Home for the Holidays

“I thought we could pick up some sandwiches from the coffee shop on the way to school,” Joe said.

He planned to get to the supermarket sometime this afternoon so he could make their lunches from here on in, but today he was winging it.

Ben frowned. “I don’t want to be dropped off.”

“Well, tough. It’s your first day. I want to make sure you know where you’re going.” Joe said it with a smile but Ben’s frown deepened.

“I already know where to go. I’m not stupid. I can work it out for myself.”

“I know you can, but it won’t be the end of the world to have a bit of help on your first day.”

Ben pushed away from the counter, hands fisted by his sides. “I don’t need help. I don’t want it.”

Joe stared at his son. Where had this sudden rush of anger come from? “Mate—”

“I’m walking to school,” Ben said defiantly.

He stalked from the room. Joe sighed. Ruby was watching him expectantly.

“You should go after him,” she advised.

“Thank you, Miss Bossy Boots, I was about to do that.”

She grinned as he moved past her and into the hallway. He pulled up short when he saw Ben wasn’t in his room. He checked out the window and, sure enough, Ben was on his way down the driveway.

Joe exited the house and took the porch steps two at a time.

“Ben!”

His son had reached the street and he paused, turning toward the house. He looked half afraid, half determined.

“What about a compromise? I’ll drop you off up the block and you can walk the rest of the way on your own. How does that sound?” Joe suggested.

Ben shrugged, his mouth a tight line. Joe studied him, trying to understand what was going on. Was this simple first-day nerves? A reaction to the move?

“Is there something wrong, matey? Something on your mind?” he asked.

Ben screwed up his face in utter rejection of the idea. “No! Why would there be?”

Joe ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just we’ve had a lot happening lately. Selling the house, saying goodbye to everyone, moving.”

Ben shrugged. “So?”

Joe watched him for a beat, but Ben simply stared back, his face blank.

“Okay. Come inside while I get your sister ready,” Joe said.

He managed to get them both to school on time without further incident but his gut was churning as he pulled away from Ruby’s school.

This is my fault. I shouldn’t have moved them. I should have taken Mom up on her offer to sell her place here and move to Sydney.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. It wasn’t as though he could undo the move. They were here now, they’d all have to make the best of it.

He checked his watch. If he hustled, there was just enough time for him to check out a few car dealerships before he was due at his lawyer’s office. He’d bought their current sedan to replace the car Beth had been killed in, but for some time now he’d been thinking about getting something bigger. An SUV, or a wagon, maybe. Something that could absorb all of the kids’ paraphernalia and still have room to spare.

He was taking a shortcut through the local Elsternwick shopping district on his way to the commercial strip along the Nepean Highway when he passed a shiny black SUV on the side of the road. He slowed when he saw the big For Sale sign in the back window. It was parked in front of an automotive garage and Joe hesitated a moment before pulling to the curb. Why the hell not, after all? Might as well see what the private market was offering before he hit the big car lots.

The SUV was a Mazda, only two years old with shiny alloy wheels. He did a lap of the car, peering in the window, checking out the panels. It was in good condition and a sign resting on the dashboard claimed that the car had been serviced since new at the garage and came with full records.

Joe turned toward the open bay of the workshop. A blue sedan was up on the hoist inside, a red coupe parked beside it. A middle-aged guy in grease-stained overalls was frowning at the underbelly of the sedan. Tinny radio music bled out into the street. The workshop floor was spotlessly clean, the walls freshly whitewashed. A promising start.

“Hey,” Joe said, walking forward. “Have you got five minutes to talk me through the Mazda out the front?”

The man shook his head. “No point talking to me, mate. You need Hannah. She’s the manager.” He jerked his head toward the other car and for the first time Joe noted a pair of legs sticking out from beneath the front of the coupe.

Right. A female mechanic. Apparently it was his week for finding women where he least expected them. In motorcycle leathers, beneath cars.

He moved closer to the coupe and squatted to make himself heard over the radio. “Excuse me. Any chance you could take me over the Mazda? I’m in the market for an SUV.”

