His Miracle Bride

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE cleared the dishes. She finished wiping out the fridge and replacing the few things that were actually edible. Then she made her way through the darkened house to her bedroom.

She could hear footsteps upstairs, pacing back and forth. There was a soft male rumble. Pierce was comforting Bessy.

He was a bachelor. He’d taken on five children he didn’t know. The enormity of what he’d done left her gasping.

‘He’s a very nice boy,’ she told the dark, and she giggled.

But then her giggle faded. This was deadly serious. Pierce was fighting to keep these kids together. The least she could do was help.

But she didn’t do kids. And she had a career to resurrect.

‘You’ve stuffed up big time,’ she told the dark. She walked over to the bed and gave a tentative bounce. This must be the master bedroom. Pierce had let Maureen have the master bedroom?

Why had he bought a house with so many bedrooms? Had he thought of having a big family himself?

He really was…

A hunk. The thought of him pacing back and forth above her head with a baby cradled against his shoulder…

It was a very, very sexy image.

Whoa. ‘That’s exactly the attitude that gets you into trouble over and over again,’ she scolded herself. ‘And that’s the scary thing about staying. He’s extraordinarily attractive and he’s up to his eyeballs in domesticity, and you feel sorry for him, and if you’re not careful you’ll be installed as chief cook and bottle washer with your only payment a bit of snogging on the side.

‘He hasn’t got time for snogging.

‘Just as well.’ She said it out loud.

His footsteps paused right above her head. ‘I know it itches,’ she heard him say. ‘But we all need to sleep.’

A whimper.

‘In with me again? Bess, we need to cut this out.’

He was more than a hunk, she decided. He was gorgeous.

And up to his neck in kids.

‘So go to bed and stop thinking about him,’ she told herself, and crossed to the window to pull the blind.

There was a cow six inches from her nose.

She managed to stay silent. The cow gazed in, and she felt extraordinarily pleased with herself that she hadn’t yelped. The last thing she needed was for Pierce to come racing downstairs because she was scared of a cow. The cow was outside and she was inside.

Fine.

It was a very large cow.

Its face was enormous. And its eyes looked sort of wild. It wasn’t placidly gazing. Its head was moving back and forth, as if it was terrified.

Did cows get scared?

Upstairs Bessy started howling again. Obviously not even the enticement of sleeping with Pierce could placate her.

There was a moment’s silence as Bessy paused for breath to start the next yowl.

‘Git out.’

For a moment she thought she was imagining things. Who…?

‘Git out of our garden.’ It was a child’s voice, yelling. It sounded like an attempt to be commanding, but there was an edge of fear showing through.

She pulled up the window-just a little-not so much that the cow could put its head in. The cow had shifted aside, turning to face whoever was shouting.

The moon was almost full. She could see clearly into the garden.

It was seven-year-old Donald. The skinny one with the scared eyes and the look that said he distrusted the world. The rest of the kids had enjoyed painting this afternoon, but Donald had painted like he was performing a duty. He looked like a kid who was waiting for the axe to fall.

‘What are you doing out there?’ she called, and the cow turned to look at her. Still with the wild eyes.

It was a really big cow.

Huge.

‘It shouldn’t be in the garden,’ Donald said, struggling to sound brave. ‘Someone’s left the gate open. I saw it out the window. It’ll eat the rose Pierce planted when our mum died.’ He hiccupped on a sob, bravery disappearing. ‘I’m shooing it out the gate, but it won’t go.’

‘Donald, you’re too little be shooing cows. I’ll get Pierce.’

‘He’s busy with Bessy.’ She saw his small shoulders stiffen in resolution. ‘And I’m not too little. I can do it.’

‘But-’

‘Git on out,’ Donald said, but he’d moved backwards behind a camellia bush and she could no longer see him.

Despite his defiance, he sounded terrified.

Cows are harmless, she told herself, recalling the words of her farming-type friend.

Right.

She’d go upstairs and offer to take Bessy while Pierce sorted this, she thought, but Bessy’s howls were becoming frantic.

Two perils. Crying baby. Or cow.

Each equally daunting.

‘Shoo,’ Donald yelled but the cow didn’t move.

She could do this. Shanni Jefferson, cowgirl.

Right.

‘Donald, hop up on the veranda,’ she yelled out the window. ‘I’ll cope with the cow.’

