Teach Your Heart: A New Zealand Opposites Attract Romance (Far North Series Book 3)

by Tracey Alvarez

  Morgan and Charlie disappeared into the bedroom they shared and reemerged ten minutes later with Charlie dressed in new clothes, coloring supplies under her arm and announcing it was “snack time.” Which was how Gracie spotted the House Rules list.

  Gracie made the girls a grilled cheese and Marmite sandwich. Charlie giggled for a good thirty seconds when Gracie told her it was called a “Mousetrap”—and while they sat at the dining table, Gracie took the opportunity to explore. A polite exploration, of course.

  The house was architecturally stunning. Built on a rise overlooking the sweeping curve of Bounty Bay, it faced north, its bank of picture windows positioned to catch the most stunning ocean views. Her bare feet whispered over the thick black rug in the living room. The space screamed “good taste,” but Gracie’s nose crinkled just the tiniest bit at the house’s stark minimalism. Oatmeal-colored walls with nothing hanging on them, the living room furniture covered with new couch covers—one still had a price tag dangling from the corner—and a designer kitchen that looked like the microwave got the most usage. Perhaps the cold, show-home décor suited Owen. It didn’t, however, suit the three kids now living there.

  She wandered out onto the deck, leaning on the railing and breathing deep. Sun sparkled off the waves, and a seabird plummeted into the ocean with barely a splash. She’d been stuck in London for the past eight months, and sand between her toes was a distant memory.

  Gracie strode back into the kitchen. “What say we head to the beach?”

  Both girls looked up from their sandwiches with polar opposite expressions. Morgan—hopeful and interested. Charlie—doubtful and worried.

  “I don’t want to go swimming,” said Charlie.

  Morgan hunched her shoulders and folded her arms again. “Me neither. It’s too cold.”

  Apparently, thirteen-year-old Morgan was immune to the high temperatures of a Far North summer—if her baggy sweatshirt and jeans were any indication. The “too cold” excuse resonated with Gracie, who’d used the exact same reasoning when she’d been Morgan’s age. Having boobs and baby fat had meant Gracie’s wardrobe had consisted of oversized tee shirts and tops, loose pants, and skirts that hid a multitude of sins. The only times she couldn’t avoid close-fitting clothing was during her ballet lessons and when swimming. And other than the torturous once-a-year school swimming sports day, Gracie had avoided appearing in public in her one-piece black swimsuit. With the thigh-covering, granny-like skirt. Ugh.

  “Swimming is off the table then. We could build an epic sandcastle and collect a bucket of tuatuas since it’s low tide?”

  Charlie climbed off her chair. “What are tuatuas?”

  “They’re shellfish. Like a clam,” said Morgan before Gracie could answer. “We dug for them once and cooked them on the beach with Dad and—” An abrupt gulp of air snipped off her last word. “You’ll like it. It’s like a treasure hunt to find them, only you have to use your toes, not your hands.”

  “I like treasure hunts.”

  Twenty minutes later, with a plastic bucket Morgan found in the garage, Gracie and the girls walked to the end of Owen’s backyard. A rickety gate blocked a steep path down to the beach, and they picked their way down, Gracie keeping a grip on Charlie’s hand. Scrubby grass soon met a wide expanse of sand, and low tide had pulled back the ocean to reveal rock pools galore. The exposed, wave-buffeted reef stretched around the low cliff Owen’s house was built on and disappeared into another sheltered cove on the opposite side.

  Gracie and the girls headed in the opposite direction, carefully crossing the rocks to the damp sand. Charlie, in an adorable striped swimsuit, raced ahead to where two yellow- and-red Surf Life Saving flags were staked into the beach.

  “Here!” she shouted, shaking out her beach towel and spreading it onto the sand. She sat on it with crossed legs, stretching out her arms. “Let’s pretend we’re Princess Jasmine on her flying carpet. Morgan, you can be Aladdin since William’s not here.”

  “We’re going to look for tuatuas, remember?” Morgan, who’d swapped her sweatshirt for a loose black tee shirt and three-quarter pants she’d cuffed up to her knees, huffed out a sigh.

  “Oh yeah. No hands allowed!” Charlie stood and dug her toes into the sand beside her beach towel, doing a wriggly twist to drill in deeper.

