by Joanne Hill
Her eyebrows shot up, and he went on, “But I have a Plan B. You drive my car to your place, and I'll come over in the morning and pick it up.”
Was it possible her eyebrows had arched even higher? “Me?” she squeaked. “Drive your car? The one we came here in.”
He found himself smiling, despite the churning in his stomach. “Not necessarily that one. I have several.” He rubbed his thumb across his chin. “Though that’s probably the best one to take this late at night.”
Now her eyebrows drew together and she eyed him with suspicion. “Wouldn't it just be easier if I took a cab home? Save you having to come all the way over on a Sunday morning?”
“Yeah. It would be easier.” His eyes met hers without wavering. “But there are reasons I don't want you in a cab tonight.”
He could go into details, tell her the whole thing. She'd understand. Or think he was paranoid crazy. He hesitated. No. No elaboration, not just yet. It had all been too much of a shock and the less she knew, the less anyone knew, the better.
She stared directly at him. “I take it this is something to do with that phone call from Brad?”
He stilled. “I hadn't realized you'd seen that.”
“For a small phone, those screens are pretty big.”
Not much he could do about it now. “Then, yeah, it is to do with Brad.” Sorry. One word that just confirmed everything Charlotte had told him. The urge to head to his gym had just gotten stronger.
“Look, Robyn, I'll drive if you're not keen on it and I wouldn't blame you. I invited you here and I promised to get you back home safely.”
She shook her head. “I've become a real night owl the past few months and I'm a good driver. And to be honest, I wouldn't trust you to drive me anywhere right now. You look like a caged leopard ready to pounce.”
A caged leopard. An astute analogy.
A smile curled her lips, deep creases forming around her mouth. “And I can't say I hate the idea of driving home in that car. The last thing I drove was my neighbour's twenty year old van.”
He let out a relieved breath. “You're really okay with this?”
“I am. And you know, if I was still at work and had my own car, I'd be driving home later than this. Though...” She paused. “It's a lot more work for you tomorrow. A cab would be the easier option.”
“It would. And I hate to trot out a cliché...”
“Don't let me stop you.”
The teasing note in her voice made the breath catch in his throat and at the same time the load on his chest eased a fraction. “It's complicated.”
She grinned. “Hmmm. You weren't kidding about the cliché.”
Her smile was so captivating he felt like smiling back, trying to forget that this time tomorrow his world might be a different place.
Seeing her smile, the way it brightened her face, a face which had been serious the entire night, lightened his own mood even further. Robyn Taylor had been a serious teenager. He'd never thought of her as having fun. Now, she was transformed and for a moment he allowed himself to be mesmerized. By her dark eyes, the wide curve of her mouth, the smile lines around her eyes.
She cleared her throat suddenly; he realized he'd been staring. She took the last sip of her coffee and stood up from her seat. “If I'm going to drive,” she said, “I better get started.”
He was sorry to see her go, so much so it was tempting to say, ‘Stay. Stay here with me tonight. I'd rather not be alone.’
But she had a family to get home to. She had her own life.
And for better or worse, he had a life, too.
He stood up. “Come on. I'll give you the crash course.”
It took only seconds for Jack to explain to Robyn the automatic gearshift, lights and windshield wipers, and then she was on her way, leaving behind the affluence of Takapuna as she headed across the bridge to her own suburb. The roads were near empty, the rain held off and as she pulled up in front of her house, she was sorry it was over. She carefully pulled up the handbrake and let the engine idle a few seconds as she ran her hand over the dash. It was so smooth to drive, so effortless.
She grabbed her coat and bag, climbed out and aimed the remote at the car.
Inside her house, she chained the front door, and trod past her babysitter, Harriett, snoring on the couch. She kicked off her shoes, put the kettle on to boil and went to check the twins.
She stood in the doorway of the room and watched as they slept.
Their black hair was tousled, their cheeks flushed. Ruby’s pink fleece blanket lay on top of her, one fist clutching it even in her sleep. In the next bed, James lay buried under his quilt, a row of trucks lined up on the floor under his bed.
