What would it be like to try for one more kiss with this devastatingly attractive man? The mere thought sent excited shivers dancing over her skin. She could already imagine the first touch of their lips, gentle and testing. Then...as happy warmth spread through her there would be a little more pressure...and she would open her lips so she could taste him.
The thought made her dizzy with delicious anticipation.
If only she were brave enough to try.
But now Ed’s smile took an ironic tilt as he released her hands. Stepped back. And her lips, her whole body, went into mourning for what might have been.
‘So...this begs the question,’ he said, still holding that faintly sardonic smile. ‘How did my little brother get it right? How did Harry handle your first date?’
‘That’s the thing,’ Milla said with a resigned shake of her head. ‘Harry didn’t take me on a first date—not just the two of us alone—not for some time, at any rate. At first, there was always a crowd. Parties, sailing trips, night clubs. By the time we got...closer...we were more or less friends, and it...didn’t feel like a first date.’
A corner of Ed’s mouth quirked in a sad, wry little smile. Milla felt sad, too. Sad for the paths their lives had taken, sad because it was too late to do anything about it.
She was almost tempted to tell Ed her one last secret—that Harry had never roused her passions. Not really...
She supposed that was one of the many reasons their marriage had failed. But nothing could be gained by telling Ed about that now.
She watched him go to the sink and rinse out his coffee mug, watched his hands, watched his profile, and the way his shoulders looked so powerful, even performing this simplest action. She watched the way his dark hair fell forward onto his forehead. And a burning ache filled her throat. A terrible sense of loss swept through her, a chilling wave of misery.
It was far too late to realise that she loved him, that she’d fallen for him from the start, from that very first evening he’d swept into The Hedgerow Hotel on a wet London night, wearing his long black coat and looking so dark and dashing.
There was certainly no point in mentioning any of that, and there was only one sensible thing to do now that she’d confessed and more or less received Ed’s absolution.
Despite the turbulence of her emotions this evening, she was still basically a prudent woman, so she did the sensible thing.
She said goodnight, and she went upstairs, while Ed got ready for another night on the stretcher.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ED WAS ALREADY awake when dawn crept into the bakery, spreading the first pale glimmers of wintry light. It wasn’t so surprising given that he’d been restless for hours, tossing and turning on the narrow stretcher.
What a night.
When he’d first tried to get to sleep, he’d been bouncing from stunned disbelief over Milla’s revelations to angry despair that he’d so easily let her slip away. It was patently clear to him now that he’d missed his best, possibly his only chance of true happiness.
Over and over, he’d kept remembering the way she’d looked as she’d told her story—so pale and vulnerable, and yet brave, too, determined to finally throw off the dark shadows of her past.
But as his mind went back to their first date—their one and only date—he asked himself why he hadn’t sensed her nervousness at the time. Why hadn’t he been more sensitive? Why hadn’t he taken things more slowly?
The problem was, of course, that he’d wanted to kiss Milla from the moment he’d first seen her in London, and he’d thought that he’d shown enormous restraint by waiting till the party in California.
But looking back on all this now, the thing that really bugged Ed was the super-lame way he’d let Harry move in on this beautiful girl. Hell. He’d been so miffed and jealous about his younger brother’s smooth manoeuvres that he hadn’t even tried to reconnect with Milla after that party.
He’d been too dumb to pick up the underlying promise in her kiss, and he’d simply stepped out of the picture. Let her go.
He’d never dreamed that she’d floated around in the party scene for weeks before anything happened with Harry.
What an idiot he’d been. A total klutz. The world’s biggest fool. He’d deserved to lose her.
Now, exhausted after a night of remorse, Ed lay watching the first shimmers of morning light. A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance. A car motor started up. Small birds chirped in the tree outside the bakery window. And some of Ed’s gloom evaporated.
He knew things were supposed to look better in the morning, and now, with the coming of daylight, he realised that perhaps he could salvage one or two positives from this disaster.
For starters, he now knew that he hadn’t imagined the heady passion and heart-lifting wildness of that long-remembered kiss. Call it male ego, but it was a relief to know that Milla’s frightened withdrawal afterwards hadn’t been entirely his fault.
But this was only a minor consolation, especially now that his feelings for her were growing stronger every minute that he spent with her. After this short weekend, he wasn’t just fighting a longing to make love to her. He was beginning to wish he could be part of her life, wanted to make her part of his.
Wanted to throw off their pasts and start afresh.
But that wasn’t going to happen. There was no point in wishing they still had a chance. Milla had made her feelings about his family very clear. And she was totally justified.
And if Ed was honest, he had little confidence that he could provide her with the happy-ever-after she wanted, the kind of secure, stable marriage that her friends Heidi and Brad enjoyed. As Milla was only too aware, Cavanaugh men were incapable of providing long-term happiness for their wives.
Ed didn’t like to lump himself in the same bracket as his brother and his father, but the sad truth was his longest relationship had lasted six months. Caro, his latest girlfriend, would soon join the others who’d tired of the long hours he worked.
