Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep

by Michelle Douglas

  Yes! To spend a glorious night of pleasure and freedom in Connor’s arms. Yes! To touch him as her fingers and lips burned to do, to scale the heights with him and…

  No.

  Her heart dropped. She gulped. She peeled his fingers from her stomach, one by one, and stepped away. ‘And what happens tomorrow, Connor?’ She turned to face him. ‘And the day after that?’ Did he think they could just pick up where they’d left off?

  The flush of desire in his eyes didn’t abate. ‘We—’

  ‘What happens the next time you find me with another man in a situation you can’t account for? Are you going to fly off the handle and accuse me of cheating on you again?’

  His head snapped back.

  ‘You didn’t trust me then and you don’t trust me now.’ More importantly, she didn’t trust herself. Who would she hurt the next time he broke her heart?

  There wouldn’t be a next time!

  She had no intention of losing her heart to him ever again. No man was worth that kind of pain. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m in serious need of a glass of punch.’

  She turned and stalked off in the direction of the refreshments table and she didn’t wait to see if he followed. From the evidence she’d seen, he’d need a moment to himself.

  She helped herself to punch, started to raise the glass to her lips, when Gordon Sears bore down on her.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Jaz.’

  She loathed his fake jovial tone, the smirk on his face. She ignored the headache pounding at her temples to inject a false brightness of her own. ‘Why’s that, Mr S? Did you want to ask me to dance?’

  ‘No, just wanted to give you advance warning that I’ll be serving papers on your solicitor come Monday morning.’

  Her stomach started to churn. ‘What kind of papers?’

  ‘No doubt you’re aware that I lent your mother fifty thousand dollars?’

  Punch sloshed over the side of her glass.

  Satisfaction settled over his face. ‘No?’ he said. ‘That was remiss of her.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ she whispered. Why would Frieda borrow money from this man?

  ‘She needed it to buy the bookshop.’ He rubbed his hands together, his smile widening. ‘And now I’m calling in that debt. Pay up within seven days or the bookshop is mine.’

  Fifty thousand dollars! She didn’t have that kind of money. He had to be bluffing.

  He had to be bluffing!

  Oh, Mum. Why? To lure me back to Clara Falls? I wasn’t worth it.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ Connor demanded, striding up and placing himself between Jaz and Mr Sears.

  Mr Sears threw his head back and laughed. ‘Not for much longer.’ With that, he swaggered off.

  Connor’s brows drew down low over his eyes. ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘Just Mr Sears trying to cause trouble as usual.’ But her voice shook.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Has he succeeded?’

  She lifted her chin, forced her shoulders back. ‘Of course not.’ She glared at him. ‘But why couldn’t this have just been a beer and pizza night, huh?’ She could do with a fat-laden pepperoni pizza right now, washed down with an ice-cold beer. It might help her think.

  It might help her sleep.

  Connor frowned. ‘Are you feeling okay, Jaz?’

  ‘I’m perfect,’ she snapped.

  He stared down at her for a long moment. ‘You look beat. Are you ready to leave?’

  She gave a fervent nod. ‘Yes, please.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  JAZ stood outside the door of her upstairs flat and turned the key over and over in her hand. She tried to regulate her breathing, her heart rate.

  With an impatient movement, she shoved the key in the lock, but she didn’t turn it. She drew back again to twist her hands together. Jeez Louise!

  She’d made excuses whenever Connor had asked her if she wanted to inspect the flat. Same with the carpet-layers. And the men who’d fitted the blinds and light-fittings. She couldn’t make any more excuses. What on earth would she say to Gwen if she delayed moving into the flat any longer—I don’t want to enter the place where my mother lost all of her hope?

  It wouldn’t do.

  But she still didn’t move forward to open the door.

  ‘Hello, Jaz.’

  She jumped and swung around, clutching her heart. ‘Connor!’ She gulped. ‘I…um…didn’t hear you.’

  He stood two steps below the landing. Wooden steps. Rickety wooden steps. She had a feeling that she really ought to have heard him.