Her babies.
It was so hard to believe she was a mother. So hard to believe they'd be turning five years old in a few months’ time and heading off to school.
Looking back she amazed herself that she’d survived divorce, the Terrible Twos, potty training and teething - all on her own.
But she had.
She went through to her own bedroom across the hall. Although, she mused as she flicked on the light and looked around, this hadn’t been just a bedroom for months. Her single bed was pushed against one wall, and her set of drawers now took up space in the hallway.
The rest of her room had been taken over completely by her kids clothing business: ‘James and Ruby’. Or rather, her fledgling kids clothing business. She switched on the lamp over the sewing table. In the middle of the room a trestle was laden with fabrics and patterns, and the walls were pinned with swatches and drawings.
She stepped around it to the huge planner tacked to the wall and stared at the date circled in bold red. The fashion trade show at the exhibition center was due to kick off in eight weeks. She'd registered a stall to exhibit her collection, had been working all the hours she could to refine it, all with the aim of impressing buyers into stocking her range. To have her clothes on sale in department stores and boutiques across New Zealand was her goal. And maybe Australia. And if that happened... Anticipation wound up her spine.
At this stage, it was her plan but it was still just a dream. She'd been selling the clothes at Saturday morning markets and fairs for the past eighteen months; it had been a conscious decision to take something she had enjoyed - sewing - and make some extra cash out of it. Then her friend Sage had suggested the clothes were good enough to be in stores. Sage knew manufacturers from her own time in the rag trade, and Robyn had begun to take it seriously.
She needed this so she could provide for her family. So she could in some way atone for the hash she'd made of her life.
Last year, Kelly had told her she was wasting her time and that she should stick to hawking clothes at markets and school fairs. Her mother had echoed those thoughts but a little more politely.
To them, sewing had been her little hobby.
And maybe, a pessimistic little voice chirped, they were right. Maybe they were both right. But you have to try. Because clearing plates and dealing with drunken patrons was not how she wanted to support herself and her children for the rest of her life.
Robyn pushed aside the memory of Kelly's words, and went through to the small bathroom. She turned on the shower, and slipped out of her work clothes. The room was cramped and shabby. It needed work - a lot of work - but the rent was too cheap to turn down. Her landlord had grand plans to knock down the two houses on the section and put up townhouses. He was just biding his time until the market was right, and in the meantime, it suited him to have the place rented out. Robyn stepped into the bathtub to stand under the hot water, and breathed a sigh of pleasure; washing the smells of sweat, liquor and food out of her hair and skin.
She lathered shampoo in her hands and for a moment she thought of Jack. She’d probably wake tomorrow morning and figure it was all a dream until she looked out the window and saw his car. Nothing much about the evening had felt real.
Her mind settled on the image of him as he'd taken
that phone call from Brad. He'd been angry, so furious, and anger issues were never something Jack Fletcher had been known for — unlike some of his siblings. What on earth had happened? Did it have something to do with Charlotte?
Not your business, Robyn, so focus on something that does matter.
She squeezed her eyes shut as she let the water stream through her hair and down her body, and pushed the oh so tempting thoughts of Jack Fletcher aside.
CHAPTER FOUR
Robyn snapped awake to find James driving his cars over her legs and Ruby on the floor with her pink blanket draped across her knees. Masses of pink fabric covered the fleece in a haphazard pattern and Robyn bit back a frustrated groan at the mess. It was the last thing she needed.
“Morning James, morning Rubes.”
She was about to tell Ruby off when she stared. Actually, that pink-on-pink look wasn’t too bad. In fact...
“Ruby, don’t move.”
Robyn shot out of bed, scrabbled around her bag for her phone and came back. She aimed it at the blanket and snapped.
A jacket. A cute little jacket with multiple shades of pink. And an off-white trim. Or maybe a cape. A fleece cape for winter. Robyn's pulse began to race. With a dark pink base and pale pinks. The way Ruby draped her pink fleece around her, she’d love a cape.
