Wife and Mother Wanted

by Nicola Marsh

  ‘Sydney. She’s leaving town for an indefinite period—staying at her sister’s place in Sydney.’

  ‘What?’ Water spluttered from his mouth in an embarrassing spray, shooting his nonchalant act down in flames.

  ‘Didn’t you know?’ Daisy’s smug grin didn’t help matters.

  ‘No.’

  How would he know, when he’d barely spoken to her since he’d turned down her invitation to go away with her? It had been so tempting, the thought of the two of them spending time in Sydney, just hanging out. But he wasn’t a complete fool. He’d seen the sexy gleam in her blue eyes, the promise that a weekend away with her would mean more. So much more.

  And what had he done? Killed the gleam with a few harsh home truths, pushing her away when every cell of his body had screamed he was making a huge mistake.

  Now she’d gone, and he should be glad.

  He should be downright ecstatic that the temptation to lose his head had been removed.

  Instead, a dull ache started in the vicinity of his heart and slowly spread outward, till every bone in his weary body felt as if it had been battered.

  Shrugging into her coat, Daisy said, ‘Molly got to say goodbye to her. Carissa gave her a special gift to remember her by—which is rather sweet, don’t you think?’

  He nodded mechanically, having a tough time absorbing anything Daisy was saying.

  Gone. Carissa was gone.

  And the pain of loss ravaged him once again.

  ‘Daddy—you’re home.’ Molly appeared in the doorway, dragging her feet as she shuffled into the kitchen, the complete antithesis of her usual greeting, when she ran through the house to leap into his arms.

  ‘Hey, munchkin.’ He fixed a smile on his face, hoping it wouldn’t crack with the effort. He’d never felt like smiling less—a strange phenomenon in itself, considering he hadn’t smiled much in years anyway.

  However, living in Stockton had changed him. He’d been happier these last few months, smiling like a clown most days, even laughing on occasion. This town had been good for him—had changed him.

  Or maybe he should be looking closer to home—like next door—for the person responsible for wreaking the changes within him?

  ‘I’m sad, Daddy.’

  He sat down and Molly clambered onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist. However, she didn’t snuggle into him like she usually did. Instead, she fixed him with a sad stare. ‘Carissa has gone away and I miss her.’

  Brody stared at Daisy over his daughter’s head, feeling totally helpless. Rather than lending a hand, Daisy folded her arms and quirked an unhelpful eyebrow at him.

  ‘Do you miss her, Daddy?’

  Hell. The situation was getting more out of control by the minute. And this time Daisy had the audacity to grin.

  ‘Sure I do, sweetheart.’

  He did miss her. In fact, he’d missed her the last few days—missed seeing her cheeky smile as she teased him about something, missed the speculative stares she sent his way when she thought he wasn’t looking, missed having another adult around to share the load with, to chat to while playing with Molly.

  Yet he had no right to miss her. Every reason he had for missing her amounted to seeing her as a life partner, as part of their family, and he wouldn’t go there. He couldn’t.

  If he’d been ripped apart by losing Jackie, and he hadn’t been in love with her, imagine what losing Carissa would mean if he ever lost her.

  Huh?

  Brody sat bolt upright and tightened his grip on Molly to prevent her slipping off his lap.

  But that would mean he loved Carissa…

  Ah, hell.

  ‘Daddy, are you okay? You look kind of sick—like how I looked that time I ate too many choc-chip cookies.’

  He was sick all right. Lovesick. And it had taken the woman he loved to leave to give him a wake-up call.

  Way to go, Elliott.

  ‘Daddy?’

  He focussed his attention on Molly, feeling like a dazed sleepwalker stumbling through a hazy dream into consciousness. ‘I’m just tired, munchkin. Why don’t you get ready for bed, and I’ll come in and read you any story you like?’

  ‘You mean it? Even The Fairy Princess?’

