A Reason To Stay Read online

  She reached across and squeezed Shar’s hand.

  ‘Thanks for the support.’

  It was a token gesture, but she had to start somewhere. She’d ignored Shar for years and now Shar’s life with Bob was imploding. She gripped the steering wheel as she turned into Mindalby Base Hospital and vowed to stop being an onlooker in her family’s life. It was time to get involved.

  Chapter 3

  The following morning Rachael closed the front door behind her, careful not to make it slam. The sun hadn’t yet risen and the streets were quiet save for the odd barking dog. She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked briskly to the bakery. The early morning was her favourite time of day—when the air was cool, her mind free and she was on her own.

  Strangely, she couldn’t shake off the niggling feeling that she was skiving off work. It was a new sensation to think of something else other than work.

  In the gloom she put the key in the back door of the bakery and pushed. The familiar scent of vanilla, warm and welcoming, swirled about her like an old friend. Once inside, she tossed her bag on the floor, flicked on the lights and turned on the ovens.

  The lights jolted on in segments, beaming a dull light over the kitchen, then the drinks fridges, and the counter top. A knot pulled tight in her stomach.

  The bakery was smaller than she remembered. She wandered down the full length of the shop, dismayed that the only new item was the drinks fridge. Even the corner area where Nancy sat and decorated her cakes had shrunk in half. That busy spot now shared space with a food warmer, which was piled high with Nancy’s cake-decorating books and tools.

  She ran her finger down Shar’s list of cakes to be baked, and groaned. There was the usual orange-poppyseed, lamingtons, tea cakes, banana cake, carrot cake, cream buns and an apple charlotte. No cup cakes? They were everywhere in Sydney, but not in Mindalby. She made a mental note to search for recipes of French cakes and pastries.

  Her phone alarm buzzed. Four-thirty. As if on automatic pilot she threw over her head the clean apron Shar had given her, rolled up her sleeves and pulled out the bread trays.

  A few hours later Rach was mesmerised by the blades of the mixer plunging into the soft malleable dough, stretching and kneading. After a few shaky attempts she was pleased to have found her rhythm, a rhythm that was once automatic. When the mixer was finished she pulled at the dough and started to divide it into loaves.

  Ping!

  She slipped on the oven mitts and pulled out her third batch of pastries.

  Rach stared at the burnt offerings and let out a groan. What had gone wrong? It had to be the ovens. She was sure she’d followed Shar’s scribbled instructions step by step and those instructions were now seared into her psyche.

  Annoyed with herself, she dragged off her oven mitts, stalked across to the heavy back door of the kitchen and wrenched it open, kicking the door stopper in place. Cool fresh air rushed in, but it didn’t lift her mood.

  In one swift movement, she tossed the burnt pastries into the garbage bin by the back door. Things had started so well—by five o’clock she’d scrubbed down the kitchen benches and prepped for the first batch of bread to be baked.

  Her brain liked the routine of breads for breakfast, pastries and buns for mid-morning and cakes all day. There was a solid reason behind every action and its timing. It also made sense to her tidy mind.

  Timewise, prepping for the cakes was next. She considered her options and decided to forgo the pastries and prep the cakes.

  She scrolled through her phone for messages searching for any from Gordon. Maybe there was time for a quick catch-up.

  ‘Anyone in?’

  A deep melodious voice rolled into the room. Her heart thumped. Mike. There was no mistaking the accent.

  His large frame filled the doorway and the air rushed out of her lungs. Three words smashed into her brain: healthy, vital, and sexy.

  A huge smile broke across his face. ‘You got the short straw, did you?’

  No.

  He closed the screen door. His presence dominated the small area and her nose twitched at the scent of sweat and grass clippings. Her eyes did a quick number on him. He carried a pair of well-worn gloves and a helmet.

  Oh God, he cycles.

  His fingers had a few cuts and marks—working hands, busy hands, loving hands.

  Don’t go there.

