Meant-To-Be Mother

chapter THREE


‘UM, I don’t know, Kane …’ Siena said, backing away physically and mentally.

Before she could duck out the door Kane reached out and grabbed her hand, small, hot, sticky fingers closing over hers. ‘But I just got a new computer and it plays games and songs and stuff.’

His pale brown eyes began to glisten. His bottom lip trembled. A screaming kid she could handle. She’d been a pretty competent screaming kid once herself. But a kid with big brown eyes welling with tears? First she’d felt empathy for Freddy the cola-flinger and now this? It seemed that, despite the protestations of some of her cabin crew, she was only human after all.

‘You know what,’ Siena said, backtracking frantically, ‘I would love to see your backyard more. The reason I was driving down this street in the first place was because when I was your age I used to live in this very house.’

‘You did?’ Kane asked, his expression now wary.

‘I did. And the backyard was my favourite place. We had a swing set and a pool, and there was this one fence paling that was never attached properly and when I was not much bigger than you I could slip right through the hole it made.’

‘I know! Dad fixed it though when we first moved in. Wow, how cool. Which room was yours?’

‘The front room, I’d hazard to guess,’ James said.

Siena turned to him and nodded. ‘How’d you guess?’

‘When we repainted it took me a week to plug up all the holes left by poster pins.’

She grinned. ‘I was madly in love with several grunge rock bands for quite some time and I proved my love by covering every spare inch of pink floral wallpaper.’

‘I’ve no doubt,’ he said, the half-smile drawing her in. ‘And now?’

‘My tastes have become more … grown-up.’ ‘R and B?’

‘No. Reality,’ she said.

He laughed, the sound rolling over her like an ocean wave on the hottest day of summer, and Siena felt herself warming from the inside out. Okay, now she recognised what this feeling was. It was the zing that came from flirting, and flirting well.

But there was a kid, and a blonde, and crucial dry cleaning to consider. She determinedly switched conversational tack. ‘My brother Rick sold this place about three years ago. Rick Capuletti. Did you buy it from him?’

‘Dad bought this house for Mum as a wedding present,’ Kane all but shouted, delighted to be able to nudge his way back into the conversation.

Her gaze switched straight from Kane to James to find herself drowning in the suddenly unfathomable depths behind his cool grey eyes. Before her eyes his clear-cut edges blurred, the sharpness that had earlier seduced her into easy flirtation dissolving until Siena had to fight the urge to reach out and tug him back to the present.

‘Oh,’ she said, unable to dredge up a trace of eloquence. Oh, indeed. So the sunshiny blonde was not just a ring-in. She was a bona fide Dillon family member. And she was Kane’s mother. And, of all things, she had been given a rather pricey house as a wedding present.

Wait a second …

‘But we only sold this place—’ Too late she shut her trap. Three years ago, she had been about to say. But the implication was there all the same. Kane had not been a honeymoon baby. Suddenly it was obvious that he had come from the same gene pool as the brown-eyed woman in the photograph, but it was entirely possible that Kane was not James’s natural born kid.

James’s cheek twitched and she knew he was following the trail of her thoughts without any trouble. She felt herself burning up. Blushing. She! Forthright, tough as nails, unflappable she.

James stood, drawing Kane in front of him as a wall. Kane took the attention blindly, hugging on to his dad’s arms as he blinked ingenuously up at Siena.

‘Kane, how about you show Siena your new trampoline while I organise the lemonade?’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ she said, torn halfway between mortification for somehow upsetting her host and a more selfish gratitude that a tour of the upstairs bedrooms had gone by the wayside.

Kane tugged her hand again and they jogged together through the kitchen, leaving James setting some glasses and a plate of packet biscuits on to a tray.

‘First I’ll show you Dad’s shed,’ Kane said, taking her to a large rendered concrete outbuilding, which was a new addition to the beautifully manicured backyard. She barely had time to take in the elegant landscaping around their old kidney-shaped in-ground pool as Kane gave the shed’s heavy side door a big heave-ho. And inside?

Inside was a cave of wonders.

