Talking Sense (2 page)

“I’m sorry, no.” The woman sounded very apologetic. “It would have been a lot easier, obviously, if your father’s surname had been on your birth certificate.”

“Yes, of course.” Frustration welled inside him. Time and again he kept coming up against a blank wall. He’d arrived in the country with such high hopes, but now it was October and he was no closer to finding his father than he had been when he first landed back in January.

“How did you know he lives in New Zealand, again?” the woman asked.

Colm said nothing for a moment. The real answer,
a gut feeling
, wouldn’t make much sense to the authorities. “Just something my adoptive parents told me about him being a Kiwi.” It wasn’t completely a lie. Niall and Kathleen Molony—his birth mother’s sister and her husband—had been at his real mother’s side when she gave birth. Apparently she’d told them that the father of her baby boy was an artist called Robert who came from “Down Under”, but she’d refused to divulge any further information, and she’d died shortly afterward.

Of course, “Down Under” could mean Australia, and some people even used it to refer to other countries in the southern hemisphere, but Colm had special reasons for suspecting his biological father came from New Zealand.

“We’ll keep looking,” the woman on the phone said. “I just thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks.”

She carried on talking for a while about other avenues he could explore, but his attention wandered. He’d tried most of those she was suggesting and was pretty much convinced he wouldn’t find his father through the official channels. He was going to have to resort to his own methods.

The woman chattered away in his ear, and he leaned against the wall and looked across the staff room to the group of teachers sitting in the corner, having their morning coffee break. It was Mia’s birthday, and a huge chocolate cake sat in the middle of the table—what was left of it, anyway. The teachers had already polished off a good half of it.

His gaze settled on the birthday girl, and he smiled as she nibbled at a forkful of chocolate frosting. She had a penchant for chocolate—what woman didn’t?—and was rarely to be seen without a truffle or a chocolate bar in her hand. She went through phases. Last week it had been M&M’s. This week it was Kit Kats, although today she’d obviously settled for the frosting instead.

She was listening to Reece Brooks, who was opining about some inane matter, no doubt, holding court while he droned on incessantly. The Neanderthal wanted to get in her panties. Luckily, Mia didn’t appear to be having any of it. Colm had wondered whether she’d melt at the guy’s feet like all the other female members of staff Reece deigned to pay attention to, but as far as he knew, she hadn’t succumbed to Reece’s attempts to lure her into bed.

Not that he could blame Brooks for trying. Mia was by far the prettiest girl in the room. Well, woman—she’d turned thirty now and she was hardly a girl, but there was something about her that made her seem younger and more vulnerable than some of the other teachers of her age at the school. He hadn’t known her long, but he could see she’d lost weight over the last few months. Her black bob framed a heart-shaped face with strikingly beautiful features, her skin was flawless, and her mouth had a tendency to curve upward even when she wasn’t smiling. Her plump bottom lip made him want to kiss it.

As he watched, she wiped a smear of chocolate from that lip and delicately sucked the frosting from her finger. Colm sighed. He wanted to kiss her even more now.

But he wouldn’t. The beautiful, sensual Mia Nicholls deserved better than a quick fling before he returned to Ireland.

“Mr. Molony?”

He’d forgotten he was on the phone. He cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up the slope of his nose. “I’m sorry—somebody was talking to me. Thank you for all your help. I really appreciate it.”

“No worries, Mr. Molony. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks. Goodbye.”

He flipped the mobile phone shut and slipped it in his pocket.

After making himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, he made his way over to Mia and her group, narrowly missing spilling the coffee as he bumped into a stray chair on the way.

“Hey, Farrow,” he said, taking the seat opposite her. He’d teased her when they’d been introduced for having the same first name as the actress, and the nickname had stuck.

“Hey, Baloney.” She pushed the plate of cake toward him. “Do you want some?”

Grace smirked, and he caught her eye. She winked at him. His gaze slid back to Mia, but she was listening to Brooks again and hadn’t noticed their exchange. He sent Grace a mock glare before helping himself to the cake. He had a sneaky feeling she knew how he felt about her dark-haired friend.

