by Cara Colter
‘Why?’ If the woman had never been a part of her life…
‘I was her last living relative. She must’ve been lonely towards the end.’ She lifted one slim shoulder. ‘And…well…she was my last living relative too. I’d have liked to have known her.’
Luke tried to hide his dawning horror. Not only didn’t she have a partner—the father of her baby—to help her out, but she didn’t have any other family either. She’d told him her mother was dead and that her father wasn’t around, but what about siblings, aunts and uncles…grandparents?
For a moment she looked so forlorn and alone he found himself reaching out to squeeze her hand. To choose to have a baby with virtually no support at all—the very idea stole his breath. This woman—she had courage and strength in spades. His admiration for her grew. Right alongside that pesky protectiveness.
It wasn’t his place to be protective. He didn’t want to get involved. He didn’t want his hormones hitting overdrive every time the scent of vanilla drifted across to him. He didn’t want concerns about whether her morning sickness had returned, or if she was eating enough, if she was getting enough rest, plaguing him. His every instinct screamed Run!
This woman’s life was none of his business.
But she had no one, and she was only here for one measly week—five more days. Helping out where he could wouldn’t kill him.
‘Keira, soon you’ll have your baby. You’ll be starting a brand new family.’
She squeezed his hand back, and that spark jumped between them again. He knew she felt it too, from the way she let go of his hand at the same moment he let go of hers, and by the way her glance skittered away.
She covered her stomach with her hand and stared down at it. He found it hard to imagine her rounded and full with child. She’d still be beautiful.
‘I can hardly wait,’ she said, her eyes shining.
For the first time in a long time Luke’s lips stretched into a smile. It didn’t hurt, it wasn’t forced—merely an uncomplicated sign of pleasure at her simple sincerity and excitement. ‘I forgot to say something the other night.’
Her eyes widened. ‘What’s that?’
A hint of breathlessness rippled through her voice. It made the surface of his skin tingle. ‘I didn’t congratulate you on your pregnancy. Congratulations, Keira. I wish you and your baby all the very best.’
To his astonishment, he found he wasn’t merely going through the motions—he meant it. She looked as if she might actually melt, so he sat back and made his voice deliberately businesslike. ‘So you’ve inherited this house…?’
‘Which really couldn’t have come at a better time. The money from the sale means I’ll be able set up my own clinic in the city. I’d really love to have all that finalised before my Munchkin makes its appearance.’
‘Clinic?’ He shouldn’t be asking about this clinic of hers. He should be asking about her aunt’s house. If she needed a builder, then obviously the house needed repairs. ‘What kind of clinic?’
‘I’m a physiotherapist. I specialise in post-surgical rehabilitation and sports injuries. At the moment I’m working at a private hospital, but I’ve always dreamed of opening my own clinic.’ She grinned and polished off the last of the cheese. ‘And because of my great-aunt now I can.’
‘You’re a physio?’ His jaw dropped. This slip of a girl was a physiotherapist? He didn’t know why he found that so hard to believe. If he’d stopped to consider it at all, he’d have pegged her as a preschool teacher or an artist. A job where her bubbliness and enthusiasm could really shine. But a physiotherapist? It sounded so responsible and serious.
She’d look cute in a white coat, though.
Settle!
‘What?’ she teased. ‘You don’t think I’m old enough to be a physio?’
If he said yes, would that offend or flatter her? He didn’t want to do either.
She threw her head back and laughed, so he settled for saying nothing. But his lips started to lift again.
‘How old are you?’
It was a friendly challenge. He shrugged. ‘Thirty-three.’
He watched her mind whirl and click, and then her eyes went wide. ‘But that means you were only…’ more whirring and calculating ‘…nineteen when Jason was born?’
‘Yep.’
‘And here I am, wondering if I’m truly ready for all the responsibility at twenty-four. Wow! Nineteen? That must’ve been hard.’
His gut clenched. ‘Yep.’