  He didn’t point out that his work boots must’ve made plenty of noise. He stared at the closed door and then at her. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘Then what are you doing?’

  ‘I was just about to go into the flat, that’s all.’

  In one hand he held a large parcel wrapped in brown paper. She wondered what it was. She wondered what he could be doing here with it. She brightened. Perhaps he hadn’t finished work on the flat after all and still had one or two things to install? It’d give her a legitimate excuse to race back to Gwen’s B&B.

  ‘Housewarming gift,’ he explained, gesturing to it.

  Darn!

  Then she remembered her manners. ‘That’s nice of you, Connor. But you certainly didn’t have to go to any trouble.’

  ‘No trouble.’

  He glanced at the door again, then back at her. ‘Besides, I wanted to.’

  For a moment his eyes burned and she recalled with more clarity than she could’ve thought possible the feel of his hand on her abdomen when it had rested there on Saturday night, his breath against her neck.

  ‘Are you going to open the door?’

  She gulped and swung back to the door. ‘Yes, of course I am.’ But she didn’t reach out and unlock it.

  Connor moved up the final two steps with a grace she’d have appreciated all the more if her heart hadn’t tried to dash itself against her ribs.

  ‘I knew there was a problem when you kept making excuses not to inspect the flat.’

  ‘No problem. I just trusted your workmanship. That’s all.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t die inside there, you know, Jaz.’

  ‘I know that!’ Her mother had died later at the hospital. ‘Like I said, there’s no problem.’

  He ignored that. ‘Okay, the way I see it, I can either pick you up and physically carry you inside…’

  Good Lord, no. Bad, bad idea. She didn’t want him touching her.

  Yes, you do, a little voice whispered through her.

  Fine, then. She didn’t want what it might lead to.

  Are you so sure?

  She ignored that. ‘Or?’

  ‘Or I can watch your back while you go first.’

  That didn’t fill her with a great deal of enthusiasm either.

  ‘Or I can go first.’

  She met the amber and gold flecks in his eyes. He hadn’t stated the obvious—that he could leave. She should tell him to go.

  ‘If I go first I can give you the grand tour. I can point out the work the guys and I have done. You can ooh and ahh over all the improvements.’

  She moistened her lips, then nodded. ‘I’d…um…appreciate that.’

  ‘I want you to be the one to unlock the door, Jaz.’

  She gulped again. His eyes held hers—steady…patient. She didn’t glance at the door again. She kept her gaze on his face and soaked up all his warmth and strength. With fingers that shook, she reached out and unlocked the door.

  Connor smiled. She wished she could smile back, but she couldn’t. He moved past her, gathered her hand inside his and led her into the flat.

  ‘As you can see, the flat is a gun-barrel affair.’

  His matter-of-fact tone soothed her.

  ‘This door is the only entrance and exit to the flat. So if a fire ever starts down this end and you’re at the other end, you’ll need to climb out
the front windows onto the shop awning and swing down to the street from there.’

  ‘Just call me Tarzan,’ she muttered.

  He grinned and, although she couldn’t grin back, it eased some of the tightness in her chest.

  He gestured to the left. ‘We ripped the old bathroom out and replaced it.’

  She stuck her head around the door—black and white tiles. ‘Nice.’

  ‘This is the kitchen. Another rip-out-and-replace job.’

  The hallway opened out into a neat kitchen. Connor and his men had done a nice job. She ran her free hand across a kitchen cupboard, a countertop. Her other hand felt warm and secure in Connor’s.

  ‘Very nice,’ she managed.

  They didn’t stop to study it any further. Connor tugged her up the three steps that led into the enormous combined dining and living area, towed her into the centre of the room and then dropped her hand. Jaz turned on the spot. Even with all her boxes piled up in here, she could make out that the proportions of the room were generous.

  Perfect for dinner parties.

  And beer and pizza evenings.

  Some more of that soul-sickening tension eased out of her.

  ‘Why don’t you go explore further?’

