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

by Tracey Alvarez

  “Please,” he croaked.

  She walked away from the dining table; the gentle sway of her hips and the sharp shot of arousal it caused left him feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.

  Beside him, Nate cleared his throat. “So, Glen, did you and Sav hear anything weird late last night?”

  Gracie’s brother looked up from his breakfast plate, pinning first Nate and then Owen with a speculative stare. “Weird, how?”

  “Oh, just a funny noise. Kind of a moaning sound”—a soft thud from the seat next to Nate’s—“ouch, hey!” Nate reached down and rubbed his left ankle.

  “Sorry,” said Lauren. “My foot slipped.” She directed her words across the table to Glen. “Nate thought he heard a possum last night.”

  “Possum, huh?” Glen’s gaze flicked to Owen, the smile never leaving his mouth, but a hint of warning shone in his eyes. “Bold, destructive little buggers with no care how much damage they leave behind.”

  “Could be time to take Java on a possum hunt again, what do you reckon?” Nate elbowed Owen with a shit-eating grin. “Want to come along? We could use a doctor on hand. Just in case somebody gets accidently shot.”

  Owen aimed for nonchalant indifference with his shrug. “Sure. My brother and I used to hunt possums in the hills behind your place when we were teenagers.”

  “It’s a date,” Glen said.

  His stomach suddenly twisted, the spiced sausage links sitting heavy in his gut. Gracie’s brother walking behind him at night with a loaded .22 rifle was still more appealing than considering what he’d do if Gracie walked out of his life in three weeks’ time.

  ***

  The Friday after the wedding, while Owen was at work, Gracie and the kids had driven up into the hills above Bounty Bay for an afternoon mail drop at Glen’s place, and to take the opportunity for Charlie and William to burn off some energy playing with Glen’s next door neighbors, the Frasers.

  Coming home down the winding gravel road from Nate and Lauren’s house, she thought of Owen’s see ya later kiss they’d sneakily shared before he’d left in a rush for the hospital that morning. Boy, her hazel-eyed doctor’s kisses were hotter than hell. And if she’d sensed some undertones in the past few days—the same kid caught with cookie jar guilt that he’d shown at the wedding brunch— when his parents’ names came up, Gracie understood. Hell, she’d been unprepared for Owen meeting her dysfunctional relatives, and he’d handled it like a champ. Even Glen had later given her his blessing in his own special way.

  “So you really like this dude, huh?” he’d said. “Guess if he makes you happy, I won’t have to kill him…yet.”

  Charlie’s shriek from the Beetle’s backseat had Gracie tapping the brakes.

  “There’s a puppy,” she yelled.

  Gracie spotted the small, huddled creature on the road verge. The tires crunched over the gravel, and they came to a stop just past the dog.

  Beside her, William reached for the door.

  “Wait!” Gracie snapped open her seat belt. “Let me check on him first. Dogs can bite if they’re hurt.”

  She climbed out of the car and approached the animal. Some sort of bulldog was her best guess. It was hard to get a good look at her as she was splattered in mud and shivering like crazy—with no identifying collar. Crooning softly, Gracie edged toward the animal, who tilted her head to one side and whined.

  Gracie crouched and clicked her tongue. “C’mon, girl.”

  The dog stood, her stumpy tail giving a short wag. She took a few tentative steps toward Gracie—and hello, girl dog was actually a boy. Well, he didn’t appear injured, just muddy and probably lost. Gracie extended her hand, and the bulldog snuffled her fingers.

  “Good boy,” she said. “Didn’t mean to insult your masculinity.”

  Behind her, both Charlie and William hung out of the open car windows, watching her every move.

  “I know how sensitive you guys are about your junk,” she added in a lower tone.

  Gracie scratched behind the dog’s floppy, mud-splattered ear. “Where did you come from, huh?”

  She scanned the low, bush-covered hilltop that stretched to a sliver of blue ocean slashing across the distant horizon. There were no other houses in the area. Nate and Lauren’s dog, Java, and Lauren’s brother Todd’s new puppy, Spike, were the only dogs that lived on this empty stretch of land. Another glance down at the dog’s stocky body—now leaning happily against her bare leg, and Gracie sighed. Other than the mud flecks, the bulldog appeared to be well looked after. He was likely someone’s escaped pet. But loose dogs—even harmless-looking small dogs—were in danger of being shot if they wandered onto a farmer’s land.