Sunlight streamed in through high windows, collecting waves of flying wood dust as it settled upon sharp, clean, oil-soaked tools residing in neat rows along the far wall. A long oak work table was clear of debris and bric-a-brac but was coated with splotches of paint and notches from slipped tools. A sander and a set of clear plastic goggles lay strewn on the bench as though forgotten in the middle of a job. Chunks of wood and chopped tree trunks with the bark still attached lay in neat piles all along the left wall.

‘What does your dad do out here?’ Siena asked, her voice a little breathless.

‘He makes cabinets.’ Kane swished his hand like a model on a game show displaying white goods.

She ran her hand along the bench, the soft pads of her fingers tingling at the feel of the rough worn wood. When she reached the end of the bench she found something large hiding beneath a dusty old sheet. She barely hesitated before giving the cloth a tug.

A small gasp escaped her lips as it fell away to reveal the most beautiful piece of furniture she had ever seen.

It was a baby’s changing table—waist-high, with five drawers, resting on stubby little legs. The name Lachlan was carved in a heavy neat scrawl along the top drawer and pictures of teddy bears and rattles were carved randomly about the piece.

The detail and craftsmanship was spectacular. In amongst the thousand and one classes she had crammed into her days off, she had taken wood shop. She had lovingly created what she had thought to be a truly beautiful wooden ashtray, though nobody she knew smoked. It had taken days to carve the simple round shape, buff it to a polish and then carve her initials into the bottom.

But this was a whole other dimension. Each piece of wood was obviously chosen for its peculiar grain, with the graded waves of colour and knots working to form a beautiful inclusive whole.

It was exquisite. The work of someone with patience and imagination. Siena had thought James Dillon a simple labourer, but for once her first impression had been wrong. The man was a creator.

She looked over her shoulder and through the large window which gave an unimpeded view of the backyard and the rear of the two-storey house.

The man in question ambled past the kitchen window with the phone to his ear—calling for a tow truck? Calling for a cab to take her home?

Her heart slipped in her chest and she felt something akin to loss at the thought of leaving so soon. A hand fluttered to her ribs and she swallowed hard. That sensation was the most unexpected of all.

She stepped back, needing to distance herself from all of the unwelcome feelings tumbling inside her and she bumped into a small work desk in the corner. A battered, dust-covered laptop resting on the corner of the desk slipped and she turned and caught it before it fell.

She righted it upon its small metal desk and saw that it was loaded on to a simple black webpage with a neat cream font. She knew by the format that it was a web-based diary—a blog. She’d trawled online blogs often as many of her workmates used them to keep their families apprised of their adventures travelling.

This page was simply called ‘DINAH’ and the dates below the title told Siena it was dedicated to a woman who had died a little over twelve months before. Cold fingers of dread crept up the back of her neck.

Needing to know, to make sure that what she was thinking was true, she ran her finger over the mouse pad to shuffle down the webpage and she randomly chose an entry dated a few months before.

I’ve been feeling a little anxious over the past few days. I can’t put my finger on the reason why, but part of it involves Kane complaining off and on about not feeling well.

Siena looked over her shoulder. Kane was busy in the corner, babbling away about how he helped his dad every Saturday morning and his dad let him choose the sandpaper and that he made five dollars a day when he worked with him. But it soon became white noise as Siena ached to read more. To know more.

She licked her dry lips, her heart suddenly beating so hard she could hear it thrumming in her ears.

But wasn’t this like reading the guy’s diary? Well, no. By definition a blog was out there, on the World Wide Web for all and sundry to stumble upon and read.

Convinced enough, she read on.

Sometimes it is a stomach ache, sometimes a sore throat, sometimes a headache.

I know that this can be a symptom that his counsellors are looking for to say he needs more intensive therapy, but it’s winter and a lot of colds are still going around so maybe I am overreacting.

To tell you the truth, I think I know how he feels.

