Miracle in Bellaroo Creek (Bellaroo Creek!)

by Hannay, Barbara

  As well as arranging beauty spas and massages, it had been her responsibility to make sure these special guests never had to wait for a dinner table, or theatre tickets, or a clean towel. She had even sent staff out to buy gluten-free bread at awkward hours.

  Whether the VIP guests were charming or childish, aloof or overfriendly, Milla had taken their peccadilloes in her stride. Keeping them happy had been a daily challenge to which she’d risen conscientiously.

  It was while she’d been working in this role that she’d met Ed. She would never forget the way he’d come striding into the hotel lobby just on nightfall, straight from a transatlantic flight. Tall, dark and dignified in a long black winter coat, he’d sent the hearts of female guests and staff fluttering.

  Milla hadn’t been immune to his impact. Not by any means. Until then, she’d never met any man who made her heart-rate quicken on first sight, but, despite his attractiveness, she’d made sure her manner was pleasant and friendly, and scrupulously professional.

  Ed had come to London on business, of course, working very hard with late meetings and hasty dinners and Milla had facilitated several private, one-on-one hearings with European businessmen that had apparently been highly productive.

  ‘You’re an amazing asset here,’ Ed had told her when he was leaving. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you next time I’m in London.’ He was dangerously handsome, especially when he looked into her eyes and smiled.

  To Milla’s dismay, she’d felt a warm blush that wouldn’t go away. ‘I’m actually moving on,’ she’d told him. ‘I think I’m a nomad at heart, and I’ve been in London for almost two years.’

  He didn’t try to hide his disappointment. ‘Are you going back to Australia?’

  ‘To America, actually. I’ve been offered a job in California.’

  Such a gorgeous smile he’d given her then. ‘Which hotel?’

  ‘The Ritz-Carlton.’

  ‘Fabulous. You never know.’ Silver sparks had shone in his grey eyes. ‘We might meet up again.’

  Looking back, Milla could see the way her life had taken a crucial turn that day. She and Ed had met up again, of course. He’d made sure of it.

  And who knew how things might have turned out if she’d been a little braver?

  * * *

  Ed was troubled as he burned up the miles down the highway. He knew he could never persuade Milla to give up her bakery plan. His efforts to do so had been a total waste of energy. She would almost certainly fail, but no one was going to talk her out of this.

  As his hands clenched the steering wheel and his chest tightened he warned himself to let this go. It was Milla’s problem, not his. He’d done his duty and she was an intelligent woman with the right to make her own decisions. Her own mistakes.

  Again.

  Thing was—despite his concerns, he couldn’t suppress a niggling admiration. Having spent almost his entire adult life behind a desk or in boardrooms, he could totally understand the appeal of breaking free of the mould.

  Heaven knew there’d been days when he’d wished he could throw off the shackles of shareholder expectation and escape the office to climb a mountain or canoe the Amazon, or sail around Cape Horn.

  But Milla running a bakery?

  No way. That made no sense.

  Ed was still a little shell-shocked after seeing her with her hair covered by a scarf as she tackled cobwebs and wielded a mop and bucket. So different from the woman who’d always been so carefully groomed and dressed in up-to-the-minute fashion. So different from the first time he’d seen her working in the London hotel.

  That day she’d been wearing a simple but chic black dress, a perfect foil for her pale skin and flame-coloured hair. He remembered her poise and the glint of elegant jewellery as she’d walked towards him with a warm smile.

  She’d extended her hand. ‘Hello, Mr Cavanaugh. Welcome to The Hedgerow.’

  Ed had enjoyed his share of classy women, but there’d been something about Milla Brady that had woken a response beyond the ordinary. He’d been as fascinated by her efficiency as he had by the sheen of her hair, and her beautiful smile.

  One evening during his stay, while he’d waited in the private lounge for an important meeting with a business contact from Brussels, he’d invited Milla to keep him company.

  With a little encouragement, she’d told him about the places she’d visited in Europe, the sights she’d seen and the people she’d met. Her conversation had been so easy and entertaining that she might have been a high-class hooker.

