by Joan Kilby
Chris glanced up as Rafe trudged by. “What’s up?”
Rafe shrugged, avoiding Chris’s gaze. Clutching the folder tight under his arm, he wove through the maze of cubicles and around the corner to Larry’s office.
The door was ajar. He knocked and pushed it open. “Larry?”
His heart kicked up at the sight of Lexie’s slender figure in a cotton dress and her tanned bare legs. Her hair was piled loosely on top of her head, with long curls falling around her face.
Her gaze lasered in on him. “There you are.”
“Ms. Thatcher just arrived. We’re about to discuss the tax assessment you did for her,” Larry said to Rafe. “Have a seat.”
Damn and triple damn. Rafe took the chair next to Lexie. He met her gaze, trying to decipher the odd light in her eyes.
Larry’s phone rang. As he answered it, Rafe leaned toward her and spoke in a low voice. “What have you said? Don’t let on there was anything between us. Strictly business.”
Her crystal-clear eyes turned opaque. “We need to talk about that. But it’s not what I’m here to discuss right now.”
Rafe checked his pocket for the roll of antacid tablets. Quietly, he took one out and popped it in his mouth.
Larry hung up the phone. “Now, Ms. Thatcher. What can we do for you?”
Lexie pulled the envelope with her income tax summary from a big tan leather handbag. “There’s been a mistake. The amount I have to pay is too much.”
“Rafe is one of our best auditors,” Larry said, glancing over it. “I double-checked your file personally. I didn’t detect any mistakes in the calculations.”
“It’s not the tax return I’m worried about.” Lexie waved it away with paint-stained fingers. “It’s the massive penalties I object to. Yes, I should have declared my income but I wasn’t trying to deliberately defraud the tax office. I simply can’t afford that much.”
“There are options for paying by installments. Your return should have included information about how to do that.”
“It did,” Rafe said. “In the covering letter. I suggested she call me to talk about it.” He turned to Lexie. “Why didn’t you phone or email?”
“I want to appeal,” Lexie insisted. “I looked this up on your website.” She looked back at Rafe accusingly. “You gave me the maximum penalties. After everything we—” She broke off, biting her lip.
A charged silence filled the office. Rafe’s palms grew damp.
Frowning, Larry glanced from Rafe to Lexie. He leaned forward. “Go on. what were you about to say? After everything you and Rafe…what?”
Lexie tightened her hands on the straps of her handbag. “I want to talk to Rafe privately.”
“Privately?” Larry repeated, making the word sound sordid.
Rafe jumped to his feet. “We don’t need to bother you with this, Larry—”
“Sit down,” Larry ordered. “We’re not done yet.”
Rafe wiped a hand across his forehead and sank back into his chair.
“I understand that Rafe spent a week at your house preparing your tax return,” Larry said to Lexie.
“I was booked into a bed and breakfast,” Rafe interjected. “I worked on her assessment there, too. Part of the time.”
“Y-yes,” Lexie said, answering Larry’s question. She glanced uncertainly at Rafe.
“Rafe has been on probation for getting too involved in auditees,” Larry said. “So I’m concerned that…irregularities might have occurred.” He picked up a pen and twirled it in his fingers. “During the audit, did your relationship with Rafe take on a…personal nature, Ms. Thatcher?”
Lexie’s chin came up. “That’s none of your business.”
“Rafe is working for the government of Australia. It is the business of the tax office what goes on during audits.” Larry studied his pen, giving that time to sink in. Then he glanced up and repeated his question. “Was your relationship with Rafe personal?”
Lexie went still. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
Rafe got to his feet again, his stomach full of needles. “Quit harassing her. She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Let Ms. Thatcher speak—”
“Why would you even imagine there was something going on between us? She’s a whole lot older than me, for one thing.” He was being belligerent but he was rattled. “And she’s an artist which is so not my type. You know me, Larry. Beer and fishing.”
