‘You got stuck in mud?’ Bailey said, entranced.
‘It was very embarrassing,’ she told him. ‘Philip Dexter, the town’s lawyer, had to tow me off. I’m a better sailor now.’
‘Dad…’ Bailey said.
‘No,’ Nick said, refusing to be deflected.
‘I can swim,’ Bailey said, jutting his jaw at his father. They really were amazingly alike.
‘No.’
‘I’ll wear a life vest.’
‘Life vests are great,’ Misty said. ‘They take all the worry out of tipping over.’
‘You tip over?’ Bailey said, casting a dubious glance at his father.
‘Sometimes,’ she admitted, being honest. In truth, there was nothing she loved more than setting her little boat into the wind, riding out conditions that had more experienced yachtsmen retire to the clubhouse. Tipping was part of the fun. ‘But today’s really calm-not a tipping day at all. If your dad did decide to let you come I’d be very careful.’
She ventured a cautious peek at Nick then and thought, Uh oh. She wasn’t making headway. Nick looked close to explosion. But if he was about to explode…Why not take it all the way?
‘You know, if your father was on board, too…’ she ventured. ‘I’m thinking your dad knows yachts better than I do. I bet he’d never let it tip over.’
‘No!’ Nick said, and it was a blast of pure icy rage.
Should she leave it? She glanced at Bailey and she thought Nick had brought him here, to this house, because he thought it was safe. Because he thought she was safe.
And something inside her matched his fury. She was not going to stick to his rules.
‘So what else do you intend to forbid?’ she demanded. ‘Every kid in Banksia Bay plays in a boat of some sort. Canoes, dinghies, sailboards, surf-kites, water-skis. This is a harbour town.’
‘Will you butt out?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not when you’re being ridiculous.’
‘Ridiculous,’ Bailey said and finally-and probably too late-Misty decided she’d gone too far. Nick’s face was almost rigid. His own child calling him ridiculous…
A woman might just have to back off.
‘Maybe your dad’s right,’ she told Bailey, and she hugged him against her. She was still in bed, with Bailey and dogs crowded in with her. Nick seemed suddenly an outsider.
She looked at his face and she saw pain behind his anger. Worse, she saw fear. He’d been to hell and back over the last year, she thought. What was she doing, adding to it because she was angry?
‘Maybe ridiculous is the wrong word,’ she conceded. ‘Maybe I’m not being fair. Your dad worries because of what happened to you and your mum, because he knows bad things happen. He brought you to Banksia Bay because it’s safe, and it is, but maybe he needs time to see it. I tell you what; why don’t you and your dad bring the dogs to the beach this afternoon and watch? When your dad sees how safe it is, then maybe next Saturday or the one after that he’ll agree.’
‘You think I’m being dumb,’ Nick said, sounding goaded.
‘I do.’ She hugged the dogs and she hugged Bailey. ‘But that’s your right.’
‘Being dumb.’
‘Being…safe. But let’s change the subject,’ she said-and the frustration in his eyes said it was high time she did. ‘You and Bailey talk about sailing and let me know if you ever want to join me. Meanwhile, I need to go see Gran. So if you gentlemen could give me a little privacy and if you could take the dogs with you it would be appreciated,’ she said, and she smiled at Nick and she kept her smile in place until he’d taken his son and their dogs and let her be.
‘Why not?’ Bailey demanded as soon as Misty’s door was shut.
‘If anything happened to your arm…’
He was talking to a six-year-old. He should just say no and be done with it. What happened to the good old days when a man was master in his own home?
This was Misty’s home. Her rules?
‘I can wear my brace,’ Bailey said, and he slid his hand into his father’s. Beguiling as only a six-year-old could be.
‘No.’
‘Dad…’
‘We’ll think about it. Later.’
‘Okay,’ Bailey said. He really was a good kid. There’d been so many things he couldn’t do over the last year that he was used to it. ‘Can we make Ketchup and Took bacon for breakfast?’
