He leaned his weight on one crutch and extended a hand. "I should have introduced myself this afternoon. I'm Zane O'Sullivan, Kree's brother. I'm staying with Julia."
"I know who you are." She ignored his hand. "How long are you staying?"
The look on her face was a carbon copy of the motel manager's. Zane got the message, loud and clear.
"No longer than I can help," he told her with admirable restraint.
He felt her watch him every step of the way into Julia's yard—the perfect end to a hellish couple of hours that had only served to confirm what he'd known all along. The good townspeople of Plenty had long memories, and when it came to Zane O'Sullivan, not one of those memories was good.
* * *
Chapter 9
«^»
Julia pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle her spontaneous squeal of joy, but she couldn't squelch the wide grin that threatened to split her face from ear to ear.
She stared at the prophetic little stick until it turned blurry around the edges. Then in the middle. Then, when she couldn't see anything through her tears, when her wobbly legs refused to support her, she sat. Sniffling like a child, beaming like an idiot, she didn't care that she was sitting on cold bathroom tiles. She touched a trembling hand to her still-flat stomach with awed reverence.
Inside her, a baby grew. Her baby. Hers and Zane's. Despite her suspicions, the possibility had seemed too remote to allow herself to believe, or to succumb to the myriad questions now tumbling through her mind. Including the most insistent.
How could this be so?
Every time he'd used protection. Even when he sank into her body in sleep-dazed mindlessness, he'd withdrawn almost immediately. One of the condoms mustn't have done its job. It was the only explanation, and the most ironic.
All those years with Paul, all her wishing that one might fail, and she had never been so lucky. But then he had always been so meticulous, so measured, so … unlike Zane.
Wild, unpredictable, lightning-bolt Zane.
Oh, dear Lord, how would he take the news? All week she had struggled to suppress the memory of that morning on her veranda when he all but accused her of sleeping with him to fall pregnant.
Oh, dear Lord, how would she break the news?
The idea of hugging it to herself, of stealing some time to simply savor the joy, played a seductive tune around the edges of her conscience. Without very much effort she could even justify it.
You need time to allow this initial fizz to settle, time to consider all the implications. Time to carefully select the right words.
"No." She sat up straight. "You have to tell him. Now, if not sooner."
Except there'd been no sign of him when she'd returned from Cliffton, and the house seemed ominously quiet. In his own words he'd had a big day, so he might be in his room resting. Or he might have packed up and left, despite her plea. Despite her calling in at Bill's and enlisting his help. Perhaps she should just go and knock on his bedroom door. That seemed like the logical thing to do, but Julia hesitated.
She couldn't forget the way he'd looked at her in the garden this afternoon. Couldn't forget the searing impact of his words. I lie in bed every night with only a wall separating us, thinking about you touching me. If she knocked on his door, if she found him there in that bed, she wouldn't be able to think of anything but touching him. She wouldn't be able to concentrate, and oh, how she needed every one of her wits for this conversation.
Sitting there on the floor stewing over it wasn't helping. With a ragged sigh, she pulled herself up from the floor and rubbed some circulation into her numb behind.
Outside his door she paused, waited, heard nothing. As she made her way to her own room she tried not to feel too relieved about the reprieve, or to contemplate the possibility that she might have to go searching for him in the morning.
* * *
She didn't expect to sleep much, and she didn't. Yet Julia rose with more energy than she'd felt for months. Oh, she didn't fool herself that the juices coursing through her system derived from anything other than pure nerves, but after she'd defrosted the refrigerator, hung three loads of washing and scrubbed the bathroom until the tiles gleamed, she was still jumping.
And she was still alone.
She thought about walking Mac, rejected it. Thought about calling in at Bill's and rejected that thought, as well. But she walked, nonetheless, with long, invigorating strides, for mile after mile. Strangely, the activity seemed to feed her strength rather than sap it—or perhaps that was due to her increasingly resolute frame of mind.
