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Yes, Milla knew that Gerry Cavanaugh had learned hard lessons after being royally screwed by three wives. She had no intention of completing that pattern. ‘I don’t want Harry’s money.’
Ed narrowed his smoky grey eyes as he studied her for long thoughtful seconds. Then he shrugged. ‘I know you gave up your right to the money when you left the marriage, but now that Harry’s...’ He swallowed unhappily. ‘Now that he’s...gone...you still have a claim as his widow.’
‘I said, I don’t want any of it, Ed.’ She was determined to manage on her own and she didn’t want money from anyone—not even her own parents, who would have happily helped her out if she’d let them. For now, she was pleased that her mother and father were safely overseas and unaware of her plans.
Ed’s eyes widened as he stared at her, clearly taken aback by her claim. ‘Maybe it’s too soon for you to think about this.’
Milla felt a stirring of impatience. She wasn’t playing games. She was deadly serious. She still had some money in her bank accounts and that was all she wanted.
Most women would think she was crazy to knock back a fortune, and if she’d still had her baby to consider her reaction might have been different. But her take-home lesson from her marriage was that even Himalayan-sized mountains of money couldn’t buy the things that really mattered.
Sure, money bought power and glamour and ease and moments of heady excitement, but in her four years of marriage and rubbing shoulders with the mega wealthy she’d never seen evidence that these things added up to genuine, lasting happiness.
She only had to remember Heidi’s bone-deep contentment with her seemingly ‘boring’ life to reinforce this belief.
‘If you come back to the States,’ Ed said, breaking into her thoughts, ‘you and the baby will be much better off.’
Shocked, she looked up swiftly. ‘You know about the—about my pregnancy?’
‘Yes,’ he said gently. ‘It’s wonderful news.’
So Harry had told them, after all...
‘That’s why you’ve come, isn’t it? Old Gerry sent you. He wants his grandchild to live in America.’
‘It’s understandable, Milla.’
‘It’s not going to happen.’
‘Look, I’m sure you need a little time to think this through.’
‘It’s not a matter of time. There’s no baby, Ed.’
‘What do you mean? What are you saying?’
Her voice quavered. ‘I lost it. I had a miscarriage.’
He looked shocked. ‘No.’
‘It’s the truth,’ she said tightly, but she saw doubt and suspicion in his storm-cloud eyes and realised, to her horror, that he wasn’t going to believe her.
Damn him.
He was pacing now, clearly baffled and probably angry.
‘Ed, this isn’t something I’d lie about. I was in a hospital, not an abortion clinic. I really wanted my baby.’ Her lips trembled and she drew a sharp breath, but she was determined that she wouldn’t dissolve into tears. The fainting spell had been bad enough. She had to be strong to stand up to this man.
‘If you don’t believe me, get that PI you hired to check out the RPA Hospital. I’m sure he’ll be able to ferret out the proof you need.’
‘Milla, don’t be like that.’
‘Don’t be like what?’ Her voice was shrill, but that was too bad. ‘I’ll give you don’t. Don’t you dare look at me like I’m lying about something that meant everything to me.’
Now she was so mad and upset she was shaking.
‘OK, I apologise.’ He stood before her, with his hands once again in his jeans pockets, his shoulders squared, his jaw tight, his eyes a battlefield where doubt and sympathy warred.
It was late afternoon and a wintry chill made Milla shiver. Shadows crept across the thick stone sill of the bakery window and spread along the brick walls and the ancient and worn stone floor. In the fading light, she could see that Ed looked deeply tired.
He’d had a long journey from New York and he’d probably driven straight from the airport. He had to be dead on his feet.
‘I’m sorry about the baby,’ he said quietly.
‘I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.’
The slightest hint of a smile flickered, giving a cynical tilt to his lips, but his eyes continued to regard her solemnly.
It was so not the right moment to remember the one time he’d kissed her. But the memory came, unbidden, bringing rivers of heat rushing under her clothes.
‘Maybe we can have a more civilised discussion about everything over dinner,’ he suggested.
