Abby and the Bachelor Cop / Misty and the Single Dad: Abby and the Bachelor Copy / Misty and the Single Dad. Marion Lennox
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of a silent woman with haunted eyes, with none of the life and laughter of her mother or her children.
She’d died when Abby was about seven. Abby remembered little fuss, just a family who’d got on with it. Gran had taken over her grandchildren’s care. Life had gone on and the Finns were still disapproved of.
Abby and Ben had loved it here. They had always been welcome.
And now? She turned into the drive but her foot eased from the accelerator.
‘You’re always welcome.’ She could remember Gran saying it to her, over and over. She remembered Gran saying it to her after Ben’s death. As if she could come back here …
She had come back. Tonight.
This is only about a dog, she told herself, breathing deeply. Nothing else. The past is gone. There’s no use regretting—no use even thinking about it. Go get your dog from Raff Finn and then get off his land.
Raff never meant …
I know he didn’t, she told herself. Of course he didn’t. Accidents happened and it was only stupidity. Could she forgive stupidity? Ben was dead. Why would she want to?
He saw her stop at the gate. It was after eight—would Philip have finished his wild night out? Would she have him with her?
Maybe that was why they’d stopped. Philip would be doing his utmost to stop her keeping Kleppy.
Would she defy him? She’d need strength if she was going to stay married to Philip. She’d need strength not to be Philip’s doormat.
But the thought of Abby as a doormat made him smile. She’d never been a doormat. Abby Callahan was smart, sexy, sassy—and so much more. Or … she had been.
She’d followed him round like a shadow for years. He and Ben had scoffed at Abby and Sarah, the little sisters. They’d teased them, and had given them such a hard time. They’d loved them both. Until …
Until one stupid night. One stupid moment.
He closed his eyes as he’d done so many times. Searching for a memory.
Summer. Nineteen years old. Home from Police Training College. Ben home from university. They’d spent weekend after weekend tinkering with a car they were trying to restore. Finally they’d got it started, towards dusk on the day they were both due to go back to the city. They were pumped with excitement. Aching to see it go.
They couldn’t take it on the road—it wasn’t registered—but up on Black Mountain, just behind Isaac Abrahams place, there was a cleared firebreak, smoothed for access for fire trucks.
If they could get it out there, they could put it through its paces.
He remembered loading the car on the trailer behind Gran’s ancient truck, Ben’s dad watching them in disapproval. ‘You should be home tonight, Ben. Your mother’s expecting you.’
‘We need to see this working,’ Ben had told him and Mr Callahan had left in a huff.
Sarah was watching them, wistful. ‘Can I come?’
‘There’s not enough room in the truck.’
‘What if Philip brings me?’
‘Sure. Bring Abby.’
‘You know Abby’s mad at you—and she’s not talking to Philip, either.’
But neither Ben nor Raff were interested. They were only interested in getting their car going.
And it worked. Up on the mountain, he remembered Ben driving, yahooing, both of them high as kites. Months of work paying off.
He remembered getting out. Swapping drivers. Thinking it was too dark to be on this track, and it was starting to rain. Plus Ben had to get back to have dinner with his parents.
But Ben saying, ‘We have lights. If I can cope with Mum being fed up, you can cope with a bit of rain. Just do one turn to see for yourself how well she handles.’
Then … nothing. He’d woken in hospital. Concussion. Multiple lacerations. Broken wrist and broken ankle.
All he knew of the accident was what was written in the official reports.
Philip had driven Sarah onto the track to find them. He’d turned off the main road onto the firebreak, and ventured just far enough down the break to reach the crest …
Philip had been the only one uninjured. His recall was perfect, stark and bleak.
Raff had burst over the crest on the wrong side of the road, driving so fast he was almost airborne. Philip had nowhere to go. Both drivers swerved, but not fast enough.
Both cars had ended up in the trees. The rain and the mess from the emergency vehicles had washed the tracks away before the authorities could corroborate Philip’s story. Raff couldn’t be prosecuted—but he had punishment enough. He’d killed his best mate and he’d destroyed his sister. He missed Ben like he’d miss a twin—an aching, gut-destroying loss. He’d lost a part of Sarah that could never be restored.
His grandmother had died six months later.
And Abby?
Facing Abby had been the hardest thing he’d had to do in his life. The first time he’d seen her … she’d looked at him and it was as if he was some sort of black hole where her heart used to be.
‘I’m sorry,’ he’d said and she’d simply turned away. She’d stayed away for ten years.
Her brother was dead and sometimes Raff wished it could have been him.
Which was dumb. Who’d take care of Sarah, then?
Let it go.
Go greet Abby. And Philip?
Abby and Philip. Banksia Bay’s perfect couple.
CHAPTER FOUR
RAFF was waiting on the veranda and Abby felt her breath catch in her throat. She came close to heading straight back down the mountain.
What was it with this man? She was well over her childhood crush. She’d decided today that it was the uniform making him sexy, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform now.
He was in faded jeans and an old T-shirt, stretched a bit tight.
He looked good enough to …
To get away from fast.
He was leaning idly against the veranda post, big, loose-limbed, absurdly good-looking. He was standing with crossed arms, watching her walk towards him. Simply watching.
His eyes said caution.
She didn’t need the message. Caution? She had it in spades.
‘Where’s Kleppy?’ she asked, and she knew she sounded snappy but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
‘Phil’s still on his wild night out?’
‘Cut it out, Raff.’
‘Sorry,’ he said. Then he hesitated and his eyes narrowed. ‘Nope. Come to think of it, I’m not sorry. Why are you marrying that stuffed shirt?’
‘Don’t be insulting.’
‘He’s wealthy,’ Raff conceded. ‘Parents own half Banksia Bay. He’s making a nice little income himself. Or a big income. He’s already bought the dream home. He’s starting to look almost as wealthy as Baxter. You guys will be set for life.’
‘Stop it,’ she snapped. ‘Just because he’s a responsible citizen …’
‘I’m responsible now. Maybe even more responsible than you. What have you got on Baxter that I don’t know about?’
‘You think Philip and I would ever do anything illegal?’
‘Maybe