Wife and Mother Wanted

by Nicola Marsh

  So Brody still loved his wife and carried his grief around like a boulder around his neck? That was still no reason to push away everyone around him—particularly his daughter. Why couldn’t he see what was right in front of him? And, though it was none of her business, she was sorely tempted to march next door right this minute and tell him how his surliness was affecting his daughter.

  ‘Sometimes grown-ups are sad, Molly, and sometimes they’re happy. And when they’re happy, they do this.’ Carissa’s fingers crawled across her lap and marched towards Molly’s ribs, launching into a tickling session that left the little girl giggling and squirming and tickling her right back.

  Thankfully the diversion worked, and Molly soon forgot about her absent mother and grumpy father, throwing herself enthusiastically into hot cross bun-making. They had just finished sampling two of an earlier batch when Brody’s sharp knock at the back door signalled that the ogre had arrived to put a stop to the festivities.

  ‘Come in,’ Carissa called out, wiping her hands and dabbing at Molly’s milk moustache, suddenly self-conscious about the effort she’d made earlier with her appearance.

  What had she been thinking? The guy was so in love with his dead wife that he wore his grief like a badge of honour. Little wonder he didn’t notice she existed—apart from being a playmate for his daughter.

  ‘Something smells good.’ Brody stepped into the kitchen, immediately dwarfing the space with his presence. She’d always loved the sunny yellow walls, the matching floral curtains and the collection of plates in higgledy-piggledy disarray on the wooden dresser of her kitchen, finding the room cosy. With Brody’s glowering presence the room suddenly felt claustrophobic.

  ‘We’ve been busy baking, Daddy. Want to try one? I made this one specially for you.’ Molly picked up the lumpiest, ugliest bun of the lot—the one Carissa had put aside because it hadn’t quite cooked through and the one that happened to be Molly’s first try—and handed it to her father.

  ‘Thanks, munchkin.’

  Carissa folded her arms, sat back and grinned. Serve the grouch right. Maybe eating a bit of raw dough would soften him up? As if.

  To his credit, Brody didn’t flinch, though she watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down convulsively as he struggled to swallow a few mouthfuls.

  ‘Am I a good bun-maker, Daddy?’

  ‘You’re the best, munchkin.’ Brody managed a tight smile for Molly while sending a glare in Carissa’s direction that read you could’ve warned me.

  Taking pity on the guy, she stood and headed to the fridge. ‘Would you like some milk, Brody? You know—to wash some of that bun down? Molly and I have had a glass each—haven’t we, sweetie?’

  Molly nodded and reached for another of her bun creations, which her father wisely refused this time.

  ‘No thanks, Molly. I’ll just have my milk, then it’s time for bed, okay?’

  ‘I don’t wanna go to bed yet.’

  Carissa stopped mid-pour, surprised at Molly’s wail. The little girl had been nothing but polite for the last hour, and this petulant tone combined with a sulky pout seemed out of character.

  But then what did she know? Perhaps this was a sign of how Molly dealt with her father’s demands on a daily basis? And, if so, why wasn’t he doing something about it?

  Handing Brody his milk with a smirk, Carissa knelt down next to Molly. ‘Sweetie, remember how we talked about growing big and strong earlier? Well, we all need our sleep to do that. I’m tired, and I’m going to bed now too.’

  Thankfully, Molly stood up and slipped a hand into her father’s like a meek lamb being led back to the flock. ‘Okay. Come on, Daddy, it’s time for me to do some growing.’

  Expecting a smile, a nod, even a slight inclination of the head in gratitude, the flash of annoyance in Brody’s dark eyes surprised her.

  Where had that come from? She’d thought she’d done extremely well in diverting a possible tantrum, and yet he acted as if she’d rammed ten raw buns down his throat. The man had a serious attitude problem and she’d had a gutful of him. Not to mention the fact that he hadn’t batted an eyelid in her direction to indicate he’d noticed her outfit or the trouble she’d gone to with her face.

  ‘You’d better go,’ she said, holding open the door and resisting the urge to kick his butt as he walked through it.

  ‘What do you say to Carissa, Molly?’

