Sarah Mayberry - Suddenly You

A different kind of nervous, obviously, than the way she’d felt when his black car had swerved into the emergency lane so abruptly. The Nepean Highway was a public enough road that she hadn’t been afraid for her personal safety, but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been a little concerned. Then her rescuer had unfolded himself from his car and she’d known she was in good hands.

The car dipped as Harry slid into the driver’s seat. Pippa eyed his worn jeans, faded black T-shirt and tattooed arms, acknowledging the irony that someone who looked so fierce could make her feel so safe.

At first glance, Harry looked exactly like the sort of man that should make a woman worry—the military-short hair, the honed power of his arms and shoulders, the sheer height and breadth of him. And, of course, there were those tribal tattoos snaking around his arms. Inky-black and impossible to miss, they marked him as an outlaw, someone who didn’t color between the lines.

Not exactly your usual white-knight material, yet she knew Harry well enough to know he was a big softie underneath his fierce exterior.

“Got a big weekend planned?” she asked as he started the car.

“Always.” The smile he flashed her was confident, bordering on cocky.

“Fathers of Melbourne, lock up your daughters.”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do.”

It was true. She’d seen Harry in action enough times to know he didn’t have to go hunting for women. They came to him, flicking their teased blond hair and sashaying their miniskirted hips. Watching him charm them out of their underwear had fascinated her—but then she’d long recognized that she had a self-destructive penchant for bad boys. Witness her six months with Steve, who was the blond, blue-eyed version of Harry—a teenage boy’s mind in a grown man’s body, all about fun and good times and no responsibility.

As always, thoughts of Steve Lawson tightened her stomach, so she pushed them away. There was no point getting herself all bunged up over a situation she could do nothing to change.

“Let me guess—you’re kicking off at the Pier. Then you’ll move on to the Grand or the Twenty-First Century, and you’ll wind up at Macca’s place playing pool in the garage till three in the morning,” she said.

“Sounds pretty good, except Macca’s moved in with Sherry and the pool table went west.”

It wasn’t hard to interpret the disapproving note in Harry’s voice. He and Steve had never been shy about their disgust with their mates who’d met the right woman, married and bowed out of their boys’ club.

“Oh, dear. Another one bites the dust. Next thing you know you’ll be taking on a mortgage and buying golf clubs, too, Harry.”

“When hell freezes over.”

He sounded so grimly determined she had to laugh. “How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

“Getting up there.”

He shot her a look before taking a right turn off the highway. “You sound like my sister.”

“Relax. I’m only yanking your chain. I honestly can’t imagine you settling down. You and Steve like your lives too much the way they are to change them.”

She bit her tongue, but it was too late. She’d drawn attention to the elephant in the room. A short silence followed. Harry glanced at her but she kept her gaze front and center.

“For what it’s worth, for a while there I thought you had him on the ropes.”

“The question is, would I have wanted him once I got him?” Again, the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She held up a hand immediately, signaling she knew she’d stepped over the line. “Pretend I didn’t say that, okay? Strike it from the record.”

Harry was the last person she wanted to vent to about Steve. The absolute last.

“So is Alice walking and talking and stuff yet?” Harry asked after a small silence.

“She’s six months old, Harry.” Was he really so clueless?

He raised his eyebrows, clearly wondering what he’d gotten wrong. Apparently he was that clueless.

“Babies don’t generally start doing any of that until twelve months,” she explained.

“Right. So what does she do?”

“At the moment? Eat. Sleep. Cry. Poo. She’s starting to crawl, too.”

“And that’s all going well, then?”

She laughed. He was trying. She had to give him points for that.

“She poos like a champion. And no one can reach the high notes like Alice when she’s really cranky.” Her street was coming up and she gestured with her chin. “This is me.”

He made a left turn.

“The one with the broken letterbox,” she said, indicating the fifties brick veneer that she’d been renting since she found out she was pregnant.

Harry pulled into the driveway, eyeing the unkempt, overgrown garden and the house’s faded sun awnings. Pippa felt an uncomfortable tug of shame over the shabbiness of it all. Between work and university and caring for Alice, she could barely stay on top of the inside of the house, let alone the outside. And no way could she spare any money from her already tight weekly budget to pay someone to worry about it for her.

She opened her mouth to explain, then shut it without saying a word. She didn’t owe Harry an explanation. He was breezing through her life. In all likelihood, she wouldn’t run into him again for another six months, probably even longer. Which was the way it should be.

“Thanks for the lift and the help with my car,” she said.

“Like I did anything to help with your car.”

“You destroyed my last vestiges of hope. Sometimes that’s very necessary.”

“Great. I’ll add that to my repertoire. ‘Crusher of hope.’ Has a real ring to it.”

“Actually, it sounds like a heavy metal band.”

He laughed. She smiled and slid out of the car.

“Have a good weekend, Harry, and a great Christmas.” It was only seven weeks away, after all, and it was unlikely she’d see him again before then.

“You, too, Pippa.”

She turned away, then spun back. “Nearly forgot my stuff.”

“Right.”

Before she could protest, Harry jumped out of the car.

“Don’t even think about carrying my shopping to the door for me, Harry. You’ve done more than enough.” Plus she wasn’t used to being fussed over like this.

Harry brandished the key at her. “This is an old-school car. No auto trunk release.”

“Oh.” She felt heat climb into her cheeks and attempted to cover her blush by pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

A small smile played around Harry’s mouth as he lifted out the bags and set them on the lawn.

“I’m leaving it here because I don’t want you having conniptions again.”

“Trust me, neither of us wants that.”

“Look after yourself, okay?” His gray eyes were direct and honest.

“I will. You, too. And keep dodging those bullets. The world wouldn’t be the same if you were domesticated.”

“I’ll do my best, don’t worry.”

Once inside the car, he backed onto the street. Pippa raised her hand in farewell. He waved in return, then was gone, the sound of the engine fading into the distance.

She headed for the house. Running into Harry had been the highlight of her day, which was probably a sad indictment of how pitiful her life was, but what the hell.

“Mum, I’m home,” she called as she let herself into the house.

“We’re in the sunroom.”

Pippa dumped her things in the kitchen before following her mother’s voice to the room that overlooked the rear garden. The carpet was a faded floral—probably original—the walls a grubby cream. Huge windows let in the afternoon sun. Her mother was sitting on the Art Deco couch Pippa had rescued from the side of the road and reupholstered a few years ago, a crossword puzzle book open on her knees, while Alice lay on a quilt at her feet, fascinated with one of her own small, pink toes.