before smiling a little unsteadily. ‘You don’t look a day older and it must be—what, four years?’
‘More or less. And perhaps you should save that, “You don’t look a day older,” until you see me in broad daylight rather than under a dull streetlight.’
Morgan laughed then, relaxing. ‘You’re still more of a hunk than you have a right to be. And I guess I look a bit different from when you last saw me too.’
‘Yes, you’re all grown-up-without your school uniform and your ankle socks.’
‘I’m about the same age Georgia was when you came home from college, aren’t I?’
The air about them thickened and Georgia’s knuckles whitened as she clenched her fists.
‘Round about.’ Jarrod’s reply was flatly casual.
‘That’s the trouble with families.’ Morgan wrinkled her nose at Jarrod. “They’ve all seen you at your worst and they aren’t above reminding you about it either.’
‘Morgan.’ Georgia’s voice sounded thin to her ears.
‘Especially big sisters,’ Morgan remarked as she slid into the front seat of the car.
Jarrod was still holding the door open and Georgia could only climb into the car herself. After closing the door, Jarrod deposited Morgan’s case in the back of the wagon and climbed into the driver’s seat.
‘How long have you been home?’ Morgan asked him as he set the car in motion.
‘Almost a week.’
‘Georgia told me Uncle Peter had had another heart attack so I guess that’s why you’ve come home.’
“That’s right.’
‘The last I heard, you were in the States. What I wouldn’t give to go somewhere exciting like that. And what a bore to have to come back here.’
‘Morgan…’ Georgia tried to stem the flow of her sister’s bubbling conversation.
‘Well, it is boring. What’s to do around here?’
Georgia sighed.
‘But, Jarrod—’ Morgan put her hand on his arm ‘—I’m sorry about Uncle Peter. I always liked him,’ she said sincerely.
Georgia barely heard her. She sat suddenly tense, a play of bewildering emotions momentarily pushing her worries about Morgan’s lack of tact out of her mind. Morgan’s small hand seemed to glow where it rested on Jarrod’s arm, its paleness in stark contrast to his tanned skin. What could be happening to her? She wanted to reach out and pull Morgan’s hand away.
‘I know Georgia visits Uncle Peter every week,’ Morgan was saying, ‘but I bet he’s pleased to see you back home.’
Georgia forcibly tore her gaze from Morgan’s hand and shifted guiltily on the seat It had been well over a week since she’d seen Uncle Peter. Not since he’d dropped his bombshell about Jarrod’s return and she’d run like a startled rabbit.
She should have known with his father being so ill that Jarrod would come home, but for some reason-selfdelusional-it hadn’t occurred to her. And it hadn’t been only Uncle Peter’s obvious pleasure at his son’s imminent return that had had her heart aching. She’d been caught unawares and she’d taken flight, not returning to the Maclean house in case she ran into Jarrod and made a complete fool of herself.
Sitting here beside him only emphasised how easy that would be for her to do.
‘How is he now?’ Morgan asked, and Jarrod shrugged slightly.
‘He’s a little better, according to the doctor, but the last attack he had took its toll on him. That’s why Isabel sent for me.’
There was an edge to his voice when he mentioned his stepmother and Georgia also tensed, blanketing the memories before they could take hold of her.
When Georgia had been a child the Macleans, Peter and Isabel, had always confused her with their relationship. They were cool, restrained, never laughed together the way her parents did. And when Jarrod joined the family she had felt sorry for the tall, lanky teenager who had come to live in that quiet, unemotional atmosphere.
Isabel Maclean was Georgia’s mother’s older sister, yet the two sisters couldn’t have been more dissimilar. Georgia’s mother had been bright and effervescent, loving and caring. Isabel rarely so much as smiled, and Georgia couldn’t remember her aunt ever hugging any of them when they were children.
After Jarrod had arrived Georgia had always sensed that although Isabel and her stepson never openly expressed their dislike it was a mutual emotion. Or so she’d thought.
She recalled asking him once what he thought of Isabel and he had retreated into himself, shutting her out Until she’d slid hot kisses along the line of his square jaw to nibble teasingly on his earlobe. Then he’d turned to her, his arms holding her almost desperately to him, kissing her with a fierce passion that had at first frightened and then inflamed her.
‘And how’s Aunt Isabel coping with Uncle Peter’s last attack?’ Morgan asked.
‘With her usual self-possession,’ Jarrod replied evenly.
‘She’s a cold fish, that’s for sure.’
‘Morgan!’ Georgia reprimanded her sister.
‘Well, she is, Georgia. She’s always been like that. When I was a kid I used to wonder what she’d do if I climbed on her knee and put my sticky fingers on her dress, but I was never game to find out’ Morgan giggled. ‘I reckon she’d have passed out if I had. She wasn’t a bit like our mother. You’d never have known they were sisters, would you, Jarrod?’
‘No, I suppose not’ Jarrod turned off the highway and Georgia sensed an even deeper undercurrent in his flat tone.
‘But then again,’ Morgan continued, ‘you’d never guess Georgia and I were sisters. Georgia is the image of Mum and Lockie’s fair like Dad.’ She gave a soft laugh. ‘I’m somewhere in the middle. And, speaking of Lockie, where is our dear brother anyway?’
‘Collecting his van from Andy’s,’ Georgia told her. ‘Or, at least, he was,’ she added as Jarrod drew to a halt in the driveway behind Lockie’s van. ‘He’s actually beaten us home.’
The outside light flicked on, illuminating the path, and as they climbed the steps Lockie opened the door.
‘Great timing!’ he exclaimed. ‘You OK, Morgan?’
‘I’m fine now, Lockie,’ Morgan assured him with a faintly martyred air.
Jarrod set down her suitcase and Lockie turned to him. ‘Hey, thanks for stepping in and helping us out, mate.’
‘Yes, poor Jarrod.’ Morgan pulled a face. ‘Only back a week and you’re already rescuing the Grayson family again. Dad told me when Lockie was young you were always saving him from all sorts of scrapes. Georgia too.’
Jarrod
