Daniel's Bride

by Joanne Hill

  Daniel's Bride

  By Joanne Hill

  Text copyright © 2012 Joanne Hill.

  Kindle Edition.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the author, except for review or promotional purposes. This is a work of fiction and liberties may have been taken with some details.

  My bride, my very own, you have stolen my heart!

  With one glance from your eyes and the glow of your necklace,

  you have stolen my heart.

  Song of Solomon 4:9 CEV

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  Give her a kid with a complex, any complex, and she was in her element.

  Teenage kids, confused kids, kids that suffered acne, unrequited love, and parents that didn’t understand them, and she was there.

  Little kids, however, were something else.

  Mel shot a wary glance at the toddler in her arms, a two year old called Britney who had jam on her face, sand stuck to the jam, and a lethal Barbie in her pudgy fist. Mel felt as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

  “Mama,” Britney squealed, waving the doll.

  “Mummy will be here soon.” Mel jerked her head back as the Barbie came an inch away from connecting with her nose. “I bet she’s finished all her shopping and she’s parking her car right now and before you know it, we’ll be having a barbeque back at the campsite.” She glanced up towards the South Sydney beach car park to see if Diane was there, hopefully with one hand ready to take her children, and the other holding a bag of food. There was only a tall, dark haired man stalking down the grass bank towards the beach. He took long, angry strides, the tails of his cream shirt flapping around his hips. He glanced at her, the briefest look, and continued walking, a don’t-bother-me-and-I-won’t-bother-you warning written in every step he took.

  Suits me just fine.

  She tensed as Eli, Britney’s spawn of Satan brother, hurtled over the damp sand, dragging a dodgy kite behind him.

  She called, “Watch out, Eli, you’re not looking where you’re going.”

  He ignored her, ran back up the end of the beach, spun around and made his way back, intent on the kite and its dismal attempts to get lift off.

  Britney wriggled as Eli sped past and Mel cautioned again, “Eli, be careful.” Her words carried back towards her on a breeze of sea air.

  Britney began to whine, and Mel jiggled her. “There, there, it’s okay. Mummy’s nearly here, I’m sure of it. She’s nearly here, Brits.”

  Or maybe she wasn’t nearly here at all. Maybe she’d decided to keep on driving past the shops and wasn’t coming back. Mel glanced over towards the campsite. They’d only met a few days ago when they’d helped each other set up their tents, and she suspected Diane was suffering mild depression.

  Or maybe it wasn’t mild at all. Maybe, in the months since she’d resigned from her job at the school, Mel had lost her touch. Had lost the ability to see what wasn’t so obvious to everyone else. Unease settled in her stomach the same time as Eli ran straight into the path of the man walking into the ankle height waves.

  “Watch out!” The warning froze on Mel’s lips as Eli connected with solid thigh, throwing them both off balance. The man fell, taking Eli with him into the edges of the surf.

  Mel’s heart raced in panic as she set Britney down.

  “Wadder,” Brittney squealed as she toddled towards the sea.

  “Brits, no,” Melinda yelled, swooping her up just in time.

  Dread pounded her as the man grabbed Eli and stood up. His pants were wet, his shirt tails soaking, and Eli yelled, “My kite, my kite,” as the kite drifted down the beach.

  The man looked with distaste at Eli, holding him out as if he was something indescribably nasty.

  Mel jogged the short distance, Britney laughing with each bounce, and when she reached him, she apologized. “I’m so sorry this has happened.”

  His cool gaze zeroed in on Britney, then back to Mel. She felt the urge to squirm, and said hastily, “Eli, say sorry to the man for knocking him over.”

  Eli shook his head firmly, yelled, “I want my kite,” and tried to escape the man’s grip.

  The man addressed Eli. “I have no idea what they are teaching your mother in parenting school, but clearly, they’ve failed.”

  Mel stiffened. It was one thing to consider herself a failure as a potential parent, but quite another to have it confirmed by a complete stranger.

  She breathed in deeply, “I am sorry about this, but it is a beach. Flying kites is what kids do on beaches.”

  His blue-grey eyes stared at her as if she had just muttered the earth was square. “The child could have drowned.”

  “He wasn’t about to drown, I was watching him.”

  One eyebrow lifted.

  She ignored it, and said to Eli, his arms still waving around for the kite, “You’re meant to watch where you’re running with that kite. I told you that a million -”

  She pulled herself up. She hadn’t actually told him a million times at all, maybe four or five, but it felt like a million. No wonder His Lordship thought she was the mother.

  He set Eli down, and Eli promptly turned back to Mel, and wrapped his arms around her legs so tight, she had to struggle not to fall down.

  “There, there, Eli,” she murmured, as he buried his face against her jeans and she patted his head. Someone loves me, she thought, then quickly pushed the pity party away. She was here to forget about Max and the wedding, not dwell on it.

