by Nicola Marsh
‘You’re running scared,’ she said, taking a step towards him.
‘Scared of what?’ He backed away.
‘This.’ She took another step forward and poked him in the chest, expecting him to make a run for the house at the brief physical contact.
However, he didn’t move a muscle, his dark gaze unreadable, and her pulse accelerated madly as she stood there, lost in his stare.
‘And this.’
She reached up and ran a finger down his cheek, enjoying the rasp of stubble against her fingertip, wondering what it would feel like rubbing over her smooth skin.
Before she had time to think he grabbed her hand and lowered it, regret mingling with something more, something she could almost label desire, in his fathomless eyes.
‘I’m not scared, just wary,’ he said, taking a step back. ‘Ever heard of playing with fire and getting burned? Badly?’
‘Are you referring to me or you?’
He shrugged, the deep crinkle between his brows returning, and she wished for just one minute he’d cast aside his grief and face up to reality. They were two friends having fun—flirting, teasing. It didn’t have to get serious. She didn’t want that. What she did want was for this guy to lighten up. She wanted to bring him out of his shell, to make him laugh for more than half a second, to bring a smile to his face—the one that made her knees shake just a tad.
‘Maybe both of us.’ The crinkle deepened and she thought, Oh-oh, here comes a stern lecture, so she pre-empted it.
‘Look, Brody. We’re friends, and sometimes friends have a little fun. You’re locked up in your house most of the time—you don’t socialise, you don’t go out, you don’t do much of anything.’
‘And you think by touching me I’ll change? Is that it?’
He had her there. What could she say? That touching his cheek had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, something to make him react when most of the time he acted as if she wasn’t around except as a playmate for Molly?
‘Just forget it,’ she muttered, thrusting her hands into her jeans pockets like a child who’d been told to pick up her bat and ball and go home.
‘I know what you’re trying to do,’ he said, fixing her with that all-seeing stare—the one that made her want to run and hide, the one that seemed to peer into her soul and recognise her darkest secrets. ‘And, for what it’s worth, thanks. You’re a good friend, but I’m just not the type of guy to step out of his comfort zone, and right now I’m comfortable. I have Molly, and that’s more than any man could wish for in a lifetime.’
Carissa’s breath caught and she swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat. When this guy opened up, he didn’t do it by halves. His honesty left her wanting to touch him more than ever, wanting to cradle him in her arms and never let go. He was hurting, that much was obvious, and coaxing him out of his safe cocoon could surely only benefit him.
‘I understand,’ she said, hoping her voice wouldn’t waver, and grateful when it didn’t. ‘Sorry if I came on a bit strong.’
‘You didn’t. It’s just been a while since I’ve done the whole flirting thing. Guess I’m lousy at it.’
Awww…this softer Brody was too much!
‘How about we have coffee and the brownies that I baked earlier? And I promise not to flirt too much. Deal?’
He smiled, but the wary expression hadn’t left his eyes, as if he half expected her to jump him. Sheesh! And she’d thought she didn’t get out much.
‘Deal. Your place or mine?’
Her eyes flew to his and, sure enough, there was a twinkle there.
‘Mine. And careful there, Mr Elliott, that almost bordered on flirting.’
‘Must be your bad influence. Shall we?’ He offered her his arm and she laid a hand on it, joining in his laughter as they headed over to her place.
Maybe there was hope for him yet?
CHAPTER TEN
BRODY waited till the scattered applause died down before waving to the children and beating a hasty retreat to the back of the classroom.
‘Thanks, Mr Elliott. Your talk on the police force was very informative. Hopefully we’ll see you here for the next careers day?’ Mrs Hanratty, the eighth grade teacher at Stockton High, fixed him with a determined glare which brooked no argument.
Brody managed a tight smile, which must have come out more like a grimace, as a few kids in the front row tittered, and quickly slipped out of the classroom, breathing a sigh of relief.
He’d kill Daisy. Lately, she’d lined up a whole host of activities for him, on the pretext of keeping him occupied. But he knew better. The old woman was on to him, and far too canny for her own good.
