His Miracle Bride
Marion Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

PROLOGUE

BLAKE, Connor, Sam, Darcy, Dominic and Nikolai. And Pierce. Her self-contained sons.

Ruby looked along the long line of men and she sighed. She’d tried so hard, but they didn’t get it. The gift in her purse—their combined gift for her seventieth birthday—spoke of failure more than anything else.

But her sons were wonderful, she thought, blinking back tears as she tried to see the happy side of the equation. Each one was making a difference in the world. What a transformation from the waifs she’d rescued from so many forms of neglect.

They were listening avidly to the speaker. So should she. The Earl of Loganaich was speaking at the opening of his refuge for disadvantaged children. As the past head of Foster Parents Australia, Ruby had been asked for advice. She’d been overjoyed at the concept. A place where kids could regroup…

Advice for Ruby was never enough. She’d talked her boys into contributing, with expertise as well as funds. They’d agreed without hesitation. Today they’d flown in from round the world, taking time out to share her pleasure. And using the occasion to give her their special birthday gift.

Ruby’s birthday had been the week before. They hadn’t forgotten, they’d told her, but they’d said they knew she hated family gatherings.

But it wasn’t Ruby who hated family gatherings, she thought sadly. It was her boys. Her men. They saw emotion and they ran a mile.

The Castle at Dolphin Bay was a family enterprise. On stage now was the Earl of Loganaich and his Lady—Lord Hamish and Lady Susan. With them was their extended family: kids, friends, dogs, the whole domestic muddle. These people had come together to build something they believed in, and the joy of their shared enterprise—plus the joy of belonging to such a close-knit family—shone through.

The earl’s speech was coming to a close. For the family on the stage it was hugs all round. Ruby looked sadly along her line of grown-up foster sons and there was none of that joy about them.

Today’s gift had been as unexpected as it was unwanted—the deeds to a Sydney apartment overlooking one of the most glorious views in the world.

But…‘Anyone who wants to stay with you for more than a couple of weeks needs our consent,’ her sons had told her. ‘We’re protecting you from yourself. It’s time you stopped taking in the strays of the world.’

They didn’t understand, she thought again sadly, an errant tear slipping down her wrinkled face. She’d fought so hard for all of them, and they’d succeeded, but they’d succeeded on their terms.

She sniffed, trying desperately to focus again on the owners and employees of this extraordinary castle. They seemed so happy. She just knew this place would be successful.

Would her boys ever be successful? On her terms?

Successful in love?

Pierce had seen her tears. He was frowning, reaching across to take her hand. At thirty-six, Pierce was a brilliant architect, lean, craggy, and confident in his dealings with the world. But to Ruby Pierce would always be the starving, ill-used kid she’d rescued over and over again.

Pierce more than anyone had contributed to this day, designing the extensions to the castle buildings free of charge so it could more easily accommodate those it was designed to help. She knew Pierce had enjoyed the work, but still he held himself distant.

And where was this baby he’d told her about? The things he’d told her this morning had left her stunned. He’d been married but now his wife was dead? He was caring for a baby? She hadn’t heard any of this until now, and it was only because she’d overheard Pierce talking to his foster brothers that he’d been forced to tell her.

‘What is it, Ruby?’ he asked her now.

‘It’s just…I’m so confused. I so wanted you to have a proper family.’

He gave a rueful smile. ‘I do.’

It nearly killed him to admit even that much, Ruby thought. And family? Ha. ‘One baby you’re hiring a housekeeper to look after? You won’t even let me near.’

‘It’s not as if this child’s mine, and you’ve done enough. I can’t let you.’

‘But I want to.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Pierce was a professional in charge of his world and she was a frail old lady who didn’t know any better. Beloved but past her use-by date. ‘You need to rest.’

‘I’ve got all the time in the world to rest,’ she whispered. ‘But now…all I want is to live.’

She looked again along the line of her boys. Her outstanding men.

Not one of them knew how to live, she thought sadly. Not one.

She’d failed.

CHAPTER ONE

SHE’D psyched herself for farm terrors—but not for this.

Shanni steered her car onto the verge, but she didn’t drive in the gate. No way.

Shanni wasn’t a farm girl—in fact her best friend had burst out laughing when she’d divulged her destination. But Jules had grown up on a farm, so she’d talked Shanni through what she might face.

‘Cows will ignore you as long as you don’t interfere with their calves. Calves are curious but harmless, and most modern farms employ test tubes instead of bulls. Check if a cow has a dangly bit, and if it does don’t go near it. Horses…Big doesn’t mean scary. Say boo to a horse and it’ll take itself off. Most farm dogs are all bluster. Look them in the eye and shout “sit.” Oh, and watch for cow pats. They’re murder on stilettos.’

So she’d left her stilettos at Jules’s chic Sydney bedsit. She’d rehearsed her ‘sit’ command and she was ready for anything.

Anything but this.

There were kids sitting on the gate. Multiple kids. One, two, three, four.

They were watching her. Well, why wouldn’t they? Shanni’s car might well be the only car along here in a week. The meandering gravel track followed a creek that came straight from the snow melt. Distant mountains were capped with snow, even though spring was well under way. Undulating paddocks were dotted with vast red gums. The beauty of New South Wales’s high country was world renowned.

But…

The cows looked safely enclosed in paddocks. She couldn’t see a horse or a dog. What she saw was far more terrifying. Girl, boy, boy, girl, she decided, running down their ranks. Matching grubby jeans, T-shirts, sensible boots.

Siblings? Maybe, though there was a redhead, a blonde and two brunettes.

Forget the hair. They were sitting on the gate of the farm where she’d agreed to work.

She’d stuck her Aunty Ruby’s letter on the dashboard so she could read the directions. Ignoring the kids—who were clearly waiting for her to do something—she reread it now, holding it like she was handling a scorpion.

Aunty Ruby’s letter read like she talked—so fast she hardly paused for breath.

Pierce won’t let me help him. He was always the sweetest boy. I’m sure you thought so, too, and he’s had such a bad time. And now this. His wife died six months ago. His wife! He didn’t even tell me he was getting married, that’s how much he doesn’t want to bother me, and now she’s dead. And the boys are worrying about him. They say he’s falling behind in his work. He’s cutting corners, the boys say, and there’s a huge contract he’s risking losing. Mind, I think losing a wife makes any other loss irrelevant, but the boys won’t talk about that. No one will. They treat me as if I’m ancient, not to be bothered.

Anyway dear, I know Michael broke your heart—at least your mother said he did though how you can love a man with a ponytail…but worse, you’ve lost your sweet little London gallery. If you were thinking about coming home…Could you bear to help with a baby for a few weeks until Pierce gets this contract sorted? He’s been looking for a housekeeper but the boys say he’s having trouble. I could go…but of course they won’t let me.

Ruby’s frustration sounded through the letter. Beloved Ruby, who’d spent her life helping others, was being held at arm’s length by her foster sons, but she could no sooner resist sticking in her oar than she could breathe.

If she couldn’t help, then she was sure that Shanni could.

And Shanni just might.

Housekeeper to a sort-of-cousin and his motherless baby? On a farm on the other side of the world from her life in London? In the normal scheme of things, she’d laugh at the suggestion.

But this was Pierce MacLachlan…

Pierce was one of Ruby’s many foster kids. At any family celebration, there’d always been three or four of Ruby’s waifs.

There were three things affecting Shanni’s decision to help him.

Number one was sympathy. She did remember Pierce. Twenty years ago, Pierce had been fifteen to her almost ten. She’d met him at her Uncle Eric’s wedding and she’d been shocked. Ruby had just taken him in—‘for the fourth time,’ she’d told Shanni’s mother. He’d looked far too skinny, far too tall for his clothes, far too…desolate.

And now he’d lost his wife. That was awful.

Shanni was a soft touch.

And, okay, admit it. Twenty years ago she’d thought Pierce had the makings of…gorgeous. Her hormones had just been waking up. Pierce was a tall, dark and mysterious fifteen-year-old, all angular bones and shadows. In truth he’d probably just been excruciatingly shy and malnourished, but he’d run rings round the rest of her rowdy cousins. So added to sympathy was…lust?

Yeah, right. She was a big girl now. Pierce was probably a five-feet-two midget with a pot belly. And she was supposed to be broken hearted.

But then there was number three, and that was the biggie. She didn’t have enough money to stay in London. She’d lost her gallery and her lover. Ruby said Pierce had a farm. She could just pop in and see what the set-up was, and if it wasn’t suitable then she could retreat to her parents’ spare room and lick her wounds.