Even so. “Ruby?” Robyn used her stern voice and Ruby looked up at her.
“What did I say about playing with all the material and how you were only to play with the material I gave you in your own basket? What did I say about that, Ruby?”
Ruby picked up her blankie. “Harry’s asleep in the lounge.”
“That is not what I said.” Robyn stretched. “And don’t you know it. Come on, let’s go and make some toast and we’ll see if Harry’s only pretending to be asleep.” She ruffled James’ hair. “You coming?”
“Vroom,” James growled as he gathered up his trucks.
They went down the small hall to the living area and as she began to make coffee, Robyn checked out the window to make sure Jack's car was still there.
James shot past and over to Harriet on the couch.
“Harry’s still here,” he yelled.
Harriet grunted, and pulled the duvet around her. James ran his cars over and around her. “Vroom, vroom,” he growled. “Harry’s a mountain. Harry’s a ‘cano.”
“I wouldn’t touch her hair or Harry might explode,” Robyn warned.
“Vroom.” James drove his truck over her blonde hair, Robyn winced, and Harriet screeched. “Jamie. Oh my gosh, stop it, stop it!” She struggled up on to her elbows and made an attempt at extricating the truck from her hair. “You are in such big trouble, mister — if I ever get out of this mess.” She angled to try and see where the wheels of the truck were snagged.
“Let me have a go at it,” Robyn offered.
“No way,” Harry protested. “If you are anything like my mother, you will only inflict agony on me.” She felt around her head. “I will do it myself. No offence intended.”
“None taken,” Robyn murmured. Movement outside suddenly caught her eye and she glanced through the window. Jack was walking up the drive. Jack? Here already. It had only just gone eight. He stopped by the carport and glanced at his car. Then he turned towards the house.
“Mommy? I'm hungry.”
Ruby tugged at Robyn’s pajamas. “I want toast. Can we have toast?”
“Sure, Ruby.” Robyn’s pulse skittered, then nearly stopped altogether.
She was still in her pajamas.
She ran to her room, dragged jeans and a t-shirt on, and in the bathroom brushed her teeth and combed her hair.
She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and reached the lounge just as three knocks sounded on the door. Ruby was already walking towards it and announced, “I'll open the door.”
Robyn beat her to it, unchained the door and opened it.
Early morning sun streamed in from behind Jack as he stood on the porch, hands in his jean pockets in a pose that brought back the memories of bad-boy Jack in a flash and made her slightly breathless.
“Are you okay?” he frowned.
“Yes. Of course.” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Fine. Hi.”
His gaze scanned her from her bare feet to her worn jeans, to the t-shirt with ‘Foxy Girl’ flashed across the front. It lingered the barest moment on the fox caricature.
She stood aside. “Come on in.”
As he walked past, she poked her head out the door. Her neighbors would be having heart failure seeing a man at her place so early. Seeing a man, full stop, in fact. Fortunately the ones on the left would be sleeping off last night and the ones on the right probably never even made it home from last night.
She closed the door behind her and took a deep breath. “We haven't been up long. I wasn’t expecting you this early.”
“Really? I figured with small children you’d have been up for hours.” His gaze flicked warily over to where Ruby and James sat, staring blatantly at him. He lifted his hand and waved hesitantly at them, and they stared silently back.
She introduced them. “Jack, this is Ruby and James”.
He looked from one to the other. “They’re the same size.”
“Yes, they’re twins. I'm sure I mentioned that last night.”
“Of course, I remember.” A smile tugged at his mouth, no doubt amused by the note of censure she hadn't managed to keep out of her voice. “They look like you.”
“They are definitely Taylors.” She gestured to the couch. “And that is Harriet, my babysitter. Her mom Sage lives a few doors down.”
Harriet, she noticed, appeared to have dozed off again.
“It looks,” he said, “as if Harriet had a tough night.”
Her hair was a mess but there was no sign of the car attached to it.
