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The Single Dad's Patchwork Family
Claire Baxter
Chase Mattner has come to tranquil, secluded Leo Bay to raise his daughter. In their house by the ocean, he plans a simple life. Regan Jantz isn't looking for distractions, either. With a tuna farm to run and two young sons to bring up alone, she's got her hands full.But as single parents, Regan and Chase form a special bond. For so long their lives have been like jigsaws without the final pieces. Could a proposal from this gorgeous single dad make them whole again?
“I don’t want to do something that will disrupt my daughter’s life. I don’t want to do anything that might get complicated.”
For a moment Regan stared. Was Chase still talking about work? Or did he mean her—them?
He caressed her cheek, smoothing his thumb lightly across the skin. A soft gasp escaped her throat when he bent his head and kissed her other cheek.
Slowly he lowered his gaze to her lips, and his warm brown eyes became intent.
Then he pulled back and stared at her. She had a moment of confused hope before reality came crashing in.
Kissing him was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
She’d been attracted to Chase since they’d met, she realized now. She’d been bewildered by the feeling.
Hadn’t accepted it. But it had been there all along.
Now it seemed that Chase might have been fighting the same feelings.
If you’re looking for fresh, sparkling and
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Claire is a new Australian author who writes
feel-good, contemporary romances. She will
sweep you away to gorgeous settings where
you’ll meet lovable characters.
“Claire Baxter makes a noteworthy debut with Falling for the Frenchman, a sweet, sensual and sometimes funny reunion tale.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Claire Baxter’s Best Friend…Future Wife combines a deceptively simple plot with fabulous, multi-faceted characters. It’s pure magic.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
“Claire Baxter is an author who pens stories about characters that have a history, but it’s a history that will leave you spellbound.”
—www.CataRomance.com
Claire Baxter
The Single Dad’s Patchwork Family
Like many authors, Claire Baxter tried several careers before finding the one she really wanted. She’s worked as a PA, a translator (French), a public relations consultant and a corporate communications manager. She took a break from corporate communications to complete a degree in journalism and, more importantly, to find out whether she could write a romance novel—a childhood dream. Now she can’t stop writing romance. Nor does she plan to give up her fabulous lifestyle for anything. While Claire grew up in Warwickshire, England, she now lives in the beautiful city of Adelaide in South Australia, with her husband, two sons and two dogs. When she’s not writing, she’s either reading or swimming in her backyard pool—another childhood dream—or even reading in the pool. She hasn’t tried writing in the pool yet, but it could happen. Claire loves to hear from readers. If you’d like to contact her, please visit www.clairebaxter.com.
In memory of my dad (1924–2002)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
REGAN JANTZ took a flute of champagne from a circulating waiter, then made her way to an alcove from where she scanned the mix of Japanese businessmen and local industry representatives.
‘You look like you don’t want to be here.’
Startled, she swung towards the deep male voice. Its owner smiled down at her. Being smiled down on wasn’t exactly a first but it was unusual enough to make Regan give him more than a cursory glance. She hadn’t realised there was someone already occupying the vantage point she’d chosen.
She pasted a professional smile on her face and at the same time took in the expensive suit, confident stance and clean-cut lines of the man’s face. ‘I’m sorry?’
He leaned forward and spoke softly. ‘You don’t look as if you’re enjoying yourself.’
‘Oh.’ Regan stepped back. He might be tall and good-looking and have a nice gentle voice, but she didn’t know who he was.
She saw understanding in his face and, for an instant, wished she could undo the automatic reflex. He was only trying to be friendly after all.
‘I’ve only just got here,’ she said in answer to his remark. ‘I was running late.’
Glancing at her watch, she said, ‘I’m hoping it won’t go on too long.’ She had to get home before her sons went to bed. ‘But I’m sure I’ll enjoy it,’ she finished with a smile, just in case the handsome stranger had an involvement in the event’s planning.
He took a sip from his glass and surveyed the guests filing into the function room. After a brief silence, he said, ‘Do you think it’s a good idea—the tourist trail?’
‘Oh, yes, I do.’ The enthusiasm in her tone was genuine.
The purpose of the cocktail party was to launch a new initiative of the state government’s tourism department—packaging South Australia’s Eyre Peninsula into an activity-filled holiday experience aimed specifically at Japanese tourists and marketed to the Japanese travel industry.
‘I think it’s a great idea,’ she said and not just because he might have been instrumental in developing the concept.
She paused, tempted to leave it at that, but something about the keen interest in his face made her go on. Most people at these events made polite small talk and avoided showing real interest in anything.
‘I’m not completely convinced that I should be getting involved with it, though.’
‘Why not? What’s your business?’
‘I run a tuna farm.’ She sipped her champagne, studying his eyes as she spoke. He had kind brown ones—not as dark as her Italian ex-husband’s eyes, which both her children had inherited, but a warm reddish brown. Like the rich red-gum honey that her son Cory loved on his toast fingers.
‘I can see why tourists would want to visit the seahorse farm,’ she went on. ‘It’s a real novelty. And at the oyster farm they can sample the product, which is a treat, but when they come to visit us, well, all they’ll get to do is ride out to the pontoon in a boat and see the fish in captivity. And hear us talk about the process. It doesn’t compare, does it?’
‘I’m sure you’ll make it interesting.’
She shrugged. She wasn’t so sure that was possible, but she’d do her best, of course. ‘So, what about you? Why are you here?’
‘I’m here on behalf of friends. They run trips for tourists at Leo Bay, taking them out to swim with the sea lions.’
She nodded, smiling. ‘The trail’s a perfect opportunity for them. They couldn’t make it tonight?’
He lowered his voice. ‘I owed them a favour. They don’t like functions like this.’