  She gathered herself, and glanced back at the man. He was well over six foot, with coal black hair that grazed his shirt collar, a slightly square cut to his chin, and shoulders broad enough to make you feel protected. A pulse of awareness zipped through her. To her surprise, it felt good. Made her feel as if she was alive after all, and not the cold sack of spuds Max had accused her of being. “Look, I am truly sorry about all this.”

  He continued to glare. His face seemed to be getting darker which was oddly even more attractive. Take that, Max. I am so responsive. Take that.

  She tried again. “I’m staying at the campground just along the way.” She gestured down the beach to the site entrance. “If you need to - get changed or anything.”

  “As a rule, I don’t carry spare clothes in my car.” He wiped one wet, sandy hand over his shirt. “Just keep better control of your children. They shouldn’t be running wild on a beach.”

  The gibe that she was incapable of being a good parent dug deeper. She didn’t need to feel any more incapable than she already did, especially with what was happening in her life. Or rather, not happening. She inhaled sharply. “They were not running wild.”

  “They need to be kept under better control.” He glanced towards a woman walking a Border Collie down the beach on a leash. A well restrained Border Collie, Mel noted.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she choked out in disgust. “Comparing children to animals is absurd. I suppose you think they should be seen, not heard, and whipped for the slightest misdemeanor. You could get in a lot of trouble for saying things like that, you know.”

  “I never said a thing. Though is ‘misdemeanor’ what you call uncontrolled children running loose
in public places?”

  Britney began to cry again, and Mel jiggled her. The movement caused her braless breasts to wobble, and his gaze settled there with the briefest spark of what might have been interest, before looking back up to the car park beyond the grass strip, where no doubt he’d parked his shiny, valet-perfect late model BMW.

  “I’d like to say it was a pleasure meeting you.” He shoved his hands in his jeans pocket, then the other. He swore.

  Dread shot through her. Please let his keys be there and not floating around in the sea. Please, please, please…

  He pulled out a short gold chain with several keys, and jangled them. “But that would be a lie.”

  Then he turned and walked back to the reserve, to the car park beyond, with his wet jeans and damp shirt, and she almost sank to the beach with relief. Yes, it was all her fault, she knew that. She had been the adult in charge of Eli. But a goodbye, a nod to the head, an acknowledgement via those lips would have been something.

  Good looking, yes. A darned shame about the personality.

  He is not Max, a voice screamed in her head. Let it go.

  Too late, she called out, “Wait.”

  His broad shoulders stiffened a second before he stopped.

  “You can’t just…you don’t….I mean, it’s…”

  He turned around, exasperated. “Just make sure your child doesn’t do it again. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if he took out a pensioner.”

  Her mouth gaped, coherence drew to a splutter on her lips, and at the same time she heard Diane’s voice and turned to see her running along the beach towards them.

  “Mel?” she called out, blonde hair flowing behind her, yellow muslin dress flapping around her legs. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I just dropped the shopping off at my tent but all the oldies from the campervan tour were there and they just insisted I have a cup of tea and – oh...oh my gosh.”

  She stared at the retreating man’s wet pants, and then at Eli, complete with wetter clothes, sulky expression and a tight grip on Mel’s thighs.

  “Eli?” she gasped.

  “Eli just had a bit of an incident,” Mel explained. “No one got hurt.”

  “Not from the look of that guy.” Diane took Britney out of Melinda’s arms, and stopped her son from taking off down the beach again in search of the kite. “I’m terribly sorry – sir,” she called out to the now distant figure.

  Mel turned away from him and his arrogant ass. Her body still seethed with frustration and never had the idea of climbing into her little tent and zipping it up held as much appeal as it did now. But before that, she needed to make sure everything was fine here. “Diane, are you okay?”

  “Sure.” She jiggled Britney who had her head on Diane’s shoulder and her thumb in her mouth, just watching Mel. Mel smiled and Britney turned to face the other way. “Are you sure? Is there anything I can do?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Still Mel hesitated. “I’ll head back to the campsite. I might have a go at making something yummy on the fire for us all for tea.”

  Diane nodded. “That would be great. And I’m fine, I really am, and I owe you.” She gave a wobbly smile. “Getting away on my own, even if it was just going up to the shops and having a coffee, and having some time on my own to think…well, it really helped. You were right. I feel heaps better.”

  Mel squeezed her hand, relieved beyond belief, and made her way back down the beach. She walked as fast as she could, her feet sinking into the soft sand as she neared the hard grassy walk way. Again, Max popped into her mind, and again she forced him away, as far away as she could. It angered her. It had been over two months now, and she should have seen it coming when, looking back, the signs were all so obvious. That’s what angered her so much now. All the lies. All the deception. Her plans, her future, ripped apart by a man she thought she loved. No. She had loved him. Of course she had.

  Hadn’t she?

  Not so different from all the kids you’ve counseled, are you, Miss Green?

  She bet that man on the beach didn’t have to deal with being lied to. Or being jilted just weeks out from your wedding. He’d be the one doing the jilting. He probably had broken hearts scattered across Australia.

