Mandy was gesturing toward the spirits lined up on the shelves behind the bar. Joe nodded, asked a question. Mandy turned and pointed to the beer taps along the front edge of the counter.
“You coming or what?” Bugsy called from behind her.
Hannah tore her gaze away and walked the final few steps to join him.
Why was Joe Lawson being invited behind the bar? If she didn’t know any better, she’d think Mandy was giving him an orientation tour.
Shit. What if he’d taken a job at The Watering Hole? It was possible, after all. He was new to the area, and Ruby had said he’d retired from the rigs. He must need to work. Still, this was the one place she could relax and not worry about anything, the one place where she felt utterly comfortable. She didn’t want to have to run the gauntlet of her surly neighbor every time she wanted a beer and a game of pool.
Hannah was distracted as Bugsy set up the table then flipped a coin to see who would break. She kept glancing across to the bar to check what Joe was doing. Sure enough, he’d started pulling beers for customers.
“Bloody hell.”
Bugsy broke and started sinking balls. Hannah tried to concentrate, but she was too thrown to really follow the game. When Mandy sailed past with a tray full of empty glasses, Hannah called after her.
“Mandy. You got a minute?” she asked.
The older woman paused and smiled at Hannah. “Sure. You guys want another round?”
“We’re all right for now, thanks. I was just curious about the new guy.”
Mandy rolled her eyes and fanned herself with her free hand. “I know, isn’t he gorgeous? Talk about dumb luck, huh? When Arnie told me the news I was sure it was going to suck big-time, but now that I’ve met Joe I’ve got to say, I’m definitely coming around.”
Hannah frowned, confused, but Mandy just kept talking.
“And the great thing is, the way he’s talking, Joe’s not going to change anything. He’s definitely not going to put in slot machines or try to turn the place into one of those slick yuppy hangouts, thank God. So even though it’ll be sad saying goodbye to Arnie after all these years, I think I can live with it.”
Hannah blinked as she deciphered Mandy’s ramblings. “He’s bought the place?” Hannah hoped against hope that she’d gotten it wrong.
“Yeah. Didn’t you see the notice?” Mandy pointed to a handwritten note stuck near the till. “Sale was finalized yesterday, but apparently they’ve been negotiating for over a month.”
Hannah swallowed the four-letter word on the tip of her tongue. “Well. How about that.”
Mandy wiggled her eyebrows suggestively one last time before moving off. Hannah tried to come to terms with what she’d just learned.
Joe Lawson, arrogant, judgmental neighbor extraordinaire, had purchased the one place left on earth where she felt like a normal human being. What were the odds?
She was seized with the sudden urge to march across the bar and demand he undo the sale, that he choose some other pub to invest in. This was her home away from home. She’d already lost the apartment she and Lucas had lived in, the future they’d planned. She’d narrowed her life to working hard and paying off her debts so she could escape. The Watering Hole had been her solace.
And now Joe Bloody Lawson had taken that away from her, too.
She should walk out the door and never come back. She didn’t like him, he didn’t like her. He made her uncomfortable. There were plenty of other places she could play pool and drink beer with her mates. But leaving felt like admitting defeat. Even if he owned the place now, she’d been here first. She’d been coming here for years, for Pete’s sake. There was no way she was going to let him run her out of town, so to speak.
“Your shot,” Bugsy said.
Hannah dragged her gaze away from where Joe was pouring shots for a group of university students. Jaw set, she took up her cue. Lining up a ball, she took her shot. The ball sped straight into the pocket with a satisfying thwack.
“Aw, man,” Bugsy complained as she started to clean up the table.
She wouldn’t back off. She would come here after work two or three times a week, same as she always had. Joe was nothing to her. Less than nothing.
Absolutely.
TWO WEEKS LATER, Joe let himself into the house to find his mother dozing on the couch. He tried to be quiet but she started to wakefulness as he entered the room.