He supposed his main virtue was that he hadn’t complicated things by marrying any of those women. But was that really a virtue? Truth was, he’d never been prepared to make promises with his heart. There were times he wasn’t even sure that he had one.
Even if he tried to explain any of this to Milla, he couldn’t expect her to trust him. Too much had gone wrong for her. She’d married his brother, and his brother had treated her dreadfully. And then, in the midst of heartbreak and separation, she’d lost their baby.
Now, with admirable courage and determination, Milla was digging her own way out of the emotional wreckage. She was finding her own version of happiness. What had she called it? Self-worth.
Free of Cavanaugh contamination.
If she ever contemplated another relationship, she would want a guy she could trust implicitly, and a guy who shared her values—like this self-worth idea.
Ed mulled that over again now. He knew he was trustworthy, but he was pretty damn sure he’d score low on any measure of personal satisfaction.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever truly liked himself.
And yet, if he tried to recall any moments of deep happiness and satisfaction in his life, his mind winged straight back to Michigan. He saw himself as a boy, bringing fresh farm eggs into his grandmother’s kitchen, and he remembered the way she had loved him. Looking back, Ed knew that she hadn’t loved him because of the exams he’d passed with flying colours, or the races he’d won, or the teams he’d captained.
She’d loved him simply because he was her grandson. Around her, he’d always felt good about himself.
His grandfather had shown him a similar brand of simple, uncomplicated love. Ed could remember standing beside the old man and looking up at the barn they’d painted—the gleaming red walls, bright and solid against a clear blue autumn sky.
‘We did a good job, Ed. That’s going to last your grandmother and me for years. Might even see us out.’
Ed could still remember the love shining in his grandfather’s eyes, could remember the feel of his knobbly hand giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
Self-worth. He’d felt it then. Even in small doses it could make a difference. A huge difference.
Of course, he’d felt it on occasions as an adult, when he’d worked late into the night to pull off a business coup. Yeah, he was proud of the way he’d steered Cavanaugh Enterprises safely through the stresses and dangers of the recent global financial crises. But that sense of satisfaction was hard to hang onto when he came home each night to an empty apartment.
That was the thing about self-worth—it wasn’t only about achievement. It was about making connections with people who mattered.
He’d had glimpses of that in the past couple of days, when he’d experienced the heady elation of painting these bakery walls with Milla...when he’d looked up from the laptop and seen her smile, and again when small chubby fingers had pushed pieces of cucumber onto the side of his plate...
This morning, damn it, Ed couldn’t help wondering—just for argument’s sake—if fate offered him half a chance to share his life with Milla, would he grab it? Should he?
Could he, in all conscience, be certain that he wouldn’t stuff it up for her again?
* * *
After the night’s revelations, Milla was a little nervous as she descended the stairs for breakfast. She breathed a little easier when she saw that Ed was already up and dressed and busy making coffee.
His manner as he greeted her was friendly but cautious, giving her the impression that he was as worried as she was about overstepping boundaries. Relieved, Milla accepted the mug he handed her and joined him to sit on the back steps in the sun while they drank their coffee.
The steps weren’t wide, so she was way too conscious of her proximity to Ed’s massive shoulders, too conscious of every part of Ed, actually. To distract herself, she waxed lyrical about her plans for the long narrow strip of tangled backyard that stretched in front of them.
‘I know it’s only a weedy mess at the moment, but it faces north, so it’s perfect for growing vegetables.’ She waved her hand, pointing. ‘I’ll put the veggie plot right in the middle with pavers down the centre. And I want to make a courtyard here at the bottom of these steps, and I’ll get a table and chairs for alfresco dining, and—’
‘Hang on,’ interrupted Ed, with a grin. ‘How do you plan to make the courtyard?’
‘With stone pavers.’
His eyes widened, and he looked both amused and surprised. ‘You? On your own?’
‘Why not?’ Milla responded airily. ‘Pick up any gardening magazine and you’ll find instructions.’ Before Ed could pin her down on the engineering details of her courtyard, Milla hurried on. ‘I want to leave sections between the pavers for growing herbs and I’ll have a chook pen at the far end. And I’ll plant nasturtiums. Lots of lovely, bright nasturtiums. They’re so ordinary, but they always cheer me.’
Ed was watching her now with a smile that held a hint of disturbing sadness. ‘You’re really looking forward to all of this, aren’t you?’
Puzzled by his reaction, Milla gave a shrug. ‘It’ll have to be a long-term project. The bakery will have to come first, but I’ll tackle the yard in stages.’
‘You want to make a start this morning?’
Milla gave a laughing shake of her head. ‘Heavens, no, Ed. And I wasn’t telling you about this in the hope that you’ll help me. I’m not your responsibility.’ She was pleased that she said this quite firmly.
She still felt thrown by Ed’s willingness to help. Until he’d turned up on her doorstep, she’d only ever seen him in business suits that were imported from Milan and came with five-thousand-dollar price tags. Since he’d been here, he’d slept on a stretcher, he’d helped her with her painting and her business plan, but she couldn’t possibly ask him to dig up long grass and weeds.
‘I think you’ve earned a day off,’ she said emphatically.
