small and feisty—she’s a victim, but she escapes the final thrust and lives to tell the tale.’
‘I’m so glad,’ she said with a smile, and wondered if his heroine was like her, or if he was just being flattering. ‘Where do you get your ideas?’
His face closed a little. ‘I was a cop,’ he said lightly, but his eyes were suddenly shielded.
I was a cop. Just that, but it told her so much—and asked a million more questions. Like, had it been the end of his marriage—?
‘Did she walk out?’
He blinked. ‘She?’
‘Your wife.’
His mouth hardened, and she flushed and sat up in a flurry of bubbles and arms and legs. ‘Sorry, that was intrusive.’
To her surprise he answered. ‘Yes, it was—and yes, she did. She found it all too much.’
‘And left you with the kids.’
He looked down into the water. ‘Not exactly. Look, I have to go. I’ll see you around.’ He sat forward. ‘Where’s your cabin?’
‘Area B—by the lake.’ What did not exactly mean?
‘So’s ours. What number?’
‘B15.’
‘We’re B19—I’ll look out for you. Perhaps we can get together—it would make a change to talk to another adult. Talking to a strand of mutant DNA gets a little tedious at times.’
His mouth quirked, taking the edge off his words, and he stood up. Water streamed off his body, running in rivulets down his arms and legs and that fascinating chest with the little vee of hair between the nipples—
‘Jack?’
She looked behind him at the boy standing there, a little girl in his arms. They were nothing like him, the boy tow-haired and wiry, the girl blonde and baby-plump, reaching out chubby arms to her father. The oldest and the youngest of his brood, she remembered.
He took the baby in his arms and kissed her, then grinned at the boy.
‘Thanks, Seb. Going on the flume?’
‘The rapids. Amy and Tom are after an ice-cream.’
His voice cracked and he coloured, flicking Molly an embarrassed glance.
Puberty, she thought, was such a painful thing. Jack looked at her. ‘Why don’t you round up your children and join us at the pool bar?’
She shook her head and stood up, conscious of her figure in the snug black one-piece that left none of her curves or dimples to the imagination. ‘Sorry, no time. We have to check where we’re going tomorrow, and then apparently I’m treating them to pizza. Thanks, anyway.’
He nodded, his eyes sweeping her body, and she forced herself to stand straight and tall under his scrutiny. Well, straight, at least. It was difficult to stand tall when you were barely five foot.
‘We’ll see you round.’
She nodded, and watched as they went off together. Seb was quite a different shape from his father, she thought, watching them. Wiry and not so tall, but probably going to head on up and overtake him in time.
Like Philip. He was all arms and legs at the moment. Perhaps he’d grow into his height before he went up any more. She hoped so, because just now he looked like a stick insect.
Cassie, though, was tiny and dainty and just like her mother.
She wondered again what he’d meant by not exactly when she’d asked if his wife had gone off and left him with the kids. What a strange response. And they called him Jack.
Her curiosity piqued, she picked up her towel, hugged it round her shoulders and picked her way carefully round to the queues for the flume and rapids.
A boy cannoned into her and grinned, and she recognised him as Tom, Jack’s youngest boy, with a girl—Amy, was it?—in tow. Her own weren’t far behind, and she had to go on the rapids with them twice before she was allowed to drag them off to the activity checking point.
Philip was doing water sports all the next day, and Cassie was riding in the morning and canoeing in the afternoon.
So she’d see Jack and his brood again tomorrow anyway.
Odd, that little flicker of hope the thought generated.
Jack wondered what Molly was doing. Not the ‘gentle’ mountain-bike trek he was on, anyway.
Sensible woman.
His legs killed, his chest heaved, his body was streaming with sweat—and he’d thought he was fit!
Hah!
Nicky’s hot, sticky little hands on his back didn’t help, but it was curiously comforting to have her close like this. He wondered how the others were getting on—and what Molly was doing.
Watercolours? A pampering massage?
He groaned silently at the thought of her body stretched out naked, smeared with green gloop, with some unknown masseur kneading and squeezing the muscles.
Lucky b—
‘Jack?’
‘Hi, Nicky. You OK, sweetheart?’ He turned his head and smiled at her, and her little sunny face beamed back at him.
‘Need a wee,’ she announced cheerfully.
Oh, hell. It was the second time, and each time he’d had to struggle to catch up.
The joys of parenthood. Oh, well, perhaps sweating up the hill after the others would settle his libido down and quieten his raging hormones…
Molly stood on the edge of the building, her feet braced against the side, her body hanging out into free space, and wondered what on earth she was doing.
Abseiling?
For fun?
‘Just pass the rope through that hand and pay it out bit by bit—that’s it. That’s fine. You’re doing really well.’
She was? Sweat was breaking out all over her face, and the soles of her feet were crawling with nerves. The ground seemed a zillion miles away.
Still, it could have been worse. If she’d been on the afternoon course, she would have had Jack watching her. It would have put her off so badly she probably would have dropped like a stone.
She might anyway, just thinking about him! She forced herself to concentrate before she killed herself and left her children without a mother…
‘Hi, Tom. Good day?’
‘Brilliant! I learned to roll over in the canoe and come up again, and—ugh, what’s happened