“Sure. Give me a sec to tighten this sump plug … There we go.”

No sooner had she spoken than the mechanic slid out from beneath the car. He tensed. It was the woman from last night, the noisy biker with the attitude. She was smiling, but the smile froze on her face when she saw him. He wondered if his own surprise was as obvious.

There was a long moment of taut silence.

“Well, are you going to say it or am I?” she finally said.

She was still on her back on the mechanics’ trolley. He hadn’t noticed last night, but she had incredibly plump lips, the bottom lip rounded and full. Her sun-streaked brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, leaving her smooth cheekbones and small chin to speak for themselves. He’d noticed her curves last night, but it hit him suddenly that she was a very attractive woman.

“I guess it’s up to me, then,” she said. Her tone was heavy with irony when she next spoke. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”

Because she’d caught him off balance again, his first instinct was to retreat. He stood, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“I wanted to look at the car,” he said stiffly.

She wiped her hands down the legs of her coveralls and pushed herself to her feet. He’d forgotten how tall she was. It was one of the reasons he’d been so startled to realize she was a woman last night—she’d been looking him almost squarely in the eye when she’d straightened and her face had been inches from his until he’d taken a step backward.

Now, she held his eye as she offered her hand.

“Hannah Napier,” she said coolly.

Joe stared at her hand a second before taking it. “Joe Lawson.”

Her hand was warm, her fingers firm. Her mouth quirked up into a lopsided, wry smile.

“Look at that—almost civilized.”

She turned toward the parking lot and started walking. Of its own accord, his gaze dropped to check out her body. More specifically, her ass. It was pure instinct, imbedded in him since puberty, and as soon as he registered what he was doing he looked away—but not before he’d noticed she had a full, sweetly curved backside.

“It’s two years old, one owner since new. I don’t normally do this but he’s a good friend and I wanted to help him out,” Hannah said.

Joe lengthened his stride to come abreast of her as they neared the car. “Why’s he selling?”

“Scored an overseas job. It’s a good car. Bit greedy with gas, but safe, solid. You’ve got kids, right? There are built-in anchors for car seats.”

He didn’t bother telling her his kids were well out of car seats. No point extending this encounter any longer than it needed to be.

“What’s he asking?”

“Thirty. It’s forty-five new, so it’s a good deal. Full leather upholstery, six-stacker CD. Cruise control, tiptronic transmission …” She glanced at him to check he was paying attention and his gaze got caught on the line of her cheekbone.

“Is this the model with the turbocharger?” he asked.

“Yep. It’s got it all. Like I said, it’s a good deal.”

She lifted a hand to smooth it down the length of her pony tail and the neckline of her coverall gaped. He caught a glimpse of shadowy cleavage and white lace.

He took a step backward, frowning. He’d seen more than enough here.

“Right. Thanks for your time. I’ve really only started looking but I’ll keep this in mind,” he said politely.

She looked surprised. “You don’t want to take it for a test drive, see how it handles?”

He made a big deal out of checking his watch. “I’ve got an appointment I don’t want to be late for.”

“Well, we’re open till five if you want to come back later.”

He nodded, already drawing his car keys from his pocket. Her eyes narrowed and she propped a hand on her hip.

“Be honest. You’re not coming back, are you?” she asked.

He frowned.

“Right. Let me guess—you don’t trust me,” she said, contempt in every line of her body. “What could a woman possibly know about cars, right? What was it you said last night? Leave it to the experts? Was that it?”

She was bristling with aggression, her chin high. As he’d thought when he first set eyes on her, she was trouble with a capital T.

“Like I said, I’ve just started looking.”

A muscle flickered in her jaw, then she swung back toward the car. As though he hadn’t announced he needed to leave, she started talking.

“Tires have got another two years in them, depending on the kind of mileage you do. Suspension is independent, double-wishbone at the back. Brakes are discs all round, and it’s fitted with ABS. It’s a six cylinder, and with the turbocharger you’re looking at zero to one hundred in about 9.8 seconds.”

She moved to the front of the car. He remained where he was, arms crossed over his chest. She stopped and looked at him, defiance shining in her eyes.

