Wife and Mother Wanted (5 page)

B
RODY
dropped a light kiss on Molly’s forehead, pulled the bedclothes up and stood back, gazing at his daughter in wonder. He’d never get over the amazement that overcame him at moments like this, when he realised he’d been a part of creating a precious human life. Kids were the best—no matter how much they squawked, played up and turned your world upside down.

And, though he’d been the eternal bachelor before Jackie fell pregnant—and had silently cursed his fate at being stuck with a wife and child when he wasn’t ready for responsibility—he’d fallen in love with Molly the minute she’d entered the world, red screwed-up face, covering of white gunk, lusty lungs and all.

Though falling in love came at a price—namely, fear. Not a day went by when an awful, soul-destroying fear didn’t gnaw at his soul—the fear that one day he might lose his precious daughter too. And, as much as he’d told himself his fear was irrational, he couldn’t shrug it off. Molly was his world. He loved her. It should be simple but it wasn’t. The fear complicated everything: fear of losing her, fear of being a lousy father, fear of doing everything right and then having her walk out
on him anyway when she was old enough to understand everything—particularly the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death.

A cop who’d once won a bravery award, he’d turned into a coward, and it didn’t sit well with him. Not one bit.

And earlier tonight another fear had snuck under his guard and held him up, making him want to wrestle and overcome it like a would-be assailant. The fear of sexual attraction, of wanting something he couldn’t have, had added to his burden.

That loaded moment when Carissa had looked at him with those big blue eyes filled with wonder, her face covered in flour, her hair a messy riot of blonde curls, had acted like a sucker punch to the gut. Add to that the fact that she’d later cleaned up, looking incredible and smelling like roses, and his concentration was shot.

For one irrational second he’d almost forgotten he was a man with responsibilities—the main one lying in front of him now, sleeping peacefully.

Right now his number one priority was making a better life for Molly. It was the main reason he’d moved from Sydney and had settled in Stockton, alongside Molly’s maternal great-aunt.

As for anything or anyone else—he didn’t need it.

He didn’t do involvement.

He didn’t do complication.

He’d had enough of both to last him a lifetime.

‘I’m having a very bad day,’ Carissa said, flinging a roll of gift-wrapping on the counter, locking the cash register and grabbing the lunch bag Tahnee held out to her.

‘That’s what I’m here for, Carissa. Time to take a load off and tell me all about it.’

Opening the bag, Carissa inhaled and shut her eyes in bliss. ‘Is this a banana and chocolate croissant I smell?’

‘Uh-huh. I thought you could use a pick-me-up after the way you snapped at me on the phone earlier.’

Carissa grimaced and led the way into the shop’s back room. ‘Sorry about that. You caught me at a bad time.’

‘Bad time? Bad day? What gives, Sis? Stockton’s resident magic lady never has a bad
anything
.’

As Tahnee shrugged out of her denim jacket and hung it on a peg behind the door, Carissa pondered her response. What could she say?

I’m concerned about a little girl and it’s none of my business
.

Brody Elliott is a grouch
.

Brody Elliott is a grouch and I want to give him a piece of my mind
.

Or, better yet, how about
Brody Elliott is a grouch, a social recluse and a pain in the butt, but I kind of like him anyway?

Sounded stupid just thinking about it.

‘Has this got anything to do with that dishy neighbour of yours?’ Tahnee didn’t do innocence very well, and with that wicked gleam in her eyes Carissa knew she’d have to tell her sister something, anything, to stop her from delving too deeply into the reason behind her mood today.

‘How do you know he’s dishy? You’ve only ever seen him in a rabbit suit.’

Tahnee grinned and licked strawberry frosting from
her fingertips as she demolished the last of her cupcake. Michel’s Patisserie made the best cakes and croissants this side of Sydney, and they had been regular patrons since the popular café had opened.

‘Oh, I’ve seen him out of that bunny suit, Sis. Well and truly out of it.’

Carissa’s heart stopped. Did Tahnee mean what she thought she meant?