It had been a year since he’d quit the force, and two months since he’d settled in Stockton, enjoying his ‘time out’. He’d spent the last ten years doing right by other people, protecting and serving the community, and felt entitled to a little down time.
However, now that Molly had settled into her new school and he’d made a home for them, it was time to do something with his life. And of course Daisy had picked up on it.
Speak of the devil…
‘Oh, my aching bunions. Canteen duty for a horde of ravenous teenagers is hard work. So, how did it go? Any budding law enforcement officers among that lot?’ Daisy asked, linking her arm with his as they headed out to his car.
‘Doubt it. Half were asleep, while the other half doodled or passed love notes to each other.’
Though that wasn’t entirely true. His attention had been repeatedly drawn to a young guy in the second to last row, who had hung on his every word, and he’d seen the avid gleam of ambition in his eyes.
That kid had spunk, and though he’d slouched at the end, and pretended not to care like the rest of his teenage mates, Brody knew the force had one potential recruit in the wings. In fact, the boy had reminded him of himself at that age: eager, passionate, with a drive to take on the bad guys and win.
Though he now knew first-hand that you couldn’t win them all.
‘Have you given further thought to my other proposal?’ Daisy waited till he’d opened the passenger car door, her expression similar to scary Mrs Hanratty’s minutes earlier.
‘Anyone ever tell you to keep that sticky beak of yours out of other people’s business?’ He waited till she’d buckled up before turning the key in the ignition.
‘All the time. Now, answer the question, young man.’
Checking his side mirror, he pulled into the quiet street and headed for the Grange. Not only had he given thought to Daisy’s proposal, he’d taken the idea on board and started planning already. Truth be known, he was excited at the prospect of returning to the workforce, and though he wouldn’t be saving the world this time around, he’d be doing something worthwhile without the added pressure.
Yes, Daisy had hit the jackpot with her suggestion. Not that he’d tell her yet. Let the old busybody sweat for a while.
‘It’s not a bad idea. And I’ve done a bit of work with troubled teens in Sydney, so maybe running a project for local kids is worth considering.’
‘It’s more than worth considering. You’d be perfect for the job. It would give you something to focus on and get you out of the house at the same time.’ Her voice had softened, and Brody knew that though she presented a tough exterior to the world, old Daisy had a heart of gold.
‘Leave it with me,’ he said, biting back a grin. It wouldn’t do him any good to show Daisy he was going soft. She’d take advantage in a second and probably have him lined up to read at the retirement village, walk little old ladies across the main street and bake for the church fete before he could blink.
‘Molly seems to have settled in well,’ Daisy commented.
‘Largely thanks to you.’ He cleared his throat, finding it difficult to shun his usual reticence and actually have a conversation with this woman who’d made their transition to Stockton smoother than he’d anticipated. ‘You’ve been great with Molly, and I really appreciate it, Daisy
. Moving here is the best thing I could’ve done for her.’
Though he kept his eyes on the road, he sensed the older woman smile. ‘And what about you, young man? What’s the best thing for you?’
‘That’s easy. Making Molly happy.’
‘She won’t always be a little girl, Brody. What then?’
‘I’ll face that when I come to it. Besides, I’ve got years of reading bedtime stories and plaiting pigtails before then.’ Years in which to make it up to Molly for leaving her motherless, thanks to his stupidity.
‘I know my niece wasn’t the easiest woman to live with. Don’t let your time with Jackie taint what you could have with another woman.’
Another woman.
Though Daisy hadn’t said it, he knew she probably meant Carissa. His nosy neighbour had been just that lately: nosy. Always trying to get him to join in the fun with Molly, trying to invite him over for dinner, trying to make him laugh with her natural exuberance. She’d even flirted and touched him to get a reaction. If only she knew exactly how he’d reacted! Parts of him had stirred—parts that hadn’t stirred in a long time courtesy of a long neglected libido. In the past he would have shrugged off his response as hormones, but this time he wondered if a few more of those protective bricks around his heart were crumbling?