Stubborn. And a pain in the ass to boot.

“Not real good at taking no for an answer, are you?” he said.

Something flickered in her eyes, then her face went utterly blank.

“You’d be surprised.” She shifted her attention to the car for a second, then back to him. “You won’t find a better car for the money.”

It was possible she was right, of course.

“I’ll think about it,” he said again. He dipped his head in acknowledgment and walked toward his car. He could feel her watching him all the way, the awareness like a prickle on the back of his neck. Yet when he got to his car and glanced over his shoulder she had already disappeared into the workshop.

Right.

He gave himself a mental shake. He needed to get going if he still wanted to check out the commercial car lots before meeting his lawyer. Then there was the grocery shopping to do, and the last of the unpacking—all before the kids were out of school at three.

He started the car and threw it into gear. As he had last night, he pushed his encounter with Hannah Napier out of his mind. She was nothing to him, the barest blip on his radar. Less.

Still, he glanced back one last time before he drove away, but Hannah was nowhere in sight.

HANNAH WAS SUPPOSED to catch up with her friend Mikey for dinner after work, but he canceled on her at the last minute, leaving her at loose ends. She figured she’d head home instead and put in some hours fixing the muffler on the bike—quietly, of course. No doubt Joe Lawson would come after her with an elephant gun or a lynch mob if she dared disturb his peace again.

The memory of his dismissive attitude over the car had risen up to bite her on the ass all day. How she hated narrow-minded men like him. She’d seen it over and over—the cautious look in their eyes, the doubt as they listened to her tell them what was wrong with their cars. As though having breasts made her less qualified to understand the workings of the internal combustion engine. Please.

She was hungry and more than ready for a shower when she rode into the street. She stopped short of pulling into her mother’s garage, however, her attention caught by the car sitting in Joe Lawson’s driveway—a Mazda SUV, same model as the one she’d shown him today, dark navy instead of black. She switched off her bike and kicked the stand out before dismounting. She tugged her helmet off as she walked the distance from her mother’s front yard to inspect the car. So much for I’ve just started looking. She’d been absolutely right—he hadn’t been able to bring himself to buy a car from her.

She narrowed her eyes as she surveyed the rear of the SUV, then dropped into a squat to peer under the wheel arch. She did a slow lap, squatting once again when she reached the left rear wheel arch, craning her neck to confirm her suspicion.

“I assume you won’t be billing me for the inspection?”

She started, then glanced over her shoulder. Joe Lawson stood there, one eyebrow raised. Her gaze dropped to his bare feet. No wonder she hadn’t heard him sneak up on her.

“Did you get a warranty on this thing?” she asked, standing and jerking a thumb toward the car.

He crossed his arms over his chest but didn’t say a word.

“I’m only asking because you’re going to need it. This car’s been in an accident,” she said.

He glanced toward the Mazda. “It’s been fully inspected by the automotive association.”

“Which just confirms my opinion of those idiots.” She gestured toward the wheel arch. “Take a look yourself. Something big ran into the back of this thing, ripped the chassis open. It’s been welded back together, but you can see the repair if you look closely. And the shock absorbers are all new. No one puts new shocks on a two-year-old car unless they have to.”

His hands dropped to his sides. He looked annoyed. Then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he knelt beside the car and craned his neck to see under the wheel well. She knelt beside him and leaned in to point out the line of the weld.

“They’ve driven around a bit to dirty it up some, but you can still see it there.”

“Shit,” he said, so low she almost didn’t hear him.

He was so close his shoulder brushed hers when he shifted his weight. She stilled, then stood, dusting her hands down her jeans.

“It’s not going to fall apart or anything, but you’ll probably have issues with panel fit and rattles. Once a car’s bent out of whack, it’s almost impossible for them to get it straight again even when they put it on the rack.”

He stood. “I suppose I should thank you for sharing your expertise,” he said grudgingly. She could tell it hurt.

“That’s very gracious of you,” she said dryly.

He crossed his arms over his chest again and widened his stance, as though he needed to brace himself for what came next.

