by MacKay, Sue
‘No problem.’ Cam had peeked in on her and she hadn’t been aware? Running her hand over her mussed hair, she winced. Just as well. No doubt she looked like a train wreck.
Cam’s eyes still seemed drawn to the bottom of her T-shirt.
She dropped onto the bed and tugged the covers over her legs. ‘If you’re late, hadn’t you better get moving?’
He blinked as colour reddened his cheeks. ‘You’re right.’ Turning his head, he called, ‘Come on, boys. Chop, chop. Pack your bags, put your sandals on.’
‘Chop, chop.’
‘Chop, chop,’ the twins mimicked as they charged along the hall.
Jenny could no longer hold back a smile. ‘I remember that. Alison and I repeating everything Mum said. Boy, did we wind her up at times, especially if she was in a hurry or in a bad mood.’
‘I’m not in a bad mood,’ Cam growled.
‘Of course not.’ Her smile widened.
His scowl deepened. ‘Think I prefer it when you’re asleep.’ He followed his sons, stomping along the hall.
Laughter bubbled up. ‘Temper, temper,’ she said, but not so loud that he’d hear. She did need a ride into Blenheim later.
Temper, temper, had been her and Alison’s favourite taunt with Mum. They had been naughty at times. But always jointly, each egging the other on. Had Mum looked as tired as Cam did? She had no idea. Though there had been that time that Dad had left them with the neighbour they hadn’t liked so he could take Mum out to a fancy restaurant for dinner—to give her a break from them.
Mum and Dad. They’d been the greatest parents any two girls could have wished for. Yeah, and look how she’d treated them these past months—almost ignoring them. Yet they were still so patient with her, waiting for her to work through her grief in her own way, while dealing with their own at the same time.
Where was her tablet?
She found it in the lounge and after making a cup of tea and toasting a slice of multigrain bread she began an email.
Dear Mum and Dad.
It’s kind of fun being in this household. Marcus and Andrew remind me so much of the mischief Alison and I got up to. Cam, their father, looks exhausted all the time. I guess we did that to you, too.
I’m going for my check-up with the surgeon today and will have to wait in Blenheim for a ride home with Cam.
She was calling this place home now? What would Cam think of that? Probably pack her bag and put it out on the pavement at the bus stop.
Not sure when I’ll be ready to leave here. The car’s parked up in the garage here and Cam says I can leave it for as long as I want. Will keep you posted on my next moves.
Loads of love, Jenny.
Tapping the ‘send’ icon, she shook her head, admitting it felt good to finally have something to say without wondering if mentioning Alison’s name would hurt them, or if not mentioning her sister hurt them even more.
Marcus and his skateboard had a lot to answer for. All she had to figure out was whether it was a good or bad thing. Draining the cup of tea she’d all but forgotten, she pushed to her feet. Time for a shower and an end to thinking. Thinking was highly overrated.
In the bathroom Cam had again set up everything for her. Even the rubbish sack was a new one. That man was too thoughtful for his own good. She smiled. But not for hers.
Was Cam like this with everyone? Or just her?
Did he feel attracted to her? Like she did to him?
No point in denying it—she found him physically exciting. And there was more—that thoughtfulness was sexy, as was his tenderness, determination to do the best for his boys, and just about everything about him. This was bad. And exciting.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WHAT CAN I SMELL?’ Cam’s nose wrinkled as he sniffed an acrid burnt odour the moment he stepped inside his house. It had been a particularly gruelling day. Lack of sleep over the previous nights while Jenny had tripped through his head had only made it harder to deal with Roy Franks’s unwillingness to listen. He’d told the man he’d die if he didn’t have the open heart surgery he was booked in for next week, but Roy was still refusing. Sure, the man was scared witless. Who wouldn’t be? But the operation had to be better than the alternative.
In the kitchen, standing behind the island, Jenny stared at him, embarrassment written all over her pretty face. Her eyes flicked to him and away again. ‘How hard can it be to boil rice? Millions of people cook it every day. They don’t burn it to the bottom of the pot, do they?’
