‘When I’ve got a bird who’s better than any alarm clock?’ Alex complained, as Buddy swooped back from the deck to inspect the visitor.
‘He’s obviously disappointed I’m not Bruce,’ Will said, holding out his hand towards the bird, who eyed him cautiously for a moment before condescending to jump onto Will’s forearm.
Alex watched the little scene, curiously unsettled by it, not just Buddy on Will’s arm, but Will being here at all. But she could hardly leave him standing on the doorstep with her luggage.
Yet asking him in seemed…not dangerous—it couldn’t possibly be dangerous as this was Will…
‘He must be missing Dad,’ she said, mainly to avoid a decision. Buddy had walked up Will’s arm and was perched on his shoulder, nibbling gently at his earlobe. ‘He’s usually very shy with strangers.’
* * *
Two o’clock in the morning—that’s when Will had reached the decision to collect Alex’s luggage from the hospital and see what he could do as far as the paperwork was concerned. If he went early, he’d decided, she would probably still be asleep and he could leave the lot in the front porch.
That way he’d avoid seeing Alex, and as images of her and replays of their evening had already kept him awake for hours, he’d come to the realisation that the less he saw of her the better.
At least until he’d sorted out a few things in his mind and body. His body’s reaction to her was understandable enough, she was a beautiful woman, but the voice in his head that kept whispering ‘hurt’ and ‘vulnerable’ and other warning words was a different matter.
He’d already worked out, at least a year ago, that when he did find a mother for Charlotte, it would be a different kind of marriage. Two mature people finding companionship and sexual satisfaction and, yes, love of a kind, but not love love.
Love love hurt too much when you lost it—devastated and destroyed you. There was no way he could go through that again—and Alex, with the pain of her past, deserved better than some lukewarm version of the real thing.
So now he was standing at her front door, a galah on his head, feeling like an absolute galoot.
‘Thank you so much,’ Alex said, and he felt a stab of disappointment, sure he was about to be dismissed. Not that he’d expected to be invited in—hadn’t expected her to be up—but, seeing her in too-small, pink, floral pyjamas, he really didn’t want to go.
‘Have you had breakfast?’ she asked.
Hope rose again.
‘No, Charlotte’s stayed over with Mum because I’m on call this weekend so I thought I’d drop this stuff off early so you’d have it when you woke up. Thought it would save you dashing over to the hospital to get some clothes to wear.’
She smiled and the day seemed brighter, and while his head might be calling him all kinds of a fool, his heart swelled just a little in his chest and beat a little faster.
Attraction, that’s all it was—physical attraction after too long a celibacy. But knowing that didn’t stop him carrying her suitcases inside, the bird now flying in front of him as if to show him the way.
Alex led the way up to her bedroom, then, aware of how girlish it still looked—her bedroom at sixteen—she hesitated.
‘Just leave them here in the hall, I’ll sort them out from there. Dad left a note about food in the fridge and I was about to cook a hearty breakfast before facing whatever lay ahead.’
She turned towards him.
‘Now it seems you’ve handled most of what lay immediately ahead, so the least I can do is feed you.’
She looked worried, puzzled, uncertain—exactly the way Will felt—but she recovered first, offering a rueful smile as she said, ‘It’s weird, isn’t it, meeting again like this?’
Weird didn’t begin to sum it up! Although why, he couldn’t fathom…
‘Go and sit on the deck,’ she told him when they reached the kitchen, and he saw the majestic sweep of the river through the windows. ‘Bacon and eggs okay? And I’ve coffee made if you’d like a cup while you wait.’
To Alex’s relief, Will accepted a cup of coffee and headed out onto the deck, lessening, though not by much, the tension in her nerves. She was reasonably certain the attraction she was feeling towards him was nothing more than his familiarity. Coming home had been like landing in another life, and he was a familiar figure to cling to while she found her way around.
Not that she could cling to Will.