“Thank you,” he said more sincerely. “I really do appreciate the heads-up.”

She smiled. She couldn’t help herself. He was so damned truculent, like a surly teenage boy being forced to apologize. “Don’t mention it. It was my pleasure.”

He raised an eyebrow and she shrugged a shoulder as if to say, “Hey, what did you expect?”

“You should take it back,” she said, turning to look at the car one last time. “Most of those big dealerships have cooling-off clauses in their contracts. Tell them you don’t appreciate being ripped off and make them give your money back.”

His chin lifted a little—not much, but enough to tell her that there was no way he was taking the car back. Not now that she’d told him to.

She could almost admire him for his dedication to his own point of view. Almost.

“Suit yourself,” she said.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will,” he said. He beeped the car open, then reached into the back and collected a grocery bag. For the first time she noticed the long, curling scar that ran from the base of his left thumb, around the back of his hand and up his strongly muscled forearm to disappear beneath the pushed-up sleeve of his sweater. Where on earth did a man get a scar like that?

It hadn’t occurred to her before to wonder what he did for a living, or why he’d moved into the neighborhood, but suddenly both questions were on the tip of her tongue. She bit down on them. As though he was going to answer anything she asked him when she’d made him look like a fool. She might not be an expert on men, but she knew that much.

He shut the back of the car with a firm click. The grocery bag rustled in his hand. She realized she was hovering for no good reason whatsoever.

“Anyway,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“See you around.”

He didn’t bother responding. She could imagine what he was thinking, though: not if I can help it.

He headed toward his house. She watched his shoulders rock from side to side with his long stride, then her gaze dropped to his butt. His jeans were faded and soft and they molded his ass faithfully. It was a good ass, too. Firm-looking, round. Quintessentially male.

Hannah registered what she was doing and swiveled on her heel. Who cared if he had a nice ass? It was attached to the rest of him, and that was arrogant and pigheaded and not-so-nice.

Still, she’d more than put him in his place tonight. He might have won this morning’s skirmish, but tonight’s battle was definitely hers.

Grinning, she headed into the house. Score: one all.

She was still smiling when she pushed open the connecting door from the garage and entered the kitchen. She could hear voices and guessed her mother was already in front of the TV, watching her soaps. Hannah rounded the corner, ready to regale her with the story of her two encounters with Joe Lawson.

“Hey, Mom, guess what just—” The rest of the words died in her throat when she saw who was with her mother. “What are you doing here?”

Her sister stood abruptly and smoothed a hand down her skirt.

“I was just going,” Kelly said. She was very pale and her hands were shaking.

Hannah felt sick. She hadn’t seen Kelly in months, not since the last confrontation when her sister had begged Hannah to forgive her, to understand, and Hannah had told her she couldn’t.

Kelly started gathering her bag and coat.

“Hold on a minute,” their mother said. She put a hand on Kelly’s arm. Hannah looked at it, then at her mother. “Kelly is visiting me, that’s what she’s doing here. She’s my daughter, too, Hannah, and I need to see her and know how she’s doing, just as I need to know how you’re doing.”

Bile burned at the back of Hannah’s throat. How long had this been going on? How long had her mother been comforting her sister behind her back? Didn’t Kelly have enough attention and love and adoration in her life?

Without a word, Hannah turned and started for her bedroom.

“Hannah.” It was Kelly, her voice high with tension.

Hannah kept walking. She had nothing to say to her sister. Nothing that hadn’t been said before, anyway.

“I came to talk about the apartment. We both feel really bad about you taking a loss on the sale. Please let us make it up to you,” her sister called after her.

Hannah shoved her door closed, the echo of the slam loud in the small room. Arms folded over her chest, hands gripping her elbows, she crossed to the window and glared out at the backyard.