  She broke into a slow jog as her feet hit solid earth, enjoying the brief moment of freedom, and her spine tingled all the way back to her tent. With any luck, she’d never see him again.

  He stood outside the small green and red tent that the hippy, Diane, had directed him to.

  Mel – that was the other woman’s name – Mel – was supposedly inside. It was barely big enough for one person, looked as if it would rip apart in a decent gust, yet he could hear the muted sounds of voices from inside.

  It was impossible she had someone with her. Daniel glanced around the near deserted campground. Diane had assured him there were two dozen people booked in for the week, and he counted three other tents and a couple of campervans. Elderly people sat around on fold up chairs, chatting, laughing, apparently having a good time. It was beyond him how they could. He waved a bug away from his face. The urge to go camping had always eluded him, although the silence held some appeal. Especially with what was going on in his life right now.

  He glanced back at the tent. A car was parked alongside, an old hatchback boasting rust, missing hubcaps, chipped paintwork, and bumper stickers promoting a Sydney football team. A blue plastic tarpaulin had been rigged up between two trees and a solitary chair and camp table sat beneath it. The chair was covered with a faded patchwork quilt.

  What was he thinking of, coming here. What had possessed him to think a spontaneous walk along a beach would do some good and clear his mind? He had never done spontaneous in his life. Spontaneity messed with control and he needed to be in control.

  He turned, on the verge of heading back up to his car, when he hesitated. He had never been a quitter, either. You did not run a billion-dollar empire by leaping out of the fire when it started to burn. There were, of course, exceptions to every rule and right now would be a good time to exercise that exception. So, go home, Christie.

  He hesitated, then turned back to the tent. Against his better judgment, he ground out, “Excuse me.”

  The voices in the tent stopped. Seconds past and his irritation grew. He gave it one more shot. “I know you’re in there. Would you come out?” As an afterthought, he added, “Please.”

  He’d never been particularly good with apologies. They were mostly unnecessary, although if he screwed up, he’d admit it. He just didn’t screw up. Yet he’d driven away from the beach in those wet jeans and that wet shirt, with sand in his shoes, and five minutes down the road Mel’s image had refused to budge. She hadn’t even attempted to correct his assumption she was the mother of those children. Why?

  “I need to talk to you.” He’d give her ten seconds. Then he’d get the heck out of here and put it out of his mind.

  There was movement in the tent, the zip opened and she thrust her head out.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she announced with disapproval.

  “Obviously.” She had brown eyes. Dark brown eyes that watched him with a “Who do you think you are?” intensity. Interesting. Normally people watched him with trepidation or respect. Or if they were women, blatant expectation. They did not look at him as if he were the scum of the earth.

  “I need to talk to you,” he repeated.

  She didn’t move and he wondered if he was going to end up humiliating himself even further, getting on his hands and knees and crawling in to the tent.

  “My head,” she told him, “is insisting I tell you where to get off because I’m familiar with your type. You don’t listen to anyone and you expect people to do your bidding as if you were some Prince of British royalty.”

  The comparison with British royalty amused him. Although, the Christie family had once been called the royalty of Australian business. He said, “You’ve had a bit to do with British royalty, have you?”

  “No.”
She crawled out, straightened with a grunt until she stood in front of him, and braced her hands on her hips. She was average, he decided. Average build, average height. If she smiled, her looks would probably skyrocket away from what he could only describe as a very grim scowl that overshadowed everything else about her. She had a faded football jersey on over jeans.

  She suddenly exhaled. “I just have – shall we say - life experience that I use as a gauge for certain situations.”

  For an instant he was close to asking, “What life experience?” The less you know the better, he cautioned himself in the same breath.

  She squinted. “So I guess you know Brits and Eli aren’t my kids?”

  “Diane told me. I’m at a loss to understand why you never mentioned it.”

  She shrugged. “It was irrelevant because you were right. I couldn’t control them. They were in my care and look what happened. End of story.”

  He narrowed his eyes. She was putting on a good front but he wasn’t buying it. Not that it was his concern. He was here for one thing only. “I came back to apologize for my behavior.” He hesitated, then ground out, “For which, I’m sorry.” It hadn’t been her fault the kid had been a terror on two legs.

  Her gaze suddenly slipped to his waist and he frowned. “What are you looking at?”

  “You’ve changed clothes. I thought you didn’t carry spare clothes around.”

  “There was a menswear store down the road.”

  “Oh.” She looked down at her feet, kicked at the dry grass. “Well, I…I’m sorry too. For you getting wet. For not telling the truth straight away.” Something flickered across her eyes at the word truth. She added, “For you having to go and buy a new outfit.”

  He shook away her apology and gestured to her tent. “I heard voices.”

  “The radio was on talkback. I’ve got a small transistor.”

  “Did I drag you away from anything interesting?”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t really listening, to be honest. I think there was a gardening expert on debating the merits of growing organic broad beans. I just…” She squinted against the sun. “Had it on. For company. I like some background sound while I…while I think about life. I come here sometimes when I need to do that.”