It had been more than three years since his wife had died and even though he’d said he’d got out of the dating habit, there had to have been other women in his life—or another special woman.
And, anyway, it felt wrong, this attraction to him. If he was looking for a woman he’d be thinking in terms of a mother for Charlotte—someone stable and committed to both him and his daughter.
And given the mess she’d made of relationships in the past, she’d hardly qualify for either role.
The bacon was sizzling and she pushed it to one side of the pan and added eggs.
‘How do you like your eggs?’ she called through the window.
‘Sunny side up,’ he replied, and the fact that she liked hers that way as well did not mean one damn thing!
She made toast, set it, butter, salt and pepper, honey and marmalade on a tray with their cutlery and carried the lot out to the table, then hurried back in for the plates before Will could offer to help her.
Distance, that’s all she needed. A bit of distance between them and all the unwanted and inexplicable physical reactions in her body would eventually disappear.
Will watched the river come to life, fishing boats motoring towards the mouth, kayakers paddling furiously past, one lone windsurfer trying desperately to stay upright in the lightest of breezes.
He’d have breakfast then leave and, really, was there any reason he’d have to see Alex again?
No reason at all, and it was definitely best that he didn’t—
Though why?
He tried to work out why the instant attraction he’d felt towards her seemed so wrong. Almost dangerous.
How could it be?
Because instant attraction didn’t work?
Because she’d admitted being bad at relationships and he didn’t want to upset Charlotte by bringing a woman who might not stick with them into her life?
Or because such a strong attraction could lead to love?
Wasn’t that the crux of it?
Seventeen years ago she’d been, to him, the kid who’d shifted in next door. A kid in all kinds of pain—that had been obvious.
He realised, as the word ‘kid’ came into his thoughts again, that that was how he’d always seen her. The kid who’d minded the twins, a quiet shadow in the house next door.
Although he’d realised just how much inner strength she’d had when her rape case had come to court, one long year after the complaint. The Armitages—either Dave or Isobel—had always gone with her when she’d had to appear right up until the day of the judgment. Dave had been down south at a conference and Isobel had asked Will to accompany her and Alex, somehow guessing the verdict wasn’t going to be the one they wanted.
He’d been there on one side of her, Isobel on the other, and her hand had gripped his as the jury pronounced the rapist not guilty.
He’d been so proud to have known her as she’d stood up, head high, fixed Mr Spencer with a withering look and marched out of the court.
‘At least,’ she’d said to her two supporters, ‘other people will be suspicious of him now and he’ll be too scared to touch another child.’
He glanced up as the woman who’d been the ‘kid next door’ slid a tray onto the table. ‘I’d forgotten just how wonderful it was to sit out here.’
‘It’s fantastic,’ he agreed, taking in the too-small floral pyjamas again and wondering if it was possible to keep thinking of her in that ‘kid next door’ way.
She passed him his plate, refilled his coffee cup, and settled beside him so they could both look o
ut at the river.
No, came the answer to his wondering. If anything, the pyjamas accentuated her womanliness, somehow emphasising the softness of the body inside them, straining buttons suggesting how much she’d filled out.
‘I think I’ve figured out that it’s Saturday,’ she said, pausing in her obvious enjoyment of breakfast. ‘Does that mean you have the day off?’
Ordinary question—work question really. Talking of work would be good. But before he could reply she was talking again.
‘I was only asking, and I know it’s a cheek when you’ve done so much already, bringing my stuff and Dad’s papers from the hospital, but if you don’t have to rush off, and don’t have anything planned with your daughter, I wondered…’
Her voice trailed off and, instead of watching the river, she was studying her bacon and eggs as if they were some rare anatomical discovery.
‘I’m on call, which means Charlotte is with Mum. I don’t have to rush off unless I’m paged,’ he said. ‘So out with it.’
She looked up, her face turned to his, serious, worried, a shade embarrassed.