Tahnee clapped her hands and bounced on her seat. ‘I knew it! You should see the look on your face. You’ve got it bad, Sis. Real bad for big, beautiful Brody.’

‘I’m going to kill you,’ Carissa said calmly, taking a mouthwatering bite out of her croissant and wondering if Tahnee was right.

Did she have a crush on her brooding neighbour? No way. The guy had done nothing but rub her up the wrong way since she’d first laid eyes on him. And he didn’t know she existed in the female sense. Apart from a sensational body and good looks, he’d done nothing to impress her—even if he had lightened up on her spending time with Molly.

So he had one redeeming feature? That didn’t make him God’s gift to women. By the permanent scowl he wore, far from it.

‘Come on, Sis. Spill it.’ Tahnee leaned forward, her eyes sparkling.

Carissa shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to spill. The guy acts like a hermit and I’m just trying to be neighbourly. You know, get him out of his shell.’

At least, she didn’t
think
there was anything to spill. Surely she didn’t look like a woman with a crush? She’d never been any good at hiding her emotions—one of the
weaknesses her adoptive father had played on repeatedly, making nasty jibes till she cried. When she’d wised up enough not to respond to his cruelty he’d found other ways to torment her, like driving away her friends, withholding pocket money, even letting down the tyres on her bike one day so she couldn’t get to her part-time job. Ron Lovell had been an A-1 creep. In the fatherhood stakes, Brody looked like a saint next to him. Not that she should even compare the two in the same thought.

‘Why, that sounds downright charitable of you—taking pity on the man and trying to draw him out.’ Tahnee rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, cut to the chase, Sis. You like him, don’t you?’

Carissa licked her finger and dabbed at the croissant flakes scattered in the bottom of the bag. ‘He’s a single father and it’s tough. I guess I admire him for doing the best he can.’

Tahnee grinned. ‘Is that all you admire about him?’

Carissa thought about his great body, his melted chocolate eyes and the sexy smile she’d only glimpsed once before banishing the image from her mind. ‘He’s not bad-looking, I guess.’

‘You’re doing an awful lot of guessing. You
guess
you admire him; you
guess
he’s not bad-looking. If you ask me, I
guess
you have a thing for Mr Tall, Dark and Dangerous!’

Before she could truthfully answer
Damned if I know
, the soft tinkle of the front doorbell wrested her attention.

‘Let me serve this customer, and when I get back I’ll set you straight on how inaccurate
your
guess is,’
Carissa said, knowing that her sister might have a small point, but determined to ignore it anyway.

She wasn’t interested in a relationship, and even if she was brooding Brody Elliott would be the last man she’d consider.

Right?

‘Hello? Anyone here?’ a loud voice bellowed, and Carissa hurried into the shop, fixing a welcoming smile on her face.

As soon as she caught a glimpse of her first customer for the afternoon she hoped her smile wouldn’t falter. Daisy Smythe had never set foot in Fey For Fun even for a browse, as most locals had at one time or another, and from the supercilious look on her wrinkled face devoid of make-up she couldn’t hazard a guess as to why the old woman had now.

Unless Daisy had heard about her spending time with Molly. In which case she knew her newest customer wasn’t here to browse, she was here to interrogate.

‘Good afternoon. Can I help you with anything, or are you happy to look around?’

Daisy pinned her with an astute stare from behind blue-rimmed spectacles that travelled from the top of Carissa’s flyaway curls to her toes, poking out from worn black sandals. ‘I would like some help.’

‘Certainly.’

‘Starting with why you’re so interested in my great-niece.’

Carissa gulped at the accusatory glint in Daisy’s beady black eyes and racked her brain for an appropriate answer, fearing that whatever she said would fall
well and truly short of what Molly’s great-aunt would want to hear.

‘Molly is my neighbour. She’s a lovely-natured little girl, and I’d like to offer her my friendship.’

Daisy pursed her lips, adding to the wrinkles around her mouth, and Carissa braced herself for a lecture. In the old woman’s defence, she’d be just as protective if some stranger had taken a liking to one of
her
nieces—if she’d had any.

