Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep

Michelle Douglas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Copyright

At the age of eight Michelle Douglas was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, ‘A writer.’ Years later she read an article about romance- writing and thought, Ooh, that’ll be fun . She was right. When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English Masters programme, for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero—husband Greg, who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings. Michelle would love you to visit her at her website: www.michelledouglas.com

To Varuna, The Writers’ House, with thanks.

PROLOGUE

JAZ hadn’t meant her first return to Clara Falls in eight years to occur under the cover of darkness, but she hadn’t been able to get away from work as early as she’d hoped and then the traffic between Sydney and the Blue Mountains had been horrendous.

She was late.

At least a fortnight too late.

A horrible laugh clawed out of her throat, a sound she’d never heard herself utter before. She tried to drag it back before it swallowed her whole.

Not the time. Not the place.

Definitely not the place.

She didn’t drive up Clara Falls’ main street. She turned into the lane that led to the residential parking behind the shops. Given the darkness—and the length of time she’d stayed away—would she even recognise the back of the bookshop?

She did. Immediately.

And a weight slammed down so heavily on her chest she sagged. She had to close her eyes and go through the relaxation technique Mac had taught her. The weight didn’t lift, but somehow she found a way to breathe through it.

When she could, she opened her eyes and parked her hatchback beside a sleek Honda and stared up at the light burning in the window.

Oh, Mum!

Sorry would not be good enough. It would never be good enough.

Don’t think about it.

Not the time. Not the place.

She glanced at the Honda. Was it Richard’s car?

Richard—her mother’s solicitor.

Richard—Connor Reed’s best friend.

The thought came out of nowhere, shooting tension into every muscle, twisting both of her calves into excruciating cramps.

Ha! Not out of nowhere. Whenever she thought of Clara Falls, she thought of Connor Reed. End of story.

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel and welcomed the bite of pain in her legs, but it didn’t wipe out the memories from her mind. Connor Reed was the reason she’d left Clara Falls. Connor Reed was the reason she’d never returned.

The cramps didn’t ease.

She lifted her gaze back to the bookshop, then higher still to stare at the flat above, where her mother had spent the last two years of her life.

I’m sorry, Mum.

The pain in her chest and legs intensified. Points of light darted at the outer corners of her eyes. She closed them and forced herself to focus on Mac’s relaxation technique again—deliberately tensing, then relaxing every muscle in her body, one by one. The pain eased.

She would not see Connor Reed tonight. And, once she’d signed the papers to sell the bookshop to its prospective buyer, she’d never have to set foot in Clara Falls again.

She pushed open the car door and made her way up the back steps. Richard opened the door before she could knock.

‘Jaz!’ He folded her in a hug. ‘It’s great to see you.’

He meant it, she could tell. ‘I… It’s great to see you too.’ Strangely enough, she meant it too. A tiny bit of warmth burrowed under her skin.

His smile slipped. ‘I just wish it was under different circumstances.’

The warmth shot back out of her. Richard, as her mother’s solicitor, had been the one to contact her, to tell her that Frieda had taken an overdose of sleeping pills. To tell her that her mother had died. He hadn’t told Jaz that it was all her fault. He hadn’t had to.

Don’t think about it. Not the time. Not the place.

‘Me too,’ she managed. She meant that with all her heart.

He ushered her inside—into a kitchenette. Jaz knew that this room led through to the stockroom and then into the bookshop proper. Or, at least, it used to.

‘Why don’t we have a cup of coffee? Gordon should be along any moment and then we can get down to signing all the paperwork.’

‘Sure.’ She wondered why Richard had asked her to meet him here rather than at his offices. She wondered who this Mr Gordon was who wanted to buy her mother’s bookshop.

Asking questions required energy—energy Jaz didn’t have.

Richard motioned to the door of the stockroom. ‘You want to go take a wander through?’

‘No, thank you.’

The last thing she needed was a trip down memory lane. She might’ve found refuge in this bookshop from the first moment she’d entered it as a ten-year-old. Once upon a time she might’ve loved it. But she didn’t need a refuge now. She was an adult. She’d learned to stand on her own two feet. She’d had to.

‘No, thank you,’ she repeated.

Her mother had bought the bookshop two years ago in the hope it would lure Jaz back to Clara Falls. She had no desire to see it now, to confront all she’d lost due to her stupid pride and her fear.

Regret crawled across her scalp and down the nape of her neck to settle over her shoulders. She wanted to sell the bookshop. She wanted to leave. That was why she was here now.

Richard opened his mouth but, before he could say anything, a knock sounded on the back door. He turned to answer it, ushered a second person into the kitchenette. ‘You remember Gordon Sears, don’t you, Jaz?’

‘Sure I do.’

‘It’s Mr Sears who wants to buy the bookshop.’

A ball formed in Jaz’s stomach. Mr Sears owned the ‘baked-fresh-daily’ country bakery directly across the road. He hadn’t approved of Jaz when she was a child. And he certainly hadn’t approved of Frieda.

Mr Sears’s eyes widened when they rested on Jaz now, though. It almost made her smile. She sympathised wholeheartedly with his surprise. The last time he’d seen her she’d been a rebellious eighteen-year-old Goth—dressed in top-to-toe black with stark white make-up, spiked hair and a nose ring. Her chocolate-brown woolen trousers and cream knit top would make quite a contrast now.

‘How do you do, Mr Sears?’ She took a step forward and held out her hand. ‘It’s nice to see you again.’

He stared at her hand and then his lip curled. ‘This is business. It’s not a social call.’

He didn’t shake her hand.

Memories crashed down on Jaz then. The ball in her stomach hardened, solidified. Mr Sears had never actually refused to serve Jaz and her mother in his ‘baked-fresh-daily’ country bakery, but he’d let them know by his icy politeness, his curled lip, the placing of change on the counter instead of directly into their hands, what he’d thought of them.

Despite Jaz’s pleas, her mother had insisted on shopping there. ‘Best bread in town,’ she’d say cheerfully.

It had always tasted like sawdust to Jaz.

Frieda Harper’s voice sounded through Jaz’s mind now. It doesn’t matter what people think. Don’t let it bother you.

Jaz had done her best to follow that advice, but…

Do unto others…

She’d fallen down on that one too.

Frieda Harper, Jaz’s wild and wonderful mother. If Frieda had wanted a drink, she’d have a drink. If Frieda had wanted to dance, she’d get up and dance. If Frieda had wanted a man, she’d take a man. It had made the more conservative members of the town tighten their lips in disapproval.

People like Mr Sears. People like Connor Reed’s mum and dad.

Jaz wheeled away, blindly groped her way through the all-too-familiar doorways. Light suddenly flooded the darkness, making her blink. She stood in the bookshop…and all her thought processes slammed to a halt.

She turned a slow circle, her eyes wide to take in the enormity of it all. Nothing had changed. Everything was exactly the same as she remembered it.

Nothing had changed.

Oh, Mum…

‘I’m sorry, Mr Sears.’ It took a moment before she realised it was her voice that broke the silence. ‘But it seems I can’t sell the bookshop after all.’

‘What?’

‘Good.’

She heard distinct satisfaction in Richard’s voice, but she didn’t understand it. She was only aware of the weight lifting from her chest, letting her breathe more freely than she had once during the last two weeks.

CHAPTER ONE

JAZ made the move back to Clara Falls in bright, clear sunlight two weeks later. And this time she had to drive down Clara Falls’ main street because an enormous skip blocked the lane leading to the residential parking behind the bookshop.

She slammed on the brakes and stared at it. Unless she turned her car around to flee back to Sydney, she’d have to drive down the main street and find a place to park.

Her mouth went dry.