‘There’s nothing to discuss.’
‘Milla, I’m not the Cavanaugh who stuffed up your life. Surely we can share a meal before I go back.’
Perhaps she was overreacting. ‘I guess. But there’s really only one place in town to eat and that’s the pub.’
‘I’ll need to check in to the hotel. You’re still staying there, aren’t you?’
Milla nodded. ‘Until I get this place cleaned up.’
‘This place?’ Frowning, Ed looked around the bakery as if he was seeing it for the first time. His steely gaze took in the metal tables, the big gas cooker, the trolleys and baking trays and bins, the massive oven that filled the far wall. Finally, his gaze rested on the brooms and mop and bucket in the corner. ‘Are you having the bakery cleaned?’
‘In a manner of speaking—except I’m the one doing the cleaning.’
This time, Ed didn’t even try to hide his disbelief.
‘I’m not only cleaning the bakery. I plan to get it up and running again.’ Before he could comment, Milla hurried to explain. ‘The former owners went broke, along with several other businesses here, and the local council is offering peppercorn rent for people willing to restart. I’ve put in an application for this bakery and, as far as I know, no one else is interested.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. ‘One question.’ He stared at her again. ‘Why?’
‘My family used to own this bakery. I know how to run a place like this. I grew up here.’
Still, Ed looked puzzled. ‘So?’
Milla sighed. How did she explain everything she’d seen and felt since her arrival in Bellaroo Creek? How could she explain her longing to do something meaningful after years of unfulfilling luxury and wastefulness?
This billionaire standing before her in his high-end designer-label jeans and polo shirt couldn’t possibly understand how the resurrection of this humble country bakery was an important chance to do something positive, not just for herself, but for a whole community.
‘The town needs help, Ed. Bellaroo Creek is on the brink of extinction, but a local committee has started a plan to rescue it. Everything hinges on keeping the school open, so they’re inviting families to rent farmhouses for a dollar a week.’
‘Desperate families.’
‘People who want to make a new start,’ Milla defended. ‘People looking for fresh air and something better than a dark backstreet alley for their kids to play in. A place where people know each other by name and have a sense of community.’
‘You’ve been brainwashed, haven’t you?’
‘I’m looking for a way of life that makes me feel fulfilled,’ she said hotly. ‘And this is something I’m determined to do without touching my ex’s money.’
His mouth tightened. ‘It’s a knee-jerk reaction, Milla. You’re not being rational.’
‘I’m not asking for your approval, Ed.’
‘Look, I said I’m sorry about the baby, and I am, honestly, more than you can guess. And hell, I’m sorry your marriage to my brother didn’t work out—but I know business and commerce inside out, and I know for absolute certainty that you’ll regret this.’
‘I really don’t want to fight about it,’ she said firmly but decisively.
After all, what she did with her life now was her business. The Cavanaughs no longer had any kind of hold on her.
However, Ed had no choice but to stay in Bellaroo Creek tonight and the pub was his only accommodation option. ‘As you said, we can try for a civilised conversation over dinner.’
‘I’m glad you agree.’
‘At least we won’t be able to yell at each other in the pub dining room.’
‘That’s a relief.’
‘The chef is Chinese,’ Milla told him. ‘And he’s pretty good. I think you’ll like his duck with mushrooms.’
Ed’s eyebrows lifted and, at last, there was a hint of a smile. ‘Duck with mushrooms way out here?’
‘Bellaroo Creek has one or two surprises.’
‘OK. Sounds good.’ He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and noted the time. ‘I need to check in.’
It was, at best, a temporary truce, but Milla let out a huff of relief.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately, Sherry, the girl on the reception desk, isn’t as professional as the chef. There are so few people who check in here, she often wanders off to help in the kitchen or the laundry. Sometimes you have to go hunting for her.’
* * *
Five minutes later, having checked the pub’s bar, the lounge, the dining room, the laundry and the kitchen without unearthing Sherry, Milla returned to Reception to find Ed in a spindly wooden chair with his eyes shut and his long legs stretched in front of him. He seemed to be asleep, although he looked dreadfully uncomfortable.