‘Good answer, young lady. Molly can use all the friends she can get, and I’ve heard nothing but praise for you and the way you treat the children in this town. Most of the parents rave about your parties and the pageants you host at Easter and Christmas time. Now, if you can help me choose a birthday present for the young lady in question, I’d be most grateful.’

Carissa stood there, gob-smacked, before recovering her wits when Daisy sent her another one of those scary looks.

‘Molly has been going on about some fairy movie she saw at your house the other night. Perhaps one of those for a start?’

‘Yes,’ Carissa managed to say, hoping that Molly hadn’t told her great-aunt anything else about that night—like how she’d acted like a lunatic when a mouse ran across the kitchen floor. Somehow she had a feeling Daisy wouldn’t be too impressed by anyone showing fear. The old duck probably wasn’t scared of anything.

‘And perhaps she’d like one of these fairy costumes? Molly would look adorable in one.’ Carissa held up a pale pink tu-tu with matching sequined bodice and gossamer-thin silk wings edged in silver. ‘When is her birthday?’

‘The Sunday after Easter,’ Daisy said, nodding in approval at the costume. ‘I’ll take it. You have good taste, young lady.’

Carissa smiled her thanks and headed for the cash register, thankful she’d escaped any further interrogation about the evening Molly had spent at her house.

However, her relief was short-lived.

‘Molly tells me you discussed her mother?’ Daisy said, rummaging in her handbag for her purse.

‘Uh, yes,’ she mumbled, concentrating on ringing up Daisy’s purchases to avoid looking the old woman in the eye. God, this was awkward.

‘My niece’s death was a terribly sad business for all involved, but thankfully Molly has coped. Now, how much do I owe you, dear?’

Dear? She’d progressed from ‘young lady’ to ‘dear’ in the space of two minutes. She must be doing something right.

‘Fifty-two dollars, please. And gift-wrapping is free of charge.’

Daisy nodded and handed over the exact money while Carissa reached for the scissors.

‘Now, Molly’s father is a different matter all together. Brody has been mourning for far too long. It’s time he had a good woman in his life—someone who will love Molly more than her mother did.’

The scissors skewed off the paper and Carissa had to cut a new piece. She studied the gold paper with intense concentration. From the little information Brody had shared at the dinner she’d cooked for him, she’d got the impression their marriage had been perfect and they’d lived a charmed life with their daughter. So what
was Jackie’s own aunt doing, besmirching the dead woman’s memory? And Carissa thought
her
closet rattled with family skeletons!

‘I’m sure Brody will move on when he’s ready,’ Carissa said, laying the scissors down before she spoke. One ruined sheet of the exquisite wrapping paper was enough for one day.

‘Men can be so obtuse,’ Daisy muttered, shaking her head like a wise old sage. ‘I’m glad you’re spending time with Molly.’

Oh, no. No, no, no! Don’t even go there
.

Somehow had Daisy deduced that her spending time with Molly meant
she
was the woman for Brody? Oh, no. Even though she loved Molly, Brody was a different matter. Carissa had enough baggage of her own without getting involved with a guy still in love with his dead wife. She might have made some stupid choices with men in the past, but not any more.

Rather than set the record straight with Daisy, and potentially enter a discussion she had no intention of having, she finished wrapping the gifts in record time and handed them over.

‘Here you are. I’m sure Molly will love your choices.’

‘Thank you, dear. With your input, she’s sure to enjoy them.’

Carissa breathed a sigh of relief as the old lady strode towards the door, her back ramrod-straight.

She’d escaped relatively unscathed from her encounter with Molly’s great-aunt. However, as she tidied the counter and waited for the old woman to leave, Daisy turned at the door.

‘Oh. I almost forgot. I’m having a little gathering for
Molly’s birthday and I’d like you to come. Next Sunday, five o’clock, at the Grange. Don’t be late.’

An invitation to the exclusive Grange?

For the second time in as many minutes Carissa stared at the old lady, gob-smacked.

B
RODY
hated parties. Socialising involved boring small talk, polite smiles and a whole load of fake exchanges with people he didn’t give a hoot for. However, Daisy had gone to a lot of trouble to organise a birthday party for Molly, and the least he could do was don his gracious party persona for a few hours.

