Misty and the Single Dad

‘Will you butt out?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not when you’re being ridiculous.’

‘Ridiculous,’ Bailey said and finally-and probably too late-Misty decided she’d gone too far. Nick’s face was almost rigid. His own child calling him ridiculous…

A woman might just have to back off.

‘Maybe your dad’s right,’ she told Bailey, and she hugged him against her. She was still in bed, with Bailey and dogs crowded in with her. Nick seemed suddenly an outsider.

She looked at his face and she saw pain behind his anger. Worse, she saw fear. He’d been to hell and back over the last year, she thought. What was she doing, adding to it because she was angry?

‘Maybe ridiculous is the wrong word,’ she conceded. ‘Maybe I’m not being fair. Your dad worries because of what happened to you and your mum, because he knows bad things happen. He brought you to Banksia Bay because it’s safe, and it is, but maybe he needs time to see it. I tell you what; why don’t you and your dad bring the dogs to the beach this afternoon and watch? When your dad sees how safe it is, then maybe next Saturday or the one after that he’ll agree.’

‘You think I’m being dumb,’ Nick said, sounding goaded.

‘I do.’ She hugged the dogs and she hugged Bailey. ‘But that’s your right.’

‘Being dumb.’

‘Being…safe. But let’s change the subject,’ she said-and the frustration in his eyes said it was high time she did. ‘You and Bailey talk about sailing and let me know if you ever want to join me. Meanwhile, I need to go see Gran. So if you gentlemen could give me a little privacy and if you could take the dogs with you it would be appreciated,’ she said, and she smiled at Nick and she kept her smile in place until he’d taken his son and their dogs and let her be.

‘Why not?’ Bailey demanded as soon as Misty’s door was shut.

‘If anything happened to your arm…’

He was talking to a six-year-old. He should just say no and be done with it. What happened to the good old days when a man was master in his own home?

This was Misty’s home. Her rules?

‘I can wear my brace,’ Bailey said, and he slid his hand into his father’s. Beguiling as only a six-year-old could be.

‘No.’

‘Dad…’

‘We’ll think about it. Later.’

‘Okay,’ Bailey said. He really was a good kid. There’d been so many things he couldn’t do over the last year that he was used to it. ‘Can we make Ketchup and Took bacon for breakfast?’

‘Yes,’

‘Hooray,’ Bailey said and sped away, dogs in pursuit.

How much bacon did he have? Enough for dogs?

He could borrow some from Misty.

The way he was feeling… No.

But then he thought of Misty, her chin tilted, defiant, pushing him to the limit.

And he thought of his son.

There’d been so many things Bailey couldn’t do over the last year…

What was he doing, adding more?

Define safe, he thought, and he thought of Misty in bed with dogs and Bailey.

Misty was safe.

Misty was gorgeous.

The feeling stilled and settled.

Misty was home.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MISTY visited Gran, who was so deeply asleep she couldn’t be roused.

Discomfited, worrying about Gran and worrying almost as much about the guys she’d left at home, she made her way to the yacht club. There was no need for her to go home to change. She kept her gear here.

‘Hey, Misty, how’s the boyfriend?’ someone called, and there was a general chuckle.

She didn’t flush. She didn’t need to, for the words had been a joke. But inside the joke made her flinch. Was it so funny to think Misty could ever have a boyfriend?

It had been four years since she’d had any sort of relationship, she thought, as she fetched her sailing clothes from her locker. She’d been twenty-five. Luke had been her friend from kindergarten. He’d been away to the city, broken his heart and come home to Misty. He’d wanted to marry, settle on his parents’ farm and breed babies and cows.

She’d knocked him back. He’d married Laura Buchanan and they had two babies already and four hundred Aberdeen Angus.

Since then… Misty was twenty-nine and for four years she’d lived alone with her scrapbooks and a list. Miss Havisham in the making?

‘What’s he like?’ someone called, and she tugged herself back to the here and now. ‘The boyfriend.’

‘Wildly romantic,’ she threw back, figuring she might as well go along with it. ‘I’ve seen him in his pyjamas. Sexy as.’

She hadn’t seen him in his pyjamas. She’d seen him in his boxers. He was indeed sexy.

Let’s not go there.

‘Woohoo,’ someone called. ‘Our Misty has a life!’

Only she hadn’t. She changed into her yachting gear and the old frustrations surged back.

Nick had kissed her. Misty has a life? Maybe she had. If she wanted it, a relationship was beckoning.

But why had he kissed her? He was attracted to her because she was Misty, the safe one.

Luke had broken his heart and come back to her.

To Misty. To safe.

She glanced out at the bay and saw a gentle breeze rippling the water. It was perfect sailing conditions, but she didn’t want perfect. She wanted twenty-foot waves, a howling sou-easterly and trouble.

‘My turn to win this time,’ someone said and it was Di, the local newsagent. At sixty-five, Di was still one of the town’s best sailors. She’d represented Australia in the Olympics. She’d travelled around the world honing her skills.

Misty had stayed home and honed hers.

She and Di were competitive enough. In this bay she could often beat her. But if she ever got out of this bay…

Who knew? She certainly didn’t.

Don’t think about it, she told herself. Concentrate on beating Di.

And not thinking about Nick?

The race didn’t start until two. Mostly the yachties sat round the clubhouse talking, but Misty bought a sandwich and launched Mudlark. She sailed out to the entrance to the bay-looking for trouble? But conditions outside weren’t any different to inside.

No risks today. Safe as houses.

What was wrong with safe? she demanded of herself. Get over it.

Thoroughly unsettled, she sailed her little boat back inside and spent an hour practising, pushing herself so she had Mudlark so tuned to the wind she was flying.

Finally, it was time to make her way to the start line. She’d win today.