Having moved my business to my backyard after they convinced me it would be in Kane’s best interests, having cut down time spent with friends and colleagues so that Kane can have every ounce of attention I can give, I have come to a point where there are days when I don’t see the point in getting up early or showering, I don’t want to eat breakfast, much less make it for someone else, and the thought of going outside the front door leaves me in a cold sweat.

But then I think of that sad little face, of those big brown eyes, so like his mother’s, and of that one important day a year ago when he asked me ever so politely not go to work so far away again, and my love for him takes over.

For him I can and will do anything.

One step at a time.

Siena blinked.

Dinah. Dinah was the beautiful blonde with the bedroom eyes in the photograph on the piano. Dinah was Kane’s mother, the woman who had been given a whole house as a wedding gift. And she was gone.

‘Hey, do you want to see my swings? They’re way better than the ones you left behind.’

Siena spun around to find Kane standing at her back, staring at her with big brown eyes full of innocence. If she thought her heart was thrumming earlier she’d had no idea. She could feel it slamming against her chest. Her palms were sweating. Her face had turned beet-red with guilt.

What was she thinking in reading James’s blog? Was she insane? Obviously the humidity was sending her barmy.

‘Sure, Kane,’ she said, spinning him on the spot and giving him a little shove towards the door with one hand as she closed the laptop behind her with the other. ‘But we’ll have to be quick as it’s time for me to go.’

James hung up the phone from calling a tow-truck.

He leant his palms against the kitchen bench and watched his son dragging Siena out of his workshop and over to the trampoline.

She padded behind him on bare feet, her heavy dark curls bouncing, the hem of her long jeans dragging in the dirt, but she seemed not to notice or care.

Kane clambered up on to his new toy and she stood by, hands on hips, as Kane bounced up and down and chatted away about goodness knew what.

James breathed in deep through his nose.

Siena Capuletti was something else, and, no matter which way he looked at it, they had been engaged in some pretty darned enjoyable flirting back in the bathroom. He didn’t even really know whether he had started it or her, but before he’d even known what he was doing he’d found himself in one heck of a natural rhythm.

He rolled the kinks out of his shoulders, quite liking the feeling that he had stretched some muscles that hadn’t been stretched in a good long time.

He didn’t have time to think on it much more as suddenly Siena was jogging back through the kitchen door.

‘I can’t believe how thirsty I am,’ she said as she leaned against the kitchen bench at his side. ‘It’s so hot out there. But, then again, it’s hot out there every day here.’ She glanced pointedly at the tray of drinks which had never gone further than the kitchen. ‘May I?’

James nodded, watching her drink the tall glass of soft drink in one go, as if she stopped she might not get started again.

As she drank she reached up and rubbed a hand across the back of her neck, ruffling the curls spread along her neckline, and it occurred to James for the first time that she herself might have been injured in the accident.

He frowned. Once he’d known Kane was all right that should have been the first thing he’d ascertained. What was with him these days? So what if he could spin a line or two; he obviously didn’t seem to know how to think logically any more. Had he spent so much time watching over Kane that he had forgotten how to speak to an adult? Lemonade and cookies? Come on!

Siena continued running her fingers up through the back of her curls until they tumbled back against her neck in messy disarray. Okay, so she didn’t seem hurt. She just seemed to like to run her hands through her hair. He didn’t blame her. The affect of those bouncing dark curls agreed with him plenty.

‘Pretty nifty set-up you have out there,’ she said, when she came up for breath. She licked a sheen of lemonade from her lips. ‘I kind of peeked a look at the changing table you were working on. It’s gorgeous. Really. You’re very talented.’

He tipped his head in thanks. ‘So they tell me.’

‘What would one have to fork out for one of those?’ she asked.

She leant a hip against his bench and crossed her feet at the ankle, revealing a truly dirty underneath of her right foot.

He glanced at the floor to see a run of dirty footprints. He bit his lip, thinking Matt would have a fit when he found them marking the white kitchen floor.

But to James they kind of felt like the first footsteps on the moon. They were proof of a proper grown-up conversation he was having in his kitchen, which was something unique and a bit of a breakthrough really.

