“Oh dear. They seem to think—” She wanted to laugh at the absurdity, at the silly assumption and gullibility of the women who thought Harrison Douglas was interested in her, or she in him. From their brief acquaintance, she’d gleaned she and Harry were as different as chalk and cheese.
“It doesn’t matter.” Harry cut her off as he glanced at the women and then looked down at his daughter.
Oops! Too late Bri realised what she’d almost blurted out in front of the little girl.
Vicky held her arms up. “Up, Daddy. I want to come too.”
Harry swung Vicky into his arms and hugged her. “Come on, Pumpkin. Bri, come inside and I’ll introduce you to Clare.”
She trailed behind father and daughter, and smiled in passing at the giggling gossips. “Hi, lovely day isn’t it.”
Fake-friendly smiles and widened eyes looked at her as the women adjusted their expressions. She walked on, grinning at the buzz of who’d-have-thought exclamations trailing after her retreating back. Nothing like the imagined loss of a single male from the pool of available men to attract attention.
Harry turned as she reached them and Vicky rested her head on her father’s shoulder.
The kindy teacher was around Bri’s age, and busily dealing with two parents and three children and still managing to smile pleasantly. She turned and looked at Harry when he stepped in beside her. “Ah, you found Vicky then, good. Was she in the fort?”
“Yes. Briony found her. Clare, this is Briony Middleton, the photographer I mentioned.”
Clare held out a hand and the waiting parents eyed Bri with interest. “Pleased to meet you. Are you able to help us out of our predicament?”
“I believe I can.” If she did an exceptional job, the unexpected challenge of photographing little people at play would look great on her resume. Not to mention paying for towing and repairs to her car.
“I’ll print off new permission forms and collect them as the children arrive. Is this Friday too early for you?” Hope shone in her eyes and Bri sensed she’d had a tougher time than Harry had said.
“Friday will be fine. Do you mind if I take a look around the centre and get a feel for the place? If you’re free in a few minutes, I’ll explain what I have in mind.”
“No problem. Harry, would you and Vicky mind showing Briony whatever she needs to see please? I’ll be with you shortly.” She turned back to the parents and children and Harry led the way out of the office.
He stopped in a small, carpeted area with colourful books displayed on child-height shelves. Jewel-bright oversize cushions in sturdy material were neatly stacked in the back corners.
“This is the reading space.” Harry set Vicky down.
She knelt in front of the lowest shelf and pulled out a book with a bright green caterpillar on the cover. “I love this book, Daddy. It’s my favourite story after Edgar the Echidna.” With a satisfied sigh, Vicky opened the book and traced the image on the first page.
Harry put his hands on his hips and looked at Bri. “I have no idea what you want to see, Briony.”
“I want to see what’s here, make a short list of areas and activities and let each child choose what they like best. I’ll make having very little equipment work for me by taking their photos in spaces they most enjoy.”
Vicky looked up and wiggled a finger through the hole in the page. “Hello, Briony.”
“Hello, Mr. Caterpillar.” Bri dropped to the floor beside Vicky and watched her turn the page. “Is this your favourite place at kindy? Your favourite thing to do?”
“This is my second favourite place. My first favourite place is the fort.”
“What about—” Bri picked out a little girl in a pink fairy dress waiting for her mother who was chatting with two other women. “What about her? Does she like playing in the fort too?”
“Jemima plays dollies with her friends. I like playing with Fraser in the fort. Daddy, can I take this book home for Briony to read to me?”
Bemused by Vicky’s assumption she would be staying with them, Bri opened her mouth to explain, but she didn’t even have nieces or nephews to help her understand how to begin.
Harry did. But then, Harry had far more experience handling his daughter, understanding the butterfly connections of her brain. “Briony won’t be sleeping in the guest room again, Vicky. Her cousin lives in town and she’s staying with him.” Harry’s voice was patient and calm, but there was an undertone she couldn’t quite pin down.
Not accusation. Not annoyance.
Certainly not amusement.
She looked into his face, into eyes that darkened as she watched, and understanding hit her like the proverbial ton of bricks.
Harry Douglas was attracted to her.
And he didn’t like it one little bit.
Chapter Six
Vicky pulled the caterpillar story out of her book bag, set it on the bed covers and looked up at Harry with a serious expression, the one that said she had a deep and meaningful question to ask. The look that lately had made his stomach clench as he waited to hear where her inquisitive mind was taking this daughter of his.
Blue eyes inherited from her mother—okay, through him, too, although they were the same almond shape as Linda’s—looked at him in expectation. He tried to answer her honestly, but curly questions had popped out in recent weeks; questions he didn’t know the answers to.
Questions like ‘why did Mummy leave us?' were the worst. Because they unleashed a ball of anger and grief he had to battle into submission before he could look at Vicky with any semblance of calm.
And so he waited, his stomach churning at what was coming. Anxiety ate a hole in his heart and guilt stabbed that same organ.
His daughter was motherless.
Because he should have been able to do something to save Linda. Hadn’t he promised to care for her from this day forward in his marriage vows? He’d failed and his daughter suffered because of his failure.
Vicky’s small hands wrapped around his clenched fist and patted his knee. “It’s okay, Daddy.”
