Falling For Jack

And inside...

This lady was a chronic collector, a magpie, and what she collected was extraordinary. There were furnishings here from all over the world.

The furniture itself was huge—way too big for such a tiny cottage. The lounge sofa and chairs didn’t match. Each was vast and overstuffed and in a different colour of some sort of vivid silk. A riot of huge, squashy cushions tumbled over them and onto the floor. The floor itself had about ten rugs, layered one on top of the other. Each was in a different fabric or texture and the effect was one of some sort of crazy comfort cocoon.

And the paintings...

Weird, wonderful paintings—some of which were astounding, some just plain beautiful and a couple...well, if Jack had his choice he’d turn them to the wall while Maddy was in the room.

And there were things... Sculptures, some big, some small. An array of glasses on the sideboard, none of them matching but each one individual and wonderful. Small tables of exotic wood, with seashells and carvings and strange-looking seed pods...

Maddy wandered about the room, open-mouthed, and Jack sank into one of the vast chairs and just plain stared. This lady was a nut! A complete, utter nut! What sort of person put eight rugs on a floor hardly big enough to hold one?

They heard her in the shower next door, making enough noise to suggest there were a couple of whales in the bathroom. She dropped the soap and they heard her attempts to pick it up with astonishment. Maddy got the giggles.

‘Close your.ears, Maddy,’ Jack growled. ‘You’re not to learn those words.’

‘She doesn’t think we can hear.’

‘No.’

Maddy found this extremely satisfactory. She checked out each seat, chose the highest and clambered into it. Definitely into. You didn’t sit on any of Bryony’s furniture, you sank.

‘This is the best room...’ Maddy sighed. ‘You know you said we could decorate my room? I’d like my room just like this.’ She giggled. ‘Jack, take your hat off. See that horn? I think it’s a hatstand.’ She clambered off her seat, lifted Jack’s hat from his head and took it over to place it on what looked like some sort of bugle, stuck on a bamboo pole. Ridiculous!

But Maddy was grinning, and she’d removed Jack’s hat. For a child who only went near Jack when she had to, it was a beginning. Then Bryony burst back into the room, clad in jeans and an oversized white T-shirt that said ‘No Fear’ in huge red letters. Her amazing hair was turbaned up on her head in a white fluffy towel. She looked fresh and scrubbed and bare-toed—and absolutely gorgeous.

Jack blinked.

‘Your house is wonderful,’ Maddy told her before Bryony could speak. ‘Is the rest like this?’

‘Well, the rest is a bit crowded.’

‘You mean this isn’t?’ Jack stared around in incredulity and Bryony grinned.

‘I collect things. I have visions of one day living in a big house and needing all this. When I moved from New York I tried to sell a bit but selling things is okay in principle. It’s only when you pick up each thing and look at it and remember where you found it that it gets impossible. And storing... I know I should put some of these rugs into storage, but they’re sort of fun like this.’

‘You brought all this from America? It must have cost you a fortune.’

‘Mmm. But I couldn’t leave it behind.’ She grinned down at Maddy. Could I, now? Want to see my bed?’

‘Oh, yes...’ Maddy bounced across the room and grabbed Bryony’s hands. ‘Please...’

Bryony grinned at Jack. ‘You can see it, too, if you’re interested,’ she offered. ‘Otherwise, go grab a beer from the kitchen straight down the hall. I should have offered you one before I showered. I’m sorry. All I could think of was getting rid of my smell.’

Jack forgave her. Just like that. He got up in a daze and found himself not getting a beer but standing by Bryony’s bedroom door staring in amazement at the bed.

It was vast, king-sized or bigger, carved in some sort of deep red wood—mahogany or something similar—with huge posts at each corner and all hung with gold and purple drapes—like something out of a sultan’s palace.

‘It’s ridiculous.’ Bryony chuckled. ‘I’ll have to sell this. Roger says he won’t sleep in it in a fit and it’s hardly a guest bed.’

‘Roger?’ Jack was finding it hard to catch his breath.

‘My fiancé.’

A fiancé. Yeah, right. Jack managed to catch his breath on that one. For some reason, it made things seem more in control.

‘I’d like to sleep in it,’ Maddy announced, unaware that a spiral had just stopped mid-spin for Jack. ‘Very, very much.’

‘Well, if Jack says you can, then maybe one night you can spend the night with me and Harry.’

‘Harry sleeps here, too?’