“Yes, it was personal,” Lexie said quietly. She rose, her face deathly pale. “I’m pregnant with his child.”
Rafe reeled, stumbling into the credenza, toppling a potted cactus and spilling dirt. “You…what?”
“You heard me. There’s a café on the ground floor. Meet me there in five minutes.” She swung back to Larry, whose jaw had fallen open. “My baby is not the business of the tax office.”
She grabbed her leather handbag and swept out of the office.
BABY? PREGNANT? Had he heard correctly? Rafe stared at the empty space where Lexie had been a few seconds before. Then he lurched out of the office after her, ignoring Larry, who was firing questions as fast as he could spit them out.
Rafe tore around the corner and through the door to reception just in time to see the elevator doors close. He stabbed at the button, backed up, hands on hips. Lexie’s elevator was almost at ground level. The light for the second elevator was flashing five floors above.
“What’s going on?” Pat asked, ignoring her incoming call. “Who was that woman?”
“An auditee.” Giving up on the elevator, he pushed through the fire exit and ran down ten flights of stairs. Bursting through at the ground floor, he skidded to a halt.
Through the glass wall of the café he could see her with her back to him, her slender fingers tightly clasped on the round table. He crossed the lobby and went inside, taking a seat in the booth opposite her.
He’d told himself he wasn’t going to touch her but he found himself placing his hands over hers. “What do you mean, you’re pregnant? You can’t drop a bombshell like that then just walk out.”
She withdrew her hands, her expression cool. “I didn’t want to talk about it with your boss. He came through reception as I was giving my name to the woman at the desk and he invited me to wait in his office.”
“Checking up on me,” Rafe muttered.
“I didn’t mean to tell you like that,” Lexie said. “It just…came out.”
“It was a helluva way to find out I’m going to be a—” He couldn’t even say it. “You shouldn’t have come here. You should have called so we could talk about this privately.”
The waiter brought Lexie a latte. Rafe ordered a double espresso. His stomach felt like hell and he wished he’d had a chance to eat his lunch. But he badly needed a coffee.
“Well, here we are,” Lexie said. “Let’s talk.”
“When did you find out? How far along are you?”
“I found out a few days ago.” Lexie sipped her coffee. “You’re the numbers man. You do the math.”
He didn’t need a calculator. He’d left Summerside four weeks and three days ago. This wasn’t happening. He must be dreaming, although it was more of a nightmare. The waiter brought his espresso and he downed it in one gulp, wincing as the bitter liquid hit his empty stomach.
“How did this happen?” he demanded. “You said—” He stopped, realizing he was practically shouting, and lowered his voice. “You said you had an IUD.”
She held herself erect but the strain showed in her face. “It must have slipped out. I didn’t notice.”
“How can you not notice something like that?” Not that he knew anything about IUDs. She was the only woman he’d been with that had one. Or at least, thought she did.
Or said she did.
He stared at her, a suspicion chilling him. “You did this on purpose.”
“How could you say such a thing?” Pale before, now she went white. “I would never do
that!”
“You wanted a kid. It was obvious to anyone with eyes in their head.” He clenched his fists beneath the table. “I want to go to bed with you, Rafe.”
“I didn’t hear you say no.” Spots of color now stained her cheeks. “You—” Lexie clamped her mouth shut as a couple passed by on their way to another table. Then she spit out, “You wanted me, too.”
God help him, he still wanted her. But he was damned if he’d be that stupid again. Idiot. He never had sex without condoms, not even when a woman told him she was on the pill. No…IUD. Now look where he was.
“Are you going to keep it?” he asked.
Her head jerked back as if he’d slapped her. “It, Rafe? He or she is a little person, a human being. Yes, I’m going to keep the baby.”
“I’m not ready to get married.” His voice was tight, every muscle in his body tense.
“Nobody asked you to marry me,” Lexie pointed out icily. “I don’t want a boy for a husband. And since I’m way too old for you—”
Rafe flinched. “I said that upstairs for Larry’s benefit.”
