it’s my responsibility to take care of storing your things.’

‘Garbage!’ She folded her arms too. ‘You had no idea what I was told.’ He was as much a victim in this as her. ‘I should’ve had the smarts to double-check it all with Richard anyway.’

‘You shouldn’t have had to double-check anything and—’

‘Guys, guys.’ Richard made a time out sign.

Jaz and Connor broke off to glare at each other.

‘He does have the room, Jaz. He has a huge workshop with a four car garage for a start.’

She transferred her glare to Richard.

Connor shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. ‘This is the last thing you should’ve had to come back to. You shouldn’t be out of pocket because of someone’s idea of a…prank.’

It was more than that. They all knew it.

‘I’d like to make amends,’ he said softly.

She found it hard to hold his gaze and she didn’t know why. ‘Okay.’ She said the word slowly. ‘I’ll accept your very kind offer—’ and it was a kind offer ‘—on one condition.’

Wariness crept into his eyes. Tiredness invaded every atom of her being. Once upon a time he’d looked at her with absolute trust.

And then he hadn’t.

‘What’s the condition?’

‘That you go easy on your receptionist.’

‘What?’ He leant across the counter as if he hadn’t heard her right.

She held his gaze then and she didn’t find it hard—not in the slightest. ‘She sounded young.’

‘She’s nineteen. Old enough to know better.’

‘Give her a chance to explain.’

He reared back from her then and the tan leached from his face, leaving him pale. Her words had shaken him, she could see that, but she hadn’t meant for them to hurt him. From somewhere she dredged up a smile. ‘We all make mistakes when we’re young. I did. You did.’

‘I did,’ Richard piped in too.

‘Find out why she did it before you storm in and fire her. That’s all I’m asking. My arrival has already generated enough hostility as it is.’

Inch by inch, the colour returned to Connor’s face. ‘If I don’t like her explanation, she’s still history.’

‘But you’ll give her an opportunity to explain herself first?’

He glared at her. ‘Yes.’

‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t ask for any fairer than that.

They continued to stare at each other. Connor opened his mouth, a strange light in his eyes that she couldn’t decipher, and every molecule of her being strained towards him. No words emerged from the firm, lean lips, but for a fraction of a second time stood still.

Richard broke the spell. ‘Where were you planning on staying till your stuff arrives, Jaz?’

She dragged her gaze from Connor, tried to still the sudden pounding of her heart. ‘I’ve booked a couple of nights at the Cascade’s Rest.’

Richard let the air whistle out between his teeth. ‘Nice! Treating yourself?’

‘I have a thing for deep spa-baths.’ She had a bigger thing for the anonymity that five-star luxury could bring. She couldn’t justify staying there for more than a couple of nights, though. ‘How long before the flat will be ready?’

‘A week to ten days,’ Connor said flatly.

She turned back to Richard. ‘Is there a bed and breakfast you’d recommend?’

‘Gwen Harwood’s on Candlebark Street,’ he said without hesitation.

Unbidden, a smile broke out from her. ‘Gwen?’ They’d been friends at school. The five of them— Connor, Richard, Gwen, Faye and herself. They’d all hung out together.

‘Look, Jaz.’ Connor raked a hand back through the sandy thickness of his hair. ‘I can’t help feeling responsible for this, and…’

And what? Did he mean to offer her a room too?

Not in this lifetime!

She strove for casual. ‘And you have plenty of room, right?’ Given all that had passed between them, given all that he thought of her, would he really offer her a room, a bed, a place to stay? The idea disturbed her and anger started to burn low down in the pit of her stomach. If only he hadn’t jumped to conclusions eight years ago. If only he’d given her a chance to explain. If only he’d been this nice then!

It’s eight years. Let it go.

She wanted to let it go. With all her heart she wished she could stop feeling like this, but the anger, the pain, had curved their claws into her so fiercely she didn’t know how to tear them free without doing more damage.

She needed him to stay away. ‘I don’t think so!’