  She bent and scooped up the dog. He gave a surprisingly deep woof and licked her chin, completely unresisting as she carried him to the car. After William had spread a blanket on the car’s backseat, he and Charlie petted the panting dog while Gracie drove slowly down the hill. Pulling over to a grass verge that overlooked Bounty Bay, she rang the local pound and listened to a recorded message.

  “The pound’s not open until tomorrow morning.” Gracie twisted around in the driver’s seat.

  The bulldog—which William had instantly dubbed Hagrid—gave a winsome doggy smile then shook his head, drool flying every which way.

  “Can Hagrid stay with us tonight? Pretty please?” Charlie clasped her hands together and blinked her dark brown eyes up at Gracie—giving her a more heartfelt, sad-puppy-dog look than the animal currently drooling over William’s leg.

  “I think he’ll have to. But only for one night,” Gracie said.

  William’s mouth curled into a glum twist. “Uncle Owen’ll have a cow when he sees Hagrid. He stinks.”

  Gracie started up the car and pulled back onto the road. “Then you two will have to help give him a bath.”

  An hour later, Gracie had a relatively clean dog romping around the backyard, two soapy, wet kids in hot pursuit. She checked her watch again. Owen had sent a text a few minutes ago to let her know he’d be home soon.

  “William,” she called as the boy raced past.

  He stopped, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Almost a different kid than the one she’d found hiding behind the tree six weeks ago.

  “You and Charlie can keep playing with Hagrid while I grill some sausages and butter some rolls for dinner, okay?”

  William grinned at her. “Are we having hot dogs?”

  “I thought your uncle would find it funny.”

  “Nah, he won’t get it.”

  “If he does, you lose the bet and eat your salad.”

  And while the boy grumbled, Gracie slipped inside the house. William underestimated his uncle—just like she had. Turned out the man did have a sense of humor. Score one in the Owen Could Be My Dream Guy column. As if the man needed any more checks when he’d already gained double points for making her belly flutter, being the King of Orgasms, and turning out to be the kind of guy her mum would’ve labelled “a keeper.”

  The rumble of Owen’s car in the driveway pulled her away from chopping salad vegetables. Her heart gave a little bunny hop, and she ran to the window to ogle him as he strolled out of the garage. Yes, ogle—there was no other word for it.

  Hagrid raced around the corner, and Owen skidded to a halt halfway between the garage and the house. To give the man his due—and maybe some of her rounder edges had shaved off his sharp ones—he just squeezed his eyes shut for a second then headed inside.

  Gracie busied herself at the counter as the back door opened. A clunk of a car remote dropping into a ceramic bowl. A thud of a briefcase landing on a dining room chair, then arms slipped around her waist, and lips nuzzled her neck.

  “There’s a dog out back,” he said, feathering kisses down her throat.

  Gracie concentrated extra diligently on the chopping motion of her knife—and, oh, then his palm stroked up over her rib cage…

  “There is.” The words came out a little breathlessly, because,
add surgical-standard, dexterous hands to the dream-guy column.

  She filled her lungs with more oxygen before she flaked out from another case of lustitus. “We found him on the road down from Glen’s, and the kids have named him Hagrid.”

  Outside, the bulldog barked like the apocalypse was approaching, followed by Charlie’s shrill giggle.

  “And, of course, you just had to bring him home, you big softie.”

  He chuckled, a low, rumbly sound that flared up the lustitus so badly her hand began to shake. Dangerous—especially holding a knife. So Gracie dropped it and spun around, finding herself crushed into hard muscle covered by antiseptic-smelling scrubs. She crinkled her nose, grabbing hold of his biceps and arching away. She didn’t get far since he moved in closer, trapping her against the counter.

  “You smell like hospital,” she said.

  He also smelled like the spicy cologne—the one that made her hormones go a little haywire—and turned-on male. Did men have a smell that told you they were all systems go? Gracie rose on tiptoe and wound her arms around Owen’s neck, aligning all their important bits from the chest down. Hell, if scent wasn’t an indication, the rigid bulge of him beneath the laundered-soft scrubs were.