She sounded decisive, she thought, pleased with the way her words had come out. In charge. A new life skill coming up. It was lucky she was still dressed in jeans and windcheater. Cowgirl gear.

She headed through the darkened house, towards the back door. She wouldn’t mind a torch-but Donald was on his own. Finding a torch would take time. Torches were for wusses!

Outside the garden was rambling and overgrown, but the moon was almost full. Rounding the house, she could see the vague shape of the cow framed against the light from her bedroom window. It still looked seriously big.

Gigantic.

How big did cows get?

She couldn’t see Donald.

The veranda at the front of the house started just past her bedroom window. Donald wasn’t on the veranda.

She could see where the cow had come from. There was a gate leading to the paddocks. It was wide open.

Where there was one cow, there were likely to be more cows. She looked round nervously, expecting more shadows.

Nothing. So…One cow. And Donald?

‘Shoo.’ Donald’s voice came from the camellias.

The cow was looking away from her. It was moving towards the sound of Donald’s voice. Pacing. Shaking its head.

It was so big…So big…

Something winged past her ear and stung. Whatever it was must have struck the cow, as the creature jolted, rearing back as if terrified.

‘Donald,’ she yelled, finally admitting to herself that she was really, really scared. Whatever Jules had told her about cows being harmless, suddenly she didn’t believe a word of it. And what had hit her ear? ‘Donald!’

The creature was lowering its massive head. It was concentrating every inch of its enormous being on something behind the camellias. It was pacing.

‘Sh…Shanni…’It was a terrified whisper, and to the creature it seemed like a starter’s gun. The creature heaved itself forward.

‘Donald!’ she screamed, and she launched herself blindly out of the darkness, lashing out at the shape in front of her.

Afterwards she couldn’t believe she’d done it. The creature was launching itself at the sound of Donald’s quavering voice. Shanni hit it side on, walloping into it with such force that it was shifted off course.

‘Get inside,’ she screamed. ‘Run. Donald, run.’

‘Pierce!’ the child screamed. ‘Pierce.’

Good call, she thought, but she wasn’t actually thinking all that clearly.

The creature was swinging aside, snorting, rearing back…

Dear God…

What did bullfighters do?

They ran. If they had any sense, they ran.

But the creature had a one-track mind. It was swinging back to face Donald again.

Donald was trying to scramble onto the veranda, but the veranda was almost three feet above the garden and the steps were too far away. He’d never pull himself up.

It was moving again. ‘No!’ She launched herself forward again, screaming, smashing her fist into the side of the creature’s head.

It flung round so fast she couldn’t move to avoid it.

‘Pierce!’ Donald screamed again.

It had horns. She grabbed a horn and clung. Stupidly. Crazily.

It swung so wildly she let go, tossed aside, landing in a limp heap four feet from the creature’s head.

It backed to see what was attacking it, finally deflected from Donald.

She rolled sideways, trying to find her feet.

It was moving. It was moving…

‘No!’ She pushed herself fiercely sideways, rolling into the undergrowth. Oh, God…

A horn hit her shoulder with a sickening thud. She felt a crash and a fierce jabbing pain but she kept rolling. ‘No!’

But suddenly there was another player.

‘Get. Get, get, get.’ It was a man’s fierce shout. Pierce. He was launching himself down from the veranda, yelling at the top of his lungs. His yells were filling the night.

She was flinching for the next impact, but it didn’t come.

‘Get, get, get!’

She rolled again, deeper into shadow, and dared to look out. The creature was staring in at her, hitting the ground with its hoof, gathering momentum for another rush. But Pierce was beside it, silhouetted against the moon, swinging something that looked like a rifle.

Shoot it, she thought, but she was too dazed to think more.

‘Move, move, move!’ Pierce’s yells could have woken the dead. He was powering into the creature’s path, putting himself between Shanni and everything else, lashing out like his rifle was a scythe.

The creature swung to face him.

‘Get, get, get!’ Pierce was giving it no time to think. He was right in its face, swinging his weapon, smashing forward. He was yelling, hitting, pushing…

The creature backed. Backed some more.

Pierce was following it, right on top of it, giving it no quarter.

Back. Back out of the garden. Back…

The creature turned, confused, beaten, lumbering towards the gate. And as it did Shanni saw…a dangly bit underneath.