Attractive lines fanned from the corners of his eyes as he smiled at her. ‘Will you take the day off with me?’
It was the worst moment to blush, but he was sitting so close she could almost feel his body heat, and now as he posed his invitation his grey eyes held a sparkle that lit flashpoints all over her.
‘What—what would you like to do?’ She looked away as she spoke, in case she blushed again.
‘There’s a farm near here. I read about it while I was doing the research for your business plan and I saw that they have a display section that’s open to the public on weekends.’
Milla frowned. ‘Since when have you been interested in farms?’
‘This one grows organic wheat. Spelt and other heirloom varieties.’ Ed gave a smiling shrug. ‘I thought you might be curious. I know there’s a growing interest worldwide in organic products. It’s not just trendy. There are all kinds of benefits—both for health and economics.’
‘That’s true. I must admit I’ve toyed with the idea of making spelt bread.’
Ed was already jumping to his feet. ‘Let’s go, then.’ He held out his hand to help her up.
* * *
It turned into one of those standout days that Milla knew she would remember for ever. A sunny winter’s day with the clearest of blue skies and air as sparkling as champagne.
They drove to the spelt farm and Ed spent a surprising amount of time talking to the farmer, asking technical questions about soil and rainfall requirements and the various uses for these crops, including their benefits as stockfeed.
Afterwards, they enjoyed a picnic lunch on the banks of Bellaroo Creek, dining on a loaf of olive bread that she’d baked the day before. They ate it with slices of pecorino cheese and pickled mushrooms and, when they’d finished, they rolled up the bottoms of their jeans and paddled like children in the pretty, clear-running creek.
Milla collected several beautifully smooth, water-washed stones, including a round, smooth piece of red glass.
‘I’ll put these in a jar on a window sill,’ she said, when she showed them to Ed. ‘They’ll look lovely with the sun shining through them.’
With a thoughtful frown, he picked the piece of red glass from her hand and held it up to the sun, making it glow like an expensively cut ruby.
‘Don’t you love it when ordinary things are suddenly stunning?’ she said. ‘A kind of accidental beauty.’
Ed’s response was a lopsided smile, but his eyes were so shiny Milla felt a strange ache in her arms. As if she wanted to hold him.
The ache lingered as they sat on the creek bank again, letting their feet dry in the sun.
After a bit, Ed lay back, stacking his hands under his head. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, staring up through the overhead branches. ‘But there’s something I don’t quite get about you, Milla. I mean, here you are, fitting back into life in the country so easily. And it seems right for you. But it makes me wonder why you took up with Harry, why you let yourself be sucked into the Beverly Hills set.’
‘I know.’ Milla felt suddenly cold and she hugged her jacket closer. ‘When I look back now, I find it hard to understand, too. But we all make mistakes when we’re young, don’t we? I was hell-bent on getting away and breaking the mould. I suppose I was rebelling, like most young people do. I wanted to be the exact opposite of my parents.’
‘Didn’t happen that way for me,’ Ed said quietly.
‘No, you’ve followed in your father’s footsteps.’
‘Hoping for his approval.’ The hard edge in Ed’s voice was at odds with the sadness in his eyes.
Milla felt her heart go out to him. ‘Gerry’s a difficult man to please.’
‘Yeah, just ask his
three wives.’ Ed grimaced as he said this and he sat up swiftly, leaned forward, propping his elbows on his bent knees.
Milla thought how at home he looked in this bush setting, dressed in a simple T-shirt and casual jeans. She liked the unpretentious way Ed seemed to live in his powerful body as if he was completely unaware of its charms. So different from Harry.
‘So what would you like to do now?’ he asked.
I’d like to lie here in the sun while you kiss me.
The longing was so strong she almost said the words aloud.
When she remained silent, Ed turned to her and the smouldering grey of his eyes stole her breath.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. It was happening all over again, Milla thought. That spectacular rush of awareness they’d first sensed in London.
But then, with an angry-sounding sigh, Ed got to his feet. And the moment was gone.
‘Let’s go back,’ he said. ‘And finish your painting.’
* * *
A tense silence hung over them as they drove back to Bellaroo Creek. Ed did his best to stay calm, but he was shaking inside. There’d been a critical moment on that creek bank when he’d nearly pulled Milla into his arms and played out every fantasy that had plagued him since he’d arrived here.
Now, he had to ask himself why he’d stayed this extra day, taking a drive in the country and talking to farmers and paddling in creeks. He’d come here to help Milla with her business and, instead, he’d distracted her, and he’d damn well nearly made a prize fool of himself.
Again.
For the rest of the evening, he would concentrate on practical matters. He would make sure there was nothing more he could do for Milla. For her business.
Tomorrow morning he would leave and no doubt they would both say goodbye with a huge sense of relief.
* * *
Milla woke to the ping of a message landing on her mobile phone. She yawned and rolled over, rubbed at her eyes and saw pale white light showing beyond the window curtains. It was too early to get up, she decided quickly. She would have enough of early mornings once the bakery opened.
Miracle in Bellaroo Creek (Bellaroo Creek!) Page 10