‘I know I’ve been in the house since late last night, but really only in my old bedroom and the kitchen and I kind of went to both of those automatically, if you know what I mean. It’s not that I’m scared—but—’
An abrupt break this time, but he thought he’d caught on. He shooed Buddy away before the bird stole a second piece of bacon, and touched Alex lightly on the shoulder.
‘You want me to go through the house with you, just be there while you do it the first time?’
She nodded, her embarrassment obvious now as colour rose in her cheeks.
‘I know it’s stupid,’ she said, straightening in her chair and taking a deep breath, ‘but it’s been so long, nearly twenty years, and walking into their bedroom, the living room, downstairs into Dad’s workshop—’
‘Will be traumatic enough even with company,’ Will finished for her.
She smiled her agreement, just a wan little smile, but Will’s body responded to it as automatically as she’d gone to her bedroom the previous night. He leaned forward and kissed her, just a quick gentle kiss, on lips that tasted of bacon and coffee and something indefinable, which he had to assume was just Alex.
‘It’ll be okay,’ he assured her. ‘Everything will work out.’
Heaven help me, Alex thought. She was having enough trouble coping with her return to this house, her father’s death and Will’s presence, without him kissing her. Not that it had been a kiss kiss, just a comfort kiss, but her body hadn’t seemed to recognise the difference and her nerves were twittering with excitement.
And she’d asked him to walk through the house with her, so he wasn’t leaving any time soon!
He was focussed on his breakfast—or possibly on keeping Buddy from eating it—so she could sneak a look at him. Maybe if she looked enough, she could work out why he was affecting her the way he was.
Lovely profile—maybe not such a good idea, the looking—straight nose, just enough chin, and a forehead that was broad and smooth, the dark hair just a little long so a bit flopped across it in a rather endearing way.
Endearing way? Are you out of your mind, woman?
But her looking had fixed on the lips that had just kissed her—well, touched hers in a sympathetic-friend kind of way.
They were pale, and delineated by an even paler line around them, not that they needed the delineation because they were very nicely made, not too full or fleshy but not mean and straight. Without doubt, the man had great lips.
Which, of course, led to her wayward mind wondering what a real kiss from those lips would feel like.
‘Gone to sleep sitting up?’ Will asked, fortunately after she’d taken her eyes off his lips and was gazing sightlessly out over the river.
‘Just about,’ she answered, smiling at him to show how awake she was and how unaffected she’d been by his presence, and the kiss, and her perusal of his profile.
Liar!
‘So, we’ll be off on our expedition?’ he asked, and she forgot her confusion over Will as all the anxiety about really seeing the house—her home?—returned.
‘Best we do,’ she managed, stacking their plates on the tray and standing up to take it back to the kitchen.
‘Let me,’ he said, his eyes meeting hers, his fingers brushing lightly against her hands as he removed the tray from her weakening grasp.
With the dirty dishes deposited safely in the kitchen, Alex led the way first to the living room.
‘I don’t know why I’ve felt so—so reluctant to do this,’ she said, aware she was standing far too close to Will but too disturbed by the past for it to bother her body.
Much!
‘Too much pain in the past,’ Will said, putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her even closer. ‘No matter how convinced we are that we’ve got over it, any trauma in childhood or adolescence must leave an emotional…’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I suppose “bruise” is as good a word as any. It’s there but you don’t realise it still hurts until you touch it.’
‘You’re right,’ she agreed, leaving the comfort of that arm and stepping into the room, looking around at the bare mantelpiece above the fireplace where once pictures of her, from babyhood to teenage years, had been arrayed. Now a forlorn vase of plastic—or maybe silk—irises made an attempt to brighten up the room.
And failed dismally.
The furniture was new, which was good, but the little nest of tables that had been her grandmother’s was still tucked to one side of the three-seater, and her mother’s magazine stand was beside the chair in the place that had always been designated as her father’s—fishing magazines in place of the gossip magazines her mother, for all her religious beliefs, had loved.