‘You’d have to pay more than you would think,’ he admitted. ‘That one is actually commissioned for the forthcoming son of a ridiculously prominent Aussie actor, which I’m sure would never have happened if my pieces didn’t cost so much.’

‘Is that a polite way of telling me I couldn’t afford one?’

‘Not at all,’ he said, his throat tickled by bubbles of laughter. ‘Though you would have to get in line.’

She lifted one eloquent eyebrow in a very convincing show of antipathy. But, rather than putting him in his place, it only made him realise that he liked that dextrous eyebrow of hers almost as much as he liked those disorderly curls.

‘Since I began working from home I’m embarrassed to admit that the Dillon label has taken off exponentially by way of its sudden scarcity,’ he said, leaning his own hip against the bench, mirroring her stance. ‘My business manager is in heaven as it has meant he can put prices on each piece which, since I am rarely at the showroom, I cannot veto.’

‘Okay,’ she said, holding up a hand like a traffic cop. ‘I get it. I probably couldn’t afford one!’

Again he laughed, and again he revelled in the feeling of using his lungs for more than just taking in oxygen for the first time in all too long.

‘But doesn’t being home all the time drive you nuts?’

‘Nope. I can work my own hours and there’s a permanently open intercom in the wall in case Kane needs me. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.’

He didn’t go so far as to admit that in the last few months his life had so come to revolve around Kane’s moods that he was pretty certain he could have turned the intercom off and known if and when Kane was distressed anyway. Even he knew that would put a damper on the whole chatting to a regular girl like he was a regular guy thing he had going on.

‘Yeah, I don’t know,’ she said, her two front teeth nipping uncertainly at her lower lip. ‘I wonder if I was staring at the same four walls all the time I might not go a little batty.’

‘Don’t the insides of your planes begin to look alike?’ he asked.

She seemed to think about it for a second before she said, ‘Nah. Not when you add two hundred new faces per plane to the mix.’

‘Fair point. So how long have you been flying high?’ he asked, suddenly needing to prolong this thing, this feeling, this whatever it was that was making him feel so loose as long as he could.

But he soon cringed as her right eyebrow flickered and threatened to shoot skyward. It had been so long since he’d had to ingratiate himself to someone new he was obviously pretty rusty. Had he said something wrong? Had it sounded like some sort of chat-up line? But he wasn’t trying to chat her up. He was just chatting.

She blinked up at him, her mouth twisting as she warily weighed his words. ‘Seven years,’ she said. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve never met a live one in the real world before. I had kind of reached the conclusion you guys were all well-trained robots kept in some warehouse up Max’s Port Douglas headquarters,’ he said before he had even tried the words out in his head.

Note to self—think before you talk.

Siena looked down at her bare feet, her shaggy curls flicking over her head. ‘Do I look like a robot?’

‘Oh, no. You seem plenty real to me,’ he said. And, okay, that time he meant every ounce of flirtation wholeheartedly. How could he not? It felt so darned good.

When she looked back up James was awarded a lopsided smile brimming with appreciation for his efforts and somewhere deep down inside him something shifted. Big time. Not at all prepared for such a shift, he tried to shift it back. But it was too late.

As James struggled internally, her eyes narrowed as though she was trying to figure him out. Or perhaps she was just trying to place him. Maybe they did know one another. Maybe that was all this shifting sensation was. Not attraction but familiarity. He was about to ask if they had met before, but even he knew that would absolutely sound like a line.

‘Firstly,’ she said, spare hand now firmly on her jutted out hip, ‘I am not just any old flight attendant. I am one of the top Cabin Directors on MaxAir’s international corridor. And secondly, the only reason I am in this get-up, rather than my favourite Dolce suit, pristine make-up, without a wind-up key sticking out of my back, thank-you very much, is because some kid spilt cola all over me on the plane up here from Melbourne. Please tell me Kane-o doesn’t drink cola.’

Kane-o? What was this woman on? Whatever it was he wanted some.

‘He doesn’t drink cola,’ James repeated like a good little acolyte, eternally grateful he had thought before saying that last gem out loud. ‘Matt showed Kane the cola and coin trick and Kane is now petrified of the stuff. He’s more scared of cola than he is of the dark.’

