Miracle in Bellaroo Creek (Bellaroo Creek!)

by Hannay, Barbara

  ‘Thanks.’ He set his expensive leather duffle bag on the floor and stood with his hands propped on his hips, surveying her double bed and the cosmetics scattered over the old-fashioned dressing table, the wardrobe with an oval, age-spotted mirror on the door.

  ‘It’s old-fashioned but at least there’s an en-suite. The bathroom’s through here.’ She moved to the louvre doors, newly painted white, and pushed them open. ‘It’s tiny, but adequate. There’s a spare towel on the shelf above the—’

  Oh, help.

  Why hadn’t she remembered that she’d left her undies hanging above the bath? Now her silky panties and lacy bras were on full display. To make matters worse, rosy light from the setting sun streamed through the high bathroom window, gilding the lingerie’s creamy fragility.

  And Ed was smiling. ‘Nice decor,’ he said with a grin. But a darker glint in his eyes lit flames inside Milla.

  Leaping forward, she hastily grabbed the offending articles, bunching them into a tight ball. If she’d had a pocket she would have shoved them into it.

  She kept her gaze safely lowered. ‘The bathroom’s all yours.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ED WAS COLD. As he clambered from a black hole of deep, drugging sleep he opened his eyes a chink and discovered chill grey dawn light filling a strange room. Everything was alien—the shapes of the furniture, the position of the windows.

  He had no idea where he was.

  And he was cold. Naked and cold. Instinctively, he groped for the bed covers, and as he lifted them he caught a drift of flowery scent. With a jolt of dismay, he remembered Milla.

  This was Australia. He was in a hotel in Bellaroo Creek. He’d showered in Milla’s bathroom. This was her bedroom.

  They were supposed to have had dinner together.

  Where was she?

  Shivering, he rolled under the covers, relishing the new-found warmth as his mind struggled to sort out his dilemma. Or rather, Milla’s dilemma. It was obvious now that he’d come out of the shower last night, seen her bed, and fallen onto it in exhaustion.

  With that part of the puzzle sorted, he could all too easily picture the rest. Milla had come back to her room to find him sprawled, naked, on her bed. Out like a light.

  No doubt she’d bolted like a frightened squirrel, and he could only hope the hotel people had given her another room, the room that should have been his.

  What a stuff-up. Now he would have to start the day with apologies. Never a comfortable exercise.

  Groaning, Ed burrowed deeper under the covers, but already the room was growing lighter and he was all too acutely aware that this was Milla’s bed. Although the sheets had probably been changed, the floral perfume he always associated with her lingered. Unhelpfully, he also remembered the delicate wisps of her lingerie that had hung over her bath, and, man, that was not a useful memory for a red-blooded male at this hour of the morning.

  One thing was certain. He wouldn’t be getting back to sleep.

  * * *

  ‘Good morning. You’re up bright and early.’ A leggy blonde in a cowgirl shirt and jeans grinned broadly at Ed as he walked into the hotel dining room. ‘I’m Sherry,’ she told him brightly. ‘And you’re our first customer for breakfast. You’re welcome to sit anywhere you like.’

  Ed, freshly showered, shaved and changed into clean clothes, chose a small table by a window with a view down Bellaroo Creek’s empty and silent main street. In a far corner, a wood fire burned in a grate, making the room cosy, despite its emptiness.

  ‘Would you like tea or coffee to begin with?’ Sherry asked.

  ‘Coffee, thanks.’

  ‘Oh, you’re American,’ she gushed. ‘Of course you’ll want coffee.’ But instead of leaving to fetch a coffeepot, she stood beaming at him.

  Ed realised she was the elusive girl Milla had searched for last night, but he wasn’t inclined to be talkative first thing in the morning, so he made no comment.

  ‘You’re not a movie star, or anything exciting, are you?’ she asked next.

  ‘Not the slightest bit exciting,’ he replied dryly. ‘And I’ll have scrambled eggs as well as coffee.’ He didn’t return her smile.

  ‘With bacon and tomatoes?’

