Christmas at Candlebark Farm (5 page)

‘Hi.' She turned from the stove with a grin she hoped hid the nerves that unaccountably assailed her.

She had absolutely nothing to be nervous about. This dinner—it was nothing more than a friendly gesture.

Luke stared at the table set for three, and then at the food
simmering on the stove. There was a lot of it. She'd figured a man of the land and a growing teenage boy would have hearty appetites.

He raised an eyebrow. Keira suddenly hated that eyebrow with a vengeance.

‘Expecting company?' he drawled.

‘Of course not.' But it was hard to get the words out because her throat had started to close over. ‘I… This…' She swallowed. Did he hate chicken, or had he taken an unaccountable dislike to her since this morning?

She cleared her throat and gestured across the hallway to the living room, where Jason lay sprawled on the sofa with the television blaring. ‘I thought I'd cook dinner for everyone tonight.'

She couldn't stand the way he was looking at her, so she grabbed a plate and turned away to start dishing out food. Luke moved to stand behind her. Close. Keira stilled, her hand trembling as his heat beat at her. She hadn't even heard him move.

‘I don't want you doing this ever again.' His voice was low, but its fury sliced through her. ‘You hear me?'

She swallowed and nodded.

‘Jason and I don't need your charity, and we sure as hell don't need your pity. You can go practise your home-making skills somewhere else. Got it?'

The unfairness of his accusations had her spine stiffening. ‘Loud and clear,' she snapped, shoving the laden plate at him. ‘Believe me, I won't make the same mistake again.' She pushed the serving spoon under his nose. ‘But while we're on the subject of home-making, from what I can see I'm not the one who needs to brush up on that particular skill set.'

His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out.

‘And, for your information, cooking dinner was my oh-so-stupid attempt to try and make up for throwing your routine out this morning.
Nothing
more.'

And then she lifted her voice, so it could be heard over the television in the next room. ‘There's food here if you want it, Jason.'

With a cut-off oath, Luke spun and stalked from the room. Jason slouched in. He stared after his father. ‘What's up with him?'

She shrugged. ‘Beats me.'

‘Yeah, well, I wouldn't worry about it,' he mumbled. ‘He's an old grump.'

He could say
that
again!

Jason took his laden plate back into the living room. Keira collapsed at the table, her heart thumping.

Right—from now on her and Luke's paths were on completely separate planes, trajectories whatever you wanted to call it. She'd make sure of it.

L
UKE
halted in the doorway to the living room, brought up short by the sight of Keira rifling through the sideboard. He automatically opened his mouth to ask her what the hell she was doing, but closed it again.

He had no intention of jumping to conclusions again, like he had last night.

This woman—with all her colour and her big, bright smiles—had waltzed into his neatly structured world and he'd been off balance ever since. He ground his teeth together. He was going to find that balance again if it killed him.

Last night he'd hurled words at her in an effort to stop the image of her, the very idea of what she'd represented, from tearing him apart. She'd stood there in his kitchen as if she'd had every right in the world, mocking him with her very…
perfection
!

Once upon a time he'd dreamed of that kind of life. But it could never be his. Ever.

Last night anger and grief had clawed up through him in an explosion of anguish. He'd lashed out at her before he could help himself. He wasn't losing control like that again. He might not want her rifling through his personal things, but flying off the handle wouldn't help him restore that much-needed equilibrium.

With that in mind, he straightened, shoved his hands into
the pockets of his jeans, and drawled as casually as he could, ‘Can I help you?'

She half turned. ‘I didn't hear you come in. I thought you'd be out in the fields all day.'

He'd come back to grab some lunch. Not that he needed to explain himself to her. ‘What are you looking for?'

‘The telephone directory.' She stood, hands on hips, and stared at him expectantly.

She wore white linen trousers and a lime-green shirt. She reminded him of the rainbow lorikeets that dipped through the yard in the early morning to feed in the bottlebrush trees.

‘Please tell me you have at least some kind of local business directory!'

Her clothes looked summery and cool, but her cheeks were pink and her hair almost crackled. He pointed to the sideboard. ‘Middle drawer.'

She spun back, located said directory, and promptly hugged it to her chest. Which made him notice exactly what a nice chest she had.

He forced his gaze to the floor, but he needn't have bothered. Keira hadn't noticed. She raced passed him to settle herself at the kitchen table. She began rifling through the directory, completely oblivious to him.

He watched her, eyes narrowed. Something was up. It was evident in the way she flicked over the pages, the way she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth.

Walk away. The lady had made it clear at breakfast yesterday that she knew what she was doing.

If he wanted lunch he couldn't walk away. It didn't mean he had to engage her in conversation, though.

