by Fiona Lowe
Callie instantly imagined Natalie’s forefinger running down Cade’s chest.
You don’t care, okay? she told herself sternly. It was nothing to her that Natalie was inviting Cade to the Gold Coast’s A-list event at the Palace and it was equally nothing to her that he’d accept. One thing was certain—they’d make a stunning couple and catch the eye of photographers. She could picture them splashed all over the social pages. Cade Coleman would be in his element surrounded by the rich and the beautiful.
‘It was really kind of you to think of me,’ Cade said, ‘but A-list events aren’t really my scene.’
What? Callie wanted to knock herself on the side of the head to adjust her hearing. Was it possible that Cade was turning down both Natalie and the social event of the year?
‘You told me you loved car racing.’ Natalie’s cooing voice developed an edge. ‘Do you have any idea the favours I had to give out to get these tickets?’
‘I’m sorry, Natalie,’ Cade said gently, ‘but I never asked you to get the tickets. I’m sure your efforts haven’t been completely wasted. No doubt there’s a long line of guys who’d be more than happy to accompany you.’
‘Oh, there is,’ Natalie ground out, ‘but remember it’s your loss.’
Incredulity poured through Callie. The fact that Cade Coleman was turning down a beautiful woman was far more significant than when he’d rejected her slightly drunken invitation at the wedding all those weeks ago.
‘Okay,’ Cade said. ‘It’s been good to see you, Natalie. I’ll catch you around.’
I’ll catch you around. He’d used the exact expression he’d used with her when he’d left the ward. It was his default farewell—friendly yet casually detached.
Detached.
The word slammed into her, illuminating so many things that had confused her about this charming and supposed playboy. Back in the day, his brother, Alex, had told her he had a problem with women. She’d taken that to mean he was a player but weeks had gone by since he’d arrived in Australia and, despite all the rumours of women throwing themselves at him, there wasn’t one report that he’d actually gone on a date with anyone.
You flirted.
Sure, they had, once, but they hadn’t dated. She’d run fast from the idea and he’d never offered. Perhaps he was running from the idea too. For the first time since she’d met him, she realised that Cade Coleman’s carefree charm was a ruse. A ruse that kept people at arm’s length.
It immediately begged the question, Why?
Luke came back inside from having put the wheelie bins out on the kerb. It was crazy how something so prosaic and mundane could be so enjoyable. For the first time in months he felt almost normal—not that he’d felt abnormal before but he’d definitely felt not quite right. During his convalescence he’d realised that for well over a year he’d assigned many of the signs of the tumour to his grief for Anna, which had effectively masked the nebulous symptoms.
Now that the bastard clump of cells was no longer in his head, he felt totally different. God, he still missed Anna, he always would, but it was more of a contained sadness than fury at himself and the world. He hadn’t realised how exhausting and draining those emotions had been and he was immensely glad they were gone. He gave thanks every day that he’d been diagnosed before he’d inadvertently done any harm to his beloved daughter.
He was desperate to get back to work as soon as possible and make amends to his staff. He was determined to be the most amenable plastic surgeon ever, as well as taking them out for a meal. Nothing said sorry and thank you like good food and wine. He just had to clear a few hurdles first.
The fact he hadn’t experienced a seizure since the one that had led to the diagnosis of the tumour was an enormous relief and with each passing day he saw the worry lines on the bridge of Chloe’s nose fading. Ongoing seizures would have meant a career change, and although his good friend Tom Jordan, the neurosurgeon from Sydney Harbour Hospital, had carved out a new and successful career post-trauma, Luke was thankful he wouldn’t have to do the same. He knew how tough it had been on Tom.
Luke’s current hope was that at his next doctor’s visit Ken Mendaz would give the all-clear for him to live alone again. Not that he didn’t enjoy Chloe’s company and presence in the cottage, he did. In three short weeks she’d managed to give his cottage a totally different feel.