He waited until Brooks had finished his boring discourse on how many miles he’d cycled at the weekend and the guy had turned his attention to the more attentive music teacher sitting on his right. Mia reached for another piece of cake at the same time Colm did, and their fingers bumped.

“Sorry,” she said.

“No worries.” He indicated for her to choose first. She lowered her eyes and spent a moment extricating an end piece with extra frosting. Was he imagining it, or were her cheeks slightly flushed? He frowned. No, he wasn’t imagining it. They were. Why so? Mia never blushed.

He gestured to the balloon tied to the back of her chair. “So, birthday girl, eh? The big three-oh?”

“Mm.” She didn’t look enthused. “I’m in my thirties. Oh God, kill me now.”

“Oh it’s not so bad.”

“How old are you?” Grace asked him.

“Thirty-two,” he said through a mouthful of cake. “Being thirty’s cool. Old enough to know what you’re doing. Young enough to enjoy it.” He sipped his coffee and winked at Mia. “I suppose you’re off partying tonight, eh?”

“Not quite,” Grace said. “She’ll be sitting in front of the TV with a packet of Maltesers and a bottle of pinot gris, more like.”

He raised his eyebrows as Mia tipped her head and rolled her eyes in a
yeah, she’s right
kind of way. “That’s shocking,” he said. “I thought you were the life and soul of the party.” He had a clear recollection of her singing karaoke at the midwinter school party back in June, three sheets to the wind and slightly out of tune, à la Bridget Jones.

“She used to be. But she wouldn’t agree to do anything,” Grace complained. “I did try. I couldn’t even get her to come out for a drink.”

“
Game of Thrones
is on,” Mia said. “I can’t miss that.”

“You are so dull nowadays.” Grace’s voice held more than a hint of impatience. “I can’t remember the last time you came out with me and Ash.” She carried on scolding Mia for her lack of social activities. Mia let her talk, her eyes lowered as she sipped her coffee.

She’d taken off her watch and it lay on the table in front of the plate of cake. As Colm watched her, she massaged her forearm unconsciously. In spite of the fact that most of the time she appeared her usual bubbly, gregarious self, he suspected she was still struggling with pain after the car accident she’d had a few months before, and the carefree persona was just a front. Today it looked as if her arm was giving her trouble.

Another teacher sat at the table and plonked a pile of folders there. As he pushed the folders, the watch nearly fell off the table, so Colm caught it.

He wasn’t concentrating, and the sensations hit him without warning.

Pain shot across his back, and he almost exclaimed out loud. The deep ache travelled halfway down his spine and radiated out across his shoulders, tiny fingers of agonising soreness digging sharp nails into his muscles. Poor Mia. He’d had no idea the extent she was suffering.

Even more shocking was the wave of unhappiness that swept over him. Hopelessness and guilt mingled with abject misery. She might be covering it well, but Mia was alarmingly depressed.

In his mind’s eye, he saw her hands on the wheel, heard her exclamation as the car skidded on the ice and spun out of control, and felt the sweep and crunch as it slid across into the vehicle on the other side of the road. Saw the white, frightened face of the child in the backseat, and then, moments later, the same white face covered in blood, mouth open in a silent scream. The picture replayed in his head like a tape caught in a loop. This was what went through Mia’s head continuously. She relived the catastrophic moment of the child’s death repeatedly, every day.

“Are you dozing off?”

He opened his eyes. She was leaning on the table, watching him, head tipped to one side, a slight smile on her lips. Now, though, he could see the creases of pain at the corners of her eyes, the way her features were drawn with tiredness and sadness.

Emotions swept over him—sympathy, anguish and pity for this beautiful, spirited girl who was now weighed down by remorse for something she’d had absolutely no control over.

He pushed himself up and leaned across the table. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move as he lowered his head and kissed her.

Chapter Three

Her mouth was soft and cool, and he held his lips there for a moment. She inhaled, but she didn’t move away, her eyelids fluttering shut briefly as he pressed his lips to hers once, a longer second time, and then moved back reluctantly.

Around the table, everyone started laughing.

“Goodness,” Mia said, and blinked.

He glanced at Brooks, who had a face like thunder, then at Mia’s startled green eyes, and had the grace to feel embarrassed. “Sorry. Um, happy birthday.” He sat back down.