Burnt rice? What was she up to now? ‘Why do you want rice?’ He had new season’s potatoes ready to cook with mint picked from Mrs Warner’s garden that morning. Lamb patties were on a plate covered with a paper towel in the fridge, all ready for the barbecue. All he had to do was toss together a salad.
Jenny glared at him. ‘I’m cooking dinner for you. Thought I could give you a break since you’ve been so good to me. Guess I got that wrong.’ Her glare turned woeful as she glanced at a recipe book on the counter. Asian meals.
She needed a recipe book to cook rice? Guess the disaster facing him answered that in the affirmative. ‘Cooking not your strong point?’ Despite the mess facing him, he couldn’t help grinning at her.
Jenny winced. ‘Not really.’
He saw the pot in the sink filled with water, presumably to soak off the layer of blackened rice he could see on the bottom. The pot looked ruined. Turning, he nodded in the direction of a serving dish on top of the stove containing something resembling the cat’s biscuits when she regurgitated them on the floor. ‘What’s that?’
‘Chicken chasseur.’ Jenny glared at the dish, and continued in a woeful tone, ‘At least, that’s what it’s meant to be but it looks nothing like the picture on the packet.’
‘Packet?’ Where was her beautiful smile?
‘Yes. One of those add-water-and-cook things.’ Heat was creeping into her usually pale cheeks.
‘Were the instructions in Swahili?’
‘So I’m not the world’s greatest cook, all right? But I wanted to help out instead of sitting on my behind and being waited on hand and foot.’ Jenny locked eyes with his. ‘I’ve managed to empty the dishwasher and bring in the washing without incident.’ Then she turned towards the fridge.
Reaching out, he caught her elbow and stopped her. ‘Thanks. I do appreciate everything.’
Jenny didn’t look at him now so he used his finger under her chin to lift her head and caught his breath at the tears threatening to spill down her face. ‘Hey, I meant it. Truly.’
He should step away right this minute but for the life of him he couldn’t. Those big beautiful summer eyes were bigger, greener and more beautiful, enhanced by the moisture she was trying to ignore. Big pools that he could easily drown in. Was drowning in.
‘Then you won’t mind me making the salad.’ Jenny pulled back and reached to open the fridge. Lifting the vegetable bin, she once again averted her eyes.
Taking the bin from her hands, he smiled again. This woman had him relaxing even when she’d turned his kitchen into a tip. ‘No insult, but I’ll make the salad. But, first, why don’t we have a glass of wine on the deck?’ She did drink wine, didn’t she? He hadn’t offered before now because she’d been taking painkillers, but that morning she’d announced she’d stopped. Going to tough it out, she’d said, drugs being something she preferred not to take. Her new, lighter cast probably helped, too.
‘You’re offering me a consolation prize?’
‘No, you’d be giving me some adult time.’ Something he sorely missed whenever he thought about it, which was why he didn’t waste time mulling it over. Usually he was so busy just doing what had to be done to keep his head above water that he didn’t consider what he might be missing out on, and yet now with Jenny in his house there were many things popping into his mind that hadn’t been around for a long, long time. ‘Cabernet sauvignon or sauvignon blanc?’
‘Sav blanc, thank you. Want some cheese and crackers with that? Th
ere’s a block of Havarti in the fridge. I only have to open two packets and put them on a plate.’ The tears had retreated, and that sweet mouth was starting to curl upwards.
‘Can’t go too wrong with that.’ He found her a serving plate then poured their drinks, white for her, red for him. ‘You’ve chosen one of my favourite cheeses.’
‘So the woman in the little café shop told me.’
She’d gone to the trouble of asking? Wow. That showed her caring side. ‘So what do you think of our little town?’ She was still here, wasn’t she?
‘Would quaint be insulting?’
‘Depends who you’re talking to.’ Mrs Warner would agree. Others would hate her for uttering such a word. He led the way outside and pulled out a chair for her. Watching her progress, it was obvious she’d well and truly got the hang of the crutches. ‘Delia, my nurse, said she’d seen you out walking when she went to the bakery to buy us all morning tea.’