The fragrant, fruity zing of her pomegranate and mango soap lingered in the bathroom, her glasses often rested on the coffee table, precariously balanced over the spine of whichever book she was reading at the time, and he didn’t even want to think about the watermelon-pink lace bra and panties he’d seen fluttering on the clothesline.
To cope with his seesawing feelings about Chloe—feelings that confused the hell out of him—he tried to think of her in terms of his nurse and Amber’s caregiver. When Chloe was the brisk, caring, no-nonsense woman who, like his sister Steph, verged on being bossy, he could relax. The problems started when Chloe laughed. Smiles immediately followed, wreathing her face, and then her dimples danced and her eyes sparkled with so much energy and life that he wanted to be part of it. He wanted to hold her close and inhale her joy.
Only that would dishonour Anna and complicate his friendship with Chloe, so the sooner she and her damn cute puppy moved back to her apartment, the sooner his life could return to normal.
What’s normal? There’s been no normal since Anna died. Chloe’s real and she’s here.
La, la, la, not listening. There’s only ever been Anna and I still love her.
He ran his hand over his head but there was no joy to be found tugging at his hair—just the prickly feel of stubble against his palm. He spun his wedding ring on his finger. The gold band had been in position for a decade and was as much a part of him as the silver streaks in his hair. Streaks that had moved into place after Anna had died. The colour had vanished from his hair just like the colour had vanished from his life.
At least today he’d clawed back some normalcy. He’d driven his car for the first time since his surgery and his reflexes and reactions had been perfect. Chloe had suggested they take Amber to SeaWorld to celebrate this milestone and he’d agreed. They’d laughed at the antics of the seals, been awed by the sleek athleticism of the dolphins, eaten ice creams and generally enjoyed the day. It had been fun and easy, which typified most of his experiences with Chloe.
Thankfully, there’d only been one of those unexpected moments when he’d had the overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around her, haul her close and kiss her senseless.
Fortunately, for most of the time Amber, with her boundless energy, was as good an antidote to unwanted lust as cold showers. Still, Chloe moving out of the cottage would remove all temptation. He didn’t want to be tempted. Hell, last week he’d almost kissed her and that would have been a disaster.
All he wanted was to live his life in a way that honoured Anna and Amber.
He latched the gate and slipped quietly back into the kitchen. As he eased the screen door closed, he heard voices drifting down the corridor. The old hall boards creaked under his feet as he walked the short distance and paused just outside the open door of his daughter’s room.
‘Bunny’s here, Teddy’s here, Clowny’s here,’ Chloe said.
‘Amber’s here.’ Amber giggled at her own joke.
‘She is and now it’s nigh’-nigh’ time,’ Chloe replied with a smile in her voice as she pulled up the quilt.
‘’Nother story?’ Amber asked hopefully.
‘Your daddy read you three. Snuggle down.’
Luke grinned. Chloe did bad cop so much better than he did. Despite her protestations that she didn’t know much about kids, she had the knack of settling Amber down pat. A week after his surgery they’d fallen into a routine where he bathed Amber, read her stories and kissed her goodnight.
Chloe would then put her to bed and, miracle of miracles, Amber usually settled without fuss—something she’d rarely done for him since Anna’s
death. Tonight was the first time he’d ever watched Chloe put Amber to bed.
His daughter obeyed Chloe’s no-nonsense instructions and did indeed wriggle down until the quilt rested under her chin.
Amber peeked up at Chloe. ‘Clo tell story.’
Chloe’s sigh held traces of humour, as if she’d anticipated this request and she rested her elbows on the top of the cot. ‘Once upon a time there was a little girl called…’
‘Amber.’
‘Yes…’ She laughed. ‘A little girl called Amber who has a daddy who loves her very, very much.’
‘Daddy hurted head.’
‘He did, sweetie, but he’s all better now.’
Luke listened to Amber’s contributions and his breath caught in his chest at the realisation that this story was a nightly routine. Chloe must have instigated it to reassure Amber during the fraught few days he’d been in hospital.
