Bring Him Home

by Karina Bliss

  “I never give up on family,” he said. “And Nate’s like a brother. But I’m through with this touchy-feely hands-off approach—and yeah, I appreciate the contradiction. Soon as we’re done docking lambs, I’m heading over there with Ross to deal with this once and for all.”

  Oh, Lord. Gathering a pile of laundry, she tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “He’ll be on tour with Zander.”

  “I don’t care if he’s in Paris or Pretoria…. If it takes an intervention then—” He stopped. “Hey, Lewis.” All frustration disappeared from his voice. “I’m talking to your mother…. No, we’re not discussing an intervention for you…. Sheesh, teenagers, it’s all me, me, me. I’m suggesting your uncle Nate update his Facebook page…. Yeah, okay, smart mouth, so I’m not on Facebook either, but trust me, you won’t be friended when I am.”

  Claire grinned. Lewis would be loving Dan’s teasing. She loaded the washing machine, set it going.

  “Here’s your son,” Dan said. “Whatever he tells you about daily beatings is a lie.”

  “Mum?”

  “Hey, how’re you doing?”

  “Good.”

  In the kitchen, she filled a jug with water. “I hear you’ve been docking lambs. Is that as gruesome as it sounds?” The herbs on the kitchen windowsill drooped forlornly, so she watered the parsley and mint.

  “Not really. We put a rubber ring around their tail and that stops the blood circulation and then falls off around eight to ten days later.” He dispensed his new knowledge with a farmer’s casualness. “It makes them easier to shear, plus if you don’t then sh—poop builds up—”

  “Ugh, okay, stop there.” The coriander was beyond saving; Claire dumped it in the bin.

  Glee entered his voice, “…and that can lead to fly strike… That’s wool maggots, Mum.”

  “And that’s too much information. Seriously you’d rather dag lambs than spend quality time with your mother?”

  “This is way more fun.”

  “Well, I’m glad to know where I stand.” Poor peace plant in the hall, it soaked up half a jugful. “Listen, hon, I think we’ll finalize a sale of the house this week.”

  “So we can move to Dullsville even sooner.” There was a scowl in his voice. “Great.”

  “It means less traveling.” Willingham was thirty minutes from Stingray Bay, and a seventy-five-minute commute from Whangarei. Since Lewis had changed schools, Claire had been making the drive until the property sold. Anything to get Lewis away from his former crowd.

  “Yeah, and weekends with no one to hang out with.”

  Returning to the bedroom, she started to refill her suitcase, replacing summer dresses with practical jeans, tees and sweaters.

  “Invite your new friends from school.”

  “Like they’ll want to hang out in Stingray Bay.”

  “Hon, we’ve been over this so often—”

  “And you never listen to what I want! So there’s no point talking about it.”

  What could she say? You’ll thank me one day. I’m doing this for your own good. Claire sat on the bed. “We’ll make this work,” she promised.

  “I have to go,” he said sullenly. “Uncle Dan’s waiting.”

  Her hand tightened on the receiver. “I’ll phone tomorrow.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I love you, Lewie.”

  “Bye.”

  Claire hung up with a sigh. When he’d been a little boy, he’d said it back. Until a few months ago, when she’d started practicing tough love, he’d say, “Me, too.” When she’d made him move schools, he’d changed it to “Bye.” Emotionally, it was a very effective punishment. But it wouldn’t make her change course.

  * * *

  The bach was in darkness when she pulled in, earlier than she’d expected at eight-thirty, and for a moment Claire panicked that Nate had left the moment her back was turned. Talking herself down, she got out of her station wagon, walked into the bach and switched on a light. “Nate?”

  No response.

  Dumping a bag of groceries in the kitchen, she wondered if he’d gone to the boat shed. Then she glimpsed him through the open curtain of the spare bedroom. He was sprawled on the bed, out cold. She glanced at the bottle of scotch on the countertop. Unopened. Exhaustion, then.

  He lay uncovered, one arm flung over his face as though warding off a foe. She tiptoed into the room, grabbed a duvet off the other bed and placed it over his lower body, then stood quietly for a moment, watching him in slumber.

