Real Men Don't Quit

by Coleen Kwan

  She blew out a breath. “I guess you have a point.”

  Their eyes connected, and for a moment there was breathy silence. Jeez, just like a corny romantic movie, she thought.

  “But still, you should be taking better care of your daughter,” Luke continued. “If you let her wander around like that, sooner or later something is going to happen to her. If nothing else, social services will come knocking on your door.”

  His words knocked the air from her lungs. She felt the blood draining from her face. “You’re not…” She swallowed some bile. “You’re not going to report me, are you?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you so afraid of?”

  Nothing, except losing the most precious thing in her world. She’d had social services come sniffing around her and Chloe once, a long time ago when Chloe was a baby. Everything had been quickly sorted out, but she still had nightmares about it, and she couldn’t go through that experience again.

  She tipped up her chin and gestured around the room. “Nothing. I’ve got nothing to hide. Feel free to look around. Sure, it’s a bit messy, but you won’t find any drugs, booze, or cigarettes, and the fridge is full of fresh, healthy food. Go on, check us out if you don’t believe me.”

  Luke held up his hand. “Okay, I believe you.”

  She leaned against the couch, still dizzy from the fright. “I’m the first to admit it’s not easy to make ends meet sometimes, but Chloe means everything to me.”

  He nodded, sighing and scanning the room again. “Do you make sure all the doors are shut at night? Secure all the windows?”

  “Of course I do. It’s just Chloe and me here, so I make sure the doors are shut. And all the windows have locks on them. I fitted them when we moved in.”

  Luke walked through the living room and into the adjoining kitchen. Tyler couldn’t help wincing as she viewed the clutter there with fresh eyes. With the sink full of greasy plates and a basket of dirty laundry under the table, Luke must think she was a typical, ditzy single mum. Hell, she was still in her sleepwear without even a dressing gown to cover her. He wasn’t to know she’d been working late last night; all he saw was evidence of her incompetence as a mother.

  “I think I’ve found your problem.” Luke pointed to the kitchen chair standing next to the back door. “Does this chair belong here?”

  “No.” Tyler frowned. “It usually sits over there by the table.”

  “Chloe must have dragged it here, climbed onto it, and unlocked the back door.”

  “You’re right. Those are her slippers under the chair.” She pressed cold hands to her cheeks. “Oh, God. The little monkey.”

  “Clever little monkey. She must have been quite determined to get out.”

  “Lately she’s been asserting her independence all the time. I’m not allowed to help her with anything.” She gazed at the back door. “I’ll have to put deadlocks on all of them.”

  “No, deadlocks can be dangerous in a fire. You’re better off putting in a simple flip lock higher up.” He tapped the doorjamb at head height. “About here, say. By the time she’s tall enough to reach it, she’ll have more sense.”

  “Thanks.” Tyler nodded. “I’ll go to the hardware store soon as I can and pick up some of these flip locks.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “You’ll install them yourself?”

  “Don’t I look competent enough?”

  He looked her up and down, not making any attempt to hide the fact. Now that he wasn’t furious with her, his eyes had mellowed to licorice, and she couldn’t help noticing the spark in them as they scanned her figure, taking in her skimpy attire. Tyler had never been shy of her body, and she was used to men eyeing her, but there was something different about Luke Maguire, something uncanny in his scrutiny that made her feel skittish.

  “Oh, you look like you know what you’re doing, even in that getup.”

  She waved her arm and tried to act cool. “I didn’t have time to put on any clothes when I found Chloe missing.”

  He grinned, pointing to his boxer shorts. “I’m not exactly dressed for company either.”

  Her heart did a flip at his smile, the first she’d seen from him. Oh, this Luke Maguire had a killer smile, so full of easy charm it was like eating the first mango of the season—smooth and sweet and sublime. And the rest of him wasn’t half bad, either. Okay, who was she kidding? He was way more than half bad. Intriguing.

  Chloe was usually wary around strangers, but this guy she’d seemed to trust instantly. What was it about Luke that had disarmed her daughter? How long was he going to be her neighbor? And what kind of work did he have to finish?