  ‘Thanks for having me, Carissa,’ Molly said, in a formal parody of manners obviously drummed into her.

  ‘My pleasure, sweetie. You can come over any time.’ Carissa sent a pointed glare in Brody’s direction, almost daring him to disagree.

  Luckily for him, he managed a terse nod, closely followed by, ‘Thanks for spending time with Molly, Carissa. I appreciate it. Goodnight.’

  Was it? She had her doubts.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BRODY dropped a light kiss on Molly’s forehead, pulled the bedclothes up and stood back, gazing at his daughter in wonder. He’d never get over the amazement that overcame him at moments like this, when he realised he’d been a part of creating a precious human life. Kids were the best—no matter how much they squawked, played up and turned your world upside down.

  And, though he’d been the eternal bachelor before Jackie fell pregnant—and had silently cursed his fate at being stuck with a wife and child when he wasn’t ready for responsibility—he’d fallen in love with Molly the minute she’d entered the world, red screwed-up face, covering of white gunk, lusty lungs and all.

  Though falling in love came at a price—namely, fear. Not a day went by when an awful, soul-destroying fear didn’t gnaw at his soul—the fear that one day he might lose his precious daughter too. And, as much as he’d told himself his fear was irrational, he couldn’t shrug it off. Molly was his world. He loved her. It should be simple but it wasn’t. The fear complicated everything: fear of losing her, fear of being a lousy father, fear of doing everything right and then having her walk out on him anyway when she was old enough to understand everything—particularly the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death.

  A cop who’d once won a bravery award, he’d turned into a coward, and it didn’t sit well with him. Not one bit.

  And earlier tonight another fear had snuck under his guard and held him up, making him want to wrestle and overcome it like a would-be assailant. The fear of sexual attraction, of wanting something he couldn’t have, had added to his burden.

  That loaded moment when Carissa had looked at him with those big blue eyes filled with wonder, her face covered in flour, her hair a messy riot of blonde curls, had acted like a sucker punch to the gut. Add to that the fact that she’d later cleaned up, looking incredible and smelling like roses, and his concentration was shot.

  For one irrational second he’d almost forgotten he was a man with responsibilities—the main one lying in front of him now, sleeping peacefully.

  Right now his number one priority was making a better life for Molly. It was the main reason he’d moved from Sydney and had settled in Stockton, alongside Molly’s maternal great-aunt.

  As for anything or anyone else—he didn’t need it.

  He didn’t do involvement.

  He didn’t do complication.

  He’d had enough of both to last him a lifetime.

  ‘I’m having a very bad day,’ Carissa said, flinging a roll of gift-wrapping on the counter, locking the cash register and grabbing the lunch bag Tahnee held out to her.

  ‘That’s what I’m here for, Carissa. Time to take a load off and tell me all about it.’

  Opening the bag, Carissa inhaled and shut her eyes in bliss. ‘Is this a banana and chocolate croissant I smell?’

  ‘Uh-huh. I thought you could use a pick-me-up after the way you snapped at me on the phone earlier.’

  Carissa grimaced and led the way into the shop’s back room. ‘Sorry about that. You caught me at a bad time.’

  ‘Bad time? Bad day? What gives, Sis? Stockton’s resident magi
c lady never has a bad anything.’

  As Tahnee shrugged out of her denim jacket and hung it on a peg behind the door, Carissa pondered her response. What could she say?

  I’m concerned about a little girl and it’s none of my business.

  Brody Elliott is a grouch.

  Brody Elliott is a grouch and I want to give him a piece of my mind.

  Or, better yet, how about Brody Elliott is a grouch, a social recluse and a pain in the butt, but I kind of like him anyway?

  Sounded stupid just thinking about it.

  ‘Has this got anything to do with that dishy neighbour of yours?’ Tahnee didn’t do innocence very well, and with that wicked gleam in her eyes Carissa knew she’d have to tell her sister something, anything, to stop her from delving too deeply into the reason behind her mood today.

  ‘How do you know he’s dishy? You’ve only ever seen him in a rabbit suit.’

  Tahnee grinned and licked strawberry frosting from her fingertips as she demolished the last of her cupcake. Michel’s Patisserie made the best cakes and croissants this side of Sydney, and they had been regular patrons since the popular café had opened.