Her lips curved slowly, and her eyes danced. “Thank you. That was…unexpected.”

“Wow,” Grace said, grinning. “What a birthday treat.”

He turned the watch over in his hands. “You looked like you needed cheering up, that was all. I got the feeling you were in pain.”

“She’s always in pain,” Grace said. She sighed and rubbed Mia’s upper arm. “I do wish you’d let Nate do something for you.”

“Nate?” he queried.

“A friend of ours,” Grace said. “He’s a healer, and a bloody good one, too. He’s away in India at the moment, but he does distant healing. He has to have permission before he can send it, though, and she won’t give it.”

“Grace,” Mia scolded. “You shouldn’t talk like that to everyone. One day someone’s going to cart you off to the loony bin for mentioning things like that in public.”

“It’s okay,” Colm said, “I believe in that sort of thing. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio’, blah blah.” He was the last person who would pass judgment on someone with extraordinary abilities. He frowned. “Why won’t you let him try to heal you?”

For once, Grace didn’t reply for Mia. Mia glanced at her and said, “Oh, now you say nothing?”

Grace shrugged. “I’m interested to hear what excuse you make.”

At that moment, however, the bell rang. On cue, like Pavlov’s dog, everyone stood and collected their things, ready to head to the classroom.

Colm caught Mia’s hand as she went to push herself to her feet. “Wait. Talk to me for a minute.”

“I have class,” she said. Once again, her cheeks stained a light pink.

“No, you haven’t,” he said, amused at her blush. “You’re on a free.”

Grace laughed and walked off, waddling in the characteristic way that heavily pregnant women do.

Mia watched her go, then turned her gaze back to him with a wry smile. “How do you know when my free periods are?”

“Intuition.” Actually he’d memorised her timetable, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Come on, just for a minute.”

She sighed and settled back into her chair, wincing in such a way that it was obvious she was in pain. A wary look settled on her features as if she was worried he was going to quiz her again about why she’d turned down her friend’s offer of healing.

Instead, however, he said, “Come out with me this evening.”

Still holding her watch, he fancied he could almost see her thoughts passing through her suspicious green eyes.

Why did he kiss me?

He’s going to make a move on me.

I don’t date.

I don’t deserve it.

Instantly he knew that was why she’d refused Nate’s healing hands. The guilt oozed from her like tree sap, imprisoning her in remorse like a mosquito preserved in amber. She didn’t want to be healed, and she didn’t think she had the right to be happy because of what she’d done.

He put her watch on the table and pushed it over to her. “I’m sorry about the kiss. It was an impulse thing—I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Her lips twisted at that. “Oh, never apologise for a kiss. You made my day.”

He smiled, pleased that she’d enjoyed it. “Good. Now, about tonight. I’m not talking about a date. My best mate works at Te Papa Museum, and he’s organising a special display of ancient Celtic manuscripts. They’re on loan from the National Museum of Ireland—I helped him arrang
e a temporary exchange for some Māori artefacts. I thought—you being a fellow historian and all—you might enjoy a sneak preview.”

Her eyes lit up as if someone had flicked an internal switch, and her whole face brightened. The smile that slowly widened her lips was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Now
that’s
a great way to spend a birthday,” she said.

Pleasure flooded him, and he beamed in response. He caught himself, though, before he let out a whoop of delight.
Steady, Molony
. This was
not
a date.

The first moment he’d seen Mia Nicholls, he’d stuck an imaginary warning label above her head. He was going to be in New Zealand a year, no more. He’d imposed the limit on himself in an attempt to stop his search for his father becoming an obsession. If he hadn’t found him in a year, he was going back to Ireland and he’d have to get on with his life.

With that in mind, he had no time for romantic liaisons. Not that he’d expected trouble. Women had never proved an issue before. His love life had been pretty unspectacular—a succession of girlfriends that came and went like the seasons, exploding in a brief burst of colour before fading away until he hardly noticed one had morphed into the other. If he was honest with himself, a couple of the affairs could easily have evolved into something more serious. But every time he’d felt the girl wanted more, he’d backed away.