  Gracie chuckled. “Charlie, the tuatuas aren’t in the sand up here; they’re in the water.” She pointed to the tiny waves bubbling gently around the ankles of other bucket-holding waders.

  “You didn’t tell me they lived in the water.” Charlie’s gaze threw daggers at Morgan as she plopped down on her beach towel.

  Morgan lifted a shoulder. “Only a little bit into the water.”

  Charlie’s mouth pinched shut, and she wrapped her arms around her bare knees. “I wanna stay here and be the princess.”

  “I’ll be Aladdin if you come.” Morgan’s tone was set at maximum cajolement. “And we won’t go deeper than your knees, promise.”

  Charlie shook her head and hugged her knees tighter. “You go. But don’t go too far!”

  Morgan sighed and handed her the empty ice cream containers they’d brought in lieu of beach toys. “Whatever.”

  Gracie glanced between the two sisters. Something was going on here that had little to do with collecting shellfish. Still, it wasn’t unusual for four-year-olds to have irrational fears of all kinds of things.

  With an eye on Charlie busy building sand castles with the plastic containers, Morgan and Gracie waded into the sea. Around them, little kids played in the shallows, and a couple of older ones tried to boogie-board on the almost nonexistent waves. In comfortable silence, she and Morgan dug their toes into the sand while the warm water swirled around their legs.

  Half a bucket of shellfish later, a hard edge dug into Gracie’s sole, and she burrowed her toes deeper, laughing as she located another shell under her foot.

  “Boo-ya!” she yelled, hooking it out of the water. The shellfish’s tongue disappeared into its creamy, striped shell, and Gracie waded over to toss it into Morgan’s pail.

  Morgan was frozen like a pointer dog, aimed toward a group of young teenagers the other side of the red-and-yellow flags. The group consisted of three girls—all in bikini tops and skimpy board shorts—and two boys, one currently giving a girl a piggyback ride while her friend shrieked with laughter. Morgan’s mouth was a pale slash as Gracie came alongside.

  “Is this enough?” Morgan rattled the bucket. “Can we go back?”

  “Sure.”

  Gracie held out her hand for the pail and Morgan passed it over.

  “But listen, I can go and play with Charlie if you want to go hang out with them.” Gracie angled her chin toward the teenagers.

  “Nah. I’m good.” Morgan cast a glance over her shoulder.

  A glance so filled with longing that Gracie’s ribs gave a mighty squeeze around her heart. Owen’s eldest niece hadn’t precisely welcomed Gracie with open arms this afternoon. Morgan’s first question after Gracie had introduced herself was, “Are you Uncle Owen’s new girlfriend? Because he said he didn’t have time for a girlfriend.” The teenager had thawed a little once Gracie made it clear she wasn’t Uncle Owen’s girlfriend but had just happened to be at the right place at the right time to help him out. In the last hour, she’d seen enough of herself in the girl to have a silent alarm trigger around some better-left-forgotten memories.

  Morgan turned away from the noisy group, who’d moved into the surf and were now kicking water at each other. Folding her arms over her tee shirt, she sloshed through the shallows at Gracie’s side. Ahead of them, Charlie had moved from her beach towel and crouched about halfway between it and the waves, digging a hole.

  Time for a subject change. “You’re very patient with your sister. It’s normal for kids her age to be a little nervous around the sea.”

  Morgan gave a giant huff and kicked up a plume of water. “She’s more than nervous.”

  “Oh. Did she hav
e a scary experience at the beach once?”

  Charlie stood and brushed sand off her swimsuit-covered bottom. She picked up an ice cream container and took three steps toward the water. A small wave surged past Gracie and Morgan’s feet, racing up the beach. Charlie yelped and ran back to her towel.

  Morgan stopped dead, not breaking visual contact with her sister until the little girl sat on her towel and began packing sand into the empty container.

  “Not exactly. Did the little blabbermouth tell you our parents are dead?”

  Gracie’s gut clenched. “Yes, she did. That has to be the shittiest thing in the world for the three of you to have gone through.”

  “You think?” The words shot out of Morgan’s mouth, followed by a flinch. “Sorry.” She darted a glance at Gracie, dark eyes filled with the sorrow her tough-girl persona wouldn’t allow her to express. “Yeah, it was shitty.” Another sideways glance to see if the adult would scold her for her language.

