by Lori Wilde
The bead curtain announced her arrival and two heads turned toward her as she stopped just inside the door. A nervous smile curled her mouth as she stared at the very tanned, fit-looking man leaning against the kitchen counter. His hair was cropped short and mottled with gray, and he was dressed neatly in a pair of dark navy tracksuit pants and a polo shirt. His eyes seemed very blue against his dark skin as he looked at her, the lines around his eyes and mouth deeply scored. She tried to find some point of resemblance between them. The eye color, perhaps—although her mother had been blue-eyed, too. Maybe the shape of her chin? And perhaps her high forehead…?
She took a tentative step forward. “Hello. Um, I’m Elizabeth.”
He nodded. “Sam.”
He’d been studying her, too, and she waited for him to say something else, ready to take her cue from him. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned to Nathan and resumed their interrupted conversation.
“Anyway, they reckon it’ll take weeks just for the swelling to go down, let alone for them to work out if they can operate or not. Bloody doctors.”
Elizabeth stared at his profile, utterly thrown. She hadn’t expected her father to throw his arms around her and hold her to his bosom or anything as dramatic as that, but she’d expected something. Some recognition that she was more than a casual acquaintance.
Across the room, Nate was frowning, his gaze going from her to Sam and back again.
“Sam was just telling me that he’s torn a ligament in his knee. Which is why he’s home early,” he said.
For the first time Elizabeth noticed the crutches propped in the corner and the bulge around her father’s left knee beneath his tracksuit pants.
“That must have been very disappointing for you. I know you were looking forward to the race,” she said.
Sam glanced at her briefly before looking away again. “Disappointing isn’t the word. I’m going to miss all the majors this season now, on top of losing a major charter to the Caribbean. I’ll be stuck on these bloody things for months.” He thumped the crutches with a fist.
She tried to think of something else to say, but her mind was a complete blank. “Well. That’s disappointing,” she said again.
Her father shrugged impatiently and reached for his crutches.
“Better go unpack.” His gaze took in the plates in the sink and the newspaper Nate had left folded on the kitchen table. “Looks like there’s plenty of work to do around here, anyway.”
He tucked the crutches under his arms and started down the hallway.
Elizabeth stared at his retreating back for a long beat. Then she swiveled on her heel and headed for the door. She barreled down the stairs and across the yard and didn’t stop until she was in the studio. Then she simply stood, hands loose by her sides, and tried to understand what had happened.
She’d just met her father for the first time. They’d introduced themselves. And then he had proceeded to ignore her.
“You okay?” Nate’s warm hands landed on her shoulders, his thumbs brushing the nape of her neck.
“I just— I thought—” She shook her head, unable to articulate the jumble of hurt, outrage, anger and disappointment churning inside her.
Nate slid an arm around her, his forearm beneath her breasts as he pulled her against him. He pressed a kiss into her hair and laid his cheek against her head. His silent support helped calm her thoughts and finally she faced the reluctant truth.
“This isn’t going to be what I want it to be, is it?”
Nate pulled her tighter against his body. “Give it time.”
“Nate. The man is not interested. Never has been.”
“It’s not about you, Lizzy. He doesn’t even know you. Whatever is going on is Sam’s problem. He’s always been more happy on his own than with anyone else. That’s why he looks after this place for me. In the off season, there are only about seven thousand people on the island, and he likes it that way.”
She understood what he was saying but it felt like a cruel joke to have found a parent only to learn that he wanted nothing to do with her.
“Want to walk into town and buy some fresh fish for dinner?” Nate asked.
She nodded, unable to speak past the emotion choking her throat. He turned her around in his arms and tilted her chin so she was forced to meet his gaze.
“It’s his loss, Lizzy. Believe me.”
There was so much warmth in his eyes. It went a long way to assuaging her hurts. She reached out to touch his face. He was such a good person. It continually amazed her that in the midst of all the crap he was dealing with he found room to care for others.
For a long moment she battled with the urge to say the things that were in her heart. It was too soon, her gut told her. But one day she wouldn’t bite her tongue. One day she would tell this wonderful, wounded, generous man how she felt about him.
She dropped her hand.
“Let’s go.”
NATE HELD HIS TONGUE ALL afternoon and well into the evening. He watched Sam sit silently through a meal of fish and grilled prawns and salad, never once asking Elizabeth about her life, her teaching, her dreams, her past, and told himself that it was Sam’s problem and not Nate’s place to interfere. He’d never been the kind of person who stuck his nose into other people’s business. It simply wasn’t his style. He dealt with his crap and he let other people deal with theirs, a mind-set that had only become more entrenched since the accident. He didn’t want people offering him unsolicited advice, getting in his face, and he extended the same courtesy to others.
But listening to Elizabeth make polite conversation with her father over dinner, watching her take Sam’s indifference on the chin again and again as Sam offered monosyllables and shrugs and avoided eye contact made Nate want to hurt something. Preferably Sam.