  He smiled that steady, patient smile and his strength arced across the space between them to flood her. With a nod, she followed a short passageway to the two bedrooms—a small one on the left and a large bright one at the front that held her bed, wardrobe and dressing table. Light poured in at two large windows. She leant on the nearest windowsill and stared out at the vista spread before her—a glorious view of Clara Falls’ main street, framed by the mountains in the background.

  Her mother had lived in this flat without proper heating, without a working gas stove and with rotting floorboards in one section of the living room because of a leak in the roof, not to mention the wood rot in the kitchen and bathroom. Yet…

  Jaz’s lips curved up. Her mother would’ve thought that a small price to pay for this view.

  Frieda would also have loved the wood-panelled walls and pressed tin ceilings. She’d have been happy here.

  Relief hit Jaz then—lovely, glorious relief. She dropped to her knees by the window, lifted her face to the sun and murmured a prayer of thanks. She hadn’t come upstairs once in the last two weeks, afraid that the despair that must’ve enveloped her mother would still hang heavy and grim in these rooms. She’d expected it to taunt her, berate her…sap her of her energy and her determination.

  She’d welcomed every delay—first by the carpet layers, then by the firm who’d measured the flat for blinds and curtains, and then the gas board. Even this morning—after she’d rung Richard to warn him of Mr Sears’s threats—she’d hung around and dithered in the shop until her staff had shooed her out with promises to call her if she was needed.

  But the air didn’t press down on her with suffocating heaviness, punishing her for not coming home sooner. It didn’t silently and darkly berate her for abandoning her mother. She opened her eyes. The mid-morning sunlight twinkled in at the windows and the flat smelt fresh and clean and full of promise.

  She pushed herself to her feet and glanced out of the window at Mr Sears’s ‘baked-fresh-daily’ country bakery and resolve settled over her shoulders.

  She had boxes to unpack.

  ‘Connor?’

  He hadn’t followed her into the bedroom, and the click of the front door told her he’d just left.

  She stared down the empty corridor and her heart burned. He’d sensed the demons that had overtaken her. He’d helped her face them…and then he’d left? Just like that? He hadn’t let her thank him.

  The housewarming gift!

  She raced back out to the living room and tugged off the brown paper wrapping. She sat back on her heels and stared. Her throat thickened and she had to swallow.

  He’d given her the handmade wine rack she’d admired so much that day in his garage.

  With a hand that shook, she reached out and ran a finger across the smooth wood. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered into the silence.

  Jaz hadn’t thought to check if the electricity had been connected to the flat until shadows started to lengthen around her. She glared at the light switch on the wall, but she didn’t reach out to switch it on and see. She glared around the kitchen. She’d made progress today—good progress.

  For all the good it would do her.

  Richard had called her an hour ago—Mr Sears’s claim was legitimate. Jaz had to find fifty thousand dollars in the next seven days or lose the bookshop.

  A knock sounded on the door and Jaz raced to answer it, welcoming the interruption. ‘Mrs Lavender! What are you doing here? Come in.’

  Mrs Lavender tsk-tsked. ‘You’ll ruin your eyesight, Jazmin Harper!’ She moved past Jaz, flicked on the light and bathed the kitchen in a warm glow. ‘That’s better. Now, I can’t stay. I just wanted to bring you up some supplies.’

  The older woman’s thoughtfulness touched her. ‘You didn’t need to go to any trouble.’

  ‘No trouble, dear. It’s just some coffee, a carton of milk and a loaf of bread. Oh, and some eggs,’ she said, pulling the items out of a muslin bag. ‘Now, don’t work too late and don’t forget to eat.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Jaz promised. On impulse, she reached out and hugged the older woman. ‘Thank you.’

  She saw Mrs Lavender out, then came back in and stared up at the kitchen light sending out its golden glow.

  ‘It’s a good sign,’ she announced to a pile of empty boxes in the corner. ‘It’s a good sign,’ she said to the jug, filling it. She needed all the good signs she could get.

