by Coleen Kwan
Harriet didn’t see any point in arguing with him. She was already in too deep to complain now. She would have to do the best she could. At least her father approved of her new menu and took no offence at having his stolid dishes replaced by lighter, more contemporary offerings.
As she’d suspected, her mother was hopeless at caring for a recuperating patient, especially when that patient was the husband who had looked after her for more than thirty-five years. Three mornings after her father had returned home, Harriet came downstairs to find her mother weeping over a pan-full of eggs.
“I don’t know how to cook!” she wailed, tears coursing down her face and salting the eggs. “I’m just trying to make an omelette for your father!” She glared at the burnt mess in the pan. “How hard can it be?”
Sharon was still in her dressing gown, her hair wild, her face unwashed and glistening with night cream. Harriet gazed at her mother’s crumpled face. A strange throb of sympathy ran through her. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had cooked breakfast for Ken. She had always thought her mother took her marriage for granted, that she accepted Ken’s devotion with thoughtless greed. Yet here she stood barefoot in the kitchen crying over some broken eggs, frustrated by her inability to be useful.
“Don’t worry, Mum.” Harriet squeezed Sharon’s hiccupping shoulders and steered her toward a chair at the table. “I’ll make Dad his omelette.” She picked up the pan and scraped the mess into the kitchen bin.
“I feel so useless.” Sharon sniffed. “I can’t seem to do anything right for your father.”
“Just try being cheerful around him.” Harriet whisked some eggs while the pan heated up. “He doesn’t need you fussing about him all day. He just likes seeing you happy.”
She cooked the omelette while her mum watched. Maybe, she thought, she’d stumbled on the secret of her parents’ marriage. They complemented each other’s needs. It was as simple as that. Her mother liked being decorative for her husband, and her father liked being needed by his wife. Despite appearances, despite her self-centred nature, Sharon really did love Ken. There could be very few other explanations as to why, at nine in the morning, she was still without hairspray, lipstick or shoes.
Her mother went to shower. Harriet had just served her father his omelette, when Cindy arrived, hurtling into the driveway in an enormous Land cruiser, its fat tires too wide for the narrow strip of concrete. Harriet groaned when she saw Cindy struggling to release Jarrod from his car seat. Yesterday Cindy and Jarrod had spent a few hours visiting and had left everyone exhausted. Jarrod was an engaging child, but Harriet didn’t think her parents’ modest house was big enough for two egos as big as Cindy’s and Jarrod’s.
“Dropping in for a cup of tea?” Harriet asked without much hope. Cindy hauled out a huge bag of kiddie things and Jarrod came squealing toward her, grabbing her round the legs. He spun around and shot into the house, yelling at the top of his voice. Cindy tottered forward in a tight black-and-white dress, skyscraper heels and big dangly earrings.
“No, it’s an emergency this time.” Cindy scowled as she lowered her sunglasses. “I’ve been let down by my babysitter. Says she has the flu. Honestly! The nerve of some people! And I have to get to Newcastle today. You and Mum don’t mind looking after Jarrod, do you?”
“What’s the big emergency in Newcastle?”
“I’m meeting some friends there. I should be back by the afternoon.”
Harriet drew in a breath and said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to leave Jarrod here today. Dad needs his rest, and Mum isn’t coping well.”
Cindy stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh. And you?”
“I’ll be out most of the day, looking for supplies for the Harvest Ball.”
“Perfect.” Cindy dumped the kiddie bag at Harriet’s feet. “Jarrod loves driving around in the countryside. And you can use my Land cruiser because Nikki is picking me up from here. The keys are still in the car.”
Harriet planted herself in front of her sister before she could escape. “Wait, not so fast. I love Jarrod, but you can’t just dump him on me without warning while you go gallivanting off with your friends.”
Cindy’s jaw dropped. “But I’ve been looking forward to this trip for weeks. I never get to have any fun these days.” She blinked her heavily mascara’d eyes several times almost as if she were fighting back tears. “Come on, Harriet. All I’m asking is a few hours of freedom. Can’t you do me this one little favour?”