Only, the option of her parents’ spare room was no longer available.

So she was here. Facing four kids.

Four kids? She was scared enough of one baby.

She couldn’t stay, she thought, staring again at the four kids. But where to go? Where?

She hadn’t done her homework before she’d headed home. She’d received Ruby’s letter and suddenly she’d just come. To find that her parents were overseas—well, she’d known that—but to her horror they’d sublet their house. Hadn’t they known their daughter was intending to need it? They might have guessed she’d flee to Australia without asking questions, to be met by strangers having a barbecue in their back yard.

She sniffed, but she didn’t cry. When had she ever?

She should have cried when she’d found Mike in bed with one of his stupid models—but even then…

She’d come home mid-afternoon with the beginnings of the flu and had walked in and found them. Just like in the sitcoms, they hadn’t seen her. Well, they’d hardly been looking.

She’d retreated to the laundry and filled a bucket. Then, while her whole body had shaken with suppressed rage—as well as the first symptoms of a truly horrid dose of influenza—she’d decided water alone wasn’t enough. She’d stalked into the kitchen and hauled out the ice. Even then they hadn’t heard her, though her hands were shaking so much she’d dropped two ice trays. It had taken five minutes before enough ice melted to bring the bucket of water to almost freezing, but it had definitely been worth the wait. Throwing it had been a definite high point.

Though, in retrospect, maybe tears would have been better. For, although she’d been ruthless with the ice bucket, she hadn’t moved fast enough with the shared credit card. By the time she’d emerged from influenza and betrayal, Mike had revenged himself the only way a low-life creep with the morals of a sewer rat knew how.

It had been enough to tip her over the edge financially. Her tiny mortgaged-to-the-hilt art gallery had ceased to be.

But she was still irrationally pleased that Mike hadn’t seen her cry. If I can cope with Mike without tears, I can cope with this, she told herself, staring out at the kids on the gate while her stomach plummeted as far as it could go and then found a few depths she hadn’t known existed.

The kids were puzzled that she wasn’t turning in. The oldest kid—a pre-adolescent girl with short, copper-red hair that looked like it had been hacked with hedge clippers—had jumped off the gate in preparation for opening it.

Surely she’d got it wrong.

She wound down the window—just a tad—admitting nothing.

‘Is this Two Creek Farm?’ she called.

‘Yes,’ the oldest boy called. ‘Are you Shanni?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was so faint it was barely a squeak.

‘Finally.’ The girl with the bad haircut hauled the gate wide while the three kids still sitting on the top rail swayed and clung. ‘Dad says we can’t go inside until you get here. What are you doing, parking over there?’

‘Your dad’s expecting me?’

‘You rang. Didn’t you?’

‘Um…Yes.’

The girl looked right, looked left, looked right again—had there ever been another car up here?—and crossed the road to talk. ‘Dad said, “Thank God, Ruby’s come up trumps. We’ve got a babysitter.”’

‘I see.’ She swallowed and looked again at the kids on the gate. ‘I guess…your dad’s name is Pierce?’

‘He’s Pierce MacLachlan.’ The girl poked her hand in the open car window. She was all arms and legs and a mouthful of braces. ‘I’m Wendy MacLachlan. I’m eleven.’

‘I see,’ Shanni said faintly, while her hand was firmly shaken.

‘The others are Bryce and Donald and Abby,’ Wendy told her. ‘Bryce is nine. Donald’s seven. Abby’s four. There’s Bessy as well, but she’s only eight months old so she doesn’t talk yet, and she’s away with Dad. She’s actually Elizabeth, but she’s too cute to be an Elizabeth.’

Bessy. The baby. One true thing.

‘Where’s your dad?’

‘He had to take Bessy to the doctor. We think she’s got chicken pox. She hasn’t got any spots yet, but she’s grizzling so much she must be sick. Dad didn’t get any sleep last night. When you rang he looked like he might cry.’

‘Oh,’ Shanni said. Even more faintly. She looked over to where the other three children were swinging on the opened gate. ‘Have you all had chicken pox?’

‘Oh yes,’ Wendy said blithely. ‘I had it first and then Donald and Abby and Bryce got it all together. Dad said he was going round the twist, but I helped.’

‘I’m sure you did.’

‘We didn’t want Bessy to catch it, but she did anyway. Dad’s buggered.’ She blinked. ‘Whoops, I’m not supposed to say that. Dad says. But when you rang and said you were coming Dad said, “Thank God, I’m so buggered I’ll pay half my kingdom for decent help.” And then he looked at all of us and said he’d pay all his kingdom.’

A lesser woman would turn around right now, Shanni thought. A lesser woman would say whoops, sorry, there’s been a dreadful mistake, and go find a nice homeless shelter rather than face this.

‘We shouldn’t be here by ourselves,’ Wendy admitted, her voice faltering just a little. ‘But the station wagon’s got a flat tyre, and when Dad pulled out the spare it was flat, too. Mum must have had a flat tyre and not told Dad…She swallowed. ‘Before…. before she died. Anyway, Dad’s car’s only a two-seater, and he really needed to take Bessy to the doctor and we won’t all fit. So I said we’d be fine, only he worries about Abby cos she keeps doing stuff like getting her toe stuck in the sink. So I promised we’d sit on the gate and not move until you came. Abby promised faithfully not to fall off.’

‘Ruby,’ Shanni said to herself under her breath. Dear, dotty Aunty Ruby…

How could she cope with this? What she wanted was breathing space. Time to get her head clear, paint a little, take time to think about where she wanted to go from here. A bit of wandering on a farm, taking in the sights, maybe with a cute little baby in a pram. Winning the gratitude of a boy she’d once felt sorry for.

And solitude, solitude and more solitude.

There was a shriek from the other side of the road. The boys had swung the gate hard and, despite her promise, Abby had fallen backwards. The four-year-old was hanging by the knees, her blonde pigtails brushing the dirt. Her hands were dragging on the ground, trying to find purchase, while the gate swung wildly to and fro.

‘Help,’ she yelled. ‘Wendy, heeeelp.’

Wendy sighed. She looked to the right, looked to the left, looked to the right again and stomped back across the road. The kid’s boots look too tight, Shanni thought. Her feet looked like they hurt.

Wendy yanked Abby backwards into her skinny arms, staggering under her weight. The gate sung wildly again with its load of two little boys.

‘Are you coming in?’ Wendy called across the road, still staggering. Abby was far too heavy for her.

Shanni met her look head on.

It was a strange look for a child. She doesn’t think I’m coming in, Shanni thought. It was a look of a child who’d needed to grow up before her time. Despite herself, her heart lurched.

Oh, help. Stop it, she told herself. Stop it.

You’re such a soft touch, her friends told her, and she knew they were right. Before she’d left London she’d had to find homes for the three cats she’d taken in against her better judgement, plus twenty cacti her elderly neighbour had persuaded her to water when she’d gone away for the weekend—only the weekend had turned out to be a decision to join her son in the Riviera for ever.

A lesser woman would have ditched the cacti. She hated cacti.

She’d boxed them up and taken them halfway across London to a batty cactus lover she’d found on the internet.

Even Mike…He hadn’t had anywhere to stay, and he’d been such a promising artist. Had she mistaken sympathy for love?

So don’t you dare feel sorry for this family, she told herself. Leave. Now.

But Wendy was watching her, her small face closed. She wasn’t expecting help. And then she stopped looking at Shanni—decision made.

‘It doesn’t matter what Dad said,’ she told her little sister. ‘I’ll take you inside.’ She hugged her little sister in a gesture that was pure protection, turning her back on Shanni. ‘You’ve scraped your fingers. We’ll find a plaster.’

Oh, heck.

‘What did you say your names were?’ Shanni called.

‘Bryce,’ the oldest boy called. ‘Bryce and Wendy and Donald and Abby. And Bessy at the doctor.’

‘Okay, Bryce,’ Shanni said wearily. ‘Where do I park?’

‘Definitely chicken pox,’ the doctor told Pierce in a tone of deep disapproval. ‘That makes the whole family. The older children should have been immunized. We do standard immunization at twelve months. Bessy will be paying the price of your failure to get that done.’

If he was less tired he’d slug him, Pierce thought wearily, but slugging would involve energy, and energy was something that was in short supply.

‘Here’s a prescription,’ the doctor said, still cool. ‘Twice a day, just like the older children. Can I rely on you to give it?’

‘Yes,’ Pierce snapped. Maybe he did have enough energy. But Bessy was clinging to his neck. It was pretty difficult to slug when holding a whimpering baby.