  His gut turned over at Molly’s innocent reference, memories of a real-life fairy princess fresh in his mind. Unfortunately, he sure as hell wasn’t any Prince Charming. He needed time to think—time to sort through his feelings now that he’d recognised them for what they were.

  He loved Carissa. He loved her.

  And it scared him to death.

  Dropping a kiss on Molly’s forehead, he said, ‘Yes, even that one. Say goodnight to Aunt Daisy, and I’ll be in shortly.’

  ‘Thanks, Daddy. I don’t feel so sad any more. And when you come to my room I’ll show you the present Carissa got me. And it isn’t even my birthday or anything. Goodnight, Aunt Daisy. You’ll have to come over more often now and play.’

  He watched Molly scamper from the room and sat back, shaking his head.

  ‘I’ll be off, then,’ Daisy said, and her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something else before snapping shut again.

  He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. Daisy had been right all along. He hadn’t realised what he’d had in Carissa till she was gone.

  ‘Goodnight, Daisy.’ He stood up and crossed the kitchen, opening the door for her. ‘And thanks.’

  Closing the door, he leaned against it and shut his eyes for a moment, conjuring up Carissa’s image.

  He loved her.

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  Now all he had to do was find her, do some serious grovelling, and hope she had it in her generous heart to forgive him. And love him back.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CARISSA slipped her feet into Tinkerbell slippers, padded into the kitchen, poured a glass of fruity Chardonnay and slid onto one of the stainless steel barstools, taking in the impressive view of Sydney’s skyline from the kitchen window. The Harbour Bridge glittered like a giant coat hanger, while city lights sparkled like fairy dust on a magician’s cloak.

  Though she missed Stockton, relaxing in Kristen’s fancy apartment was worth it for the view alone. It had been two days since she’d left town—two long days, when each twenty-four hours had seemed to drag into the next. She obviously needed to take time out more often if this was how she reacted to being away from the shop.

  In fact, it had been too long since she’d had a proper holiday, and maybe this break would give her time to plan one. And perhaps that would take her mind off Stockton and what—or should she say who?—she’d left behind.

  She’d thought that by leaving her problems behind she’d be able to forget about them—just as she had with the Lovells. However, she hadn’t loved them like she loved Brody and Molly, and leaving town had only served to drive home how much she missed them—how much she wanted to be a part of their lives.

  Setting her wine aside, she wandered into the living room, with its sleek lines and glossy chrome and leather furniture. Everything matched perfectly, from the coffee table to the coatstand, and was the complete antithesis of her small, crammed cottage. However, one similarity struck her: there were no family photos.

  Like her, Kristen had had the upbringing from hell, and obviously didn’t want any reminders. The only reference to her family was in the luxurious master bedroom, where several large photos of the three sisters took pride of place on her dressing table and bedside tables.

  Of the three of them, Kristen seemed the most aloof, the one most driven to succeed—as if filling a void in her life. Carissa had bonded with Tahnee much more quickly, though she hoped that on Kristen’s return the three of them would be able to spend some time together, whether she decided to stay on in Sydney permanently or not.

  Kristen’s adoptive parents had died around the same time as Betty Lovell—less than a year after Ron had curled up his toes—and though she’d escaped their dreadful home years earl
ier, Carissa had attended Betty’s funeral out of respect and to bury her residual animosity. Pity she hadn’t been able to do the same with her memories.

  Though all that was firmly in the past. Her sisters were her family now. And one day she’d have a family of her own. A family who’d love her as much as she loved them. All she had to do was forget the Elliotts first.

  Simple. Not.

  As she skimmed through the magazine rack, the doorbell rang. Glancing down at her denim cut-offs, her pink silk camisole and fairy slippers, she hoped that whoever it was had the wrong apartment. In fact, they had to have the wrong place, because no one knew she was here apart from Tahnee.

  Grinning at the image she would present to her mistaken visitor, she opened the door.

  ‘Hey, Carissa.’