Harriet felt herself wavering before she stiffened her resolve. “Cindy, I’ve got appointments with suppliers all around Wilmot, and it’s going to take me most of the day.”
A bright yellow convertible pulled up at the curb and tooted three times.
“Can’t you do that another day?”
Harriet shook her head. “I don’t have much time to get things organised. I’m sorry, sis.”
Cindy pouted. “Oh, all right, then. Damn. I suppose I’ll just have to tell Nikki to go without me.”
Cindy started toward the convertible. She dragged her feet and slumped her shoulders. She looked like she had a date with an executioner. Harriet sighed.
“Okay, I’ll look after Jarrod, but just this once.”
Cindy spun round, her face lighting up. “Really? Oh, you’re a star.” She began to run toward the convertible before Harriet could change her mind. “Bring Jarrod back to my house after three. I’ll be back by then. Toodles!”
Harriet watched as her sister made her escape. At least she had saved Jarrod from a sulky mother for one day, but she couldn’t leave him with her parents. Her father would quickly become worn out by the three-year-old’s high-pitched energy, and her mother had already cried this morning.
Harriet sighed and hitched the kiddie bag on to her shoulder. Looked like she’d be playing Auntie Harriet today.
Using her right shoulder, Harriet shoved open the door to Cindy’s house. Draped over her other shoulder was the limp body of Jarrod, his face miraculously angelic in sleep. She crab-walked inside and staggered down the hallway toward the kitchen. She regarded herself as a fit, strong person these days, but it amazed her how heavy and cumbersome a three-year-old could be when he slept. His bulky head slipped forward. Anxious not to let him slide off, she paused to rebalance her load.
“I’ve got him,” said a familiar voice. Strong hands lifted the child out of her arms.
She watched in surprise as Adam strolled over to a couch in the family room and gently laid down the boy. Without a sound Jarrod curled up beside a cushion and continued sleeping.
“Isn’t Cindy home?” Harriet asked.
“No. I’ve been working here all day and haven’t seen her. Isn’t she in Newcastle?”
She inspected her wristwatch. “Yes, but she said she’d be home after three, and it’s almost four.”
Adam shrugged as if Cindy’s tardiness came as no great surprise. “You look beat.”
Under his scrutiny she shifted self-consciously. Her T-shirt was rumpled and bits of hair had escaped from her ponytail. “I’ve had Jarrod with me all day.”
“All day? That’s generous of you.”
He was dressed in his khaki work trousers and an olive T-shirt that hugged the muscles of his chest. He didn’t have his tool belt, and he’d taken off his work boots, revealing thick black socks covering his feet. When she lifted her gaze back to his face and discovered the tiniest grin there, she realised she’d been caught staring at him, and a wave of heat rose in her cheeks.
“We’ve been driving around the countryside looking for lemon myrtle and honey. I found a wonderful farm growing all kinds of Australian bush foods like bush tomatoes, and native plums. They’ll be able to supply me with all the lemon myrtle I need.” She spoke quickly, aware she was almost babbling, hoping to draw attention away from her hot cheeks. “And honey’s no problem. There are three honey farms in the area.”
“Sounds like you had a productive day at least.” He picked up the kettle
and turned on the sink tap. “Cindy lets me have the run of the kitchen, which is handy when my thermos runs dry. I was just about to make myself a mug of tea. Can I make you one too?”
“That would be great.” Her throat was parched after her long day. “I’ve had to sing ‘Little Bunny Foo Foo’ about a hundred times today. It’s the only song Jarrod likes when he’s bored.”
Adam’s grin widened. “And did the Good Fairy turn the bunny into a goose?”
She smiled at him. “You know the lyrics?”
“Hey, I was three years old once, too.” He swung toward the counter as the kettle began to boil.
She watched him make the tea. Impossible to think of Adam as a three-year-old. He was such a manly hunk now—she couldn’t drag her eyes away from him. She found him even more attractive now than a decade ago. His muscled body was sculpted not by gym machines but by hard, honest labour. He didn’t need fancy clothes or cars or an illustrious pedigree to enhance his attractiveness. He wore his masculinity with deep maturity, without a shadow of swagger. His privileged world had been destroyed, and somehow from that destruction, he had carved out his own niche and become his own man. She admired him for that.