If it had been anyone else pushing him like this he would have told them where to get off a long time ago, but Carissa was good for Molly, and if he was completely honest with himself she’d made him drop his angry act several times.
And on those rare occasions he’d actually enjoyed himself—though he refused most of her invitations, apart from the occasional cup of coffee. Besides, she made the best brownies this side of Sydney, and no man could resist that!
‘I’m not ready for another relationship, and I don’t think I’ll ever be.’ Ain’t that the truth? Besides, he’d become a crusty old man at the age of thirty-two, and what woman would be silly enough to take him on?
‘You will be when you stop running away from your demons.’
So Daisy had guessed that settling in Stockton wasn’t just about Molly? The woman was even cannier than he’d given her credit for. He’d wanted a fresh start, a new beginning to come to terms with the ever-present guilt that gnawed at his soul in the hope that one day perhaps he could put the past behind him. And, if he were honest with himself, so far things were working out better than he’d hoped.
Molly was well adjusted, and happier than he’d ever seen her. As for him, on those rare occasions when he allowed himself to laugh at one of Carissa’s corny jokes or caught the cheeky glint in her sky-blue eyes he almost felt like a man again. A man without guilt tethering him to a past he wished he could change every day. A man with hope for the future, no matter how nebulous it seemed right now.
‘And, on that note, here we are.’
He pulled into Daisy’s driveway with a sigh of relief, wanting nothing more than to head home, have a quiet dinner with his daughter, play a few hands of Go Fish and watch his rugby team demolish the opposition on TV once Molly had gone to bed. Though Daisy had the best intentions, he’d had enough of her psychoanalysis for one day.
The old woman turned to him and looked ready to deliver another sermon, which he pre-empted. ‘Thanks for the halfway house idea. You’re a gem. An interfering old gem, but a gem all the same.’
‘Cheeky brute. See you and Molly for dinner tomorrow night.’
She closed the car door with a resounding bang and his head lolled against the headrest for a brief moment, wondering if Daisy was right.
What would happen if he let his demons go?
‘There you go, sweetie. You look like a princess.’ Carissa slid a pink bow into Molly’s curls, which hung in soft waves to her shoulders, and dropped a kiss on her head.
‘Do you really think so?’ Molly twirled in front of the mirror, checking out all angles like a true female.
‘I know so.’ Carissa plopped onto the floor at Molly’s feet and hugged her knees to her chest, feeling like a proud mum watching her little girl preen before a party.
Betty Lovell had never helped her dress, never bought her treats like the small gifts she chose for Molly—a new doll’s outfit here, a hairclip there. For Carissa it wasn’t about the gifts so much as the joy of giving them to Molly and seeing the delight light up her face. And the accompanying hug which made her feel like the luckiest woman on the planet.
‘Do you know how I know?’
‘How?’
‘Because I have all sorts of princesses in my shop and you look just like them. Very pretty and ready for the ball.’
Molly giggled and sat down next to her. ‘But I’m not going to a ball. I’m going to Aunt Daisy’s for dinner.’
‘Oh, that’s right.’ Carissa clicked her fingers in an exaggerated response. ‘I forgot!’
‘You’re funny, Carissa.’ Molly’s giggles intensified and she rested her head against Carissa’s shoulder while picking up her favourite doll, Pansy, a raggedy cotton thing with one loose arm and a skewed leg. ‘I like it when you come over and play.’
‘Me too, sweetie. Me too.’
Thankfully, Brody seemed quite content these days to let her spend as much time with Molly as the little girl liked. She’d thought she might have blown it last week, when she’d taken her teasing a tad far and stroked his cheek, but somehow they’d moved past it and their friendship, tenuous as it might be, appeared to be moving forward—albeit at a snail’s pace.
‘If I’m a princess, does that make Daddy a prince?’
Carissa chuckled. ‘Uh-huh.’
Molly paused for two seconds, digesting this latest bit of information, before saying, ‘Maybe he’s Prince Charming?’
Not likely, Carissa thought. At least not in her version of the fairytale. Prince Charming needed to live up to the second part of his name, and as far as she could see, Brody was anything but. The guy didn’t have a sweet-talking bone in his gorgeous body.