In the long run Zane's reaction didn't matter. Oh, she knew his negative response would have the power to hurt her very badly, but, if necessary, she would do this alone. Could do this alone. She would be the best mother she could be, with or without Zane at her side.
Lost in thought, she would have walked right past her gate but for the sound of the screen door clicking shut.
Her stomach lurched with a sick mix of nerves and dread as she swung around. A man loped down the path and through the front gate, then stopped dead in his tracks.
"Tim." Not the man she'd been expecting to see. "What are you doing here?"
"Hoping I might bump into you, actually."
With a sinking heart, she noticed how pleased he looked to see her. She shouldn't have gone out with him, shouldn't have let him kiss her, and definitely shouldn't have let him think he could call her again. All because she'd been too weak to tell him it wouldn't work. That she'd felt nothing.
"I tried calling last night and earlier this morning but only got your machine. I know it's a bit last minute, but a few of us are taking a hike through the Tibba and I hoped you might join me … us … no, me." He laughed self-consciously and tucked his hands into the pockets of his cords. "Your flatmate said he didn't know when you'd be back. Talk about good timing."
Julia felt an insane desire to laugh. Good timing? Could he have chosen a worse day? "I'm sorry. Tim, but I have plans."
"Maybe another time? With more notice?"
"I don't think—" Phew, this was difficult. Involuntarily, her gaze flicked to the shadowy veranda. Zane was there, watching. Listening? She seemed to be saying this a lot lately, but again it was apt. "I don't think that's a good idea."
Color bled into Tim's face as he followed the direction of her gaze. She'd forgotten he was an accountant, quick to add two and two. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. Chantal led me to believe you were … unattached."
Unattached? Perhaps unencumbered would have been a better choice of adjective. She blew out a puff of breath.
"Yes, well, that's my fault. Chantal didn't know the situation had … changed. I'm sorry, Tim, I truly am."
* * *
He should make himself scarce. Now, while she was waving Volvo Man, Mark II, goodbye. But Zane couldn't bring himself to move any more than he could stop himself grinding gears over her visitor. What was it with her and men who drove Volvos? Apart from the fact that they smelled like money instead of sweat and hard work. Not that it was any of his business. He should just take himself inside or out back, anywhere he wasn't tempted to start interrogating her. Except she was coming up the path, and the first question was already there. On his tongue. "Friend of yours?"
She gave a slight shrug. "We went out once."
"And he wants to take you out again." It was a statement, not a question. Of course he would want to take her out again. What man wouldn't?
"A group's going hiking, and he asked me to join them."
"And?"
She leaned back against a solid veranda post and looked right at him. "I told him I had other plans."
For a moment he became tangled in the intricate web of her eyes, in the concept that she'd sent Volvo Man on his way because her plans all involved hot, horizontal and him. And then he remembered. "The fence."
"There is that." She looked down at her feet, and Zane followed her gaze. Watched her cross one slender ankle over the othe
r, then back again. Nervously? "To be honest, the fence was an excuse of sorts to keep you here."
His gaze rocketed to her face; his body rocketed to attention. She wanted to keep him here… "Because?"
"So I can talk to you."
"About what I said yesterday afternoon?"
"Not really … or perhaps a little." She blew out a breath that seemed to catch in the middle. It definitely caught at Zane, caught and tugged everything at least six holes tighter. "I did have an ulterior motive in wanting you here."
Blood surged through his veins. Euphoria surged through his brain. She wanted him. Here. Forget semantics, forget willpower, forget complications. Forget the bed with sheets still tangled from another sleepless night. Another night of wanting, of not having…
He crossed the three steps separating them in two. Barely caught the surprised rounding of her eyes, the impulsive touch of tongue to bottom lip, before he pressed her back against the post. Hard body perfectly aligned with soft. Then his hands were buried in her hair and his mouth was sucking up her gasp of surprise, and he was kissing her, tasting her, lapping up her essence. How had he lived eight weeks without it?
He tore his mouth away, but not his body. "If I've got your ulterior motive wrong, you better speak up now."
