Vicky needed more than him in her life. She needed a woman to share female wants and desires and secrets. A woman who would think to buy her a pretty dress for photo day, and understand how important pretty hair was to a young girl. And who would understand and value how special and precious Vicky was.
Harry gripped the edge of the sign in table and shut his eyes. He wished he knew his daughter better, wished he might be enough for her. Over and over, he told himself he knew what she was going to choose.
He knew his daughter.
He knew her better than anyone in the world. Even if he couldn’t braid hair or think to buy a dress for her. He dragged in a breath, opened his eyes, and watched as she handed a picture of the fort to the teacher. Air whooshed into his starving lungs and he leaned heavily on the table.
He did know his daughter after all.
Briony was a shooting star, bright and beautiful and just passing across their orbit before she moved on.
In seven days.
Seven days in which he had to shut down further speculation about an imagined relationship and make Vicky accept that together, the two of them were all she needed.
Chapter Eight
Mid-afternoon sun created lengthening shadows as Harry sent Vicky out to play with Fraser in the fort. He waited inside, impatient and irate in equal measure as the last of the parents spoke to Bri. Like Gulliver in this land of scaled-down play furniture, he lurked, as out of sight as a six feet plus man could lurk in a space designed for little people.
But after this morning’s debacle, approaching Bri while there were eyes to see and tongues to wag would give credence to the rumour they had slept together. The very idea twisted his stomach in knots.
As if he would risk Vicky’s emotional well-being by taking a random woman home and parading her in front of his daughter. If it weren’t so damned important to make Bri understand how her careless remarks might hurt Vicky, he’d have been in and out of the centre without speaking to her.
It was irrelevant that she’d be gone in a few days.
Seven days.
Days in which they might not run into her again. But if they did, Vicky’s welfare depended on Bri accepting his boundaries, not crossing them. He knew what was best for Vicky. He would make Bri understand that where his daughter was concerned, there were firm boundaries, and flippant remarks had no place in his world.
Wriggling his numb backside on the child’s chair, his knee cracked against the square edge of a storage shelf. He clamped his mouth shut, cutting off an oath and replacing it with an indrawn hiss, trying not to draw attention to himself as the Faulkners departed. He waited until they cleared the door, and then stood, setting his cramped muscles free, and strode up behind Bri.
She didn’t hear him, just tipped her head to one side, then the other and rubbed the back of her neck. “How do you keep up with them all day, every day, Clare?”
The teacher marked off a name on the page in front of her and smiled as she made a neat stack of the photo forms and clipped them into a folder. “I love being with them so much. It’s a gift watching them develop and learning to interact with their world.”
Harry stepped around Bri and fixed a smile on his face, thankful Vicky had such a wonderful teacher. “That’s the reason they all enjoy coming to kindy each day.”
Clare’s gaze collided with his and she smiled, not the we’re-having-a-good-time kind of smile she gave to the children, but a rather more self-conscious grin. She ducked her head and hugged the folder to her chest. “Oh, thanks, Harry. Nice of you to say.”
He nodded and turned to Bri who was removing the lens from her camera. “Briony, can I have a word before you leave?”
“Um, sure, a quick one. I haven’t finished packing my equipment away and my taxi will be here any minute.”
Clare murmured something about needing to do something in her office and left them looking after her retreating figure. Harry turned to Bri, determined to make it absolutely clear that—
Bri nudged his arm and grinned. “She likes you, Harry. Maybe you should ask her out.”
“What?”
“You compliment her, she blushes and—”
“I told her she’s a great teacher, which she is. How do you infer from that, that she likes me?”
“Gosh, do you really not see what’s in front of your nose?” Bri shook her head and packed the lens into the case she’d called her most precious possession. “Men!”
“Hang on a minute, that’s a generalisation. It’s quite a leap to go from compliment to blush to she likes me.”