  That little reminder prompted the question that had been nagging her ever since she’d met him. What on earth was he doing in Mindalby?

  He sniffed. ‘A mishap?’

  His mischievous twinkle snared her. She was impressed. It was as if their exchange of yesterday hadn’t happened. He obviously didn’t hold grudges.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve lost my touch.’

  Mike let out a laugh. It was warm with a lovely joyful lilt that she was sure would make the dead smile.

  ‘Really? Anything I can help with?’

  Let’s not go there.

  The man would tempt a saint. What was it Irish mothers did to raise such lovely men? Over the years she’d worked with many Irish lawyers who were out on secondment and there wasn’t one she disliked.

  She took a step back. Her thoughts were going to strange places with this man. Oh scotch that, she loved where her thoughts were straying. What harm was there?

  ‘It’s your fault. You realise that, don’t you?’

  He shook his head and leaned his well-defined behind against the kitchen bench.

  ‘You’ll have to run that by me again. I’m lost. From memory I woke up, showered, had my early morning cycle, the usual route, came by here, which I usually do, and Shar gives me some of her first bake, which I gather is not on offer this morning. Still guilty?’

  The morning rays flickered across his face as she tried to blink away the mental images of Mike’s morning routine. To stop herself from fidgeting she slid her hands into her pockets.

  ‘It must have been quite some party at the picket fence if you can’t remember. Are you saying you had nothing to do with Bob drinking a little too much? He’s spent the night on the front lounge snoring. He was legless and we couldn’t get him upstairs to bed.’

  A smile whispered across his very kissable lips.

  Stop looking.

  He leaned towards her and she smelled a hint of ginger.

  ‘We had a good time. But I’m lost again. How does that make me guilty of you being here?’

  She looked up at him, surprised at how close they were.

  ‘Bob normally looks after the kids while Shar’s here, and he’s still asleep, so someone had to look after them. And that was Shar.’

  His eyes widened. ‘I’m still lost.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Kids frighten me. Don’t get me wrong, I love Shar’s kids, but I’m no good with them.’

  Mike chuckled, throwing his head back and giving her a clear view of a thin white scar which ran down the side of his neck.

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘What don’t you believe? That you played a part in my predicament?’

  ‘Maybe with Bob, but not the rest.’

  To her amusement, he looked a little chastened.

  She grimaced. ‘Believe it. Children run away from me, somehow I make them cry, and it doesn’t take much. I’m not a natural where kids are concerned.’

  Heavens, where did that admission come from? And why was she telling him? Given how big the Henderson clan was, with ages ranging from four months to eighty-five years, she had access to plenty of children. What did it matter what he thought? She wasn’t sticking around forever.

  The timer pinged. She jumped and dragged on the oversized oven mitts.

  Mike came up behind her, reached over and opened the oven door. A rush of hot air hit them. Before she realised it, Mike had taken the mitts off her. She quickly moved aside as he started pulling out the heavy hot tins of baked breads, one after the other.

  She took in a deep breath. The scent of freshly baked bre
ad had permeated into every part of her childhood—it meant home, fun, family and income. She wondered if Shar still kept a secret stash of salted butter in the fridge.

  She watched as Mike expertly emptied the bread tins and lined them up like neat little soldiers on the cooling trays.

  With some effort, she managed to drag her eyes away from his toned body and look up at him.

  ‘Thank you. I didn’t expect you to do that.’

  He grinned at her, his face flushed from the heat. ‘I know the routine and Shar struggles getting them out sometimes.’

  She opened the cupboards next to the kitchen sink, searching for the cups and saucers.

  ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

  He leaned once more against the kitchen sink and again Rachael’s eye caught sight of his well-defined behind. She had to stop looking. It was proof positive she was in a man drought.

  He checked his watch. ‘Thanks, but, no thanks. I’ve got to get going.’

  Disappointment swirled about her. She had the strangest feeling an opportunity, or something really nice, was sliding away from her.

