by Ally Blake
Meg turned on her side, tucked her thighs against her belly, and slid her hands beneath her pillow. The sheer curtains over the ceiling–to-floor windows—chosen especially to not let a girl sleep in when there was jogging to be done—flapped under the soft push of air-conditioned air.
Out there, in that big, rambling, amazing house of his, Zach would soon be asleep. She wondered if he dreamt. What he dreamt about. And more importantly, who.
It had long since been dark by the time Zach stepped foot in the place he’d called home for the past few months. He was humming as he shut the front door. It took a few moments until he realised it was KC and the Sunshine Band. Classic disco.
Throwing a full set of keys onto the sideboard rather than a simple hotel card still felt strange.
Being shuffled from foster home to state institution and back again, he’d hit a point where he’d simply stopped feeling connected to places, to possessions, to people. Living in this large, rambling house, sleeping in the same bed every night, seeing the same faces every day, he felt the return of the natural desire to preserve those connections. Along with that came the niggling fear that it all might yet be taken away.
‘Good evening, Zach,’ a voice called out to him in the darkness.
He jumped. ‘Felicia. You took a year off my life.’
‘Working to all hours will do that to you far more quickly,’ Ruby’s nanny said. ‘I’d say you are a prime candidate for attending one of those wellness programmes that are so trendy nowadays.’
Zach gave her shadowy figure a flat stare. ‘If I’d known you had such a funny bone I’d have left you in that draughty old school.’
The older woman patted him on the arm.
He glanced down the dark front hallway towards the bright haven of the warm family kitchen, his nose catching the delicious concoction of homey smells that meant there were leftovers waiting for him in the oven. ‘Is she still awake?’
He felt her shake her head. ‘Out like a light the minute her head hit the pillow.’
‘Have you heard any—?’ He stopped, hoping he wouldn’t have to put into words the wretched sounds she screamed out every few nights.
‘Not a peep. What with her sore throat I’d say she needed the rest.’ She tossed her large book bag over her shoulder. ‘Goodnight, then. I’ll see you in the morning.’
He heard her meet up with one of the rotation of night staff who escorted her back to her own bungalow down the way, their voices trailing into the distance until he was left with silence.
Rather than heading for the beguiling scent of zucchini quiche he took a left. The light from the kitchen faded the farther he moved through the house.
He reached Ruby’s bedroom door and stared at her name spelled out in big pink letters, his ears straining to hear the sound of her sleeping breaths.
He could have been home hours earlier. Certainly before her bedtime. Instead he’d remained shackled to his workstation in the Blueberry Ash Bungalow he’d taken as his office, telling himself Ruby wouldn’t have expected him home as it was still officially a school night. The truth was the thought of having to question her, to chastise her even, for skipping school had left him in a cold sweat.
She was seven, for Pete’s sake. He was thirtyfive and operated a massive multinational company. There wasn’t anyone on earth who had a hope in hell of intimidating him. Yet from the day he’d first looked into those all too intelligent brown eyes he’d lived with the fear that, though he’d never abandon her, there was always the chance she’d decide she did not want him.
He ran a hand over his face, the pads of his fingers rasping against the day-old shave, before resting his palm on the cool wood of her bedroom door.
The instinct to press open the door, sneak in and check on his daughter, to let himself believe she slept because he’d made her feel safe, was so strong. Yet every night he managed to talk himself out of it.
He might wake her. She might see him and expect her mum and become distressed. He might get used to her being there.
Yet this night the urge felt different. Not nearly so complicated. Today his knowledge of what a girl needed in order to feel safe had been increased tenfold in one short conversation with the most unlikely source—Meg Kelly.
She’d been so confident that Ruby needed her space. And just as sure that it was okay for him to impulsively not want to give it to her. And even more than okay that Ruby knew it. His instincts were spot on. Maybe he did have it within him to do this right after all.
He wrapped his hand around the door handle.
Good hands, Meg had called them, and with enough vehemence he’d let himself believe it too.
He went in. Even in the darkness there was no mistaking the big white bed jutting out into the centre of the largest bedroom in the house. He might have gone overboard with the rocking horse, the padded window seat, the library stacked with Saddle Club books, the tea-party table, the twenty different dolls, but he’d taken note of every lick of advice from Felicia and her other teachers who’d known her the past couple of years and let his International Resort Decorator go crazy, no expenses spared.
He took a few steps into the plush-carpeted room until moonlight spilling through the faraway window gave him enough light to see that beneath the pink-and-white lacy bedcovers lay a skinny, young girl.
A handful of days had passed since she’d been home for the weekend, but he was sure she’d grown. Her dark hair splayed across her pillow with such perfection it was as though someone had brushed out every strand. Her face was smooth and unlined. Her breathing even and unworried. Her throat not bothering her a bit.
Before he knew it was coming he smiled wide. Cheeky kid. She even had her nanny fooled. But Meg, considering her more recent experience being a daughter, had seen through the subterfuge in a second.
He took another step closer until he was near enough he allowed himself the small gesture of wiping a long, straight lock of hair from across her eyes.