Bri snapped the locks on the case and drilled him with a stare he couldn’t hold. Not because he thought she was right, but because her bright, light-blue gaze made him aware of two things. He was standing way closer than politeness allowed. Close enough to see a smattering of freckles across her nose. He thought about touching a finger lightly to the one near the bridge of her nose and tracing a path to the next, exploring the feel and the warmth of her skin all the way to her mouth.
His gaze dropped to her lips and he clenched his hands behind his back. He felt something. For the first time since his wife had died, a woman was looking into his eyes and making him feel. It was awkward and uncomfortable and he resented the hell out of it. And her.
“Don’t frown, it’s called women’s intuition, which studies have shown to be a valid, scientifically proven ability to gather subtle body language clues and deduce likely cause and effect with remarkable accuracy.”
“Women’s intuition? Nonsense.”
“Is it? I’ll give you another example, on the house. Your body language now coupled with your attempt to hide— It didn’t work, and by the way, Clare remarked on it after the Faulkners left and Mrs. Faulkner was eyeing you off and speculating that you were waiting for me.”
Damn. And he’d thought he was being subtle.
“If I put those elements together with my inappropriate comments this morning, I realise you stayed back to tell me to mind my own business. I apologise, Harry, unreservedly and freely.”
In one neat statement, Briony took the wind out of his sails.
“You do? I mean, how the hell did you know?”
“You’re big enough to tease, but I shouldn’t have said what I did around Vicky.”
“Intuition, you reckon? Well I’ll be—”
“Daddy, can we stop and have an ice-cream on the way home? Please? I kept my new dress clean so you could take me somewhere nice.” Vicky slipped her hand into his and tugged. He looked down at his daughter, seeing the sweet feminine side shining in her hopeful expression.
A horn parped from the almost empty car park and Bri picked up her camera bags. “I really am sorry, Harry. I’ll try to be good in future.”
She headed to the door, but stopped with her hand on the handle. “That ice-creamery next to the café in the shopping centre does a wicked chocolate swirl with hundreds and thousands, but wear a couple of paper serviettes if you choose that one, Vicky. Bye.”
Harry watched Briony walk down the path and exit through the gate. A door slammed and moments later, a taxi glided through the carpark.
Vicky tugged on his hand. “Daddy, better close your mouth or a fly will fly in.”
He clamped his lips together, and looked back at the car park. Bri had vanished, along with his chance to tell her what he thought of random remarks around his daughter. But it wasn’t the lost opportunity that fazed him.
She likes you.
He turned to the kindy teacher’s office. Clare was watching him through the window, but as their gazes met, she blushed and turned back to the filing cabinet.
She likes you.
Imagining that Clare Spencer liked him was ridiculous. But if he took a leaf out of Bri’s book of advice and put it with Vicky’s bedtime request—maybe he needed to take a long hard look at himself, his daughter, and his next move.
Clare liked him, Bri attracted him. His heart was in the grave with his wife. Bu
t Vicky wanted a mother, and Harry wanted— what did he want?
“Come on, Daddy. Let’s get ice-creams.”
“Okay, Pumpkin.” She skipped along the path holding his hand, her smile pure and happy. He wanted to make his daughter happy. Ice-cream would do for a start.
Chapter Nine
Bri stretched, relaxed her shoulders and yawned. Taking photos of active small children had been more exhausting than she’d imagined, but the results were wonderful. She flopped onto the plain blue bedspread, lifted her laptop across her legs and scrolled through the day’s pictures.
A light tap on her door was followed by Amy’s voice asking if she could come in. Dan’s partner opened the door, reached behind her and entered, carrying two steaming mugs. She set both on the bedside table and leaned over Bri’s shoulder. “I thought you might need a cuppa. Oh, wow! Are they from today?”
“What do you think? I haven’t adjusted lighting or anything, but will parents be thrilled and delighted seeing their kids like this, do you think?” She scrolled through a handful of what Clare called the children’s hot spots.
“Bri, they’re fabulous. In years to come they’ll be able to recall much more of their kindy days because you’ve given them context and focused on the things they love. That’s so much nicer than seeing the same painted background in every photo.”