  “Mumma, Mumma.” Chloe dashed in, whirling her leopard-print pajama bottoms above her head. “I did it myself.”

  Tyler kneeled down, grateful for the distraction. “That’s wonderful, baby.”

  “I’d better get going,” Luke said, moving toward the front door.

  As he approached, she straightened up. He was just inches from her. Now that she wasn’t mad or frightened, she was even more conscious of his height and sturdiness, his wide shoulders and chest beneath the thin, gray T-shirt. Nice…ve-ery nice. His nearness had a strange effect on her; she felt almost giddy. And then she met his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Damn, she’d given herself away, and the conceited man was enjoying the fact.

  She drew her eyebrows together. “Thanks for, uh, looking out for Chloe.”

  “You’re welcome,” he responded simply before ruffling Chloe’s head as he passed. “See you around, Little Miss Moppet.”

  Chloe stared after him until he exited and shut the front door behind him. “I’m not little!” she declared in disgust.

  “Oh, Chloe.” Tyler swooped her into her arms and squeezed her tight. “Never, ever give Mummy such a bad fright again.”

  She had Luke to thank that nothing catastrophic had happened to her daughter. But now he also held a threat over her. He might not report her directly, but if word got out about the incident, and some interfering busybody decided to snitch on her to the authorities, who knew what might happen? It could be just the slipup Gretchen was waiting for.

  “You’re squishing me too tight,” Chloe protested, wriggling out of Tyler’s grasp.

  No way in hell was Gretchen going to get custody of Chloe. Chloe’s dad had never shown any interest in his child, but Gretchen, his mother, seemed hell-bent on stealing away her granddaughter. She’d tried once and failed, but she wouldn’t give up, the she-devil. Ever since she’d found out that Tyler and Chloe had moved back to Burronga, she’d renewed her efforts. But Tyler had refused her demands and would go on refusing while there was still breath in her body. So she hoped with all her heart that Luke would keep quiet about this morning’s incident. She didn’t need Gretchen gathering more ammunition against her.

  “Mumma, when can we go swimming?”

  Coming back to earth, Tyler prevaricated, “Maybe later.”

  “Oh pooh. That’s what he said, too.”

  “Who?”

  “The man next door. He’s nice, isn’t he, Mumma?”

  Tyler made a noncommittal sound. Nice or not, they would have to avoid the man next door—at least while Gretchen was still a threat.

  Chapter Two

  Luke sat in front of his laptop at the dining table. After coming back from next door, he’d showered, dressed, and swallowed a cup of instant coffee. Now he sat in Elliot’s spacious living room with pricey artwork on the walls and a few pieces of cubist furniture placed in strategic positions. His agent’s minimalist tastes concurred with Luke’s. There was nothing extraneous or gaudy, no clutter or dust—Elliot employed a weekly cleaner to take care of that. The dining table was a smooth expanse of white fiberglass with nothing on it except his laptop and a glass of water. In such a cool, spare environment, he should have found himself in harmony, should have accessed his inner creativity, should have been pounding at the keys, the words flowing effortlessly from him.

 
Instead, as he stared at the mocking blank screen, his head felt stuffed with cotton wool. He was just as stuck as he’d been back in his mother’s house—his childhood home—surrounded by mementos of him she’d gathered over the years. All the awards, newspaper clippings, magazine articles, book covers, all mounted on the walls of his old bedroom. Proof of his success. Symbols of his mother’s pride in him. Every one of them choking him each time he tried to write a sentence.

  As he thought about his mother, he found his eyes stinging. Damn. He hadn’t shed a tear since the funeral six months ago. Why now? He shook his head vehemently to clear it and focused on the screen in front of him. He could do this. He just needed to concentrate all his creativity and the protagonist of his story would come to life and start…doing things.

  Kingsley Jeffers, where the hell are you? Why won’t you talk to me?