A rush of thankfulness filled him. Chloe was utterly amazing and he owed her so much. With Steph only just leaving Arkaroola now, he didn’t know how he would have managed these last three weeks without her. What did you buy someone who’d stepped into the breach without thought for herself? Neither flowers, chocolates, good wine or even a spa voucher seemed to be anywhere near enough to express his gratitude.
‘Clo and Chester here,’ his daughter said, clapping her little hands.
‘Just for a little while.’ Chloe reached out, brushing Amber’s curls off her forehead before tucking bunny in close.
‘Love Chester.’ Amber yawned.
‘Me too.’
‘Love Clo.’
‘Ohh.’ The word came out strangled and filled with something akin to pain.
Luke shuddered and every nerve ending went on alert. Without knowing why, he strode into the room with a driving need to protect Chloe. He leaned over the cot and smiled at Amber. ‘Has my girl got an extra kiss for her daddy?’
Chloe quickly stepped back and as Amber’s pudgy arms wrapped themselves around his neck, he heard Chloe’s footsteps leaving the room.
CHAPTER NINE
A COUPLE OF minutes later, after Luke had settled Amber, he found Chloe nestled in the corner of the couch with her feet tucked up under her—sitting the way she always did.
She looked up guiltily, her glasses flashing in the light and a glass of wine in her hand. ‘Sorry.’
It was the first time he’d seen her drink any alcohol since she’d moved in. ‘Don’t apologise. Just because Ken’s put me on the wagon for medical reasons it doesn’t mean that you have to be teetotal.’
‘Good.’ She took close to a gulp.
He sat down next to her, worried about her reaction to Amber’s childish declaration. Amber cheerfully told everyone she loved him or her, from the childcare workers to Chester. ‘Everything okay? Amber not stressing you out?’
‘Everything’s fine,’ she said over-brightly. ‘Wasn’t today a fabulous day? Amber’s expression when the seal balanced the ball on his nose was priceless.’
He recalled that moment vividly. Their eyes had met over the top of his daughter’s curly head, sharing her delight, and he’d had to stop himself from kissing Chloe. A week ago he’d brushed her cheek with his lips in an attempt at a friendly, platonic kiss—the type shared by good friends. Lust had detonated deep inside him, releasing a visceral craving for her that was so strong it had terrified him. He’d avoided touching her ever since.
He was sticking to friendship. ‘Thanks for making today happen, Chloe. The picnic was delicious and you thought of everything. I think you probably had a kitchen sink in that backpack of yours.’
‘I doubt that. Still, Amber’s taught me that when Nick and Lucy’s twins are a bit older, at least I’ll be able to do the auntie thing and take them to the park and survive.’
‘Hey, you remembered the nappies and the wipes and in my book that’s everything.’ He smiled at her, wanting to banish her brittle aura and lighten her unusually blue mood. ‘One day you’ll make a great mother.’
‘Never going to happen.’ She drained her glass and quickly refilled it, the action defiant and filled with agony.
He felt himself frown, trying to make sense of her statement. She was wonderful with Amber and she’d been equally good with the little Balinese boy, Made, all those weeks ago when he’d first met her. ‘Don’t you want children?’
Her top teeth pulled at her bottom lip, worrying it, and then she sighed. ‘It isn’t just a matter of want.’
He leaned back in the couch, understanding the modern woman’s dilemma. ‘You’re only just thirty, Chloe. There’s plenty of time for you to meet the right guy, settle down and have babies.’
A short, sharp pain jabbed him near his solar plexus and he found himself rubbing the spot, wondering what it could be.
‘Meeting someone isn’t the problem, Luke,’ she said sharply, before standing up. ‘Anyway, enough of all that. It’s been a big day, I’m tired so I’ll say goodnight.’
The regret on her face made him sit forward and catch her hand in his. ‘You can’t just say something like that and then walk away.’
‘I can.’ She blinked rapidly as if she was holding back tears.
‘I don’t want you to.’ He continued holding her hand, feeling her pain hurtling into him like storm waves pounding against the uprights of a pier. ‘We’re friends, Chloe, and you’ve helped me so much. Let me help you.’
