‘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.
‘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.’
‘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.’
‘No.’
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.’
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.
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.’
CHAPTER FIVE
SHANNI went to sleep in a skinny kid’s bed, with Wendy and Abby sleeping almost within touching distance.
She woke and the kids’ beds were empty. She could hear voices from downstairs.
The room was empty.
She lay and stared at the ceiling, watching early morning sunbeams flicker on the wooden beams of the ceiling. This was the loveliest old farmhouse. She could see why Pierce had wanted it. It was a home.
The home he’d never had.
But he didn’t want attachment. He didn’t want marriage. It was like he’d bought the place just so he could bring up stray kids.
Maureen must have been so relieved to find him.
Pierce.
A nice boy…
He was nice, she thought, still half asleep, drifting in the warmth and comfort of her tiny bed. He was really nice.
Yeah, and she’d thought Mike was nice, she told herself harshly as she realized where her thoughts were taking her. She needed to haul them right back under control. Her judgement in men was seriously flawed. She needed time out-at least a year or so before she’d even think about dipping a toe in the water again.