“Let’s sit outside on the deck.” He held out two steaming mugs of tea. “That way I won’t muck up Cindy’s place, and we can still keep an ear out for Jarrod.”
They sat down on the wide wooden steps leading from the deck down to the lawn.
“Where are your workers today?” She gestured toward the silent building site of the pool house.
“Tony managed to put a nail through his toe, so Ivan’s taken him to the hospital.”
“Ouch.” She winced.
“He’ll be more afraid of the tetanus injection.” Adam didn’t look very sympathetic as he stretched out his long legs. “They’re good workers, but sometimes the pair of them are like Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dumber. When Tony recovers he’ll get an earful from me about why he didn’t have his safety boots on.” He took a swig of tea from his mug and studied the half-finished pool house. “I don’t have time for stupid accidents. We’re behind schedule as it is, and I have other projects backing up.”
Harriet glanced down at her tea. “I hear Cindy’s been chopping and changing her mind about the pool house. It must be very frustrating for you.”
“It’s my own fault. I knew what she’d be like before I took on the job.” He gave her a long, considering look. “You know, you two couldn’t be more different if you tried.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She forced a light laugh to her lips. She paused, thinking about her sister. “Cindy is just like my mother. When Cindy was still living at home, they were more like sisters than mother and daughter. They’d always be doing their nails or talking about fashion and hairstyles.”
He leaned back on one elbow and cradled the mug in his palm. “Did that make you feel left out?”
“Left out?” She studied her fingernails, remembering her mother and Cindy giggling together, and decided to be honest with him. “Yeah, I guess. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t feel a teensy bit left out, but—” She expelled a small sigh.
“But what?”
Harriet shrugged. “I was never into clothes and makeup like they are. I never understood their obsession. Besides, I knew I’d never look half as good as Cindy.”
He stared into the depths of his mug, a slight frown on his brow. “That’s not true, you know.”
She chewed on her lip. Somehow their conversation had veered into deeply personal territory. She wouldn’t normally talk about her sister and mother so candidly, but something about Adam had unlocked her tongue.
“It’s the truth. Oh, I know Cindy’s a bit too loud for some tastes, but you’ve got to admit underneath all that bling she’s stunning.”
He swirled the contents of his mug, his frown deepening. “Yeah, but so are you.”
She heard his words, but they didn’t sink in at first. When they did, heat raced across her cheeks, licking her skin to a fiery colour.
“Oh, please.” She waved her hand. “You’re embarrassing me.”
He compressed his lips, and his eyes grew even more intense. “You shouldn’t be so self-deprecating.”
Adam thinks I’m beautiful. The incredible notion flashed through her scrambled brain. Past boyfriends had told her that before, but their views counted for nothing compared to Adam’s. He was more to her now than just an old high school crush, and his opinion of her mattered in a very real and sobering way. Her ears blazed, her tongue grew dry and thick, and her mind was a blank. She drew in a deep breath. Say something!
“Self-deprecating? Ha-ha.” She laughed nervously. “Now you’ll think I’m fishing for compliments…”
Her voice trailed off as she winced at her inane comment. She couldn’t wrench her gaze from his. She felt as if she were drowning in the hazy depths of his eyes. Mellow afternoon sunshine slanted across his face, picking up the fine creases in the corners of his eyes, gilding the curve of his mouth, the angles of his nose. He leaned closer, and she caught a heady whiff of his body. He was so close she could see the irises of his eyes widening to black pools. A tiny pulse ticked in his left temple. He traced a finger across her cheek, and her pulse leaped too.
“You don’t need to fish for compliments,” he murmured.
A trail of pleasure ignited across her cheek where he touched her. His fingers drifted to the tendrils of hair around her forehead.
“Such shiny hair.” He twined her hair through his fingers, gently slipping it around his digits. “Like a chestnut.”