Not surprisingly, Sam made an excuse about catching up on his sleep after dinner and disappeared to his room. There was a small silence, then Elizabeth turned to Nate with a bright smile.
“Want to toast marshmallows on the barbecue again?”
That brave, bright smile pretty much tore it for him.
“Sure. Why don’t you get a head start and I’ll be out in a tick?” he said easily.
“Okay. But remember, he who snoozes loses.”
“Sure. I won’t be long.”
What he had in mind would take about sixty seconds—he figured that was about how long it would take for him to grab Sam by the scruff of the neck and shake some sense into him.
Nate waited until Elizabeth had gone outside before walking to Sam’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and he knocked on the door frame and waited, temper simmering.
“Who is it?” Sam asked.
Nate pushed the door open. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, his bad leg extended in front of him. He’d stripped to his boxer shorts and polo shirt and for the first time in all the years Nate had known him he looked older than his fifty-two years.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nate demanded.
“Just leave it, mate.”
“No, mate, I won’t. She’s your daughter. Have a conversation with her. Get to know her.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Yeah, it is. It’s really simple.”
“Look, I know you’re only looking out for her, but it’s best this way. I just spoke to a mate up in Melbourne, he’s going to let me bunk down with him for a few weeks.”
“So, what? You’re just going to head off tomorrow? You’re giving her one night? When she’s flown halfway around the world to find you?”
Sam didn’t say anything.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Nate said. “A selfish asshole.”
Sam’s mouth tightened and he pushed himself awkwardly to his feet. “You finished? Had your say?”
He hobbled forward, trying to crowd Nate out of the room.
Nate jabbed a finger at him. “If you do this, if you take off tomorrow, you’re the biggest pus
sy I know.”
“That’d sting a whole lot more if it didn’t come from a guy who’s been hiding in the bottom of a beer bottle for the past four months.” Nate flinched.
“What’s wrong? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?” Sam said. “Don’t come in here on your high moral horse, telling me what to do and how to behave when you don’t even have the balls to open your own bloody mail.”
The other man’s face was red and a vein pulsed at his neck.
“If you go, don’t bother coming back,” Nate said.
He turned and walked away. The door slammed behind him, the sound echoing up the hallway. Nate strode into the kitchen and swore viciously. He really, really wanted to punch something. His hand curled into a fist and he tensed, ready to smack a hole in one of the overhead kitchen cabinets. Then he remembered Elizabeth was outside, waiting for him.
He didn’t want her to know what had gone down. Didn’t want her to know he’d had to threaten her father to try and make the guy stick around.
He let his breath hiss between his teeth and braced his hands on the counter, dropping his head and taking a few seconds to let the anger drain out of him. If Sam went ahead with his plan and bailed on Elizabeth tomorrow… Nate was going to be sorely pressed not to punch his lights out.
He lifted his head and released his grip on the counter. He would deal with whatever came tomorrow when it happened. Right now, Elizabeth was waiting for him.
He turned toward the door but his gaze snagged on the pile of envelopes overflowing from the magazine rack in the corner.
For a moment he stood frozen. Then he brushed a hand over his head.
Bloody Sam.
Annoyed all over again, he grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and took them outside. Elizabeth looked up from toasting a stick full of marshmallows as he exited the house.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?” he said, even though he could hear the edge in his own voice.
“You’re frowning, for starters.”
She paused, waiting, and when he didn’t say anything she cocked her head to one side. “Going to play it strong and silent on me, huh?”
“Silent, anyway.”
He sat on the picnic blanket and she held the stick out to him.
“Have a marshmallow, then.”
It was one of the things he loved about her the most, the calm way she had of simply accepting things the way they were. She never pushed. She never clung or offered advice he hadn’t asked for or tried to tell him what to do or how to be.
He slid a marshmallow off the gooey stick and put it in his mouth. It tasted like burned sugar and she laughed when he pulled a face.
“Not my best batch.”
He caught her hand and pulled her down onto the blanket.
“You okay?” he asked.
Her smile faded a little. “I’ll survive.”
He fought a battle with his conscience as he looked into her eyes. Was it better to warn her or not? If Sam chose to go tomorrow, there was no way she could fail to take it as a kick in the teeth. But if he warned her in advance and Sam didn’t wind up going, he would have upset her for nothing.
“You’re frowning again.”
She reached out and pressed her fingers against his forehead.
“Sam’s talking about heading up to Melbourne tomorrow.”
Her gaze dropped to the blanket. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. Still she didn’t say anything and he used their joined hands to pull her into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and she pressed her face into his neck.
They sat in the dark, the fire dying to embers, not saying a word for a long time.
10
ELIZABETH’S FATHER packed up his car and left the next morning. He had an excuse for his departure—a friend who wanted his advice on buying a boat. She listened to his thin explanation, then walked away without a word. A few weeks ago she would have smiled and waved and done her bit to smooth things over to keep the peace. For good or for ill, she wasn’t that woman anymore. She wasn’t going to deny herself or pretend anymore. Her father had made his decision, which was his right, just as it was her right to feel the way she felt in response. So be it.
