Elizabeth Duke - The Parent Test

Finally she’d found her voice, tilting her chin to inquire sweetly, ‘You were expecting a scruffy little ragamuffin with dirty fingernails and scuffed shoes?’

The half smile had become a real one, a heart-stopping smile of pure charm. She’d wobbled on her high heels.

‘On the contrary, Roxy…I was merely expecting someone older—you are the older sister, aren’t you? Having heard only moments ago how brilliantly clever you are—teaching ancient history at University—I expected, at the very least, to see you wearing blue stockings and bifocals, with your hair tied back in a bun.’

She’d had to smile. He wouldn’t be the first man to expect her to look like a fusty academic-simply because she was a qualified archeologist and a lecturer in ancient history. Only Cam hadn’t known then, of course, that she was a globetrotting archeologist as well as a history lecturer. Hamish hadn’t thought to mention it to him, which wasn’t surprising. She’d had no field trips in the past couple of months, and his brother, Cam, had only arrived home that morning from an eightweek overseas business trip.

‘The guest wing’s through here, Roxy.’

She jumped at the sound of Cam’s voice. As he turned to wave her in ahead of him, their eyes met. The impact of his dark gaze was as jolting as ever.

Still the same sexy, charismatic Cam, Roxy thought with a tremulous sigh. But he couldn’t affect her any more. She wasn’t the naive, trusting Roxy she’d been a year and a half ago.

Not that he’d notice or care. He’d made it clear on at least two previous occasions that he preferred leggy, dark-eyed brunettes to blue-eyed, mop-haired blondes with a tendency to trip over their own feet.

She stepped quickly past him. The guest wing was virtually a self-contained flat, with its own small kitchen, dining area, living room, double bedroom and spacious bathroom. It looked roomy and comfortable, with homey decorative touches that reminded Roxy of her sister. Serena had loved decorating.

‘The bed’s already made up,’ Cam told her as he followed her in.

Roxy, her nerves already taut, tensed further at the mention of ‘bed’. She wondered who the bed had been made up for. Was it always made up, ready for guests? Women guests? Or had Cam rushed in here after her phone-call and made it up specially for her?

Hugging the soft teddy bear, she asked, ‘Where’s the baby’s room from here? I’d like to be near my niece.’

Cam gave her a quick, speculative look, as if he wasn’t sure he believed her. ‘Mary’s taken over the room next door to the nursery. And the master bedroom, where I sleep, is on the other side of Emma’s room. Don’t worry, Roxy, I’ll get up to the baby if she wakes in the night. I normally do anyway.’

Roxy inhaled a carefully drawn breath. She didn’t want to start an argument at this point in time, but she had to ask. ‘How about moving my niece in here with me, just for the weekend?’ Or longer, she thought, if it takes longer. ‘It’ll be a way of getting to know each other. I’ll get up to her during the night if she cries. You can catch up on your sleep.’ Her gaze flicked to his face. ‘You look as if you need it’

‘Thanks, but it’s not necessary.’ You’re not necessary, he might as well have said. ‘I’m managing just fine. Emma already sleeps through the night. She has her last bottle around seven, then sleeps right through until five or six o’clock. She rarely wakes in the night’.

‘You don’t mind waking up at five to feed her?’ Roxy’s spirits were beginning to slide. He sounded as if he enjoyed looking after the baby.

But for how much longer would his enthusiasm last?

‘Not a bit…she’s already like a daughter to me,’ he said with a firmness that made her forget about being careful.

‘My sister wanted me to have custody of Emma if anything ever…ever…’ Her voice cracked and tears sprang to her eyes. ‘I—I still can’t believe…’ She gulped, a painful lump welling in her throat. Suddenly it was all too much. Grief, jet lag and a build-up of nervous tension swamped her. Burying her face in the teddy bear’s soft fur, she burst into tears.

‘Roxy…’ Cam’s arms were round her before she realised what was happening. She couldn’t find the strength to fight him as, cradling her in the curve of his shoulder, he gently plucked the teddy bear from her and dropped it onto the bed. She let her head fall onto his chest, helpless tears pouring down her cheeks, splashing onto his shirt.

‘It’s okay, Roxy…’ His low voice vibrated against the damp cheek pressed against his chest. He was stroking her hair with an amazingly gentle hand while he held her close to him with his other. The tender stroking felt so caring, so comforting that she couldn’t believe it was Cam Raeburn who was doing it. Weakened by his unexpected sympathy she began to sob in earnest, her breath coming in tremulous gulps, her shoulders heaving, her tearful face still pressed into his T-shirt, soaking the faded fabric.

Cam held her, rocking her as gently as one would rock a baby, until she’d cried out all her bottled-up pain and grief.

Finally she raised her face, furiously blinking away her tears. She didn’t want Cam thinking she was falling into a heap and couldn’t cope with Serena’s baby. ‘Sorry, Cam, I…it just caught up with me. Serena… Hamish… the long flight…the lack of sleep. I’m all right now. Truly.’

He drew back and looked down at her, as if to make sure. ‘No need to apologise.’ He was eyeing her strangely. His voice sounded a bit strange, too, not as cool or as smooth as before. ‘It’s healthy to cry…even if it—’ He clamped his mouth shut and stepped back, letting his hands fall away. His eyes were hidden from her now, and she could sense his withdrawal.

‘I’ll make you some coffee.’ His voice was brusque again, back to normal. ‘Come when you’re ready, Roxy. I’ll be in the kitchen. Just follow the passage.’

He left her to unpack and freshen up. When she joined him in the kitchen a few minutes later, bringing the giant teddy bear with her, he was standing at an island bench, chopping vegetables.

‘Stir fry for dinner okay with you?’ he asked, waving her to a stool.

‘You cook, too?’ He was chopping with a practiced air, as if he’d done this chore many times before.

‘As a bachelor, you need to be able to cook if you don’t want to live on take-away or dine out every night. I’ve come to enjoy it, even though I have Philomena to cook for me these days, if I want her to. Do you cook, Roxy?’ He glanced up, and she caught the glimmer of doubt in his eyes.

‘Give me a camp fire and I’ll show you how well I cook,’ she answered flippantly, propping the teddy bear on the stool beside her. With a tilt of her small chin she added, ‘I might not have your undoubted finesse—I’m no cordon bleu cook—but at least I’ll never starve.’

His eyes narrowed under her feisty gaze, and she wished she hadn’t reminded him of her roving lifestyle.

‘Mind if we have our coffee here in the kitchen? I can go on with my chopping.’ As he poured coffee into two mugs, he asked, ‘Did your father give you the details of your sister’s will, Roxy?’

Roxy’s head jerked up. ‘What details?’ Custody of Emma, did he mean? According to her father, Serena had made no mention of custody in her will.

‘Serena left you a few personal items and some jewellery. I have them in the safe. The Sydney flat that your father bought for you and your sister when he sold your family home and moved to the west coast is now officially yours. It’s been virtually yours anyway, I understand, since Serena married Hamish.’