Turn the car around…?

The temptation stretched through her. Her hands clenched on the steering wheel. She’d sworn never to return. She didn’t want to live here. She didn’t want to deal with the memories that would pound at her day after day.

And she sure as hell didn’t want to see Connor Reed again.

Not that she expected to run into him too often. He’d avoid her the way the righteous spurned the wicked, the way a reformed alcoholic shunned whisky…the way mice baulked at cats.

Good.

Turn the car around…?

She relaxed her hands and pushed her shoulders back. No. Returning to Clara Falls, saving her mother’s bookshop—it was the right thing to do. She’d honour her mother’s memory; she’d haul the bookshop back from the brink of bankruptcy. She’d do Frieda Harper proud.

Pity you didn’t do that a month ago, a year ago, two years ago, when it might have made a difference.

Guilt crawled across her skin. Regret swelled in her stomach until she could taste bile on her tongue. Regret that she hadn’t returned when her mother was still alive. Regret that she’d never said all the things she should’ve said.

Regret that her mother was dead.

Did she honestly think that saving a bookshop and praying for forgiveness would make any difference at all?

Don’t think about it! Wrong time. Wrong place.

She backed the car out of the lane and turned in the direction of the main street.

She had to pause at the pedestrian crossing and, as she stared up the length of the main street, her breath caught. Oh, good Lord. She’d forgotten just how pretty this place was.

Clara Falls was one of the main tourist hubs in Australia’s breathtaking Blue Mountains. Jaz hadn’t forgotten the majesty of Echo Point and The Three Sisters. She hadn’t forgotten the grandeur of the Jamison Valley, but Clara Falls…

The artist in her paid silent homage. Maybe she’d taken it for granted all those years ago.

She eased the car up the street and the first stirrings of excitement started replacing her dread. The butcher’s shop and mini-mart had both received a facelift. Teddy bears now picnicked in a shop window once crowded with tarot cards and crystals. The wide traffic island down the centre of the road—once grey cement—now sported close-cropped grass, flower-beds and park benches. But the numerous cafés and restaurants still did a bustling trade. This was still the same wide street. Clara Falls was still the same tourist hotspot.

The town had made an art form out of catering to out-of-towners. It had a reputation for quirky arts-and-craft shops, bohemian-style cafés and cosmopolitan restaurants, and…and…darn it, but it was pretty!

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She cruised the length of the street—she couldn’t park directly out the front of the bookshop as a tradesman’s van had parked in such a way that it took up two spaces. So, when she reached the end of the street, she turned the car around and cruised back down the other side, gobbling up every familiar landmark along the way.

Finally, she parked the car and sagged back in her seat. She’d spent so long trying to forget Connor Reed that she’d forgotten…stuff she shouldn’t have.

Yeah, like how to be a halfway decent human being.

The sunlight abruptly went out of her day. The taste of bile stretched through her mouth again. Her mother had always told Jaz that she needed to return and face her demons, only then could she lay them to rest. Perhaps Frieda had been right—what had happened here in Clara Falls had overshadowed Jaz’s entire adult life.

She wanted peace.

Eight years away hadn’t given her that.

Not that she deserved it now.

She pushed out of the car. She waited for a break in the traffic, then crossed the road to the island. An elderly man in front of her stumbled up the first step and she grabbed his arm to steady him. She’d crossed at this particular spot more times than she could remember as a child and teenager, almost always heading for the sanctuary of the bookshop. Three steps up, five paces across, and three steps back down the other side. The man muttered his thanks without even looking at her and hurried off.

‘Spoilsport,’ someone hissed at Jaz. Then to the man, ‘And one of these days you’ll actually sit down and pass the time of day with me, Boyd Longbottom!’

The elderly woman turned back to Jaz. ‘The only entertainment I get these days is watching old Boyd trip up that same step day in, day out.’ Dark eyes twinkled. ‘Though now you’re back in town, Jazmin Harper, I have great hopes that things will liven up around here again.’

‘Mrs Lavender!’ Jaz grinned. She couldn’t help it. Mrs Lavender had once owned the bookshop. Mrs Lavender had been a friend. ‘In as fine form as ever, I see. It’s nice to see you.’

Mrs Lavender patted the seat beside her and Jaz sat. She’d expected to feel out of place. She didn’t. She nodded towards the bookshop although she couldn’t quite bring herself to look at it yet. She had a feeling that its familiarity might break her heart afresh. ‘Do you miss it?’

‘Every single day. But I’m afraid the old bones aren’t what they used to be. Doctor’s orders and whatnot. I’m glad you’ve come back, Jaz.’

This all uttered in a rush. It made Jaz’s smile widen. ‘Thank you.’

A short pause, then, ‘I was sorry about what happened to your mother.’

Jaz’s smile evaporated. ‘Thank you.’

‘I heard you held a memorial service in Sydney.’

‘I did.’

‘I was sick in hospital at the time or I would have been there.’

Jaz shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course it does! Frieda and I were friends.’

Jaz found she could smile again, after a fashion. According to the more uptight members of the town, Frieda might’ve lacked a certain respectability, but she certainly hadn’t lacked friends. The memorial had been well attended.

‘This place was never the same after you left.’

Mrs Lavender’s voice hauled Jaz back. She gave a short laugh. ‘I can believe that.’

Those dark eyes, shrewd with age, surveyed her closely. ‘You did the right thing, you know. Leaving.’

No, she hadn’t. What she’d done had led directly to her mother’s death. She’d left and she’d sworn to never come back. It had broken her mother’s heart. She’d hold herself responsible for that till the day she died. And she’d hold Connor responsible too. If he’d believed in Jaz, like he’d always sworn he would, Jaz would never have had to leave.

She would never have had to stay away.

Stop it!

She shook herself. She hadn’t returned to Clara Falls for vengeance. Do unto others…that had been Frieda’s creed. She would do Frieda Harper proud. She’d save the bookshop, then she’d sell it to someone other than Gordon Sears, then she’d leave, and this time she would never come back.

‘You always were a good girl, Jaz. And smart.’

It hadn’t been smart to believe Connor’s promises.

She shook off the thought and pulled her mind back, to find Mrs Lavender smiling at her broadly. ‘How long are you staying?’

‘Twelve months.’ She’d had to give herself a time limit—it was the only thing that would keep her sane. She figured it’d take a full twelve months to see the bookshop safe again.

‘Well, I think it’s time you took yourself off and got to work, dear.’ Mrs Lavender pointed across the road. ‘I think you’ll find there’s a lot to do.’

Jaz followed the direction of Mrs Lavender’s hand, and that was when she saw and understood the reason behind the tradesman’s van parked out the front of the bookshop. The muscles in her shoulders, her back, her stomach, all tightened. The minor repairs on the building were supposed to have been finished last week. The receptionist for the building firm Richard had hired had promised faithfully.

A pulse pounded behind her eyes. ‘Frieda’s Fiction Fair’—the sign on the bookshop’s awning—was being replaced. With…

‘Jaz’s Joint’!

She shot to her feet. Her lip curled. Her nose curled. Inside her boots, even her toes curled. She’d requested that the sign be freshened up. Not… Not… She fought the instinct to bolt across the road and topple the sign-writer and his ladder to the ground.

‘I’ll be seeing you then, shall I, Jazmin?’

With an effort, she unclenched her teeth. ‘Absolutely, Mrs Lavender.’

She forced herself to take three deep breaths, and only then did she step off the kerb of the island. She would sort this out like the adult she was, not the teenager she had been.