  He shut his eyes, hoping for inspiration, but the first image that floated into his mind was Tyler Jones, storming toward him in those purple panties and camisole, hair like fire, eyes like lightning, skin like snow. She was something out of a Manga novel—exaggerated, colorful, curvaceous, and impossible to forget. No wonder the main character of his book wouldn’t come out to play when he had that much competition for Luke’s imagination.

  With a sigh, Luke pushed to his feet. This wasn’t working. If he were at his mother’s house, he would have gone for a run. He’d been doing a lot of jogging recently. At first, he’d run to kick-start the creative juices, but as the weeks wore on and the juices remained stubbornly dry, he’d run to get away from writing. Any excuse not to have to face his blank screen. But now that he’d moved to Elliot’s house, he needed to break that habit. He’d drive into town instead, he decided, and find a decent coffee shop.

  He was backing the Range Rover out of the driveway when he spotted two figures waiting at the bus stop near his house—Tyler and Chloe. Tyler had on a floaty orange dress belted low around her hips, green ankle boots, and a floral scarf twisted through her rippling hair. On just about any other woman, the outfit would have looked silly, but Tyler had the panache to carry it off. And the figure.

  She was kneeling down, trying to tame Chloe’s curls with a hairbrush while the little girl squirmed and fussed. Looking exasperated, Tyler blew out a sigh, glanced at the empty road, and sighed again. The breeze toyed with Tyler’s dress, drifting the fabric over her legs, and Luke found himself wondering if she was still wearing the purple panties.

  He should have just given her a friendly wave and driven off. He barely knew her, and what he did know was dubious. He was here to get away from people, to cocoon himself in splendid isolation. Tyler was the exact opposite of that.

  But instead, he rolled down his car window and stuck his head out. “Everything okay?”

  Tyler stood, hands on hips, and gave a rueful smile. “Would you believe it? My car decided not to start this morning and Chloe’s babysitter called in sick. I need to get to work by nine, and I’ve no idea when the next bus is!”

  “Where do you work?” he heard himself say.

  “In town, near the Red Possum Hotel.”

  “Hop in, then.” He seemed to have lost all control over his mouth. “I’ll give you a lift.”

  “Thanks!” Her face brightened in surprise. “I have to get Chloe’s booster seat first. Won’t be a tick.” With Chloe firmly in tow, she ran to her driveway.

  When she returned with the booster seat, he secured it in the back and helped her strap Chloe in. A minute later, they were cruising toward town.

  “Looks like you moved in at just the right time for me,” Tyler said as she scrabbled through her oversize leather bag. She pulled out a small mirror and a long, pointy pencil and began outlining her eyes. “So what do you do, Luke?”

  He slowed down so she was less likely to poke her eye out. “Do?”

  “Yeah, y’know. What’s your job?”

  “Oh.” He shifted in his seat. “I’m a writer.” He didn’t know why, but he always felt a bit pompous saying that. Others labeled him “author,” but to him, that sounded even worse.

  “A writer!” She paused in her makeup routine to stare at him. “I’ve never met a writer before. What do you write?”

  “Short stories, novels.”

  “Wow. So you’re famous, then.” She grinned at him, her eyes impossibly huge and blue after her bit of makeup magic.

  “I don’t know.” He made a pretend grimace. “You’ve never heard of me.”

  Tyler shrugged. “Oh, I don’t count. These days I don’t have time to read much, and when I do it’s more likely to be Spot, The Dog than anything adult. What’s your most recent book?”

  “Kingsley Jeffers’s Journey. Heard of it?”

  She shook her head and pulled out a mascara tube. “And it’s been successful?” she asked, carefully coating her lashes.

  He didn’t reply immediately. How did one define success? Was it the number of books he’d sold, the talk shows he’d been on, the magazine articles and flattering reviews? Was it the size of his advance for his follow-up book, so eagerly anticipated and already eight months behind schedule? If so, then he was a raving success. But if that were true, why did he feel like he was suffocating? Why couldn’t he suppress the lurking suspicion he was really a failure?

  “You can ignore my questions.” Tyler’s voice broke through his milling thoughts. “I’ve heard how tough it is for writers. They say it’s difficult enough just to be accepted for publication, so you should be proud of your achievements.”

