Dreaming Of You. Margaret Way
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better.’
‘Give her a chance to explain.’
He reared back from her then and the tan leached from his face, leaving him pale. Her words had shaken him, she could see that, but she hadn’t meant for them to hurt him. From somewhere she dredged up a smile. ‘We all make mistakes when we’re young. I did. You did.’
‘I did,’ Richard piped in too.
‘Find out why she did it before you storm in and fire her. That’s all I’m asking. My arrival has already generated enough hostility as it is.’
Inch by inch, the colour returned to Connor’s face. ‘If I don’t like her explanation, she’s still history.’
‘But you’ll give her an opportunity to explain herself first?’
He glared at her. ‘Yes.’
‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t ask for any fairer than that.
They continued to stare at each other. Connor opened his mouth, a strange light in his eyes that she couldn’t decipher, and every molecule of her being strained towards him. No words emerged from the firm, lean lips, but for a fraction of a second time stood still.
Richard broke the spell. ‘Where were you planning on staying till your stuff arrives, Jaz?’
She dragged her gaze from Connor, tried to still the sudden pounding of her heart. ‘I’ve booked a couple of nights at the Cascade’s Rest.’
Richard let the air whistle out between his teeth. ‘Nice! Treating yourself?’
‘I have a thing for deep spa-baths.’ She had a bigger thing for the anonymity that five-star luxury could bring. She couldn’t justify staying there for more than a couple of nights, though. ‘How long before the flat will be ready?’
‘A week to ten days,’ Connor said flatly.
She turned back to Richard. ‘Is there a bed and breakfast you’d recommend?’
‘Gwen Harwood’s on Candlebark Street,’ he said without hesitation.
Unbidden, a smile broke out from her. ‘Gwen?’ They’d been friends at school. The five of them— Connor, Richard, Gwen, Faye and herself. They’d all hung out together.
‘Look, Jaz.’ Connor raked a hand back through the sandy thickness of his hair. ‘I can’t help feeling responsible for this, and…’
And what? Did he mean to offer her a room too?
Not in this lifetime!
She strove for casual. ‘And you have plenty of room, right?’ Given all that had passed between them, given all that he thought of her, would he really offer her a room, a bed, a place to stay? The idea disturbed her and anger started to burn low down in the pit of her stomach. If only he hadn’t jumped to conclusions eight years ago. If only he’d given her a chance to explain. If only he’d been this nice then!
It’s eight years. Let it go.
She wanted to let it go. With all her heart she wished she could stop feeling like this, but the anger, the pain, had curved their claws into her so fiercely she didn’t know how to tear them free without doing more damage.
She needed him to stay away. ‘I don’t think so!’
The pulse at the base of Connor’s jaw worked. ‘I wasn’t going to offer you a room,’ he ground out. ‘You’ll be happier at Gwen’s, believe me. But I will deduct the cost of your accommodation from my final bill.’
Heat invaded her face, her cheeks. She wished she could climb under the counter and stay there. Of course he hadn’t meant to offer her a place to stay. Why would he offer her of all people—her—a place to stay? Idiot!
‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Pride made her voice tart. ‘I had every intention of arriving in Clara Falls today and staying, whether the flat was ready or not.’ She’d just have given different instructions to the removal company and found a different place to stay.
No staff. Now no flat. Plummeting profits. What a mess! Where on earth was she supposed to start?
‘Jaz?’
She suddenly realised the two men were staring at her in concern. She planted her mask of indifference, of detachment, back to her face in double-quick time. Before either one of them could say anything, she rounded on Connor. ‘I want your word of honour that you will bill me as usual, without a discount for my accommodation. Without a discount for anything.’
‘But—’
‘If you don’t I will hire someone else to do the work. Which, obviously, with the delays that would involve, will cost me even more.’
He glared at her. ‘Were you this stubborn eight years ago?’
No, she’d been as malleable as a marshmallow.
‘Do we have an understanding?’
‘Yes,’ he ground out, his glare not abating in the slightest.
‘Excellent.’ She pasted on a smile and made a show of studying her watch. ‘Goodness, is that the time? If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, it’s time to close the shop. There’s a spa-bath with my name on it waiting for me at the Cascade’s Rest.’
As she led them to the door, she refused to glance into Connor’s autumn-tinted eyes for even a microsecond.
When Jaz finally made it to the shelter of her room at the Cascade’s Rest, she didn’t head for the bathroom with its Italian marble, fragrant bath oils and jet-powered spa-bath. She didn’t turn on a single light. She shed her clothes, leaving them where they fell, to slide between the cold cotton sheets of the queen-sized bed. She started to shake. ‘Mum,’ she whispered, ‘I miss you.’ She rolled to her side, pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. ‘Mum, I need you.’
She prayed for the relief of tears, but she’d forced them back too well earlier in the day and they refused to come now. All she could do was press her face to the pillow and count the minutes as the clock ticked the night away.
JAZ let herself into the bookshop at eight-thirty sharp on Monday morning. She could hear Connor… She cocked her head to one side. She could hear Connor and his men hammering away upstairs already.
She locked the front door and headed out the back to the kitchenette. After a moment’s hesitation, she cranked open the back door to peer outside. Connor’s van—in fact, two vans—had reversed into the residential parking spaces behind the shop, their rear doors propped wide open. Someone clattered down the wooden stairs above and Jaz ducked back inside.
Through the window above the sink, she stared at the sign-writing on the side of the nearest van as she filled the jug— ‘Clara Falls Carpentry’. A cheery cartoon character wearing a tool belt grinned and waved.
A carpenter. Connor?
Had he painted those signs on the vans?
He was obviously very successful, but did it make up for turning his back on his art, his talent for drawing and painting?
There’s nothing wrong with being a carpenter.
Of course not.
And Connor had always been good with his hands. A blush stole through her when she remembered exactly how good.
She jumped when she realised that water overflowed from the now full jug. She turned off the tap and set about making coffee.
Upstairs the banging continued.
Ignore it. Get on with your work.
She had