TRISHA DAVID - Falling For Jack

What followed was a very silly hour. If anyone had ever told Jack he’d enjoy himself so much washing and blowdrying a couple of smelly dogs he would have thought them ridiculous. But Bryony had them all in fits of laughter. They ended up—all of them—back in her crazy sitting room, knee deep in rugs with damp dogs and hot air going everywhere.

The dogs thought it was wonderful and so did Maddy. Jack was just plain hornswoggled. Who the hell was Roger? Finally he could bear it no longer.

‘So tell me,’ he said as the overfluffed and pristine dogs rolled on the rugs with Bryony and Maddy. ‘What the hell are you doing here in Hamilton? Is Roger a local?’

Bryony’s laughter died a little.

‘Roger lives in Sydney.’

‘But...you’re marrying Roger.’

‘Not until next year.’

‘I see,’ he lied. He didn’t see at all. But...presumably you came from New York to marry Roger?’

‘Well, sort of.’ Bryony grabbed a passing dog and started brushing. She sighed. ‘Roger and I have known each other for ever. He proposed years ago, but I hadn’t seen the world yet so I took off to America. I’m an interior designer.’ She grinned. ‘If you hadn’t guessed.’

Silence. Bryony cast a swift look at Jack. He was frowning, and for some reason Bryony found herself fighting for words.

‘I built up an interior design agency in New York, but I missed Australia,’ she continued, talking too fast now. ‘And Roger kept visiting and giving me all the good reasons I should marry him. And then Myrna—I met Myrna at university and we started in business together way back in the Dark Ages—wrote that she was having twins and her interior design business here would have to close if she couldn’t find anyone to look after it for a while. So I figured I’d come home in stages. Twelve months living here getting used to not being in New York—and then Sydney and marriage to Roger.’

‘but...I thought you were American.’ Maddy didn’t like this turn of events. Bryony moving on...Bryony an Australian...

‘I’m half American,’ Bryony told her. ‘My mom was American, but she married my dad a long, long time ago and he’s an Australian.’

‘Oh.’ Maddy’s face cleared. ‘You’re still like me, then.’

‘Yep.’

‘But...you’re going to live in Sydney?’ The disappointment in Maddy’s voice was poignant and Bryony reached to give her a hug. Jack stared. Maddy... Hugs...

‘I’m not going to Sydney for yonks.’

‘What’s yonks?’ Maddy asked, bewildered.

‘Yonks is so far ahead I refuse to think about it.’

‘Don’t you want to marry Roger?’

‘Sure I want to marry Roger.’ Bryony’s voice was defensive. ‘He’s cute.’

‘So’s Harry,’ Jack said dryly, and Bryony grinned.

‘Yeah, well, Roger has certain advantages over Harry.’

‘What?’ Maddy demanded.

Bryony’s green eyes twinkled. ‘Well, for a start he’s a rich lawyer. He can keep me in the manner to which I wish to become accustomed.’

‘Jack’s rich,’ Maddy retorted. ‘You could marry him.’ Yeah, right. All of a sudden, the silence was loaded. Bryony scrambled to her feet. ‘Tea,’ she said. ‘I’m starving. Are you?’

‘Yes.’ Maddy was definite, but Jack rose too, and took her hand.

‘We have to go, Maddy.’

‘I’m not offering a seven-course meal here,’ Bryony told him, and grinned. ‘I can’t. Cooking is not my forté. I’m offering toasted cheese sandwiches.’

Maddy’s face set into obstinacy. ‘Cheese sandwiches are my favourite.’

Jack looked down at his small daughter and sighed. He shouldn’t be here. This woman was beautiful. This woman was intelligent and funny. This woman was eccentric. This woman was engaged to another man.

He should get the hell out of here—right now.

But Maddy had come alive. His daughter had been with him for three months now and she’d been flat and listless and uninterested the whole time.

Bryony had made her laugh. You could forgive a lot of a woman who made your daughter laugh.

Besides, there was a part of Jack that wanted to spend more time here, wanted to sit on the other side of the kitchen table and watch Bryony make toasted cheese sandwiches—watch Bryony do anything...

‘If you have enough bread and cheese,’ Jack found himself saying weakly.

‘I have enough to burn,’ Bryony said cheerfully. ‘And I hope that’s not prophetic.’

CHAPTER THREE

SO DID he stay for long?’

Monday morning. Time for Myrna and Bryony to get together and discuss Hamilton’s interior decorating needs for the week. Myrna and Harry were on the couch; Bryony was disappearing under cushions on the floor. Interior decorating was taking a back seat.

‘About four hours.’

Myrna shoved Harry’s rump sideways—Harry went for warmth, and rump against thigh was his favourite feel—and regarded her friend with awe. ‘Did you feed him?’

‘Yep.’

‘What did you feed him?’ Myrna asked doubtfully. She knew Bryony’s cooking.

‘Toasted cheese sandwiches. I burned the first two lots. We fed them to the dogs and then Jack took over.’

Myrna stared.

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Don’t believe I burned the sandwiches?’

‘Well, of course I believe that. It’s a wonder you haven’t burned the whole house down by now. Your ability to not concentrate on your cooking is legendary. It’s just... Bryony, Jack Morgan...’

‘Why is it so amazing that Jack Morgan brought me home and visited my house and ate my cheese sandwiches? ’

‘Because he doesn’t visit.’

‘Doesn’t visit who?’

‘Doesn’t visit anyone. The man’s practically a recluse.’ Myrna grinned. ‘Well, with women, anyway. He has a past.’

‘Don’t we all?’

‘Speak for yourself.’ Myrna hugged her knees and looked around the room with affection. ‘This place is great—and not a nappy in sight. I think I’ll move in.’

‘Uh-uh.’ Bryony’s curls shook. ‘I’m off house-mates until next year. Harry’s my chaperon. I’m practising being an engaged lady.’

‘I imagine it must be a strange feeling, being engaged.’ Myrna sighed. ‘I wouldn’t know. I was single and then—wham!—I was married. I can’t remember anything about being engaged, except maybe the one morning Ian let me out of bed long enough to buy a wedding dress.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s why you have four kids and I have none. No self-control.’

‘Not when Ian’s in sight.’ Myrna sighed again, happily, and hugged her knees tighter.

‘You want a bucket of cold water dumped over you? Hey, Myrna?’

Myrna gave herself a shake, lost her cat-got-the-cream look, and mock-glared at Bryony. ‘You don’t feel this way about Roger? Like you only have to look at him and your knees turn to jelly?’

Bryony thought. ‘I guess. I mean, I suppose I do. Roger looks great in his Italian suits. Smooth.’

‘But does he look great not in his Italian suits?’ Myrna grinned. ‘The first time I saw Ian I had him undressed in my head in two minutes flat. Or less...’ And then she fixed Bryony with a look. ‘You always fall for suits. I don’t understand it.’

‘I love good-quality suits.’

‘So do a deal with Armani, buy yourself a suit and hang it in your wardrobe. And then get on with the important things in life. Like finding a man! Heck, Bryony, you had Jack Morgan in your house last night. How can that compare to a suit? Bryony, Jack Morgan is seriously sexy.’

‘He is, isn’t he?’ Bryony fiddled with her coffee mug, and blushed. Myrna looked at her sideways—looked again—and decided to ignore the blush. For now.

Myrna, comfortably plump and pretty, and gloriously happy with her Ian, wasn’t all that impressed with Bryony’s Roger. This had definite promise, but she knew better than to push.