“We were very fond of him, Freya, and I think he knew that.”
“Oh, thank heavens! I’ve been having awful…forgive me.”
“Awful what?” He looked concerned.
“Nothing, honestly, nothing.” Freya smiled, relieved beyond measure that her ridiculous suspicions about him were unfounded.
At that moment Ian walked past the window, and Flynn frowned.
“He’s back, is he?”
“What?” Freya turned. “Oh, Ian, yeah. He’s working here three mornings a week at the moment. Do you know him?”
“Of him. Nobody in this town really knows Ian.”
The kitchen door was open, and Ian leaned in, placing his empty cup on the countertop.
His dark eyes narrowed upon seeing Flynn. “I’ll be off when I’ve cleaned the tools. Thanks, Freya, lovely coffee. See ya, Mr. O’Neill.” He walked down the garden whistling.
Flynn, still frowning, looked at Freya. “Don’t let him get too close.”
Freya waved her hand. “I can deal with him, but tell me what little you do know about him.”
“It’s common knowledge that his pop died of cancer, then his mom soon after from a seizure. He doesn’t work apart from odd jobs so I expect he must be on assistance. He lives on his own over the old garage on Mount Road, and gardened for Archie. That’s about it.”
“Do you know why he stopped working here? I ask because the garden’s pretty overgrown. He apparently stopped nine months ago because Archie said something like there was no point in looking after the garden any longer as he hadn’t much time left.”
“Archie said that! I wonder…?”
“What?”
Flynn looked thoughtful. “If he was ill. Gramps suspects he could have been.”
“I hope that’s not the case, though I suppose it probably is.” Freya sighed. “It would certainly answer a few questions.”
“Yeah, well, I’d better be going.” Flynn put his cup on the table. “Um, changing the subject, you appeared to enjoy yourself yesterday. Tim looked quite smitten.”
Freya quelled the urge to giggle and raised her eyebrows. “Really!” she said.
“Don’t try and sound surprised.” Flynn’s eyes glittered, amused. “You know you attract male attention. Darn it, even old Mickey’s fallen under your spell!”
He’d moved closer to her. Freya stepped back and leaned on the countertop, folding her arms across her chest.
She looked up at him. “Spell? Makes me sound like a witch. And I’m sure that’s not how Tim sees me. Not,” she added with a smile, “that I’m prepared to discuss him with you.”
“I see.”
Freya’s pulse raced. She had to keep her cool, but heavens, this close to… Her eyelids fluttered. She could feel the heat from his body, remembered how it had felt pressed against her own.
Flynn put his hands on either side of her waist on the countertop and said softly, “Are you playing games with me?”
“No, I am not!” Freya moved his arm and stepped aside. “I’m very thankful to you for your help with the gun, you’ve been kind inviting me to your home… What?” She stopped, seeing a lazy smile curve his mouth.
“It seems the lady doth protest too much!” he said.
Freya stared at him. “Is that what you think? As I said, I’m grateful for your help, nothing more. Contrary to what you may be thinking, I am not playing games.” She lifted her chin defiantly.
“Fine.” Flynn shrugged nonchalantly, but his blue eyes had darkened.
They both started as Lucy walked in.
“Oh! Sorry,” she said.
Freya stepped forward and grabbed her hand. “Lucy, meet Flynn O’Neill.” And she watched as Flynn bestowed his devastating smile on Lucy and told her it was a pleasure to meet her.
“You’ve come at just the right time of year,” he said. “We’re having lovely weather. Enjoy the rest of your stay.” He turned to Freya and grinned. “See ya later.”
He walked from the kitchen, and not many seconds later they heard his car race off.
“Well!” Lucy said. “No wonder…”
Freya grinned. “Nice, eh?”
She went down the hall to close the door properly and was startled to see Ian.
He’d appeared by the porch, eyes alight with unconcealed interest, and she wondered just how much he’d heard.
“Hi, Ian, have you finished for the day?”
“Yup. I’m on my way.”