As if she’d needed confirmation.

It was through the gate now. The great wooden gate swung closed with a crash. The rifle was tossed aside.

‘Donald, are you okay? Donald…’ Pierce was striding through the garden, hauling himself up on the veranda, tugging Donald into his arms. ‘What the hell…?’

‘Shanni,’ Donald quavered.

‘Are you okay?’ She could see their shapes on the veranda, huddled together.

‘Yes.’ It was a whisper. ‘It hit Shanni. She’s down there.’

‘Shanni?’ He put Donald away at arm’s length. ‘Where?’

‘It was trying to hit her. I…I think it did.’

‘Stay there, mate. Don’t move.’ He was jumping down from the veranda, crashing through the undergrowth, searching in the direction the bull had been aiming for. ‘Shanni. Shanni, where are you? Shanni…’ His voice cracked in desperation.

She had to speak. ‘I’m here,’ she managed, but she had to try again because her voice didn’t quite work. ‘H…here.’

Then, as he swore and swore again, as he dived beneath the undergrowth, as he knelt beside her and swore even more, as he put his hand on her shoulder and felt the warm stickiness of blood and stopped swearing-stopped even breathing-she asked the question she most wanted to know.

‘Why don’t you use test tubes?’

They were all in the kitchen. Everyone. Wendy was sitting in the rocker by the fire, cradling Bessy. Donald was standing about as close to Wendy as he could get. Abby was at Donald’s feet, hugging his legs. Bryce had decreed everyone needed cocoa and was making it. Very slowly. His hands were shaking.

Shanni was doing a lot of shaking herself.

Pierce had ripped her windcheater even more than the bull had. He’d exposed a long, shallow graze that ran from her underarm almost to her throat. He had a bowl of soapy water and he was washing it and swearing under his breath.

‘Not in front of the children,’ she whispered.

‘I locked that gate,’ he muttered, towelling her shoulder with care. ‘It was padlocked. I’m not a fool. The chain’s been cut.’

‘Clever bull.’

‘The bull’s sausages,’ he told her. Then he shook his head. ‘No. I don’t know what’s going on, but Clyde’s normally even sookier than the cows he services. There’s things going on I don’t understand.’ He was inspecting her wound, his face grim. ‘I don’t think this needs stitching, but maybe we need to get you checked out.’

‘You’re thinking of leaving the kids while we go to the nearest hospital?’

‘If we need to…’

‘We don’t need.’

‘But-’

‘Just put a bandage on it,’ she said. ‘Bandages will make me better.’ She looked down into Abby’s huge eyes. ‘Don’t bandages make things better?’

‘And jelly beans,’ Abby said. ‘There’s bandages in the bathroom.’ She hugged Donald’s legs a bit more and then rose stoutly to her feet, almost offering herself as personal sacrifice. ‘I’ll get them. But I don’t know about jelly beans.’

It was a big deal for Abby, going through the house by herself, Shanni thought. These kids…

They were the bravest kids. She could see exactly why Pierce didn’t want them separated.

‘Do we have jelly beans?’ she demanded.

‘No,’ Pierce said ruefully. ‘Omission on my part.’

‘No jelly beans?’ She was watching Donald. ‘What sort of a dad is this who doesn’t supply jelly beans?’

‘He’s okay,’ Donald said diffidently.

‘Yes, but he needs help.’ She swallowed. Her shoulder was, in truth, really painful, but this was no time for whinging. Donald looked so white he appeared to be about to pass out. He needed a mum, she thought. He needed someone to cuddle him until the terror passed. But there was something about the set of his small shoulders that said he wouldn’t be accepting cuddles. Not from her. Not from Pierce. He was holding himself aloof.

‘Pen and paper,’ she said. ‘Donald, fast.’

‘What…Why?’

Abby reappeared with Elastoplast. Pierce started cutting and sticking. Ouch, ouch and ouch, thought Shanni.

‘A list,’ she said stoutly. ‘Top of the list-jelly beans.’

‘Next on the list-broom,’ Pierce said and she blinked.

‘We need a broom?’

‘I broke the top off slamming the gate home.’

‘You had a broom? I thought you had a rifle.’

‘A broom.’

‘My hero,’ she muttered. ‘Hero with broomstick. What a man.’

‘Sorry.’ But he was smiling. She’d made him smile, she thought, and it felt okay.