“Joe! You scared me.”
“Sorry. I tried to be quiet.”
She sat up and ran her hands over her hair.
“My goodness, it’s after eleven. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but television was dreadful tonight. All that horrible reality TV just celebrates the absolute worst in humanity. What happened to good old-fashioned dramas like Dallas and Dynasty?”
“Joan Collins got old and J.R. got sick,” he said. He dropped his keys onto the coffee table and stretched out his back. “How were the kids? Did Ben get through his homework okay?”
Joe had been making a point of being home when the kids got in from school most days, only heading into the pub after they’d had their dinner. His long-term plan was to hire a night manager, but his mother had been good enough to cover the evenings while he learned the ropes at The Watering Hole in these early weeks. Tonight, however, he’d had to delegate all child care to his mother while he dealt with a staff crisis. Not a big deal, but annoying given that the whole point of buying the business had been to offer his kids a more stable home life.
“He told me he did it. I’m not sure what that means anymore,” his mother said.
He ran a hand over his hair. He knew exactly what she meant. Ben had become increasingly incommunicative lately. He spent a lot of time alone in his room listening to his iPod or playing on his handheld game, and no matter what Joe said or did he couldn’t get more than a shrug and a handful of words from his son.
“Have you had that talk with him yet?” his mother asked.
“Yes. He said school is fine, he’s making friends. He likes the new house. I couldn’t get anything more out of him.” He sat on the couch beside her. “I should have stuck it out in Sydney.”
“Maybe, but you’re here now. And once Ben and Ruby settle, things will even out, you’ll find new rhythms and routines.”
“I guess.”
“How’s the pub going?”
“Good. Still getting used to being on my feet most of the day.” He gave her a tired smile. “Got soft over the past few years, being a desk jockey.”
He’d given up his work on the offshore oil rigs when Beth died and taken a desk job so he could be around for the kids. It had been more than enough to prove to him that suit-and-tie stuff was not for him. Hence the purchase of the pub. It had always been Beth’s dream that they buy their own place and run it as a family.
“You look tired,” his mother said, her eyes concerned.
“I’m okay.”
“I know it must be hard. You and Beth always planned on doing this together.”
He shrugged. He had to do something with his life now that he could no longer do the rig work he loved. He’d decided to go ahead with Beth’s dream because he hadn’t had one of his own and she’d always said that when he gave up offshore work he’d go stir-crazy if he tried to take on a nine-to-five job. The past two years had more than proven her right.
Just for a moment he allowed himself to wonder what she’d think of The Watering Hole. He hoped she’d like its old-fashioned wooden bar and beat-up floor, the scratched and scarred tables and chairs and the chalkboards dating back to the 1930s. She’d always talked about buying a traditional place, a pub where families could get a reasonably priced meal and where the locals came to spend time with each other. No slot machines, no loud bands to scare people off. A neighborhood place.
His mother stood and started collecting her things. “I’d better get going. I’ll see you around dinnertime tomorrow, okay?”
He looked at her. “I appreciate this. You know that
, right?” He’d never been great with words, but he hoped she understood how much he valued everything she’d done for him and his kids.
“I do. And you don’t have to keep thanking me. Ben and Ruby keep me young.” She squeezed his hand and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Get some sleep.”
He walked her to her car and waited until she’d rounded the corner before turning back to the house. He glanced at the Napier place as he walked up the front path. The light was on in the garage, illumination leaking out around the edges of the roller door. He could hear the radio playing. Hannah was obviously in there, tinkering away at something. He didn’t need to check his watch to know it was late, well past eleven. What the hell did she have to do in there that couldn’t wait until morning?
Over the past two weeks he’d watched her at The Watering Hole. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d been unable to help himself. The moment she walked in the door she exerted a gravitational pull on his senses that he found impossible to ignore. She came in twice, maybe three times a week. She had a beer, sometimes two, played a couple of games of pool with her biker friends, then she left. She never got drunk, never flirted, never let the guys win to make them feel good about themselves. Watching her interact with them, he was almost certain she wasn’t sleeping with any of them. Although why that was any of his business he had no idea.