‘I suppose there aren’t too many people hobbling around Havelock with one foot in a cast.’ She eased herself down onto the chair and slid back before laying the crutches on the floor under the table out of the way.
‘You got it.’
‘There are some interesting little shops, but how do they survive? It’s not exactly downtown Auckland.’
Not even central Blenheim. ‘There’s a small but steady stream of tourists over the summer months, and in winter some of the shop owners close up and others slog it out.’
‘This Mrs Warner? Your neighbour? I haven’t seen her yet.’
‘She’s away visiting family for a fortnight.’ Which was why she hadn’t done his grocery shopping. Knucklehead that he was, he’d forgotten all about that until he’d been heading to Wairau Hospital to con Jenny into coming home with them.
He watched Jenny sipping the wine, her lips delicate against the glass, her throat moving as she swallowed. His gut tightened, as did muscles lower down. Steady. This fascination was getting out of hand. So look away. Can’t.
‘That turkey been flying over my head again?’ she asked.
‘No. I’m liking what I see, that’s all.’ That’s all? That’s a lot. Women hadn’t featured in his life since Margaret and yet a few days of having Jenny around and he felt as though he was coming alive. Hadn’t known he’d been half-dead until this week.
‘Your compliments are improving.’ She smiled at him, a full-blown, breath-shortening smile that rocked him.
Oh, boy. He was so lost. Standing up, he said, ‘I’ll turn the barbecue on,’ and immediately tripped over his own feet, managing to slosh wine down the front of his trousers. Great, now he had a kitchen and trousers to clean up. Not to mention the stirrings of arousal.
‘Go change and bring me those pants. I do know something about removing stains. They won’t end up looking like that chasseur, I promise.’ Her smile turned to a cheeky grin. ‘And watch where you’re going this time.’
He spun around, took long, fast steps away from her. If she saw the bulge at the front of his pants she’d call the harassment police. Since when did his lack of a sex life matter so much? Why had his body leapt to life over Jenny?
Because she’s beautiful and sexy, and pulls me in with those amazing eyes.
Note to self: stay away from that enticing smile. It’s too distracting. Stay away from those eyes. They’re dangerous.
And as he headed inside he saw the boys sprawled across the floor in front of the TV.
Second note to self: make those blasted appointments for haircuts.
*
Jenny worked the stain out and rinsed the trousers. Hard not to envisage the way this fabric had sat over that firm butt just minutes ago. Thankfully Cam had disappeared inside to remove them. Actually getting an eyeful of his rear view, or the front one, for that matter, if he’d shucked the trousers off outside might’ve given her palpitations.
Hobbling outside, she hung them on the line. The temperature hovered around twenty so with a bit of luck they’d be dry by the morning.
Her gaze cruised the yard. Cam didn’t have much of a garden. Guess he didn’t have the time. Or maybe he didn’t have the inclination.
There was something she’d learned from Mum: how to grow flowers. Nothing more rewarding than seeing beds of brightly coloured freesias, daisies, roses, peonies springing to life over the warm months. To pick a handful of flowers she’d grown and place it in a vase on the table had always made her happy.
Cam’s talent seemed to be in mowing the lawn in a circle, starting at the outside and working his way into the centre, by the looks of it. Lines from the last cut were still apparent. She could picture him striding out fast, aiming to get the job done before tackling the next chore. He never seemed to stop, always had more than enough to do. Though tonight he had sat down with a wine. Yeah, look how that had quickly turned to a mess.
At the end of the lawn a swing set looked neglected and unused. She shuffled onto the seat and with her good foot pushed back. When had been the last time she’d been on a swing? With Alison at the park in Surfers Paradise when Mum and Dad had taken them there for a holiday as teenagers. They’d been trying to impress some guys who’d been hanging around and Alison had reckoned they’d look cute on the swings. It had been a big fail.
Another Alison memory and she wasn’t shaking with despair. Must be something in the Havelock air for her to be feeling more relaxed about everything that had happened. Would she ever come to terms with her grief? No, that would be expecting too much. Take one small step at a time. ‘You lost your mojo in a big way. Don’t rush trying to find it again.’