‘Brody, would you mind wheeling the drinks cart into the garden? There are some thirsty children out there.’ Daisy picked up a tray of plastic cups and headed out the door, sending him a smile which totally floored him.

He wasn’t a fool. The old lady tolerated him because he was Molly’s father. Nothing more, nothing less. Though today, for some strange reason he was yet to fathom, she’d been warmer than a summer’s day at Bondi—smiling at him, patting his arm, even straightening his collar at one stage.

His latent cop instincts screamed that something wasn’t right, and the minute he wheeled out the cart, bearing enough cordial and fizzy drink to ensure hyperactivity in the party-goers for the whole evening, he knew exactly what it was.

‘Hi, Brody,’ Carissa said, the sound of her soft voice making him suck in air like a diver surfacing.

He’d deliberately avoided her—not willing to tempt fate since that night a spark of attraction had flared between them—though Molly had kept him up to date with her regular after-school playtime at Carissa’s. Apparently there had been plenty of fairy fun, no more mice, and no men. Looked as if her Easter Bunny had well and truly bounded away—not that he should give a damn.

She could spend time with whoever she chose. His interest was purely for his daughter’s sake. He didn’t want Molly around strange guys—guys he didn’t know.

‘Hey.’ His greeting came out sounding like a grunt rather than a word, and her face fell, making him feel like a creep.

But wasn’t that what he wanted? To push her away before she got any ideas?

‘Daisy invited me. I hope you don’t mind.’

She stood there, uncertainty flickering across her face as she stared at him with those luminous blue eyes, and he clenched his hands.

You can do this, Elliott. Just be polite
.

‘Daisy can invite anyone she wants. It’s her home.’

So much for being polite. By the stricken look in her eyes he knew he’d hurt her with his gruff response. Ah, hell.

Deliberately softening his tone, he said, ‘Molly will be thrilled to see you. You’re all she talks about these days.’

His efforts were rewarded with a small smile. ‘Really? She’s a wonderful child—so bright and enthusiastic. But I guess you already know that, right?’

He nodded, watching Molly play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey
with a dozen of her classmates, the centre of attention and loving it.

Yeah, Molly was special all right.

So why did it annoy him so much when Carissa pointed it out? Was she implying he couldn’t recognise his own daughter’s talents?

‘I haven’t seen you around much. Been busy?’

Busy? He was bored out of his brain now that he’d sanded and painted the house and trimmed and weeded the garden. It had been a year since he’d quit the police force, and though he didn’t miss it he wished he could find something satisfying to fill his days. Something other than dwelling on the past and wondering what might have been if he’d thrown the book at the punk who’d killed his wife first time around.

‘Yeah, renovations are the pits.’

‘Molly says you’re finished now, though?’

He managed a tight smile, wondering what else his daughter had been telling his neighbour—like how Daddy couldn’t sleep most nights, how he found himself staring out the kitchen window at regular intervals in the direction of her house, how he’d be out in the garden some mornings, hoping for a glimpse of her blonde curls catching the sunlight as she left for work.

‘Yes, all done. Guess it’s time I found a new project to sink my teeth into.’

‘Anything in mind?’ She absentmindedly twirled a curl around her finger and he thrust his hands in his pockets to prevent from reaching out and taking over the action. He’d give anything to wrap that silky golden strand around his finger, gently tug on it till her lips were mere centimetres from his…

‘Brody?’

His head snapped up, and for one humiliating moment he wondered if he’d been leaning towards her.

‘Not really. Job-wise, there’s not much around for a washed-up cop. Interest-wise, nothing has grabbed me.’

‘Well, if you want to put those handyman skills of yours to work, I’ve got plenty of stuff around the shop that needs doing.’

Great. If he volunteered to help he’d be forced to be near her—a dangerous proposition for his wakening libido. If he didn’t help he’d look like a first-class jerk. What was it about this woman that tied him up in knots?

‘Carissa! You’re here!’ Molly flew across the lawn and wrapped her arms around Carissa’s legs, hanging on tightly.

