Margaret Way - Dreaming Of You - Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep / Outback Bachelor / The Hometown Hero Returns

He believed that, she could tell. She lifted her chin. He could believe what he liked. She knew the truth.

He straightened. ‘Jaz, I—’

‘I don’t particularly want to talk about this, Connor. And, frankly, no offence intended, but nothing you say will make the slightest scrap of difference.’

‘How big are you going to let that chip on your shoulder grow before you let it bury you?’

‘Chip?’ Her mouth opened and closed but no other words would emerge.

‘Fine, we won’t talk about your mother, but we will talk about Clara Falls and the possibility of you staying on.’

‘There is no possibility. It’s not going to happen so just give it a rest.’

‘You’re not giving yourself or the town the slightest chance on this, Jaz. How fair is that?’

Fair? This had nothing to do with fair. This had to do with putting the past behind her.

‘Have you come back to save your mother’s shop? Or to damn it?’

How could he even ask her that?

‘You need to start getting involved in the local community if you mean to save it. Even if you are only here for twelve months.’

She didn’t have to do any such thing.

‘The book fair is a start.’

He knew about—?

‘You’ve done a great job on the posters.’

Oh, yes.

‘But you need to let the local people see that you’re not still the rebel Goth girl.’

Darn it! He had a point. She didn’t want to admit it but he did have a point.

‘You need to show people that you’re all grown up, that you’re a confident and capable businesswoman now.’

Was that how he saw her?

She dragged her hands back through her hair to help her think, but as Connor followed that action she wished she’d left her hands exactly where they were. Memories pounded at her. She remembered the way he used to run his fingers through her hair, the way he’d massaged her scalp, how it had soothed and seduced at the same time. And being a confident and capable businesswoman didn’t seem any defence at all.

‘The annual Harvest Ball is next Saturday night. I dare you to come as my date.’

He folded his arms. His eyes twinkled. He looked good enough to eat. She tried to focus her mind on what he’d said rather than…other things. ‘Why?’ Why did he want to take her to the ball?

‘It’ll reintroduce you to the local community, for a start, but also…it occurred to me that while it’s all well and good for me to preach to you about staying here in Clara Falls and making it a better place, I should be doing that too. I think it’s time Mr Sears had some competition for that councillor’s spot, don’t you?’

She stared at him. ‘You’re going to run for town councillor?’

‘Yep.’

Being seen with her, taking her to the ball, would make a definite statement about what he believed in, about the kind of town he wanted Clara Falls to be. Going to the ball would help her quash nasty rumours about drugs and whatnot too.

‘Our going to the ball…’ she moistened her lips ‘…that would be business, right?’

She’d made her position clear on Saturday during the picnic. He’d agreed—history didn’t repeat. For some reason, though, she needed to double-check.

‘That’s right.’ He frowned. ‘What else would it be?’

‘N…nothing.’

The picture of Frieda she’d started on the bookshop’s wall grew large in her mind. The darn picture she couldn’t seem to finish. Have you come back to save your mother’s shop? Or to damn it?

She wanted to save it. She had to save it.

She shot out her hand. ‘I’ll take you up on that dare.’

He clasped her hand in warm work-roughened fingers. Then he bent down and kissed her cheek, drenched her in his scent and his heat. ‘Good,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven next Saturday evening.’

‘Well—’ she reclaimed her hand, smoothed down the front of her trousers ‘—I guess that’s settled, then. Oh! Except I’m going to need more of my things.’ Something formal to wear for a start and her strappy heels.

‘Why don’t I run you around to my place after work this afternoon and you can pick out what you need?’

‘Are you sure?’ She wasn’t a hundred per cent certain what she meant by that only…she remembered the way he hadn’t wanted her at his home last week. She added a quick, ‘You’re not busy?’

‘No. And I’ve arranged for Carmen to mind Mel for a couple of hours this afternoon.’

Had he been so certain she’d say yes?

You did say yes .

She moistened her lips again. ‘Thank you, I’d appreciate that.’

She didn’t bother trying to stifle the curiosity that balled inside her. She just hoped it didn’t show. It didn’t make any sense, but she was dying to know where Connor lived now. Not that it had anything to do with her, of course.

Of course it didn’t.

‘I’ll pick you up about five-fifteen this afternoon.’

Then he was gone.

Jaz reached up and touched her cheek. The imprint of his lips still burned there. A business arrangement, she told herself. That was all this was— a business arrangement.

Jaz slipped into the car the moment Connor pulled it to a halt outside the bookshop. At precisely five-fifteen.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

That was the sum total of their conversation.

Until he swung the car into the drive of Rose Cottage approximately three minutes later and turned off the ignition. ‘Here we are,’ he finally said.

She gaped at him. She turned back to stare at the house. ‘You bought Rose Cottage?’

Most old towns had a Rose Cottage, and as a teenager Jaz had coveted this one. Single-storey sandstone, wide verandas, established gardens, roses lining the drive, picket fence—it had been her ideal of the perfect family home.

It still was.

And now it belonged to Connor? A low whistle left her. Business must be booming if he could afford this. ‘You bought Rose Cottage,’ she repeated. He’d known how she’d felt about it.

‘That’s right.’ His face had shuttered, closed.

Had he bought it because of her or in spite of her?

‘Your things are in there.’

She dragged her gaze from the house to follow the line of his finger to an enormous garage.

He wasn’t going to invite her inside the house?

She glanced into his face and her anticipation faded. He had no intention of inviting her inside, of giving her the grand tour. She swallowed back a lump of disappointment…and a bigger lump of hurt. The disappointment she could explain. She did what she could to ignore the hurt.

‘Shall we go find what you need?’

‘Yes, thank you, that would be lovely.’

She followed him into the garage, blinked when he flicked a switch and flooded the cavernous space with stark white light. Her things stood on the left and hardly took up any space at all. ‘All I need is—’

She stopped short. Then veered off in the opposite direction.

‘Jaz, your stuff is over here!’

She heard him, but she couldn’t heed his unspoken command. She couldn’t stop.

Her feet did slow, though, as she moved along the aisle of handmade wood-turned furniture that stood there—writing desks, coffee tables, chests. She marvelled at their craftsmanship, at the attention paid to detail, at the absolute perfection of each piece.

‘You made these?’

‘Yes.’

The word left him, clipped and short.

He didn’t need to explain. Jaz understood immediately. This was what he’d thrown himself into when he’d given up his drawing and painting.

‘Connor, you didn’t give up your art. You just… redirected it.’

He didn’t say anything.

‘These pieces are amazing, beautiful.’ She knelt down in front of a wine rack, reached out and trailed her fingers across the wood. ‘You’ve been selling some of these pieces to boutiques in Sydney, haven’t you?’