“Okay. Oh, I’ve just remembered, what can I do about mesh or fly screens for the upstairs windows?”
Ian grinned. “Local critters misbehaving? Not a problem. There’s a guy on Wilson Street measures and fits them. I’ll call in next time I’m in town.” And collecting his bike, he walked it partway down the drive before hopping on and pedaling away.
Freya walked back into the kitchen.
Lucy was pouring coffee. “Is that your gardener guy?”
“It is. I feel so sorry for him, poor kid. Now, is there anything in particular you’d like to do today, Luce?”
»»•««
Over the next two weeks, Freya spent her money cautiously.
“The brickwork needs repointing in places, the roof tiles definitely need attention, as do the guttering and pipework,” she explained to Lucy. “The electric and plumbing bills made a huge dent in my savings, so for now the inside of the house will have to make do with a good cleaning.”
Lucy nodded. “We can do that. The kitchen is lovely, that fifties look is really appealing.”
“It will have to stay that way! Can you imagine the cost of replacing it? It would put a serious drain on my resources. I need,” she added, “a healthy income to keep this place up to scratch. I want to keep it. Since coming here, Lucy, I’ve felt so close to my father. I’m forever wondering how different my life would have been had he been part of it. Most certainly I would have visited his island, Arran.”
“Yeah. But hey.” Lucy frowned. “If money’s becoming an issue, honey, why not sell to Flynn?”
“I will have to at some point, but for now I wonder if I could put the house to use. What do you think?”
Lucy’s face brightened. “I can actually see this as a boutique B&B.” “Wonderful outlook, large airy rooms, and a trained physiotherapist on call to give relaxing massages! And the icing on the cake—a golf course at the bottom of the garden. Imagine the rates you could charge.”
Freya felt a surge of anticipation. She would try to make something of the place. She looked at her friend. “Physio on call? You’re thinking of relocating?”
“You know, I think I’d like to very much. I’m looking into working at clinics in either San Jose or San Francisco. I’m sure I’d soon find a small apartment. That would suit me great.”
“Maybe I’ll consider it,” Freya said hugging her. “I’m delighted you’ll be on the same coast as me.”
Chapter Eleven
Since the barbeque, Freya had seen Tim twice, both times for a coffee in town, and had really enjoyed his company. But Freya knew there could never be anything other than friendship between them, just as she knew her attraction to Flynn, the effect he had on her, was something she had no control over. He continued to haunt her thoughts, and not seeing him actually intensified those feelings.
Lucy had gone into San Jose on the train to look at a huge fabric store there. They’d decided to replace all the dusty curtains, buy a sewing machine, and Lucy, an adept sewer, would make new ones. Freya looked around the kitchen. It was a lovely room but needed a bit of something to brighten it if she was going into business. She recalled Margaret’s furniture. Grabbing her car keys, she locked the house and drove to Morvenna.
»»•««
Margaret, busy with a customer, looked up and smiled seeing her. Freya wandered around the shop, delighting in the range of customized finishes, in particular the antique cream look.
Margaret, finally free, came to greet her. “Hello there, Freya, lovely to se
e you. How are you?”
“I’m good. And you?”
“Too busy sometimes, but mustn’t grumble.”
“Ah…”
“Ah?”
Freya laughed. “I was going to inquire about an old fixed dresser in the kitchen. I love this finish,”—she ran her hand over the piece—“but I understand if you’re too busy to do it.”
“Honestly, Freya, I’d love to say yes, but you’d have to wait ages before I could get around to you. I have a list as long as my arm! Tell you what, though. How about I instruct you how to prepare it? That’s what takes so long, you see.”
“I think I could do that.”
“There we are then.” Margaret laughed. “You do all the donkey work and I come in at the end to do the distressing? I can have that done in no time.”
“That would be great. Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”
“Positive. Come over here and choose the color you want. Oh, by the way, I’m a grandmother at long last. Donna had a little boy two days ago.”