  “If Morgan wasn’t at her friend’s birthday sleepover tonight, I’d pay her twenty bucks to keep the younger ones entertained for twenty minutes while you wash the hospital stink off me.”

  “You only need twenty minutes?” She stretched up to nibble on his juicy lower lip. “That’s hardly worth my while.”

  “There’s a lot I can do in twenty minutes to make it worth your while.”

  She didn’t doubt it, and her good bits gave a deliciously heated throb. Owen dipped his head to meet her mouth, stroking his soft, warm lips over hers until she whimpered involuntarily—similar to the pleading whine Hagrid made when Charlie sneaked him a slice of ham. Taking pity on Gracie, Owen deepened the kiss, and she went down for the count, all thoughts of dogs and dinner blown out of her head from the sweet touch of his tongue against hers.

  He fisted a hand in her hair and kissed her until her toes curled on her flip-flops, and minutes—hours?—passed with her blood pounding so hard in her eardrums it drowned out all other sounds. Like the sound of a dog barking and a little girl squealing. Hagrid had finally tired Charlie and William out. Heat scalded her cheekbones, imagining that either of the kids could’ve walked inside and caught them in a lip-lock.

  “It’s cute that you blush after I kiss you.” He slid his fingers from her hair and traced the pad of his thumb over her lower lip.

  Owen’s grin did fluttery things to Gracie’s stomach, but she aimed for an indignant expression and narrowed her eyes. “It’s cute that you’re confident enough to say that to a woman with a sharp knife within reach.”

  She gave his biceps a little shove to try to shift him backward before her traitorous urges took over and she climbed him like a tree. He laughed his low, sexy-as-hell laugh and allowed himself to be pushed back a few steps.

  Just in time—as the soft squeak of bare feet on wood announced someone entering the kitchen from the back door. Gracie glanced around at William.

  “Is dinner ready yet?” he asked.

  “Not quite.” Gracie gave Owen a pointed glance and turned back to the counter to continue slicing carrots. “Just making the salad. Did you and Charlie finally tire Hagrid out?”

  William shook his head. “No. He loves playing fetch, but Charlie is hogging the tennis ball. I went to the garage to find another one.” He held up a mottled green ball covered in dust and grime. “Took me ages, but I found one. I’m gonna wash it so Hagrid doesn’t get sick.”

  Gracie suspected the bulldog’s constitution could handle a bit of dirt, but she continued to chop another few carrot sticks. Until her gaze flicked to the window in front of her, which overlooked the fenced-in backyard. And the unlatched gate swinging quietly to and fro in the breeze.

  “Did you leave the gate open, Will?” A chill inched down Gracie’s spine.

  Owen strode out the back door, disappearing around the side of the house and calling Charlie’s name. A few moments later, his footsteps returned, and he slammed into the house with wide eyes and a clenched jaw.

  “Charlie and the dog are gone,” he said.

  Gracie’s vegetable knife clattered to the floor.

  Chapter 17

  If something happens to Charlie…

  Owen swiped a palm over his sweating forehead and ran down the driveway, trying to look everywhere at once. His gaze landed on Lucy Gordon, preening on her deckchair in a string bikini. She gave him a toodle-oo wave and thrust her chest forward, her lips peeling back in a piranha’s grin.

  “Hi, neighbor. Care to—”

  “Did you see Charlie and a dog come down the driveway?” He didn’t have time for niceties.

  “Charlie?”

  “My niece. The four-year-old who’s been staying with me.”

  The grin transformed into an exaggerated trout-pout, and she pressed a finger to her lips. “Hmm. I’m not sure…let me think—”

  But Owen couldn’t stop, not when Charlie could be—no, nope, not going there. “Never mind.”

  He continued on, ignoring the woman’s whiny, “Hey!”

  Owen glanced over his shoulder—at Gracie headed toward the beach and William’s face pressed to his bedroom window also trying to spot his sister. He’d been ordered to stay in the house while Owen and Gracie searched. Owen figured the dog had bolted through the unlatched gate and down to the road that led into Bounty Bay—with Charlie following him. Likely they’d both end up at the corner store, and his niece would use her sad-puppy-dog-eyes skills to con the owner into giving her a free ice cream. Because even though she’d made progress with her fear of the water, she wouldn’t go down to the beach with the tide rapidly coming in and surging over the rock pools—but Gracie had offered to check anyway.