She made her way across the road and tried not to notice how firm her offending tradesman’s butt looked in form-fitting jeans or how the power of those long, long legs were barely disguised by soft worn denim. In fact, in some places the denim was so worn…

The teenager she’d once been wouldn’t have noticed. That girl had only had eyes for Connor. But the woman she was now…

Stop ogling!

She stopped by the ladder and glanced up. Then took an involuntary step backwards at the sudden clench of familiarity. The sign-writer’s blond-tipped hair…

It fell in the exact same waves as—

Her heart lodged in her throat, leaving an abyss in her chest. Get a grip. Don’t lose it now. The familiarity had to be a trick of the light.

Ha! More like a trick of the mind. Planted there by memories she’d done her best to bury.

She swallowed and her heart settled—sort of—in her chest again. ‘Excuse me,’ she managed to force out of an uncooperative throat, ‘but I’d like to know who gave you the authority to change that sign.’

The sign-writer stilled, laid his brush down on the top of the ladder and wiped his hands across that denim-encased butt with agonising slowness. Jaz couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to follow that action with her own hands. Gooseflesh broke out on her arms.

Slowly, oh-so-slowly, the sign-writer turned around…and Jaz froze.

‘Hello, Jaz.’

The familiarity, the sudden sense of rightness at seeing him here like this, reached right inside her chest to twist her heart until she couldn’t breathe.

No!

He took one step down the ladder. ‘You’re looking…well.’

He didn’t smile. His gaze travelled over her face, down the long line of her body and back again and, although half of his face was in shadow, she could see that she left him unmoved.

Connor Reed!

She sucked in a breath, took another involuntary step back. It took every ounce of strength she could marshal to not turn around and run.

Do something. Say something, she ordered.

Her heart pounded in her throat. Sharp breaths stung her lungs. Connor Reed. She’d known they’d run into each other eventually, but not here. Not at the bookshop.

Not on her first day.

Stop staring. Don’t you dare run!

‘I…um…’ She had to clear her throat. She didn’t run. ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d stop working on that.’ She pointed to the sign and, by some freak or miracle or because some deity was smiling down on her, her hand didn’t shake. It gave her the confidence to lift her chin and throw her shoulders back again.

He glanced at the sign, then back at her, a frown in his eyes. ‘You don’t like it?’

‘I loathe it. But I’d prefer not to discuss it on the street.’

Oh, dear Lord. She had to set some ground rules. Fast. Ground rule number one was that Connor Reed stay as far away from her as humanly possible.

Ground rule number two—don’t look him directly in the eye.

She swung away, meaning to find refuge in the one place in this town she could safely call home… and found the bookshop closed.

The sign on the door read ‘Closed’ in big black letters. The darkened interior mocked her. She reached out and tested the door. It didn’t budge.

Somebody nearby sniggered. ‘That’s taken the wind out of your sails, nicely. Good!’

Jaz glanced around to find a middle-aged woman glaring at her. She kept her voice cool. ‘Excuse me, but do I know you?’

The woman ignored Jaz’s words and pushed her face in close. ‘We don’t need your kind in a nice place like this.’

A disturbance in the air, some super-sense on her personal radar, told her Connor had descended the ladder to stand directly behind her. He still smelt like the mountains in autumn.

She pulled a packet of gum from her pocket and shoved a long spearmint-flavoured stick into her mouth. It immediately overpowered all other scents in her near vicinity.

‘My kind?’ she enquired as pleasantly as she could.

If these people couldn’t get past the memory of her as a teenage Goth with attitude, if they couldn’t see that she’d grown up, then…then they needed to open their eyes wider.

Something told her it was their minds that needed opening up and not their eyes.

‘A tattoo artist!’ the woman spat. ‘What do we want with one of those? You’re probably a member of a bike gang and…and do drugs!’

Jaz almost laughed at the absurdity. Almost. She lifted her arms, looked down at herself, then back at the other woman. For a moment the other woman looked discomfited.

‘That’s enough, Dianne.’

That was from Connor. Jaz almost turned around but common sense kicked in—don’t look him directly in the eye.

‘Don’t you go letting her get her hooks into you again, Connor. She did what she could to lead you astray when you were teenagers and don’t you forget it!’

Jaz snorted. She couldn’t help herself. The woman—Dianne—swung back to her. ‘You probably think this is going to be a nice little money spinner.’ She nodded to the bookshop.

Not at the moment. Not after reviewing the sales figures Richard had sent her.

‘You didn’t come near your mother for years and now, when her body is barely cold in the ground, you descend on her shop like a vulture. Like a greedy, grasping—’

‘That’s enough, Dianne!’

Connor again. Jaz didn’t want him fighting her battles—she wanted him to stay as far from her as possible. He wasn’t getting a second chance to break her heart. Not in this lifetime! But she could barely breathe, let alone talk.

Didn’t come near your mother for years…barely cold in the ground…

The weight pressed down so hard on Jaz’s chest that she wanted nothing more than to lie down on the ground and let it crush her.

‘You have the gall to say that after the number of weekends Frieda spent in Sydney with Jaz, living the high life? Jaz didn’t need to come home and you bloody well know it!’

Home.

Jaz started. She couldn’t lie down on the ground. Not out the front of her mother’s bookshop.

‘Now clear off, Dianne Keith. You’re nothing but a troublemaking busybody with a streak of spite in you a mile wide.’

With the loudest intake of breath Jaz had ever heard anyone huff, Dianne stormed off.

Didn’t come near your mother for years…barely cold in the ground…

A touch on her arm brought her back. The touch of work-roughened fingers on the bare flesh of her arm.

‘Are you okay?’

His voice was low, a cooling autumn breeze. Jaz inched away, out of reach of those work-roughened fingers, away from the heat of his body.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

But, as the spearmint of her gum faded, all she could smell was the mountains in autumn. She remembered how it had once been her favourite smell in the world. When she’d been a girl…and gullible.

She would be fine. In just a moment. If she could stop breathing so deeply, his scent would fade.

She cleared her throat. ‘It’s not that I expected a fatted calf, but I didn’t expect that.’ She nodded to where Dianne had stood.

She hadn’t expected a welcome, but she hadn’t expected outright hostility either. Except, perhaps, from Connor Reed.

She’d have welcomed it from him.

‘Dianne Keith has been not-so-secretly in love with Gordon Sears for years now.’

She blinked. He was telling her this because… ‘Oh! I didn’t sell him the bookshop, so his nose is out of joint…making her nose out of joint too?’

‘You better believe it.’

She couldn’t believe she was standing in Clara Falls’ main street talking to Connor Reed like…like nothing had ever happened between them. As if this were a normal, everyday event.

She made the mistake then of glancing full into his face, of meeting his amazing brown eyes head-on.

They sparkled gold. And every exquisite moment she’d ever spent with him came crashing back.

If she could’ve stepped away she would’ve, but the bookshop window already pressed hard against her shoulder blades.

If she could’ve glanced away she would’ve, but her foolish eyes refused to obey the dictates of her brain. They feasted on his golden beauty as if starved for the sight of him. It made something inside her lift.

The sparks in his eyes flashed and burned. As if he couldn’t help it, his gaze lowered and travelled down the length of her body with excruciating slowness. When his gaze returned to hers, his eyes had darkened to a smoky, molten lava that she remembered too well.

Her pulse gave a funny little leap. Blood pounded in her ears. She had to grip her hands together. After all these years and everything that had passed between them, how could there be anything but bitterness?

Her heart burned acid. No way! She had no intention of travelling down that particular path to hell ever again.

Eight years ago she’d believed in him—in them—completely, but Connor had accused her of cheating on him. His lack of faith in her had broken her heart…destroyed her.

She hadn’t broken his heart, though, because nine months after Jaz had fled town he’d had a child with Faye. A daughter. A little girl.