‘Actually,’ Bryony admitted, ‘Harry and I swim in this bed. I told him he should really have been a giant wolfhound just to fill it up. We thought of letting out pillow space.’ She ruffled the little girl’s pigtails, and Maddy, who normally cringed when touched, wiggled her head as if she thoroughly enjoyed being ruffled. ‘Okay, miss. Let’s cope with these dogs. Harry first because he’s the worst. And then your Jess.’

What followed was a very silly hour. If anyone had ever told Jack he’d enjoy himself so much washing and blowdrying a couple of smelly dogs he would have thought them ridiculous. But Bryony had them all in fits of laughter. They ended up—all of them—back in her crazy sitting room, knee deep in rugs with damp dogs and hot air going everywhere.

The dogs thought it was wonderful and so did Maddy. Jack was just plain hornswoggled. Who the hell was Roger? Finally he could bear it no longer.

‘So tell me,’ he said as the overfluffed and pristine dogs rolled on the rugs with Bryony and Maddy. ‘What the hell are you doing here in Hamilton? Is Roger a local?’

Bryony’s laughter died a little.

‘Roger lives in Sydney.’

‘But...you’re marrying Roger.’

‘Not until next year.’

‘I see,’ he lied. He didn’t see at all. But...presumably you came from New York to marry Roger?’

‘Well, sort of.’ Bryony grabbed a passing dog and started brushing. She sighed. ‘Roger and I have known each other for ever. He proposed years ago, but I hadn’t seen the world yet so I took off to America. I’m an interior designer.’ She grinned. ‘If you hadn’t guessed.’

Silence. Bryony cast a swift look at Jack. He was frowning, and for some reason Bryony found herself fighting for words.

‘I built up an interior design agency in New York, but I missed Australia,’ she continued, talking too fast now. ‘And Roger kept visiting and giving me all the good reasons I should marry him. And then Myrna—I met Myrna at university and we started in business together way back in the Dark Ages—wrote that she was having twins and her interior design business here would have to close if she couldn’t find anyone to look after it for a while. So I figured I’d come home in stages. Twelve months living here getting used to not being in New York—and then Sydney and marriage to Roger.’

‘but...I thought you were American.’ Maddy didn’t like this turn of events. Bryony moving on...Bryony an Australian...

‘I’m half American,’ Bryony told her. ‘My mom was American, but she married my dad a long, long time ago and he’s an Australian.’

‘Oh.’ Maddy’s face cleared. ‘You’re still like me, then.’

‘Yep.’

‘But...you’re going to live in Sydney?’ The disappointment in Maddy’s voice was poignant and Bryony reached to give her a hug. Jack stared. Maddy... Hugs...

‘I’m not going to Sydney for yonks.’

‘What’s yonks?’ Maddy asked, bewildered.

‘Yonks is so far ahead I refuse to think about it.’

‘Don’t you want to marry Roger?’

‘Sure I want to marry Roger.’ Bryony’s voice was defensive. ‘He’s cute.’

‘So’s Harry,’ Jack said dryly, and Bryony grinned.

‘Yeah, well, Roger has certain advantages over Harry.’

‘What?’ Maddy demanded.

Bryony’s green eyes twinkled. ‘Well, for a start he’s a rich lawyer. He can keep me in the manner to which I wish to become accustomed.’

‘Jack’s rich,’ Maddy retorted. ‘You could marry him.’ Yeah, right. All of a sudden, the silence was loaded. Bryony scrambled to her feet. ‘Tea,’ she said. ‘I’m starving. Are you?’

‘Yes.’ Maddy was definite, but Jack rose too, and took her hand.

‘We have to go, Maddy.’

‘I’m not offering a seven-course meal here,’ Bryony told him, and grinned. ‘I can’t. Cooking is not my forté. I’m offering toasted cheese sandwiches.’

Maddy’s face set into obstinacy. ‘Cheese sandwiches are my favourite.’

Jack looked down at his small daughter and sighed. He shouldn’t be here. This woman was beautiful. This woman was intelligent and funny. This woman was eccentric. This woman was engaged to another man.

He should get the hell out of here—right now.

But Maddy had come alive. His daughter had been with him for three months now and she’d been flat and listless and uninterested the whole time.

Bryony had made her laugh. You could forgive a lot of a woman who made your daughter laugh.

Besides, there was a part of Jack that wanted to spend more time here, wanted to sit on the other side of the kitchen table and watch Bryony make toasted cheese sandwiches—watch Bryony do anything...