She’d let Ruby help her twice since his knee-jerk reaction. Both times Ruby came home with greasy fingernails and clothes and conversation peppered with lots of “Hannah saids.” Through his daughter he’d learned that Hannah was restoring an old Triumph Thunderbird, that she planned to take off on a round-Australia road trip as soon as she had enough money saved, and that Hannah couldn’t stand Brussels sprouts, turnips or radishes.
He couldn’t work her out. She was gorgeous, yet she spent most of her time alone, up to her elbows in oil and grease. He’d finally discovered that her mother owned the house next door and that Hannah was living with her, and not the other way around. Yet Hannah didn’t strike him as the kind of person who would cling to her mother’s apron strings.
She was a mystery. One that his mind kept mulling over, again and again.
He climbed the steps to the house, shutting out thoughts of his provocative neighbor along with the cool night air as he closed the front door. He had no business speculating about her, just as he had no business fantasizing about what she looked like naked or how her skin would feel against his own. It was a dead end, and he didn’t have time or energy to waste on dead ends.
He locked the door then did his nightly check on the kids before heading to bed. Ben’s door was closed, but Joe eased it open and stepped into the room. His son looked much younger than his thirteen years when he was sleeping, his face more rounded, his chin less determined. Joe backed out silently then made his way to Ruby’s room. Her door was ajar and he swung it open quietly. Unlike her brother, Ruby was twisted in her quilt, one hand flung up near her head on the pillow. He crossed to the bed to untangle her and frowned when he saw the damp patch on her pillow. Her eyelashes were spiky with moisture, her cheeks flushed. She’d been crying, had cried herself to sleep, in fact. That was a blow to his solar plexus. It was one thing for him to be around while his daughter cried, to be able to comfort her and talk to her, but it was another thing entirely to know she’d been huddled in her bed, crying her misery into her pillow all on her own.
He wanted to wake her and reassure her and make her world right again. Instead he crouched beside the bed and smoothed the hair from her forehead. She looked more and more like Beth every day. She was going to be beautiful like her, too.
Because there was nothing else for him to do, he straightened her quilt, making sure she was warm enough. His fingers encountered something where the bed met the wall and he pulled out a crumpled ball of paper. He waited until he was in the hallway and the door was closed before smoothing the page. It was a flyer, sent home from Ruby’s school.
Elsternwick Primary School invites entries for its annual Mother and Daughter Fashion Parade. All funds raised will go toward the new gymnasium…
Joe swore under his breath and let his hand drop to his side. No wonder she’d been crying.
“Damn.”
Life was going to be full of moments like these for his children. Casually delivered school notices, other children’s birthday parties, a myriad of other social and community events centered around families. He couldn’t protect Ben and Ruby from them all, no matter how much he wanted to. But God, how he wanted to.
He walked slowly to the kitchen and placed the flyer on the counter. He stared at it, trying to work out how to handle the situation. Wait until Ruby brought it up? Mention it himself? Did the fact that Ruby hadn’t said anything to his mother tonight and instead chose to cry alone in her room mean he should tackle this more vigorously or give her more space?
He was truly clueless. He rubbed a hand over his face. Then he folded the notice in half and slid it into the junk drawer. He would talk to Ruby in the morning, see if she mentioned the fashion parade. If she didn’t…He would cross that bridge when he came to it. If she did, he would offer what comfort he could. Maybe his mother would be an adequate substitute. Or maybe he could offer to do something special with her the night of the parade and turn it into a father-daughter event instead of an occasion of sadness and grief.
Maybe. It was becoming the most overused word in his vocabulary.