‘So, broom,’ she told Donald. ‘And the makings of hot dogs.’

‘Why hot dogs?’ Pierce asked.

‘Because I feel like a hot dog and I’m wounded. Wounded people can ask for whatever they want.’

‘I like hot dogs,’ Donald said cautiously.

‘I think they’re made from bulls,’ she told him, and she grinned. ‘Double rations of hot dogs just as soon as we can get to the store.’

‘That might be next week,’ Pierce warned her. ‘I get groceries delivered on Monday.’

‘Monday’s too far. If the stores were open now I’d want my hot dog now.’ She sighed. ‘But I’m willing-at great personal sacrifice-to wait till tomorrow. Wendy and I can take care of the house. You can take Donald and do a shopping expedition. A hot dog hunt.’

‘Does that mean you’re staying for a bit?’ Wendy asked, and it seemed like the whole room held its breath.

Was she? She gazed round the room and saw five needful faces. Six if she counted Pierce, who was looking like he was trying to look uninterested.

Needful, too, she thought, but then that was suddenly a dangerous thought.

Ware sympathy, she told herself sternly, but she was still staying. ‘If it’s okay with you,’ she said diffidently, and not looking at Pierce. ‘I’ve come here nursing shattered pride, and now I have a broken shoulder to recover from as well. Recovering might take some time.’

It took time to settle everyone. Shanni sat in the big rocker by the fire while Pierce put his brood to bed. The children’s bedrooms were upstairs as well. She could hear them talking in muted tones. Kids’ questions. Pierce’s rumbling answers. Bessy’s plaintive whinging. More rumbles. A child’s voice-Wendy’s-sounding bossy.

She should go to bed, Shanni thought, but she was still feeling shaky. The gentle rocking of the old chair and the crackling of the flames inside the stove were infinitely comforting.

Silence fell upstairs. She might go to sleep where she was, and that didn’t seem a bad option. Preferable to going to a strange bed.

But some plans were doomed to failure.

‘Why aren’t you in bed?’ It was Pierce, standing in the doorway, staring across at her in concern.

‘I’m going,’ she said without much conviction. ‘As soon as I’m warm.’

‘It’s a warm night.’

‘I guess it is. I just got cold.’

He looked worried. But he was standing in the doorway, not coming further. ‘You want more of that whisky?’

‘No. I…I shouldn’t.’

‘Me neither. But it’s scary how much I want some.’ He shook his head. ‘Hell, Shanni, I’m sorry.’

‘You said the gate was locked.’

‘That’s what I can’t understand.’ He hesitated, but he still wasn’t coming further into the room. ‘I’ve just double checked. The chain’s been cut with bolt cutters. And someone’s stirred Clyde up. I’m not threatening to turn him into sausages any more. He’s standing against the fence, trembling almost as much as you are. There’s a series of tiny puncture wounds along his flank. I’d suspect something like a peashooter’s been used to hurt him. Normally if you opened Clyde’s gate he wouldn’t even notice it was open. But, if you opened it and started shooting pellets at him, he’d get terrified. He’d lumber into the garden, and if he kept hurting and he didn’t understand why then he’d be likely to attack anything that moved.’

She was staring at him, horrified. ‘But that’s…that’s criminal. That’s awful.’

‘They’ll be aiming at me,’ he said grimly. ‘They’ll assume it’d be me who’d go out and check on cattle loose in the garden. They’d never assume it’d be a seven-year-old.’

‘Do they hate you that much?’

‘It’s not hate,’ he said grimly. ‘It’s just they don’t know me. I’m a weekend millionaire who stopped a factory going ahead that the community needed. The fact that no one warned me is irrelevant. And now, as well as being rich and stupid and forcing the community to lose its factory, I’m a single dad who Social Welfare has in its sights for child neglect. Yeah, they’d like me to pack up and leave.’

‘So why don’t you?’ she asked cautiously.

‘I…’

‘You could go back to your architecture in the city. The kids could go to school and to day care. You could hire a housekeeper easier in the city.’

‘It won’t work.’ He shook his head. ‘Or I’m not sure it’d work. Maybe it’ll come to that, but Maureen badly wanted these kids to have space.’

She hesitated. And then she said, wise for now, ‘Well, at least you have me for a bit.’

There was a baffled pause. At least, it was baffled on Shanni’s part. Why the silence?

