Shadowing Shahna. Laurey Bright
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wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”
Shahna couldn’t recall when Kier ever had done anything he didn’t want to. But why would he want to do this? “You’re not used to babies,” she reminded him, torn between a stupid desire to make the most of the short time he’d be here, and a fear that he might find out more than she wanted him to know about her feelings for him.
“You’ll be here,” he reminded her, “if we have any problems. Right, Sam?”
He held out his hands invitingly to Samuel, who regarded him with suspicion for a moment, then said in a tone of pleased discovery, “Kee!” And reached for him.
Doubtfully, Shahna relinquished the child into Kier’s waiting arms. “I don’t know…”
“He’ll be fine. And if he’s not I’ll call you,” Kier promised.
He wouldn’t need to. She’d hear if Samuel were upset. “Your washing,” she said. “I was going to hang it on the line outside.”
“I’ll do it.”
Shahna hovered uncertainly, but Samuel was absorbed in a renewed inspection of Kier’s face, his scrutiny just as fascinated and far less covert than her own earlier, and Kier seemed to be returning the compliment.
Samuel grunted, then pointed an imperious finger to the toy basket, now tidied and placed on top of the settle.
“You want to play?” Kier asked. “Okay.”
Neither of them was taking the slightest notice of Shahna, so with faint trepidation she left them to it.
It was difficult to concentrate as she gently shaped lengths of delicate silver wire, to be set with pieces of polished amber-gold kauri gum.
Gradually she became absorbed in the work, clearing her mind of everything else. Hearing Kier’s voice, she looked out of the open doorway and saw him dump a basket of washing on the ground, where Samuel sat under the single wire that had been strung between the trees and the house and was held up by an old-fashioned manuka-branch clothes prop. Kier had found the container of plastic clothes-pegs that had a hook for hanging it on the line, but when Samuel stretched out a hand he placed it in front of the baby.
“Mistake,” Shahna murmured, and couldn’t help smiling as Samuel promptly upended the pegs all over the ground.
Kier laughed, and laughed again when Samuel laboriously picked one up and offered it to him. She heard him say, “Thanks, pal,” as he took the peg and fished a towel out of the basket of washing.
Shahna watched as he inexpertly hung up the towel and picked out another, before she turned back to what she was doing, smothering a nagging sadness that had settled around her heart and that mingled, confusingly, with an undeniable pleasure at just having him in sight.
Accustomed to keeping an ear cocked for the sound of Samuel waking from a nap in the room just a few yards from the studio, she heard him when he began to fuss, and was getting up from her workbench when Kier appeared in the doorway, holding the baby.
“I think he needs changing,” he told her, and thankfully handed the wriggling, indignant little bundle over to her.
As she took Samuel from him, Kier looked beyond her and said, “Mind if I look around?”
“Go ahead,” she invited after an infinitesimal hesitation, and bore her son off to the house.
Kier walked around the small room, where the long-nosed pliers Shahna had been using lay on a sturdy workbench under the single window. Tools hung on the walls, and a high padlocked cupboard occupied one corner.
A collection of photographs almost covered a large corkboard. Landscapes, pictures of rippling water and of wave patterns on sand, mixed with close-ups of ferns and moss, leaves and flowers. And display shots of necklaces, pendants, brooches and bangles, echoing the nature photos so closely he could clearly see where the inspiration for the jewelry came from.
He recognized the necklace that had caught his eye at the airport, rippled titanium and uneven pieces of green and white beach glass etched with abstract designs, distinctive in its unique, almost rugged beauty.
When he’d seen Shahna’s label it felt as if fate had struck him a blow in the heart. For months he’d been trying to convince himself he didn’t give a damn, that except for the worrying dreams and the residual baffled anger that occasionally attacked him, he was over her.
Until her name on a cardboard tag, catching his eye, squeezing a tight fist about his heart, had proved to him that he wasn’t.
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