She folded her arms. Belatedly, she realised, it made even more of her…assets. She couldn’t unfold them again without revealing to him that his continued assessment bothered her. She kept said arms stoically folded, but her heart twisted and turned and ached.

‘I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Connor.’ She needed him to stay away.

‘I—’ he stressed the word ‘—always do what I consider is right. You needn’t think your coming back to town is going to change that.’

‘Do what’s right?’ She snorted. ‘Like jumping to conclusions? Do you still do that, Connor?’

The words shot out of her—a challenge—and she couldn’t believe she’d uttered them. The air suddenly grew so thick with their history she wondered how on earth either one of them could breathe through it.

She’d always known things between them could never be normal. Not after the intensity of what they’d shared. It was why she’d stayed away. It was why she needed him to stay away from her now.

‘Do what’s right?’ She snorted a second time. She’d keep up this front if it killed her. ‘Like that sign?’ She pointed to the shop awning. ‘What is that…your idea of a sick joke?’

That frown returned to his eyes again. ‘Look, Jaz, I—’

Richard chose that moment to come bustling up between them, his breathing loud and laboured. ‘Sorry, Jaz. I saw you cruising up the street, but I couldn’t get away immediately. I had a client with me.’

Connor clapped him on the back. ‘You need to exercise more, my man, if a sprint up the street makes you breathe this hard.’

Richard grinned. ‘It is uphill.’

His grin faded. He hitched his head in the direction of the bookshop. ‘Sorry, Jaz. It’s a bit of a farce, isn’t it?’

‘It’s not what I was expecting,’ she allowed.

Connor and Richard said nothing. She cleared her throat. ‘Where are my staff?’

Richard glanced at Connor as if for help. Connor shoved his hands in his pockets and glowered at the pavement.

‘Richard?’

‘That’s just the thing, you see, Jaz. The last of your staff resigned yesterday.’

Resigned? Her staff? So… ‘I have no staff?’ She stared at Richard. For some reason she turned to stare at Connor too.

Both men nodded.

‘But…’ She would not lie down on the ground and admit defeat. She wouldn’t. ‘Why?’

‘How about we go inside?’ Connor suggested with a glance over his shoulder.

That was when Jaz became aware of the faces pressed against the inside of the plate glass of Mr Sears’s ‘baked-fresh-daily’ country bakery, watching her avidly. In an act of pure bravado, she lifted her hand and sent the shop across the road a cheery wave. Then she turned and stalked through the door Richard had just unlocked.

Connor caught the door before it closed but he didn’t step inside. ‘I’ll get back to work.’

On that sign? ‘No, you won’t,’ she snapped out tartly. ‘I want to talk to you.’

Richard stared at her as if…as if…

She reached up to smooth her hair. ‘What?’

‘Gee, Jaz. You used to dress mean but you always talked sweet.’

‘Yeah, well…’ She shrugged. ‘I found out that I achieved a whole lot more if I did things the other way around.’

Nobody said anything for a moment. Richard rubbed the back of his neck. Connor stared morosely at some point in the middle distance.

‘Okay, tell me what happened to my staff.’

‘You could probably tell from the sales figures I sent you that the bookshop isn’t doing particularly well.’

He could say that again.

‘So, over the last few months, your mother let most of the staff go.’

‘Most,’ she pointed out, ‘not all.’

‘There was only Anita and Dianne left. Mr Sears poached Anita for the bakery…’

‘Which left Dianne.’ She swung back to Connor. ‘Not the same Dianne who…?’

‘The one and the same.’

Oh, that was just great. ‘She made her feelings… clear,’ she said to Richard.

Richard gave his watch an agonised glance.

‘You don’t have time for this at the moment, do you?’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, but I have appointments booked for the next couple of hours and—’

‘Then go before you’re late.’ She shooed him to the door. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She would be.

‘I’ll be back later,’ he promised.

Then he left. Which left her and Connor alone in the dim space of the bookshop.

‘So…’ Connor said, breaking the silence that had wrapped around them. His voice wasn’t so much a cooling autumn breeze as a winter chill. ‘You’re still not interested in selling the bookshop to Mr Sears?’

Sell? Not in this lifetime.

‘I’m not selling the bookshop. At least not yet.’

Connor rested his hands on his hips and continued to survey her. She couldn’t read his face or his body language, but she wished he didn’t look so darn…male!

‘So you’re staying here in Clara Falls, then?’

‘No.’ She poured as much incredulity and disdain into her voice as she could. ‘Not long-term. I have a life in the city. This is just a…’

‘Just a…’ he prompted when she faltered.

‘A momentary glitch,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll get the bookshop back on its feet and running at a profit— which I figure will take twelve months tops—and then I mean to return to my real life.’

‘I see.’

Perhaps he did. But she doubted it.

CHAPTER TWO

CONNOR met the steeliness in Jaz’s eyes and wished he could just turn around and walk away. His overriding instinct was to reach out and offer her comfort. Despite that veneer of toughness she’d cultivated, he knew this return couldn’t be easy for her.

Her mother had committed suicide only four weeks ago!

That had to be eating her up alive.

She didn’t look as if she’d welcome his comfort. She kept eyeing him as if he were something slimy and wet that had just oozed from the drain.

The muscles in his neck, his jaw, bunched. What was her problem? She’d been the one to lay waste to all his plans, all his dreams, eight years ago. Not the other way around. She could at least have the grace to…

To what? an inner voice mocked. Spare you a smile? Get over yourself, Reed. You don’t want her smiles.

But, as he gazed down into her face, noted the fragile luminosity of her skin, the long dark lashes framing her eyes and the sweet peach lipstick staining her lips, something primitive fired his blood. He wanted to haul her into his arms, slant his mouth over hers and taste her, brand himself on her senses.

Every cell in his body tightened and burned at the thought. The intensity of it took him off guard. Had his heart thudding against his ribcage. After eight years…

After eight years he hadn’t expected to feel anything. He sure as hell hadn’t expected this.

He rolled his shoulders and tried to banish the images from his mind. Every stupid mistake he’d made with his life had happened in the weeks after Jaz had left town. He couldn’t blame her for the way he’d reacted to her betrayal—that would be childish—but he would never give her that kind of power over him again.

Never.

She stuck out her chin, hands on hips—combative, aggressive and so unlike the Jaz of old it took him off guard. ‘Why did you change the sign? Who gave you permission?’

She moved behind the sales counter, stowed her handbag beneath it, then turned back and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’ She tapped her foot.

Her boot—a pretty little feminine number in brown suede and as unlike her old black Doc Martens as anything could be—echoed smartly against the bare floorboards. Or maybe that was due to the silence that had descended around them again. He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and told himself to stay on task. It was just…that lipstick.

He’d once thought that nothing could look as good as the mulberry dark matt lipstick she’d once worn. He stared at the peach shine on her lips now. He’d been wrong.

‘Connor!’

He snapped to and bit back something succinct and rude. The sign, idiot!

‘I’m simply following the instructions you left with my receptionist.’

She stared at him for a long moment. Then, ‘Can you seriously imagine that I’d want to call this place Jaz’s Joint?’ Her lip curled. ‘That sounds like a den of iniquity, not a bookshop.’

She looked vivid fired up like that—alive. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t felt alive in a very long time.

He shifted his weight, allowed his gaze to travel over her again, noticed the way she turned away and bit her lip. That was familiar. She wasn’t feeling anywhere near as sure of herself as she’d have him believe.

‘I’m not paid to imagine.’ At the time, though, her request had sent his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. ‘Eight years is a long time. People change.’

‘You better believe it!’

