Wife and Mother Wanted

Now, to complicate matters, that interfering woman next door had practically challenged him to turn up here today and he’d jumped at it. How stupid could he be?

Real stupid, if his gut reaction was any indication as he caught a glimpse of his neighbour through a rear window, smiling and chatting with a group of kids as they sat on giant toadstools.

Carissa Lewis had a smile that could light up a room and, combined with the soft blonde curls framing her heart-shaped face, the guileless blue eyes and a cheeky dimple that could tempt a saint, she had him focussing on a woman in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

He’d initially been annoyed that she’d befriended Molly. His daughter had suffered enough loss in her brief life without growing attached to a woman who obviously could only offer a day’s entertainment. However, when he’d confronted Carissa, he’d been totally unprepared for his own reaction to the woman.

Awareness had flooded his body for the first time in years, making him more terse than usual. But instead of being scared off, as his abrupt manner made most people, she’d stood up to him with something akin to challenge in her fathomless blue eyes, and he’d been prompted to do all sorts of uncharacteristic things—like take her up on it. And here he was.

And though that seemed stupid to him right now, it had nothing on the stupidest decision of them all—the one where he’d pulled over a speeding driver all those years ago and let the kid go with a warning, only to stare into that cocky face just months later, when the jerk had been charged with vehicular manslaughter for killing Jackie, his wife, in a head-on collision while speeding again.

Yeah, that topped the list of dumbest things he’d ever done—and he’d been paying for it every day since.

‘Come on, Dad. I wanna meet the Easter Bunny, and Carissa’s calling us.’ His head snapped up as a loud tapping on the rear window brought him back to the present, and he ruffled Molly’s hair.

‘Sure thing, munchkin. Let’s go meet this bunny.’

However, as he led Molly into the quaint cottage garden at the back of the shop, and saw Carissa’s expression as she took a call on her mobile, all his old cop instincts screamed that there was something wrong.

‘There’s Jessie,’ Molly squealed. ‘She’s in my class at school. Can I go play with her, Dad?’

‘Go ahead, munchkin,’ he said, his gaze riveted to the storm of emotions clouding Carissa’s expressive face.

He shouldn’t get involved.

He didn’t want to get involved.

But it looked as if the matter might be taken out of his hands as Carissa hung up and turned to him with a stricken look on her face.

‘You came,’ she said, not looking particularly thrilled.

‘Yeah, it sounded like something Molly would like. Everything okay?’

To his amazement, Carissa shook her head, collapsed into the nearest chair, and looked as if she’d burst into tears at any second.

Oh-oh. Tears to him were like Kryptonite to Superman. He just couldn’t go there.

‘My stand-in bunny just pulled out. Old Mr Hill has a twisted bowel, or some such thing and won’t be here. Can you believe it? Those poor kids.’ She gazed out through the back window, looking so forlorn he wanted to pat her on the back and tell her everything would be okay.

‘Yeah, I guess they’ll be pretty disappointed.’ He knew Molly would be, and he hated that. His daughter had been let down enough in her lifetime.

‘Disappointed? They’ll be distraught!’ She jumped out of her chair and stalked to the window, staring out at the kids. ‘If only there was something I could do…’

And in that instant, as she whirled to face him with a maniacal gleam in her wide blue eyes, he knew that she’d hatched some crazy scheme and that, somehow, it involved him.

‘You!’ She jumped up and down on the spot like Molly did when she was really excited about something. ‘You can do it! You’re big enough for the bunny suit, you’re here—it’s the perfect solution.’

‘No way.’ He held up his hands to ward her off and backed up a few steps, wondering briefly if it was too late to make a run for it.

‘Come on.’ She latched onto his arm and dragged him towards the back room, leaving him little option but to follow. ‘We don’t have much time. The natives are getting restless. And you wouldn’t want to be responsible for disappointing all those cute little children now, would you?’

Damn, she was good.

How could he say no when she put it like that?

He couldn’t disappoint Molly. He wouldn’t.

And, by the clever glint in Carissa’s eyes, she’d known just the right buttons to push. His gaze skimmed over her, the simple outfit of white flowing trousers and pink fitted top accentuating her piquant beauty in its simplicity. On any other woman the combination would have looked plain. On her it looked stunning.

