Dreaming Of You. Margaret Way
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real!’
‘People who aren’t afraid of hard work,’ Connor said right behind her. ‘People who care.’
‘You’re pinning the wrong traits on the wrong girl.’ She seized the jug and filled it.
He leant his hip against the sink. ‘I don’t think so. In fact, I know I’m not.’
She would not look into those autumn-tinted eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, she lifted a mug in his direction in a silent question. Common courtesy demanded she at least offer him coffee. After all, he had supplied the pastries.
‘Love one,’ he said with that infuriating cheerfulness that set her teeth on edge.
He didn’t speak while she made the coffees. She handed him one and made the mistake of glancing into those eyes. Things inside her heated up and melted down, turned to mush.
No mush, she ordered.
That didn’t work so she dragged her gaze away to stare out of the window.
‘Clara Falls needs you, Jaz.’
‘But I don’t need Clara Falls.’
He remained silent for so long that she finally turned and met his gaze. The gentleness in his eyes made her swallow.
‘That’s where I think you’re wrong. I think you need Clara Falls as much as you ever did. I think you’re still searching for the same security, the same acceptance now as you did when you were a teenager.’
Very carefully, she set her coffee down because throwing it all over Connor would be very poor form…and dangerous. The coffee was hot. Very hot. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘You might not want to admit it, but you know I’m right.’
‘Garbage! You’re the guy with rocks in his head, remember?’
‘Frieda knew it too. It’s why she wanted you to come back.’
Her mother’s name was like a punch to the solar plexus. She wanted to swing away but there wasn’t much swinging room in the kitchenette, and to leave meant walking—squeezing—past Connor. If he tried to prevent her from leaving, it would bring them slam-bang up against each other—chest-to-chest, thigh-to-thigh. She wasn’t risking that.
She tossed her head. ‘How do you know what my mother thought?’
He glanced down into his coffee and it hit her then. ‘You…the pair of you talked about me… behind my back?’
‘We’d have been happy to do it to your face, Jaz, if you’d ever bothered to come back.’
Guilt swamped her. And regret. How could she have put her mother through so much? Frieda had only ever wanted Jaz’s happiness. Jaz had returned that love by refusing to set foot back in Clara Falls. She’d returned that love by breaking her mother’s heart.
Connor swore at whatever he saw in her face. He set his mug down and took a step towards her. Jaz seized her coffee, held it in a gesture that warned him he’d wear it if he took another step. ‘Don’t even think about it!’ If he touched her, she’d cry. She would not cry in front of him.
He settled back against the sink.
‘I know I am responsible for my mother’s death, Connor. Rubbing my nose in that fact, though, hardly seems the friendly thing to do.’
Frown lines dug furrows into his forehead, drew his eyebrows down low over his eyes. ‘What the hell…! You are not responsible for Frieda’s suicide.’
He believed that, she could tell. She lifted her chin. He could believe what he liked. She knew the truth.
He straightened. ‘Jaz, I—’
‘I don’t particularly want to talk about this, Connor. And, frankly, no offence intended, but nothing you say will make the slightest scrap of difference.’
‘How big are you going to let that chip on your shoulder grow before you let it bury you?’
‘Chip?’ Her mouth opened and closed but no other words would emerge.
‘Fine, we won’t talk about your mother, but we will talk about Clara Falls and the possibility of you staying on.’
‘There is no possibility. It’s not going to happen so just give it a rest.’
‘You’re not giving yourself or the town the slightest chance on this, Jaz. How fair is that?’
Fair? This had nothing to do with fair. This had to do with putting the past behind her.
‘Have you come back to save your mother’s shop? Or to damn it?’
How could he even ask her that?
‘You need to start getting involved in the local community if you mean to save it. Even if you are only here for twelve months.’
She didn’t have to do any such thing.
‘The book fair is a start.’
He knew about—?
‘You’ve done a great job on the posters.’
Oh, yes.
‘But you need to let the local people see that you’re not still the rebel Goth girl.’
Darn it! He had a point. She didn’t want to admit it but he did have a point.
‘You need to show people that you’re all grown up, that you’re a confident and capable businesswoman now.’
Was that how he saw her?
She dragged her hands back through her hair to help her think, but as Connor followed that action she wished she’d left her hands exactly where they were. Memories pounded at her. She remembered the way he used to run his fingers through her hair, the way he’d massaged her scalp, how it had soothed and seduced at the same time. And being a confident and capable businesswoman didn’t seem any defence at all.
‘The annual Harvest Ball is next Saturday night. I dare you to come as my date.’
He folded his arms. His eyes twinkled. He looked good enough to eat. She tried to focus her mind on what he’d said rather than…other things. ‘Why?’ Why did he want to take her to the ball?
‘It’ll reintroduce you to the local community, for a start, but also…it occurred to me that while it’s all well and good for me to preach to you about staying here in Clara Falls and making it a better place, I should be doing that too. I think it’s time Mr Sears had some competition for that councillor’s spot, don’t you?’
She stared at him. ‘You’re going to run for town councillor?’
‘Yep.’
Being seen with her, taking her to the ball, would make a definite statement about what he believed in, about the kind of town he wanted Clara Falls to be. Going to the ball would help her quash nasty rumours about drugs and whatnot too.
‘Our going to the ball…’ she moistened her lips ‘…that would be business, right?’
She’d made her position clear on Saturday during the picnic. He’d agreed—history didn’t repeat. For some reason, though, she needed to double-check.
‘That’s right.’ He frowned. ‘What else would it be?’
‘N…nothing.’
The picture of Frieda she’d started on the bookshop’s wall grew large in her mind. The darn picture she couldn’t seem to finish. Have you come back to save your mother’s shop? Or to damn it?
She wanted to save it. She had to save it.
She shot out her hand. ‘I’ll take you up on that dare.’
He clasped