When he didn’t add anything else, she said, ‘I’m a good physio, and I can see exactly how much tension you hold in your shoulders. If you’re not careful you’ll do yourself an injury. And you hold it here too.’
She lifted a hand as if to touch it to the side of his jaw. His pulse jumped. She jerked her hand back.
‘Sit back in your chair like this. Nice and comfortable.’
He did as she ordered. He figured it would be easier than arguing with her.
‘Now, relax the back of your tongue.’
He frowned. How on earth…?
‘It’s located about here.’ She turned her head to the side and indicated the place. ‘Concentrate hard on loosening it.’
He did. It took a moment to work out precisely what she meant, but when he finally got the hang of it a deep ripple of relaxation coursed through him. He blinked, stunned at the effect.
‘You should try and remember to do that a couple of times a day.’
He nodded, but it all suddenly seemed a little too chummy—too…familiar. He didn’t need anyone looking out for him. She was the one who needed help.
‘Back to this house of yours.’ His voice had gone gruff again, but he couldn’t help it. ‘I take it repairs are needed before you can sell it?’
‘Apparently.’
She pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to him. It was a builder’s quote—and the work it itemised was extensive. He grimaced when he read the total. ‘This is going to set you back a pretty penny.’ Did she have the money? Perhaps she should be looking for a banker instead?
‘The real estate agency organised that last week.’ She paused. ‘Do you think I’m being overcharged?’
‘I’m not an expert, but…’ He raked his gaze down the list again. ‘There’s nothing that jumps out at me from this. Why?’
‘Well, maybe it’s just pregnancy hormones…’
‘But?’
‘Something seems a bit…fishy.’
‘How?’
‘Little things that don’t seem like much but when they’re added together…For example, the estate agent was supposed to take me through the house on Saturday, but something came up and he was out of the office all day…For some unspecified reason no one else could take me through in his stead.’
‘Weekends are their busiest times.’
‘I know, but when the agent took me through the house today he rushed me through it, barely giving me a chance to get a good look at anything.’
He frowned. ‘Which agency?’
‘The same one your room is listed with. They booked the room for me.’
‘And why would they send you nearly twenty minutes out of town if all your business is in town?’
‘Exactly. Now, admittedly I was feeling a bit queasy when I was viewing the house, so I didn’t put up much of a fight, but…Have you heard any complaints about the agency?’
No—but that didn’t mean anything. The few occasions when he couldn’t avoid going into town he didn’t speak to anyone. And no one spoke to him. He’d chosen that particular agency because, unlike the others in town, he didn’t know anyone who worked there—no one who knew his parents, no one he’d gone to school with. That had been the main factor in their favour. But…
Were these low-lifes trying to rip her off? A pregnant woman? A lone pregnant woman? His hands clenched. All the tension that had eased out of him from her simple exercise shot back now.
He glanced down at the writ
ten quote. He didn’t know the builder responsible for this either. He shoved his chair back and shot to his feet. ‘C’mon.’
She blinked. ‘C’mon, what?’
‘We’re going to see an old friend of mine—I went to school with him—he’s a builder.’ John might despise Luke now, but he wouldn’t rip him off. Of that, Luke was certain. ‘And we’re going to drop by the agency and collect the key to your house.’
She didn’t rise from her chair. She folded her arms and glared. ‘I’m more than capable of speaking to a builder and collecting the key to the house myself.’ Her glare lost its force. ‘I would appreciate the name of a builder you’d recommend, though.’
For a moment he considered leaving her to it. This wasn’t his problem. No skin off his nose. He didn’t want to get involved. But her face that night at the bathroom door rose up in his mind, and he couldn’t shake the thought of what would have happened to Tammy if she’d had to face her pregnancy alone.
He planted his feet. ‘It’ll be easier if I come along.’
‘You have a farm to run.’
‘It’ll survive without me for an afternoon.’