‘Hey!’ Carissa snapped her fingers in front of his face. ‘You better pay closer attention when you’re with the kids, otherwise they’ll whip those choccie eggs out of your basket in no time at all.’

‘Look, about the kids—’

‘Come on. We haven’t got long to get you dressed and into the garden at the back of the shop for the egg hunt.’ She opened a door to a back room and all but shoved him aside.

He should have blurted out any old excuse.

He should have slammed the door shut, locked it and bolted through the sole window.

Instead, at the first touch of her hand on his arm, all thought of abandoning her fled and he found himself staring at the giant pink and white bunny costume hanging on the back of the door and wondering what it was about this woman that made him want to jump through hoops.

‘Thanks for doing this. I really appreciate it,’ she said, unzipping the plastic covering over the suit and handing him a cotton tail. ‘Here—I’m sure you can do the honours with this.’

‘Just leave it,’ he snapped, the thought of her placing that cute little tail anywhere in the vicinity of his tail sending his blood pressure soaring.

Shame on you, Brody Elliott. Mind your manners.

He blinked in surprise at the echo of his wife’s phrase. During their brief marriage he’d often felt like a gauche boy being chastised by the lady of the house, and any love he’d had for his society wife had soon waned while his love for Molly, the reason they’d married in the first place, had grown daily.

Everyone had been right. Jackie had made him pay for getting her pregnant—even though he’d used protection, and even though he’d done the right thing by her. Their marriage had been based on guilt right from the start. His guilt.

Guilt at ruining Jackie’s life, according to her snobby family.

Guilt at robbing her of a life on easy street if she’d married the right man from her socio-economic sphere.

Guilt at how much he’d blamed her for the loss of his freedom.

And, for the last four years, the gut-wrenching guilt that her death might have been prevented if he’d done things differently.

‘Hey, if you don’t want to do this I’ll understand,’ Carissa said, the concern in her eyes reaching out and enveloping him in a warm embrace, no matter how unwelcome.

Damn it! As a cop, he’d been a master of the poker face. In fact it had been one of the skills that had kept him at the top of his game. However, like everything else in his life, he’d let his job slide, and it looked as if his skills had followed suit.

Slipping his poor excuse for a poker face into place, he said, ‘I’m ready. Just leave me to it.’

Searching his face, she appeared satisfied and nodded. ‘I’ll wait for you outside. Just hop on out when you’re ready.’

And as he watched her walk out, struggling to keep his eyes averted from the way her butt moved beneath the soft white cotton of her pants and failing miserably, he wondered for the hundredth time in the last hour if he’d lost his mind.

Carissa was proud of her ability to read people. She’d mastered the skill from an early age, learning to blend into the background in the hope that she’d avoid drawing attention to herself and earning a harsh word or a cruel putdown from Ron in the process. Being able to blend in allowed her the freedom to observe people, to look, listen and pick up on non-verbal cues.

And now, as she watched Brody cavorting with the children as if he’d been born to the role of Easter Bunny, she had no idea what to make of her new neighbour.

‘Looks like your bunny is doing a good job with the kids,’ Tahnee, her younger sister, said, plopping into a garden chair next to her. ‘I didn’t know Pete had it in him.’

‘It’s not Peter.’ Carissa wrinkled her nose as if she’d just smelt something nasty. In this case, eau de dumped.

Tahnee’s astute gaze fixed on her in an instant. ‘Trouble in paradise?’

‘Being with Peter was never paradise,’ Carissa muttered, knowing she’d hung around their dead-end relationship for eight months for one reason and one reason only. Familiarity. And in her case it had definitely bred contempt.

‘Yay!’ Tahnee clapped her hands and bounced in her seat. ‘Sayonara to the loser. I knew he wasn’t worthy of you.’

‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’

Tahnee rolled her eyes, the exact shade of blue as her own, and once again Carissa was struck by the likeness between the three Lewis girls. She thanked God that they’d found each other after all these years. In fact she would never have set up shop here in Stockton if it hadn’t been for Tahnee. When they’d been reunited, she’d been so thrilled to finally have a loving family again that she’d moved to the small town two hours north of Sydney just to be closer to her sister, who had lived here for years.

‘Because I don’t interfere in my sister’s relationships, much as I’d like to.’

