Harlequin Romance February 2016 Box Set

by Barbara Wallace

  ‘You know,’ she started, with a sidelong glance in his direction, ‘I always envied your confidence that you could make a family work.’

  His gaze grew keener. ‘What do you mean?’

  She munched a chip, desperately searching for a carbohydrate high. ‘My own experience of family wasn’t exactly positive. It didn’t provide me with role models of any note.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Let’s be frank, it was totally dysfunctional. You met my father. For as long as I can remember he was remote and controlling. Paul tells me he was different when my mother was alive, but...’

  ‘You don’t believe that?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t have any strong memories of my mother before she died.’

  ‘You were only five.’

  ‘In the same vein, I don’t have any memories of my father being different before she died.’ She couldn’t recall ever connecting emotionally with him. ‘Although I don’t doubt her death affected him.’

  Her mother had died of breast cancer, and she knew, because Paul had told her, that her mother had been seriously ill for the eight months prior to her death. It must have been hell to witness.

  She shook herself and glanced at Jack. The look in his eyes made her mouth suddenly dry and she didn’t know why.

  ‘You think he loved her?’ he asked.

  She tried to get her pulse back under control. ‘I guess the fact it took him fourteen years to remarry is probably testament to that.’

  He frowned. ‘You’re saying you think you’d take some of that dysfunction into your relationship with any children you might have?’

  ‘Well...yes. It seems plausible doesn’t it? I mean, in my kinder moments I tell myself my father was simply a product of his own upbringing...’

  ‘But doesn’t the fact that you’re aware of that mean you’ll take extra steps to make sure you’re not like him?’

  She shoved a chip into her mouth and chewed doggedly. ‘I don’t know. It all seems such a...gamble.’

  What if she couldn’t help it? What if she made those hypothetical children’s lives a misery? The thought made her sick to the stomach.

  She turned to face him more fully. ‘Jack, your childhood was far worse than mine.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

  ‘I grew up with wealth. Money makes a big difference. It couldn’t buy me a family, granted,’ she added, when he went to break in. ‘But it was a hundred times better than being in the same situation and struggling financially. A thousand times better. I’ve been lucky in a lot of ways.’

  Lucky in ways Jack had never been. She’d done nothing to earn those advantages. He’d deserved so much better from life.

  He’d deserved so much better from her.

  ‘You think my confidence is misplaced?’

  ‘No!’ She reached out to grip his arm, horrified that he’d interpreted her words in such a way. ‘I always believed you’d be a wonderful father. I just wished I could believe in my own abilities so wholeheartedly. That’s what I meant when I said I envied you. I...I didn’t understand where that confidence came from. I still don’t.’

  He glanced down at her hand. She reefed it back into her lap, heat flushing through her. ‘I...uh...sorry.’

  ‘You don’t need to apologise for touching me, Caro. I like you touching me.’

  His words slid over her like warm silk, and for a moment all she could do was stare at him. Her breathing became shallow and laboured. Had he gone mad? She eyed him uncertainly before shuffling away a few centimetres. He couldn’t be suggesting that they...?

  Don’t be daft. He’d promised to not kiss her again. You didn’t promise not to kiss him, though.

  She waved a hand in front of her face.

  Jack scrunched up what was left of his dinner and tossed it into a nearby bin. His every movement reminded her of his latent athleticism. He’d always been fit and physical, and he’d been very athletic in bed.

  Don’t think about that now.

  He settled back, stretching his legs out in front of him and his arms along the back of the bench. His fingers toyed with her hair. He tugged on it gently and she tried not to jump.

  ‘There was one particular foster family that I stayed with when I was twelve...’

  She stilled. Jack had rarely spoken about his childhood, or about growing up in foster homes. All that she knew was that his mother had been a drug addict who’d died from an overdose when Jack was four. But whenever she’d asked him questions or pressed him for more information, he’d become testy. The most she’d ever extracted from him was that he hadn’t suffered any particular cruelties, but he hadn’t been able to wait until he was an adult, when he could take charge of his own life.

  As for the rest of it... She’d automatically understood his loneliness in the same way he’d understood hers.

  ‘What was this family like?’ She held her breath and waited to see if he would answer.

  ‘They were everything I ever dreamed a family could be.’ He smiled, his gaze warm, and it made something inside her stir to life. ‘Through them I glimpsed what family could be. Living with them gave me hope.’

  Hope?

  He told her how Darrel and Christine Jameson hadn’t been able to have children of their own, so they’d fostered children in need instead. He described picnics and outings and dinner times around the kitchen table when the television would be turned off and they’d talk—telling each other about their day. He laughed as he told her about being grounded when he’d played hooky from school once, and being nagged to clean his room. He sketched portraits of the two foster brothers he’d had there, and how for twelve short months he’d felt part of something bigger than himself—something good and worthwhile.

  Something he’d spent the rest of his life trying to recapture, she realised now.

  Envy swirled up through her. Envy and longing. ‘They sound wonderful. Perfect.’

  ‘They were going to adopt me.’

  Her heart dipped and started to throb. This story didn’t have a happy ending.