Hips pressed hard against hers, he felt her body's soft yielding, then the touch of her hand on his cheek. He lifted his head, looked down into her troubled hazel eyes, and in the periphery of his awareness heard another vehicle slow and brake. "If that's another Volvo, I won't be responsible for my actions."
A car door slammed, and she let go a husky laugh. "Do you suppose if I hide here behind you, whoever it is might just go away?"
Zane rested his chin on top of her head and caught a glimpse of whoever it was before he ducked down to open the back door of his Land Rover. "You could and he might, but I think you'd be sorry later." Reluctantly, he unsnagged her fingers from his shirtfront and stepped back. "It's your brother."
Blinking slowly, she straightened, moistened her mouth and turned. A second later she was hurtling down the path, laughing and talking and throwing herself into Mitch's arms—not an easy task when Mitch's arms were already full of a wriggling, squealing child.
Then Mitch dropped an affectionate kiss on the top of her head, and Zane felt a solid punch to the solar plexus. It left him breathless, off-balance, disturbed, and he turned away abruptly. Left them to their touching family reunion. But long after he closed the door at his back he could still hear her laughter, could still see the look of delight on the kid's face as he fastened his arms around her neck. Could still feel an unaccountable emptiness where he'd felt that punch of reaction.
* * *
Somewhere around midnight the previous night he'd given up trying to sleep. By the light of a three-quarter moon he'd prowled the yard, tossed sticks for Mac, and then drawn up a mental plan for the fence. Julia's approval was pending, but whatever her final decision on materials, the fence needed posts. Posts needed holes. And the prospect of attacking raw earth with a sharp-edged steel implement fit his current mood like a glove.
Fifteen minutes later he threw down the shovel in frustration. His injured knee screamed, No more. He needed a post-hole digger. He needed Julia to go fetch it. He was leaning on the shovel, the notion of asking for help stuck tight in his craw, when the back door crashed open to expel a fair-haired boy like a shot from a pistol.
The pocket dynamo made a beeline for Mac, and Zane barely had time to form the association—small unknowing child, large exuberant dog—before the two came together in a rolling, squealing, barking tumble of legs and arms and fur. Zane's heart stuttered with alarm. He rushed toward them, whistling at Mac, who paid him no heed. It took another slow angsty second before he remembered both dog and kid belonged to Mitch. And the kid's only danger lay in being licked to death.
He collapsed onto the garden bench. Closed his eyes. Adrenaline still coursed through his body. And his bloody knee was throbbing again. It was time he started looking after it better or he would end up back in the hospital. He would be stuck here forever recuperating. Forever wanting Julia, continually being interrupted, eternally hard and frustrated.
Something bumped into his good leg and he opened his eyes to find the boy staring up at him with wide solemn eyes. They were so like Julia's he could only stare back. Couldn't think of a damn thing to say.
"Is your leg broke?"
Zane cleared his throat. "You might say that."
"What broke it?"
"I fell out of a tree."
The kid's brow puckered. "What was you doing in a tree?"
Zane didn't think he should mention the real reason. He was still trying to think of an alternate when he heard the back door open and close. He knew it was Julia without looking.
"I see you two have met."
"Not formally."
"He fell out of a tree. Was it that tree?" One pudgy finger pointed at the big cedar in the corner.
"He is Zane, and I won't let him climb my tree, either."
"Damn blast."
"Joshua Goodwin! Where did you hear that?"
"Daddy said it." The kid—Joshua—smiled unapologetically. "Does your leg hurt?"
"All the time," Julia answered for him. "Now, how about we take Mac for a walk?"
"You wanna come, too?" he asked. Zane.
"Love to, but my leg needs rest." He glanced at Julia. "Where's Mitch?"
"Hey, Joshua. You remember where we keep Mac's leash?" she called brightly. Only when the kid was out of earshot did she turn troubled eyes on him. "Mitch had to go. Joshua is staying with us for a little while."