‘Speaking of which, have you heard from Kristen? Mick has spirited her away for a week in Perth before she heads back to Singapore and I haven’t heard from her.’

‘Another loser,’ Tahnee snorted. ‘Miserly Mick, that is. I bet Kristen’s the one springing for the holiday, not the other way around. That guy has long pockets and short arms when it comes to spending money.’

Carissa chuckled, but happened to agree with her sister. ‘As long as she’s happy.’

‘Mark my words—Kristen will be joining us in happy singledom in a few weeks if I’m not mistaken. Spending more than a few hours with that creep will open her eyes quick-smart.’

‘We’ll see,’ Carissa murmured, her attention suddenly diverted by the amazing sight of the Easter Bunny grappling with Timmy Fields, a gorgeous little blond boy who’d lost both parents recently and had had her silently crying for him in empathy.

‘Hey, Timmy. Take it easy on the Easter Bunny. You might pull his ears off.’

Though maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It might get Brooding Brody to listen to her for all of two seconds. He’d barely spoken more than a few words to her since they’d met, and she still hadn’t convinced him to let Molly spend some time with her.

That little girl needed some attention, and she was just the woman to give it to her. From her dishevelled appearance to her defiant attitude, Molly craved affection—and if her father spoke to her like he did to everyone else, Lord help her!

‘So who’s in the bunny costume?’ Tahnee unwrapped a chocolate Easter egg and popped it in her mouth. ‘Mmm…heaven. Actually, I should’ve known it wasn’t Pete. This bunny is way too tall and broad-shouldered to be Puny Pete.’

‘Meet Brody Elliott—my new neighbour.’

Tahnee sat up so quickly she almost tipped out of her chair. ‘The Brody Elliott?’

‘Uh-huh. Heard of him?’

‘Heard of him?’ Tahnee’s voice rose and Carissa shushed her. ‘Sis, where have you been hiding? Don’t you listen to the Stockton grapevine?’

‘I don’t usually have the time.’

‘Your loss.’

Okay. So maybe she could make an exception in this case. ‘So tell me about the Brody Elliott, anyway.’

Tahnee leaned closer and dropped her voice to an almost-whisper, no mean feat for her loud, brash sibling. ‘He’s an ex-cop, lived in Sydney his whole life. Has a real bad-boy reputation. Knocks up some society chick, marries her, has a child he adores. Then the wife dies, about four years ago, when the girl is a toddler, and he’s raised her on his own since. Carries a huge chip on his shoulder—like he blames the world for his problems.’

Carissa shook her head and stared wide-eyed at her sister, knowing that if the rumour mills were true what she’d just heard about Brody went a long way to explaining his grumpy manner. It sounded as if he’d had a rough time and then some. ‘Where did you hear all that?’

‘Daisy Smythe is the dead wife’s aunt. That’s one of the reasons he’s come to live here—so that his daughter can get some female influence in her life. Old Daisy told Pat at the pharmacy, and I overheard the whole thing.’

‘You mean you eavesdropped?’

Tahnee had the grace to blush. ‘Well, it wasn’t like the old duck was talking in whispers or anything.’

‘You’re unbelievable!’

‘So, how did you get big bad Brody to be your bunny? Tell all.’

Carissa remembered the look on Molly’s cute face when they’d first met, and Brody’s subsequent glower. She could hardly believe the taciturn man had found it in his heart to help her out at short notice—let alone throw himself wholeheartedly into the task, as indicated by his current wrestling match with half a dozen of the cherubs.

She shrugged, not wanting to add fuel to Tahnee’s thirst for news. ‘Looks like the guy has a soft spot for kids. He saw how much I needed help when old Dave Hill dropped out, and he put his hand up. With a little helpful twisting of it behind his back from yours truly, of course.’

Tahnee chuckled. ‘So the guy really has a soft spot?’

Carissa understood her sister’s scepticism if what Tahnee had learned from Daisy was true. And, from what she’d observed first-hand in his general demeanour, the guy didn’t exactly strike a welcoming chord with everyone he met. In fact, he looked about as friendly as Scrooge.

Not that she put much stock in anything old Daisy said. Daisy Smythe, a strait-laced spinster who’d lived in Stockton her entire life and shunned anyone she considered ‘foreign’—even those who came from Sydney, a scant two hours away—was notorious for her shallow views. And this was the woman Brody had chosen to be the female influence in his daughter’s life? Poor Molly.