  Gracie remained silent. Any self-expression for a girl like Morgan was good self-expression, in Gracie’s opinion.

  “Charlie’s scared of the ocean because Mum and Dad drowned,” Morgan continued. “They were on a wedding anniversary holiday in Australia—us kids weren’t invited. That was three years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Morgan nodded, and without offering any further information, plodded up the beach toward their towels.

  Gracie followed, a mixed bag of emotions roiling in her gut. What else could a stranger say that would ease even a millionth of these kids’ pain? And then there was their uncle. Grieving for the loss of a brother or sister. Living in a house that wasn’t a home. And if his eldest niece was right, without someone to share his life with.

  ***

  Owen parked behind the bright yellow Beetle. Beside him, a sorry-for-himself-faced William stared at his neatly wrapped sling. Thankfully, his nephew’s arm wasn’t broken, but his wrist was sprained. And he’d be sporting the sling for a couple of days at least.

  “Come on, then,” Owen said. “Just be on your best behavior.”

  William gave him a whatever stare, though his nephew had shown a bit more enthusiasm earlier at the hospital when Owen asked what he’d thought of Gracie taking over for Mrs. Collins.

  They both climbed out of the car and headed inside. The first prickles crept across Owen’s shoulders as he opened the back door and the house replied with silence. William disappeared into his room while Owen continued into the kitchen. He spotted the note on the dining table.

  Took the girls to the beach. Come find us.

  Come find them? Owen glanced down at his watch. Quarter past five. They always ate dinner at six. He checked the fridge and then the oven, in the hopes that Mrs. Collins might have taken pity on them and left a casserole somewhere. Looked as if he’d burned too many bridges with his elderly neighbor.

  “So can we go to the beach, too?”

  Owen looked over from inspecting the fridge for a second time. William had come into the kitchen and had spotted the note.

  “You haven’t asked to go to the beach before.” And don’t think Owen didn’t know why.

  William rolled a thin shoulder. “A lot of shark attacks occur in less than six feet of water.”

  “We’ll bear that in mind while we’re walking on the sand.” Owen got the desired effect of a grin from his nephew.

  “Sharks don’t come up onto the sand,” he said. “Orcas do in Argentina. Nana and I started a project on them before she got sick.” William’s smile slipped.

  “Let’s go down and find your sisters and Gracie,” Owen said before William’s mood disintegrated into melancholy.

  They followed the path down to the beach, and William pointed out Gracie sitting with the two girls past the rock pools. The tide was on the way in, already eating up the beach sand and heading for the exposed rocky reef.

  As William and Owen drew closer, Owen realized the woman was covered in sand from her thighs down. Damp sand and a scattering of shells.

  Charlie, crouched at Gracie’s side, was the first to look up.

  “Uncle Owen!” she hollered. “We found a mermaid, see?” Charlie held up a tuatua shell for his inspection and then placed it on Gracie’s…mermaid tail.

  He had a moment to appreciate the shapeliness of said mermaid tail before Gracie’s summer-blue eyes met his, and whatever the hell he’d planned to say got swallowed up in her gaze.

  “You saw my note, then?” Gracie asked.

  “Uh-huh.” Snappy comeback, O. Smooth.

  “Were you in a hurry to find us? Or is business casual the new beachwear?”

  Teasing warmth buffeted her words, and it took another beat to ignore the natural, husky quality of her voice and focus on what she was saying. Right…he still had on his work clothes. Morgan snickered and added another shell to the growing shell scales covering Gracie’s tail.

  He glanced down at his scuffed running shoes. “I changed out of my work shoes.” Because, one, he wasn’t having three-hundred-dollar leather sandblasted, and two, his flip-flops had disappeared. Probably from lack of usage this summer. And for the last two summers.

  “Not tempted to have a quick dip?” Gracie pointed her chin at the ocean. “If I lived here you couldn’t keep me out of the sea after a hard day’s work.”

  Owen followed her gaze to the sun sinking toward the horizon, the flashes of light sparkling off the ocean. “The tide is coming in. We need to be past the reef before then or it’ll cut us off from the path.”