‘Ed.’ She touched his knee and he woke with a start. ‘I can’t find the reception girl and you look like you need to sleep.’
‘I’m fine,’ he insisted, blinking and frowning as he got to his feet.
‘You’re exhausted and jet lagged. I think you should come up to my room.’ To her annoyance she felt a bright blush as she said this. ‘You can at least have a shower while I track down someone who can organise a room for you,’ she went on brusquely.
‘A shower sounds good.’ Ed yawned. ‘Thanks, I won’t say no.’
The offer of her room had seemed practical and sensible to Milla until she climbed the narrow staircase with Ed beside her. In the confined space she was super aware of his height and broad shoulders and mega-masculine aura. Her heartbeats picked up pace and her skin prickled and even her breathing seemed to falter.
By the time they reached her room she was ridiculously flustered. When she pushed the door open, she took a necessary step back. ‘After you, Ed.’
‘Thanks.’ He set his expensive leather duffle bag on the floor and stood with his hands propped on his hips, surveying her double bed and the cosmetics scattered over the old-fashioned dressing table, the wardrobe with an oval, age-spotted mirror on the door.
‘It’s old-fashioned but at least there’s an en-suite. The bathroom’s through here.’ She moved to the louvre doors, newly painted white, and pushed them open. ‘It’s tiny, but adequate. There’s a spare towel on the shelf above the—’
Oh, help.
Why hadn’t she remembered that she’d left her undies hanging above the bath? Now her silky panties and lacy bras were on full display. To make matters worse, rosy light from the setting sun streamed through the high bathroom window, gilding the lingerie’s creamy fragility.
And Ed was smiling. ‘Nice decor,’ he said with a grin. But a darker glint in his eyes lit flames inside Milla.
Leaping forward, she hastily grabbed the offending articles, bunching them into a tight ball. If she’d had a pocket she would have shoved them into it.
She kept her gaze safely lowered. ‘The bathroom’s all yours.’
CHAPTER THREE
ED WAS COLD. As he clambered from a black hole of deep, drugging sleep he opened his eyes a chink and discovered chill grey dawn light filling a strange room. Everything was alien—the shapes of the furniture, the position of the windows.
He had no idea where he was.
And he was cold. Naked and cold. Instinctively, he groped for the bed covers, and as he lifted them he caught a drift of flowery scent. With a jolt of dismay, he remembered Milla.
This was Australia. He was in a hotel in Bellaroo Creek. He’d showered in Milla’s bathroom. This was her bedroom.
They were supposed to have had dinner together.
Where was she?
Shivering, he rolled under the covers, relishing the new-found warmth as his mind struggled to sort out his dilemma. Or rather, Milla’s dilemma. It was obvious now that he’d come out of the shower last night, seen her bed, and fallen onto it in exhaustion.
With that part of the puzzle sorted, he could all too easily picture the rest. Milla had come back to her room to find him sprawled, naked, on her bed. Out like a light.
No doubt she’d bolted like a frightened squirrel, and he could only hope the hotel people had given her another room, the room that should have been his.
What a stuff-up. Now he would have to start the day with apologies. Never a comfortable exercise.
Groaning, Ed burrowed deeper under the covers, but already the room was growing lighter and he was all too acutely aware that this was Milla’s bed. Although the sheets had probably been changed, the floral perfume he always associated with her lingered. Unhelpfully, he also remembered the delicate wisps of her lingerie that had hung over her bath, and, man, that was not a useful memory for a red-blooded male at this hour of the morning.
One thing was certain. He wouldn’t be getting back to sleep.
* * *
‘Good morning. You’re up bright and early.’ A leggy blonde in a cowgirl shirt and jeans grinned broadly at Ed as he walked into the hotel dining room. ‘I’m Sherry,’ she told him brightly. ‘And you’re our first customer for breakfast. You’re welcome to sit anywhere you like.’