THE NEXT DAY, HANNAH exited the workshop and waited for a pause in the traffic before crossing to the small group of shops opposite. She could see there was already a queue forming in the bakery, but she knew Ian would bitch and moan all day if she didn’t bring him back the doughnut he’d requested for morning break.
Resigning herself to a long wait, she joined the line and dug her hands into the pockets of her coveralls, jingling her change in the palm of her hand. She was glancing idly out the front window when she saw a dark-haired boy walk past with a couple of taller, older kids. She’d have to be blind not to recognize the younger boy as Joe’s son—she’d seen him coming and going from the house often enough.
She checked her watch. It wasn’t even close to lunchtime, which meant Joe’s kid had no legitimate reason for being on the street during school hours.
Unless he was ditching, of course.
She turned her attention to the menu board behind the bakery counter and concentrated on choosing between a Danish and a vanilla slice for herself. So what if Joe’s kid was sneaking off from school with what looked like older, meaner kids? It was none of her business.
It was harder to stick to her decision when she exited the bakery and spotted Joe’s son emptying his pockets near the corner while the older kids inspected his haul. It had been a while, but Hannah recognized the classic signs of shoplifting when she saw them. The furtiveness, the repressed excitement and fear. She could imagine how it had worked, too—the older kids distracting the shopkeeper while the younger, more innocent-looking kid played mule and stuffed his pockets.
She hesitated on the curb, watching the smaller boy shake his head in response to something one of the older kids said. Joe Junior or whatever his name was looked a lot like his old man—same dark hair, same blue eyes. No doubt he’d grow up to be as big and strong, too. As though he felt her regard, Joe Junior looked up and for a moment they locked gazes. He looked away first, but not before she saw the sadness in him. Another thing in common with his father.
She crossed the street and reentered the workshop, tossing Ian the bag with his doughnut in it.
“Thanks, boss lady,” he said with a grin.
“Just don’t blame me when you have diabetes.”
She leaned her butt against the rear workbench and bit into her Danish, frowning fiercely as she chewed. For the life of her, she couldn’t get the little scene from across the road out of her mind. The way Joe’s son had hunched his shoulders when the older kids were talking to him, the patent unhappiness in his eyes—he hadn’t
looked as though he was having a good time to Hannah. He was new to the area, too. Who knew what kinds of pressure he was experiencing at his new school and what he felt he had to do to fit in with his new peers?
“Shit.”
She screwed the remains of her Danish up inside the bakery bag and tossed the lot in the garbage. She couldn’t believe she was about to do what she was about to do.
“Ian, I’m heading out for half an hour or so. Cover the phones, okay?”
“Sure. Don’t forget Mrs. Lockhead wants her wagon back by three.”
“Yeah, I’m on it.”
She didn’t bother to check her hair or change out of her coverall. This wasn’t a social call, after all. She walked around the corner, and down the block to The Watering Hole. It was dim inside after the brightness out of doors so she stopped on the threshold and blinked, waiting for her vision to clear.
It was quiet, since it was only half past ten. Staff were busy cleaning tables and stacking glasses. The smell of beer and fried food hung in the air.
Second thoughts bit hard. She had no business being here. Then Joe exited the office, a stack of papers in hand.
Fine. Get it over with if you’re going to be a do-gooder.
She took a deep breath and crossed to the bar. “You got a minute?”
Joe’s head came up and his eyebrows lifted. He didn’t bother pretending to look pleased to see her. They didn’t have that kind of relationship.
“What’s up?”
Hannah glanced at the bartender pouring ice into a bucket nearby. “Is there somewhere more private we can talk?”
She figured he wouldn’t be thrilled to have his staff learn about his renegade son. Not that he was going to be thrilled at all, of course.
There was a short pause before he gestured with his head for her to follow him. She kept her eyes on the back of his neck as he led her into the manager’s office. Boxes of supplies were stacked along one wall and a battered desk filled the corner. He turned to face her, eyes wary.
Home for the Holidays Page 5