He filled the jug. He pulled a loaf of bread towards him. Not speaking suddenly seemed a bit childish. He slathered butter on his bread, located the cheese and started to slice it. ‘What are you looking for?' He told himself it was a perfectly harmless question.

‘A local builder. A
reputable
one.'

She didn't even glance up as she spoke. Luke abandoned the cheese. ‘Why?' She was only here for a week. What on earth did she need with a builder?

‘Because a disreputable one won't be of any use at all.'

When she met his gaze he could see that lines of strain fanned out from her eyes. And she'd gone pale. He planted his feet. ‘Have you eaten today? You can't—'

He broke off, mentally kicking himself.

She sat back and folded her arms. She didn't say anything. Not one word.

Luke stood it for as long as he could. Then he caved. ‘Look, okay… Last night I was…'

‘Rude?' she supplied. ‘Churlish?'

‘Out of order,' he ground out.

He cast another glance at her. She really was turning very pale. His hands clenched. She was having a baby.
On her own.
She didn't deserve attitude from him. ‘Rude and churlish,' he admitted.

He pulled out a chair. He'd meant to plant himself in it, apologise like a man, but his spine bowed under the sudden weight that crashed down on him and he found himself slumping instead. ‘This kitchen hasn't had a woman in it for a long time. Coming in last night and seeing you so at home, with dinner on and the table set…' He dragged a hand down his face. ‘It…' He didn't know how to go on.

‘Oh!' The word left her in one soft exhalation. ‘Oh, I didn't think of that. I'm sorry, Luke. I didn't mean to rake up ghosts from the past.'

The problem was his past had never been like that—it had never been that inviting, that tempting. Fate was laughing at him, deriding him—showing him with one hand all he could have had, and then taking it away with the other.

Which was as it should be.

‘I lost the plot for a moment. I'm sorry.'

Keira reached out and placed her hand over his. ‘Why don't we just forget all about last night?'

He eased out a breath. The scent of vanilla rose up all around him. ‘I'd like that.' He studied her face. Her colour still hadn't returned. He'd gestured towards his abandoned sandwich. ‘Have you eaten?'

For some reason that made her laugh. With a self-conscious glance at her hand on his, she drew back and nodded. ‘I ate earlier, thank you.'

Good. He couldn't help noticing how she flicked a glance across to the cheese, though. He reached across and relocated the breadboard from the bench to the table. He cut more cheese—far more than he'd need—and made a show of making sandwiches. ‘Want one?'

‘No, thank you.' But she flicked another glance at the cheese.

He pushed the breadboard towards her and bit into his sandwich. ‘I always cut too much, and then it goes to waste.'

‘Waste?'

He nodded. Then nearly grinned when she reached out and seized a slice and popped it into her mouth. She closed her eyes in what looked like ecstasy. Luke stopped chewing to stare. She opened her eyes, registered the expression on his face, and pale cheeks suddenly became pink.

Luke forced himself to start chewing again. He swallowed. ‘You want to tell me what you want with a builder?'

She snaffled another piece of cheese. ‘I…' Her lips trembled upwards in a smile that made something in his chest tighten. ‘I've inherited a house in the town.'

He lowered his sandwich.

She nodded. ‘I know—amazing, huh? My Great-Aunt Ada—whom I'd never met, mind—left me her house in her will.' She popped the second piece of cheese into her mouth. ‘Yum!' She pointed. ‘This is really good!'

‘Just regular cheddar.'

She grabbed another piece. ‘Apparently my great-aunt had no other living relatives. She died back in September, but it took her solicitor a couple of months to track me down.'

That smile of hers slipped and his heart dipped right along with it.

‘I wish she'd tried to contact me.' She stared down at the table, one finger tracing the grain of the wood. ‘
I
should've contacted
her
.'

‘Why?' If the woman had never been a part of her life…

‘I was her last living relative. She must've been lonely towards the end.' She lifted one slim shoulder. ‘And…well…she was
my
last living relative too. I'd have liked to have known her.'

Luke tried to hide his dawning horror. Not only didn't she have a partner—the father of her baby—to help her out, but she didn't have any other family either. She'd told him her mother was dead and that her father wasn't around, but what about siblings, aunts and uncles…grandparents?

For a moment she looked so forlorn and alone he found himself reaching out to squeeze her hand. To choose to have a baby with virtually no support at all—the very idea stole his breath. This woman—she had courage and strength in spades. His admiration for her grew. Right alongside that pesky protectiveness.

It wasn't his place to be protective. He didn't want to get involved. He didn't want his hormones hitting overdrive every time the scent of vanilla drifted across to him. He didn't want concerns about whether her morning sickness had returned, or if she was eating enough, if she was getting enough rest, plaguing him. His every instinct screamed
Run!