‘The child welfare officer says you seem to be struggling,’ the doctor said. He peered at Pierce as if he wasn’t too sure. ‘I can call them in, if you want. I told you that when their mother died.’

‘I don’t want. And I have help coming.’

‘Excellent. I hope it’s somebody competent. These children have suffered enough.’ The doctor closed Bessy’s patient file with a snap. Consultation over. ‘Let me know if you change your mind. I can get Welfare in tomorrow.’

The house was a tip.

Shanni walked into the kitchen and nearly walked out again.

It was a vast farmhouse kitchen, one wall almost taken up by a huge green Aga. The cupboards and benches were made of a deep, rich wood, and the floor was planked with something that looked like oak. An enormous wooden table dominated the room—a table big enough to…

To hold every eating utensil in the house, Shanni thought incredulously. When had they ever washed up?

‘It’s…it’s a bit messy,’ Wendy said, following Shanni in. She hadn’t put Abby down. She was still staggering under her weight. ‘Bessy was really sick yesterday.’

The two little boys were bringing up the rear. They at least looked like brothers—curly black hair, matching freckles, matching expressions of distrust.

The kitchen was cold. It was a glorious spring day but the place felt damp.

‘We ran out of wood last night,’ Wendy admitted, as she touched the cold stove. ‘Dad ran out of time to chop it. But Dad said just as well, cos he wouldn’t have gone to the doctor’s and left the fire burning. We had cereal and orange juice for breakfast, so we didn’t need the stove.’

‘I see,’ Shanni said. She didn’t see.

Wendy staggered forward and plonked her little sister on a kitchen chair. ‘I’ll find a plaster.’

This at least was a place to start. Abby’s finger was grazed. ‘We need to clean it,’ she told Wendy. ‘Can you find me a face cloth and some soap?’

‘I think so,’ Wendy said cautiously. ‘Are you going to look after us?’

‘I have no idea,’ Shanni told her. ‘Or, not in the long term. But for now it looks like I need to look after you at least until your father gets home. Let’s start with one sore finger.’

Bessy went to sleep somewhere between the doctor’s surgery and the pharmacy. Finally. She’d sobbed practically all the previous night. She’d sobbed in the doctor’s waiting room and in the surgery. The silence as she slid into sleep was almost deafening.

Pierce was lucky enough to find a parking space just outside the pharmacy. Yes! There was no way he was going to wake her.

But here was another occasion where he could be censured by child welfare—never leave your child alone in a car.

It wasn’t like this was a closed-in car. His cute little sports coupé—a bright yellow MX5 he loved almost more than life itself—was open to the sun. It was a gorgeous spring day. He’d be able to watch Bessy though the window of the pharmacy as he dived in and grabbed the prescription.

But there were ten prescriptions before him.

‘It’ll be twenty minutes,’ the pharmacist said, and Pierce almost groaned.

‘I’ve got kids at home and the baby in the car.’

‘Don’t leave your child in the car.’

‘Look, can you fast track…?’

‘Twenty minutes.’

‘Fine.’ He sighed. He couldn’t slug everyone in this town even if it was starting to feel like everyone was conspiring against him. ‘I’ll sit in the car and wait.’

He tried to stalk out, but his legs were too tired to stalk. As he walked past the window on the way out he caught a look at himself in its reflective glass.

He hadn’t shaved for two days. He’d slept in these clothes.

He looked like death. A little old lady entering the pharmacy gave him a wide berth, and he didn’t blame her.

He slid into the driver’s seat of his cool little car. Beside him, Bessy was still soundly asleep.

‘Twenty minutes, Bess,’ he said, but she didn’t stir.

He empathized. He sighed. He closed his eyes.

The warm spring sun was a balm all by itself. It was quiet. So quiet.

Twenty minutes.

He could just fold his arms on his steering wheel and let his head droop.

It was so warm….

‘How long did you say your dad would be?’

‘He said an hour. The appointment was for half past ten.’

‘It’s now well after eleven. Shouldn’t he be back by now?’ Shanni said cautiously.

‘Yes,’ Wendy said, and her bottom lip trembled. Just a bit. She caught herself almost before the telltale quiver happened, but Shanni had seen.

She felt like quivering herself.

Uh-oh.

She was only staying here until Pierce got home, she told herself. Then she was out of here fast. But these kids were starting to look more scared than she was. She couldn’t leave them. Nor could she sit round in this appalling mess worrying about where Pierce was.

They were all staring at her, and Wendy’s poorly disguised quiver was reflected on each of their faces.

They’d lost their mum. Pierce was late.

Their world wasn’t as stable as they might like.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring the doctor’s surgery, shall I?’

‘Yes,’ said Wendy, sounding relieved.

So she rang. Yes, he’d been at the doctor’s surgery.

‘He has to collect a prescription before he goes home,’ the receptionist told her. ‘And he’s probably taken the opportunity to go shopping. Has he left those poor children by themselves?’

There was enough censure in her tone to make Shanni back off.

‘No. They’re with me.’

‘If there’s a problem…’

‘Why would there be a problem?’

‘The child welfare people aren’t all that happy about the way he’s coping.’

Her voice was loud enough for Wendy, clinging to Shanni’s side, to hear.

‘Tell her we’re coping fine,’ Wendy said, her face flushing. ‘Yeah, Dad’ll just be shopping. We’re okay.’

‘We’re okay,’ Shanni said, and put the phone down.

‘They want to take us away from Dad,’ Wendy said.

Maybe they, whoever they were, had grounds.

But meanwhile…She could hardly phone the police and report Pierce missing. Not yet. She’d give him a bit of leeway.

But there was still fear on four little faces.

‘There’s no earthly use looking like that,’ she told them, mentally rolling up her sleeves, girding her loins, doing whatever a girl had to do before launching into battle. ‘If you’re worried about child welfare, then we need to show them we’re coping.’

‘How are we coping?’ Wendy asked.

‘By cleaning.’ She stared at the mound of dishes. ‘First thing first. This is a big job, so we need a major battle plan. I’ll chop enough wood to light the fire and get some hot water. Lots of hot water. A sink isn’t going to cut it. Let’s fill the bath. Donald, can you find us a pile of clean towels? The rest of you carry every dirty dish—except the knives, we’ll leave the knives for me—into the bathroom. Boys wash and girls dry. I want the whole bathroom filled with clean plates, so clean they sparkle. I’ll clean in here, and then we’ll bring the clean things back in.’

‘We can’t,’ Donald said. ‘We’re not old enough to wash dishes. Only Wendy.’

‘Nonsense,’ Shanni said with a lot more briskness than she felt. ‘Big doesn’t mean clever. Take your boots and socks off so if you get wet it doesn’t matter. Washing in the bath is fun. Do you have a sound system—for music?’

‘P…Dad has one,’ Wendy said. ‘He’s got lots of CDs.’

‘Then let’s put on a bouncy work CD,’ she said. ‘Something like Abba. Do you know Dancing Queen?’

‘Yes,’ Abby said, her eyes lighting up. ‘Our Mummy liked Abba. That’s why she called me Abby.’

‘Then we’ll put on Abba.’

‘I don’t know whether Dad’s got Abba,’ said Wendy.

Huh?

No matter. Questions could wait.

‘Let’s look then, shall we?’ Shanni said, sounding a lot more decisive than she felt. ‘Cos this house looks like it needs about a hundred Abba CDs to lick it into shape.’

At four o’clock the sun slipped behind the Craggyburn Post Office clock tower and Pierce and Bessy lost their sunshine.

Bessy woke first. She wiggled in her car seat, reached across to Pierce, put her pudgy hand into his mess of unkempt brown curls and pulled.

Pierce woke like he’d been shot.

‘Mmmphf,’ Bessy said in deep satisfaction at the results of one small tug.

‘Bess,’ Pierce said, coming to and trying to stop his eyes watering. ‘Boy, you don’t know your own strength.’

He winced and rubbed his head. He stirred and he stretched.

He gazed sleepily up to the clock tower.

The world stilled.

Surely he hadn’t. Surely…

Oh, God, he had. He’d been away for over five hours. Almost six.

He reached for the ignition, his fingers fumbling in haste. A woman from the pharmacy was restocking shelves in the window. She saw him backing out of the parking space, and she waved to him frantically to stop.

He paused and she came to the door.

‘Your prescription’s filled,’ she called. ‘We wondered when you’d wake up. You should be more careful. Mr Connelly, the pharmacist, says the baby’ll probably be sunburned.’

Not bad at all.