  ‘Oh, I’ve seen him out of that bunny suit, Sis. Well and truly out of it.’

  Carissa’s heart stopped. Did Tahnee mean what she thought she meant?

  Tahnee clapped her hands and bounced on her seat. ‘I knew it! You should see the look on your face. You’ve got it bad, Sis. Real bad for big, beautiful Brody.’

  ‘I’m going to kill you,’ Carissa said calmly, taking a mouthwatering bite out of her croissant and wondering if Tahnee was right.

  Did she have a crush on her brooding neighbour? No way. The guy had done nothing but rub her up the wrong way since she’d first laid eyes on him. And he didn’t know she existed in the female sense. Apart from a sensational body and good looks, he’d done nothing to impress her—even if he had lightened up on her spending time with Molly.

  So he had one redeeming feature? That didn’t make him God’s gift to women. By the permanent scowl he wore, far from it.

  ‘Come on, Sis. Spill it.’ Tahnee leaned forward, her eyes sparkling.

  Carissa shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to spill. The guy acts like a hermit and I’m just trying to be neighbourly. You know, get him out of his shell.’

  At least, she didn’t think there was anything to spill. Surely she didn’t look like a woman with a crush? She’d never been any good at hiding her emotions—one of the weaknesses her adoptive father had played on repeatedly, making nasty jibes till she cried. When she’d wised up enough not to respond to his cruelty he’d found other ways to torment her, like driving away her friends, withholding pocket money, even letting down the tyres on her bike one day so she couldn’t get to her part-time job. Ron Lovell had been an A-1 creep. In the fatherhood stakes, Brody looked like a saint next to him. Not that she should even compare the two in the same thought.

  ‘Why, that sounds downright charitable of you—taking pity on the man and trying to draw him out.’ Tahnee rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, cut to the chase, Sis. You like him, don’t you?’

  Carissa licked her finger and dabbed at the croissant flakes scattered in the bottom of the bag. ‘He’s a single father and it’s tough. I guess I admire him for doing the best he can.’

  Tahnee grinned. ‘Is that all you admire about him?’

  Carissa thought about his great body, his melted chocolate eyes and the sexy smile she’d only glimpsed once before banishing the image from her mind. ‘He’s not bad-looking, I guess.’

  ‘You’re doing an awful lot of guessing. You guess you admire him; you guess he’s not bad-looking. If you ask me, I guess you have a thing for Mr Tall, Dark and Dangerous!’

  Before she could truthfully answer Damned if I know, the soft tinkle of the front doorbell wrested her attention.

  ‘Let me serve this customer, and when I get back I’ll set you straight on how inaccurate your guess is,’ Carissa said, knowing that her sister might have a small point, but determined to ignore it anyway.

  She wasn’t interested in a relationship, and even if she was brooding Brody Elliott would be the last man she’d consider.

  Right?

  ‘Hello? Anyone here?’ a loud voice bellowed, and Carissa hurried into the shop, fixing a welcoming smile on her face.

  As soon as she caught a glimpse of her first customer for the afternoon she hoped her smile wouldn’t falter. Daisy Smythe had never set foot in Fey For Fun even for a browse, as most locals had at one time or another, and from the supercilious look on her wrinkled face devoid of make-up she couldn’t hazard a guess as to why the old woman had now.

  Unless Daisy had heard about her spending time with Molly. In which case she knew her newest customer wasn’t here to browse, she was here to interrogate.

  ‘Good afternoon. Can I help you with anything, or are you happy to look around?’

  Daisy pinned her with an astute stare from behind blue-rimmed spectacles that travelled from the top of Carissa’s flyaway curls to her toes, poking out from worn black sandals. ‘I would like some help.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Starting with why you’re so interested in my great-niece.’

  Carissa gulped at the accusatory glint in Daisy’s beady black eyes and racked her brain for an appropriate answer, fearing that whatever she said would fall well and truly short of what Molly’s great-aunt would want to hear.

  ‘Molly is my neighbour. She’s a lovely-natured little girl, and I’d like to offer her my friendship.’