  Why?

  She nodded. ‘Okay, another time.’

  He fingered the strap on his helmet.

  ‘I coach the Mindalby Under Nines in soccer and they’re on at one. We’re playing just down the road. You should come along; you’d enjoy it. They don’t have much of a cheer squad.’

  Her eyes were glued to a spot on the wall as his words sank in. She was tempted, boy was she tempted.

  Shaking her head, she faced him. ‘I wish them luck, but—’

  ‘No you don’t,’ he cut in. The sharpness of his tone took her by surprise.

  I’ve hit a nerve.

  ‘If you wanted you’d be there. Actions speak louder. Besides, you owe them.’

  His lips quivered, as he tried to suppress a smile.

  Is he flirting?

  She crossed her arms against her chest. ‘I what?’

  He pointed to the soaking trays in the sink.

  ‘You burnt the pastries. The kids love those pastries after a game.’ Mike put his hand to his chest. ‘They’ll be devastated. You try consoling twelve eight-year-olds that there are no treats after today’s game, it won’t be easy. You’ve gotta be there for that.’

  ‘You are impossible,’ she muttered under her breath.

  Her phone buzzed.

  Not now, not now.

  She pulled it out of her pocket. Gordon.

  Mike held up his hands. ‘Your boss?’

  She nodded.

  He grimaced. ‘See you later.’

  She didn’t bother to force a smile. In silence, she opened the screen door and he walked out. She followed his progress as he cycled down Burton Park Road and out of sight.

  The ringing stopped and she switched off her phone. Gordon could wait.

  She tore off her apron and threw it on the bench. Well, one thing was obvious: Mike lived by his words ‘actions speak louder’. He was an active guy; so what if he was into all things physical? She was not. She had never been a gym junkie, and dreaded Gordon’s yearly morale-boosting, team-building ball games.

  Her mind was where it happened for her. It never stopped. Her mind loved nothing better than to go into overdrive analysing the ins and outs of everything; that’s why she was on Gordon’s team.

  On a personal level it was exhausting. She was forever looking for clues, hints, hidden meanings she was sure lay behind every syllable, inflection and glance.

  Stop it. How many times had Nancy told her to relax and not worry about what other people thought? How could she not? Her early life had been punctuated by change and not all of it good.

  Her dysfunctional childhood had set the pattern for a lifetime habit of being on guard. Against what, she wasn’t too sure.

  As a child she knew the world was against her. Parents who died in a drug overdose, a bureaucratic system that never listened to her, and kind-hearted social workers she could fool with a nod and a smile. Her head started to ache just thinking about those days, of living by her wits.

  Calm down! Think of something nice.

  Mike with his lazy lop-sided grin and mischievous brown eyes came into view. A warm flush slithered over her and all her angst fell away. She tapped her forehead.

  What is the matter with me?

  So what if Mike hadn’t given her a farewell wave; she hadn’t actually run out and called him back.

  You idiot, you should have called him back. At least, said something.

  ***

  At Watson’s Park the winter sun was low in the sky, and the cool afternoon breeze had kicked in. Mike raced up towards George, his team’s goalie. The ball was headed in George’s direction, and the lad was never prepared. He tended to daydream or chat to the backs.

  ‘Keep your eyes on the ball, George,’ he shouted.

  The ball bounced in George’s quarter just as the referee blew the final whistle. Lucky boy. His team let out a cheer and started to run towards him. There were a few cheers and fewer claps from the sidelines.

  He ran back to where he’d left their gear and picked up another football. When he stood up he was surrounded by twelve smiling faces. Not for the first time Mike thought eight was a magical age. The boys and girls were always happy and nothing seemed to upset them.

  He scanned the carpark. No sign of her.

  Damn.

  He hadn’t bargained on how much he was hoping a certain Sydney lawyer would show up.

