had patched it together with more children, more bank loans, until the shaky edifice had collapsed around them. Then his dad had taken the easy way out. Overwhelmed with the sudden load alone, Mum had asked Bryce to take him; the next oldest, Sam, had gone to their grandparents. She raised the three little ones, Nick, Andie and Dale at his Aunty Pat’s place in Perth until she’d sold off enough of the pieces of Mandurah they’d still owned to buy a house in the suburbs.
Now his mother was coming back, Nick and this bloke she was marrying coming with her.
‘Why do you need a strainer?’ Anna broke into his morbid reverie, her tone like his mother’s had been, withdrawn and hard.
Damn, he’d done it again, broken the fragile accord just as she’d started to smile at him at last—either that or she really hated knowing nothing about babies.
If there was one thing he knew, it was that once a fence was broken completely, all you could do was build a new one from scratch. He’d broken their marriage somehow. Now he had to build their relationship over again … and this time it would be made to last. He’d build it with drought-proof, fireproof materials.
So she thought he sucked at communication?
Fix it. Talk to her. ‘Mum always strained the fruit and cereal, until the kids were walking.’
She opened a drawer and handed the strainer to him without a word.
He squashed the apple through the sieve into the bowl with the mixed cereal and made-up formula, and stirred the concoction. The baby was making protesting noises again and he shoved the bowl at Anna. ‘Get this mush into her and fast. She’s starving, I think.’
‘I doubt John or Ellie would hear much of anything, even if she wasn’t hard of hearing,’ Anna said dryly, pointing out the window, where a boom of thunder followed hard after a sheet of lightning wide enough to split the house in two. ‘Looks like we got here just in time.’
Great. He wanted to prove they could communicate, and they were already reduced to talking about the weather. ‘I’ll make dinner while you feed her.’
‘You can cook?’ The faint emphasis on you was almost an insult … or was it teasing?
She hasn’t teased me for so long …
Already heading for the fridge, he twisted around to grin at her. ‘I’m a man of many talents—so long as you like scrambled eggs and bacon on toast, or omelette and chips with some salad.’
The ready laugh told him she’d actually been teasing him—then she hastily put another spoonful into the baby’s mouth when she protested. ‘That’s something I didn’t know about you.’
‘I can also do a mean barbecue at a pinch,’ he added, revelling in hearing her voice again, angling for her laugh. An awkward, high-pitched giggle with a tiny snort at the end, ee-yaw, like a donkey, it was infectious, making him laugh just to hear it.
And it came again, making him chuckle. ‘Well, I’m no top chef, so we might resort to your barbecues, omelettes and salad until we can let Mrs Button back in the house.’
Elated by a stupid conversation about cooking, he swept a mock-bow. ‘So which is your pleasure this evening, my lady?’
Anna stared, blinked; her mouth opened a little in pure surprise—and there was something else there, too—a touch of the sensual woman he’d refused to believe she’d buried with Adam, which was why he’d come to Broome and taken her by storm.
‘What?’ he asked huskily.
She shrugged, her cheeks tinged with pink. She’d either read his mind or she wanted him, too—and he chose to believe the latter. ‘I haven’t heard you make a joke in a long time.’ Lifting the baby onto one hip, she said, ‘I’ll get this one bathed and to bed. She looks exhausted.’
So simple teasing and laughter made her want him? If he’d known at the start that was what she’d wanted, he’d have made her laugh constantly. But he could do it from now on …
Then he looked at the baby. She was yawning and rubbing her eyes a lot, considering she’d slept the entire trip home—and a memory stirred. ‘She’s either not a good traveller or she’s teething—probably teething.’
Anna blinked. ‘How would—?’ She rolled her eyes.
‘Don’t tell me, your mum always said it when the kids were grumpy, right?’
He waved a pot at her. ‘Don’t knock my mum, it’s the only source of baby information we’ve got right now.’ Unless you want to ask Lea, he almost said but didn’t. Some time in the years they’d lost babies and Lea had had one, Anna had turned her sister into the competition, even believing he’d wanted Lea. He might not know much about women, but one thing he was good at was knowing when to keep his mouth closed.
He was glad he’d kept quiet when, alight with laughter and mock-fear, she backed off, one hand up in surrender. ‘Okay, okay, you and your mum are the fount of all baby knowledge. I worship at your feet.’
‘Oh, if only,’ he retorted, a hand over his heart in playful teasing to hide how much he meant it. He’d always loved the way she’d looked at him as if he was the closest thing to perfection she’d ever find. Thinking he’d never see it again—or that she’d found him out for the fraud he was—had brought the inner darkness spinning up from a buried corner of his mind, until the savagery overtook him and, desperate for relief, he had to see her, to touch her—
Anna stilled, looking at him with a depth of doubt that shook him to his soul. It made him want to run a million miles—or bolt into her arms and tell her—
Yeah, tell her what? When did you ever say the right thing?
It seemed to him he only got it right with Anna when he communicated without words.
Go slow, or you’ll lose her again.
Failure was not an option—but his craving body was taking to common sense with a battle axe and battering ram, breaking down pathetic defences. Screaming, Take her to bed and love her into submission. You know she wants to … or you can soon make her want to.
Then the baby gave a mighty belch, and the moment broke; they burst out laughing. ‘Oh, what a good girl,’ Anna crooned, her face flushed as she caressed the baby’s spiky hair.
Yeah, she was far from ready to touch him, by her body language—he had to play it smart here. So he grinned again. ‘Isn’t it funny the way we tell babies they’re good when they burp or fart, and then tell them to stop it by the time they’re about two?’
‘Better out than in, I always say.’ She chuckled. Her face buried in the baby’s soft skin, he still saw her smile, and it was infectious. ‘I’ll be back in time for dinner—I hope.’
Jared decided on a barbecue at that moment. The uncertainty in her voice showed her confidence levels on bathing a slippery, soapy baby. He might not have bathed a baby in a long time, but he knew the basics—he could help her while the meat defrosted in the microwave. Anything that brought them together, kept them talking, was good right now—even a baby he didn’t want coming between them.
He