‘If you have enough bread and cheese,’ Jack found himself saying weakly.

‘I have enough to burn,’ Bryony said cheerfully. ‘And I hope that’s not prophetic.’

CHAPTER THREE

SO DID he stay for long?’

Monday morning. Time for Myrna and Bryony to get together and discuss Hamilton’s interior decorating needs for the week. Myrna and Harry were on the couch; Bryony was disappearing under cushions on the floor. Interior decorating was taking a back seat.

‘About four hours.’

Myrna shoved Harry’s rump sideways—Harry went for warmth, and rump against thigh was his favourite feel—and regarded her friend with awe. ‘Did you feed him?’

‘Yep.’

‘What did you feed him?’ Myrna asked doubtfully. She knew Bryony’s cooking.

‘Toasted cheese sandwiches. I burned the first two lots. We fed them to the dogs and then Jack took over.’

Myrna stared.

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Don’t believe I burned the sandwiches?’

‘Well, of course I believe that. It’s a wonder you haven’t burned the whole house down by now. Your ability to not concentrate on your cooking is legendary. It’s just... Bryony, Jack Morgan...’

‘Why is it so amazing that Jack Morgan brought me home and visited my house and ate my cheese sandwiches? ’

‘Because he doesn’t visit.’

‘Doesn’t visit who?’

‘Doesn’t visit anyone. The man’s practically a recluse.’ Myrna grinned. ‘Well, with women, anyway. He has a past.’

‘Don’t we all?’

‘Speak for yourself.’ Myrna hugged her knees and looked around the room with affection. ‘This place is great—and not a nappy in sight. I think I’ll move in.’

‘Uh-uh.’ Bryony’s curls shook. ‘I’m off house-mates until next year. Harry’s my chaperon. I’m practising being an engaged lady.’

‘I imagine it must be a strange feeling, being engaged.’ Myrna sighed. ‘I wouldn’t know. I was single and then—wham!—I was married. I can’t remember anything about being engaged, except maybe the one morning Ian let me out of bed long enough to buy a wedding dress.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s why you have four kids and I have none. No self-control.’

‘Not when Ian’s in sight.’ Myrna sighed again, happily, and hugged her knees tighter.

‘You want a bucket of cold water dumped over you? Hey, Myrna?’

Myrna gave herself a shake, lost her cat-got-the-cream look, and mock-glared at Bryony. ‘You don’t feel this way about Roger? Like you only have to look at him and your knees turn to jelly?’

Bryony thought. ‘I guess. I mean, I suppose I do. Roger looks great in his Italian suits. Smooth.’

‘But does he look great not in his Italian suits?’ Myrna grinned. ‘The first time I saw Ian I had him undressed in my head in two minutes flat. Or less...’ And then she fixed Bryony with a look. ‘You always fall for suits. I don’t understand it.’

‘I love good-quality suits.’

‘So do a deal with Armani, buy yourself a suit and hang it in your wardrobe. And then get on with the important things in life. Like finding a man! Heck, Bryony, you had Jack Morgan in your house last night. How can that compare to a suit? Bryony, Jack Morgan is seriously sexy.’

‘He is, isn’t he?’ Bryony fiddled with her coffee mug, and blushed. Myrna looked at her sideways—looked again—and decided to ignore the blush. For now.

Myrna, comfortably plump and pretty, and gloriously happy with her Ian, wasn’t all that impressed with Bryony’s Roger. This had definite promise, but she knew better than to push.

‘So what gives with Maddy?’ she asked, carefully changing the subject.

‘Now there’s something I don’t understand. Maddy. Tell me about her,’ Bryony demanded. ‘That little girl has seen trouble.’

‘Well, you’re right there. She’s disturbed enough.’

‘So tell me why.’

‘I’m not sure.’ Myrna sighed. ‘Well. maybe I do know a bit. Maddy was born here.’

‘What—in Australia? I thought she was American.’

‘Her mother was from the States. Or maybe...more cosmopolitan, if you like. Georgia always made out she had contacts everywhere. Jack met her overseas when he was quite young, married her in the States and brought her here. Only she hated the farm, hated Australia. In the end she hated Jack. She whinged until we were all sick to death of her. She had Maddy and then, when the baby was about three months old, she skipped the country, taking Maddy with her.’

Bryony frowned. ‘Jack didn’t want his daughter?’