  She spoke so disarmingly, no doubt to soothe his artistic pride, and besides, he hated broadcasting his triumphs, so he coughed and murmured, “Thanks.”

  She finished highlighting her lashes and dropped the mascara back into her bag. Her eyes stood out more now, but somehow he preferred her the way she’d looked this morning, all earthy and elemental.

  “You don’t look much like a writer to me,” she said as she threaded several silver bracelets onto her slim wrists.

  “What do writers look like to you?”

  “As I said, you’re the first writer I’ve met, but I’ve always imagined writers to be older, with beards and leather elbow patches, and either boring everyone in their uppity voices or swearing and getting roaring drunk on whiskey.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Oh, I didn’t say you’re a disappointment.”

  Startled, he glanced at her and caught the tail end of her insouciant smile. Was she flirting with him? The possibility sent a curious vibration through his nerves, as if he liked the idea of Tyler flirting with him. Shoot, he knew he shouldn’t have offered her a lift. “Where to now?” he asked as they reached the center of town.

  “It’s just a couple of blocks up ahead.”

  He eased off the accelerator as they cruised down the main street. He’d grown up in Goulburn and wasn’t too familiar with Burronga, even though the towns were an hour’s drive apart. Burronga was a more upmarket place than his hometown, with fancier shops and more expensive cars parked on the streets. They passed the Red Possum, a big, old-fashioned pub, before approaching a late Victorian building where Tyler indicated for him to pull over. The historic facade of the building had been preserved, but the ground floor looked like it had been recently renovated, with new glass doors and a wide, striped awning bearing the name JAVA & JOOLZ.

  “So this is where you work?” he said as Tyler unstrapped Chloe from her booster seat.

  “Yes. It’s an art gallery and coffee shop. As a matter of fact, I’m part owner,” she added, a note of pride edging into her voice.

  “Oh.” He couldn’t help lifting his eyebrows, and she didn’t miss the gesture.

  “What? Don’t I look competent enough to be part owner of a business?” Resting a hand on her hip, she gave him a razzing grin.

  It wasn’t a question of being competent. He’d seen the chaos inside her house and that didn’t easily gel with running a business. “It must
be hard work,” he answered diplomatically.

  She hauled Chloe out of the car and balanced the child on her hip while she hooked her enormous bag over her free arm. “It’s bloody hard work. Why don’t you come inside and have a look?”

  He shouldn’t. He should politely decline and be on his way, his good deed—two of them—done for the day. Deep down, he knew that Tyler, with her brilliant blue eyes and pert smile and purple underwear, plus her impish daughter, was exactly what he didn’t need. Exactly what he’d never need. The debacle with Jennifer had only hardened his resolve. He’d come to Burronga to bury himself in his writing, nothing else. It was his final chance to salvage something out of this disastrous year, and the last thing he needed was a sassy single mother distracting him. Especially considering how he’d reacted to her flirty grin earlier in the car. He should say no.

  Instead, he said, “Sure. I’m in desperate need of a decent coffee right now.”

  She smiled at him, and the candid radiance of her smile made him blink. “Coffee’s on the house. I owe you.”

  He climbed out of his car, his blood still tingling from the aftereffects of her brilliant smile. Tyler Jones yelling at him in her underwear was quite a sight, but Tyler Jones beaming at him was something else.

  …

  Tyler unlocked the front door of Java & Joolz. Even though the business had been running for more than three months, she still got a thrill from entering the store and realizing it was partly hers. It had been her idea to open a coffee shop combined with a gallery selling handcrafted jewelry, fine art, and gifts, but she couldn’t have done it without her friend and partner, Ally, who had years of experience running a gift shop.

  Their business was located in a building owned by Ally’s fiancé, Nate, who had renovated the ground floor to their requirements after a car had smashed through the store and ruined Ally’s previous gift shop. She and Ally had worked their fingers to the bone getting Java & Joolz up and running. They weren’t making a profit yet, but sales were steadily rising.