‘And you do?’
He gave a slight grimace. ‘No. That’s why I was hoping I’d found a kindred spirit when I saw you slinking over here.’
‘Well, I admit it’s not my favourite part of the job, but it has to be done.’
He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I’m out of practice.’
‘At what?’
‘Small talk. With adults.’
The age lines around his eyes and mouth were just what his face needed to give it definition, she decided. Men had an unfair advantage when it came to such things.
Two vertical lines above the bridge of his nose told her he’d spent a lot of time frowning—or deep in thought. She could relate to that.
His hair too was a lighter, warmer brown than Giacomo’s. Its casual style didn’t go with the sharp image he presented in all other respects.
Overall, he was the most attractive man she’d seen in a long time. Suddenly, she realised he’d stopped talking and she was still staring.
Embarrassed, she glanced away. ‘Um, my main reason for coming tonight was to practise my Japanese,’ she said. ‘So I’d better go and mingle.’
‘It was good to meet you. I’m Chase, by the way.’ He held out a hand. ‘Chase Mattner.’
She shook hands with men all the time; it was a necessary part of her business, and she’d experienced all sorts of handshakes from the bone-crunching squeeze to the wet lettuce leaf effect. Sliding her hand into Chase Mattner’s, however, was…different.
For a split second she enjoyed the warm strength of his hand enfolding hers. Enjoyed the strange mixture of comfort and excitement that filled her.
But that was a ridiculous reaction. She didn’t have time to go around enjoying handshakes and, besides, someone so attractive couldn’t possibly be unattached.
Not that she wanted to know.
‘Regan Jantz,’ she said.
‘Maybe we’ll bump into each other again later.’ The gleam in his eyes told her he hoped they would.
With a nod, she walked away from him. It was only then that she registered he’d said something about a lack of adult conversation. So he had children. She’d known someone so attractive couldn’t be unattached. Not that it mattered. She recognised a local hotel owner and crossed the room to talk to her.
Chase watched Regan’s graceful progress across the room, then looked for a waiter. There was a time when he’d have been a sucker for a blue-eyed brunette, especially one as tall and striking as Regan Jantz. But that time had long gone. He’d stopped noticing women of any type once he’d married Larissa. And since then, with everything he’d been through—losing Larissa and learning through trial and error how to raise their child alone—he’d lost the urge to notice.
Regan was lovely, though. He swapped his empty glass for a fresh one and glanced across the room to where she’d settled into a discussion with one of the overseas guests. Her beauty was in her bone structure and she’d never lose it. She was one of those women who’d become even more beautiful as she aged.
As she dipped her head to hear what the man was saying, her straight dark hair hid her face but he clearly remembered the curve of her cheek, her bright, intelligent eyes. So bright and so blue he’d thought she must be wearing coloured contacts.
Women did that nowadays, he’d heard. But once he’d started talking to her, he’d decided there was nothing fake about Regan Jantz—not the hint of auburn in her dark brown hair, not the length of her eyelashes, not even the soft pink of her lips. She was as straightforward as they came and for a moment there…
No. Not attracted. He couldn’t have been attracted to her. It had been a slight tug of recognition, that was all. Recognition of the fact that she was the type of woman he could have been attracted to, if things had been different. Very different. In another life.
It was too soon to even say he liked Regan but instinct told him he could like her given the chance. She reminded him of Jan in an obscure way and he valued Jan’s friendship. Jan and her husband Mike were the reason he was here tonight. In a suit.
With a shrug, he shoved his free hand into the pocket of his trousers, pushing back the jacket. He wasn’t just out of practice at small talk, he was out of the habit of wearing suits and didn’t even know why he kept them. They’d be out of style by the time he needed them for work again. He couldn’t see himself returning to working life while Phoebe was still young enough to need him and, as she was about to turn four, that day wasn’t even close.
Dragging his gaze away from Regan but reluctant to join in the general chatter, he turned to the window. The function room overlooked the Port Lincoln foreshore and, as it was still early evening, he had a panoramic view of the spectacular blue waters of Boston Bay, from the tip of Port Lincoln National Park to Point Boston. The island-dotted bay was more than three times the size of Sydney Harbour but without the big city on its shores—a fact that he guessed suited the fifteen thousand inhabitants of Australia’s richest town just fine.
Port Lincoln had more millionaires per capita than any other town or city in Australia. Many of the local tuna farmers had made a packet from selling sashimi to the Japanese. He wondered if Regan was one of them.
She didn’t look like a millionaire, but then he, more than anyone, should know that looks could be deceptive. His own parents were rich but they spent most of their time dressed as a pair of backpackers and avoiding the luxuries they could well afford.
They’d made it clear he was welcome to their money but could expect nothing else from them, not even their time. He didn’t need their money; he had enough of his own. But he could have done with their support after Larissa’s death, would have been grateful for their help with Phoebe. They’d been somewhere in Africa at the time and he hadn’t seen them since.
Stifling a sigh, he warned himself not to let his thoughts go there now. He drained his glass and forced himself to face the room again. He really should follow Regan’s example and mingle. Having made the trip, he owed it to Jan and Mike to represent them well.
An hour or so later, Regan found herself in the same group as Chase although they were involved in separate conversations. She wondered whether he’d engineered the coincidence. When the speeches started and all heads turned towards the small stage, he moved to her side and she tried not to feel pleased, but her nerve-endings twitched and took note of his presence.
‘I think I’ve spoken to everybody in the room,’ he said in a low voice. ‘What about you? Did you get plenty of practice?’
She turned to look into his face. Hunger gripped her stomach as she did so. At least, she hoped it was hunger. If not, it was a completely inappropriate reaction. ‘Practice?’