‘Where did you lose your mojo?’ asked one of the twins from behind her.
‘What’s a mojo?’ asked the other.
‘Can we help you find it?’
Stopping the swing, she turned to look at the boys. She hadn’t realised she’d been talking out loud until they’d spoken up. ‘Mojo is me, who I am, where I came from and where I’m going. The drive that keeps me going.’
Two blank faces stared at her.
‘I lost it a year ago and now I want to find it so I can be happy again.’ Would they understand that better?
‘We can help you.’
They already were. The boys, along with Cam, treated her so normally that she had started coming alive again. ‘Thank you.’
‘If we help you—’
‘Will you help us find something?’ Andrew finished the question Marcus had started.
‘Sure. What have you lost?’ She already knew Andrew was in trouble with Cam for losing a sports shoe this week.
‘Our mother. We can’t find her anywhere.’
Oh, no. She’d well and truly walked into that one. These poor little guys looked and sounded distraught. Her heart squeezed painfully for them, her stomach sunk in on itself. ‘I…’ What did she say? Anything that came to mind would only hurt them more. She didn’t know the circumstances, and this so wasn’t her place. Except they were watching her, each with a plea in his eyes that would be impossible to deny.
‘We only want to see her and give her a hug.’ Andrew looked ready to burst into tears.
Jenny shoved off the swing and snatched both boys into her arms and held them tight. Not the hug they were wanting but she couldn’t not hold them. They trembled against her, clinging to her as if for dear life. ‘I know you do. I’d love to hug my sister.’
But that was different. Alison had gone. These boys’ mother had to be somewhere. How could the woman leave her sons? Unbelievable. There was nothing that would be a good enough reason.
She sensed Cam’s presence a second before his arms went around their little group, like an outer wrapping. His hand on her shoulder was warm and gave her the courage to raise her head and look directly at him.
‘Thank you,’ he mouthed. His eyes glittered as pain and anger and despair battled for supremacy in his lean face. So he’d heard what the boys had said. How often had he had to deal with this? How did he cope? Then he dropped
a kiss on each boy’s head and stood up slowly, unravelling himself and then the boys from around her.
What about me? Can I have a kiss, too?
What she got was, ‘Here, I’ll give you a hand getting up.’
She’d forgotten about her ankle, but the moment Cam mentioned it she placed her hand in his and let him pull her gently upright, then leaned against him for a moment before he led her back to the deck to sit down.
‘Where’s your twin?’ one of the boys asked, as he joined them on the deck.
Her shoulders drooped. What should she say? Would the boys think their mother had died, too, if she told them the truth? But she couldn’t lie to them. That wouldn’t help anyone. Looking at Cam for guidance, she found sympathy and saw a small nod. After a sip of wine she drew a deep breath and told them as simply as possible.
‘My sister had an accident. We were mountain climbing and the track we were on gave out from under us. We fell over the cliff all the way to the bottom. Alison hit her head on a boulder.’ The glass twirled back and forth in her fingers. ‘She died there. I miss her heaps.’
Andrew clambered onto the bench to sit on her left side. Marcus did the same on her right. Cam looked astonished. Which was nothing to what she was feeling.
‘That’s sad. I’d miss Andrew if that happened to us.’ Marcus snuggled closer. ‘He’s my best friend as well as my brother.’
Sniff. ‘Yes, that’s how it is for twins.’ Another sip of the wine. ‘You know, we’re luckier than everyone else because we’re twins. No one else has a special person that close to them.’
Marcus pulled back to stare up at her. ‘Was Alison as pretty as you?’
‘You are a right little charmer, aren’t you?’ Her smile wavered. ‘Alison looked just like me.’
‘How did people know who was Alison—’
‘And who was you?’
Oh, boy, this wasn’t getting any easier. ‘Alison was always smiling. She was very funny and made everyone laugh.’ Whereas I was the serious one. Except when I was with my sister.