  Why would she? The woman was married to her job as he’d discovered. Like some love-struck teenager, last night he happened to search her name on the net. He was impressed. She had quite the brain in that lovely head of hers and had won a swag of awards.

  What must she think of me? It was clear he’d have to lift his game.

  ‘Come on now, we’ve got another hour before you go home. Let’s get into it and run the circuit before we kick a few balls. Keep moving.’

  Again, he scanned the carpark.

  Forget it.

  After the run he divided the kids into two teams and was about to blow the whistle when a flash of white caught his eye.

  He stood perfectly still as he studied her long shapely frame leaning into the back seat of her car.

  ‘Lovey dovey.’ ‘Ooh lala.’ ‘Beautiful!’

  He spun around. His team were giggling and pulling faces at him.

  ‘Stop it,’ he growled.

  He blew his whistle and kicked the ball into the centre of the field. They ran after it and started to play.

  He watched her progress as she crossed the carpark and made her way towards them. She was still dressed in the white jeans and white blouse she’d worn earlier, but had added a hot pink jacket. With her hair bunched around her neck she looked sensational.

  As if sensing his scrutiny, she met his gaze for one long, hot moment across the noisy field before continuing her walk.

  He sucked in a deep breath. Her movements were smooth and graceful, reminding him of a sleek cat deftly weaving itself around the top rung of a fence. At the edge of the field furthest away from him she stopped and placed a wicker picnic basket by her feet. It was only then he let out his breath.

  A ball hit him in the chest. He kicked it up with each foot, and as it fell he dribbled it a couple of metres before gently kicking it towards her. It landed near her feet. His direct shot was spot-on.

  She didn’t make a move. One of the boys ran ahead and kicked it back to him. He again dribbled the ball towards her, and gently kicked it to her. The ball landed right at her feet. Pleased with his aim, he was surprised when she picked it up and tossed it back into the field.

  What?

  He ran up to her, scooping up the ball along the way.

  ‘You’re supposed to kick it back. It’s the oldest invitation to play in the world.’

  Her blue eyes widened, giving him a glimpse of vulnerability. His heart skipped a beat.

  Whoa, this girl is something else.r />
  He slowed his pace as she flashed him a quick smile.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t play ball.’

  He hugged the ball close to his chest. He understood that. None of his sisters were into sport either. But, he loved his sports; it was a major part of his life.

  ‘What do you play then? I’m up for anything.’

  She rubbed her hands against the afternoon chill, as her clear blue eyes met his. His heart hammered. They were the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen, and if he wasn’t careful his concentration would take a serious hit, and he’d sound like some daft prick.

  ‘I’m not very sporty. How did they go?’

  Mike shook his head. ‘Another loss,’ he all but whispered.

  She gave him a soft smile. ‘Oh, that happens. Are you having a reconnoitre with them?’

  His lips quivered, but he couldn’t hold back. He let out a belly laugh.

  She’s gorgeous. A one-off.

  Conscious she was still staring at him with a half-amused expression, he quickly composed himself. He nodded. ‘Yes, we’re having a reconnoitre of sorts.’

  He gave the kids a quick look-see to check on them. They were playing among themselves.

  ‘Will this help?’

  She pulled back the tea towel that covered the wicker basket. Freshly baked scones sat inside, his all-time favourite.

  He understood all too well the world where work came first and everything else a pale second, but she had made an effort and he wasn’t going to mess up the opportunity.

  ‘Thank you, they’ll go down a treat.’

  He took the basket and together they walked to the nearest empty picnic table. ‘How’s Nancy?’

  Rachael glanced up at him. If he weren’t mistaken her eyes were misting over.

  ‘Hey,’ he said gently. ‘It’s okay.’

  Rachael let out a shuddered sigh. She lifted her chin to him, her gaze firmer.

  ‘Thanks. She was very sleepy last night and I think she knew we were there. It’s onward and upward, isn’t it? That’s the only way to look at it. You’ve got to fight these things.’