  Daisy pursed her lips, adding to the wrinkles around her mouth, and Carissa braced herself for a lecture. In the old woman’s defence, she’d be just as protective if some stranger had taken a liking to one of her nieces—if she’d had any.

  ‘Good answer, young lady. Molly can use all the friends she can get, and I’ve heard nothing but praise for you and the way you treat the children in this town. Most of the parents rave about your parties and the pageants you host at Easter and Christmas time. Now, if you can help me choose a birthday present for the young lady in question, I’d be most grateful.’

  Carissa stood there, gob-smacked, before recovering her wits when Daisy sent her another one of those scary looks.

  ‘Molly has been going on about some fairy movie she saw at your house the other night. Perhaps one of those for a start?’

  ‘Yes,’ Carissa managed to say, hoping that Molly hadn’t told her great-aunt anything else about that night—like how she’d acted like a lunatic when a mouse ran across the kitchen floor. Somehow she had a feeling Daisy wouldn’t be too impressed by anyone showing fear. The old duck probably wasn’t scared of anything.

  ‘And perhaps she’d like one of these fairy costumes? Molly would look adorable in one.’ Carissa held up a pale pink tu-tu with matching sequined bodice and gossamer-thin silk wings edged in silver. ‘When is her birthday?’

  ‘The Sunday after Easter,’ Daisy said, nodding in approval at the costume. ‘I’ll take it. You have good taste, young lady.’

  Carissa smiled her thanks and headed for the cash register, thankful she’d escaped any further interrogation about the evening Molly had spent at her house.

  However, her relief was short-lived.

  ‘Molly tells me you discussed her mother?’ Daisy said, rummaging in her handbag for her purse.

  ‘Uh, yes,’ she mumbled, concentrating on ringing up Daisy’s purchases to avoid looking the old woman in the eye. God, this was awkward.

  ‘My niece’s death was a terribly sad business for all involved, but thankfully Molly has coped. Now, how much do I owe you, dear?’

  Dear? She’d progressed from ‘young lady’ to ‘dear’ in the space of two minutes. She must be doing something right.

  ‘Fifty-two dollars, please. And gift-wrapping is free of charge.’

  Daisy nodded and handed over the exact money while Carissa reached for the scissors.

  ‘Now, Molly’s father is a diffe
rent matter all together. Brody has been mourning for far too long. It’s time he had a good woman in his life—someone who will love Molly more than her mother did.’

  The scissors skewed off the paper and Carissa had to cut a new piece. She studied the gold paper with intense concentration. From the little information Brody had shared at the dinner she’d cooked for him, she’d got the impression their marriage had been perfect and they’d lived a charmed life with their daughter. So what was Jackie’s own aunt doing, besmirching the dead woman’s memory? And Carissa thought her closet rattled with family skeletons!

  ‘I’m sure Brody will move on when he’s ready,’ Carissa said, laying the scissors down before she spoke. One ruined sheet of the exquisite wrapping paper was enough for one day.

  ‘Men can be so obtuse,’ Daisy muttered, shaking her head like a wise old sage. ‘I’m glad you’re spending time with Molly.’

  Oh, no. No, no, no! Don’t even go there.

  Somehow had Daisy deduced that her spending time with Molly meant she was the woman for Brody? Oh, no. Even though she loved Molly, Brody was a different matter. Carissa had enough baggage of her own without getting involved with a guy still in love with his dead wife. She might have made some stupid choices with men in the past, but not any more.

  Rather than set the record straight with Daisy, and potentially enter a discussion she had no intention of having, she finished wrapping the gifts in record time and handed them over.

  ‘Here you are. I’m sure Molly will love your choices.’

  ‘Thank you, dear. With your input, she’s sure to enjoy them.’

  Carissa breathed a sigh of relief as the old lady strode towards the door, her back ramrod-straight.

  She’d escaped relatively unscathed from her encounter with Molly’s great-aunt. However, as she tidied the counter and waited for the old woman to leave, Daisy turned at the door.

  ‘Oh. I almost forgot. I’m having a little gathering for Molly’s birthday and I’d like you to come. Next Sunday, five o’clock, at the Grange. Don’t be late.’

  An invitation to the exclusive Grange?