  ‘Oh, stop talking to yourself and go make your bed!’

  She flicked on every light as she went. She made her bed, straightened the bedside tables. She hunted out her bedside clock, a couple of paperbacks and a framed photograph of Frieda.

  Now it looked as if someone lived here.

  Hands on hips, she surveyed the room and decided the dressing table would look better on the opposite wall. She set her shoulder against it, out-of-all-proportion grateful for castor wheels. The dressing table moved an inch, then stuck fast. She tried hauling it towards her instead. Same result. With a grunt she managed to pull it out from the wall, and reached behind to investigate.

  ‘Darn.’ A panel of wood was wedged between wall and dressing table. It must’ve fallen off the wall. Biting back a very rude word, she pulled it out and set it aside, shoved her dressing table into its new location with more speed than grace, then turned to assess the damage.

  Connor had said the bedrooms in the flat were structurally sound. That all they’d need was a coat of paint…and new carpet…and new blinds and curtains. ‘What do you call this?’ she grumbled. Then remembered she wasn’t supposed to be talking to herself.

  She tried to fit the panel back to the wall.

  She didn’t try biting back that very rude word when the panel fell off the wall again.

  She seized it in both hands and held it like a club. She could tattoo big, burly men without batting an eyelash. She could do a pretty good Carly Simon rendition on karaoke nights, but home maintenance?

  Very carefully she set the panel of wood on the floor, hauled in a deep breath and massaged her temples. For reasons of personal pride, it had become important to fix this slim panel of wood back to the wall. She needed to work out how piece A fitted into piece B. It took her all of five seconds to realise she’d need a torch.

  ‘At least I have one of those.’

  She rushed out to the living room to rifle through boxes, and forgot to berate herself for talking out loud. ‘Aha!’ She held the torch aloft in triumph. ‘Yes!’ The battery even worked.

  She raced back to the bedroom and studied the piece of wood panelling thoroughly, and then the wall. What she needed to do was—

  Something glittered in the gap in the wall. Jaz squinted, adjusted the torch. An old Christmas shortbread tin?

 
She hesitated for only a moment before pushing her hand through the hole. ‘But if anything black and hairy so much as touches me…’

  Her fingers closed around the tin and she drew it out. She set it on the floor and stared at it. ‘Wouldn’t I love to find fifty thousand dollars inside you,’ she murmured.

  She reached out, ran her fingers across the tin’s lid—remarkably dust-free. She shone her torch into the wall cavity—not remarkably dust-free.

  She clambered to her feet, tucked the tin under her arm and went to make herself a cup of coffee.

  She sipped her coffee on the steps between the kitchen and living room and surveyed the tin. ‘If this were a novel, I really would find fifty thousand dollars in you, you know? And, as we are sitting above a bookshop…’ She lifted a hand, then let it fall. ‘All I’m trying to say is, if you’d like to come to the party I don’t have any complaints.’

  She set her mug down and pulled the tin towards her. ‘With my luck it’ll be a bomb,’ she grumbled.

  She hauled the lid off.

  She stared.

  And then she smiled.

  Letters. Letters addressed to Frieda Harper, tied in pink ribbon and scented with rose petals. ‘Oh, Mum—’ she sighed ‘—who’d have guessed you had such a romantic streak?’

  She untied the ribbon, lifted the first letter from the pile, eased it out of its envelope and unfolded it.

  My beloved Frieda.

  Oh, how beautiful. Jaz’s hand went to her chest. She turned the letter over, searching for the signature, the name of her mother’s admirer, and—

  No!

  She abandoned the letter to tear open the next one…and the one after that…until she’d checked them all. They all bore the same signature.

  She pinched herself. She started to laugh. She leapt to her feet and danced around the room. ‘We’ve saved the bookshop, Mum!’

  The tin didn’t hold fifty thousand dollars. It held love letters addressed to her mother from Gordon Sears.

  Gordon Sears!

  If the contents of these letters became public, his credibility would be ruined in Clara Falls for ever.