  Just how far could a four-year-old get?

  Slitting his eyes against the sun dipping toward the horizon, Owen ran along the road. Past the beach houses. Past the huge pohutukawa tree whose branches draped over the sand and a woman asleep on a beach towel. A few swimmers still splashed in the white-capped waves, and the narrow stretch of sand between him and the distant public changing rooms was empty of little girls and runaway mutts.

  Owen stumbled to a halt and yelled Charlie’s name. Silence except for the dull hiss and thud of crashing waves and the overhead squawk of seagulls. A dusty pickup pulled up alongside him, the driver’s tanned arm resting on the open window. His head, covered in tousled blond hair with a matching beard taking over the lower half of his face, swiveled toward Owen. Todd Taylor—thank God. Owen bypassed any small talk with his sometimes surfing buddy and asked if he’d seen Charlie on the way to the store.

  Todd shook his head with an exaggerated frown. “Mate, I’ve just come from there. Didn’t see your girl or a loose dog.” He tugged thoughtfully on his beard. “Someone would’ve seen them if they’d come this way, though. I’ll go back to the store and rally some help. She can’t’ve gotten far.”

  Gooseflesh rippled down Owen’s spine, and he spun, staring out at the ocean. Only meters away was a huge stretch of beach, where a four-year-old could get swept into the waves and disappear.

  “Thanks. Call Davie Stewart at the station while you’re at it,” Owen said.

  The hell with it; he wasn’t taking any chances with his four-freaking-year-old niece, who had little concept of stranger danger. “I’ll check back at the house and meet you and the cops there.”

  Todd gunned the pickup’s engine and completed a swift U-turn. Owen ran back along the foreshore road, past his neighbor’s house—Lucy and her string bikini had vanished inside—and up the driveway. Panting, blood pounding in his ears, Owen stood on the crest of his driveway, trying to catch his breath. Trying to prevent the losing of his collective shit at the thought of—

  “Owen!”

  Gracie’s raspy
shout drifted to him with a gust of sea air. Ignoring the house, Owen vaulted over his property’s lower fence and ran along the boundary to the gate blocking off the beach path. He shouted Gracie’s name as he raced down the sandy path, his heart slamming against his rib cage as Gracie yelled again—

  “Owen? I’ve got her.”

  He stumbled to a halt, gaze whipping past the white-foamed waves surging over the rocks. Gracie and Charlie were huddled together on what was left of the beach, their backs to the steep and unclimbable cliff bordering the neighboring property. The sea crept closer, teasing Charlie’s toes, making her cling tighter to Gracie. Nearby, on a narrow ledge of rock higher than the water, was the mutt—tongue lolling out of his mouth, grinning in a vapid, doggish grin.

  A wide channel of water formed between two rock formations, cutting Gracie and Charlie off from the path back up to the house. The waves surging along the channel were probably only knee to thigh deep on an adult, but to Charlie…

  Gracie’s hand cradled Charlie’s head, her lips moving, though he couldn’t hear what was said over the hissing waves. She pointed in his direction—but Charlie shook her head. Gracie crouched and tried to gather her up, but Charlie squirmed out of her grasp, weeping.

  Instead of fighting more, Gracie allowed the girl to remain wrapped around her legs. Owen loped across the small section of sand, clambered over the exposed rocks, and jumped into the channel. Chilly water surged through his scrubs, and his breath sucked in on a muted curse. Autumn was definitely here. He splash-waded through the gap in a diagonal, stumbling on the slippery rocks on the other side. Temptation gripped him to scoop Charlie up and squeeze her until she squeaked in protest, but he didn’t want to scare her more. So he approached like a bomb squad member about to tackle a tricky device.

  “Hey, Charlie-chimp,” he said.

  Charlie turned her head a fraction, enough for Owen to glimpse one tear-streaked chubby cheek and a red-rimmed eye. That red-rimmed eye skimmed up and down him as he squeezed water out of his sopping pants legs and made a mini-production of emptying the water from his running shoes to give the girl a moment to calm down.