Thank you, God
. Brody sent a silent prayer heavenward for his reprieve, even though he had his doubts about the big guy and the power He wielded over his life. After all, look at what a mess it had turned out to be so far. Not that he’d forgotten his bargain the other week in return for Molly being okay. He’d been trying in the father stakes, he really had. As for being nice to Carissa, he supposed he still had a way to go there.

‘Hi, sweetie. Happy birthday.’ Carissa bent down and hugged Molly, the sight of the two blonde heads so close together affecting him more than he liked to admit.

The bond between Carissa and Molly had been instantaneous, and any fool could see that the two had grown amazingly close in such a short time. Molly’s behaviour had improved dramatically since she’d been spending time with his neighbour, and he’d also noticed
more subtle changes: the French braids tied in rainbow-coloured ribbons, the new pink lace-topped socks, and a delicate bracelet of fairies holding hands that Molly never took off.

Carissa was good for Molly.

And she’s good for you
, some part of him acknowledged—if he could ever let go of his guilt and move on with his life.

‘Is that for me?’ Molly’s eyes grew wide as she spied the huge gold box tied in fairy ribbon behind Carissa.

‘It sure is, sweetie. Want to open it now?’ Carissa glanced up at Brody, as if second-guessing whether or not she’d done the right thing.

Was he that much of an ogre?

Considering the way he’d been treating her in the hope that he’d push her away, the answer was a no-brainer.

He nodded and managed a smile, her answering grin sending the blood roaring through his veins.

‘Oh, boy!’ Molly said, ripping the paper with frantic hands, eager to get to the goodies beneath. ‘This box is
big
!’

‘I hope you like it,’ Carissa said, straightening and rubbing a spot in the middle of her back.

Let me do that
, he wanted to say, but bit back the words. Was it finally time to move on with his life? To put the past behind him and take a chance on the future? Molly loved this woman, and he knew he could fall for her given half a chance.

But what if you lost her? What would that do to Molly? To you?

For as long as he could remember he’d associated love with loss. He’d loved his mum, and she’d died of pneumonia
when he was ten. He’d loved his dad, and he’d died a few months later of a heart attack—a broken heart, more like it. His uncle Claude, who’d raised him after his parents’ death, had died when he was eighteen.

And then there was Jackie.

Could he go through the pain of loving and possibly losing again?

‘Wow! A doll’s house.’ Molly jumped up and down on the spot, clapping her hands. ‘I love dollies! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Carissa.’

‘You’re welcome, sweetheart. Your daddy can take it home and set it up for you, okay?’

Molly pouted. ‘But I want to play with it
now
.’

Once again Carissa looked at him uncertainly.

‘Molly, your friends are waiting for you to cut the cake. Why don’t I pack all your presents in the car, and that way they’ll be ready for you to play with at home later?’

By the mutinous expression on Molly’s face, he expected a rebellious tantrum. She hadn’t had one in a while, but back in Sydney her erratic behaviour had worried him. He hated giving in to her, but if it kept the peace—an often fragile peace—he’d do it.

‘That’s a great idea,’ Carissa said, and just like that Molly smiled and ran away to join her friends.

He should have been ecstatic that a potential scene had been avoided, grateful that Carissa was so good with his daughter.

Instead, an irrational petty jealousy filled him that this woman could enter their lives and in a short space of time have such an impact. He’d been trying for years to be a good parent, yet Carissa seemed to have more of an instinct for it than he did.

‘That gift is way too extravagant,’ he said, pointing at the doll’s house. ‘What are you trying to do? Buy her affection?’

Carissa took a step back as if he’d struck her, the hurt in her eyes making him feel like the biggest louse in the world.

‘I thought Molly would enjoy a doll’s house. She keeps talking about her dolls all the time.’

Running his hand through his hair, he knew he had to make amends for that last comment. He’d been way out of line, his inane jealousy making him more of a social misfit than ever. However, before he could utter a word, she wheeled around and walked away.

