Dreaming Of You: Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep / Outback Bachelor / The Hometown Hero Returns. Margaret Way
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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.’
He strode back and jammed a finger down on the counter between them. ‘You’ll do no such thing!’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘People don’t leave their back doors unlocked in Clara Falls any more, Jaz.’
They didn’t? She stared back at him and wondered why that felt such a loss.
‘And you, I think, have enough trouble without inviting more. Especially of that kind.’
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t having any trouble at all, only her mouth refused to form the lie.
‘Fine, take the key, then.’ She pulled the keys from her pocket and rifled though them. She hadn’t worked out what most of them were for yet.
‘Here, this one looks a likely candidate.’ She held one aloft, sidled out from behind the counter and strode all the way through the shop to the back door again. She fitted the key in the lock. It turned. She wound it off the key ring and shoved it into Connor’s hand. ‘There.’
‘I—’
‘Don’t let your dislike of me disadvantage your men. They’re working hard.’
She refused to meet his gaze, hated the way the golden lights in his eyes were shuttered against her.
‘I wasn’t going to refuse your offer, Jaz.’
That voice—measured and rhythmic, like a breeze moving through a stand of radiata pine.
‘We’ll all welcome the chance of a hot drink and the use of that microwave, believe me.’
Amazingly, he smiled. It was a small one admittedly, wiped off his face almost as soon as it appeared, but Jaz’s pulse did a little victory dance all the same.
‘Do you have a spare? You might need it.’
He held the key between fingers callused by hard work, but Jaz would’ve recognised those hands anywhere. Once upon a time she’d watched them for hours, had studied them, fascinated by the ease with which they’d moved over his sketch pad. Fascinated by the ease with which they’d moved across her body, evoking a response she’d been powerless to hide.