  He’d grown his dark hair longer over the past eighteen months and a lock fell across his closed lids. Instinctively she reached out to smooth it, pulling away from the intimacy with her hand inches from his face. He wasn’t Lewis, though she felt equally protective of him in this moment.

  Nate groaned in his sleep and turned over, exposing a muscular back. Tentatively, Claire touched his shoulder, the skin surprisingly warm given the chilly room. “It’s okay,” she said firmly. “Everything’s going to be okay.” His shoulder relaxed, he settled more deeply into sleep. She had an impulse to crawl onto the bed with him. Like Hansel and Gretel in the forest, with only each other for comfort.

  Silly.

  She crept out and pulled the curtain across the door, stifling a yawn. She’d barely slept in the previous seventy-two hours, since she first chased Nate across the world. Deciding to follow his example, she dumped the perishables in the fridge, left the rest of the shopping on the counter and went to bed.

  Crawling into the middle because it stopped the bed feeling so empty, she lay in the dark and mentally went over tomorrow’s tasks, until she fell asleep and dreamed of lambs gamboling across fields while she chased them with rubber bands.

  Her first thought on waking was, Freud would have a field day with that one. Her second was that the house was burning down… She could smell smoke. In a panic, she fell out of bed and stumbled into the living room.

  The patio slider was open onto the deck, where Nate, dressed in jeans and a navy sweater, was barbecuing. “Good morning. Breakfast is in ten minutes. We have to leave in forty if we’re going to make our first appointment in Whangarei by nine-thirty.”

  Dazed, Claire checked her wrist, but her watch was still on the bedside table. “What time is it?” The aroma hit her now, the sweet sizzle of bacon and sausages. Her stomach growled.

  “Seven-ten. It’s cold out, you might need a sweater.” Nate returned to the grill and something in his comment made Claire look down.

  Her nipples pushed against the skimpy pajama tank. Refusing to feel self-conscious in front of an old friend, she returned to the bedroom where she pulled on a sweater and dragged her hair into a ponytail. When she came out, Nate was breaking eggs on the barbecue plate. Seeing him, a sudden blush touched her cheeks and she detoured. “I’ll make toast and coffee.”

  He didn’t look up. “Good idea.”

  Bless him, he’d unpacked the rest of the food she brought last night. Plugging the kettle in. Claire glanced over to the dining table and saw her business plan was open. “You’ve been up for a while?” she called.

  “Since five.” Spatula in hand, he leaned against the doorjamb, keeping an eye on the barbecue. His jaw was unshaven and the morning breeze ruffled his hair. “I’ve read enough for today’s meetings.”

  Claire measured three scoops of coffee into the plunger. “No need. All you’ll have to do is sign papers.”

  “It was a cursory glance…. I’ve got a couple of questions.”

  She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “If my brain works…” Claire poured boiling water over the grounds. “I’m not a morning person.”

  “That’s why I lured you awake with bacon. I didn’t want my head snapped off.”

  She saw a glint of amusement in his expression. So he’d guessed she was prickly about this. “I’m not that bad.” Nate raised a brow. “Okay,” she conceded. “On holidays I’m that bad.” When the SAS buddies were together they’d be up at dawn, clomping a
round the bach gathering fishing tackle and impatiently waiting for her to rise. Steve knew all the same spots, but the fish only showed when Claire was there.

  She poured coffee, added cream and took him a mug. Standing alongside the barbecue, she cradled her own and instinctively checked wind direction and tide. “Did you see Heaven Sent yesterday?”

  “Not yet.” Because he didn’t want to feel the pull of her, she suspected. He’d loved that boat as much as she had. She’d already told him she wouldn’t accept his half as a gift, she’d buy him out as planned. Unless… Claire took a sip of coffee, savoring the caffeine hit. Maybe after seeing Heaven Sent, he’d be open to retaining a shareholding? The boat could be an anchor to his old life.

  “So you’ve already started the overhaul?” Nate asked.