  ‘What...what happened?’ She had to force the words out. Jack had deserved to spend the rest of his life enfolded within this family’s embrace. Why hadn’t that happened?

  ‘Darrel and Christine were tight with a core group of other foster carers.’

  That sounded like a good thing. They’d have provided each other with support and advice.

  ‘One of their friends’ foster sons got into some serious trouble—taking drugs, stealing cars.’

  Her heart thumped.

  ‘It was a mess. He became violent with his foster mother.’

  She pulled in a jagged breath. ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘Nobody pretends that taking on a troubled child is going to be easy, but common wisdom has it that the good gained is worth the trouble and the heartache.’

  ‘You don’t believe that?’

  He pulled in a breath. ‘Seems to me that all too often “well-intentioned” and “idealistic” are merely synonyms for “naive” and “unprepared”.’

  She swallowed, wanting to argue with him but sensing the innate truth of his words.

  ‘The incident really spooked them—especially Christine. And when my older foster brother was caught drinking alcohol, we were all farmed back to Social Services.’

  Although he didn’t move, the bleakness in his eyes told her how that had devastated him.

  She pressed a hand to her mouth for a moment. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He shrugged, and she didn’t know how he managed to maintain such an easy, open posture. All she wanted to do was fling herself against his chest and sob for the thirteen-year-old boy who’d lost the family of his dreams. She could feel his fingers in her hair, as if touching it brought him some measure of comfort. She held still, willing him to take whatever comfort he could.

  ‘You never found another family like that one?’

  He cocked an eyebrow. ‘How do I grieve, Caro?’


  She stared at him and then nodded. ‘You get angry.’

  ‘I stayed angry for the next five years. I acted out. Got a name for myself within the system. I spent my last two years in a group home.’

  She swallowed. ‘A detention centre?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t really a...a home, if you catch my drift.’

  She did. And everything inside her ached for him.

  ‘It was a place to mark time until I became an adult and the state could wash its hands of me.’

  She tried to control the rush of anger that shook through her. ‘Boarding school was a hundred times better than that!’

  He twisted a strand of her hair around his fingers. ‘I’m glad.’

  She bit her lip, the touch of his hand in her hair sending spirals of pleasure gyrating deep in her belly. She shifted in an attempt to relieve the ache. ‘Why aren’t you bitter about losing that family?’

  ‘I was for a long time, but they taught me that my dream could come true. I’ll always be grateful to them for that—for providing me with a yardstick I could cling to.’

  She moistened her lips. He zeroed in on the action, his eyes darkening, and a groan rose up through her. The pulse at the base of his jaw started to pound and her heart surged up into her throat to hammer in time with it. She tried to draw a steadying breath into her lungs, but all she drew in was the scent of him.

  ‘Have you...have you ever considered becoming a foster carer yourself?’

  His fingers in her hair stilled. ‘No.’

  ‘Maybe you should. You’d know the pitfalls and understand the stumbling blocks. You’d be brilliant.’

  He’d be a wonderful father.

  ‘I...’

  He faltered and she shrugged. ‘It’s just something to think about. Obviously not the kind of decision you’d make on the spur of the moment.’

  ‘But worth considering,’ he agreed slowly.

  She had no intention of wasting such a rare opportunity when he was in such an amenable mood. ‘So you didn’t feel you belonged anywhere again until you joined the police force?’

  When she’d first met Jack he’d been working for the Australian Federal Police. He’d been stationed in London, on secondment to the British Intelligence Service as a surveillance instructor.

  Those blue eyes of his sparked and grew even keener if that were at all possible. ‘The police force gave me a direction in life. But, Caro, I didn’t feel I belonged anywhere again until I met you.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CARO’S MOBILE PHONE RANG, making her jump. Her fountain pen corkscrewed across the page in an example of less than elegant penmanship. She glared at the blot of ink she’d left behind. Botheration!

  The phone rang again. She pressed it to her ear. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Are you home?’

  Her hand about the phone tightened. ‘Good morning, Jack. How are you? I’m well. Thank you for asking.’

  His chuckle curled her toes. ‘Caro, as ever, it’s a delight.’

  She wanted to stretch and purr at the warm amusement in his voice. So not good.

  ‘I’m running up your stairs as we speak.’

  He didn’t sound the slightest bit breathless. If she walked, let alone jogged up the stairs, she’d huff and puff for a good five minutes.

  ‘Really, Jack, is running necessary?’

  This time he laughed outright.

  Don’t bask. Stop basking!

  ‘Your door has just come into view.’

  She snapped her phone off and turned to stare at her door. What was he doing here? If they had to meet, why couldn’t they have done it somewhere public?

  The snuffbox!

  Her stomach tightened. With reluctant legs, but a madly beating heart, she moved across to the door and opened it. She tried not to look at him too squarely as she ushered him in. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Your manners are one of the things I’ve always admired about you, Caro.’

  Was he laughing at her? Or did he sense her resentment at his intrusion? ‘Do you have news about the snuffbox? Have there been any developments?’

  He glanced down at the table and frowned. ‘What are you doing?’

  A scowl she didn’t understand started to build inside her. She swallowed and sat. ‘You’re the detective. What do you think I’m doing?’