The air between them felt sweet and rich with the fragrance of ripening fruit and rocketing pheromones—not just hers but his, as well. She wasn’t just imagining this. Her pulse hammering, she found herself swaying closer, irresistibly drawn toward him. All she could think about was Adam—his drugging voice, his twirling fingers, his warm mouth. Reality faded away. She was in a dream, a romantic, rose-scented dream where Adam told her she was beautiful. The dream lifted her up and carried her away, unfolding just like her teenage fantasies, and the vision could climax in only one way—in one exquisite kiss.
The edges of reality frayed away as everything began to spin out of control. Adam closed his hand around her nape. His eyes were heavy and dark. The warmth of his palm made her senses reel. She lifted her head toward him, parting her lips, her mouth and tongue already tingling with anticipated pleasure.
Chapter Six
A high-pitched screech split the afternoon stillness. They jerked apart as if hit by lightning. Adam yanked his hands away from her, fingers snagging in her hair, dismay flashing across his face. Harriet’s fantasy disappeared in a puff of smoke as cold reality doused her. She rubbed her eyes. Had she come within an inch of flinging herself at Adam? Her breath caught at the back of her throat at the horror of what she’d done.
Another cry shuddered from the house.
“Jarrod…” She scrambled to her feet and stumbled back into the house.
The little boy stood in the middle of the family room, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. He bolted toward her and latched on to her legs. Soothing him with nonsensical babble, she picked him up and gave him a cup of water. He took a few gulps, whined and pointed toward a jar of pink iced biscuits.
“Bikkie!”
“Cindy usually lets him have a handful of those in the afternoon.” Adam stood in the doorway.
He didn’t seem keen to reenter the kitchen. Perhaps he feared she might launch herself at him a second time. Cold dismay fought with her blushes, leaving her cheeks feeling blotchy. Jarrod wrapped his arms around her neck and grizzled into her hair.
“They look too sugary. I think I’ll make him a cheese sandwich instead,” she said, struggling to sound normal.
Jarrod refused to let go of her. When she tried to lower him to the floor, he clung to her even tighter, moaning as if she’d asked him to walk on hot coals.
“Jarrod,” Adam called. “
Do you want to come outside and help me build something?”
The moaning stopped. The boy jumped off Harriet and ran toward Adam with a shriek of joy. Adam scooped him up and carried him outside.
Harriet breathed a sigh of relief, but as she busied herself making a cheese sandwich, her mind began to churn. What had she done out there on the deck a minute ago? Adam had paid her a mild compliment, and it had all gone straight to her head like cheap wine. She’d swayed against him, leaned in and puckered up her lips. Ugh! How humiliating! But hang on, didn’t he put his hand on her neck? Probably just to haul her off him. Double ugh! What would have happened if Jarrod hadn’t woken up? Would she have grabbed Adam and pashed him against his will? Her stomach rolled.
She found a plastic plate for the cheese sandwich, cut an apple into quarters and filled a beaker with milk. She had a strong inclination to loiter in the kitchen, but she couldn’t let Jarrod go hungry. She ferried the food outside to find Adam and Jarrod playing on the deck with a stack of wood off-cuts. Jarrod was totally immersed in constructing a bridge, while Adam sat cross-legged next to him, giving him advice and encouragement.
Harriet stopped, caught by the unexpected scene. Adam looked so at ease playing with the three-year-old. He glanced up at her, no disgust or wariness apparent in his face, and she sat down gingerly beside them, laying the plate of food and the milk next to Jarrod.
“Looks like Jarrod might be an engineer one day.”
He sounded so normal, she thought. As if nothing had happened between them just a few minutes ago. As if she hadn’t experienced a temporary brain explosion. Adam wanted to ignore what had happened just as much as she did, that much was obvious.
“Thanks for helping me with him,” she said. “I hope we’re not keeping you from your work.”
He glanced at her over Jarrod’s head. “That’s okay. I was just finishing up for the day.”
An uncomfortable silence settled on them. Jarrod demanded Adam help him with his bridge, and Adam obliged. Thank goodness for three-year-olds, Harriet thought. Without Jarrod’s distractions she would have gone crazy under the tension.