  ‘That’d be great.’

  ‘Sausages?’

  ‘Yes, the lot.’ He’d skipped lunch and dinner and he was ravenous enough to eat an entire rhinoceros. ‘And I’d like toast and orange juice.’

  ‘Right away, sir. I’ll get Stu straight onto it.’

  She was back quite soon with a steaming pot and, to Ed’s relief, the coffee was strong and hot. He considered asking her about Milla’s whereabouts, but opted for discretion.

  ‘You can leave that pot here,’ he told her.

  He was on his second cup when she came back with a laden breakfast plate. His stomach growled gratefully.

  ‘So you’re a friend of Milla’s?’ she asked coyly, remaining by his table as he tucked into his food.

  Ed nodded as he ate, but he had no intention of sharing details of his exact relationship to Milla with this nosy girl.

  ‘We’re all excited about Milla starting up the bakery,’ the girl said next.

  This time he looked up, unable to hide his interest. ‘So the town really wants a bakery?’

  ‘Of course. It’ll be wonderful. But the problem is, bakeries are so much hard work. Poor Milla will have to work dreadful hours. She’ll be up at something like three in the morning.’ The girl gave a wide-eyed shake of her head. ‘Half the town are right behind her and can’t wait for her shop to open. The other half think she’s crazy trying to do it on her own. They’re betting she’ll last a month at the most.’

  Ed accepted this news grimly, but he didn’t encourage further discussion.

  ‘Mind you, I’m amazed Milla bothered to come back,’ said Sherry. ‘I mean, with her looks, why would she bury herself here?’

  Exactly, thought Ed.

  By the time he’d finished his breakfast, there were still no other diners, and no sign of the girl who’d served him. He left her a tip and went out into the street, staring across at the bakery and wondering when Milla would show up.

  The other half think she’s crazy.

  Deep in thought, he crossed the road. The scent of wood smoke lingered in the chilly morning air, reminding him, briefly, of visits to his grandparents’ farm in Michigan, but he turned his focus to the bakery.

  Yesterday, he’d paid next to no attention to it. He’d been preoccupied with his original mission to persuade Milla to return to the States, and then he’d been sideswiped by her news about the baby. Now, he thought about her plan to set up a business here. This ex Beverly Hills heiress wanted to get up at three in the morning in the middle of winter to bake bread. Not just once, but every day.

  Impossible.

  Half the good folk of Bellaroo Creek were right. Milla was crazy. Running a bakery was damn hard work. Intensely physical labour. Certainly too much for a woman of head-turning beauty who was used to the heights of luxury.

  This bakery scheme didn’t make any kind of sense. It had to be Milla’s over-the-top reaction to losing Harry and the baby. Ed supposed it was possible that her hormones were out of whack. She certainly wasn’t thinking straight.

  That would be his task today, he decided as he stood staring through a dusty window into the murky depths of the empty shop. He had to bring Milla to her senses, had to convince her to withdraw her application before she was committed to something she’d quickly regret.

  Almost five years ago, he’d stood by and watched her marry Harry, knowing full well that it could only end in disaster. He wasn’t going to let her walk into a second catastrophe.

  He wondered what time she came down for breakfast, but the question had barely fo
rmed when he heard a sound coming from the back of the shop.

  An intruder?

  Frowning, he tested the shop’s door, and it fell open at his touch. He stepped quietly inside.

  ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Is anybody there?’

  When there was no answer, he moved forward stealthily. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Ed?’

  Milla appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Ah.’ Feeling slightly foolish, he offered her a sheepish smile. ‘Hi.’

  Hands on hips, Milla frowned at him. ‘What were you doing? Why are you sneaking around?’

  ‘I thought there was an intruder in here.’ He shrugged. ‘And I was sure you were still asleep.’

  Milla rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve been up since before six.’

  ‘But you weren’t in the dining room for breakfast.’

  ‘I had breakfast here.’ She pointed to an electric jug beside the sink in the corner. ‘A tub of yoghurt, a banana and a mug of tea, and I’m set for the day.’