  Carissa’s smile waned, her mouth went dry and her heart slammed against her ribcage as her mind registered that the visitor was Brody Elliott—the same Brody Elliott she’d run from, the same Brody Elliott who held her heart in the palm of his hand.

  He looked incredible, living up to his bad-boy persona in black jeans, a black T-shirt that looked poured on, and having had another haircut. Though she’d liked his scruffy, hair-curling-around-the-collar look, this new, sharper Brody looked like a model, the short-back-and-sides accentuating his cheekbones and adding a depth to his eyes she’d never imagined possible.

  He looked heartbreakingly sexy…and she should know. He’d broken her heart without trying.

  ‘How did you find me? What are you doing here?’ She finally managed to speak when her tongue unglued itself from the roof of her mouth.

  ‘I remembered you said your sister lived in Arcadia Towers, and the name Lewis was on the mailbox. As for why I’m here—I came to see you.’

  Well, duh!

  She kind of got that part. The part she didn’t get was why.

  Sighing, she stepped away from the door. ‘You’d better come in, then.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She willed herself not to inhale as he walked in, knowing it would resurrect a host of memories she’d rather forget. However, she had to breathe at some point, and unfortunately that time came as he brushed past her, exuding a powerful combination of the faint musk soap he used along with pheromones that were pure Brody.

  She shut her eyes for a moment, desperately trying to block out the other instances when she’d got close enough to smell the heady blend—like their first kiss on the dance floor, and their brief farewell embrace when he’d broken her heart.

  So much for forgetting. How was a woman supposed to forget this guy when he turned up on her doorstep smelling this good?

  ‘I’m sorry about dropping by unannounced, but I had to see you.’

  Her eyes flew open to find him gazing at her with that intent chocolate stare he did so well. The kind of look that penetrated all the way down to her soul and left her strangely breathless.

  ‘Is it Molly?’

  Her heart almost stopped at the thought. God, how selfish could she be? Here she was, having palpitations over how sexy the man looked, thinking how wonderful it was that he’d come to see her, when the little girl she loved could be ill. ‘Is she okay? Did something happen?’

  ‘She’s fine. Well, mostly.’

  See—she knew something was wrong. Why did it have to be Molly? The little darling had been through so much already.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘She misses you.’ He lifted a hand to run it through his hair and then stopped, as if startled to find the hair not there.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I miss you,’ he murmured, crossing the room to stare out of the window, and she wondered if she’d heard correctly.

  However, before she could formulate the words to ask him, he spun around and stared at her like a wild man. ‘Why did you bolt like that?’

  ‘I—I needed some space—some time to think.’

  Some time to heal. Some time to stop loving you.

  ‘You didn’t even say goodbye to me,’ he blustered, sounding more like the Brody of old, despite his new look.

  ‘Would that have changed anything?’ she asked softly, still at a loss as to why he was here.

  So he missed her? Big deal. That wasn’t enough. She wanted love—the whole kit and caboodle. And if her brief time away had taught her anything, she wouldn’t settle for less.

  She’d been raised in a family without love, had lived with two adoptive parents who’d tolerated each other, who’d probably cared about each other, but had rarely showed it.

  Never again. She wanted more. She deserved more.

  ‘Ah, hell,’ he muttered, striding across the room to stand two feet in front of her. ‘We want you to come back.’

  He looked ready to haul her into his arms, but thought better of it when she took a step back.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because…because we miss you. I know I’m moody and grumpy, and downright obnoxious at times, but for Molly’s sake, will you do it?’

  No mention of love. No mention of the words she so desperately needed to hear.

  But she gave him one last shot at it anyway.

  ‘What are we talking about, here? Are you asking me to come back to Stockton as your neighbour, or something more?’

  A faint colour stained his cheeks. ‘Why don’t you just come back and we’ll take it from there?’

  And, just like that, major reality check flashed across her brain like a huge neon sign.

  Nothing had changed. He still saw her as a nice woman who loved his daughter; a woman who was good for the occasional flirtation but nothing more. Sure, she could go back—and fall right back into being nice Carissa, caring Carissa, as she had her whole life.