Ruby stirred. Mumbled a bit. He froze. But she soon resettled—taking up the whole bed, one arm flung over her head. Exactly the way he’d always slept.
His heart slammed against his ribs. This creature was his daughter. His responsibility. His only family. If anyone did anything, said anything, printed anything that made the authorities even think about denying her to him…
Before his throat clogged so tight he couldn’t breathe he spun on his heel and walked from the room.
‘Daddy?’ a soft voice called when he was a metre away from being home free.
He turned; Ruby was sitting up, a shadow in the darkness, as he must have been to her. He found his voice for her. ‘Yes, honey?’
‘Nothing. Just checking.’
Checking to see he was real.
Checking to see he was still around.
Checking to see he hadn’t disappeared right when she was getting used to him being there. God, how he knew that feeling. That loathsome, sinking, hollowness when someone you trusted to love you left without looking back.
‘I’m here,’he said, his voice gruff. ‘I’m not going anywhere. You can go back to sleep.’
By the slow, even breaths coming from her bed, he knew she already was.
He closed her door and paced into the kitchen where he leant his hands on the island bench in the middle of the huge room.
Felicia had left out his newspapers. Beside them sat a permission slip from Ruby’s school for an upcoming field trip, and a spaghetti jar overfilled with a mishmash of local wildflowers. He imagined Ruby picking them for Felicia as an act of contrition, and Felicia falling for the sore-throat stunt all the harder. Smart kid.
He played with the rubbery, cream petal of a waxflower. Working in solitary, coming home late to a dark house, eating leftovers, keeping his weekends completely free to spend them at Ruby’s beck and call within the confines of a handful of safe places; this was the inflexible life he’d chosen. This was how things were going to be for the next dozen-odd yea
rs. No more hands-on business, no more travel, no more adult company?
Meg Kelly’s lovely face swam all too easily back into his mind.
For the first time since he’d set foot in the door—but certainly not the first time that day—he remembered the kiss. God, the delights he’d found within that mouth. It had drawn him in like a siren song he could no longer resist. But her warm skin, and her goddess curves and her instant response had made it impossible for him to tear himself away.
He pushed away from the island and moved to the oven to grab his dinner. Oven mitts the last thing on his mind, the ceramic quiche tray burnt his fingers. He let go and it smashed to the floor. Egg and zucchini and cheese flew everywhere, splattering the wooden cupboards and embedding themselves in every bit of slate-tile grout it could find.
He swore at the great mess profusely but sotto voce, always remembering Ruby was asleep down the hall. He flipped on the tap and shoved his stinging fingers beneath the cold-water stream.
What the hell was he thinking? Kissing Meg. Confiding in her. Her pretty words might have sounded believable at the time, but Meg Kelly could yet bring down his carefully balanced house of cards with one word whispered in the wrong direction. Her best friend was a journalist, for Pete’s sake! Dammit. That mouth of hers could prove to be his downfall in more ways than one.
He turned off the tap, wiped his hands down his trousers when he couldn’t find a handy tea towel, and set to cleaning up the mess.
After cheese on toast for dinner he signed Ruby’s permission slip with a flourish so fierce he tore the paper.
He’d let himself be wrapped around a female finger for the last time. The next time Ruby tried to pull a stunt like skipping school, he would talk with her. He would grow some backbone and set some boundaries.
Apparently boundaries were something young girls needed. Or so some would have him believe.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IN LIEU of the dawn jog, the next morning Meg slid notes beneath the girls’ doors saying she was taking the hike through the national forest instead and to meet her at the rendezvous point at seven.
After finally falling asleep some time after two she needed the extra hour to recuperate. But that wasn’t why hiking was suddenly her new favourite pastime.
She was avoiding Zach.
After the dreams she’d had, G-rated dreams of white picket fences and yellow Labrador puppies with herself in an apron washing dishes while looking out a kitchen window at a yard full of kids, she needed to put as much of the fifty acres of resort land between her and Zach Jones as she could.
She stood at the back of the thankfully large hiking group, decked out in what seemed the most appropriate hiking attire she had, twisting her crazy morning hair into two thick plaits, determined not to let the humidity beat her, ready to put aside the past couple of days and start her holiday anew.
‘Good morning,’ a deep voice rumbled beside her.
She snapped her eyes shut, not needing to look up to know who the voice belonged to. That tone alone could make her skin hum no matter what it said.
‘So where are the other two musketeers this fine morning?’ he asked.
Thankful for the excuse not to look him in the eye, she glanced over her shoulder to find the path behind her empty. She said, ‘Still snug in their warm beds, I expect. Who knew I’d turn out to be the energetic one?’
Who knew? They knew. And that was why they weren’t coming. Oh, no…
In an effort to be honest with her best friends while still keeping from them everything she was unable—or not yet ready—to share, she’d been brief when mentioning her run-ins with Zach. Obviously too brief. Her insouciance hadn’t fooled them for a single second. They knew something was up, and being her best friends they’d optimistically assumed her reticence meant true romance was in the air. They were leaving her alone so that it might flourish.
