Mills & Boon Showcase. Christy McKellen
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I built.’
‘So you’re her landlord?’
‘The other guy was ripping her off on her rent.’
And Ben always looked after his own.
Sandy remembered how fiercely protective he’d been of his family. How stubbornly loyal. He would have been just as protective of his wife and son.
No wonder he had gone away when he’d lost them. What had brought him back to Dolphin Bay, with its tragic memories?
He turned to face her, his face composed, no hint from his expression that he might have been about to kiss her just minutes ago.
‘It was good of you to play along with me to make her happy. I just had to get her into that ambulance and on her way. Thank you.’
She shrugged. ‘No problem. I’d like someone to do the same for my grandmother.’
He glanced down at his watch. ‘Now you’d better go have your lunch before they close down the kitchen. Sorry I can’t join you, but—’
‘But what?’ Sandy tilted her head to one side. She put up her hand in a halt sign. ‘Am I missing something here? Aren’t you meant to be showing me the bookshop?’
Ben swivelled back to face her. He frowned. ‘Why would you want to see the bookshop?’
‘Because I’ve volunteered to look after it for your aunt until you find someone else. I promised. Remember? Crossed my heart and—’
He cut across her words. ‘But that wasn’t serious. That was just you playing along with me so she’d go to the hospital. Just a tactic...’
Vehemently, she shook her head. ‘A tactic? No it wasn’t. I meant it, Ben. I said I’d help out for a few days and I keep my word.’
‘But don’t you have an interview in Melbourne?’
‘Not until next Friday, and today’s only Saturday. I was planning on meandering slowly down the coast...’
She thought regretfully of the health spa she’d hoped to check in to for a few days of much needed pampering. Then she thought of the concern in Ida’s eyes.
‘But it’s okay. I’m happy to play bookshop for a while. Really.’
‘There’s no need to stay, Sandy. It won’t be a problem to close the shop for a few days until I find a temporary manager.’
‘That’s not what your aunt thinks,’ she said. ‘Besides, it might be useful for my interview to say I’ve been managing a shop.’ She did the quote thing again with her fingers. ‘“Recent retail experience”—yes, that would look good on my résumé.’ An update on her university holiday jobs working in department stores.
Ben was so tight-lipped he was bordering on grim. ‘Sandy, it’s nice of you, but forget it. I’ll find someone. There are agencies for emergency staff.’
Why was he so reluctant to accept such an easy solution to his aunt’s dilemma? Especially when he’d been the one to suggest it?
It wasn’t fair to blame her for not being aware of his ‘tactic’. And she wasn’t—repeat wasn’t—going to let his lack of enthusiasm at the prospect of her working in the bookshop daunt her.
Slowly, she shook her head from side to side. ‘Ben, I gave my word to your great-aunt and I intend to keep it.’
She looked to the doorway of Bay Books. Forced her voice to sound steady. ‘C’mon, show me around. I’m dying to see inside.’
Ben hesitated. He took a step forward and then stopped. His face reminded her of those storm clouds that had banked up on the horizon.
Sandy sighed out loud. She made her voice mock scolding. ‘Ben, I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes if you have to tell your aunt I skipped out on her.’
His jaw clenched. He looked at her without speaking for a long second. ‘Is that blackmail, Sandy?’
She couldn’t help a smile. ‘Not really. But, like I said, if I make a promise I keep it.’
‘Do you?’ he asked hoarsely.
The smile froze on her face.
Ben stood, his hands clenched by his sides. Was he remembering those passionately sworn promises to keep their love alive even though she was going back to Sydney at the end of her holiday?
Promises she hadn’t kept because she’d never heard from him? And she’d been too young, too scared, to take the initiative herself.
She’d been wrong not to persist in trying to keep in touch with him. Wrong not to have trusted him. Now she could see that. Twelve years too late she could see that.
‘Yes,’ she said abruptly and—unable to face him—turned on her heel. ‘C’mon, I need to check out the displays and you need to show me how to work the register and what to do about special orders and all that kind of stuff.’
She knew she was chattering too quickly, but she had to cover the sudden awkwardness between them.
She braced herself and looked back over her shoulder. Was he just going to stay standing on the footpath, looking so forbidding?
No. With an exhaled sigh that she hoped was more exasperated than angry, he followed her through the door of Bay Books.
* * *
As Ben walked behind Sandy—forcing himself not to be distracted by the sway of her shapely behind—he cursed himself for being such an idiot. His impulsive ploy to placate Idy with a white lie about Sandy staying to help out had backfired badly.
How could he have forgotten just what a thoughtful, generous person Sandy could be? In that way she hadn’t changed since she was eighteen, insisting on helping his mother wash the dishes at the guesthouse even though she’d been a paying guest.
Of course Sandy wouldn’t lie to his great-aunt. He should have realised that. And now here she was, insisting on honouring her ‘promise’.
The trouble was, the last thing he wanted was his old girlfriend in town, reminding him of what he’d once felt for her. What he didn’t want to feel again. Not for her. Not for anyone.
Point-blank, he did not want Sandy helping out at Bay Books. Did not want to be faced by her positive get-up-and-go-for-it attitude, her infectious laugh and—he couldn’t deny it—her lovely face and sexier-than-ever body.
He gritted his teeth and determined not to fall victim to her charm.
But as she moved through the store he couldn’t help but be moved by her unfeigned delight in what some people called his great-aunt’s latest folly.
He saw the familiar surrounds afresh through her eyes—the wooden bookcases with their frolicking dolphin borders, the magnificent carved wooden counter, the round tables covered in heavy fringed cloths and stacked with books both bestsellers and more off-beat choices, the lamps thoughtfully positioned, the exotic carpets, the promotional posters artfully displayed, the popular children’s corner.
‘I love it—I just love it,’ she breathed. ‘This is how a bookshop should be. Small. Intimate. Connected to its customers.’
Reverently, she stroked the smooth wooden surface of the countertop, caressed with slender pink-tipped fingers the intricate carved dolphins that supported each corner.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘It’s different, all right. On her travels Aunt Ida became good friends with a family of Balinese woodcarvers. She commissioned them to fit out the shop. Had all this shipped over.’
Sandy looked around her, her eyes huge with wonder. ‘It’s unique. Awesome. No wonder your aunt wants it in safe hands.’
Some people might find the shop too quaint. Old-fashioned in a