  Charlie jumped to her feet, dropping the shells she’d had in her hands. “I wanna go home now. I’m hungry, and we’ve got tutus for tea.”

  Tutus? His gaze skipped behind Gracie to the plastic bucket. Tuatuas. He hadn’t had seafood—or kai moana, as his mates Sam and Isaac would call it—in far too long.

  “Tuatuas,” Morgan auto-corrected her sister.

  “A little help here.” The sand shivered over Gracie’s legs, and a row of orange-painted toenails popped up three-quarters of the way down the tail.

  Without thinking, Owen stepped forward and offered his hand. Warm, gritty fingers slipped into his and squeezed. His pulse gave a little shimmy as he gripped Gracie’s hand and tugged her to her feet. Sucking in a lungful of briny air, he ignored the further racing of his pulse at the sight of her bare legs.

  “Will you join us for dinner?” he asked as she brushed sand off her legs. “I’d like to talk to you some more about the proposal I made earlier.” He winced internally at the stiffness of his voice. What was it about the woman that caught him so off guard? That made him feel like an awkward seventeen-year-old asking the girl he’d been crushing on to the senior school ball.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Owen spotted Morgan’s exaggeratedly open mouth.

  “Not that sort of proposal, Morgan.”

  “What’s a poposal?” asked Charlie, who’d been peppering William with questions about his arm while Owen had unsubtly gawked at Gracie’s legs.

  “When you ask someone if they wanna do something and hope they say yes,” William said before Owen could answer.

  “Oh,” Charlie said. “You’re gonna talk to Gracie about looking after us.” She showed a row of tiny white teeth in a Cheshire Cat grin. “You weren’t using your inside voice, Uncle Owen.”

  Hadn’t he? Maybe not, since he was man enough to admit he’d been kind of distracted by the woman who was also now grinning at him. Distracted…and even a little dazzled.

  He bent to pick up the bucket of shellfish so his face wouldn’t reveal how desperate he was for Gracie to say yes to his clumsy proposal.

  “So are you gonna stay, Gracie?” William, bless the kid, took up the campaign.

  Gracie slanted Owen a quick glance as he straightened, the tuatuas rattling in his grip, then nodded.

  “I’d love to.”

  Her gaze softened as it swept over him and then the three kids who’d unconsciously moved closer to his side, away fr
om the waves hissing closer to Charlie’s beach towel.

  Sympathy. Pity. Kindness.

  That was all that was reflected in her eyes. But that was okay—he’d bury the spark of attraction he felt for Gracie in an instant if she’d agree to his plan of taking over kid-minding duties. Step one was a casual barbecue dinner where he could subtly show Gracie how low maintenance his nephew and nieces were.

  An hour later, no one in their right mind would declare the Heath kids low maintenance. Morgan had retreated to her room with her earbuds jammed in her ears in silent protest at being denied today’s Wi-Fi password. Charlie had demanded a bath when they’d arrived back at the house but had added a bottle of liquid soap to the running water when left alone for a moment. The tiled floor soon hosted a pretty impressive bubble bath.

  His ears ringing from Charlie’s joyful shrieks of “Bubbles,” Owen finally finished mopping, rinsing, and bribing Charlie from the tub after twenty minutes of splashing. His damn eyes were still watering from soap bubbles bursting near them. He hauled on a pair of cargo shorts and a clean tee shirt, then padded barefoot into the living room.

  Gracie sat curled on his leather couch, nodding at William, who pointed at a full-color photo of a great white’s open maw in his shark book. Hell—had the kid been talking the whole time he’d been on cleanup detail? Strangely, Gracie didn’t seem bored by his nephew’s favorite 101 lecture on Why Sharks Are Cool. Both of them glanced up as he unlatched the sliding door that led onto the deck.

  “I’ll crank up the barbecue,” he said. “Then toss on those tuatuas.”

  Charlie ran into the living room in a pair of pink shorts and nothing else, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t want to eat the yucky tongue shells. I want sausages.”

  Shit. They’d eaten the only remaining packet last night, and unlike a city supermarket, Bounty Bay’s wasn’t open twenty-four hours. He’d meant to pick up something for dinner after his shift, but with William’s arrival at the ED throwing him out of whack…dammit. Alone, he would’ve opened a can of soup or made a sandwich from whatever lurked in his fridge.