‘Jack wasn’t given the choice. He went away for a weekend to some important farming conference and when he got back they’d gone. He went to the States looking for them and there was talk he was trying to get custody, but he didn’t succeed.’

‘But he found her?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is that he came back here and buried himself in his work. Absolutely. The loss devastated him and he compensated by making money. Jack has one of the most profitable sheep studs in the country, and for a sideline he breeds and trains sheepdogs. His dogs are legendary. Jack Morgan is seriously rich, but he doesn’t enjoy a cent of it. Bitter, that’s what Jack is, isolated by choice. Then three months ago Maddy arrived.’

‘To stay?’

‘As far as we know. Jack’s not talking. And Maddy... Well, she won’t talk to anyone or go near anyone if she can help it. She goes to school, but she keeps to herself. Her teachers are at their wits’ end because she won’t communicate. I was stunned she was touching you yesterday.’

‘Mmm.’

Bryony thought back to the last time she’d seen the little girl, at ten o’clock last night. They’d played Scrabble on the rugs. Bryony had lost against the combined team of Jack and Maddy—for heaven’s sake, what sort of man knew a xyster was an instrument for scraping bones?—and then Bryony had walked out to the truck with them to say goodbye. Maddy had placed her arms round Bryony’s neck and clung. She was a little girl in need.

‘Will you see her again?’ Myrna asked carefully. She knew better than to ask whether Bryony was seeing Jack again. After all, despite Myrna’s disapproval, Bryony Lester was an engaged lady.

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, when?’

‘This afternoon,’ Bryony told her, and blushed all over. She glared up at Myrna. ‘And it’s not what you’re thinking, it’s work.’

‘Don’t tell me you talked Jack Morgan into redecorating? ’ Myrna looked hopeful. ‘Jack’s place is vast. We get a job like that and we can retire. Set up in the Bahamas.’

‘With or without your twins?’ Bryony shook her head. ‘No. Luckily for the twins and your Ian, it’s only Maddy’s bedroom. It seems it’s sparse and Jack’s trying to get her interested in re-doing it. Only she isn’t. Then last night she said she wanted a bedroom just like mine.’

‘Like yours?’ Myrna’s face went blank. ‘You mean... she saw your bedroom?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did Jack see your bedroom?’

‘Yes.’

‘You did tell him you were engaged?’ Myrna demanded, suddenly anxious, and Bryony laughed.

‘Yes again, goose.’

‘If he’s seen that bedroom, he has the wrong idea about you,’ Myrna said gloomily, and Bryony thought about it

‘No. Every girl should have a bed like mine.’

‘If every girl had a bed like yours, the production of this country would hit zero, except for kids. Bryony, you must be nuts. He’ll think you’re sex-starved...’

‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’

‘Bryony, you have black satin sheets! I have never known anyone with black satin sheets, except someone with a red light on their front door. It’s a good thing Maddy was there, otherwise you deserved to be ravished on the spot.’

‘I wouldn’t mind!’ For the life of her, Bryony couldn’t keep the wistful note out of her voice. ‘The odd spot of ravish by Jack Morgan might be rather fun.’

‘Bryony!’

‘Okay, okay.’ Bryony held up her hands, laughing. ‘I know. I’m engaged to Roger. But I haven’t seen Roger for a month, and being engaged doesn’t stop me looking.’

‘Wanting?’

Bryony appeared to consider. ‘Well, if he is seriously rich...’

Myrna threw a cushion at her. ‘Bryony Lester, I know what you sold your agency for in New York. If you want the Bahamas, there’s nothing stopping you. And Roger’s not exactly poor...’

‘There’s nothing to stop a girl wanting more.’

‘So join the spider-widow club. Marry serially and poison them off as you go, starting with Roger and working through every eligible bachelor in the country.’ She grinned and threw another cushion. ‘Bryony, get these indecent thoughts right out of your head and let’s get to work.’

Which was all very well, but the indecent thoughts just wouldn’t go. Bryony gave herself severe lectures all day, but all they did was give her more excuses to think of Jack.

Jack’s smile.

Jack’s body.

Jack’s hands...

She was having hot flushes on hot flushes and she was engaged to Roger.

‘So get out there, plan Maddy’s bedroom and get the heck out of their lives,’ she told herself severely.

Jack’s home was a rambling homestead, huge and solid, with verandahs running right round and a fragrant, overgrown garden teeming with birdlife, poppies and roses. Spreading English oaks grew on the boundaries of the home garden. Set amidst wide paddocks dotted with river gums and grazing sheep, and with the river running on its northern boundary, the whole place looked like paradise.