  She wasn’t, of course. Ed’s discreet inquiries had ruled that out. She was just damn good at her job. But she epitomised, he’d realised, his idea of the perfect woman.

  Then she’d told him she was moving to America, and, although he didn’t believe in astrology, he was quite sure his stars had been perfectly aligned. The fact that he lived in New York and Milla was going to California was a minor problem. With a brother in LA, Ed could use his out-of-town status as the perfect excuse to invite a woman he hardly knew to a party.

  Harry’s thirtieth birthday party had been timely. And it had been, of course, a lavish Beverly Hills affair. No expense spared. An orchestra, massive urns with towering flower arrangements, waiters in white coats and bow ties, guests from Hollywood’s A-list.

  Amidst the expensive gowns, the mirrors, the marble and chandeliers, Milla, in backless cream silk that showed off her moon-pale skin and bright hair, had looked completely at home in the glamorous crowd. And to Ed she’d looked utterly enchanting.

  The night had gone well until he’d kissed her.

  Even now, he could never look back on that party without a painful stab of self-reproach. He’d always thought of himself as urbane and cool, but he’d handled that night like a ham-fisted youth.

  The evening had unravelled when he’d gone to fetch Milla another drink. While he was away, a gaggle of girls from Harry’s set had gathered around her.

  Returning, drink in hand, Ed had heard their conversation through a small forest of potted palms.

  ‘What do you think of American guys?’ one girl had asked Milla.

  ‘I’m reserving judgement,’ she’d told them smoothly and then she’d laughed. ‘But I must say, I wasn’t in London this long before a fellow kissed me.’

  ‘Those British guys are quick off the mark,’ suggested another girl.

  ‘Or American guys are damn slow on the uptake,’ joined in another.

  Laughter had rippled around the group, and Ed waited for it to die down before he joined them and handed Milla her mai tai cocktail. Even so, there’d been a momentary lull when he arrived, and in the quietness Milla’s eloquent gaze had met his.

  She must have known that he’d overheard their conversation and its implied challenge, but she hadn’t seemed in any way embarrassed, and it had made every kind of sense to Ed to find the first opportunity to lure her out into the moonlit garden.

  The grounds of Harry’s mansion were perfect for strolling—smooth lawns and winding paths and shadowy pockets of palms or fragrant shrubbery.

  ‘It’s so lovely and warm here,’ Milla had said as they walked past a lily pond where silver moonlight streamed. ‘It reminds me of Australia.’

  ‘Do you miss home?’ he asked her.

  ‘Sometimes. Not often. It’s ages since I’ve been back. Luckily, my parents have retired, so they can visit me over here.’

  ‘And how have you found America so far?’

  Milla smiled, and her green eyes sparkled knowingly in the moonlight. ‘I like my job. America’s fun,’ she’d said. ‘Everyone’s so friendly.’

  ‘But the men are slow off the mark.’

  She stopped walking. Her silk dress shimmered whitely and her skin looked wonderfully soft. ‘It was just silly girl talk, Ed. I was playing
along with their game.’

  ‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’ He took her hands in his, holding her cool fingers lightly. ‘You haven’t been kissed by an American?’

  Her eyes became luminous. ‘No, I haven’t,’ she admitted softly.

  ‘That’s a crime,’ he said.

  Her response was a breathless laugh.

  ‘In fact,’ he said next, ‘I’m quite sure it’s a crime in at least seven states.’

  His heart was drumming as he settled his hands on her slim waist, which was crazy given that he’d kissed hundreds of girls in the moonlight. But, alone with Milla Brady, he had difficulty keeping his voice steady. ‘It’s most definitely a crime in California.’

  As he leaned in she swayed towards him and their lips met in an easy and friendly hello. Warm and pleasurable and sweet. But within moments, everything changed. Ed had been lost. Lost in her yielding sweetness, lost in her eager response and the warm press of her slim body to his.

  He kissed her hard and long and it felt like destiny, as if he’d been waiting all his life for this woman. This night. This moonlight. When he kissed her breasts through the thin silk of her gown, she went a little wild and he was quite sure she would have run away with him then, if he’d asked her, or even if he hadn’t asked and had simply taken.