‘Yes,’
‘Hooray,’ Bailey said and sped away, dogs in pursuit.
How much bacon did he have? Enough for dogs?
He could borrow some from Misty.
The way he was feeling… No.
But then he thought of Misty, her chin tilted, defiant, pushing him to the limit.
And he thought of his son.
There’d been so many things Bailey couldn’t do over the last year…
What was he doing, adding more?
Define safe, he thought, and he thought of Misty in bed with dogs and Bailey.
Misty was safe.
Misty was gorgeous.
The feeling stilled and settled.
Misty was home.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MISTY visited Gran, who was so deeply asleep she couldn’t be roused.
Discomfited, worrying about Gran and worrying almost as much about the guys she’d left at home, she made her way to the yacht club. There was no need for her to go home to change. She kept her gear here.
‘Hey, Misty, how’s the boyfriend?’ someone called, and there was a general chuckle.
She didn’t flush. She didn’t need to, for the words had been a joke. But inside the joke made her flinch. Was it so funny to think Misty could ever have a boyfriend?
It had been four years since she’d had any sort of relationship, she thought, as she fetched her sailing clothes from her locker. She’d been twenty-five. Luke had been her friend from kindergarten. He’d been away to the city, broken his heart and come home to Misty. He’d wanted to marry, settle on his parents’ farm and breed babies and cows.
She’d knocked him back. He’d married Laura Buchanan and they had two babies already and four hundred Aberdeen Angus.
Since then… Misty was twenty-nine and for four years she’d lived alone with her scrapbooks and a list. Miss Havisham in the making?
‘What’s he like?’ someone called, and she tugged herself back to the here and now. ‘The boyfriend.’
‘Wildly romantic,’ she threw back, figuring she might as well go along with it. ‘I’ve seen him in his pyjamas. Sexy as.’
She hadn’t seen him in his pyjamas. She’d seen him in his boxers. He was indeed sexy.
Let’s not go there.
‘Woohoo,’ someone called. ‘Our Misty has a life!’
Only she hadn’t. She changed into her yachting gear and the old frustrations surged back.
Nick had kissed her. Misty has a life? Maybe she had. If she wanted it, a relationship was beckoning.
But why had he kissed her? He was attracted to her because she was Misty, the safe one.
Luke had broken his heart and come back to her.
To Misty. To safe.
She glanced out at the bay and saw a gentle breeze rippling the water. It was perfect sailing conditions, but she didn’t want perfect. She wanted twenty-foot waves, a howling sou-easterly and trouble.
‘My turn to win this time,’ someone said and it was Di, the local newsagent. At sixty-five, Di was still one of the town’s best sailors. She’d represented Australia in the Olympics. She’d travelled around the world honing her skills.
Misty had stayed home and honed hers.
She and Di were competitive enough. In this bay she could often beat her. But if she ever got out of this bay…
Who knew? She certainly didn’t.
Don’t think about it, she told herself. Concentrate on beating Di.
And not thinking about Nick?
The race didn’t start until two. Mostly the yachties sat round the clubhouse talking, but
Misty bought a sandwich and launched Mudlark. She sailed out to the entrance to the bay-looking for trouble? But conditions outside weren’t any different to inside.
No risks today. Safe as houses.
What was wrong with safe? she demanded of herself. Get over it.
Thoroughly unsettled, she sailed her little boat back inside and spent an hour practising, pushing herself so she had Mudlark so tuned to the wind she was flying.
Finally, it was time to make her way to the start line. She’d win today.
There was nothing else to aim for.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, what was wrong with her? If Gran could hear her now she’d give her a tongue-lashing. What was the point of complaining about something you couldn’t change?
What was wrong with settling for dogs and a lovely tenant-a tenant who’d kissed her…?
The boats were tacking backwards and forwards behind the starting line, trying to gain an edge. There were up to thirty Sharpies who raced each week. The yacht club kept some available for hire, so visitors to the town could join in. That made it more fun; often an out of town yachtie could surprise them. But no out of town yachtie could beat them.