Bryony was met by Maddy, who’d clearly been waiting for her. The child led her through the house to the kitchen, and by the time they reached it Bryony’s nose had told her that paradise was just where she was.

‘Jack’s made gem scones,’ Maddy said anxiously. ‘Do you like them?’

‘Do I like them?’ Bryony shook her head. ‘Gem scones! I haven’t eaten them since my grandma made them when I was a little girl. No, Maddy. I don’t like them. I love them. And they love me.’ Then she frowned. ‘Did you say Jack made them?’

‘He did.’ Maddy appeared desperately anxious to impress. ‘And he made the jam, too. Strawberry. There’s bought stuff if you want, like my grandma used to buy.’ She gave Bryony a look of entreaty. ‘But Jack gets a bit funny if you eat bought stuff instead of his.’

‘I don’t blame him.’ Bryony laughed.

Maddy swung open the kitchen door and the first sight of Bryony that Jack had was of her laughing, which was just how he remembered her. He’d been taking the gem scones out of the oven. Now he straightened, turned to put the griddle down on the sink and tried to smile. It didn’t quite come off.

She took his breath away. Literally. Today Bryony was wearing a soft blue skirt that almost reached her ankles and a tiny white knit top, high-necked but with no sleeves. Her fiery curls tumbled down to her shoulders, her arms were slim and lovely, her face was creased into laughter and her green eyes twinkled. All in all, it was as much as Jack could do not to drop the griddle on his boots.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

For two mature people it was a pretty limited conversation. Jack tried again. ‘Did you have trouble finding the place?’

‘No. But I thought...’ Bryony was stammering. ‘I thought... Myrna said you bred sheepdogs. There’s only Jess...’

This was an improvement. He could think of something to say on this one.

‘Were you expecting rows of battery dogs?’ Jack’s mouth curved into a smile. ‘No. I employ a few men on the place and each of my men looks after a dog or two. That way they all have individual attention. I have a breeding programme, but in every other respect they’re my men’s dogs. But Jess is mine.’

‘Oh. I—I see.’ Bryony stared down at the gem scones Jack was now flipping out of the griddle and wrapping in a cloth. Her eyes widened. ‘Did you say ... did Maddy say you made these?’

‘Mmm.’ Morgan, there has to be a better conversation starter than this! He was tongue-tied again.

‘And the jam?’

‘That’s right.’ Not much better.

‘Do you want to plan my bedroom and then eat scones, or will you eat the gem scones first?’ Maddy asked anxiously, and Bryony sat down at the kitchen table and reached for a plate.

‘Both,’ she said promptly, and relaxed. She looked up at Jack and gave him her very widest smile. ‘A man who can cook! I’d like to know where you were when I was accepting marriage proposals,’ she told him. ‘Roger’s starting to look distinctly second-rate.’

The only problem was—it was true. Bryony had said it as a joke, but as Jack walked by her side up the stairs to Maddy’s room she was so aware of him that she felt the need for Myrna’s bucket of cold water.

He was so big. So ... so masculine. Roger smelled of expensive aftershave. Jack smelled...well. Jack smelled of Jack. Roger always looked immaculately groomed. Jack’s shirt had a rip in the sleeve above where he’d rolled the sleeves up, and his jeans were old and stained.

Bryony was starting to be breathless, and it had nothing to do with the stairs. Concentrate on work, she told herself fiercely. Desperately. Then leave. Fast. But she was needed here, for Maddy’s room was indeed sparse. Bleak would be a better word for it. Bryony stopped at the doorway and stared in dismay.

For a little girl’s room, it was pathetic. Oh, it was a nice enough room. Beige walls. Brown carpet. Beige bedspread. One window facing north with a great view over the sheep paddocks to the river beyond. That was its one redeeming feature. But there was not a toy in sight. Not a stuffed animal. Nothing to suggest this was a child’s room.

On the chair was one small battered suitcase. Full to bursting. On impulse Bryony walked over and pulled open the bureau drawer. Empty. The child had her suitcase packed, ready to go.

‘Diana suggested we paint the room pink and buy Maddy some new clothes,’ Jack said, and Bryony heard the desperation in his voice. ‘But Maddy won’t have a bar of it.’

‘Diana?’

‘My next-door neighbour.’

‘I don’t like pink,’ Maddy said stubbornly. ‘And I don’t like Diana.’