‘No way! You told me you’re coming up to harvest.’
He’d forgotten that darn independence of hers. He could add stubborn to the mix now too. He set his jaw. ‘Keira, you’re only here for what—five more days?’ Five days! He could count that off on the fingers of one hand. ‘Local knowledge is going to be necessary in this situation.’
She bit her lip.
He pressed his advantage. ‘And what if you start feeling queasy again?’
She stood too, hands on hips. Her linen trousers were all creased and wrinkled from sitting, but she still looked fresh and cool. ‘If I’m to accept your help, and that help takes you away from the farm, then…then we need to come to some arrangement. Either I pay you for your time to act on my behalf—’
‘No!’ He wasn’t taking her money. At least not for something like this. He wasn’t accepting anything more from her than her rent money.
‘Or I pay you in kind.’
He folded his arms. He could see she wouldn’t be easy to budge. ‘What did you have in mind?’
She eyed him up and down. ‘It doesn’t look as if you’ve any kind of sports injuries I can work on.’
The thought of her fingers moving over his flesh was far too tempting. And disturbing. ‘Nope.’ He said it quickly, before he could change his mind.
‘Well…’ She glanced around. ‘From now until I leave I’ll cook dinner every night and do some light cleaning. I know it won’t make up for losing a whole afternoon’s work on the farm.’ She folded her arms too and lifted her chin. ‘But it’s something.’
To come home every evening and find her in his kitchen, cooking their meals, for the next five nights…He swallowed. Could he deal with that? If he were ready for it, expecting it, then he wouldn’t lose it like he had last night, right?
‘Well?’
He hated cooking. He held out his hand. ‘Deal.’
She placed hers in it, and sent him the kind of smile that could blindside a man if he wasn’t forewarned. Just as well he was forewarned.
He scowled and let go of her hand. Her skin was warm and soft—and so fair!
‘Do you have a hat?’ he barked at her. ‘You shouldn’t be walking around outside at this time of year without a hat.’
She blinked. ‘I forgot to pack one. I’ll…um…get one next time I go shopping.’
‘Good. Now, let’s make tracks.’
He turned and strode out of the house, not checking to see if she followed. He knew she did—he could smell her, sense her. His hands clenched. It suddenly occurred to him that forewarned didn’t necessarily mean forearmed.
Keira couldn’t believe how easy it was to get the key from the agency. To her utter shame, it hadn’t occurred to her to request it earlier. Although she knew she had every right to the key, some inner instinct had warned her the agent would do his best to block her, find excuses for why she couldn’t have it.
Nothing doing—it was a piece of cake! The receptionist took one look at Luke, and Keira swore the poor woman literally started to shake. She’d handed the key over without a murmur.
It had taken a considerable effort not to burst out laughing. So Luke obviously had a reputation for being difficult, huh? If the agency hadn’t worked out yet that his bark was worse then his bite then far be it from her to set them straight. And while she was more than capable of standing up for herself—an independent woman, a strong woman following in the tradition of her mother and grandmother—she had to admit that Luke’s reassuring bulk was a decided comfort.
Luke’s face grew grimmer, however, when they pulled to a halt outside a long metal building. ‘This is John’s workshop.’
She unclipped her seatbelt. ‘You said you went to school with him?’
‘Yeah—John Peterson. He’s a good guy. Whatever he tells us, we can take it as gospel.’
‘Good.’ She paused in the act of opening her door. Luke hadn’t moved. ‘So what are we waiting for?’
He shook himself. ‘Nothing.’
She followed him into the small office at the front of the building. The whirr and buzz of machinery, hammering and sawing, sounded from beyond the partitioned wall, but the office itself was empty.
Keira reached around Luke, who stood frozen, to ring the bell. Almost immediately a barrel-chested bear of a man strode in. He stopped short when he saw Luke.
Oh, dear. Keira bit her lip. Obviously someone else who considered Luke difficult.