  He lifted the sheet of paper she’d been practising on. ‘“My darling Barbara. Wishing you many happy returns for the day. May you always be happy. To my darling wife. Love. Much love. All my love. Roland.”’ He turned the paper sideways to follow her scrawls. ‘“Your Roland. Roland. Your loving husband, Roland.”’

  She grimaced. Would her father ever have signed himself as Barbara’s loving husband? How on earth could she gush it up a little and still sound sincere?

  Jack set the sheet of paper down and lifted one of the letters her father had sent to her while she’d been away at university. She’d received one or two missives from him every semester. Cursory things that never actually said much. She didn’t even know why she’d kept them.

  Dropping the letters back to the table, he reached for the jewellery catalogue and sales receipt sitting nearby. His nostrils flared, but whether at the picture of the diamond necklace or at the amount on the receipt, she wasn’t sure.

  ‘That is worth...’

  ‘A significant amount of money,’ she agreed.

  ‘It’s hideous.’

  ‘Very true. However, it’s not its beauty that matters, but its value.’ Besides, it was the kind of piece her father would have admired. If he’d still been alive to admire it, that was.

  Jack tossed the catalogue and the receipt back to the table. ‘My detective brain informs me that it’s Barbara’s birthday soon.’

  ‘Today.’

  ‘And that you’re faking a gift to her from your father...from beyond the grave.’

  She summoned up her brightest smile. ‘I knew you were more than just a pretty face.’

  He didn’t smile back. ‘When were you going to tell me about this?’

  His lips thinned when she blinked. She pushed her bangle up her arm. ‘I wasn’t. I don’t see how it has any bearing on...on other things.’

  ‘You try and guilt Barbara into giving the snuffbox back and you don’t think that’s relevant?’

  No, she wasn’t! This—

  ‘How much more is this worth than the snuffbox?’

  She could tell from the way he’d started to shake that he was getting a little...um...worked up. ‘It’s...’ She moistened her lips. ‘It’s probably worth about three times as much, but that’s beside the point. I—’

  ‘You really think Barbara is the kind of woman who can be worked on like this? Have you lost your mind completely? She’ll take the necklace and the snuffbox and run!’

  Caro shot to her feet. ‘Stop talking about her like that!’ She strode around the table and stabbed a finger at his chest. ‘You’re wrong! I know her far better than you do, and yet you automatically assume your assessment of her is the right one and that mine is wrong!’

  ‘You’re too close.’ The pulse at the base of his jaw ticked. ‘Your emotions are clouding your judgment.’

  ‘No!’ she shot back. ‘It’s your prejudices that are colouring your judgment. You’re just like my father.’ She whirled away. ‘You think because Barbara is young and beautiful she must’ve married my father for his money.’

  ‘If your father thought that, then why the hell did he marry her?’

  She swung back. ‘He didn’t think that about her. He thought it about you!’

  A silence suddenly descended around them. All that could be heard was the harsh intake of their breath.

  Caro forced herself to continue. ‘When you married me, you married a potential heiress. There are some people who would insinuate that your showing up now, like you have, is so you can collect your cut of the spoils. That’s how people like my father and his lawyers think.’
/>   His eyes grew so glacial the very air grew chill. ‘I thought we’d already covered this.’

  ‘I don’t think like that. I don’t believe you ever married me for my money and I don’t believe money is the reason you’re back in London. Why do I think that? Ooh, let’s see...’ She cocked her head to one side and lifted a finger to her chin. ‘Could it be because I’m a good judge of character?’

  Jack closed his eyes and dragged a hand down his face.

  ‘Believe me, Jack. If there’s one person who clouds my judgment, it’s you. Not Barbara. I know she didn’t marry my father for his money.’

  He slammed his hands to his hips. ‘But you believe she stole the snuffbox?’

  ‘Not out of malice or for vengeance! It was a stupid spur-of-the-moment thing, done in a fit of pique and hurt, and now... Well, I expect she’s bitterly regretting it and trying to find a way to get it back to me.’

  He blew out a breath. ‘May I sit?’

  Good Lord, where were her manners? ‘Please.’ She gestured to a chair.

  He fell into it and then motioned to the paraphernalia on the table. ‘And this?’

  She lowered herself back to her own chair. ‘This has nothing to do with the rest of it.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  She could tell from the low timbre of his voice that he wanted to. She moistened her lips. It meant talking about love. And talking about love to Jack...

  She pushed her shoulders back. ‘Believe me when I tell you that Barbara loved my father. She believed that he loved her too.’

  It took a moment or two, but comprehension eventually dawned across his face. ‘And when he cut her out of his will...?’

  She nodded. ‘I mean, we know the reason for his sudden coldness.’

  ‘But she has no idea he thought she was stealing from him?’

  ‘I can’t tell her the truth. She and Paul have no warmth for each other. With him, I fear she would retaliate. To be honest, a part of me wouldn’t blame her.’

  ‘Damn it, Caro. Part of me wants to say not your monkeys. Not your circus.’

  ‘But it’s not true, is it? I know they’re not the kind of family you’ve always dreamed about, but they’re all I have.’