‘Carissa—wait.’ He laid a hand on her arm, silently cursing when heat sizzled between them. This wasn’t the time to acknowledge his growing attraction to her; it was time to make amends. And fast. She deserved his thanks for the marvellous job she was doing with Molly, not some nasty comeback because he couldn’t handle his own insecurities.

She shrugged him off, staring at the spot where he’d held her as if he’d branded her. ‘If you think that giant chip on your shoulder excuses your rude behaviour, you’re wrong, Brody. I’m going to spend some time with the kids. At least I might get a civil conversation out of them.’

‘Look, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. Wouldn’t you rather stick around here with the grown-ups?’

As far as an apology went it was completely inadequate, and he knew it. But he had to start somewhere, and hopefully she’d listen. Not that he’d blame her if she didn’t. She was right. He
did
have a chip on his shoulder, and he used it to push everyone away.

He didn’t want pity.

He didn’t want affection.

Getting close involved pain and loss and devastation, and he couldn’t go there. Though maybe, just maybe, having Carissa in his life could change all that.

‘Grown-ups?’ She looked him up and down, wrinkling her nose as if he were the last man on earth she’d want to spend time with. ‘When
you
grow up, let me know.’

And with that she headed into the garden, where the kids cavorted and trailed after her like the Pied Piper, reinforcing how popular she was with everyone. And what a low-down grouch he was.

‘You’ve lost your touch, sonny.’

He jumped, wishing Daisy wouldn’t sneak up on him like that. She’d always done it, even when Jackie was alive, pronouncing her view on the world—usually the opposite of his—as if he was interested.

‘My touch?’ If he played dumb, perhaps the old bat would leave him alone.

‘With the ladies. You’ve been hiding behind your grief for far too long, and it’s high time you shrugged off that hair jacket and moved on with your life.’ She folded her arms and nodded emphatically, almost dislodging her blue-rimmed spectacles in the process.

‘Tell me what you really think,’ he muttered, not in the mood for this lecture. Not that he’d ever be in the mood.

‘I usually do—not that you listen,’ she said, knocking on his head with a bony knuckle. ‘Mmm, not hollow, which means you have got half a brain in there. When are you going to start using it?’

Daisy pointed at Carissa, currently on all fours, with
Molly clambering on her back. ‘See that young lady down there? She’s a gem, and what’s more she’s crazy about your daughter. And, by Molly’s constant chatter, the feeling is mutual. So what are you going to do about it?’

He watched Molly shriek with laughter as Carissa bucked like a bronco and his daughter tumbled onto the lawn, taking Carissa with her.

‘Just what I’m doing now. Encouraging their friendship.’
And working through my own warped feelings
.

Carissa was a warm, caring woman, and the last thing he wanted to do was build false hopes. He knew a woman like her would demand it all—one hundred per cent emotional commitment—and so she should. She deserved it, for he’d yet to meet anyone with a kinder heart than his neighbour.

However, right now he could barely offer her ten per cent of his screwed-up emotions. The icy wall he’d built around his heart years ago might be slightly thawing, but it would take time. And courage to face the demons that the thaw had awakened.

Daisy shook her head and cast him a pitying glance. ‘Jackie wasn’t exactly the best wife and mother, yet here you are, using her memory to push away a woman who could help heal you and bring joy to your daughter’s life.’

‘I don’t want healing.’

Not until he was sure he could face all the possibilities that healing might entail—like a possible relationship, a possible reopening of old wounds, a possibility of letting himself love and be hurt again.

Daisy patted his arm. ‘No, you don’t want healing. You
need
healing. Just don’t take too long in making
up your mind where Carissa’s concerned, because I have a feeling a smart girl like her won’t wait around for ever.’

‘Daisy, butt out.’

‘Gladly, my boy. Just remember what I said.’ With one last squeeze on his arm, Daisy walked away to join the party, leaving him with a distinct urge to run as far as he could in the opposite direction.

So the old dame thought he needed healing? Maybe she was right. But it scared the hell out of him.

Following in Daisy’s footsteps, he plastered a smile on his face and picked up Molly, swinging her high in the air till she squealed with delight.