‘He seems nice enough,’ Carissa said, trying to forget exactly how nice Brody was—particularly some of his impressive physical attributes.

‘Wish I could see him without that costume on.’ Tahnee popped another egg into her mouth and delicately licked chocolate from her fingertips like a kitten lapping up the last of its cream. ‘I like bad-boy types.’

‘He has a daughter to raise. I doubt Brody would be up for a fling—especially in a small town like this.’

‘Ooh.’ Tahnee’s eyes narrowed as she fixed her perceptive gaze on Carissa. ‘You sound mighty sure of what the man in question wants. Is there something you’re not telling me? Like you’ve got dibs on him? Little wonder Pete is out of the picture.’

‘For your information Peter dumped me, not the other way around. And I haven’t got dibs on anyone.’ Her interest in Brody Elliott stemmed from a desire to make his daughter’s life easier, not some ill-placed lust for him. ‘He’s my neighbour. I’m just helping him get acquainted with the town.’

Tahnee’s grin spoke volumes. ‘Riiight. Thousands wouldn’t believe you, Sis, but I will.’ She stood in one lithe movement and Carissa lamented that her two gorgeous sisters had got all the height genes in the Lewis family. She barely made it past five foot—and that was in heels!

‘Anyway, I better dash. I have a deadline to meet and my editor waits for no one. See you later.’ Tahnee kissed her cheek and strolled from the garden, a tall, slim blonde in hipster jeans and matching denim jacket.

Yeah, her sister was beautiful, all right, and if she ever set her sights on Brody he’d be toast.

Glancing at her watch, she realised the last hour had flown. Brody had done such a good job entertaining the children she’d hardly had to do anything—including calling on her back-up plan of distributing mass amounts of choccie eggs if the bunny had been too moody to play.

Thankfully the bunny had been one hop ahead of her all the time, and it had been a pleasure seeing him bring joy to so many little faces. She loved this motley bunch of kids, ranging in age from four to nine, all locals whose parents patronised her shop on a regular basis looking for gifts.

She’d been hired to organise fairy parties for all the little girls in town over the last few years, and knew almost every kid in Stockton personally—which was why she went the extra yard at Easter and Christmas, organising the pageant and Santa’s cave for the darlings.

Clapping her hands, she called the children to her. ‘Okay, it’s time for the Easter Bunny to go. What do we say to the bunny?’

‘Thank you, Easter Bunny. Come again next year,’ thirty voices rang out in unison, in the peculiar monotone they’d rehearsed a few hours ago.

Brody waved to the kids and hopped towards the back door of the shop. She smiled at him, wondering if he could see her through the peepholes in the rabbit’s mouth. In response, he turned, wiggled his cute little cotton tail butt at her and hopped into the shop, shutting the door behind him.

Well, well, well. Maybe there was more to Brooding Brody than he let on?

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU didn’t have to do this.’

Brody took one look at the table Carissa had set for dinner and wanted to bolt home. It looked too cosy, too inviting, and far too scary for his peace of mind.

He didn’t do dinners. He didn’t do dates.

And this meal she’d cooked as thanks for him helping her out with the bunny thing looked like a frightening combination of both.

She turned from the stove, brandishing a wooden spoon filled with rich bolognaise sauce in one hand and a fairy-covered pot holder in the other. ‘I know, but I wanted to. It’s the least I can do after the show you put on for the kids yesterday.’

He managed to look affronted for all of two seconds. ‘That wasn’t a show.’

Far from it. He’d enjoyed himself more than he had in ages—acting like a goofball with the kids, enjoying their rough-house tactics. He never played like that with Molly, was too scared he’d hurt her. She was all he had left in this world and he’d do his best to protect her—after doing such a lousy job with her mum.

‘No?’ She tasted the sauce and smiled the self-satisfied smirk of a cook who knew she was good and is proud of it.

And, despite his wariness of this whole situation, his mouth watered at the spicy aromas wafting through the small kitchen: a rich combination of garlic, tomatoes, oregano and basil infused the air, and he wondered if he’d ever smelt anything so tempting.