“Phew. I’m relieved you think so. It’s a bit of a gamble—not the usual school photos. I took a formal photo of each of the kids too, just in case.” She clicked through to the more standard portraits taken in a corner setting they’d created from bits and pieces, but Amy shook her head.
“Don’t get me wrong, Bri, they’re good, but there’s something special seeing the kids in their favourite places. I know which I’d choose if I had a kid—” She picked up her tea and sipped.
The scent of chamomile teased Bri’s nose. “How do you drink that stuff?”
“I read it’s better for you at night.” She sipped again, sighed and put the mug down.
Bri continued to scroll through the day’s photos. She reached the final image and Amy tapped the screen. “I love this shot.”
Bri nodded. “Vicky. That one’s my favourite too.” Vicky’s hand was on her hair, on the plait Bri had carefully braided for her that morning, and her face was tilted to the sun, eyes closed, a smile hovering around her mouth as she ran her fingers slowly over the braid.
Without thinking, Bri had raised her camera and caught Vicky in a quiet moment, a natural moment untouched by posing.
“Is that Harry Douglas’s little girl?”
“Yes. I didn’t realise you knew him.”
Amy laughed. “The flying community up here is small and close. I knew most of them even before I became a pilot for the Flying Doctor. Actually, Dan and I are flying up to the Carters’ property on Sunday. Harry’s a good friend of Alex. Why not ask him and Vicky to join us?”
“Us? You mean I’m invited? Cool! I can shoot some footage from the plane.”
“Look, ask Harry if he’ll fly us there and I promise to fly home so he can have a beer or two. Okay?”
Would Harry want to speak to her again? Sensing the annoyance vibrating off him this afternoon, she’d reconsidered the flippant remark waiting to drop from her mouth, especially after Fraser’s mother’s comment.
So nice to see Harry taking an interest in life again.
Somehow, “Harry, I see you can’t stay away from me” morphed into an apology. Stirring him for the fun of it was one thing. Heck, the man needed to loosen up a lot, but what if her casual comment rebounded on Vicky? Genuine regret for her thoughtlessness filled her.
Jumping in first with her apology deflected the dressing down she was sure he intended. But she had also deprived him of his right to protect his daughter.
“Do you think the invitation might be better coming from you? I mean, you know him and the Carters. I’d feel a bit—strange.” There was a strong possibility Harry would refuse any invitation that came from her.
“Don’t worry. He won’t take it as a come on. Harry hasn’t shown any interest in a woman since his wife died.”
“She’s dead? But I thought—” Oh God, the way she’d teased him. Her stomach sank like lead weights on her father’s fishing net. Heat flamed in her cheeks. Poor little Vicky.
Poor Harry. Losing his wife explained much of his attitude.
“Bri, didn’t he tell you?”
“The way he referred to her I thought she must have walked out on him and Vicky. What happened?”
“About eighteen months ago, the family was—”
Dan stuck his head around the door. “Hey, babe, sorry to interrupt. We’ve got an emergency. The rostered crew are on a call out and we’re next up. Sorry, Bri.”
Amy jumped to her feet. “I guess that decides it. Call Harry and invite him for me, will you, Bri? Sunday, nine-ish at the airport. Don’t wait up for us.”
“No worries.” Bri carried her tea out to the front veranda and waved as Dan and Amy drove away. The last thing she wanted was to talk to Harry, not when she felt like such a fool. But her nonsense had fallen like a stone into a lake and the ripples of one ill-considered moment had set tongues wagging. Fraser Faulkner’s mother had leaned in with a knowing grin and a ‘Looks like Harry is wishing us all to hell. He wants to get you alone, Bri.’
Stirring Harry had seemed like fun and—for one insane moment—she’d even thought she might be doing him a favour by suggesting he was available again. There was no greater aphrodisiac than a good-looking man just out of reach, but still attainable and there were several single mums among the parents. But what if Harry didn’t want a relationship?