‘And if he’s Prince Charming that would make Mummy Sleeping Beauty, and maybe that’s why she’s in heaven. She’s sleeping, and waiting for Daddy to go up there and give her a kiss to wake her up.’
Carissa’s heart clenched with sadness at what Molly must go through on a daily basis, wondering why her mum wasn’t with her. However, the sadness was soon replaced by something stronger—a righteous anger. Brody needed to explain the situation better to his daughter rather than leaving her to make up stories to satisfy her curiosity.
He wasn’t doing Molly any favours by sugar-coating the absence of his wife. If anything, Molly’s insecurities would only fester and manifest themselves in some other way. From what she could see, Brody loved Molly with all his heart, so why couldn’t he see what was happening?
‘Your daddy and mummy love you very much, sweetie. Always remember that. Now, how about we put your shoes on and see if your dad’s ready?’
Thankfully, Molly was satisfied with Carissa’s response, and jumped to her feet. ‘Okay. I want to wear the black shiny ones.’
‘You got it, kiddo.’
Molly stepped into her Mary Janes, and as Carissa slid the patent leather strap through the buckle she vowed to mention something to Brody about Molly’s frequent references to her mother. Burying the truth wouldn’t benefit either of them—though she had a feeling that if Brody couldn’t face up to the loss of his wife, how on earth would he explain it to his daughter?
‘Thanks Carissa. You’re the best.’ Molly flung her arms around her neck and Carissa snuggled into her, inhaling the sweet scent of raspberry bubble bath on Molly’s baby-smooth skin.
God, she loved this little girl, and it had nothing to do with seeing herself in Molly at this age: curious, questioning, wanting answers in a world which had none. No, it had more to do with Molly’s openness, her capacity to give and receive affection, and her cute personality—which would slay the guys when she got older.
‘I think you’re the best,’ Carissa said, pulling ba
ck and dropping a kiss on Molly’s cheek. ‘Now, let’s go find your dad.’
‘You don’t have to. I’m right here.’ Brody stepped into the room, his gut twisted in knots.
He’d been standing there long enough to hear Carissa tell Molly how much he and Jackie loved her. Well, she had that right, but it was the way Carissa had said it, the patience she’d shown in doing up Molly’s shoes, the way she’d embraced his daughter.
How could any man resist the picture of a woman treating Molly as if she were her own? In fact, better.
And right then and there another few bricks around his heart fell.
‘Daddy, I’m ready. Look—I’ve got a bow in my hair.’
He dropped a kiss on the bow and ruffled his daughter’s loose curls. ‘I can see that, munchkin. You look gorgeous.’
‘Carissa said I look like a princess.’
‘Carissa’s right.’ He winked at her over Molly’s head, and her answering smile nudged another brick or ten.
‘Let’s go; I’m starving. I hope Aunt Daisy has cooked spaghetti again.’ Molly tugged on his hand and hopped from one foot to the other.
‘Guess that’s my cue to leave.’ Carissa unfolded her denim-clad legs from the floor, the simple action of dusting off her backside pulling her faded blue T-shirt taut across her bust and making his mouth go dry in the process.
Damn, this felt awkward. She’d spent the last hour with Molly, she’d bathed her, helped her get dressed, and now he had to kick her out. He should invite her to dinner, but that would give Daisy all sorts of crazy ideas and, hot on the heels of their conversation in the car yesterday, he didn’t want to do that.
Unless he had dinner with her some other night? As a thank-you for all she’d done for Molly? Yeah, that sounded like a plan.
‘Molly, would you mind getting my jacket? It’s on my bed.’
‘Sure thing, Daddy.’ Molly scampered off, leaving him to ask out a woman for the first time in seven years.
‘Okey-dokey. I’ll be off.’ Carissa smiled and made to go past him, but he laid a hand on her arm.
‘Carissa, wait.’
‘Yes?’ She stared up at him, curiosity in her blue eyes. This would have been easier if she’d been on the other side of the room, not close enough that he could see the gold flecks around her irises or smell the faintest rose essence from her skin.