“Sure.” Disbelief and disappointment were etched on her face.
“I’m not ready to be a father, either. If I ever will be. And that’s a big if. I’m trying to get established with this fishing charter business.”
“You’re all talk,” she said, waving a hand. “You’re never going to buy a boat.”
“I already did.” He slid his wallet from his back pocket and removed a bent photo. “I’m going to call it Someday.”
Blinking, she gazed at the picture, struggling to process the information. Her cheeks paled. “So you’ll be quitting your job.”
“Hell, no. I can’t afford to, not yet.” He tucked the photo back in his wallet. Larry would probably fire him anyway. “A baby couldn’t come at a worse time for me.”
She stood and gathered up her purse. “I don’t want anything from you. Not money, not time, nothing. You’re clearly too immature to be a father. I only told you because it seemed like the right thing to do. Some men would want to know. I guess you’re not one of them.”
She brushed past him. His head in his hands, he let her go. He heard the café door open and close.
A boy for a husband? He didn’t feel like a boy. He felt as if he’d aged a hundred years.
LEXIE STUMBLED down the street to the off-road parking lot where she’d left her car. Her legs didn’t seem to be moving properly. Her face felt stiff with the effort not to cry. Rafe—what an absolute jerk. Only now did she realize that some tiny part of her had been hoping that he might actually want the baby. What a fool she’d been!
If he could think she’d gotten pregnant on purpose then quite likely he’d also thought she would try to trap him into marriage.
She fumbled for her keys and unlocked her door. When she was safely inside she put her head down on the steering wheel and let the tears flow.
Bastard. She hated him. How dare he? How dare he?
Someone knocked on her window. She tried to stop crying. He’d come after her. He was sorry. He— She raised her head.
A woman of about sixty, well dressed with a blond pageboy and heavy gold earrings, peered in at her.
Lexie rolled down the window.
The woman handed her a tissue, gold bracelets clinking. “Are you all right, honey?” she said in a raspy voice. “I watched you all the way down the block.”
Wiping her wet eyes with the tissue, Lexie shook her head. “Men are pigs.”
The woman nodded. “You got that right. You probably shouldn’t drive when you’re that upset.”
Lexie let out a deep, shuddering sigh. “I’ll sit here and listen to the radio for a while. Thanks.”
The woman walked away, glancing back over her shoulder. Lexie mustered a smile and waved. She checked herself in the mirror and saw a bleary, haggard face. No wonder the woman had been worried.
She wiped away the rest of her tears. To hell with Rafe. She didn’t need him. She could do this on her own.
Instead of turning on the radio she closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest.
She was a crystal lying on the sandy bottom of a quiet pond. Calm and—
Rafe’s face appeared before her, destroying her peace. His sexy body, handsome face with the black stubble and bedroom eyes. Bedroom. That’s where all the trouble had started.
It wasn’t all trouble. She wanted this baby. Lexie squirmed, agitated by the conflicting emotions.
Stop thinking! Just breathe.
She was as smooth and round as a washed pebble but perfectly clear. Crystal clear.
He’d wanted her to terminate the pregnancy. As if that would solve all their problems. He didn’t have any idea.
She dug her phone out of her purse and checked for messages. With a few minutes to process, he might—
None. Damn. She snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the passenger seat.
Closing her eyes again, she made an effort to slow her breathing. Peace…calm…light—
Tears seeped from beneath her closed lids.
It was no good trying to meditate in a parking lot on a busy street when she was distressed. She started the car and set off for Summerside, glad of the distraction of dealing with traffic to take her mind off Rafe, her taxes, the baby.
Gradually an icy calm settled over her. She would do what she had to do to survive.
When she got home she went around her studio and house and rounded up every seascape painting she’d completed. There were five—two of Mornington Pier and the fishing boats, one of Summerside village, one of the creek among the trees behind her house with the cool green filtered light.