‘There’s nothing you can do.’
‘Try me.’
She stared at him, her eyes luminous and hurting, and then she dropped her gaze to his fingers interlaced with hers. She sat down very slowly as if she really wanted to fight it and then a long silence played out.
He let her take her time.
She finally raised her head and looked at him. ‘You know how nothing can ever bring Anna back to you? Not even a miracle?’
Hell, yeah. He nodded, wondering where she was going with this. ‘Sure.’
‘Well, same.’ She was sitting so close to him that her leg lined his and her hipbone brushed his and her heat and distress flowed into him. ‘No medical miracle can make me pregnant.’
He thought about her brother, Nick, who had a specialist patient list of infertile couples. Surely she knew that he had successes against all the odds and delivered babies born of women who’d experienced years of infertility. There was always hope.
He wanted to throw her a bone to lessen her pain. Squeezing her hand, he said, ‘Don’t rule anything out, Chloe. The human body is amazingly resilient.’
She closed her eyes and sagged against him for the briefest moment before sitting up straight again. ‘Resilience won’t help a damn, Luke. I had a hysterectomy at sixteen.’
His jaw dropped. Of all the things he’d anticipated she might say, this wasn’t one of them.
Chloe registered the flash of shock in Luke’s eyes and followed its trajectory across his high cheeks before it buried itself in his dark stubble. Why had she blurted out her secret? Why had she told him? She didn’t tell anyone and Luke certainly didn’t need to know. It wasn’t like they had a future together—take one infertile woman and one grieving widow and mix…Nope, not a good combination, no matter which way you looked at it.
But you’ve told him. It’s out there, so deal with it.
She steeled herself for the anticipated questions, for the probable censure and disapproval, and the change in his behaviour towards her. She knew the drill. She’d been there, done that and got the T-shirt. First with her father and more recently with Jason. His horrified expression combined with the way he’d stepped back from her so fast—as if she had leprosy—was burned on her soul.
Luke’s eyes darkened to mossy green and then he silently wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close.
She gave in to the unexpected hug and buried her face in his shoulder, absorbing his empathy and appreciating that he wasn’t offering her any platitudes. He probably knew how worthless they really were, having heard them all
when his wife had died. The slow, strong, rhythmic beat of his heart thudded against her chest and she wanted to stay there, snuggled into him, for ever. Safe, warm and not judged.
You need to move.
The elapsed time had now passed normal support and was fast moving into the getting-awkward stage.
She raised her head and noticed the big, damp spot on his shoulder. ‘I’ve made your shirt all wet. Sorry.’
‘No problem. Amber’s done a lot worse.’ He smiled and reached for her wine, passing it to her with his left hand and leaving his right arm loosely slung around her shoulders. The light played off his wedding ring.
He still hadn’t asked her why such a tragedy had befallen her and that unnerved her. The unasked question was like the click of a landmine—it was going to go off, but exactly when she had no clue.
Sipping the sauvignon blanc, she vacillated on what to do or say next but the weight and wonderful warmth of his arm around her was draining her brain. Staring straight ahead, she decided to explode the landmine herself. ‘On the few occasions I’ve told people, they usually have questions.’
His fingers played with her hair. ‘Of course I want to know why you needed such catastrophic surgery at such a young age but I also get it if you don’t want to tell me.’
He understands.
Relief flowed into her. He’d met grief head-on, just like she had. He knew the massive chasms that could suck you down, trapping you in darkness whenever you dared revisit places that haunted you.
Maybe it was that understanding, maybe it was the caring warmth of his arm against her or even the relaxing effects of the wine—did it matter? No, but for some inexplicable reason she wanted to tell him.
She moistened her lips. ‘It’s not a quick story.’
He gently squeezed the top of her arm and his insightful gaze rested on her. ‘I’ve got all the time in the world.’
She took in a deep breath and started. ‘My parents are Greek, traditionalists and strict. My mother is scared of my father and my father rules the family with a will of iron…’