Or seen anything so tempting, as he watched Carissa turn back to the stove, the simple movement causing the short black skirt she wore to flip around her knees in a provocative swish. She was barefoot, her shapely calves beckoning him to feel their contours and keep heading north to the hidden delights underneath that flirty skirt.

He swore silently and thrust his hands in his pockets, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.

What the hell was he doing here?

He needed to escape. Fast.

‘The bunny act was nothing and this really isn’t necessary. So, thanks anyway, but I need to check on Molly.’ He sidled towards the door, unprepared for the flash of anger in her eyes as she swung around to face him.

‘I thought you said Molly is with Daisy?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And didn’t you also say she adores her great-aunt?’

He nodded, feeling like a fool. What harm could a simple meal do? He could eat and run. Besides, Molly had raved about the great time she’d had at Daisy’s yesterday afternoon, and had been more than eager to spend a few hours with her this evening. Thankfully, old Daisy had become an ally of his since he’d moved to town, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out the old lady’s softened stance had a lot to do with Molly.

The way he looked at it, the severe spinster would be a good influence on Molly, giving her some female stability in her topsy-turvy little world.

The world he’d turned topsy-turvy through his own stupidity at letting that brash young driver off the hook. He’d seen something of himself in that guy—confident, cocky, with the gift of the gab—and he’d taken the soft option.

Pity the soft option had turned out to be the hardest one for his motherless daughter.

As for dinner—he could do this. As long as his long-dormant libido didn’t get any crazy ideas. In four years he hadn’t looked sideways at a woman, and now that he finally felt settled for the first time in ages maybe his imagination had just been hot-wired into action? Though it probably had more to do with the surprising woman wearing a fitted ‘I Luv Chocolate’ T-shirt, a short skirt and no shoes than anything else.

‘It’s settled, then. You uncork the wine; I’ll serve up.’ She thrust a corkscrew into his hands before he could change his mind and all but pushed him into a seat at the table. ‘Hope you like Shiraz. I’ve been saving this.’

‘Don’t open it on my account.’

‘I love a good red, so go ahead.’

Carissa almost bit her tongue in frustration. She was trying to be nice here, to repay Brody for helping her out yesterday, but it wasn’t working. Dinner with her moody neighbour had been a bad idea. He obviously didn’t want to be here, and she hated having to watch her ‘p’s and ‘q’s, being careful not to stir up her neighbour’s latent temper.

Racking her brain for some small, innocuous comment to break the awkward silence that enveloped them, she said, ‘Tell me about your job.’

‘I’m not working at the moment.’ He poured the wine into glasses and handed one to her, his frown a clear indication that he didn’t want to discuss his employment status further.

Undeterred, she ploughed on, determined to get him to lighten up, to give her some glimpse of the man behind the terse façade. She knew he’d had a hard time, and there was something about Brody Elliott that had her wanting to hug him, pat his back and make it all better. ‘I heard you were a cop before you came to Stockton?’

‘Who told you that?’

‘You know what small towns are like. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.’

Laying his wine down on the table after taking a healthy swig, he folded his arms and leaned forward. ‘Yeah, well, I just wish they’d butt out of mine. Being a cop is in the past, and I’d like to keep it that way. What else are they saying about me?’

Bringing over the pasta and sauce, she suddenly wished she hadn’t gone down this track. Perhaps she was rushing things? Pushing him for private information too soon? He’d probably clam up for good, and then she’d never get anything out of him.

‘That you’re a widower.’

‘Well, that’s certainly true. Jackie died four years ago.’

Not surprised that he didn’t volunteer more information, she bustled about the kitchen before she pried any further—like asking how it had happened—laying the meal on the table and ushering him to sit before she joined him.

‘It must’ve been awfully hard for you and Molly.’

He nodded and offered her the salad while he broke off a chunk of garlic bread. ‘Molly wasn’t quite two. One of her favourite words at that time was “Mum” and she walked around for months afterwards saying “Mum gone”. It was heartbreaking.’ He stuffed the bread in his mouth and she wasn’t sure if she’d heard correctly when he muttered, ‘Still is.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said—for the loss he’d suffered and for the pain that obviously still hung over him like a dark shroud.

He must have loved his wife very much, and if anyone could understand the long-term effects of grief she could. There wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t think about her parents and what her life would have been like if they’d lived. ‘I know how Molly feels. I lost both my parents when I was three. I was devastated.’