But then the tanned face broke into a broad grin and he moved forward with hand outstretched. ‘Luke, it’s good to see you! Haven’t seen your ugly mug around for a while.’
Luke looked as if he wanted to run, but he held his ground and shook the man’s hand. ‘Notice you haven’t got any prettier since the last time I saw you, Peterson.’
The riposte looked as if it had taken John as off guard as it had her. The other man, though, just threw his head back and laughed. He clapped Luke on the back. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘This is Keira.’ Luke ushered her forward. ‘She’s my…guest at the moment.’
Keira took pity on him. ‘Lodger,’ she explained, shaking John’s hand too.
‘Keira’s inherited a house in town. She’s been given a quote for some work that needs doing, but she’d like a second opinion.’
Luke pulled out her quote from his shirt pocket and handed it across to John. She saw the way John’s lips tightened when he glanced at the letterhead. She also noted the look the two men exchanged.
‘I thought you might be able to help.’
‘I’d be glad to.’ John glanced at his watch. ‘If you aren’t busy, I’ve half an hour to spare now…’
‘That’s what I was hoping you’d say.’ Luke smiled. That same smile that had almost knocked her sideways off the kitchen chair earlier.
He should do that more often—smile—it made him look younger. Like thirty-three rather than close to forty, where she’d fixed him.
‘Will that work for you?’
She blinked and realised he was addressing her. ‘Oh, yes! That’s perfect.’
She gave John the address, and they arranged to meet there in five minutes.
John crouched down to peer under the house, the beam of his flashlight stretching to the furthest reaches. He snorted. ‘Who is this joker trying to kid?’
Keira knelt down beside him. ‘What?’
Luke crouched down on her other side. She was too aware of him—of his heat, of the strength that rippled beneath the denim of his jeans, informing her of the powerful thigh muscles concealed beneath. Jeans that looked worn…thin…as if they might rip at any moment and give her a tantalising glimpse of flesh. She watched, holding her breath, mesmerised by his latent power, by—
‘He claims that the whole house needs to be re-piered.’
She snapped to at John’s words. She
glanced up to find Luke watching her. His eyes darkened. Heat flooded her face, her neck. His gaze dropped to her lips. She started to sway towards him…
She snatched herself back. Yikes!
Luke shot to his feet.
Piers! They were talking about piers. ‘So…um…they don’t need replacing?’
‘These four here—’ John pointed to them with his flashlight’—could do with jacking up, but it’s not urgent.’
‘Well, that’s good news,’ she said, rising and risking another glance at Luke. His face had shuttered closed.
‘Okay, let’s head on inside.’
She handed John the key, and tried not to mind if Luke followed them or not.
Her great-aunt’s house was an old colonial-style weatherboard. It had three generous bedrooms, high ceilings and moulded cornices, picture rails and an eat-in kitchen. Keira loved its lack of pretension and its sense of calm.
She didn’t say anything, just followed John as he made his way through the house. He spent a long time surveying the kitchen.
‘Okay,’ he said finally, ‘the kitchen and bathroom could do with modernising, but again that’s not urgent. Currently they’re both serviceable.’
She digested the news silently.
Beside her, Luke stiffened. He hadn’t said much of anything since John had started his inspection. After that moment outside he’d kept an ocean of distance between himself and Keira—always a room behind or a room in front. Now he opened the back door and stalked out into the yard, pacing its length. She watched him from the window above the kitchen sink and tried to pinpoint exactly what it was about the man that sang such a siren’s song to her.
She snorted. Well, how about that magnificent physique for a start?
Deep down, though, she sensed it was something more than that. There was something about the way he held his head—a certain look sometimes in those dark eyes of his. And something about the way he’d mopped her face after she’d been sick, in the way he’d thrust that packet of biscuits at her before he’d stormed off to bed. He might be a tad cantankerous—or a lot, she admitted—but beneath all that gruffness he hid a kind heart.