‘I think I just offered to be housekeeper,’ she said at last, cautiously. ‘If you want me.’

‘I do want you.’

It was said with such force that she blinked-and then managed a smile. ‘Well, thank you.’

‘I can see Ruby in you.’

That made her blink again. ‘Little and dumpy and wide astern?’

He smiled at that, grimness easing. ‘I’d never have said wide astern.’

‘But I’m little and dumpy.’

‘What you did tonight was the bravest…’

‘You’re saying that makes up for little and dumpy?’

He grinned. ‘If I was in the market for a woman, little and dumpy would be the last way I’d describe you.’

‘You’re not in the market for a woman?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I guess you’ve got five kids. So you’re not in the market for any more family.’

‘I never wanted this much. I sure as hell don’t need a wife as well.’

How had this conversation happened?

‘Just lucky you told me,’ she managed. ‘I was already planning the bridal.’

It brought him up short. ‘Hell. Shanni, I didn’t mean…’

‘It’s okay,’ she told him, relenting ‘I’ve done enough bridal planning for a lifetime.’

‘With ice-water Mike.’

‘That’s the one. I thought I was in love. How stupid can you be? No more relationships for me.’

‘But you’ve told the kids.’

‘That I’ll stay for a bit. Yes, I have.’ She took a deep breath, trying to sort things out in her head. ‘I really am in trouble,’ she confessed, deciding to lay it all out. ‘I used every cent I had getting back to Australia, to find my parents had sublet their house. My best friend has a bedsitter smaller than your broom closet. I’ve been out of the country for eight years and there’s no one else I can crash on. Except Ruby and her macramé ladies.’

‘It’s some penthouse she’s in,’ Pierce said. ‘Forty squares of luxury overlooking Sydney Harbour.’

Shanni frowned, suddenly thinking sideways. Ruby…Ruby of the gorgeous sons. Ruby who didn’t have a cent to her name, suddenly swanning in a penthouse in Sydney’s most exclusive harbour-front suburb?

‘You gave her the penthouse?’

‘We all did. Hasn’t Ruby told you about the rest of her boys?’

‘Of course she has.’ She remembered the photograph Ruby carried with her everywhere. Ruby, dotty old Ruby, who’d never had a penny to bless herself with, who’d spent every minute of her life devoted to her boys. ‘Blake, Connor, Sam, Darcy, Dominic, Nikolai. And Pierce,’ she whispered. ‘Do I have them right?’

‘That’s us. Ruby’s boys. She took us in, and she hauled every one of us up by the bootstraps. She was left with nothing. For her seventieth birthday we gave her the apartment, The stipulation is that she doesn’t sell it or give it away to freeloaders, and she’s no longer permitted to take in strays.’

‘Not permitted?’

‘It’s time we started protecting her from herself. If we hadn’t stipulated it, would you be in her guest room?’

‘No.’ She sighed. ‘Well, if it wasn’t for the macramé, maybe. She does have the reputation of not turning anyone out.’

‘You really are desperate?’

‘I can get a job. I guess. The art world’s so small, though. People know my gallery failed.’

‘So you’ll accept this job?’

‘I guess. For a bit.’

Why didn’t he come into the room? she wondered. He was standing at the doorway as if afraid to come further.

‘I won’t bite,’ she said, but he didn’t smile.

‘No.’

‘What are you afraid of?’

‘You’re Ruby’s niece?’

‘By marriage, yes.

‘Then we’re practically related.’

‘Family,’ she agreed and waited.

‘Maybe I should say right now…I don’t want any sort of relationship.’

Her shoulder was hurting. It had been hurting all this while, but she’d forgotten about it for a little. Now it slammed back and it was like he’d slapped her.

‘What are you saying?’

‘I didn’t mean…’

‘You did mean. That’s the second weird comment. Are you expecting me to jump you?’

‘No, I-’

‘That’s good, because I’m not,’ she snapped. ‘I’m nuts to be here. Seriously, totally barmy. I’d be best throwing myself on the mercy of the parish or whatever indigent people do these days.’

‘It’s not really as bad as that.’

She glared. ‘No,’ she conceded. ‘All I have to do is contact my parents and I’ll be fine. But I’m offering to stay here.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Donald was going to tackle that bull all by himself rather than haul you away from his baby sister. Because Wendy’s looking older than her years. Because this house is a mess-this family is a mess-and I need a job, so I might as well do one that’s worth doing. You say you’re wealthy?’