Shanni stood back and surveyed the pencil sketch she’d just done with a tinge of admiration. Her very first cow. It even looked like a cow.

Its leg looked a bit funny.

She checked her line of kids. Four kids. Four boards with paint, four brushes, four makeshift easels. Intense concentration. Good.

Four o’clock. How long before she called someone in?

She looked across at Wendy who was working with almost desperate absorption.

Donald, Bryce and Abby were silent, too.

Damn him. What was he playing at?

She should call…

Wendy looked across at her, her eyes pleading.

Not yet.

Pierce was struggling to stay under the speed limit as he and Bessy flew homeward. Bessy was rested and cheerful, crowing in delight at the soothing feeling of wind against her increasingly itchy skin.

Pierce might have rested but he didn’t feel rested. He’d left them for an hour hoping the woman—who was it? Shannon? No, Shanni—would arrive.

Even if she had arrived, she’d be long gone by now. The kids would be terrified.

He turned the last curve—and there was a police car in the yard.

The police…

It’d be the pharmacist, he thought, remembering the prissy set to the man’s mouth as he’d handed over Bessy’s medicine. The whole town thought these kids would be better off in care. And now…

‘I’ve stuffed it big time,’ he told Bessy as he lifted her from the car. ‘I don’t deserve to have you guys.’

Where was everybody?

Two policemen appeared from behind the hayshed.

Accompanied by a redhead.

A woman. Small. Slim. Faded jeans. Bright red windcheater, splodged with green paint. A yellow bandana catching back shoulder-length flaming curls. Green paint smeared on a snubbed nose. Freckles.

Memory stirred. One of Ruby’s family weddings. A nightmare of being alone. A kid the same age as him, taunting, ‘He’s one of Aunty Ruby’s strays. He’s a bastard. Bastard, bastard, bastard.’

Then a skinny little girl, dressed in a scarlet party frock and with a huge pink bow in her flaming hair, marching up to her big cousin and stomping hard on his foot. So hard the kid had yelped.

‘Gee, I’m sorry, Mac,’ she’d said, and she hadn’t sounded sorry at all. Then she’d turned to him and smiled. ‘Hi. My name’s Shanni. What’s yours?’

He’d remembered. That tiny piece of kindness and bravado had stayed with him, to be used as an inward smile at need.

Could this really be her?

‘Pierce, dear, we’re over here,’ she said, smiling brightly and waving to him like he was her long-time cousin. ‘How’s our darling Bessy? Did you get the things I wanted from the store?’

‘Um…hi,’ he said weakly, and the memory of the stomping was suddenly crystal clear.

Amazingly the cops were smiling as well. Pierce recognized them—an older cop who had family in the town, and a younger guy whose stock in trade was aggression. They’d been here two weeks ago with the child welfare officers.

They’d left then looking grim. They weren’t looking grim now. The younger guy was smiling almost fatuously, and the older guy was looking on with benign amusement.

‘So, Friday night…’ the young cop said to Shanni.

‘Can I let you know?’ Shanni said. ‘I need to sort out rosters with my cousin. It wouldn’t do to leave the kids by themselves.’

Ouch.

‘We’ll see you round, then,’ the older cop said benignly. ‘Good luck with that cow, miss. I’m sure you’ll get that leg right in the end.’

‘I’ll ring you on Friday,’ the young cop said, waving a slip of paper. ‘Thanks for your number. I won’t lose it.’

They waved to Pierce in friendly salute. They climbed into the police car, and they were gone.

Leaving Pierce with Shanni.

CHAPTER TWO

‘UM…YOU’RE Shanni,’ he said, and he sounded dumb.

‘You think?’ Shanni said, arching her eyebrows. She’d stopped walking toward him the minute the police car left the yard. She didn’t come one inch closer. ‘You might want to check. After all, it’s important to be sure who you leave in charge of your children.’

‘Look, I…’

The bouncing smile and the charm were put carefully aside. ‘What the hell are you playing at? Wendy’s terrified. I came within an inch of telling those policemen that these kids would be better off in foster care. What sort of a father are you? Where the hell have you been?’

He focused on the one tiny thing he had control over. ‘Do you mind watching your mouth? I’m teaching them not to swear.’

She took a deep breath. ‘You are kidding?’ she said at last. ‘Abandoned, starving kids being taught not to swear.’

‘They’re not starving.’

‘So what did you leave them for lunch?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, forcing his dazed brain to think. ‘There’s eggs, steak, sausages, frozen chips…’

‘All of which require a stove,’ she said dangerously.

‘We’ve got a stove.’

‘And the kids were going to light it how?’ Shanni was looking at him like he was something that had crawled out of cheese.

‘Look, I went to sleep.’

‘Really?’ She raised one quirky eyebrow. ‘You had a little nap. So your kids starved.’

‘Kids don’t starve from missing lunch.’

She glared.

‘Dad,’ said a small voice, and it was Wendy, approaching from behind Shanni.

She stayed behind Shanni. She didn’t come near. It was like she was using Shanni as a shield.

The weight around his heart grew heavier. He’d let Wendy down. This puny kid who had the weight of the world on her shoulders. He’d been gaining her trust. A little.

‘Hell, Wendy…’

‘Don’t swear in front of the children,’ Shanni said icily.

‘Look, I fell asleep,’ he said desperately. ‘I didn’t sleep at all last night. Wendy, tell her I didn’t sleep. I had to take Bessy to the doctor’s, and then I had to wait for the prescription to be filled. I sat in the car and waited because you can’t leave kids alone in the car, and I just slept.’ He spread his hands. He might never convince Shanni, he thought, but it was Wendy who was important.

There was a lengthy pause while Wendy considered. Shanni remained silent.

‘He really didn’t sleep last night,’ Wendy said at last, talking to Shanni. ‘Maybe he didn’t sleep the night before, either,’ she added. ‘I had a nightmare and woke up. He made me hot chocolate.’

Shanni’s iciness thawed, just a little. ‘You’re saying he has an excuse?’

‘He looks awful,’ Wendy said.

‘He does,’ Shanni agreed. ‘When did he last shave?’

‘He looks okay when he’s shaved,’ Wendy said. ‘Or when he’s a little bit bristly. He’s too bristly now.’

This sisterhood thing was getting scary. But they were coming down on his side. Maybe.

‘Oooohh.’ It was Bessy, beaming at Wendy.

Wendy walked forward and snatched Bessy from his arms. Then she retreated behind Shanni again. They weren’t completely on his side. Wendy must have been terrified.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he told her, while Shanni practised her glare some more.

‘I thought you’d run away,’ Wendy said.

‘I won’t. I told you.’

‘Men tell lies. Mum said that. Men always tell lies.’

There was another lengthy pause, worse than the last. Pierce tried to think of what to say. Nothing came.

The silence extended. The three of them were gazing at him like he was a maw worm. Wendy and Shanni…even Bessy.

Then, ‘You know, my dad doesn’t tell lies,’ Shanni said, thoughtful. ‘Honest. And I’ve known my dad for twenty-nine years. He makes mistakes—once he even left me at the ice rink for five hours cos he was reading a really good book—but he doesn’t tell lies. Are you hungry?’ she asked him.

Food was the last thing he was thinking of. Though, come to think of it…

‘I guess I am a bit.’

‘There’s cold sausages,’ Wendy said. ‘We cooked a lot for lunch cos we thought you’d be home. And Shanni made choc-chip cookies.’

‘Shanni’s made choc-chip cookies?’ He stopped looking at Wendy. Yep, he’d betrayed a trust, and somehow he had to figure out a way to retrieve himself—but there was nothing he could do about that right now. But somehow Shanni’s ice-rink story had lessened the tension. And sausages…Choc-chip cookies…

‘They’re my specialty,’ Shanni said modestly. ‘You didn’t have choc chips so we had to squash a block.’

‘The fire’s not lit.’

‘We lit it,’ Wendy said. ‘We had to light it to get hot water to do the dishes. And I’ve eaten five choc-chip cookies.’

‘You lit the fire? But the wood…’

‘Shanni chopped it. The boys stacked it. The wood box is full.’

Shanni had chopped the wood. She’d lit the stove. She’d made choc-chip cookies. He stared.

‘I know,’ she said, pseudo-modest. ‘Call me Wonderwoman.’

‘Ruby said you’re an artist.’ His tone was almost accusatory. He heard it, and tried desperately to retrieve himself. ‘I mean…’

‘I think I’m converting to wood chopping,’ Shanni said. ‘I’ve failed cows’ legs, and chopping vents anger.’

