Her golden eyes glinted back at him in the low light. ‘You’re going to have to give me more than that if you think we can take this matter further.’
‘What more do you want?’
‘Proof that you are as nervous as I am.’ She leaned forward, pinning him with her candid stare. ‘I am an even mix of morbid embarrassment and stiff terror right now. When you wandered up onto my property, in your clean shirt and your new jeans, you must know I didn’t for a second expect you to be…well, you. If you had, in fact, been a male stripper it would have shocked me less.’
‘A male what?’
Laura bit her lip to stop herself from saying anything else she oughtn’t. She filtered back through all the things she had mentally accused him of being, including an aluminium cladding salesman, but, no, the male stripper idea she had managed to keep to herself. Until now. She fluffed a hand over her face to try and divert him from her terminal case of foot-in-mouth disease.
She did want Chloe to meet her uncle. Really she did. For Chloe’s sake how could she not? She was trying to think outside of her own selfish desire to keep her contented little existence intact because the big picture of Chloe’s life meant so much more. Even though none of his superstar family had ever cared enough to write, to call, or to ask if Chloe was okay, she had to give him a chance. But, even so, there was a noisy little voice in her head that told her that he in particular was dangerous. Not cruel. Not insensitive to her fears. But somehow dangerous to her precariously balanced contentment. For a girl who felt as though a wonderful life was never quite within her grasp, she had no idea how to deal with a perpetual winner like the one seated before her.
‘Stick to the subject, Mr Gasper. Why now? Why after all this time have you come?’
‘Your letter brought me here, Ms Somervale.’
Her cheeks warmed as she thought of the words she had written in that letter. The words of a hormone-riddled, deeply sad, terrified, lonely and desperate teenager. But before she had a chance to ask to see the letter, which of course she would shovel into her mouth, chew and swallow so that no one else would ever know it existed, a shadow passed over the table. She looked up to find a man in dark trousers and a grey pullover smiling down at them.
‘Hi, there, Father Grant,’ she said, saving her request for when they were alone again. She glanced over at Ryan and had no idea how to introduce him. Friend? Hardly. Chloe’s uncle? She could barely believe it herself, much less say it aloud. Male stripper in the making? Now, that would probably cause less gossip in town than any of the other options on offer!
‘Dress rehearsal tonight, Laura?’ Father Grant asked.
Laura only then remembered her get-up. Oh, Lord! While Mr Perfect sat there looking so flawless, in his blue button-down shirt that did distracting things to his bluer than blue eyes, she was decked out in a mass of white frills and tight purple pants, with knee-high black boots jiggling skittishly below the table.
‘Pirates of Penzance,’ she blurted, for Ryan’s benefit, flicking at a ruffle. ‘The Country Women’s Association is putting on the musical and I am playing the Pirate King.’
Ryan must have thought she was utterly insane, coming to meet him in such a get-up. And for singing to magpies. And for batting her eyelids at a stranger while all on her own out in an isolated Outback property…If he were intent on finding reasons to take her daughter away, he would surely have the beginnings of a list already.
‘Isn’t that a singing part?’ Ryan asked.
Father Grant nodded. ‘It is.’
Laura saw Father Grant shoot Ryan an ironic smile, and she all but harrumphed in response.
‘The musical was all Laura’s idea,’ Father Grant continued. ‘The local CWA are raising money for drought aid for local farmers who have been hit pretty hard over the last couple of years. Last year they did Chicago, and Laura’s Matron Mama Morton brought down the house!’
‘I’ll bet it did,’ Ryan said.
Laura didn’t need to look at him to know that his face would be the picture of disbelief at Father Grant’s kind words. She kept her head down as she picked at a flake of old paint on the tabletop.
‘Our Laura is involved with numerous community projects,’ Father Grant continued. ‘She is President of the PTA and a volunteer firefighter, as well as infamous for undercharging for catering every event we throw in town. I don’t know what we would do without her. Or little Chloe. They are family to all of us. We’ve just up and adopted them since Laura’s dear father passed—haven’t we, Laura?’
‘Of course, Father Grant. You’re the best.’
‘Now, I’d better be off. Enjoy your meal.’ He shot them a parting smile and Laura let out a shaky breath, thankful she had not had to introduce her companion.
‘He seemed nice,’ Ryan said. ‘He certainly had a lot of good things to say about you.’
Laura brushed the praise away. ‘Mr Gasper, if we keep beating around the bush like this I am likely to explode on the spot. Mr Gasper—’
‘Call me Ryan, please.’
There was something in his voice, something low and intimate, that had her forgetting what she had been talking about in the first place. ‘I just…’ She took a moment to swallow. ‘I know that this moment had to come. I only wonder why, seven years after the fact, that silly little letter of mine has sent you out looking for us.’
‘I only just found your letter, Laura,’ he explained. ‘A couple of days ago. As the fates would have it, your letter never came to our attention at the time in which you sent it.’
Oh, God! Had they truly never known about her? About Chloe? She had never, not even once, thought that might be the reason why they had not come looking for her.
‘I’m back in Australia for an extended stay for the first time in years,’ he continued. ‘At my family’s request I have been cleaning up Will’s effects. Seven years having passed since Will…died, no financial records need be kept any more. I discovered your letter unopened in amongst the great host of condolence letters.’
‘Unopened?’ Laura repeated, still coming to terms with Ryan’s bombshell.
‘At the time, my family received so many condolence letters—from friends, acquaintances, readers of my sister’s magazine, fans of my parents’ documentary films, even many of your neighbours. My family read as many as they could, but after a couple of weeks found they couldn’t keep up. It was too much. Too hard. In the end they posted a half-page thank-you note in the Australian newspaper to all who had Will in their thoughts.’
Laura noticed Ryan’s dulcet voice was unnaturally even. Though he held eye contact with her the whole time, the poor man was struggling just as she was with the situation. Nevertheless, she fought back the desire to take his fisted hand in hers, to unpeel his tightly clenched fingers and rub some warmth back into them.
‘Mum and Dad went back to Brunei to finish the film they were working on,’ he said. ‘Jen was already back on a musical tour of the United States. And Sam had just had her second child and couldn’t cope with the task. All of Will’s correspondence was forwarded to our family accountant, who kept