“Congratulations, Margaret. How wonderful. So Flynn’s an uncle?”
She could have bitten her tongue off. Why hadn’t she commented on the fact that Mickey was a great-grandfather instead? It would have been a far more appropriate thing to say.
Margaret turned, paint charts in her hand, a wry smile on her face as she surveyed Freya. “Yes, indeed he is.” She pointed to a light cream color. “How about this? It’s a favorite of mine.”
“I really like it.” Freya’s face had flooded with heat under Margaret’s scrutiny. She felt sure it was the same color as her hair.
“Good. Now this is primer. Are you sanding down or stripping?”
“Sanding, I think.”
“It is best, but hard work on your arms! Anyway, make sure the wood is clean and apply the primer. When that’s completely dry, two, maybe three coats of undercoat, followed by the top coat, and then it will be ready for me.”
“So I could do all the cupboards? I don’t mean distress them, just paint the cupboard and drawer doors.”
“Oh, yes. Absolutely. As for the dresser, give me a call as soon as you’re ready and I’ll do my best to fit you in quickly.” Margaret smiled. “And you must come and visit Mickey, he hasn’t stopped talking about you. Call in any time.” Margaret walked to the door with her. “See the side street there? Well just go to the bottom. Ours is the Spanish-looking place on the right-hand side. Mickey has his own quarters around the back. He’s invariably in the garden.”
“I’ll do that, thanks.”
“Don’t you forget now,” Margaret said with a smile.
»»•««
On the main street, Freya found a trendy kiddy boutique and bought two tiny blue outfits and a card. With them wrapped, she was walking back to Margaret’s shop when she spotted the silver car parked outside. Her heart pounded.
Quickly walking into the shop, seeing Margaret yet again involved with a customer and Flynn not in sight, she left the gift and card on the counter, caught Margaret’s eye, and waved.
“For Donna,” Freya mouthed and was rewarded with a cheery grin.
The days, though cooling down, were still clear and crisp with cloudless blue skies, but the drive home failed to lift her spirits as it usually did.
And all because of Flynn, or rather, lack of him. The expectancy when she’d walked into the shop, the dart of disappointment when she hadn’t seen him gave her pause for thought. Was it as she was beginning to suspect? Had she fallen in love with him? She shifted in the seat and wound the window down, welcoming the cool air on her face.
No. It was far too soon. People didn’t fall in love so quickly and easily. It was pure physical attraction, nothing more.
She turned into the driveway of her home as a taxi was coming down. Lucy was waiting on the porch step, two bags at her feet.
“Hi,” she called. “Lots of samples to look at.”
Freya hauled the sewing machine out of the trunk. “You’re going to be busy.”
“I’d better get started then.”
Lucy followed Freya into the kitchen and dropped the samples on the table.
“I could eat a horse,” she said.
Freya laughed. “Chicken and salad do?”
“Great. Busy day?”
“Not really. Saw Margaret about the dresser. I’m going to paint it. She’s now a grandmother…”
“And?” Lucy waited.
Freya smiled. “Madness, isn’t it? I’d popped into a shop to buy something for Margaret’s new grandson, was on my way back to her place when I saw Flynn’s car parked outside, and honestly, Luce, the disappointment when he wasn’t there…well, he would have been there somewhere, but I didn’t see him.”
Freya carried a bag of greens to the counter. “My feelings are confused. I keep asking myself what is the difference between love and deep attraction. Is there one? I mean, don’t all love affairs start with a strong mutual attraction, and that out-of-control feeling, the need to lay eyes on that one particular person? I’ve known him such a very short time, yet all I want is to re-create that wonderful moment in his arms at the barbeque.” She hugged herself.
Lucy was smiling. “Then you must do something about it.”
∙•∙
“I missed her, did I? Where did she go?” Flynn looked out onto the busy street.
“I didn’t ask!” His mother sounded amused.
“So what brought her in?” Flynn idly played with a pen.