‘Anger…’

‘Now, why would I be feeling anger?’ she said, to Wendy rather than him. ‘To be brought here under false pretences…’

Whoa. Things were spinning away from him. ‘False pretences?’ he said weakly.

‘One baby,’ she said, and tugged Wendy against her in another display of the power of sisterhood. Men, the gesture said. The despicable species. ‘One baby does not equate to five kids. Ruby told me one baby. I rang you from my friend’s and you said one baby.’

Uh-oh.

‘I didn’t say one baby,’ he said weakly. ‘But, yeah, Ruby would have told you one baby. To be honest, when you rang I thought I’d get you here any way I could and try and bribe you into staying once you got here.’

Beam me up now, Scotty, he thought bleakly. I’m an outright bastard.

But suddenly they had a diversion. Bessy had been nestling against Wendy’s shoulder, content from her drive. But Bessy was eight months old. She hadn’t been fed since breakfast. She was a young lady with chicken pox.

Bessy suddenly recalled all this in one huge momentous wash of outrage. She opened her mouth, and she yelled.

‘Can you stay at least until we’ve fed Bessy?’ Pierce asked over the yells.

‘I’m staying until you’ve done some explaining,’ Shanni said grimly. ‘I need to murder you or I need to murder my Aunty Ruby, and I can’t figure out which.’

She should leave.

Since Bessy’s initial howl there’d been no time to do anything but run. There certainly hadn’t been time for explanations.

Bessy had needed feeding, bathing, soothing, more soothing, more feeding. The kids had needed baths and dinner. The cattle had needed feeding. Okay, Pierce had done that one on his own. Shanni had stayed in the kitchen and supervised the kids’ dinner while watching Pierce out the window.

There was a huge cow—a bull?—in the paddock closest to the house. Pierce had wheeled a vast bale of hay to the gate on a hand cart, opened the gate and spread the hay.

Wasn’t that dangerous? The cow had looked…looked…

Cute, she’d decided as Pierce had scratched it behind the ear. The big creature had almost purred, leaning its big body against Pierce until he staggered. Really cute.

Actually, not as cute as Pierce.

He was tall and lean and angular. His deep brown curls were unkempt and too long. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days and he had shadows under his eyes. His jeans and windcheater looked like he’d been sleeping in them. He looked almost gaunt.

Her impression of Pierce aged fifteen had been that the guy was hot.

Nothing had changed.

What wasn’t hot was five children.

But she did feel sorry for him. To be stuck with five kids…

It was his choice.

It was hardly his fault that his wife had died.

No, but…

‘What are you thinking?’ Wendy asked shyly. The kids were tucking into scrambled eggs like there was no tomorrow.

‘I’m thinking you guys have hollow legs. What have you been eating?’

‘Pie…Dad’s not a very good cook.’

‘Do you call him Pierce?’

‘Yes, but not in front of people,’ Bryce told her, scooping up another mouthful of scrambled egg and closing his eyes in bliss. ‘This hasn’t got a single bit of black on it.’

‘Scrambled eggs is my second specialty, after choc-chip cookies.’

‘Pizza’s Dad’s specialty,’ Wendy said. ‘But the last time we ordered it Dad forgot we didn’t have any cash and the pizza guy wouldn’t take a cheque or credit card and now he won’t come back.’

‘I can make pizza.’

‘You’re kidding.’ It was Pierce, standing in the doorway, surveying the domesticity before him with amazement. ‘You cook pizza?’

‘She means she gets those boxes in the supermarket and thaws them out,’ Bryce said wisely.

‘I do not,’ she said, taking umbrage. ‘I can cook them from the ground up.’

‘Will you cook us one?’ Abby asked.

‘Maybe tomorrow. If I get the ingredients.’

‘Will you stay then?’ Donald was the quietest of the kids. He’d hardly spoken since she’d arrived. He’d simply watched her. Even when she’d set them all to painting, she’d been aware that Donald had never stopped watching her. Now he asked his question and it was like a challenge.

‘For tonight.’ She blinked. Yeah, okay, she was committing herself, but where else was she going to sleep? ‘Tell me you have a spare bed.’

‘We have a spare bedroom,’ Pierce said.

‘It’s Mummy’s bedroom,’ Donald said, still gazing at her with that unwavering stare.

Mummy’s bedroom. Oh, heck. ‘Um, doesn’t Daddy sleep there?’

‘He sleeps upstairs in Bessy’s room,’ Abby said.

‘She keeps waking up,’ Bryce added.

‘Wendy used to get up to her when Mummy was sick,’ Donald said, tilting his chin. ‘Cos Mummy didn’t want Pierce to. But Pierce does it now.’

‘Didn’t your mummy die when Bessy was born?’

‘Just after,’ Donald said.

This was stuff she didn’t understand. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to try. ‘Isn’t it bedtime?’ she asked weakly, and Pierce nodded.

‘It surely is.’

‘Will Shanni tell us a bedtime story?’ Abby asked.

‘I will,’ Pierce said gruffly.

‘We want Shanni,’ Wendy said.

‘I’m washing up.’ Shanni was feeling completely confused. What was going on here? Pierce looked defeated. Battle weary and exhausted. And he’d slept today.

‘Your dad reads you bedtime stories,’ she managed. ‘That’s his job. I’m the housekeeper—I keep house. It’s up to Pierce to keep kids.’

Pierce took almost an hour to read them their stories. When he finally came downstairs, Shanni was sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by stuff.

The more he looked at her, the more he remembered that ten-year-old Shanni. She’d made him smile then and she had that power still, just by sitting in the middle of his kitchen floor. Which was dumb. Dangerous, even.

‘What you doing?’ he managed.

‘This isn’t a fridge, it’s an ecosystem.’ She carefully didn’t look at him. Instead she held up a jar where purple fuzz fought with green slime. ‘Didn’t Fleming invent penicillin this way? Are you searching for a patent cure for chicken pox?’

‘Leave it.’

‘Hand me a rubbish bag,’ she said. ‘Left to breed, this could take over the world.

He found a rubbish bag and held it out. She scooped in so much stuff that even he was hornswoggled.

‘I’m usually neat,’ he said defensively, and she nodded.

‘I remember you at fifteen. You were…neat.’

He glowered. ‘I believe I was wearing a suit.’

‘Blue pinstripe if I recall.’

‘That the rest of the boys thought was…’

‘Poncy. Yeah, I remember you were teased.’

He gazed down, trying to figure things out. Where did she fit? He couldn’t remember. Ruby had simply referred to her as ‘our Shanni’. Our Shanni would love to come and help out.

All he could remember was the oversized bow and the stomping foot and the smile. Mostly the smile.

‘I can’t exactly remember the connection,’ he said apologetically.

‘My dad is Ruby’s younger brother.’

‘So you are…?’

‘Lucy and Will’s daughter. They’re academics. They’re currently in Switzerland.’

‘I don’t remember Lucy and Will. But I remember you.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘You stood on Mac’s toe.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’ she said, and grinned at the memory. ‘He’s grown up to be a used-car dealer. Ruby says he married a woman who’s a real harpy. Good old Mac.’

‘Why did you come?’

‘Aunty Ruby asked me.’ She held up something greenish. ‘Courgette?’

‘Cucumber.’

‘A bit past its use-by date, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I—Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you had five kids?’

‘I don’t believe I told you anything.’

‘But Ruby didn’t say.’

‘Ruby doesn’t know.’

‘Ruby doesn’t know you have five kids?’

‘No.’

‘You didn’t tell Ruby?’

‘I barely see Ruby. There’s no need to tell her everything.’

‘Yeah, so omit a little something. Like four kids. Something’s rotten here and I don’t know what.’ She’d been foraging in the rear of the fridge and now she emerged triumphant. ‘No, this is dried out. I’m sure it’s a courgette.’

‘Could we cut this out?’

‘Cleaning?’

‘The inquisition.’ He raked his fingers through his hair. ‘And will you get off my floor? I hardly know you.’

‘You know me enough to trust me with your kids.’

‘I had no choice. I had a doctor’s appointment and there was no other available appointment until tomorrow. I loaded the kids in the car, then realized the tyre was flat and so was the spare. You were coming. Ruby said you were trustworthy. So I trusted.’

‘You left me alone deliberately?’

‘No,’ he roared, so loudly that there was a whimper from above their heads.

‘You’ve woken Bessy,’ Shanni said.

‘Shush.’

They both shushed. Bessy whimpered again, and then settled.

‘Take that outside,’ Shanni said, motioning to the rubbish. ‘It’s disgusting.’