  “Not me. Between work and Lewis I’ve barely had time to eat.” Claire inhaled deeply and her mouth started to water. “I paid a local contractor to scrape the hull and sand her down. As soon as the house sells, I’ll order a shade canopy. And I’ve got my eye on a new engine that’s on sale.”

  “I guess you already know that even with a new engine she’ll never match the modern charter boats for speed.”

  She handed him a plate from the two stacked beside the barbecue. “You guessed right!”

  He wasn’t deterred. “Which also boast sunken cleats, modern fittings, in-floor live-bait tanks—”

  “I’m not competing with the luxury end. My prices will be midrange and I’ll target those anglers who value polished wood and history in their charter experience.”

  “Sixty years of history, in fact.” One dish filled, Nate picked up the other.

  “And the advantage of more space,” she argued. “Even with a full complement of fifteen clients on board, there’s easily five feet between anglers…. Let me go set the table.” Claire escaped inside.

  He’d made a sacrifice in coming home. She’d glimpsed the measure of it on the plane, but that didn’t mean she was going to encourage the third degree.

  Still, as Claire cleared the table of reports and replaced them with cutlery, she acknowledged he’d raised some good points. The magnitude of her new project was daunting, but a “one day at a time” mentality had served her well since Steve’s death. There was no reason to pull a Chicken Little now. And this day was plenty busy enough with multiple appointments with the estate agent, lawyer and bank. At least, she thought as Nate placed a laden plate in front of her, they’d be working on a full stomach.

  She pulled out a chair and sat down. “This looks delicious.”

  Dumping his plate, Nate picked up the marketing report from the pile of documents she’d stacked on the couch and opened it.

  “Don’t let breakfast get cold,” she warned.

  “You’re looking at a four-passenger minimum…. Will that cover costs?”

  No prickles. Claire speared a piece of sausage and added a wedge of barbecued tomato. “Mooring fees here are minimal compared to the usual charter bases. I’ll do pick-ups from Whangarei if necessary. And I’ve got support from my former boss at the hotel.” She paused to eat, savoring the tomato-beef combination. “Mmm, this is so good…. We’ll be putting together taster packages for guests and targeting family groups.” She cut into the egg, watched the golden yolk ooze over the toast. “I’m conscious that being a female skipper will work against me with some anglers. But I’m confident I’ll find a niche within the tourist, family and female market. A lot of women game fish…. I’m one of them.”

  His expression eased. “You’ve put a lot of effort into this.”

  “I had a lot of sleepless nights to fill.” Claire snatched the report out of his hand. “Eat.”

  Nate sat down and picked up his cutlery. “I am aware of the irony,” he said. “Showing interest after months of avoiding any involvement. But my absence didn’t mean I stopped caring about you…or Lewis.”

  It was an olive branch and Claire took it. No matter what Nate thought, there were some bonds that couldn’t be broken. His concern only confirmed that.

  “I know it’ll take time to build up the business,” she admitted. “For the first couple of years I’m only expecting to make enough to cover the boat’s running costs and meet basic living expenses. I’m fully prepared to dip into what’s left from the sale of the house to supplement that. Maybe I’ll have to do a little freelance marketing. Or sublease the boat to another skipper occasionally. I have a lot of options, but the most important thing is to begin.”

  She glanced at her watch and started eating faster. “And that means selling the family home in Whangarei, today, if possible.”

  He waved his fork. “Have you considered selling this place instead?”

  “Absolutely not. It’s been in my family for four generations. It passes to Lewis and Lewis’s kids eventually.”

  Nate refilled her coffee mug. “What if you rented out the Whangarei house for a year, see how it goes?”

  She shook her head. “I need too much capital, Nate.”

  “I could—”

  “No, I’m not accepting a loan from you. If the bank won’t lend me the money, I’m hardly going to borrow from a friend.”

  He’d been tucking into his breakfast, now he paused. “The bank’s against it?”

  Damn. She smiled. “The only way to get the business off the ground was to quit my job. Banks have to be conservative. Without an income, I can’t apply for a loan, despite having substantial collateral.”