He ignored her vehemence. ‘You told my receptionist you wanted “Jaz’s Joint” painted on the awning. I was just following your instructions.’ But as he said the words his stomach dipped. Her eyes had widened. He remembered how they could look blue or green, depending on the light. They glittered blue now in the hushed light of the bookshop.

‘Those weren’t my instructions.’

His stomach dropped a notch lower. Not her directions… Then…

‘I just requested that the sign be freshened up.’

He swore. Once. Hard.

Jaz blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Her tone almost made him grin. As a teenager she’d done all she could to look hard as nails, but she’d rarely used bad language and she hadn’t tolerated it in others.

He sobered. ‘Obviously, somewhere along the line a wire’s got crossed.’ If his receptionist had played any part in the Jaz’s Joint prank he’d fire her on the spot.

Jaz followed his gaze across the road to Mr Sears’s bakery. ‘Ahh…’ Her lips twisted. ‘I see.’

Did she? For reasons Connor couldn’t fathom, Gordon Sears wanted the bookshop, and he wanted it bad.

She sprang out from behind the counter as if the life force coursing through her body would no longer allow her to coop it up in such a small space. She stalked down the aisles, with their rows upon rows of bookcases. Connor followed.

The Clara Falls bookshop had been designed with one purpose in mind—to charm. And it achieved its aim with remarkable ease. The gleaming oak bookcases contrasted neatly with wood-panelled walls painted a pale clean green. Alcoves and nooks invited browsers to explore. Gingerbread fretwork lent an air of fairy-tale enchantment. Jaz had always loved the bookshop, and Frieda hadn’t changed a thing.

Therein lay most of its problems.

‘I’ll change the sign back. It’ll be finished by the close of business today.’

She glanced back at him, a frown in her eyes. ‘Why you?’

She turned around fully, folded her arms and leant against the nearest bookcase. To the right of her left hip a book in vivid blues and greens faced outwards—Natural Wonders of the World—it seemed apt. He dragged his gaze from her hips and the long, lean length of her legs. Way too apt.

But…

He’d never seen her wear such pretty, soft-looking trousers before. Mel would love those trousers. The thought flitted into his head unbidden and his heart clenched at the thought of his daughter. He gritted his teeth and pushed the thought back out again. He would not think of Mel and Jaz in the same sentence.

But…

Eight years ago he’d grown used to seeing Jaz in long black skirts…or naked.

And then she’d removed herself from his world and he hadn’t seen her at all.

‘Is that what you’re doing these days—sign-writing?’

Her words hauled him back and he steeled himself not to flinch at her incredulity. ‘Among other things.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘After graduation I took up a carpentry apprenticeship.’ He’d relinquished his dream of art school. ‘I run a building contractor’s business now here in Clara Falls.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘What about your art?’

Just for a moment, bitterness seeped out from beneath the lid he normally kept tightly sealed around it. ‘I gave it up.’

Her head snapped back. ‘You what?’

The madness had started the night he’d discovered Jaz in Sam Hancock’s arms. When he’d found out the next day that Jaz had left town—left him— for good, Connor had gone off the rails. He’d drunk too much…he’d slept with Faye. Faye, who’d revealed Jaz’s infidelity, her lies. Faye, who’d done all she could to console him when Jaz had gone. Faye whose heart he’d broken. When Faye had told him she was pregnant, he’d had no choice—he’d traded in his dream of art school to become a husband and father…and an apprentice carpenter.

He hadn’t picked up a stick of charcoal since.

‘Is that somehow supposed to be my fault?’

Jaz’s snapped-out words hauled him back. ‘Did I say that?’

He and Faye had lasted two years before they’d finally divorced—Jaz always a silent shadow between them. They’d been two of the longest years of his life.

It was childish to blame Jaz for any of that. He had Melanie. He could never regret his daughter.

Jaz’s eyes turned so frosty they could freeze a man’s soul. Connor’s lips twisted. They couldn’t touch him. His soul had frozen eight years ago.

And yet she was here. From all accounts a world-class tattoo artist, if Frieda’s boasts could be believed.

Dianne was right. Clara Falls had no need for tattoo artists—world-class or otherwise.

And neither did he.

Silence descended around them. Finally, Jaz cleared her throat. ‘I take it then that you’re the builder Richard hired to do the work on this place?’ She lifted a hand to indicate the interior of the shop, and then pointed to the ceiling to indicate the flat upstairs.

‘That’s right.’

She pushed away from the bookcase, glanced around. ‘Considering the amount of work Richard told me needed doing, the place looks exactly as I remember it.’

Her eyes narrowed. He watched her gaze travel over every fixture and furnishing within her line of sight. ‘Exactly the same.’ She turned accusing eyes on him.

‘That’s because I’ve barely started work in here yet.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘But…but your receptionist assured me all the work would be finished by Thursday last week.’

The muscles in his jaw bunched. ‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Positive.’

He didn’t blame her for her gritted teeth response. ‘I’m sorry, Jaz, but you were given the wrong information.’ And he’d be getting himself a new receptionist— this afternoon, if he could arrange it.

She pressed her lips so tightly together it made his jaw ache in sympathy. Then she stiffened. ‘What about the OH and S stuff? Hell, if that hasn’t been sorted, then—’

‘That’s the part I’ve taken care of.’

Several weeks ago, someone had filed an Occupation Health and Safety complaint. It had resulted in an OH and S officer coming out to inspect the premises…and to close the shop down when it had been discovered that two floor to ceiling bookcases, which should’ve been screwed fast to battens on the wall behind, had started to come away, threatening to topple and crush anyone who might happen to be below. Connor had put all his other jobs on hold to take care of that. The bookshop had only been closed for a day and a half.

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ What the hell… ‘Because it was dangerous, that’s why.’

‘Not that.’ She waved an imperious hand in the air. ‘Why is it your company that is doing the work?’

Because Richard had asked him to.

Because he’d wanted to prove that the past had no hold over him any more.

She folded her arms. ‘I should imagine the last thing you wanted was to clap eyes on me again.’

She was right about that.

She stuck out a defiant hip. ‘In fact, I’d guess that the last thing you want is me living in Clara Falls again.’

It took a moment for the import of her words to hit him. When they did, he clenched a fist so tight it started to shake. She glanced at his fist, then back into his face. She cocked an eyebrow. She didn’t unsay her words.

‘Are you insinuating that I’d use my position as a builder to sabotage your shop?’ He tried to remember the last time he’d wanted to throttle someone.

‘Would you? Have you? I mean… There’s that travesty of a sign, for a start. Now the delay. What would you think? You and Gordon Sears could be like that—’ she waved two crossed fingers under his nose ‘—for all I know.’

‘God, Jaz! I know it’s been eight years, but can you seriously think I would stoop to that?’

She raked him from the top of his head to his boot laces with her hot gaze—blue on the way down, green when she met his eyes again on the way up— and it felt as if she actually placed her hands on his body and stroked him. His heart started to thump. She moistened her lips. It wasn’t a nervous gesture, more…an assessing one. But it left a shine on her lips that had him clenching back a groan.

‘Business is business,’ he ground out. ‘I don’t have to like who I’m working for.’

Was it his imagination or did she pale at his words?

Her chin didn’t drop. ‘So you’re saying this is just another job to you?’

He hesitated a moment too long.

Jaz snorted and pushed past him, charged back down to the sales counter and stood squarely behind it, as if she wanted to place herself out of his reach. ‘Thank you for the work you’ve done so far, Connor, but your services are no longer required.’

He stalked down to the counter, reached across and gripped her chin in his fingers, forced her gaze to his. ‘Fine! You want the truth? This isn’t just another job. What happened to your mother… It made me sick to my stomach. We…someone in town…we should’ve paid more attention, we should’ve sensed that—’

He released her and swung away. She smelt like a wattle tree in full bloom—sweet and elusive. It was too much.