  Perhaps she brought out the gallant knight in him, or perhaps he’d been a little afraid of the strength of his own passion... After all, the Cavanaughs were ladies’ men, but they never lost their hearts.

  On the brink of tipping into madness, Ed broke the kiss, but Milla remained entangled in his arms, her chest heaving against his chest, her head on his shoulder as their ragged breathing slowed.

  ‘I’m not sure that kiss was legal,’ he said eventually, trying to lighten the intensity of what had passed between them.

  Her response was so soft he hadn’t caught it, but she was no longer smiling. In fact, she looked worried. Very worried indeed.

  After her passionate response, this didn’t quite make sense. Ed couldn’t think what to say. He’d been quite sure she hadn’t wanted to discuss what had just happened, and he certainly hadn’t. Small talk seemed somehow impossible, so he’d led her back, walking in silence via a wisteria-scented path, to the safety of the party.

  Harry was standing near the door as they came inside. Golden haired, smiling, devilishly handsome, he was holding a champagne bottle. ‘I wondered where you’d got to, Ed.’

  Harry called to a waiter for two more glasses. ‘You two look like you need a drink.’ As he poured bubbles into Milla’s glass his charismatic smile brimmed with sympathy. ‘Beware of my big brother.’ He managed to sound both sincere and amused. ‘Ed spends too much time stuck in boardrooms and he doesn’t really know how to party. He can be a bit of a wet blanket.’

  ‘I’m having a perfectly lovely time,’ Milla assured him.

  ‘Are you?’ Harry’s gaze was shrewd as he studied her and then he’d looked at Ed. ‘Hmm,’ he said, slipping his arm possessively through Milla’s.

  Ed felt a prickle of apprehension. No, he’d thought. No. Harry won’t. He can’t possibly.

  But of course, Harry could and he did.

  He gave Milla his most charming smile. ‘I should warn you, my dear, Ed peaks early and the night is young.’

  She laughed, pulling gently away.

  Harry’s grip on her arm tightened. ‘Besides, it’s my birthday, and I demand your charming company for the next half-hour.’

  As Milla surrendered and was borne away, she looked back over her shoulder to Ed, shooting him a look of amused bewilderment. ‘See you later,’ she mouthed.

  Watching her leave, laughing at something Harry whispered in her ear, Ed felt powerless. It was Harry’s party and there were too many guests to make a scene.

  Besides, having witnessed his parents’ fights so often during his early years, Ed abhorred family scenes.

  His grandmother had sensed this back when he was seven. ‘You’re going to be our family’s anchor, Ed,’ she’d said.

  It was a vocation he’d taken to heart, but there’d been many times since that he’d regretted his restraint on that fateful evening. He’d known from the start, and with chilling certainty, that Harry had had no qualms about stealing the girl his brother had invited.

  And thirty minutes was all it had taken.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PAINT ROLLER IN hand, Milla was poised on a trestle balanced between two ladders when the phone rang. Fortunately, the phone was in her jeans pocket, and she didn’t have to scramble down to answer it.

  ‘Milla? Or should I say Michelangelo?’ Heidi chirruped. ‘How’s the painting?’

  Milla laughed. ‘Believe it or not, I’m actually enjoying myself.’ She beamed at the snowy ceiling above her and at the two walls already covered with lovely, fresh paint, the rich hue of thick cream. ‘And I’m almost halfway there.’

  ‘Well done.’ After a beat, Heidi added, ‘But it’s a pity the handsome American didn’t hang around to help you.’

  Milla’s heart gave a twist, much to her annoyance. ‘Who told you about Ed?’

  ‘A little bird whispered.’

  ‘A bird by the name of Sherry, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, yeah, you know this town’s always desperate for a bit of juicy gossip. Sherry was raving on about this American of yours. She said he looked like—’

  ‘He’s not mine,’ Milla cut in.

  ‘But he looks like a film star, right?’