He did. It gave him room to take a few deep breaths. He stared up at the night sky and counted to ten. Then he decided to count to a hundred.

Finally he figured he’d better return. Shanni was still cleaning his fridge. All he could see of Shanni was one very cute, denim-clad butt emerging from his refrigerator.

He took a couple of moments to admire the view. Hell, he missed women. Twelve months now of enforced celibacy. Twelve months down and how many to go?

Not months. Years. What had he let himself in for?

‘You want a whisky?’ he asked the butt, and the butt stilled.

‘A whisky?’

‘Don’t say it like I’m the local lush,’ he said. ‘I allow myself one whisky when all the kids are in bed. Surely a man can have that without being accused of child neglect?’

‘Hey, I didn’t say…’ She was backing out of the refrigerator, butt wiggling.

‘You didn’t have to say. You were implying.’

‘Actually I wasn’t,’ she said, sitting up and wiping a strand of wilting lettuce from her nose. ‘I wasn’t implying anything. I was about to say that a whisky would be very nice indeed. And if it turns into two then I’m not going to report anyone to Social Welfare. Just so long as I can share.’

She smiled.

He stared. It was the cutest smile. Wide and white and cheerful, green eyes dancing behind it.

Hey, cut it out. This was not appropriate.

Hell, he’d lost sense of what was appropriate or not. He ran his fingers through his hair again—yeah, he’d meant to get a haircut but when was there ever time? Then he decided he was staring at her and wondering about haircuts when he should be pouring whisky.

He turned on his heel and headed for the living room. He poured two decent tumblers, decided ice was for sissies and headed back to the kitchen.

She was still on the floor.

‘You want to sit at the table?’

‘If I get up I might never get down again.’

‘The fridge can wait. You’ve done so much cleaning I’m feeling like a—’ He hesitated. He didn’t know what he felt like, he thought. Out of control? Yeah, maybe even more out of control than when his house had been full of dirty dishes.

‘You must really miss your wife.’

He’d reached down to give her a hand up. He stilled and Shanni stared at his hand, shrugged and heaved herself up. He shook himself.

‘Sorry.’

‘Hey, don’t apologize. I only lost my boyfriend and I’m doing dumb things, like not contacting my parents and making sure they hadn’t changed the locks before I come all the way to Australia.’

‘They’ve changed the locks?’

‘And put in tenants,’ she said grimly. ‘You’d think a daughter would know.’

‘You’re not close?’

‘See, there’s the thing,’ she said, sitting at the table and taking her first sip of whisky. She wrinkled her nose in appreciation. ‘I thought we were. I phone once a week. You’d think changing locks would be something they’d mention.’

‘I…I guess.’

‘Sorry.’ She took another sip. ‘We were talking about you. Your wife.’

‘You lost your boyfriend?’

‘He didn’t die,’ she said darkly. ‘More’s the pity.’

‘Right,’ he said, distracted. She looked really cute when she talked darkly. ‘So you just lost him?’

‘He went to bed with a model.’ She glowered some more. ‘In my bed. And then when I threw ice water over the pair of them he went out and spent our shared credit card to the hilt, and he isn’t even sorry.’

She glowered at the absent boyfriend and model. ‘But we’re talking about you. You and the five kids and the dead wife and Social Welfare. I’ve never seen such a mess.’

‘Thank you.’

She blinked. Then she put the whisky very carefully on the table.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a long day. I landed in Sydney at five this morning. I took a cab to my parents’ and found they’d absquatulated. So I took my dad’s car and drove to my girlfriend’s apartment, to find a bedsit smaller than a shoebox. Then I remembered Ruby’s letter and rang you and asked if you still wanted a housekeeper, and you said yes, it’d be fine if I came straight away, so I ended up here. To find you’d absquatulated as well.’

‘Absquatulated?’ he said, distracted.

‘Taken yourself off to points unknown, generally leaving a mess behind. My mother’s a linguistics professor. Get over it.’

‘Right,’ he said, feeling dazed. ‘I didn’t…absquatulate.’

‘You just went to sleep.’

‘I’ve said I’m sorry.’

‘The kids were terrified. They were thinking they’d get carted off to care.’ She wrinkled her nose some more, perplexed. ‘See, that’s the part I don’t get. Why is Welfare so interested in you? Have you done something awful? I mean, today was appalling, but that sort of mess happens in the best families. If I told you how many times my parents forgot me…Anyway, that’s beside the point. I understand your wife dying was awful but Social Welfare isn’t usually a monster.’ She paused, thinking things through.

‘You know, unless things are really dire, the authorities don’t take kids from parents. I can’t see them dragging children off to foster care just cos their dad went to sleep in the sun after a night with a sick baby.’

‘No. I…’

‘So have you done something ghastly? I mean, not that you’d confess. But I’ve been scrubbing the fridge and thinking that I should just leave. Except that I’m broke and I don’t have anywhere to go. Except Aunt Ruby’s.’

‘You don’t want to go to Ruby’s?’ He was having trouble keeping up.

‘Ruby has macramé meetings in her kitchen every weekday morning. She’s offered to teach me. And she says she has to get your permission anyway if she wants to have me for more than just a couple of weeks. Which is weird.’ She hesitated. ‘But you’re sidetracking me. I keep thinking of Wendy. Wendy like she was when I arrived. Terrified. Expecting the worst. There must be something horribly wrong for her to look like that. I don’t know what it is, and maybe I should leave, but I’ve decided I need to figure it out. Because now I’m hooked. If you’re hurting these kids I’ll—’

‘You’ll what?’

‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘I can’t figure out why they’re terrified. Because the way you cuddle Bessy…You even seem nice.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You know what I mean. You look normal.’

‘Yet I was a fifteen-year-old in a pinstripe suit when first you met me.’

‘You’re distracting me.’ She looked at his whisky glass. He looked at it too.

‘You do think I’m a drinker.’

‘Hey, I just wondered. I mean, if I had five kids and a dead wife I might crack as well. And it would explain.’

‘It explains nothing.’

‘Then you need to give me some other explanation,’ she said. ‘Because I want to know why your kids are terrified.’

He stared into his whisky glass.

‘Tell me or I retreat to macramé.’

His eyes flew to hers. He expected to see laughter, but he didn’t. She was deadly serious.

She really cared, he thought. She was worried about these kids.

The sensation was so novel that he blinked.

‘There’s a simple explanation,’ he said, meeting her look head on.

‘Which is?’

‘These aren’t my kids. They’re nothing to do with me. Until twelve months ago I’d never seen any of them before in my life.’

CHAPTER THREE

THERE was a long pause. Shanni had pulled open the fire door of the oven, to let the warmth of the flames give comfort to a kitchen that was only just warming up. The fire crackled behind them. He should put music on or something, he thought inconsequentially. The atmosphere was too intimate.

Maybe music would make it worse.

‘They’re not your kids,’ she said at last. She wasn’t taking her eyes off him, seemingly ready to judge by how he looked as well as what he said.

‘No,’ he said. There was nothing else to say.

‘I did wonder,’ she said mildly. ‘They don’t look like you. They keep forgetting to call you “Dad”. And they didn’t know if you had Abba.’

‘Abba?’

‘Never mind. I thought maybe they’d been calling you “Pierce” and you’d made them change for the welfare people.’

‘I made them change for the welfare people.’

‘But…’ She sighed. She downed the dregs of her whisky, looked at the bottle and sighed again. ‘I’ve got jet lag and a muddled head,’ she confessed. ‘Don’t give me any more whisky.’

‘And Bessy’s likely to be up in the night.’ He rose and took the whisky bottle into the next room, returned and closed the door firmly behind him. They both looked at the door with longing. But no. They were mature adults, and there were no answers in a whisky bottle.

‘I’ll make coffee,’ he said and she nodded. Mature adults. Coffee. Right.

‘You’d better tell me,’ she said, while he fiddled with cups and kettle and instant coffee. Instant. She’d come from the coffee centre of the world. Agh.

‘I married their mother,’ he said.

‘Right.’ She thought about it. ‘So Bessy’s yours?’

‘No.’

‘So Bessy’s not yours.’

‘They’re none of them mine.’

‘So when did you marry their mother?’

‘Seven months ago. Just after Bessy was born. Three weeks before Maureen died.’

‘Oh,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I see.’

‘Do you?’ He sounded angry. He had his back to her but she could hear tension and anger—and resentment.

‘Hey, I cleaned your fridge,’ she said. ‘I’m the patsy in this set-up.’

Anger faded. His shoulders shook—just a little. ‘The patsy?’