She couldn’t believe her mother had been offering comfort to the enemy, and she couldn’t believe her sister was still trying to foot the bill for the sale of the apartment she’d once owned with Lucas. It had been Hannah’s place, hers and Lucas’s. Their home, not her sister’s. Kelly had had nothing to do with picking the decor, choosing the furniture, deciding which part of town they wanted to live in. Hannah was damned if she was going to let her sister reimburse her for her losses because she and Lucas had been forced to sell in a bad market. Kelly had stolen Lucas, stolen the dreams Hannah had had for her future with the man she loved. But Kelly couldn’t take this one small thing away from Hannah: if it killed her, Hannah would pay off her share of the remainder of the mortgage, no matter what. Just to prove to herself and the world that it had happened, that it had mattered. That for a whole year and a half, Lucas Hall had been hers and not her sister’s.

There was a tap on the door. Hannah tightened her grip on her elbows. If her sister dared to walk through the door …

“Hannah, it’s me,” her mother called.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Fine, but you can still listen.”

The door opened and her mother entered. Her expression was determined. “I think you should seriously think about your sister’s offer.”

Hannah made a disgusted noise. “Surprise, surprise.”

Her mother held up a hand. “Listen for a minute, will you? You’ve been planning this trip around Australia for months. Years, really, since you put it off when you first met Lucas. If you take up your sister’s offer, you can go now. I know that’s what you want, what will make you happy. Why not do it?”

“Because I won’t let her buy her way out of her guilt,” Hannah said. Her sister had always made more money than Hannah in her high-end IT job. Kelly’s yearly bonuses alone were sometimes triple Hannah’s salary as a mechanic. Even with the global financial downturn Kelly was still hauling it in hand over fist.

“I don’t think that’s why she wants to do it. She wants you to be happy,” her mother said.

“Then she shouldn’t have stolen my fiancé.”

“Would you really want to be married to a man who was in love with another woman? Do you think your sister should have stepped aside and let that happen, Hannah?”

“It should never have even been an issue. She’s my sister and he was my fiancé. The thought should never even have entered her head.”

“Or his head. But it did. Sometimes you can’t stop yourself from falling in love with someone, sweetheart.”

“Bullshit! I don’t want to hear this, Mom. And I’m not taking her money. It was my apartment. Mine and Lucas’s. I’ll pay for my fair share of what’s left of the mortgage. She can’t take that away from me.”

Her mother shook her head. “My God, you always were a stubborn one.”

“Yeah, that’s me—stupid, loyal, stubborn old Hannah.” Her voice broke on the last word and her mother stepped forward, hand extended. Hannah jerked away from her. She was angry with her mother, unfairly or not. Kelly had hurt her, betrayed her utterly. It felt like a further betrayal to learn that her mother had been seeing her sister all these months behind Hannah’s back.

“I need to work on my bike,” Hannah said.

CHAPTER THREE

HANNAH DIDN’T STOP WALKING until she was safely in the garage, breathing in the smell of damp concrete and engine grease. She sank onto her upright tool chest, pressing her hands to her face. For a moment she was so angry and sad she could barely breathe.

I’m so sick of this. I’m so sick of feeling this way.

The problem was, she didn’t know what to do with her anger. She’d thought that not seeing Kelly or Lucas for all these months would have made a difference, taken some of the heat out of her feelings. But she’d only had to look into her sister’s perfectly made-up face to feel it all surging back. That, and seeing the pity in her mother’s eyes …

Of course, her mother wasn’t the only one who felt sorry for poor, jilted Hannah. It had practically become a national pastime once the wedding had been canceled. Their family, all of her and Lucas’s friends, the neighbors, her customers—they’d all offered their condolences and shaken their heads. After all, it wasn’t every day that a tomboyish older sister was cast aside for her younger, more glamorous, more beautiful sister. It was a classic tale of woe and everyone could relate. And more than anything—perhaps even more than the pain of betrayal and loss—Hannah resented being cast as a victim. It wasn’t until her life had crashed around her ears that she’d understood how much pride she took in her independence and her unusual vocation and her own unique, take-no-prisoners view of the world. And now, thanks to Kelly and Lucas, she was simply poor Hannah, victim. Object of pity and sympathy.

And right now she was acting exactly like a victim, wallowing in her own messy emotional soup. No wonder her mother felt sorry for her.