It was such a change of tack that he blinked. ‘I…Yes.’

‘Could you afford to take us all to the beach?’

‘The beach?’

‘You see, these kids look like they’re expecting the weight of the world to descend on their heads any minute. Or maybe it’s already descended. Have they been away from this place since their mother died?’

‘No, but…’

‘They’ve been sick?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘And it’s school holidays?’

‘Yes.’

‘There you go, then,’ she said. ‘Take us away. To the beach.’

‘How the hell am I going to take five kids-including one chicken-poxed baby-to the beach?’

‘I’ll come, too,’ she said patiently. ‘I like the beach. The kids are recuperating from pox, I’m recuperating from mortification and, you need to work.’

He blinked. Work. He’d practically forgotten about work.

‘I can’t.’

‘Of course you can’t work here,’ she agreed. ‘And the kids are so spooked that I can’t see things changing. So what I suggest is that we hire two apartments for a couple of weeks.’

‘Two.’

‘One for you and one for me,’ she said. ‘Right on the beach. Somewhere luxurious. See how good I am at spending other people’s money?’

‘How would that work?’

‘At night I’ll share with the girls and you share with the boys,’ she said. ‘During the day the kids can stay with me, and we’ll play at the beach. If we stay at a decent resort there’ll be babysitters as well, and if we find one who’s had the pox then we can leave Bessy a little. I could really use a week or two at the beach.’

Whoops.

Until now it hadn’t been about her. She’d tried really hard to couch this in terms that said she was doing this out of the goodness of her heart.

But she’d let it out. She heard it the moment her words left her mouth, and she saw Pierce’s face change.

‘You want to go to the beach?’

‘I had the flu,’ she said ruefully. ‘The morning I found Mike…Well, it was the start of three weeks of being sick. And every single day since then I’ve thought of the beach. Mum and Dad’s house is on the beach north of Sydney. That’s where I was headed. Then tonight I was under that blasted camellia waiting for Clyde to turn me into sausages, and all I could think of was that I hadn’t made it to the beach.’

His face softened. For a moment-for just a moment-his face changed. He smiled, a lovely gentle smile that made something inside her twist.

‘I could lend you money to go the beach by yourself.’ Then he shook his head. ‘No. After all you’ve done for my family today, it’s not a loan. You deserve to have a holiday without us,’

‘I may be dumb,’ she said with dignity, shaking her head. ‘But I’m hooked now. All or nothing.’

‘You don’t want a long-term commitment to these kids?’

‘Are you kidding? Of course I don’t. But a week or two at the beach while we recover…’

‘It does sound…’ He dug his hands deep in his pockets and considered. What must he be seeing, she thought. A waif. A dumb, failed art curator with skin that was too pale after too long in England and three weeks of the flu. A woman who’d been rolling round in the garden fighting with a bull. Blood-and dust-spattered. Tear streaked-okay, there might just have been a few tears when no one had been looking…

‘I really do need to work,’ he said at last. ‘I mean, yeah, I’m wealthy, but it’s not bottomless. There’s a project I was going to have to renege on. If I could get time on that…’

‘We could stay here,’ she admitted. ‘But we all need to bounce a bit.’

‘You mean you do.’

She tilted her chin. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s pure selfishness on my part.’ But then she shook her head. ‘No. I’m looking at Wendy, too. She needs-she needs to be a kid.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’

‘So can we go to the beach?’

‘How the hell can I organize…?’

‘See, here’s the thing,’ she said, apologetically. ‘I might be a failed art curator but I have a splinter skill. It’s called web junkie. You put me in front of an internet connection, and I’ll have us at the beach this time tomorrow. Promise.’

He stared at her. She stared back. Her shoulder hurt, she thought. And Pierce could see it. He was watching her, but there was something behind his eyes that said he was seeing further than skin deep.

The beach. Focus on the beach.

‘You’re on,’he said at last, so softly she hardly heard him. ‘So, when the kids wake up in the morning…’

‘We’ll be packing for the beach. You’d better get that tyre fixed. Though I’ve got my dad’s car. I’ll follow behind. I’m not relinquishing my independence that much.’