This woman's life was none of his business.

But she had no one, and she was only here for one measly week—five more days. Helping out where he could wouldn't kill him.

‘Keira, soon you'll have your baby. You'll be starting a brand new family.'

She squeezed his hand back, and that spark jumped between them again. He knew she felt it too, from the way she let go of his hand at the same moment he let go of hers, and by the way her glance skittered away.

She covered her stomach with her hand and stared down at it. He found it hard to imagine her rounded and full with child. She'd still be beautiful.

‘I can hardly wait,' she said, her eyes shining.

For the first time in a long time Luke's lips stretched into a smile. It didn't hurt, it wasn't forced—merely an uncomplicated sign of pleasure at her simple sincerity and excitement. ‘I forgot to say something the other night.'

Her eyes widened. ‘What's that?'

A hint of breathlessness rippled through her voice. It made the surface of his skin tingle. ‘I didn't congratulate you on your pregnancy. Congratulations, Keira. I wish you and your baby all the very best.'

To his astonishment, he found he wasn't merely going through the motions—he meant it. She looked as if she might actually melt, so he sat back and made his voice deliberately businesslike. ‘So you've inherited this house…?'

‘Which really couldn't have come at a better time. The money from the sale means I'll be able set up my own clinic in the city. I'd really love to have all that finalised before my Munchkin makes its appearance.'

‘Clinic?' He shouldn't be asking about this clinic of hers. He should be asking about her aunt's house. If she needed a builder, then obviously the house needed repairs. ‘What kind of clinic?'

‘I'm a physiotherapist. I specialise in post-surgical rehabilitation and sports injuries. At the moment I'm working at a private hospital, but I've always dreamed of opening my own
clinic.' She grinned and polished off the last of the cheese. ‘And because of my great-aunt now I can.'

‘You're a physio?' His jaw dropped. This slip of a girl was a physiotherapist? He didn't know why he found that so hard to believe. If he'd stopped to consider it at all, he'd have pegged her as a preschool teacher or an artist. A job where her bubbliness and enthusiasm could really shine. But a physiotherapist? It sounded so responsible and serious.

She'd look cute in a white coat, though.

Settle!

‘What?' she teased. ‘You don't think I'm old enough to be a physio?'

If he said yes, would that offend or flatter her? He didn't want to do either.

She threw her head back and laughed, so he settled for saying nothing. But his lips started to lift again.

‘How old are
you
?'

It was a friendly challenge. He shrugged. ‘Thirty-three.'

He watched her mind whirl and click, and then her eyes went wide. ‘But that means you were only…' more whirring and calculating ‘…nineteen when Jason was born?'

‘Yep.'

‘And here I am, wondering if I'm truly ready for all the responsibility at twenty-four. Wow! Nineteen? That must've been hard.'

His gut clenched. ‘Yep.'

When he didn't add anything else, she said, ‘I'm a good physio, and I can see exactly how much tension you hold in your shoulders. If you're not careful you'll do yourself an injury. And you hold it here too.'

She lifted a hand as if to touch it to the side of his jaw. His pulse jumped. She jerked her hand back.

‘Sit back in your chair like this. Nice and comfortable.'

He did as she ordered. He figured it would be easier than arguing with her.

‘Now, relax the back of your tongue.'

He frowned. How on earth…?

‘It's located about here.' She turned her head to the side and indicated the place. ‘Concentrate hard on loosening it.'

He did. It took a moment to work out precisely what she meant, but when he finally got the hang of it a deep ripple of relaxation coursed through him. He blinked, stunned at the effect.

‘You should try and remember to do that a couple of times a day.'

He nodded, but it all suddenly seemed a little too chum-my—too…familiar. He didn't need anyone looking out for him. She was the one who needed help.

‘Back to this house of yours.' His voice had gone gruff again, but he couldn't help it. ‘I take it repairs are needed before you can sell it?'

‘Apparently.'

She pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to him. It was a builder's quote—and the work it itemised was extensive. He grimaced when he read the total. ‘This is going to set you back a pretty penny.' Did she have the money? Perhaps she should be looking for a banker instead?

‘The real estate agency organised that last week.' She paused. ‘Do you think I'm being overcharged?'

‘I'm not an expert, but…' He raked his gaze down the list again. ‘There's nothing that jumps out at me from this. Why?'

‘Well, maybe it's just pregnancy hormones…'

‘But?'

‘Something seems a bit…fishy.'

‘How?'

‘Little things that don't seem like much but when they're added together… For example, the estate agent was supposed to take me through the house on Saturday, but something came
up and he was out of the office all day… For some unspecified reason no one else could take me through in his stead.'