  Milla sighed. She’d been working hard to erase Ed from her thoughts. ‘He’s Harry’s brother, Heidi. He was here on—on family business.’ Although Milla had shared the awful news about Harry’s death with Heidi, she’d skipped details of exactly how that news had been delivered. ‘Now he’s well and truly gone. Back in the States.’

  ‘Oh.’ Heidi sounded disappointed, but she quickly switched to her usual cheerfulness. ‘Anyway...getting back to the subject of painting...do you need a hand? I could come tomorrow. Mum’s offered to look after the kids.’

  ‘Gosh, that’s very kind of you, but I hope to be done by then. With luck, I’ll finish this first coat before lunch today and get the second coat on this afternoon.’

  ‘Wow, you’ve set a cracking pace. You always were one for a challenge, Mills.’

  ‘I suspect the painting will be the easy part of this particular challenge. I’m sure I’m going to need help closer to opening day. That’s when I’ll start to panic.’

  ‘I’ll warn Mum in advance and make sure we’re free.’

  ‘Thanks, you’re a doll. That would be brilliant.’ After the out-of-whack values in Harry’s set, where her friends were constantly trying to compete, it was so refreshing to have a friend who genuinely wanted to help. ‘Heidi, I don’t suppose you know anything about writing a business plan?’

  ‘Sorry, haven’t a clue. Do you really need one?’

  ‘The Bellaroo Council’s asking for it. Apparently, it’s a requirement for their dirt-cheap rental agreement. I’m afraid I bluffed my way through that bit and told them I’d have a plan within the week.’

  ‘Hmm. I don’t suppose they’re offering to help you write the plan?’

  ‘Unfortunately, no,’ Milla said.

  ‘Well, I could ask Brad. He’s done a few business courses.’

  ‘Thanks. That could be helpful. I’d probably only need a few pointers.’

  ‘Why don’t you come out to our place tomorrow evening? Kill two birds with one stone. You can talk about business schemes with Brad and we can have a barbecue. It’ll be fun. You can celebrate finishing your painting.’

  ‘Thanks. I’d love to.’

  ‘See you around six-thirty?’

  ‘Perfect. I’ll bring a fruit pie. I’ve been practising with Mum’s
old recipe.’

  Heidi laughed. ‘Fab. I’ll be generous and supply the ice cream.’

  Milla was grinning as she pocketed her phone and turned back to work. She was incredibly grateful for the way Heidi had picked up their friendship exactly where they’d left off, as if the intervening years hadn’t made a jot of difference.

  Now, making her way carefully along the trestle plank to the radio she’d balanced on top of the ladder, she flicked a knob, and found a country and western station. Music filled the shop, one of the happier songs about a rollicking cowboy, and she sang along with it as she ran the roller through the tray of rich creamy paint.

  As she spread it in smooth swathes on the wall she realised that she’d told Heidi the truth. She found this painting job unexpectedly satisfying. The worst part had been the preparation and cleaning the dingy old walls with sugar soap, but now it was so rewarding to see the way a fresh coat of paint could revitalise the space.

  Once the walls were finished, she planned to scrub the terracotta floor tiles till they shone, and voilà! The bakery would look fresh and welcoming again.

  Throw in the added fragrance of freshly baked bread and—

  ‘Milla!’

  A masculine voice boomed from below.

  Milla turned and when she saw who it was she almost slipped.

  It couldn’t be. It was impossible. Where had he sprung from?

  ‘Hey, don’t fall.’

  Two strong hands gripped her calves, just below the knees.

  Ed. Why on earth was he here? He was supposed to be safely in New York by now.

  ‘You startled me,’ she accused shakily. ‘You shouldn’t creep up on a girl like that.’

  ‘I tried knocking, but you had that music so loud you couldn’t hear me.’

  Milla was still too shaken to defend herself. ‘You can let me go. I’m quite steady, now,’ she lied.

  Grim-faced, Ed released her, and Milla was at her most dignified as she set the roller back in the paint tray and carefully lowered her butt to the trestle. From this point she could normally get to the floor quite easily, but today Ed was there to lend a helping hand.