When he glanced back at her, her eyes had filled with tears. She touched her fingers to her jaw where he’d held her. Bile rose up through him. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—’ He gestured futilely with his hand. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No.’

She shook her head, her voice low, and he watched her push the tears down with the sheer force of her will…way down deep inside her like she used to do. Suddenly he felt older than his twenty-six years. He felt a hundred.

‘I’m sorry I doubted your integrity.’

She issued her apology with characteristic sincerity and speed. He dragged a hand down his face. The Jaz of old might’ve been incapable of fidelity, but she’d been equally incapable of malice.

If she’d asked him to forgive her eight years ago, he would have. In an instant.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Am I rehired?’

She straightened, moistened her lips and nodded. He didn’t know how he could tell, but this time the gesture was nervous.

‘You won’t find it hard coping with my presence around the place for the next fortnight?’ Some devil prompted him to ask.

‘Of course not!’

He could tell that she was lying.

‘We’re both adults, aren’t we? What’s in the past is in the past.’

He wanted to agree. He opened his mouth to do precisely that, but the words refused to come.

Jaz glanced at him, moistened her lips again. ‘It’s going to take a fortnight? So long?’

‘Give or take a couple of days. And that’s working as fast as I can.’

‘I see.’

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘I’ll get back to work on that sign then, shall I?’

The door clanged shut behind Connor with a finality that made Jaz want to burst into tears.

Crazy. Ridiculous.

Her knees shook so badly she thought she might fall. Very carefully, she lowered herself to the stool behind the counter. Being found slumped on the floor was not the look she was aiming for, not on her first day.

Not on any day.

She closed her eyes, dragged in a deep breath and tried to slow her pulse, quieten the blood pounding in her ears. She could do this. She could do this. She’d known her first meeting with Connor would be hard. She hadn’t expected to deal with him on her first day though.

Hard? Ha! Try gruelling. Exhausting. Fraught.

She hadn’t known she would still feel his pain as if it were her own. She hadn’t known her body would remember…everything. Or that it would sing and thrum just because he was near.

She hadn’t known she’d yearn for it all again— their love, the rightness of being with him.

Connor had shown her the magic of love, but he’d shown her the other side of love too—the blackness, the ugliness…the despair. It had turned her into another kind of person—an angry, destructive person. It had taken her a long time to conquer that darkness. She would never allow herself to become that person again. Never. And the only way she could guarantee that was by keeping Connor at arm’s length. Further, if possible.

But it didn’t stop her watching him through the shop window as he worked on her sign.

She opened the shop, she served customers, but that didn’t stop her noticing how efficiently he worked either, the complete lack of fuss that accompanied his every movement. It reminded her of how he used to draw, of the times they’d take their charcoals and sketch pads to one of the lookouts.

She’d sit on a rock hunched over her pad, intent on capturing every single detail of the view spread out before her, concentrating fiercely on all she saw. Connor would lean back against a tree, his sketch pad propped against one knee, charcoal lightly clasped, eyes half-closed, and his fingers would play across the page with seemingly no effort at all.

Their high school art teacher had given them identical marks, but Jaz had known from the very first that Connor had more talent in his little finger than she possessed in her whole body. She merely drew what was there, copied what was in front of her eyes. Connor’s drawings had captured something deeper, something truer. They’d captured an essence, the hidden potential of the thing. Connor had drawn the optimistic future.

His hair glittered gold in the sun as he stepped down the ladder to retrieve something from his van.

And what was he doing now? Painting shop signs? His work should hang in galleries!

He turned and his gaze met hers. Just like that. With no fuss. No hesitation. She didn’t step back into the shadows of the shop or drop her gaze and pretend she hadn’t been watching. He would know. He pointed to the sign, then sent her a thumbs up.

All that potential wasted.

Jaz couldn’t lift her arm in an answering wave. She couldn’t even twitch the corners of her mouth upwards in acknowledgement of his silent communication. She had to turn away.

When she’d challenged him—thrown out there in the silences that throbbed between them that she must be the last person he’d ever want to see, he hadn’t denied it.

Her stomach burned acid. Coming back to Clara Falls, she’d expected to experience loss and grief. But for her mother. Not Connor. She’d spent the last eight years doing all she could to get over him. These feelings should not be resurfacing now.

If you’d got over him you’d have come home like your mother begged you to.

The accusation rang through her mind. Her hands shook. She hugged herself tightly. She’d refused to come home, still too full of pride and anger and bitterness. It had distorted everything. It had closed her mind to her mother’s despair.

If she’d come home…but she hadn’t.

For the second time that day, she ground back the tears. She didn’t deserve the relief they would bring. She would make a success of the bookshop. She would make this final dream of her mother’s a reality. She would leave a lasting memorial of Frieda Harper in Clara Falls. Once she’d done that, perhaps she might find a little peace… Perhaps she’d have earned it.

She glanced back out of the window. Connor hadn’t left yet. He stood in a shaft of sunlight, haloed in gold, leaning against his van, talking to Richard. For one glorious moment the years fell away. How many times had she seen Connor and Richard talking like that—at school, on the cricket field, while they’d waited for her outside this very bookshop? Things should’ve been different. Things should’ve been very different.

He’d given up his art. It was too high a price to pay. Grief for the boy he’d once been welled up inside her.

It would take her a long, long time to find peace.

She hadn’t cheated on him with Sam Hancock. She hadn’t cheated on him with anyone, but Connor no longer deserved her bitterness. He had a little daughter now, responsibilities. He’d paid for his mistakes, just like she’d paid for hers. If what her mother had told her was true, Faye had left Connor literally holding the baby six years ago. Jaz would not make his life more difficult.

Something inside her lifted. It eased the tightness in her chest and allowed her to breathe more freely for a moment.

Connor turned and his eyes met hers through the plate glass of the shop window. The weight crashed back down on her with renewed force. She gripped the edges of the stool to keep herself upright. Connor might not deserve her bitterness, but she still had to find a way of making him keep his distance, because something in him still sang to something in her—a siren song that had the power to destroy her all over again if she let it.

Richard turned then too, saw her and waved. She lifted a numb arm in response. He said something to Connor and both men frowned. As one, they pushed away from Connor’s van and headed for the bookshop door.

A shiver rippled through her. She shot to her feet. She had to deal with more Connor on her first day? Heaven, give her strength.

The moment he walked through the door all strength seeped from her limbs, leaving them boneless, useless, and plonking her back down on the stool.

‘Hello, again,’ Richard said.

‘Hi.’ From somewhere she found a smile.

She glanced sideways at Connor. He pursed his lips and frowned at the ornate pressed-tin work on the ceiling. She found her gaze drawn upwards, searching for signs of damp and peeling paint, searching for what made him frown. She didn’t find anything. It all looked fine to her.

Richard cleared his throat and she turned her attention back to him with an apologetic shrug.

‘These are the keys for the shop.’ He placed a set of keys onto the counter in front of her. ‘And this is the key to the flat upstairs.’ He held it up for her to see, but he didn’t place it on the counter with the other keys.

Connor reached over and plucked the key from Richard’s fingers. ‘What did my receptionist tell you about the upstairs flat?’

Her stomach started to churn. ‘That you’d given it a final coat of paint last week and that it was ready to move into.’

Connor and Richard exchanged glances.

‘Um…but then you’re a builder, not a painter, right?’

He’d painted the sign for the shop, so maybe…

She shook her head. ‘Painting the flat isn’t your department, is it?’