As he had really hoped they would, her bow mouth kicked up at the corner and her ocean-green eyes sparkled. Damn it, but she was lovely.

‘Excellent,’ she said, nodding so hard her curls bounced about her ears before settling in messy disarray, framing her flushed cheeks.

‘Excellent,’ James repeated, his voice sounding heavy and languid in the hot air. Was the air hot? The air-conditioning was on but it sure felt hot.

The room went quiet as the two of them ran out of things to say. James searched for a conversation topic but he could find nothing. His mind was too full with the warring tangle of magnetism and self-reproach for daring to go there in the first place.

‘So, is the tow-truck on its way?’ Siena asked, setting the glass on the sink with such care he wondered if she had read his mind. She tugged on her ear. ‘You were on the phone a minute ago.’

‘It’s on its way.’

Siena felt awash with relief at the news. She didn’t want to have to call Rufus, Max’s complimentary driver, charming, chatty and playful as he was. Not. But it was time to go.

Mostly because after accidentally reading James’s blog she now knew why those cool grey flecks shrouded his once happy eyes. And, rather than making her feel further estranged from his situation, she felt … moved. Moved enough to stay cooped up in his suburban kitchen trading wisecracks when she should have been busy getting on with her day. The truth was she itched to see what would happen if that half-smile of his morphed into the real thing.

But that didn’t matter, because in two days she would be on a plane back to Melbourne—either to bury herself in the employment section of the newspaper or, if she was able to convince Max of it, packing her bags for a move to Rome—the furthest place from Cairns she could imagine.

It suddenly occurred to her that she was mirroring James’s stance exactly, or he was mirroring hers, casually leaning against the kitchen bench, hands leaning inches apart along the sink’s edge, knees pointed to one another. Yep, it was way past time for her to go.

‘Excellent,’ she said again, clapping her hands together nice and loud to break through the loaded silence. ‘I’ll wait outside. Must make sure they take the car where I want it to go lest my brother kill me.’

She backed away towards the front door, thinking that might be goodbye, but James followed, watching her with those dark, sombre, but really quite lovely eyes of his. She again felt the atypical thread of longing and attraction tugging her through the midriff.

Uh-uh. Nope. No way …

She skipped over to the piano, grabbed her tipped-over handbag and then made a beeline for the front door.

In her haste she tripped backwards over a rug at the front door. James reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her upright until they stood nose to nose.

While her balance steadied her breathing pace rocketed away. James’s workman’s grip was strong. Her wrist burned from his touch. She caught a waft of wood shavings and cedar oil. The guy smelled of tradition and family and home.

A flash of memory caught her off-guard. Her dad used to insist the dining table remain polished to a high shine. She’d always had the feeling her mother had liked it that way and he had continued the tradition after she was gone. It had been one chore she hadn’t minded, the smell of cedar so delicious, the act of running oil over a smooth surface calming, productive, helpful, always eliciting a pat on the head from her dad when the deed was done.

The memory, the scent, the house, him—it was all so heady she felt herself swaying.

James’s grip tightened, his other hand reaching around to rest lightly at her waist. But, rather than adding to her confusion, his gallantry only honed her focus. She didn’t need some guy to save her when she fell. She had picked herself up enough times to know she could do it fine on her own.

‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice a giveaway throaty whisper.

She twisted her hand from his grasp, spun about on now sturdy legs and bounded out the door, grabbing her shoes as she shot past but not stopping to put them on.

As the green monster came into view her footsteps slowed as she saw how badly she had messed up. The whole bonnet was crushed and twisted. The smell of burnt oil scorched the air. Surely it was a write-off.

Insurance was the least of her problems. With the money from the sale of the house she could afford to fix it, or buy ten new ones. The problem was Rick. He’d spent a lifetime calling her irresponsible, antagonistic, the type to shoot first and ask questions later, and within half an hour of being home she had rashly taken a drive straight to the one place she had so purposefully avoided all these years. She had gone and proved him right.