The pulse at the base of Connor’s jaw worked. ‘I wasn’t going to offer you a room,’ he ground out. ‘You’ll be happier at Gwen’s, believe me. But I will deduct the cost of your accommodation from my final bill.’

Heat invaded her face, her cheeks. She wished she could climb under the counter and stay there. Of course he hadn’t meant to offer her a place to stay. Why would he offer her of all people—her—a place to stay? Idiot!

‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Pride made her voice tart. ‘I had every intention of arriving in Clara Falls today and staying, whether the flat was ready or not.’ She’d just have given different instructions to the removal company and found a different place to stay.

No staff. Now no flat. Plummeting profits. What a mess! Where on earth was she supposed to start?

‘Jaz?’

She suddenly realised the two men were staring at her in concern. She planted her mask of indifference, of detachment, back to her face in double-quick time. Before either one of them could say anything, she rounded on Connor. ‘I want your word of honour that you will bill me as usual, without a discount for my accommodation. Without a discount for anything.’

‘But—’

‘If you don’t I will hire someone else to do the work. Which, obviously, with the delays that would involve, will cost me even more.’

He glared at her. ‘Were you this stubborn eight years ago?’

No, she’d been as malleable as a marshmallow.

‘Do we have an understanding?’

‘Yes,’ he ground out, his glare not abating in the slightest.

‘Excellent.’ She pasted on a smile and made a show of studying her watch. ‘Goodness, is that the time? If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, it’s time to close the shop. There’s a spa-bath with my name on it waiting for me at the Cascade’s Rest.’

As she led them to the door, she refused to glance into Connor’s autumn-tinted eyes for even a microsecond.

When Jaz finally made it to the shelter of her room at the Cascade’s Rest, she didn’t head for the bathroom with its Italian marble, fragrant bath oils and jet-powered spa-bath. She didn’t turn on a single light. She shed her clothes, leaving them where they fell, to slide between the cold cotton sheets of the queen-sized bed. She started to shake. ‘Mum,’ she whispered, ‘I miss you.’ She rolled to her side, pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. ‘Mum, I need you.’

She prayed for the relief of tears, but she’d forced them back too well earlier in the day and they refused to come now. All she could do was press her face to the pillow and count the minutes as the clock ticked the night away.

CHAPTER THREE

JAZ let herself into the bookshop at eight-thirty sharp on Monday morning. She could hear Connor… She cocked her head to one side. She could hear Connor and his men hammering away upstairs already.

She locked the front door and headed out the back to the kitchenette. After a moment’s hesitation, she cranked open the back door to peer outside. Connor’s van—in fact, two vans—had reversed into the residential parking spaces behind the shop, their rear doors propped wide open. Someone clattered down the wooden stairs above and Jaz ducked back inside.

Through the window above the sink, she stared at the sign-writing on the side of the nearest van as she filled the jug— ‘Clara Falls Carpentry’. A cheery cartoon character wearing a tool belt grinned and waved.

A carpenter. Connor?

Had he painted those signs on the vans?

He was obviously very successful, but did it make up for turning his back on his art, his talent for drawing and painting?

There’s nothing wrong with being a carpenter.

Of course not.

And Connor had always been good with his hands. A blush stole through her when she remembered exactly how good.

She jumped when she realised that water overflowed from the now full jug. She turned off the tap and set about making coffee.

Upstairs the banging continued.

Ignore it. Get on with your work.

She had to familiarise herself with the day-today running of the bookshop. Managing a small business wasn’t new to her—she and her good friend Mac ran their own very exclusive tattoo parlour in Sydney. But she’d been relying on the fact that she’d have staff who could run her through the bookshop’s suppliers, explain the accounting and banking procedures… who knew the day-today routine of the bookshop.

A mini-office—computer, printer and filing cabinet—had been set up in one corner of the stockroom. The computer looked positively ancient. Biting back a sigh, she switched it on and held her breath. She let it out in a whoosh when the computer booted up. So far, so good.