Touched by her intuition, he looked down at their hands resting on his leg, surprised to see his hand in a fist.
God, he had to pull himself together.
He drew a big breath deep into his lungs and exhaled slowly. “I’m fine, Pumpkin. Shall we read your book together?”
She nodded and he leaned back against the princess-pink bed head and patted the Ariel printed pillowcase for her to join him. Climbing forts, Disney princesses, the caterpillar book—Vicky seemed like other kids at kindy.
Normal, playful, occasionally clingy.
Maybe he wasn’t doing too bad a job of raising her on his own after all. Vicky snuggled into the curve of his arms and picked up the book, but didn’t open it. She tipped her head up and waited until he looked at her and their gazes met.
“Daddy, can Briony do another plait and take my photo?”
“Why don’t you ask her when she comes to kindy on Friday? If she has time, I’ll bet she will.”
“Okay.”
That wasn’t so bad.
Nothing like the questions he’d been dreading. Questions that made him think and feel and remember until the pain consumed every pore on his skin, every cell in his body. Maybe Vicky was getting used to just the two of them rubbing along together day by day.
Maybe everything would be okay.
“Daddy, can Bri come and stay in our guest room and do my hair? Jemima’s mummy does her hair every day and sometimes, she puts a flower in it. I’d like to have pretty hair every day too.”
Harry’s heart—that useless, inconsiderate organ that felt too much when he had almost nothing left to give—constricted as though a band of iron tightened around it.
This wasn’t just about pretty hair and flowers.
It was about him not being enough for Vicky.
He’d never be enough. Not while he had to employ a nanny to fill the mummy-sized hole in her world. No matter how much he tr
ied to be both mother and father, he wasn’t Linda.
He wasn’t Vicky’s mother.
And Vicky wanted a mother.
##
Harry turned on the television, muted the sound and flicked through the channels until he found the replay of a Muhammad Ali boxing match from the seventies. Stretched out on the couch he nursed a rare glass of brandy and let the fight unfold, distracting him from Vicky’s unsettling questions.
He would give her the moon and the stars if she asked, and everything in between.
But—a mother?
His hand shook as he raised the glass and swallowed a larger mouthful than he’d intended. How could he bring another woman into the home he’d made with Linda? How could he make the same promises to love and care for her as she would deserve by offering her the shell of a man he now was? He’d made promises to his wife, and meant them, but he’d failed.
How could he love anyone else? The very idea of a replacement for Linda felt wrong. It made the hair on his head prickle and his ears buzz until the sound drowned the beating of his racing heart.
One love to last a lifetime—Linda’s wedding vow ran through his brain. That was what he’d signed up for.
One woman, one man, forever.
Loving another woman after Linda was impossible. And he wouldn’t offer any woman less than his total commitment. He refused to try and fail. That wouldn’t be fair to her, to Vicky, or him.
But that was what Vicky’s yearning for a mother meant. To give his daughter what she wanted—what she needed—meant breaking his promise to Linda.
He tossed back the remains of his drink and switched off the boxing.
Two choices confronted him, stark and impossible in their demands.
Either he betrayed the memory of the woman who had borne his daughter, or denied Vicky her natural need for a mother and family.
Chapter Seven
The first person Bri saw when her taxi pulled up in front of the kindy was Harry. He lifted Vicky out of his car and reached in for her backpack. As he turned, Bri stepped out of the cab and waved. Convinced she hadn’t been looking for him, that she only noticed him because he was the one person she knew, she tipped her head to get a better view. Harry was like the sleek black panther in Taronga Park Zoo. Back when she was completing her photography course she’d spent hours trying to capture the proud tilt of its satiny head amongst the shadows, and the light in its emerald eyes. Harry moved in the same deliberate, watchful way.
Vicky saw her first and tugged her father’s hand. Harry looked up slowly, reluctantly she thought, and she sighed. The fact she was helping out with kindy photos should have put Harry in a better frame of mind, but it looked like the barbed wire fence between them had gained another foot in height.
Bri told herself she didn’t care. It was no skin off her nose if Harry—dammit, Harrison really did suit this stuffy man better. The formality of the longer name was more in keeping with the distance he insisted on maintaining.
Fleetingly she wondered whether she’d imagined that softer, more human response when Vicky asked her to stay with them. Raw hunger and regret implied she’d touched something in him that he wanted, but wouldn’t take.
Harrison was capable, strong and dependable, at least where his daughter was concerned. Bri had glimpsed another man lurking beneath the surface; one who might once have been fun to spend a few days with, but now?
Was it worth the effort of stirring him?
Vicky towed her father across the car park like a small tugboat towing a cruise ship on Sydney Harbour. As they drew near she let go of her father’s hand and launched herself, wrapping her arms around Bri’s waist. “Will you plait my hair like you did before? I brought my brush. Please—please—please!”
Vicky’s intensity and passion and absolute certainty that nothing and no one else was more important in this moment touched Bri. She laughed and stroked Vicky’s wonky plait—a Harry-plait. “I will, but shall we wait until after we’ve got everything inside?”
Harry rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder and drew her to his side. “Can I carry anything for you?”
