The Reunion Of A Lifetime: The Reunion of a Lifetime / A Bride to Redeem Him. Fiona Lowe
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I already have a counsellor, so...’
Her brows rose. ‘Prickly.’
He wasn’t touching that but his temper frayed anyway. ‘Can I work or not?’
The cogs of her intelligent mind were reflected in her all-seeing eyes. ‘Until I’m back at work, you can do the morning session and finish at one.’
That’s not enough. ‘It makes more sense for me to do the whole day.’
‘Not from where I’m standing. Do you have any idea how drawn you are? How unkempt you look?’
‘What the hell does that have to do with anything?’
‘It has everything to do with it. A lot of my patients are in better shape than you.’ She sighed. ‘Look, Charlie, I don’t know why you’re fighting your R&R but you need it. My offer’s a four-hour workday for three days and then we’ll review it. Take it or leave it.’
The girl he’d once been able to talk round with flattery and kisses was nowhere to be seen. ‘When did you become such a hardball negotiator?’
She didn’t laugh or smile and she didn’t reply using words—she didn’t have to, it was written all over her face. That’s when he remembered what she’d told him just before the car had careened at them.
Divorced.
He had an unreasonable urge to punch her ex-husband.
* * *
‘Watching paint dry is more exciting than this,’ Charlie grumbled.
‘You have to be patient,’ Shaylee said, her elfin face set in a serious and determined expression. ‘Ian says the fish know if you’re in a bad mood.’
Lauren laughed, loving the way children cut straight through the nonsense. ‘There you go, Charlie. Our lack of fish falls firmly at your feet.’
Instead of rolling his eyes, Charlie grinned at her over the top of Shaylee’s head—all white teeth and sparkling eyes as blue as the sea that lay at their feet. A bolt of pleasure whizzed through her, zeroing in between her legs with a flash of heat, making her thighs tighten and the rest of her twitch. Being friends with Charlie was killing her.
It was Saturday afternoon and they were on the end of the pier, trying to catch dinner. Lauren’s ribs were no longer hurting quite as much and after three days of enforced rest she had a bad case of cabin fever. She’d offered to take Shaylee fishing to free up her parents so they could attend and enjoy an eightieth birthday afternoon tea without worrying about a bored eight-year-old. Lauren wasn’t exactly certain how Charlie had ended up joining them on the pier, especially as he appeared to hate fishing, although she suspected he just hated being still. Was that why he was fighting his R&R? Perhaps she should suggest he do an ecotourism high-adrenaline holiday.
I don’t do relaxation, he’d said. He wasn’t kidding. His line was jiggling up and down in his hand like he had a tremor or a tic. Each day, after his morning session at the clinic, Charlie had called in on her at the cottage and given her a quick handover while he made her lunch. She was positive she hadn’t mentioned the fishing plans to him and yet he’d materialised in the car park just in time to help carry the gear. Why? For a moment she’d toyed with the idea that he’d taken on board her advice to find ways to chill out but, watching him, she knew the idea to be ludicrous.
‘You won’t get a bite if you keep jiggling the rod,’ she said, deliberately glancing away from his seductive smile.
‘I’m creating excitement and anticipation in the fish world by constantly moving the hook.’
She pursed her lips to keep from laughing. ‘Interesting strategy. Want to bet on it?’ Seriously? What are you doing?
His eyes lit up. ‘Fifty bucks?’
‘I was thinking more along the lines of the person who doesn’t hook the first fish fillets the catch.’
‘Let’s take it one step further. The loser fillets and cooks.’
His dimples twinkled at her, making her feel giddy. ‘You’re on, Charlie. I’m so going to win this.’
‘Lauren!’ Shaylee squealed. Her line bobbed up and down wildly.
Charlie shot out his right hand to steady it and Lauren reeled in her own line before scrambling to her feet and kneeling behind Shaylee. ‘Okay, honey, we have to do this slowly.’
‘It’s pulling me,’ Shaylee cried with a hint of fear underneath her excitement.
‘Crikey.’ Charlie tightened his grip. ‘You can’t do this one-handed, Lauren. Reel in my line and I’ll help her.’
She grabbed his rod. ‘Slowly, Charlie. Slowly.’
‘I reckon you’ve caught a brick, Shaylee. Put your hands over mine.’ Charlie played the line, his hands looking large under the little girl’s.
‘Bricks don’t bite hooks, silly.’ But she was gazing up at Charlie as if he was some sort of hero.
Lauren knew that look—a long time ago she’d been guilty of it herself. Now she was wiser. She was never putting a man on a pedestal again. ‘Don’t break the line,’ she instructed—her shame and regret about Jeremy making the words more brusque than necessary.
‘Like that’s my intention,’ Charlie muttered, as he gave the line some slack.
A small crowd of anglers and onlookers gathered around them, many offering suggestions and pondering out loud what Shaylee might have caught.
‘Could be a flathead,’ a tourist offered.
Spiros Papadopoulos rolled his eyes at the ill-informed holidaymaker. ‘Have to be a bloody big one to bow the rod like that. More like salmon or whiting.’
‘What if it’s a shark?’ Shaylee asked, eyes wide.
‘Then we’ll get our picture in the paper.’ Charlie’s excitement matched the little girl’s.
As Charlie followed Spiros’s instructions, Lauren’s gaze fell to the play of muscles on his back, easily seen due to the combination of his current lack of weight and the thin and worn T-shirt. Ever since he’d told her about the cyclone, she’d found herself worrying about him. Being caught up in a natural disaster was bad enough but adding in the car accident made him a prime candidate for PTSD. That was, if he didn’t already have it.
I have a counsellor. But was he telling the counsellor the real story?
Lauren knew smart people were more than capable of using smoke and mirrors to lead counsellors away from the real issue or issues. She had a gut feeling Charlie was doing exactly that to her, let alone a counsellor. Each day at lunch he’d lean casually against the counter and draw her out. ‘Any flashbacks? You sleeping okay? Come on, eat a bit more than that.’
Yesterday, after three days of sitting around doing nothing, she hadn’t been hungry, and after eating half her sandwich she’d handed him the plate. ‘You have the rest.’
He shook his head. ‘Gran’s got lunch waiting for me. I’ll put some cling wrap over this so you can have it later.’
She wanted to believe he ate a late lunch each day with Anna, except the only problem with that was his grandmother was diabetic. If diabetics indulged in late lunches, they risked collapsing. When she added in the fact that Charlie was underweight for his height and breadth, she was certain he wasn’t eating enough. It was the reason that eluded her and brought her full circle back to PTSD.
Or cancer. Or a million other possibilities.
The doctor in her itched to examine him and run a raft of tests. The woman in her wanted to—what? Feed him? Help him? Hug him? Despite trying hard not to want to do anything, she was leaning towards all three.
‘Get