She channeled her disappointment into cleaning the house, giving the kitchen and bathroom and living room a thorough going-over. Nate watched her wield the vacuum cleaner for a few minutes before wisely stepping away and leaving her to it. She cleaned out the fridge and wiped down the stove and scoured the sink and slowly, slowly let go of the tight, hurt feeling inside her.
Her father had rejected her. There. She’d admitted it. It wasn’t a matter of simple disinterest. He didn’t want to know her.
Stupid to pretend it didn’t hurt—of course it did. But at least Nate had warned her last night and she’d had the chance to prepare herself. She’d lain awake in his arms, hoping against hope that Sam would choose to stay.
So much for hope.
She moved on to clearing the kitchen table, discarding yesterday’s paper, culling a black banana from the fruit bowl, returning the salt and paper shakers to the cupboard. Her gaze fell on the pile of Nate’s unopened mail and she drew the magazine rack toward herself and began to pile the envelopes together. Even if Nate was never going to open them there was no need for them to remain an eyesore.
He entered the kitchen as she finished stacking the envelopes into two neat piles.
“Hi. Where do you want these?” she asked, lifting her hair off the back of her neck. It was heading toward the hottest part of the day and the house was stuffy and warm.
Nate glanced at the envelopes. “They’re fine where they are.”
“I could help you go through them, if you like? Just in case there’s anything you need to worry about.”
“There isn’t.”
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “All right.”
She grabbed the first stack and knelt beside the magazine rack.
“Wait. Give them to me. I’ll toss them,” Nate said suddenly.
She looked up at him, surprised, but he was already scooping up the pile from the table. Wordlessly she handed over the remainder and watched as he walked out the back door.
She glanced at the empty magazine rack, feeling uneasy. Perhaps she should have left that particular sleeping dog lie. It was so hard to know what to do. She understood that Nate had worked out a strategy for himself over the past four months. He had his routines, his coping mechanisms. Who was she to push or pull him in another direction? Given what had happened to him, how it haunted him, it seemed to her that he was entitled to whatever peace he could find.
But she was also aware that it wasn’t a long-term solution. She wanted more for him than this circumscribed life.
She sighed heavily and pushed herself to her feet. If he wanted to throw away his Smartsell paperwork, then it was up to him. She only hoped that one day, one of the letters would arrive and he’d feel an itch to open it.
NATE WALKED AROUND THE side of the house and dumped the armful of envelopes in the recycle bin. Something he should have been doing right from the start. Why the hell Jarvie felt the need to keep him in the loop he had no idea.
Okay. That was a lie. He knew why—Jarvie wanted him to come back. He hoped to entice Nate back to Melbourne and into the office with dispatches from the front line.
It wasn’t going to work. Jarvie was going to have to live with things the way they were. Nate was now a silent partner. It was better for everyone that way.
Because he knew it had been a crappy day for Elizabeth, Nate rang her English friends, Lexie and Ross, and the four of them went out for dinner. He listened to her talk and laugh, watched the play of light over her face and the way she tilted her head when she was listening to something that engaged her.
Sam was a jerk for bailing on her.
It hit him during dessert that there was nothing holding Elizabeth in Australia anymore. With Sam gone, the
re was no reason for her to stay. Christmas was a few days away—it only made sense for her to return home to spend it with her grandparents and her friends.
He twisted his wineglass on the table.
He didn’t want her to go.
He didn’t want to contemplate what his life would be without her. Couldn’t even imagine trying to get through the night without her in his arms. But his need was not even close to being enough of a reason to ask Elizabeth to stay. He’d chosen to live this way—she had not. She had a life in London. A career as a teacher. Grandparents and friends.
Despite his best intentions, ways and means to bind her to his side raced through his mind. They could move into the main house. They could renovate, in whatever style or way Elizabeth dictated. Money wasn’t an issue, after all. She wouldn’t have to work if she didn’t want to. He could give her anything—anything—that her heart desired.
He swallowed the last of his wine.
He wasn’t going to do any of those things. No matter how much he wanted to.
He loved her too much to trap her.
He allowed the knowledge to wash over him. Of course he loved Lizzy. She was smart and kind and generous. She drove him wild in bed. She amused him endlessly. She made him wish he could turn back time. Six months ago, he would have pursued her and made her his. He would have done whatever it took to make her happy.
But he wasn’t that man anymore. He couldn’t drive. Until recently he couldn’t get through the night without waking at least once, bathed in sweat, Olivia’s screams in his head. He was no good to anyone. Fine for a holiday fling, but a liability in the long term.
The knowledge sat like a rock on his chest for the rest of the evening.
“You know, I don’t think I even knew what summer was until I came here,” Elizabeth said as they walked home along the beach. The wind blew her hair across her face and she caught the length of it in her hand and draped it over one shoulder. “It’s hard to believe that it’s probably snowing back home.”
They turned onto the track to his street and he waited for her to toe on her sandals before they walked the short distance to his house.