  She’d always settled for second best, not wanting to rock the boat. Rocking the boat caused waves that could wipe out everything and wreak devastation, and she had no intention of being a victim this time around. At least living with the Lovells had taught her that much.

  Well, she had a newsflash for him.

  Caring Carissa was taking a holiday, and she had no idea when she’d be back.

  ‘I think you should leave now,’ she said, turning her back on him to walk into the kitchen and take a healthy swig of wine. If ever she needed false courage to deal with a situation, it was now.

  ‘What do you expect me to say?’ He followed her into the kitchen, his voice taking on a pleading tone that startled her as much as his presence here had.

  Shaking her head, she skirted around the island bench and headed for the front door, finding the confines of the kitchen claustrophobic with him in there.

  ‘When you figure it out, let me know.’ She opened the door and held it for him, pointing the way out.

  Shaking his head, he made to brush past her, stopping dead at the last moment and dragging her into his arms. ‘You want me to say I love you? Well, I do. I love you, Carissa. You’ll be a great mum for Molly.’

  For one heartstopping moment she almost capitulated. Being this close to him, touching him, hearing those three magical little words weakened her resolve.

  However, she knew there was no emotion behind his profession of love. He’d blurted it out like a desperate man using desperate means to get what he wanted—and in this case he wanted his daughter’s friend to come home and play. If he’d said he loved her without the tag of being a mother for Molly she might have believed him, but she was through believing in false declarations of love.

  Ron Lovell had said he loved her…before locking her in a cupboard because she hadn’t hugged him hard enough.

  Betty Lovell had said she loved her…before turning a blind eye to her husband’s cruelty.

  And she’d had it up to her eyeballs with guys who said the L word to get something they wanted. With the losers she’d dated it had usually been sex. With Brody he was asking so much more—and she couldn’t go there. Not unless she had the whole package: his commitment, his adoration, and a guarantee that she was the one and onl
y love of his life.

  Pushing him away, she stepped out of his embrace. ‘Goodbye, Brody. Close the door on your way out.’

  And, before she fell apart, she held her head high and walked into the bedroom, listening for the slam of the door that would signal the end of her hopes and dreams.

  Though she expected it, when the sound came it didn’t make it any easier, and she curled up in the foetal position on her sister’s king-sized bed and sobbed her heart out.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  BRODY stomped into his hotel room, grabbed a mineral water from the fridge, twisted the top off and drank deeply, wondering how he’d managed to make such a mess of things.

  He’d had it all planned out. See Carissa, convince her to come home, to take a chance on a relationship, give her some time to get used to the idea that he loved her. Instead, she’d all but dragged his declaration out of him, and rather than being romantic and special it had sounded pathetic. Worse, he could tell she hadn’t believed him.

  If only she loved him. Sure, he knew she cared—she’d said as much. Otherwise she wouldn’t have put up with his moodiness for months, and she wouldn’t have invited him away for a weekend. How ironic that here they both were in Sydney, as she’d wanted, but totally alone. Carissa loved Molly, and he’d counted on that being enough to convince her to come home. The rest, like the three of them becoming a family, could have come later.

  But something had gone horribly wrong. Whether it had been in the planning or the delivery, she’d sent him packing—and now he had to resort to bringing in the big guns. For there was no way he would let her go this easily. He loved her, and the next time she heard those words he wanted her to believe them.

  So plan A had been scuttled.

  Time to move onto plan B…

  Whatever the hell that was.

  Carissa stepped outside into the bright morning sunshine and slid her sunglasses into place—more to hide her swollen eyes than to reflect the glare. She’d had a terrible night, tossing and turning. When she’d eventually stopped crying, that was. She hadn’t cried that much since receiving her first beating with a wooden spoon from Ron, when she’d run away all those years ago, and funnily enough the feeling now was just the same: disillusionment, disappointment and pain.