Being stuck with Zach looking all scruffy and gorgeous, with no buffer to keep her out of harm’s way, was all she deserved.
She tied off her second plait then glanced at him causally from the corner of her eye, catching sight of yet more cargo pants, yet another sexily faded T-shirt, a tattered old backpack snugly attached to his back and the same well-worn cap she’d seen him wear before.
Her perusal ground to a halt when it reached his mouth. Her own turned as dry as dust as their kiss came rushing back to her in Technicolor. She licked her lips, then croaked, ‘Please don’t tell me I’ve accidentally done something else that would necessitate you tailing me?’
‘Now what could possibly make you think my presence here has anything to do with you?’
Before she could come up with a succinct retort, the wellness facilitator called out, ‘Today the crew heading up our new St Barts resort are joining us to see how we Aussies do it. So let’s lift our feet, keep up a super pace, and ooh and ahh at the local flora and fauna like we’ve never seen anything so fabulous!’
‘You’re here to train your next crew?’ she said, mostly to herself.
‘Beautiful and brainy. Who knew?’
Zach tugged on one of her plaits, shot her a grin that was complete with the glint that made her common sense unceasingly fall to pieces, pulled his cap lower over his face then jogged ahead.
With the words beautiful and brainy ringing in her ears, she stared at his back until he was swallowed by the forest.
Amazing. He was well over six feet tall, with skin like bronze and the build of a world-class athlete, yet he clearly had no clue that was why half the people in the group would be wondering who he was. It wouldn’t matter if she was sitting in his lap or a million miles away.
Meg hitched her shiny new Juniper Falls backpack into a more comfy position on her shoulders, took one last glance back at the empty path, then followed on as the group turned off the running track.
They soon found a network of wide wooden walkways with the kind of gentle slope built to accommodate every level of trail rambler and Meg was truly surprised to soon find herself contentedly lost in the rhythmic pace of her feet.
Before long they were ushered through a gap in the railing as they headed off the main tourist trail. The path became instantly less clear-cut, less regularly tramped, and the gentle path gave way to one in which they had to walk single file, at times grasping at vines to pull themselves up the face of a steep rise.
Sweat dripped down the sides of Meg’s face, down her spine and behind her knees. She could feel spirals of her hair plastered against her cheeks and the back of her neck. When she licked her lips she could taste salt. She gave up trying to hear the guide over her laboured breathing and just climbed.
Meg wasn’t sure if she’d picked up her pace or Zach had slowed, but somehow right when she needed leverage to step over a particularly slipperylooking rock as she picked a path across a slowmoving stream, his hand was there to help her leap across to the opposite bank.
‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice rough from lack of use. ‘Are we there yet?’
From her view of his profile she caught his smile, this one complete with eye crinkles. Her heart skipped a beat, which, considering her fitness level and the uneven ground, was not smart.
‘Not far now,’ he said, his voice as clear as if he’d been standing still the past half-hour.
‘If I have a complaint do I really have to write to management?’
‘Hit me. I can take it.’
‘Are the super-early starts entirely necessary?’
The smile spread to laughter as though it was the most natural thing for him to do. ‘The days get hot very quickly around here.’
‘I’m not sure I believe that makes a lick of difference to your sadistic timetable planners.’
The eye crinkles deepened. ‘That’s because you’re too smart for your own good.’
‘Mmm. So does that mean you actually believe in the stuff you’re spouting? Inner health, inner happiness and all that.’
His eye crinkles faded as he gave her
question consideration. The guy listened, seriously listened, to what she had to say. Most men in his position patted her on the head as if she were a clever puppy before deferring to her brothers, not caring that she might be a woman with ideas and opinions and more street smarts than they had in their little fingers. No wonder she was finding it harder and harder to pull herself away from this one.
He said, ‘I believe that what you put into your life is what you get out of it. Treat it well, it’ll treat you well. Surround yourself only with positive people and they’ll affect your life positively. Fill your body and your mind with rubbish and rubbish is all you can ever hope to be.’
Meg let those pearls sink in and then kind of wished she hadn’t asked. Because it shed a new light on how she must have appeared to others. And to him.
She attended parties to keep her profile current, so that meant she was a party girl. Nothing deeper. Nothing more. And it was entirely her own doing.
She kept hush-hush the best parts of herself; the truth about the number of women at the Valley Women’s Shelter she’d secretly helped over the years. That way nobody knew the real her. Not her family. Not even her friends.
For years she’d thought she had the best of both worlds—public affection and private fulfilment. But Zach’s words made her wish someone knew. They made her wish he knew. The urge to just blurt it all out then and there was a powerful thing.
But then what? He was too perceptive. He’d wonder why she needed to spend time with battered women and displaced children in particular, and why she’d even hidden the fact in the first place.
Nah. Better to keep things as they were. Best not to discover people might only be attracted to the light, bright, amusing, easily palatable version of herself. Zach included. She wasn’t sure she was prepared to know the answer to that one.
Realising the silence was stretching on far too long, she forced a dazzling party-girl smile and said, ‘So you are what you eat?’