A glance at her watch told her she had fifteen minutes until she had to open the shop. She slid into the chair, clicked through the files listed on the computer’s hard drive and discovered…

Nothing.

Nothing on this old computer seemed to make any sense whatsoever.

She dragged her hands back through her hair and stared at the screen. Maybe all that insomnia was catching up with her. Maybe something here made sense and she just couldn’t see it.

Maybe returning to Clara Falls was a seriously bad idea.

‘No!’ She leapt out of her chair, smoothed down her hair and gulped down her coffee. She’d open the shop, she’d ring the local employment agency…and she’d sort the computer out later.

Without giving herself time for any further negative thoughts, she charged through the shop, unlocked the front door and turned the sign to ‘Open’. She flicked through the Yellow Pages, found the page she needed, dialled the number and explained to the very efficient-sounding woman at the other end of the line what she needed.

‘I’m afraid we don’t have too many people on our books at the moment,’ the woman explained.

Jaz stared at the receiver in disbelief. ‘You have to have more than me,’ she said with blunt honesty.

‘Yes, well, I’ll see what I can do.’ The woman took Jaz’s details. ‘Hopefully we’ll have found you something by the end of the week.’

End of the week!

‘Uh…thank you,’ Jaz managed.

The woman hung up. Jaz kept staring at the receiver. She needed staff now. Today. Not perhaps maybe in a week.

‘What’s up?’

The words, barked into the silence, made her start. Connor!

She slammed the phone back to its cradle, smoothed down her hair. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear the bell above the door.’

The lines of his face were grim, his mouth hard and unsmiling. She fancied she could see him wishing himself away from here. Away from her.

Which was fine. Excellent, actually.

‘I asked, what’s up?’

No way. She wasn’t confiding in him. Not in this lifetime. He wasn’t her knight. He wasn’t even her friend. He was her builder. End of story.

Derisive laughter sounded through her head. She ignored it.

He was hot.

She tried to can that thought as soon as she could.

‘Nothing’s up.’

He wouldn’t challenge her. She could tell he wanted out of here asap. Only a friend would challenge her—someone who cared.

‘Liar.’ He said the word softly. The specks of gold in his eyes sparkled.

She blinked. She swallowed. ‘Is this a social call or is there something I can help you with?’ The words shot out of her, sounding harder than she’d meant them to.

The golden highlights were abruptly cut off. ‘I just wanted to let you know that your things arrived safely yesterday.’

‘I…um… Thank you.’ She moistened her lips, something she found herself doing a lot whenever Connor was around. She couldn’t help it. She only had to look at him for her mouth to go dry. He started to turn away.

‘Connor?’

He turned back, reluctance etched in the line of his shoulders, his neck, his back. Her heart slipped below the level of her belly button. Did he loathe her so much?

She moistened her lips again. His gaze narrowed in on the action and she kicked herself. If he thought she was being deliberately provocative he’d loathe her all the more.

She told herself she didn’t care what he thought.

‘I’m going to need some of my things. I only brought enough to tide me over for the weekend.’ She shrugged, apologetic.

Why on earth should she feel apologetic?

His gaze travelled over her. She wore yesterday’s trousers and Saturday’s blouse. She’d shaken them out and smoothed them the best she could, but it really hadn’t helped freshen them up any.

Pride forced her chin up. ‘There’s just one suitcase I need.’ It contained enough of the essentials to get her through. ‘I’d be grateful if I could come around this evening and collect it.’

‘What’s it look like?’

‘It’s a sturdy red leather number. Big.’

‘The one with stickers from all around the world plastered over it?’

‘That’s the one.’ She had no idea how she managed to keep her voice so determinedly cheerful. She waited for him to ask about her travels. They’d meant to travel together after art school—to marry and to travel. They’d planned to paint the world.

He didn’t ask. She reminded herself that he’d given all that up. Just like he’d given up on her.