As she neared the car she realised the damage went further. Before she had hit the tree, the beast’s tyres had trampled one of a group of small rose bushes. Siena had planted those rose bushes with her father on a warm spring day. She remembered his crinkling hazel eyes smiling down at her as though she was his little princess. The memories crowding her were too much.

‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ she whispered, her sudden sorrow deeper than concern for a couple of squished roses.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ James said from right behind her.

She flinched as his nearness drew her from her reverie. Cedar oil, family, home.

‘Truly,’ she said, turning to him, but backing away in the same move, choosing to believe the apology had been for him alone. ‘I took an advanced gardening class a couple of summers ago. You’ll be able to replant the bush, if that is any consolation.’

She didn’t offer to do so. Offering to clean up Kane’s wound had only created more problems than it had fixed.

James crouched down and pulled a perfect rose from under the tyre. Its stem was squished at the base but the flower was unblemished. An iceberg rose. Cool. White. Perfect.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘You liberated it; you may as well take it.’ He held out the flower, tipping its beautiful head towards her so that she caught a whiff of the soft perfume.

Siena baulked, the gesture so intimate and inadvertently romantic she had no idea what to do.

She saw the moment that James hesitated too. His eyes zeroed in on the rose, then back to her again, the cool grey depths burning with some unknown memory.

Had she hurt his feelings by not simply taking the damn thing? Was he remembering a similar moment with his wife? Either way, she couldn’t handle seeing the ache behind his eyes as she couldn’t dampen down the mirrored ache it created in her.

She planted a big wide grin upon her face, then reached out and snatched it from his hand.

‘Thanks, James. I was the one who plucked it, of sorts, so it is rightfully mine.’ She held the velvet-soft petals to her nose and sniffed. ‘Mmm. Gorgeous.’

At that moment a small red hatchback turned into James’s driveway and pulled to a halt. James leapt back from her as though he only then realised he had been standing on a bed of hot coals.

A lanky fiftyish guy with long grey hair tied back in a ponytail unfolded himself from the tight front seat. His eyes twinkled and a huge lopsided grin creased his craggy face.

‘Morning, dude!’ he said, loping up to James and slapping him on the back.

James rocked stiffly on to his toes and back on to heavy flat feet. His lips thinned and he couldn’t look the newcomer in the eye. ‘Hey, Matt. Kane’s on the trampoline if you want to say hello.’

Matt’s bushy grey eyebrows rose. ‘On a school day? Again?’

It hadn’t even occurred to Siena that it was a school day. It was … Thursday? She never had any idea what day it was. Her roster was always different, rotating three days on, two days off. Unlike the time in her life when things like school and weekends and bedtimes had mattered, the day no longer meant a thing.

But to a guy with a school-aged son.?

‘He wasn’t feeling well,’ James said.

Stomach aches, sore throat, headaches—Siena remembered all too clearly from James’s blog.

‘Well, naturally that’s why the trampoline would hold so much attraction for him,’ Matt said under his breath before turning a sudden, beaming, unevenly toothed smile in her direction. ‘Now, who might this lovely young flower be?’

He glanced at the rose twirling in her hand, then looked from Siena to James and Siena again with a big goofy grin on his face. If he had reached out and nudged James with his elbow she would not have been surprised.

I almost ran over his kid with my car! she wanted to scream, loathing the fact that she wasn’t the only one thinking that there was something curious happening between her and the man looking resolutely anywhere but at her.

‘Siena Capuletti,’ she said, saving James the trouble. ‘Driver of the big green monster wrapped around James’s tree, at your service.’

She held out a hand and Matt gave it a hearty shake.

‘Siena used to live in this house when she was younger,’ James added, finding his voice again.

‘Well, I am sure pleased to meet you, Siena. Any relation to Rick Capuletti? The mechanic in town?’

‘He’s my brother,’ she admitted.

‘Right on! Tell him O’Connor said hi.’

‘Shall do,’ Siena promised, though she had a feeling that Rick wouldn’t hear much through the steam pouring from his ears.