Her actions were at best, thoughtless. And at worst? She needed to apologise—properly.
“Okay, Harry, you’re going to hear from me again, whether you want to or not. But this time—I’ll be the soul of discretion and good taste. I won’t tease you and I won’t bait you and I won’t say anything I couldn’t tell Gran.” She scrolled through her contacts and pressed his number. While she waited, she mulled over Amy’s revelation. Eighteen months didn’t seem nearly long enough to mourn the loss of his wife.
No wonder he wasn’t much fun, wrapped in his own grief and trying to live a normal life with his motherless daughter. Life wasn’t fun.
A wave of embarrassment crashed over her and she stabbed the end call button before Harry picked up. Her heart raced and she covered heated cheeks with her hands, cringing at the immaturity of her action. How could she have been so unthinking, so casual? The call would have to wait, at least until she got her emotions under control. She opened her laptop and tried to concentrate on the images, but her silly teasing words haunted her.
When I slept at your house—slept at your house—
Her phone rang, the ringtone upbeat and loud. She snatched it up, welcoming the intrusion on her beat-yourself-up pity party until she saw his name on the screen. She was tempted, so very tempted to flick Harry’s call, but she’d denied him the chance to have his say once already. It was time to face the music. She took a deep breath and connected. “Hi, Harry.”
“Briony. I was putting Vicky to bed when you rang. What were you calling about?”
“Well, first of all, I owe you an apology.”
“You gave it to me at the kindy, unless there’s something else I don’t know about?” He sounded tired and wary, but not angry. She’d be angry if someone had pulled a stunt like hers.
“I feel really bad. It’s no excuse, but—I didn’t realise you’d lost your wife. I’m so sorry I made that stupid comment. It was insensitive and—”
“You weren’t to know. I—” An indrawn breath, a pause, and silence followed for a handful of heartbeats. Then—
“I could have been more specific. Look, I still find it difficult to talk about Linda. Saying those words—it’s hard. Was there anything else? I’ve got work to do.”
Of course he’d be working after Vicky went to bed. When
else would he have time to do— she realised she had no idea what Harry did. He’d mentioned fieldwork and clammed up.
“Bri?”
She stared at the last photo she’d taken of Vicky and decided a framed enlargement would make an appropriate I’m sorry present to Harry. “Yes, one more thing; Amy and Dan asked if you and Vicky wanted to fly up to visit your friends, the Carters on Sunday, leaving at nine. Amy said to tell you she’ll fly home so you can have a beer or two.”
“They’ll be wanting my report.”
“Amy and Dan?”
“The Carters. Sure, tell them we’ll be there.”
“Okay, well then, I’d better let you get on with your work. Night, Sir Harry.”
“Sir Harry?”
“You did ride your trusty white steed to my rescue.”
Harry snorted; he no longer sounded tired, but there was an edge to his voice she couldn’t pin down. “Doing it a bit brown, Bri. Knights are supposed to save damsels in distress. I’m no knight and don’t ever forget it.”
##
Bri had him all wrong. Harry tossed his phone on the desk and walked to the window, staring through the glass into the darkness. There was nothing chivalrous about letting your wife die. God knows he tried to do the right thing, but a knight he was not. He’d failed at what was most important. His eyes prickled and Linda’s face blurred within the frame on his desk. He shook his head, refusing to give in. Controlling this small portion of his world was the best he could do.
He leaned his forehead on the cool glass and breathed deeply. Stars sprawled across the midnight-blue sky, bright and dim lights intermingled. They would be bigger and brighter at ‘Craeborn’. Getting away from the house and flying up to Alex’s property would be a blessing. He could sink into easy conversation for a few hours, and Vicky could play with young Dan who at twelve months was on the brink of walking.
He opened the folder on his desk, turned on the computer and sank into the comfy black chair. Losing himself in work for a couple of hours might block the memory of Bri’s lyrical voice from his head. Because dammit, he wasn’t having much luck doing it alone.
Wild About Harry (Hearts of the Outback Book 5) Page 5