‘No, but I can organise that for you, if you want.’

‘You didn’t think to check with me?’ Richard asked.

The thought hadn’t occurred to her. Though, in hindsight… ‘She said she was contacting me on your behalf. I didn’t think to question that. When she asked me if there was anything else I needed done, I mentioned the sign.’ She’d wanted it bright and sparkling. She wanted her mother’s name loud and proud above the shop.

‘I’m sorry, Jaz,’ Connor started heavily, ‘but—’

‘But I’ve been given the wrong information,’ she finished for him. Again. From the expression on his face, though, she wouldn’t want to be his receptionist when he finally made it back to the office. Shame pierced her. She should’ve known better than to lump Connor with the meaner elements in the town.

She swallowed. ‘That’s okay, I can take care of the painting myself.’ She wanted to drop her head onto her folded arms and rest for a moment. ‘What kind of state is the flat in?’

‘We only started tearing out the kitchen cupboards and the rotting floorboards yesterday. It’s a mess.’

Once upon a time he’d have couched that more tactfully, but she appreciated his candour now. ‘Habitable?’

He grimaced.

‘Okay then…’ She thought hard for a moment. ‘All my stuff is arriving tomorrow.’

‘What stuff?’ Connor asked.

‘Everything. Necessary white goods, for a start— refrigerator, washing machine, microwave. Then there’s the furniture—dining table, bed, bookcase. Not to mention the—’

‘You brought a bookcase?’ Connor glanced around the shop. ‘When you have all these?’

For a brief moment his eyes sparkled. Her breathing went all silly. ‘I’ll need a bookcase in the flat too.’

‘Why?’

The teasing glint in his eyes chased her weariness away. ‘For the books that happen to be arriving tomorrow too.’

Connor and Richard groaned in unison. ‘Has your book addiction lessened as the years have gone by?’ Richard demanded.

They used to tease her about this eight years ago. It made her feel younger for a moment, freer. ‘Oh, no.’ She rubbed her hands together with relish. ‘If anything, it’s grown.’

The two men groaned again and she laughed. She’d actually laughed on her first day back in Clara Falls? Perhaps miracles could happen.

She glanced at Connor and pulled herself up. Not those kinds of miracles.

‘Relax, guys. I’ve rented out my apartment in Sydney. Some of my stuff is to come here, but a lot has gone into storage, including most of my books. Is there room up there to store my things?’ She pointed at the ceiling. ‘Could you and your men work around it?’

‘We’ll work quicker if it’s stored elsewhere.’

It took her all of two seconds to make the decision. ‘Where’s the nearest storage facility around here? Katoomba?’ She’d organise for her things to go there until the flat was ready.

Connor planted his feet. ‘We’ll store it at my place.’

She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He stuck his jaw out and folded his arms. ‘It’s my fault you thought the flat was ready. So it’s my responsibility to take care of storing your things.’

‘Garbage!’ She folded her arms too. ‘You had no idea what I was told.’ He was as much a victim in this as her. ‘I should’ve had the smarts to double-check it all with Richard anyway.’

‘You shouldn’t have had to double-check anything and—’

‘Guys, guys.’ Richard made a time out sign.

Jaz and Connor broke off to glare at each other.

‘He does have the room, Jaz. He has a huge workshop with a four car garage for a start.’

She transferred her glare to Richard.

Connor shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. ‘This is the last thing you should’ve had to come back to. You shouldn’t be out of pocket because of someone’s idea of a…prank.’

It was more than that. They all knew it.

‘I’d like to make amends,’ he said softly.

She found it hard to hold his gaze and she didn’t know why. ‘Okay.’ She said the word slowly. ‘I’ll accept your very kind offer—’ and it was a kind offer ‘—on one condition.’

Wariness crept into his eyes. Tiredness invaded every atom of her being. Once upon a time he’d looked at her with absolute trust.

And then he hadn’t.

‘What’s the condition?’

‘That you go easy on your receptionist.’

‘What?’ He leant across the counter as if he hadn’t heard her right.

She held his gaze then and she didn’t find it hard—not in the slightest. ‘She sounded young.’

‘She’s nineteen. Old enough to know better.’

‘Give her a chance to explain.’

He reared back from her then and the tan leached from his face, leaving him pale. Her words had shaken him, she could see that, but she hadn’t meant for them to hurt him. From somewhere she dredged up a smile. ‘We all make mistakes when we’re young. I did. You did.’

‘I did,’ Richard piped in too.

‘Find out why she did it before you storm in and fire her. That’s all I’m asking. My arrival has already generated enough hostility as it is.’

Inch by inch, the colour returned to Connor’s face. ‘If I don’t like her explanation, she’s still history.’

‘But you’ll give her an opportunity to explain herself first?’

He glared at her. ‘Yes.’

‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t ask for any fairer than that.

They continued to stare at each other. Connor opened his mouth, a strange light in his eyes that she couldn’t decipher, and every molecule of her being strained towards him. No words emerged from the firm, lean lips, but for a fraction of a second time stood still.

Richard broke the spell. ‘Where were you planning on staying till your stuff arrives, Jaz?’

She dragged her gaze from Connor, tried to still the sudden pounding of her heart. ‘I’ve booked a couple of nights at the Cascade’s Rest.’

Richard let the air whistle out between his teeth. ‘Nice! Treating yourself?’

‘I have a thing for deep spa-baths.’ She had a bigger thing for the anonymity that five-star luxury could bring. She couldn’t justify staying there for more than a couple of nights, though. ‘How long before the flat will be ready?’

‘A week to ten days,’ Connor said flatly.

She turned back to Richard. ‘Is there a bed and breakfast you’d recommend?’

‘Gwen Harwood’s on Candlebark Street,’ he said without hesitation.

Unbidden, a smile broke out from her. ‘Gwen?’ They’d been friends at school. The five of them— Connor, Richard, Gwen, Faye and herself. They’d all hung out together.

‘Look, Jaz.’ Connor raked a hand back through the sandy thickness of his hair. ‘I can’t help feeling responsible for this, and…’

And what? Did he mean to offer her a room too?

Not in this lifetime!

She strove for casual. ‘And you have plenty of room, right?’ Given all that had passed between them, given all that he thought of her, would he really offer her a room, a bed, a place to stay? The idea disturbed her and anger started to burn low down in the pit of her stomach. If only he hadn’t jumped to conclusions eight years ago. If only he’d given her a chance to explain. If only he’d been this nice then!

It’s eight years. Let it go.

She wanted to let it go. With all her heart she wished she could stop feeling like this, but the anger, the pain, had curved their claws into her so fiercely she didn’t know how to tear them free without doing more damage.

She needed him to stay away. ‘I don’t think so!’

The pulse at the base of Connor’s jaw worked. ‘I wasn’t going to offer you a room,’ he ground out. ‘You’ll be happier at Gwen’s, believe me. But I will deduct the cost of your accommodation from my final bill.’

Heat invaded her face, her cheeks. She wished she could climb under the counter and stay there. Of course he hadn’t meant to offer her a place to stay. Why would he offer her of all people—her—a place to stay? Idiot!

‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Pride made her voice tart. ‘I had every intention of arriving in Clara Falls today and staying, whether the flat was ready or not.’ She’d just have given different instructions to the removal company and found a different place to stay.

No staff. Now no flat. Plummeting profits. What a mess! Where on earth was she supposed to start?

‘Jaz?’

She suddenly realised the two men were staring at her in concern. She planted her mask of indifference, of detachment, back to her face in double-quick time. Before either one of them could say anything, she rounded on Connor. ‘I want your word of honour that you will bill me as usual, without a discount for my accommodation. Without a discount for anything.’