The fifth was the full moon rising above Summerside Beach while the sky was aglow with sunset. When she pulled that one out she had to concentrate so hard not to cry that she got a headache.
Don’t think about him.
She cleared the long trestle table and brought out colored sheets of mat board, the mat cutter, a ruler and a pencil. She spent the rest of the day framing the paintings.
Sienna’s portrait sat propped on its easel to one side, a reminder of what she wanted to be doing. But she didn’t have the luxury anymore of doing only what she wanted. Still it was a dilemma—the guaranteed but small income from the commercial paintings, or the uncertain but potentially large cash prize of the Archibald.
Somehow, she had to do both. As she worked she calculated in her head how much she could hope to earn from the sale of these paintings. She would put it toward the usual food, mortgage and utility bills plus save a portion for the baby and a portion for her tax bill. She didn’t know what she’d do if her earnings didn’t cover everything. Paint faster?
A painting under each arm, she crossed the lawn and rounded the side of the house into the carport. She’d just opened the trunk of her car when the phone rang. She raced inside to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Lexie,” Jack said. “How’s everything?”
“You’re back! Welcome home. I’m fine,” she added. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone else about her pregnancy.
“Can you come for dinner tonight? A kind of post-wedding, post-honeymoon celebration. Just the family.”
She was dead tired but this was special if Jack was issuing a formal invitation. “Sure, I can make it. Are Mum and Dad both coming?”
“Yes.” Jack said firmly. “Sienna and I want tonight to be an opportunity for the two of them to be together without any outside influences, if you catch my drift.”
“That’s a great idea.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Jack, I’ve got to run to the gallery before it closes. I’ll see you tonight.”
The Manyung Gallery held major shows of one or two prominent artists at a time. They usually ran for six weeks. They also carried paintings and sculptures from local artists—including Lexie—on an ongoing basis. Normally Samuel, the owner, didn’t have space for more than three or four.
Tall an
d spare with thinning blond hair, Samuel was dressed in a pale pink shirt and tan pants. He was standing before a painting, discussing it with a potential customer, an older woman in a dark blue dress. Lexie carried two of her paintings inside, nodding to him.
Seeing her carrying in paintings, he frowned before turning back to his customer. When she went back out to the car and came back with three more, he handed the woman to his young blonde assistant, Tanya.
“Lexie, love,” Samuel said, hurrying over. “I can’t take any more of your paintings till the others sell.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Your wall is still full. Come and see for yourself.”
Fear seized her. She’d been so busy with Rafe and her portrait she hadn’t paused to wonder why she hadn’t heard about any sales.
Samuel led her to the alcove where her paintings were always hung. Three paintings. Not one bore a little orange Sold sticker.
“I did as you asked and raised the price. Nothing’s moved.” He crossed his arms, eyebrows lifted, letting her draw her own conclusions.
Lexie’s heart sank. This was a huge setback. She’d been counting on these sales to pay this month’s bills. Summer and early autumn were her most profitable months, when tourists came to holiday on the peninsula. If she couldn’t sell now…
This is what she got for being greedy. No, not greedy. She’d been showing off in front of Rafe, not wanting him to think she didn’t have a business bone in her body.
She smiled weakly, feeling sick inside. “I guess I owe you a bottle of pinot noir.”
“What do you want to do?” Samuel said. “Shall we lower the price a tad?”
Lexie nodded heavily. “Drop them to where they’ll sell.”
Then she had to watch while he took out a pen and slashed the price.
She gestured to her new paintings. “Can you store these until there’s space to hang them?”
“Carry them into the back room. I’ll get the book to record what we’ve got.” Samuel started to move toward the reception desk then paused. “Are you okay? You look tired.”
Lexie forced a smile, knowing it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m wonderful. Couldn’t be better. Excuse me, I’ll just use your washroom before I go.”