"Us?"
Maybe it had been a slip of the tongue, but she didn't correct him, and he couldn't ignore the silent appeal shining in her eyes. Joshua was already racing across the lawn toward them, the leash dragging in his wake. Zane nodded his understanding. "You can explain later."
* * *
Later turned out to be much later. Between Joshua's needs and fence construction dramas—Zane insisted on digging, she insisted on hiring help, he insisted on laboring for the contractor—they had no time alone until after she'd fed, bathed and read Joshua to sleep. Then she collapsed onto the sofa.
"You want tea?" Zane asked from the kitchen.
She noticed he'd done all the cleaning up. She noticed nothing stood in the way of conversation, nothing but a need to gather her thoughts. In twelve hours she hadn't spared her pregnancy one of those scattered thoughts. Whenever her mind had wandered during the long day, it had been to revisit the staggering unexpectedness of that morning kiss. To wonder what might have happened if Mitch had happened along half an hour later.
"You still with us?"
Julia realized she'd been sitting there staring at him, his question unanswered. And she didn't need to answer, because he was sliding a cup of tea onto the table at her side. "Thanks, I absolutely need that. I'd forgotten how tiring a three-year-old can be."
"You should try twins."
The sofa dipped as he sat at the other end, and, tucking her feet up, Julia turned so she could face him. "Lisa said you coped amazingly well."
"Yeah, well, I did what I could."
Julia stifled a smile. Earlier he'd shrugged off her praise for his amazing job on the fence in similar fashion. And he looked so disarmingly gruff, so uncomfortable, so cute, she just wanted to crawl down there and hug him. Then he shifted position slightly, moving one arm to rest along the back of the sofa, and the overhead light caught the shifting curve of muscle in his upper arm. Heat, instant and unexpected, whipped through her body.
No. Zane O'Sullivan wasn't cute. He was downright dangerous.
"So what's the story with Mitch?"
Julia blinked. Mitch. What was the story with Mitch? She cleared her throat. "Annabel's left him."
Surprise whistled softly through his teeth. "Serious or a spat?"
"Not a spat, that's for sure. She's been on a long shoot in Europe, a
nd she just rang to say she's not coming back."
His pause seemed deliberate, measured. The weight of his gaze felt the same. "Another man?"
"Mitch didn't say, but I guess it's possible. I mean, she's a mother as well as a wife, so she wouldn't just do this on a whim, not with Joshua to consider. Which is why Mitch wanted to get on the first plane he could, to go over there and talk to her."
He cocked his head in the direction of the room where Joshua slept. "So he's here for a while?"
"Three or four days. Mum and Dad are coming home as soon as they can get flights. They'll take him back to Sydney and look after him in his own home, where he's less likely to fret." She sipped at her tea and tried not to start fretting for him. Failed miserably. "I keep wondering when he'll start asking questions. Usually he only stays overnight, two at most. When Mitch is gone longer, he'll want to know why, and I can't lie to him. What do I say? How can I explain?"
"You don't have to explain anything. He's only three."
"Yes, but—"
"Yes, but nothing. Stop borrowing trouble, Julia. You'll handle it when you have to, the same calm, competent way you handle everything."
"You think so?" She held out a hand so he could see the tremor. "This doesn't look calm and competent to me."
In perfect illustration, her voice quavered and cracked on the last syllable. The threat of tears tickled the back of her throat, and she would have rushed to her feet, got out of the room before they overflowed, if he hadn't reached out and trapped her tremulous hand in his. Forced her to look at him. "You want to talk about what's really bothering you?"
"Mitch and Annabel and Josh are what's bothering me!"
His thumb stroked across her wrist with steady reassurance. "You're not finding this situation a bit déjà vu?"
Perplexed, she shook her head.
"I'm talking about your marriage, Julia. When your husband left you."
She blinked in surprise. The parallel hadn't even registered. If there was a parallel. "Paul didn't just leave, not like Annabel. It was more a … mutual decision."
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