Ouch. Polite words, and Bri was sure he meant to help. But icicles were warmer than Harry’s enthusiasm for her company. Just as well she didn’t have to put up with his revolving door mood all day. Drop off, sign up for the new photos, and he would be out of here.
“Thanks. If you can take this bag, I’m good with the rest.” She handed him the bag of spares—camera, batteries, chargers—and carried the primary bag containing her main camera herself.
She took two steps before Vicky slipped a warm little hand into hers and skipped along beside her. Was Vicky always this trusting with strangers, or just the ones who stayed at her house? Had there been others since her mother had left?
Bri shook her head. Somehow, she doubted Harry was the type to parade an assortment of women in front of Vicky. Besides, it wasn’t any of her business who Harry entertained at home. She wasn’t interested in him, and Harry didn’t strike her as the type to entertain thoughts of even a light-hearted fling. Even the best relationships were complicated and Harry had enough emotional baggage to sink the Titanic.
But the thought persisted. Harry was an attractive man and she was curious. Had anyone breached the prickly barrier he threw up around himself, or was it just her who annoyed him?
Inside the centre, parents stood around a counter or perched on child-sized chairs industriously completing new forms for today’s photos. Harry accepted a form from Clare Spencer and balanced it on a nearby windowsill while Vicky stuffed her Ariel bag into a pigeonhole.
She returned carrying her brush and a handful of elastic bands. “Here, Briony. Can you do my plait like you did when you stayed at my house?”
Surreptitious glances from those nearby bounced between her and Harry, replaced by sly grins and knowing looks. One woman glared at Bri.
Raising her chin, Bri met the woman’s disapproval with a smile before leading Vicky past the woman and into the bag area. “Come on, Vicky. I’m sure I can make your plait even prettier than when I slept at your house.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware of Harry lifting his head and staring at her. Maybe a little stirring would be good for him. It might be fun peeling back the layers of grumpy man.
Later. Now, she had more than enough to occupy her without worrying about Harry’s feelings, although the flush of red in his cheeks was interesting.
More like anger than embarrassment. Well, Harry would just have to live with it and be glad she was reciprocating. It didn’t worry her what other people thought.
##
Jim Faulkner caught Harry’s eye as Bri followed Vicky into the bag area. A slow grin spread across his mate’s face and he gave Harry a thumbs up signal.
Great. Just bloody great.
It was bad enough the damned woman had shanghaied his dreams and inserted herself into Vicky’s daily routine, stirring up impossible wants and needs that he couldn’t meet.
But now he’d have to contend with prying and poking and interested questions from other parents.
And it rankled that she’d added fuel to Vicky’s comment. Rankled because he knew it was a silly, random comment she’d tossed out without thinking. But he was the one who would have to deal with friends and—
“So good to hear you’re dating again, Harry.” Nora Jenkins touched his arm, her toothy grin and inquisitive gaze blurring in front of him.
Dating again? Stomach-churning words that failed to capture what a woman in his life actually meant.
Thirty seconds and it’s begun.
His fingers curled around the pen as he drew himself up to his full height. “Not dating, Nora. I just rescued Briony when her car broke down the other night. That’s all.”
He had to get the message out.
He wasn’t dating.
He wasn’t interested in dating. Not now, not ever, not with Briony Middleton or anyone else. He’d buried
his heart with Linda and wouldn’t be sharing what was left of him.
Even to fill the hole Linda had left in both Vicky’s and his life.
“Oh, sorry. I thought I heard the photographer was living with you. Must have misheard.” Nora scurried away, seemingly more disappointed than embarrassed by his denial, and joined a small group of kindy mums. They looked at him then back at each other and shook their heads.
He turned back to the form and signed, giving his permission for Bri to take both individual and group photos, for purchase upon viewing. Next week.
Which presumably meant Bri would be around for seven more days.
“Daddy, look at my hair.” Vicky beamed up at him, her eyes sparkling with joy at the simple pleasure of having pretty hair.
“You look gorgeous, Pumpkin. Really grown up.”
Laughing, she ran over to join her friends and teacher around the magnetic board. Clare had written all their names down one side and each child was choosing a picture of their favourite place or activity to put beside their name for their individual photo. Harry assumed Vicky would choose the fort, but as he watched, she fingered the braid Bri had made for her. Her touch was gentle and full of wonder, and she held herself differently.
Standing straight, shoulders back and head high. Smiling in anticipation of a special event. Like a miniature Linda. Vicky ran her hands over the skirt of her new dress—the pretty green dress his mother posted had arrived last week in time for the aborted photo day.
In case you haven’t had time to shop for her kindy photo, darling.
The note had set off another flare of guilt. He hadn’t even thought about buying new clothes.
Suddenly he saw another side to his daughter. One that a woman’s touch—Bri’s touch—had revealed. Despite wearing shorts and T-shirts every day, Vicky wasn’t a tomboy. Dresses and pretty hair were important too.
He didn’t think she was unhappy. But she was missing out on some things that only a woman would think to offer. His lungs struggled to drag in air past the tight band of despair, anger, and guilt.
Wild About Harry (Hearts of the Outback Book 5) Page 4