‘The pig in the middle. The girl with the soggy cucumber. Shoot around me, but not at me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘That’s better,’ she said approvingly as he carried mugs of coffee across to the table. He really was good looking, she thought absently. And that hair was so ruffled. She could just reach over and touch it…

Cut it out, she told herself fiercely. What is it with you and long-haired men?

‘Tell me about Maureen,’ she said instead and took a mouthful of coffee, swallowing regrets about a magnificent coffee maker she’d left behind in London. Okay, it was Michael’s, but it had been bought with her credit card and it made the best coffee. And that rat…

She wasn’t thinking clearly.

‘Maureen,’ she said again, and Pierce looked confused.

‘Look, I’m jet lagged,’ she said. ‘I’m not making sense to me.’

‘You suddenly looked a long way away.’

‘I was mourning coffee. Tell me about Maureen.’

‘She was my foster sister sort of.’

There was a pause. Sort of foster sister. Hmm.

‘Ruby only fosters boys.’

‘You think I’m telling lies?’

‘I’m not thinking anything,’ she said. ‘Thinking hurts.’

‘She’s great, your aunt Ruby.’

‘She’s lovely to everyone.’

‘I guess.’

Whoops. ‘I’m sorry,’ Shanni said repentantly. ‘I dare say you and Ruby have a lovely, personalized, meaningful relationship and I wouldn’t dream of disparaging it.’

He choked on his coffee.

‘She’s a bit…batty,’ he said, and Shanni grinned.

‘We’re together on that one. But you’d better tell me the rest.’

‘It’s not much use.’

‘You want me to finish the refrigerator?’

‘I…’

‘Okay, I’ll finish the refrigerator anyway,’ she said, and gave him a rueful smile. ‘I’m a sucker for a job well done. But tell me or I’ll bust.’ She pulled up a spare kitchen chair, put her feet up, had a couple of sips of coffee—ugh—and forced herself to relax. ‘You’re one of Ruby’s strays. That must have been hard.’

‘I guess.’ He shook his head. ‘No. I had a mother who didn’t want me but wouldn’t put me up for adoption. The times with Ruby were not the hard times. You come from a nice normal family.’

‘Are you kidding?’

‘Well, a family with a mum and a dad, and I’d imagine you were wanted.’

She thought of her eccentric parents and she grinned. ‘Yep. They wanted me. They weren’t quite sure what to do with me when they got me—they still aren’t—but they wanted me.’

‘I was a mistake.’

She looked at his stern face. There was a curl dripping over his left eye. She could just…

Cut it out!

‘You were a mistake?

‘My mother got pregnant during an affair with a very wealthy man. She thought getting pregnant would force him to marry her. She was wrong.’

‘Oh.’

‘And he denied everything. I can imagine my mother might have been a bit…’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, there wasn’t DNA testing back then. She was screwed. So she put me into foster care, but every time she started a relationship she pulled me out again. To play happy families. And one of those relationships included Maureen.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘No, well…’ He shrugged. ‘You have no idea what drop kicks my mother used to fall for. Jack was maybe the worst. But he had a kid, too. Maureen. He ended up abandoning her, but when he met my mother Maureen was nine and I was seven.’

‘So?’ Shanni prodded. He looked like he was a long way away—remembering. He was staring straight through her. Now he gave himself a slight shake, as if tugging himself back to now.

‘Okay. Dreary story. Jack was a sadist, but my mother thought everything he did was wonderful. So we were at his mercy. But Maureen was older and a bit harder than me. And for some reason she decided she liked me.’ He shrugged. ‘Okay, let’s be honest. I loved the idea of having a big sister, and she thought having a brother was cool. It wasn’t like we had anything else.’

The words chilled her and she winced, but Pierce didn’t notice. He was seeing back, a long time ago.

‘She was there for me,’ he said softly. ‘It was the longest of any of my mother’s relationships. We were together two years. And every time he…’ Once more a shrug. ‘Well, she was always there for me. She’d fly at Jack like a tigress, biting, scratching, yelling. She’d end up as badly beaten as me but it got so…Well, he knew when he raised a hand to me he had us both to contend with, and it helped.’

‘Oh, hooray for Maureen,’ Shanni said shakily, and Pierce nodded, faintly smiling.

‘She was great.’

‘And then?’

‘Then my mother and Jack split, and we were put in different foster homes. We tried to stay in touch,’ he said sadly. ‘Maureen used to write. Every six months or so I’d get a scrawly letter telling me what she was doing in her life. Then when we reached adulthood the letters ceased. The last letter said she’d met the man of her dreams and was moving to Perth.’

‘But he wasn’t? The man of her dreams?’

‘Who’d know?’ Pierce said bitterly. ‘All I do know is that Maureen was wild as be damned. From what I’ve learned since, she seemed bent on self-destruction.’

‘Drugs?’ Shanni thought of the five children. ‘No…’

‘She didn’t do drugs. That would have been suicide. She was diabetic.’

‘Oh.’

‘She just wanted kids,’ Pierce said wearily. ‘All her life she wanted a family—maybe that was why she was so defensive of me—and she was going to get a family no matter how much it took.’

‘But the diabetes…’

‘That’s what I meant about self-destruction. Every time she got pregnant her body seemed to disintegrate. Only she just couldn’t seem to stop herself.’ He hesitated. ‘She’d meet some lowlife and think he was the answer to her prayers and end up pregnant.’

‘But not with you?’

‘She’d been in Western Australia,’ he said. ‘We’d lost touch completely. Only then, just under a year ago, she came to find me. I was doing very nicely as an architect in Sydney. I’d bought this place as a weekender. I’m a confirmed bachelor, and I was pretty content with what life was dealing me.’

‘But?’

‘But Maureen’s kidneys were failing. She was pregnant and refusing to terminate, but she’d been told the pregnancy would destroy what was left of her kidneys. She sat in my office in Sydney and she told me everything about her life. She spelled it all out, and she asked for my help. She hated asking, but she was desperate.’

‘Oh Pierce.’

‘Maureen was so ill she was facing having to have the children fostered. She couldn’t bear subjecting them to the life she’d had. She’d brought it on herself but, well, maybe I could see what was driving her. And, while she was talking, that time…the times she took the beating for me came back. I didn’t have a choice. There’s a dialysis unit at Murribah, half an hour north of here. I offered her a home here for as long as she needed.’

Silence. She stared across the table at him for a long, long moment. Then she smiled. ‘I always thought you were a nice boy,’ she said warmly. ‘Despite the pinstripes.’

He smiled back, but it cost him a bit, that smile. It was hard for him to tell this story, she thought.

‘Okay. Moving on. You asked for the whole story so you’ll get it. I was already having trouble with the neighbours here. What I didn’t realize when I bought this place was that one of the bidders was a huge dairy corporation. They’d been looking for a site for their new factory, which would have meant the locals didn’t have to pay cartage for their milk. But I’d fallen in love with the place and paid more than it was worth. So the factory went somewhere else. Then I’d no sooner taken possession when along came four kids and a mother who looked desperately sick and was pregnant again. I drove a bright yellow sports car when the kids looked starving. Maureen wouldn’t talk to anyone about her background, and no one ever asked me. I’ve been judged and found wanting in just about every respect.’

She swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I’m sorry enough for myself. Anyway, Maureen had Bessy and she grew even more ill. We were hoping against hope for a transplant but it didn’t happen.’

‘So…marriage?’

‘You see, Social Welfare had taken care of these kids before, in periods when Maureen was desperately sick. So the kids were on file. It’s not hard to understand. There are good people in the department who were genuinely worried. Then we had the community bad-mouthing us. Maureen started believing—and maybe she was right—that as soon as she died they’d send the kids to foster homes, regardless of what I wanted.’

‘There are some good—’ she started cautiously, but he was before her.

‘You don’t need to tell me there are some great foster homes,’ Pierce said explosively. ‘Foster parents are some of the best people in the world. Generous, big hearted, taking on all comers even though getting attached comes at the price of having their hearts ripped out over and over.’

‘Goodness,’ she said. ‘Did I hit a nerve?’

He managed an apology for a smile. ‘Yes,’ he said, consciously lowering his voice. ‘Sorry. If I hadn’t had Ruby I’d be in such a mess now. But I was on my own, and these kids aren’t. Despite Maureen’s often incompetent care, they love each other, and they’ll defend each other to the death. They should never be separated, and there’s the problem. You think there’ll be a foster parent who’ll take on five kids?’

‘I guess…Maybe not.’