Di had the experience. Misty had the local knowledge. It was Di or Misty, almost every week.
She checked Di’s boat. Di was geared up, ready to go.
The starter’s gun fired. Mudlark flew, streaming across the water, her sails catching the wind at just the right angle.
The wind was in her hair, on her face. She was sailing fast and free. If she couldn’t have her list, this was the next best thing.
And Nick? Was he the next best thing?
A boat was edging up on the same tack as Mudlark. She saw it out of the corner of her eye and was surprised. She’d expected to be well in front by now.
And then… Startled, she realised it wasn’t Di. It was one of the little orange Rentaboats.
Hey, an out-of-towner pushing her. That’d do to keep her mind off things. She tightened the jib, read the wind, tightened still more.
She passed the marker buoy. Brought her round. The Rentaboat was closing in. What the…?
No matter. Just win. Tug those sails in. Go.
Rentaboat was almost to the buoy and, as she caught the wind and sailed back, she passed within ten yards.
‘Hey, Miss Lawrence, we’re racing you.’ The high, excited yell pierced her concentration and Misty came close to letting go of her stays.
Bailey.
Nick.
‘Go faster, Dad, we’re catching up,’ Bailey yelled and Misty saw Nick grin.
Her heart did this stupid crazy leap.
Nick was racing. Nick and Bailey…
Bailey was crouched in the bow, whooping with excitement, bright with life and wonder. Nick was at the helm, intent, a sailor through and through.
‘Miss Lawrence!’ Bailey yelled across the water. ‘Miss Lawrence, we’re going to win.’
Maybe they would. Her jib had slackened. She was tightening, tightening. Of all the…
She and Di were competitors with each other. Occasionally something happened and another local took line honours, but to concede honours to a Rentaboat…
Pride was at stake here.
She tuned and tuned, every sense totally focused on the boat, the water, the wind. But no, that was a lie because overriding everything else was the awareness that Nick was in the next boat.
He’d brought his son sailing.
A risk…
Hardly a risk. They were both wearing life vests; of course they were. They’d not be allowed to race without them. They were surrounded by a fleet of small boats. Even if they capsized, they’d be scooped up so fast there was never a hint of risk
But still…it was a start, Misty thought.
No, she corrected herself. Getting Took had been a start. This was simply the next step.
As finding Ketchup had been her start. Her start of retreating from her list, from her dreams.
What was her next step?
The wind rose, just a little. She should have seen it coming. Maybe she had seen it, but she was away with her lists. The sudden gust caught her unaware, pushed her sideways, dropped her speed.
Nick surged ahead.
‘Hurray, we’re winning,’ Bailey yelled and they would; the finish line was in sight. But then…
Di. Misty hadn’t even noticed her coming up on the far side of Nick. Di’s Sandpiper edged just ahead. Nosing over the line.
Local pride was intact. Di first. Nick and Bailey second.
Misty third.
But a win had never felt as good. It felt fantastic. It was as if she’d been granted the world.
Was it silly to feel like this?
Thoroughly disconcerted, she reduced sail, manoeuvred her little boat back to dock and was inordinately pleased to see Nick had trouble. You needed to know the currents around the clubhouse to get in tight. He didn’t know the currents and was having to take an extra run.
Di was calling to him, congratulating him over the water. On the dock, Fred, the vet, was watching. Fred’s son sailed. Fred usually watched his son but he was watching Nick now, and she remembered Fred’s reaction when he’d heard Nick was a painter.
Nick would be painting for Fred’s beloved repertory society in no time.
He’d be a local.
That was great. Wasn’t it?
Befuddled, conflicted, she pushed her little boat into shore, then tugged her out onto the hard. Nick needed to go further along, to return his Rentaboat. It gave her time to get her thoughts together, so when Bailey came hurtling through the yard gates and whooped towards her she could laugh and swoop him up into her arms and hug him. And smile over his shoulder to his father.
‘You beat me.’