‘We’ll talk about it in the morning.’ At last he left the door, crossing to where she sat huddled before the fire. ‘Let me help you to bed.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re still shaking.’

‘I’m just not used to bulls,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

‘No one’s used to a bull like that. He could have killed you. If you hadn’t gone out he may well have killed Donald.’

‘Gee, that’s the sort of thing to say to stop me shaking,’ she muttered.

‘Shanni, you’re beat.’ He hesitated for a moment and then shrugged, seeming to shake off whatever scruples he might be feeling. Before she knew what he intended, he bent and scooped her up into his arms, holding her close.

‘What the-?’

‘I’m taking you to bed,’ he told her. ‘But not downstairs. Yeah, that’s Maureen’s room. No one’s been in it since she died. There’s a spare bed in Wendy’s room. I think you’d be better off sleeping with the kids.’

‘I’m a grown woman,’ she protested. ‘Hey, Pierce, I’m an independent career woman. Are you putting me to bed with the children?’

‘Too right I am,’ he told her. ‘You need company to get you to sleep.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘I’d like to offer my services, but my bed’s already occupied. Me and Bessy-the woman of my dreams.’

She didn’t protest. He carried her into the spare bed in the girls’ room. He helped her off with what remained of her windcheater. He would have helped her more, but she suddenly woke enough to be independent.

‘I’m fine,’ she said and suddenly the atmosphere changed. She’d let him cradle her against him as he climbed the stairs. She’d seemed to need his warmth-his strength-but suddenly there was tension.

He retreated, leaving her to it. She was confused. He could see she was confused-and so was he.

Back in his bedroom, Bessy slept, which was a mixed blessing. ‘When I’m awake you might as well be awake, too,’ he told her. ‘When I go to sleep that’s when you’ll wail.’ But Bessy wasn’t listening. She had her chubby fist pressed into her mouth and she was seriously sucking her tiny knuckles as she seriously slept.

He should sleep himself. But too much had happened too fast. His heart rate was still up there, and it wasn’t going to slow down soon.

When he’d put his hands under the camellia, searching, he’d felt the blood and for a couple of awful moments, until he’d carried her to the veranda and been able to see the extent of the damage, he’d thought the worst.

Well, his heart rate hadn’t yet settled.

‘I do not need someone else to worry about,’ he told the sleeping Bessy. ‘A waif whose boyfriend’s duped her out of her livelihood, whose parents have left her stranded.’

‘Are you kidding? She’s a mature woman. Pushing thirty? She has to be. Did you see the way she organized the cleaning? She’s not a kid.’

‘It’s the way she looks at me.’

Bessy stirred and grunted and waved her small fist in the air. He took it, and she wrapped her fingers around his middle finger and clung.

Domesticity closed in from all sides.

‘I should never have bought this house.’

‘So sell it.’

‘No.’

‘Well, get out of here at least. Take Miss Bossy Boots to the sea. Give us all a break.’

He sighed. Sleep was nowhere.

Miss Bossy Boots was right before him. That awful moment when he’d dragged her out from under the bush, before he’d seen…

‘That’s what this is,’ he told himself. ‘It’s horror. And gratitude. She saved Donald.’

‘She’s some woman.’

See, that was just the route his thoughts didn’t want to take. He’d made one mistake in the past. Or two, he admitted, being ruthlessly honest.

One was buying this place. It had been a dumb-ass romantic gesture. His brothers had made him see how stupid it was.

The second was his response to Maureen. Maureen, if you’re dying…Hell of course you can bring the kids here. I’ll take care of you.

And now his life was down the toilet. His work was a disaster. If he didn’t get this project in…

Miss Bossy Boots had a point. Two apartments.

But the kids would want to be with him. Or he’d worry if they weren’t. There had to be a solution.

Beach.

Kids.

Castle.

He sat up so fast that Bessy woke and glared, then grinned in the moonlight and held up her arms for a cuddle.

‘Right,’ he said, hugging Bessy obligingly and throwing back the covers. ‘Let’s go look on the internet. Only I’m looking for a very specific place. A place I already know about. A place where I can back off and leave the emotion to trained professionalism.’

Including how he felt towards Shanni? How he might be feeling, but he was admitting nothing…

‘It’s a package deal,’ he told Bessy. ‘Ruby says it’s a place of miracles. Let’s hope she’s right.’