‘But—’

‘If you don’t I will hire someone else to do the work. Which, obviously, with the delays that would involve, will cost me even more.’

He glared at her. ‘Were you this stubborn eight years ago?’

No, she’d been as malleable as a marshmallow.

‘Do we have an understanding?’

‘Yes,’ he ground out, his glare not abating in the slightest.

‘Excellent.’ She pasted on a smile and made a show of studying her watch. ‘Goodness, is that the time? If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, it’s time to close the shop. There’s a spa-bath with my name on it waiting for me at the Cascade’s Rest.’

As she led them to the door, she refused to glance into Connor’s autumn-tinted eyes for even a microsecond.

When Jaz finally made it to the shelter of her room at the Cascade’s Rest, she didn’t head for the bathroom with its Italian marble, fragrant bath oils and jet-powered spa-bath. She didn’t turn on a single light. She shed her clothes, leaving them where they fell, to slide between the cold cotton sheets of the queen-sized bed. She started to shake. ‘Mum,’ she whispered, ‘I miss you.’ She rolled to her side, pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. ‘Mum, I need you.’

She prayed for the relief of tears, but she’d forced them back too well earlier in the day and they refused to come now. All she could do was press her face to the pillow and count the minutes as the clock ticked the night away.

CHAPTER THREE

JAZ let herself into the bookshop at eight-thirty sharp on Monday morning. She could hear Connor… She cocked her head to one side. She could hear Connor and his men hammering away upstairs already.

She locked the front door and headed out the back to the kitchenette. After a moment’s hesitation, she cranked open the back door to peer outside. Connor’s van—in fact, two vans—had reversed into the residential parking spaces behind the shop, their rear doors propped wide open. Someone clattered down the wooden stairs above and Jaz ducked back inside.

Through the window above the sink, she stared at the sign-writing on the side of the nearest van as she filled the jug— ‘Clara Falls Carpentry’. A cheery cartoon character wearing a tool belt grinned and waved.

A carpenter. Connor?

Had he painted those signs on the vans?

He was obviously very successful, but did it make up for turning his back on his art, his talent for drawing and painting?

There’s nothing wrong with being a carpenter.

Of course not.

And Connor had always been good with his hands. A blush stole through her when she remembered exactly how good.

She jumped when she realised that water overflowed from the now full jug. She turned off the tap and set about making coffee.

Upstairs the banging continued.

Ignore it. Get on with your work.

She had to familiarise herself with the day-today running of the bookshop. Managing a small business wasn’t new to her—she and her good friend Mac ran their own very exclusive tattoo parlour in Sydney. But she’d been relying on the fact that she’d have staff who could run her through the bookshop’s suppliers, explain the accounting and banking procedures… who knew the day-today routine of the bookshop.

A mini-office—computer, printer and filing cabinet—had been set up in one corner of the stockroom. The computer looked positively ancient. Biting back a sigh, she switched it on and held her breath. She let it out in a whoosh when the computer booted up. So far, so good.

A glance at her watch told her she had fifteen minutes until she had to open the shop. She slid into the chair, clicked through the files listed on the computer’s hard drive and discovered…

Nothing.

Nothing on this old computer seemed to make any sense whatsoever.

She dragged her hands back through her hair and stared at the screen. Maybe all that insomnia was catching up with her. Maybe something here made sense and she just couldn’t see it.

Maybe returning to Clara Falls was a seriously bad idea.

‘No!’ She leapt out of her chair, smoothed down her hair and gulped down her coffee. She’d open the shop, she’d ring the local employment agency…and she’d sort the computer out later.

Without giving herself time for any further negative thoughts, she charged through the shop, unlocked the front door and turned the sign to ‘Open’. She flicked through the Yellow Pages, found the page she needed, dialled the number and explained to the very efficient-sounding woman at the other end of the line what she needed.

‘I’m afraid we don’t have too many people on our books at the moment,’ the woman explained.

Jaz stared at the receiver in disbelief. ‘You have to have more than me,’ she said with blunt honesty.

‘Yes, well, I’ll see what I can do.’ The woman took Jaz’s details. ‘Hopefully we’ll have found you something by the end of the week.’

End of the week!

‘Uh…thank you,’ Jaz managed.

The woman hung up. Jaz kept staring at the receiver. She needed staff now. Today. Not perhaps maybe in a week.

‘What’s up?’

The words, barked into the silence, made her start. Connor!

She slammed the phone back to its cradle, smoothed down her hair. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear the bell above the door.’

The lines of his face were grim, his mouth hard and unsmiling. She fancied she could see him wishing himself away from here. Away from her.

Which was fine. Excellent, actually.

‘I asked, what’s up?’

No way. She wasn’t confiding in him. Not in this lifetime. He wasn’t her knight. He wasn’t even her friend. He was her builder. End of story.

Derisive laughter sounded through her head. She ignored it.

He was hot.

She tried to can that thought as soon as she could.

‘Nothing’s up.’

He wouldn’t challenge her. She could tell he wanted out of here asap. Only a friend would challenge her—someone who cared.

‘Liar.’ He said the word softly. The specks of gold in his eyes sparkled.

She blinked. She swallowed. ‘Is this a social call or is there something I can help you with?’ The words shot out of her, sounding harder than she’d meant them to.

The golden highlights were abruptly cut off. ‘I just wanted to let you know that your things arrived safely yesterday.’

‘I…um… Thank you.’ She moistened her lips, something she found herself doing a lot whenever Connor was around. She couldn’t help it. She only had to look at him for her mouth to go dry. He started to turn away.

‘Connor?’

He turned back, reluctance etched in the line of his shoulders, his neck, his back. Her heart slipped below the level of her belly button. Did he loathe her so much?

She moistened her lips again. His gaze narrowed in on the action and she kicked herself. If he thought she was being deliberately provocative he’d loathe her all the more.

She told herself she didn’t care what he thought.

‘I’m going to need some of my things. I only brought enough to tide me over for the weekend.’ She shrugged, apologetic.

Why on earth should she feel apologetic?

His gaze travelled over her. She wore yesterday’s trousers and Saturday’s blouse. She’d shaken them out and smoothed them the best she could, but it really hadn’t helped freshen them up any.

Pride forced her chin up. ‘There’s just one suitcase I need.’ It contained enough of the essentials to get her through. ‘I’d be grateful if I could come around this evening and collect it.’

‘What’s it look like?’

‘It’s a sturdy red leather number. Big.’

‘The one with stickers from all around the world plastered over it?’

‘That’s the one.’ She had no idea how she managed to keep her voice so determinedly cheerful. She waited for him to ask about her travels. They’d meant to travel together after art school—to marry and to travel. They’d planned to paint the world.

He didn’t ask. She reminded herself that he’d given all that up. Just like he’d given up on her.

Travel? With his responsibilities?

He’d made his choices.

It didn’t stop her heart from aching for him.

She gripped her hands behind her so she wouldn’t have to acknowledge their shaking. ‘When would it be convenient for me to call around and collect it?’

His eyes gave nothing away. ‘Have you booked into Gwen’s B&B?’

She nodded.

‘Then I’ll have it sent around.’

She read the subtext. He didn’t need to say the words out loud. It would never be convenient for her to call around. She swallowed. ‘Thank you.’

With a nod, he turned and stalked to the door. He reached out, seized the door handle…

‘Connor, one final thing…’

He swung back, impatience etched in every line of his body. A different person might’ve found it funny. ‘You and your men are welcome to use the bookshop’s kitchenette and bathroom.’ She gestured to the back of the shop. The facilities upstairs sounded basic at best at the moment—as in nonexistent. ‘I’ll leave the back door unlocked.’

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