She was saved from further scrutiny by the longed-for arrival of the tow-truck.

‘Hey, this is Rick’s car,’ the large hairy driver shouted as he slid from his high cab, paunch first.

‘Rick’s sister,’ Siena said with a sigh, pointing to her chest.

‘Oh, right. The deserter,’ the tow-truck driver said.

Yep. That sounded like Rick—able to grate on her nerves even through a third party.

She should have known she couldn’t slip away quietly in the twilight after all this. Even though Cairns was practically a city hub now compared with when she had left, everyone still knew everyone. Everyone would know she was in town, everyone would know she had crashed her brother’s car, and now everyone would know that she had spent part of her day with James Dillon—widower.

‘The car’s unlocked, so how about we get her all hooked up and outta here before word gets back to my two hundred pound brother with a temper to match?’ she said, using her polite but insistent sky girl voice.

She clicked her fingers and the driver remembered who he was—a guy who got paid by the number of jobs he delivered in a day. That put a spring in his step as he hotfooted back to the winch.

She turned to Matt and James, who were watching the interplay, and she felt she owed it to them to tell them who the Capulettis were. ‘I grew up here,’ she explained. ‘I moved away several years ago and this is my first time back and my big brother is a pain in the butt who should mind his own business.’

It was such an impressive introduction she felt she ought to curtsy at the end.

‘Families, eh?’ Matt said. ‘You can’t live with ‘em.’

Siena grinned. ‘That’s the bumper sticker of my life.’

‘So you don’t live around here any more?’ James asked, honing in on the essentials.

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head and concentrating on the rose rather than on the setback in James’s eyes. ‘Melbourne. Mainly.’

‘Melbourne,’ Matt repeated, his face screwing up as if he had sucked on a lemon. ‘Why would anyone move to cold rainy Melbourne after knowing about this slice of heaven?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she shot back. ‘Maybe the world class sport, fantastic restaurants, out of this world shopping, the art and culture and actual seasons might be considered a drawcard to some.’

‘Shopping?’ Matt repeated. ‘Well, now I’m convinced.’

James made a sound that sounded a heck of a lot like a snort of laughter. Her gaze skittered to his, to find his eyes sparkling.

The sparkle hinted at the warmth she had felt in his fingers when he had gripped her arm earlier. The warmth reminded her of what the guy looked like when he smiled. The memory of that smile made Siena feel as if she was once again enclosed in this single dad’s unwitting gravitational pull. And that reminded her why she wanted to leave his presence as soon as was humanly possible.

She dragged her eyes away from his, gave a brief goodbye glance at the old house, a demon she had quite proudly slaughtered that day for sure, then with a quick wave goodbye jogged over to the truck, and asked to bum a ride with the driver.

‘I can watch Kane if you need James to give you a lift somewhere,’ Matt called out, giving James a bump with his shoulder at the same time.

‘No, thanks,’ she said, giving them both a big wave as she leapt into the cab and mentally hurried the tow-truck driver, who was taking way too much time winching the green monster on to his truck. Funny, but she instinctively knew it would be easier to suffer Rick’s temper than share a confined space with James Dillon.

‘I’d better be there when this arrives or Rick will blow a gasket,’ she called out. ‘Thanks for the lemonade, though. And thank Kane for the tour of your workshop. It really was a delight.’

The driver hauled his bulky frame into the high cab and she could have kissed him, though he was much further down the evolutionary scale than the types of guys she usually saw than even James.

‘Ready to go?’ he asked.

‘You bet.’ More than you know, she thought, for although Siena was experiencing stomach flutters of the first order, she was free as a bird and the Dillon house was already a cage to the men who lived there.

Matt gave her one last wave before heading indoors.

James wasn’t so easily swayed.

As the tow-truck diver pulled away, she watched James in the side mirror all the way to the corner. Standing there in his tired jeans and his dusty T-shirt, with his lean muscled arms hanging loosely at his sides, he didn’t move.

As she travelled down the long, gently winding road, he stood on the footpath, beside his squished roses, watching her go.