“Too much microwave popcorn and social networking probably.”
“The kids of today.” He changed his position and it brought him closer to her so that she could smell the masculine scent of him that made her think of walking into an expensive menswear shop. And the nearness of him that made her feel...protected. She frowned. That was odd. She didn't need protecting. If anything, she was determined to prove she could be a mother and a businesswoman all on her own and she didn't need anyone to help her. It was probably his height.
His eyebrows suddenly arched in question, and she realized she had moved closer into his space. She pushed back her shoulders. “So you're here to get your car.”
“I am.” His chin lifted a fraction and he glanced towards her kitchen. “Can I smell coffee?”
“You can. But it’s only instant. I’ll make you one if you like.”
She thought of his kitchen bench with the coffee machine and his freshly ground beans, and that latte cappuccino he’d made and how lovely it had been.
“Instant sounds pretty good to me.”
She gestured to the empty chair facing the sofa. “Take a seat, and please excuse the toys, the Lego and everything.” She winced as he bypassed a crate of farm animals and side stepped a Tonka truck with Lego scattered around the floor.
He took the seat then promptly sprang up. Reaching down, he pulled out a metal crane.
She hastily retreated to the kitchen, spooned coffee into cups and called out, “Will you have milk and sugar?”
“Black.” He glanced interestedly around her living room some more, and finally focused on the pile of fashion magazines on the coffee table.
Robyn brought the cup over to him, as a couple of raps sounded from the front door. It swung wide open, and Sage stalked through with a bag of groceries. Her blonde hair was braided in two plaits and her eyes narrowed as she accused, “Who owns that gas guzzling monstrosity in your—”
She stopped dead in her tracks as she stared at Jack.
“What the — isn’t that—” Her eyes were so wide she looked uncannily like an owl. “Is that car his?” She turned back to Robyn, and Robyn could see cogs start to whir. “
Oh my gosh. Did he stay the—”
Robyn gave Jack a frazzled look as she hooked her arm in Sage’s and led her down to her bedroom. She shut the door and began to explain. “Before you jump to any conclusions, whatever you're thinking is most likely wrong. Really, really wrong.”
“Who's thinking anything when it’s in front of me in black and white?” Sage’s eyes flashed with approval. She held out her hand and counted on her fingers. “Jack Fletcher. Sunday morning. On your couch. A posh car up your drive. It is Jack Fletcher, isn't it?”
“Yeah.” Robyn rubbed a sudden tension across her nape. “It's him.”
“Jack Fletcher.” Sage suddenly frowned then eyed her critically.
“What is that look?” Robyn said with suspicion.
Sage scrabbled around in her bag, flung out bread, milk, cat food, and pulled out the Sunday tabloid newspaper. She spread it out on Robyn’s bed. “Have you been online this morning?”
“Good grief, no. I’m barely awake. Why?”
Sage flipped through to the entertainment section, then jabbed the page. “Did you have any idea about this?”
Robyn stared at the page, and shook her head slowly as she read the headline.
Model Charlotte dumps boyfriend for sports star Brad Randell.
In the photo, Charlotte sat in the passenger seat of a car, attempting to cover her face with her hands. Alongside her, his face blazing with fury, was Brad Randell.
Sage stabbed the photo. “Randell was caught drunk driving Friday night, and Charlotte Bodie was his passenger. He drove through a checkpoint before the cops caught him. He'll get done DIC and trying to evade the police but he'll probably just get off with a fine like all these rich types do. But of course that’s not the big question. The big question is...” She paused for a breath. “What was he doing, that late at night, alone with his best friend's girlfriend, and no sign of Jack Fletcher?” Sage lowered her voice. “It could mean anything, but ‘anything’ isn’t the obvious conclusion. Especially when that Randell has got a wife at home, a wife who is six months pregnant. Which leads anyone with an ounce of intelligence to assume Charlotte has been carrying on with Randell behind...” She gestured out to the lounge. “Behind his back.”