intensity that even a supposed sore throat couldn’t dampen. Once she saw the similarity it was so blaringly obvious she felt like a fool for not noticing it sooner.
Her blood pounded so loudly in her ears her voice came out rather more flat than she would have liked when she said, ‘You’re Zach Jones’s daughter.’
Ruby’s eyes flashed with the first spark of real enthusiasm and Meg knew she was right even before the girl said, ‘Do you know my dad?’
Did she know Ruby’s dad? Not a jot.
Zach Jones had a daughter. A daughter whose mother was gone.
Hang on, he had a daughter with a mother Rylie hadn’t even known about and Rylie was such a proficient muckraker she probably already knew who really killed JFK and was awaiting the right moment to reveal all.
He had a daughter who was at home sick, or pretending to be. And the only reason Meg saw that Ruby might not want him to know was in case he only proved to her he didn’t give enough of a damn about her to care.
Meg’s fists clenched at her sides, a scene to end all scenes threatening to erupt from within.
She’d seen it time and again listening to stories told by countless women at the Valley Women’s Shelter—men, focused on themselves, on their work, on their local bar, who blithely disregarded their children’s need to be loved. Hell, she’d seen it with her own eyes. She’d felt it with her own heart.
Thankfully she’d taken measures in order for it never to happen to a child of her own. Conclusive measures. Unfortunately none of that helped her from feeling threadbare watching neglect happen to someone else.
Her gaze cleared to find Ruby was still looking up at her with her father’s uncompromising gaze. And while she knew the second she’d found out who Ruby’s dad was she should have walked away, she still said, ‘As a matter of fact I met your dad only this morning.’
‘What did he say about me?’
What did he say? Well, he was actually pretty darned arrogant. He said back off. He said lie low. He said …
Meg’s fingers unfurled from her palms. He’d said he was determined that the privacy of all staying at the resort remained upheld.
He was talking about himself. Him and his anonymous daughter. A daughter who no longer had a mum.
She closed her eyes to hide the mortification that she had beamed her flirty little smile at a man who’d lost his … wife? Lover? Ex? What did it matter? He’d lost the mother of his child.
Far too many adult-only concepts to share with a seven-and-a-half-year-old.
Instead, she gathered up her cheeriest smile and said, ‘I’m such a yabberer I’m sure I didn’t let him get a word in edgewise. If he’d had the chance I’m sure he would have said plenty. How could he not? A daughter who lets her nanny make chocolate muffins even though she doesn’t like them but her dad does. You’re a gem!’
Ruby tried for a smile herself, but her slight shoulders drooped, giving her away. Meg’s heart twitched far harder than she liked for the little girl. She couldn’t let herself get attached. There was no way it could end well.
She opened her mouth to say her long-overdue goodbye when something out of the corner of Ruby’s eye had her springing from the rubber seat like a jack-in-the-box. ‘I have to go!’ she shrieked.
Meg glanced up at one of the small detached rooms to see the wooden blinds snap shut. A flash of silver hair, not dark and curling, meant her heart didn’t stop, but it certainly thundered hard enough for her to know she’d pushed her luck far enough.
Ruby took a last quick step forward. ‘You won’t tell my dad I was on the swings, will you?’
Meg laughed. ‘Not a chance.’ Probably best for her continued health if she didn’t bring any of this up with the man at all.
‘I won’t tell him you were here either, okay?’ Ruby said.
Meg laughed again. ‘That would be fine with me.’
Ruby gave a quick, sweet, girlish wave, and then ran off towards the flickering blinds and freshly baked chocolate muffins, her long hair swinging behind her as she skipped up onto the longest rope bridge and was soon consumed by her astonishing home.
Meg spun on her heel and vamoosed back along the makeshift path, through the gap in the rock wall and out onto the manicured grass of the resort proper. She headed in a direction she thought was probably south. If it wasn’t, someone would put her to rights soon enough.
Her breaths shook as the adrenalin she’d held at bay finally spilled over.
What if when she’d smiled her flirty little smile Zach had smiled back? What if when she’d made him laugh she’d let herself join in? What if when he’d touched her he’d liked it too much to let her go? What if things had happened between them and she’d gone in deep before he’d decided to let her know that he had a little girl?
It had taken her nearly thirty years to get to the point where she finally felt as if she had a handle on her celebrity. There was no way she would knowingly expose a child to it.
It gave her the perfect excuse to wash her hands of the whole situation, get on with her holiday, and forget the lot of them even existed.
Damn him! He’d started this. By including her in his convoluted duplicity he’d made her a part of it. And having met Ruby, talked to her, looked in her eyes and seen herself mirrored right on back she couldn’t let it go.
He might not know it yet, but Zach Jones needed her help. And for the sake of a bright, sweet, adoring little girl who needed him it appeared he was going to get it.
CHAPTER FOUR
MEG rushed to find the Wellness Building to meet the girls for that day’s internal reflection class. While they tried to locate their chi she had every intention of pretending to meditate while dreaming up the perfect way to broach the subject of his daughter when she bumped into Zach Jones again.
With an objective in sight, despite the flat shoes and sore muscles, she had a decided spring in her step when she rounded a thick bank of head-high reeds.
Until she came face to face with a human rear-end.
Male it was, bent from the waist. Knee-length khaki cargo shorts sculpted a magnificent rear belonging to a tanned, solid man fiddling with something in a cooler. And even though she couldn’t see the colour of his hair, or the breadth of his shoulders, or the shape of his arms or any of the other bits that seemed to be permanently imprinted on her mind, she knew it was Zach Jones.
Her heart hammered in her ears, and her palms grew slick. She and chi might well be incompatible, but there was simply no denying this man’s life force was so potent it radiated from his very pores.
He stood, stretching out his limbs. Sunlight glistened lovingly off the expanse of perfectly sculpted muscle, as he was naked from the hips up.
His large hand was wrapped about a condensation-covered bottle of beer. He tilted his head and downed half the bottle