‘Your mind must have been on other things,’ he said, smiling back, and he looked…fantastic. Faded sweatshirt. Jeans rolled up to his knees. Strong, bare legs. Bare feet. Wind-tousled hair.
He was smiling straight into her eyes, and something was catching in her chest.
Your mind must have been on other things. Really? What could they have been?
‘We should have warned you,’ he said, and she wondered if she was blushing. She felt as if she was blushing. Was it showing? ‘I believe Bailey’s yell might have distracted you.’
‘You really can sail,’ she managed.
‘It’s what I do,’ he said softly. ‘It’s what I love. I just…needed reminding.’
‘That it’s safe.’
‘That it’s still possible to have fun. We’ve forgotten a bit.’
‘And now you have a dog and a sailing club,’ she said, a bit more sharply than she intended, and then wondered why she’d snapped. What was wrong with her? She should be pleased for him. She was pleased for him. She was delighted that he was starting to loosen up, become part of this community.
But there was something still not right. Something…
‘Speaking of dogs… Did you leave them home?’
‘What a question,’ he said, sounding affronted. He motioned to the clubhouse yard. The dogs were tied under a spreading eucalypt, a water bowl in reach. They were occupied with a bone apiece. A vast bone apiece.
‘I didn’t do the bones,’ he told her. ‘But Fred told everyone their story within two minutes of them arriving and your local butcher headed straight back to his shop and brought them one each. Have you ever seen anything happier?’
She hadn’t. She felt herself smiling. But then… Tears?
Of all the stupid, emotional…
She did not cry. She didn’t. But now…
Dogs with happy endings. Nick and Bailey with happy endings.
And Nick was watching her. Mortification plus. But he wasn’t laughing at her. He didn’t look like her tears embarrassed him. He lifted his hand and he wiped a tear away before it had the chance to roll down her cheek.
His touch burned. She wanted to catch his hand and hold it against her face-just hold it.
/> People were watching.
What did it matter? Was this the next step? ‘Hey, Nicholas…’
The moment-the danger?-had passed. Fred was bearing down on them, intentions obvious. ‘Great sail. Well done. I hear you can paint.’
‘Paint?’ Nick said cautiously and Misty managed a chuckle as she moved swiftly away.
‘Welcome to my world,’ she murmured and went to congratulate Di. She hadn’t taken his hand, she told herself. She’d stayed self-contained. Good.
But self-contained wasn’t actually going to happen. Not if Bailey could help it. She’d taken two steps when he slid his hand into hers.
‘When we go home can I come in your car? Dad says we can have fish and chips for tea. Can we eat tea together? The dogs and I would really like it.’
It seemed surly to refuse, so yes, they ate fish and chips together on the beach. Took bounded a mile or more and then settled beside Ketchup in blissful peace. Apart from looking enquiringly to the chips every now and then, both dogs seemed happy.
Ketchup was looking better every day. The initial pinning of the badly fractured leg needed follow-up. There’d be more surgery later on, but for now he was with Took and he’d found a home.
More, he’d found a boy. And boy had found dogs. The three of them were curing each other, Misty thought, as she watched Bailey tease Took with a chip-tease her, tease her, then shriek as Ketchup whipped in from the side to snatch it. While Bailey was expounding indignation, Took wolfed three more.
Bailey giggled, his father chuckled, Misty went to move the chips out of dog range, Nick did the same and somehow Nick’s hand was touching hers again.
They glanced at each other. Nick moved the chips. Then he returned to touch again.
And hold.
‘It’s been a magical day,’ he said softly. ‘Thanks to Misty.’
‘Thanks to Misty not winning, you mean,’ she said with what she hoped was dry humour, but he shook his head and suddenly he had both her hands and he was drawing her closer.
‘That’s not what I mean at all. Misty…’
What was he doing? Was he planning to kiss her? Now?
‘Not in front of Bailey,’ she breathed. No!
‘Not what in front of Bailey?’ Nick asked, smiling down into her eyes. ‘Not thanking his teacher for giving us a lesson in life?’
Misty and the Single Dad Page 11