  “Uh-huh.” He returned his attention to his breakfast. She waited for more, but he said nothing.

  “What are you thinking?” It occurred to her that she hadn’t needed that question in over a year and a half.

  His gaze lifted. “I’m thinking I’d like to read all those reports thoroughly.”

  Her knife clattered onto the china. “I knew it. It’s too late to get involved now, Nate. I’m too far down the road.”

  “I’m aware of that,” he said dryly.

  Claire ended the conversation by pushing to her feet. “I’ll grab a shower, dress and we’ll go.” She threw out a lure. “We’ve got to keep to schedule if you want to be home in L.A. within a couple of days.”

  Chapter Six

  Claire was right. It was too late to start second-guessing her decision.

  As he cleared the table, Nate reminded himself that he was here to sign documents, break the trust and leave with the minimum of involvement. It was a covert op—in and out and no harm done to himself or anyone else.

  Their first appointment was with the estate agent negotiating the sale of Claire’s home.

  “So, Nate, it’s great to have you home at last.” Adam Scott pumped Nate’s arm in an enthusiastic handshake. “I’m sure we’re all keen to play our part in delivering Claire’s dream.”

  Politely, Nate freed his grip. “And how’s your part progressing, Adam?” They were here to view a formal offer from the buyers.

  “I’m glad you asked that, Nate.” Gesturing to a seat in the client’s private meeting room, the young agent refocused his inclusive smile on Claire and some of the phoniness went out of it. She’d dressed in a smoky-gray pantsuit and looked beautiful even though Nate’s new expertise suggested the style was at least four seasons out of date. He wondered when she’d last bought herself new clothes…and whether she could afford to.

  Adam opened a manila folder and steepled his hands over it. Nate half expected him to say, “For what we’re about to receive, make us truly thankful.” “The offer’s a little lower than we were expecting, Claire,” he said earnestly, “and I accept full responsibility for raising your hopes too high. But they were so enthusiastic when they viewed…what was it, three times?” He passed her the document.

  She looked at it and grimaced. “A little? This is twenty thousand under the asking price.”

  “I’m sure they’re expecting a counter.” Adam included Nate in his reassurances. “Another five or six grand and I think we’ve got them.”

&nb
sp; “Five or six,” she echoed, dismayed.

  “For a quick sale and a cash buyer in a stagnant market.”

  As she eyed the figure again, Nate pictured Venice Beach, fixed it firmly in his mind and kept his mouth shut.

  “My price already reflected the fact that we’re at the bottom of a housing slump.” Closing the folder, Claire returned it to Adam. “You said yourself, the market’s picking up again.

  Which means if I wait another six months then I’m bound to receive a better offer?”

  Good call. Nate relaxed his shoulders. Even if it was a bluff.

  Adam smiled, knowing it too. “But no one can forecast these things with any surety, Claire,” he cautioned. “And you need the money now, don’t you?”

  Never give a commission-driven salesman too much information. It became emotional ammo. Nate tensed for Claire’s reply.

  “Which is why it’s so important,” she countered, “that I decide my bottom line.” She turned to Nate. “I’m beginning to warm to your idea.” She didn’t mean it; the glint in her eyes told him it was a tactical move, but he answered her seriously.

  “You know that’s my preference.”

  The agent’s nostrils flared. “What idea?”

  “Nate suggested I rent out the property and accept an interim loan from him until the business starts turning a profit.”

  Adam was on his feet before she’d finished the sentence and pulling his cell out of his jacket. “Hey, let’s not write off these buyers just yet,” he suggested with a pained smile. “I’m sure there’s more fat in this. I’ll go call them.”

  Nate waited until the agent left the meeting room. “Maybe this is a sign.” There was a lot on the line here. Her financial future. Lewis’s. She was sinking everything into the project. And if the charter business failed in two, three years? Then what? No assets, except the boat and the bach, which Claire had admitted she’d never sell. Steve had spent years chipping away at the mortgage to make sure his wife had equity in the house to fall back on if anything happened to him. “Rent out the house. Keep an escape route open. It’s what Steve would do.”