Wandering around the room, she touched the mantelpiece, the old brass screen that stood in front of the fireplace, the little nest of tables.
‘Ghosts?’ Will asked, and she was surprised by her reply.
‘No, not at all! It’s different, but that’s about it. And it’s still a comfortable room. I think fireplaces do that, don’t you?’
Before he could reply she was leading the way upstairs. Bathrooms were bathrooms and the downstairs one held no memories—bad or good—but her parents’ bedroom—who knew?
But when she walked into it she stopped, looking all around, unable to believe her mother’s once frilly, pale blue and green bedroom had been transformed into what looked more like a monastic cell than a frequently slept-in space.
Gone was the big bed that had dominated the room, replaced by a large single pressed up against a wall, made up with military precision, not a wrinkle to be seen. Next to it her father had set one of the pair of old bedside tables, and on it he’d had a lamp, a picture of his bride and himself on their wedding day, and as many of the photos off the mantelpiece as he could fit. Photos of Alex from babyhood to her last school photo, the plain navy uniform of the church-based school, also wrinkle-free—obviously in honour of the photo day.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she whispered, touching the photos then turning to cross the room to the cupboards built into one wall. Her father’s suits were neatly hung in about a tenth of the wardrobe space, while his shorts and polo shirts, his underwear and socks were all set out on the shelves, aligned to meet and pass any inspection.
‘It’s as if he tried to get rid of all traces of her,’ she murmured, more to herself than to Will. ‘Do you suppose he did it when she died, or when he knew I was coming home?’
It wasn’t a question anyone could answer, so Will didn’t try, but he was concerned by how the changes in the room had affected Alex, and couldn’t help but wonder just how much of the past might come back to haunt her in this place that had been her home.
‘Are you sure you’re okay, living here, even for a while?’ he asked, as she turned in the centre of the room, taking in the bareness yet again. His heart ached to help her, but who could
help someone suffer pain?
‘Mum’s got a spare bedroom if you’d like to camp there until you make a decision about where you’d like to live,’ he heard himself say, though common sense had been relentless in telling him the less he saw of Alex the better.
After all, what could he offer her, still grieving himself over the loss of Elise?
To his relief—at least, he thought it was relief—she smiled and shook her head.
‘Leave my river view? I might have been away from it for a long time, but it’s always been there in my head, and no matter how unhappy my leaving here was, nothing could take away the pleasure I will get from just being by the river—my river!’
The smile brightened, and she added, ‘Do you really not have to go to work?’
‘As long as I’m not paged and I pop in to show my face later today, I’m covered,’ he said, and her smile grew mischievous.
‘Then let’s go down and see if Dad’s tinnie is still under the house. Knowing him, the boat should be in top condition. We can go out on the river and down some of the offshoots where I used to take the twins fishing.’ She paused before adding, ‘Didn’t you come with us once because Isobel was worried I couldn’t handle the twins in the boat on my own?’
Her vague memory of the outing confirmed what Will already knew—that he’d played a very insignificant part of her life with the family next door.
She was already heading down the stairs, and he followed, out the front door and around to the river side of the house, where the slope of the ground meant there was plenty of room under the wide deck for a workshop and an aluminium dinghy on a small trailer. The ubiquitous Aussie tinnie!
Slightly bemused, he watched as Alex lifted a petrol container and placed it in the boat, close to the outboard engine, then hooked up the fuel line, pumped it a couple of times, and pulled the rope start on the engine.
It roared to life and, satisfied, she turned it off, and walked to the prow to pull the trailer down to the water.
‘Are you going like that?’ Will asked, and she looked down at herself in surprise.
‘Good grief, you might have told me I was still in my pyjamas, and very old pyjamas at that! What if you take off your shoes and get the boat into the water while I duck upstairs and change?’
The One Man to Heal Her Page 4