  Ed gave a shrugging shake of his head.

  ‘I hope you slept well,’ she said after a bit.

  ‘Like a baby.’ He grimaced and a small silence fell while they both studied the bare concrete floor.

  He guessed that Milla was as reluctant as he was to mention the obvious fact that she’d found him last night, sprawled on her bed, sound asleep and stark naked.

  ‘Sorry I missed our dinner date—er—dinner discussion,’ he said, steering the conversation away from that particular danger zone. ‘I hope the duck was good.’

  ‘It was delicious, thanks.’

  ‘And I hope you were—uh—comfortable last night.’

  ‘I was perfectly comfortable, thanks. In your room,’ she added, not quite meeting his gaze.

  The air around them seemed to thicken and grow hot.

  ‘Have you had breakfast?’ Milla asked, after a bit.

  ‘Sure.’ He patted his middle. ‘An inelegant sufficiency.’

  ‘I’m sure you were starving.’

  ‘Yeah.’ But it was time to remember that he hadn’t come here to discuss his appetite. Narrowing his gaze, he said, ‘So why are you over here so early?’

  ‘I thought you might want to sleep in, and I needed to make a start. I’m making an inventory of all the equipment that’s here, and working out what I still need.’

  ‘Jumping the gun, aren’t you? You don’t even know if the council will accept your application.’

  She made an impatient sound of annoyance. ‘I’m quite certain they will, Ed. They’re very keen.’

  Ed bit back a swear word. ‘You’re setting yourself up for failure, Milla. You can’t do this. It’s obvious this town is on its last legs.’ He flung out an arm, indicating the empty shop and the equally empty street. ‘Where are your customers? The last people who tried to run this place failed.’

  ‘They didn’t know enough about baking. Their bread wasn’t popular.’

  ‘Are you sure you can do better?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Milla, if you really want to work, you could get a job in a top Sydney hotel. The sort of work you were doing before you married.’

  ‘You want me back rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous?’

  ‘Yeah? Why not?’ When Ed first met her in London, she’d been a brilliant hostess for VIP guests.

  Arms folded, shoulders back, jaw jutted, Milla eyed him with bolshie determination. ‘I’ve had enough of that life, Ed. If I see another spoiled rock star I think I’ll puke. I was born and raised in this town. We lived in Matheson Street, but I spent half my life in this shop. Before I started school, I was playing down here with pieces of dough, making my own bread rolls for my lunches.’

  A fighting light burned in her lovely green eyes. ‘All through high school, I sliced and packed bread each morning before I caught the bus to Parkes. Afternoons, I worked out the front on the counter. Saturdays, I helped my mum to make her famous fruit lattice pies.’

  Ed was impressed, but he didn’t let it show.

  ‘After I finished school, I started learning the trade properly. I know baking inside out,’ Milla said finally.

  ‘And you couldn’t wait to get away from it.’

  She glared at him. ‘I was young and impatient, with a head full of big dreams.’

  He nodded his acceptance of this. He supposed she was remembering, as he was, where her youthful dreams had led her—overseas to a wide range of interesting and fulfilling jobs, but, eventually, into the arms of his dangerous young brother.

  No point in rehashing that now.

  He nudged the conversation back to where he wanted it. ‘So, I guess you’ve written a business plan? You’ve prepared a break-even analysis and a profit and loss forecast?’

  She sent him a drop-dead look.

  ‘Do you know your fixed costs?’ he continued. ‘The profit you’re likely to make from each sale?’

  ‘Go home, Ed. I don’t need you marching in here and throwing your weight around, spoiling everything.’

  ‘I’m trying to save you from the misery of starting up a business that’s doomed to fail.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you.’ She lifted her chin and eyed him steadily. ‘But I’d prefer a little faith.’

  It was then that he saw behind her bravado and glimpsed the vulnerable girl clinging to her last shreds of dignity and hope. And damn it, he felt a flicker of admiration. He quickly stifled it. A good businessman always trusted his head, not his heart.