‘They’d be put into a group home,’ he said. ‘The welfare people told Maureen that, as if it was something good. A house in the community with paid carers. That’s what Maureen couldn’t come to terms with. A series of people employed to care. Maureen hated the idea, and by the time she became desperately sick I hated the idea as well. You’ve seen Wendy. She’s been Maureen’s principal carer for years. It took so long to teach her that I could help. Even now she doesn’t completely trust me. Why should she? But I couldn’t bear…I just couldn’t bear…’

‘So you married their mother.’

‘Yes. We moved fast, in the window of opportunity before Maureen became too ill. We married. I applied to legally adopt them. Maureen filed everything saying she approved, and she assigned me as their legal guardian.’

‘Oh, Pierce.’

‘It’s not noble,’ he said. ‘At least, it wasn’t supposed to be noble. I’m paid ridiculous amounts for the work I do. I thought I’d house the kids, employ a housekeeper, someone to run the farm and come down here on weekends.’

‘But?’

‘Have you any idea how hard it is to find a housekeeper for five kids? In this community? I found a woman who did intermittent babysitting for a while, but the kids hated her and she quit two weeks ago. And now we’ve had chicken pox followed by school holidays. I’m going round the twist.’

‘I see that you are.’

‘And then Ruby said she’d contacted you and persuaded you to give us a try. Hence I’ve had one day of child care, a clean kitchen and a sparky clean fridge. And kids who weren’t taken away from me today. For which I’m eternally grateful.’ He hesitated. ‘Shanni, dare I ask that you’ll stay?’

‘I’m not a housekeeper.’

‘You’re excellent at scrubbing.’

‘That’s only because I’m suffering severe loss of pride. I need to vent my spleen. Scrubbing works.’

‘Ruby says you’re an artist.’

‘I’m not.’

‘No?’

‘I love dabbling with paints. Did you see my cow this afternoon? Perfect, except for one leg looking longer than the others. I measured it. It’s not. It’s perspective, but I can’t work it out.’

‘So you’re an abstract artist?’

‘I did a degree in fine arts. I worked as a curator for a tiny gallery here and an even tinier one in London. Then I scraped up enough money to open my own. It was miniscule, but it was devoted to one particular kind of art that I love. My parents lent me money. I didn’t eat. I put everything into it that I had.’

‘And?’

‘And like I said, I caught my artist boyfriend in bed with one of my models. I tossed ice water on them, and he retaliated by using my credit card to spend a fortune. I had the choice of risking my parents’ money and keeping on trying or bailing out. I bailed out.’

‘Ouch.’ He hesitated. ‘You never tried recovering your money?’

‘He said he’d have me for assault.’

‘I see,’ he said cautiously. ‘So you fled home.’

‘Yep. To you.’

‘And now?’

‘I’ll go to Ruby’s. I’ll get a job somewhere and move on.’

‘But it’d help if you could stay here for a bit while you regroup?’

‘It might,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t intend to fall in love with these kids.’

‘Of course not.’

‘So don’t even think I might be a long-term proposition.’

‘I’m not looking for a long-term proposition.’

‘I don’t fall for kids. I don’t fall for you.’

Uh-oh. Why had she said that? It had come from nowhere but suddenly it was important that she say it.

He so needed a shave. He looked so vulnerable.

Stop it. She gave herself a sharp metaphoric slap to the side of the head. Do not fall for Pierce MacLachlan because you feel sorry for him.

‘Just because I’m a soft touch…’ she whispered, and he smiled.

‘Two of us. Two soft touches. We’re doomed.’

‘Speak for yourself.’

There was another whimper from above his head, but this time it didn’t stop. It built fast to a wail. He winced, set his coffee mug down with a sigh and rose. ‘She slept for three hours. I can’t expect much more.’

‘What will you do now?’

‘Cuddle her until she goes back to sleep.’

‘Ruby said you’re not getting work done.’

The yells from upstairs were getting more insistent. ‘Define “work”. But I guess it doesn’t matter. I just take one day—one moment—at a time.’ He walked to the door and then paused. ‘Shanni, you’ve helped me enormously today and I’m deeply grateful. If you leave right now I’ll still be grateful. I won’t put any more pressure on you. But you do need a bed for at least tonight?’

‘Wendy showed me her mother’s bedroom. She’d already made up the bed.’

‘Wendy wants you to stay.’ He put up his hands in mock defence. ‘I know. I said no pressure.’ He raised his gaze to the ceiling. ‘Okay, Bessy, I’m coming. We’ll leave Shanni here to make up her mind.’

‘I…I’ll think about it.’

‘Please.’

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE cleared the dishes. She finished wiping out the fridge and replacing the few things that were actually edible. Then she made her way through the darkened house to her bedroom.

She could hear footsteps upstairs, pacing back and forth. There was a soft male rumble. Pierce was comforting Bessy.

He was a bachelor. He’d taken on five children he didn’t know. The enormity of what he’d done left her gasping.

‘He’s a very nice boy,’ she told the dark, and she giggled.

But then her giggle faded. This was deadly serious. Pierce was fighting to keep these kids together. The least she could do was help.

But she didn’t do kids. And she had a career to resurrect.

‘You’ve stuffed up big time,’ she told the dark. She walked over to the bed and gave a tentative bounce. This must be the master bedroom. Pierce had let Maureen have the master bedroom?

Why had he bought a house with so many bedrooms? Had he thought of having a big family himself?

He really was…

A hunk. The thought of him pacing back and forth above her head with a baby cradled against his shoulder…

It was a very, very sexy image.

Whoa. ‘That’s exactly the attitude that gets you into trouble over and over again,’ she scolded herself. ‘And that’s the scary thing about staying. He’s extraordinarily attractive and he’s up to his eyeballs in domesticity, and you feel sorry for him, and if you’re not careful you’ll be installed as chief cook and bottle washer with your only payment a bit of snogging on the side.

‘He hasn’t got time for snogging.

‘Just as well.’ She said it out loud.

His footsteps paused right above her head. ‘I know it itches,’ she heard him say. ‘But we all need to sleep.’

A whimper.

‘In with me again? Bess, we need to cut this out.’

He was more than a hunk, she decided. He was gorgeous.

And up to his neck in kids.

‘So go to bed and stop thinking about him,’ she told herself, and crossed to the window to pull the blind.

There was a cow six inches from her nose.

She managed to stay silent. The cow gazed in, and she felt extraordinarily pleased with herself that she hadn’t yelped. The last thing she needed was for Pierce to come racing downstairs because she was scared of a cow. The cow was outside and she was inside.

Fine.

It was a very large cow.

Its face was enormous. And its eyes looked sort of wild. It wasn’t placidly gazing. Its head was moving back and forth, as if it was terrified.

Did cows get scared?

Upstairs Bessy started howling again. Obviously not even the enticement of sleeping with Pierce could placate her.

There was a moment’s silence as Bessy paused for breath to start the next yowl.

‘Git out.’

For a moment she thought she was imagining things. Who…?

‘Git out of our garden.’ It was a child’s voice, yelling. It sounded like an attempt to be commanding, but there was an edge of fear showing through.

She pulled up the window—just a little—not so much that the cow could put its head in. The cow had shifted aside, turning to face whoever was shouting.

The moon was almost full. She could see clearly into the garden.

It was seven-year-old Donald. The skinny one with the scared eyes and the look that said he distrusted the world. The rest of the kids had enjoyed painting this afternoon, but Donald had painted like he was performing a duty. He looked like a kid who was waiting for the axe to fall.

‘What are you doing out there?’ she called, and the cow turned to look at her. Still with the wild eyes.

It was a really big cow.

Huge.

‘It shouldn’t be in the garden,’ Donald said, struggling to sound brave. ‘Someone’s left the gate open. I saw it out the window. It’ll eat the rose Pierce planted when our mum died.’ He hiccupped on a sob, bravery disappearing. ‘I’m shooing it out the gate, but it won’t go.’

‘Donald, you’re too little be shooing cows. I’ll get Pierce.’

‘He’s busy with Bessy.’ She saw his small shoulders stiffen in resolution. ‘And I’m not too little. I can do it.’

‘But—’

‘Git on out,’ Donald said, but he’d moved backwards behind a camellia bush and she could no longer see him.

Despite his defiance, he sounded terrified.

Cows are harmless, she told herself, recalling the words of her farming-type friend.

Right.

She’d go upstairs and offer to take Bessy while Pierce sorted this, she thought, but Bessy’s howls were becoming frantic.

Two perils. Crying baby. Or cow.

Each equally daunting.

‘Shoo,’ Donald yelled but the cow didn’t move.

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