“A couple of things. A gift for the baby, and she’d like me to paint that fixed dresser in the kitchen. I said I’d do it, of course. She doesn’t mind waiting and is quite prepared to do all the prep work.”
Flynn grunted. He could have kicked himself for missing the chance to talk to her. “Did she…did she mention the barbeque?”
His mother raised one eyebrow. “No. She thanked us on the day. What else is there to say? You, my boy,” she added with a grin, “are as easy to read as an open book. What’s annoying you? The fact that she’s not falling over herself to get to know you? I love you to bits, Flynn, but I have to tell you not every woman finds you irresistible, you know!”
He grinned, unperturbed.
“Okay.” She smiled. “Freya did happen to comment on the fact that you’d become an uncle. I assume that’s what you wanted to hear?”
Flynn chuckled softly. “Aha! Cool. She had to mention me.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake! Are you coming for dinner by the way? We’re having lasagna.”
“Yeah, cool, thanks. Catch you later, Ma.” He started whistling. “I’m off to see Donna and the baby.”
He drove toward the hospital in high spirits. He knew that feeling—the need to say a certain someone’s name, for didn’t he do the same thing? The dropping of her name in conversation hadn’t gone unnoticed at the office—to his brother’s amusement and Rochelle’s irritation. Most of all though, it was for his own satisfaction.
“Freya.”
He loved the sound, imagined holding her, whispering it into her neck, and wondered briefly if he was becoming unhinged. The thought made him laugh out loud.
Flynn O’Neill losing it over a woman!
No! Never. He was in complete control! The fact that she could hold him so firmly at arm’s length was a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. All he wanted was to break down that prickly defense of hers, the barrier she seemed to erect whenever he was near, and then he’d be over it. Simple. And with that aim in mind, he went in to visit his sister-in-law and new nephew.
∙•∙
Freya had chosen the fabrics she wanted and Lucy was measuring windows upstairs when the phone rang. It was Donna, thanking her for the lovely outfits. She said she would be leaving the hospital the following day, and if Freya had time, to call in and see her.
“I’d love to. What have you called him by the way?”
Freya closed the phone with a smile. River James O’Neill.
Do
nna had giggled and said that as yet they’d only told her parents and Mike’s the ‘James’ bit. “Though,” she’d added, “I told Flynn this afternoon, and he loved it.”
The phone trilled again, and this time it was Tim. Would she, he asked, like to join him for lunch on Sunday? His parents were over from Miami for a few days, and he’d like to introduce her.
Freya felt herself take a mental step back and wondered how much longer she could keep their relationship on a friendly basis.
“Tim, thanks, but as your family won’t be here for long perhaps they’d appreciate seeing you alone.”
He assured her quietly that, no, he really did want her to be there.
“That will be lovely then,” Freya said.
Lucy came downstairs as she was ending the call.
“Tim,” she said to her. “Wants me to meet his parents on Sunday.”
“Oh.” Lucy turned away. “Nice guy. Lucky you.”
“Yeah. I wish I could feel for him like I do for Flynn. Life would be so uncomplicated knowing a man desired you for yourself alone, not for what you owned and he wanted.”
Lucy studied the pad she was holding. “I’ve measured up. If we phone the order in, we’ll be able to pick it up next week.”
“Luce?”
“What?” Lucy looked up, her face flushed a pale pink.
“Did I say something?”
Lucy smiled and shrugged. “You’re just the lucky one, is all. Two fab men after you.”
Chapter Twelve
River James was a tiny bundle of blue clothes and an amazing amount of brown curly hair.
“The hair’s from me,” Donna said with a smile. “Though it’s the only thing from my side. The O’Neill genes are strong. Look, River sure has inherited them!”
The baby opened his eyes, and as they stared unfocused, Freya saw the deep blue they would soon become. She held him, liking the solid feel of his small body, the way his tiny hand clung onto her finger, and the smell of milk and baby powder. The feeling it caused surprised her—it wasn’t something she’d experienced with Peaches—but reason told her it was only because of the O’Neill blue eyes.
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