  ‘Tell me about the equipment,’ he said, changing tack. ‘What have you got and what do you still need?’

  ‘Do you really care?’

  ‘Give me a break, Milla. Of course I’m concerned.’

  She pursed her lips, then seemed to relent. ‘OK. I have a big oven that’s been here since the nineteen fifties. It’s great. No worries there. I have gas cookers, a big bread mixer and a refrigerator and freezer. I’ll need more measurers and cutters and things like piping bags and nozzles, but they’re not a huge cost. I could do with an orbital mixer, but that can wait.’

  ‘An orbital mixer? What’s that?’

  ‘It’s good for the smaller things—cakes, cream and icing.’

  ‘I guess you need scales for weighing things?’

  Her eyes widened with surprise. ‘Yes, scales are very important. Dad used to have a really expensive set. I don’t know what happened to them.’

  ‘Where are your parents now? Will they be around to give you back-up support?’

  ‘Heavens no.’ A warm smile lit up her face. ‘They’re on a cruise. The Mediterranean this time. These days, they’re always on cruises and good luck to them. They’ve worked hard and they’ve earned their chance to have fun.’

  Her smile faded, replaced by a look of defiance. ‘I need to do this, Ed.’

  Deep down, he understood. Milla wanted to throw herself into hard, honest labour, as if it would somehow heal her past hurts.

  ‘What if you fail?’ He had to ask this. ‘What if you reject Harry’s money and try this—this hare-brained scheme and end up with nothing?’

  ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘Milla, how can you be so sure?’

  She simply smiled. ‘Try all you like, Ed. You’re not going to change my mind.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TO MILLA’S RELIEF, Ed’s farewell was unsentimental. A handshake, a kiss on the cheek.

  Unsmiling, he wished her good luck.

  ‘Good luck to you, too,’ she said, and he looked at her strangely. ‘Good luck with explaining everything to Gerry.’

  His mouth tilted in a wry smile. ‘Thanks, I’m sure I’ll need it.’

  The smile disappeared as Ed go
t into his red hire car and the look in his eyes then made Milla’s throat ache.

  They both knew this was the last time they would see each other, but she hadn’t expected Ed to look quite so bleak. And she certainly hadn’t expected to feel bereft, pierced by a sadness that was quite different from how she’d felt when she’d lost Harry or her baby.

  As Ed zoomed off down the long straight road she stood on the footpath, watching his red car grow smaller and smaller. When it finally disappeared, she let out her breath with a deliberate whoosh and she waited for the expected sense of relief to wash over her.

  To her surprise it didn’t happen.

  Instead she felt strangely empty.

  It was such an annoying, irrational response. Now that Ed was gone, she was free. Free of the Cavanaughs, free to put her mistakes behind her and to make a success of the rest of her life.

  As she went back inside the bakery it didn’t make sense that she couldn’t stop thinking about Ed. Bizarrely, her thoughts weren’t centred on his warnings about her business. She was remembering, of all things, the first time she’d met him when she was working at The Hedgerow Hotel in London.

  The job in Knightsbridge had been the pinnacle of her working career. She’d earned it, of course, having worked hard at all the usual jobs that backpackers grabbed when they left Australia. She’d been a barmaid in Kent and a baby-sitter-cum-cleaner in a French ski resort. She’d worked on organic farms in Italy for free meals and board, and eventually she’d ended up in London with a job on a reception desk in a hotel chain.

  To her surprise, the position had really suited her. She hadn’t minded working different shifts, and handling computers hadn’t fazed her. She’d managed to be cheerful and diplomatic with difficult guests and queue jumpers, and she’d quickly picked up that it was worth taking time to deal with all the little things that counted.

  As a result, Milla had been promoted quite quickly, and when the manager of the VIP luxury service for the hotel’s executive clients retired, she was offered his position.

  She’d loved this role and she’d thrown herself into it. She made sure that platters of fresh fruit were available on arrival for VIP guests, and whatever they wanted—even pink champagne in their bathtubs—was accommodated.