the moment Laura had posted her letter she had put the shoebox full of old clippings about Will under her bed, and had quite specifically not gone out of her way to hear about the Gasper family. But it seemed the time had come for her to peek at the world outside of her community, to find out about Chloe’s extended family—and she had until six o’clock to figure out how to go about it.
Well, she had until six o’clock to finish the laundry, cook dinner, check Chloe’s homework, finish the pies for the Country Women’s Association meeting that night, and to figure out how she was going to handle the arrival of Ryan Gasper. The too hot bubble bath was so far down the list it dropped and fell away.
Once Chloe was ensconced back at the desk in her bedroom, Laura picked up the phone and dialled the Upper Gum Tree Hotel. When Jill answered the phone she all but blubbed with relief. ‘Jill, it’s Laura. We have a problem. I need you to set aside a table for me, and I need it to be discreet.’
CHAPTER TWO
THE UPPER GUM TREE HOTEL bustled with activity. Barflies lounged at the bar. Families conversed at a smattering of snug round dining tables. Local teenagers played snooker. And Ryan sat all on his lonesome in a secluded high-walled booth at the back of the room.
By the time six o’clock came and went he was onto his second beer and a young boy at the next table had taken a liking to him. The kid continued to stare over the top of the booth, and Ryan had no idea how to get rid of him.
He’d never had much experience dealing with kids. He had been nine years old when Will was born, and in boarding school by the time Will was three. By the time Ryan had left for university and beyond, they had spent little time together; Will, so quiet and shy, and intensely studious, had been practically a stranger to him. And to Jen’s and Sam’s kids he was merely cool Uncle Ryan, who brought presents whenever he came back from overseas.
But now he had another niece—a walking, talking remembrance of his little brother—and for some reason he felt an obligation to get to know this one properly. Half of him was energised by the prospect, and the other half wanted to wring Laura Somervale’s pretty little neck for not trying harder to track his family down.
What reason could she possibly have for telling them about the little girl and then never contacting them again? It would have made more sense if she had never tried to contact them at all. It didn’t add up, and as a guy who worked with checks and balances he planned to stick around at least until it did.
Perhaps she had simply found herself a new father for her daughter in the meantime. A strange sort of uncomfortable heat formed in Ryan’s gut as he realised that she could even be married. Affianced. Living with someone. He hadn’t counted on having to get through another man as well as Ms Somervale. He dearly hoped that he still wouldn’t have to. Either way, if Laura Somervale didn’t show in the next five minutes he was heading back out to the little weatherboard worker’s cottage and he wasn’t leaving until he had his answers.
Ryan gave in and crossed his eyes back at the kid who was still staring him down. He poked his tongue out and even added a humped back for good measure.
‘So, did you find our Laura all right?’ a female voice asked. Ryan uncrossed his eyes to find a short, round lady with boyish grey hair and bright button eyes leaning against the edge of the booth, beaming down at him. Jill Tucker. He had a feeling the woman knew exactly how he had found Laura, and what had transpired word for word.
‘Yes, thanks,’ he assured her with an unadorned smile. ‘She was right where you told me she would be.’
‘Of course she was,’ she said, and her own smile grew larger. ‘She’s lived there since she was born. A dear girl, Laura. Would do anything to help any of us in a pickle, and if anyone ever dared to hurt her, or her little possum, they would have to deal with the rest of our town as well. Can I get you something to eat while you wait?’
Ryan blinked. It seemed Miss Somervale was not the only one who could so adeptly change tack mid-spiel. Perhaps the idiosyncrasy could even be considered part of the local dialect.
‘I’m happy with my beer,’ he said. ‘Thanks, anyway.’
Jill gave him a sympathetic smile before moving on to the next table. Before he even had the chance to take another sip, he was struck by the intoxicating scent of freshly baked apple pie. He had a famously sweet tooth, and the scent was so delicious he actually sniffed the air as a pair of cake boxes slid across his bench. In their wake came Laura Somervale. He was fairly sure it was her…
Gone were the messy curls, pulled back under a red bandana, and the graceful cotton dress had been replaced with an excessively frilly white shirt. She looked over her shoulder at the little boy peering over the next booth. ‘Liam, your dessert is getting cold.’
The little boy disappeared from sight. Just like that. Wow. He would have to remember that trick. As she sat, Ryan opened his mouth to ask why she had gone to such trouble to dress in disguise, but when their eyes met he was rendered speechless yet again by the most startling difference from her earlier appearance. The sexiest dark smudges of eyeliner framed her pale brown eyes, making them glitter like gold. A searing flash of awareness overcame him. Had the flash come from him or from her?
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, her voice as crisp and curt with him as it had been with the little boy, Liam, and he figured any sort of responsiveness had been his alone. ‘I had to get Chloe settled in at a friend’s place first.’
So she hadn’t left Chloe at home. She had sequestered her away somewhere unknown. No matter how promising her words, how valiant her smile, this woman was not as calm and trusting as she made out.
‘So there’s no one else at home who could have looked after her tonight? Your husband, perhaps?’
Laura coughed out a sorry laugh. ‘Hardly,’ she said, flapping a ring-free hand under his chin. ‘Chloe and I are perfectly happy on our own.’
And, just like that, the uncomfortable lump in Ryan’s mid-section faded away.
‘Where are you staying?’ she asked, shifting her weight on the soft leather seat.
‘I have a room upstairs.’
‘Nice?’ she asked, still not looking him in the eye.
‘Not sure. I haven’t seen it yet. I came straight here from your place.’
‘Oh, I just can’t stand this,’ she said suddenly, scrunching her eyes tight and banging her fists on the old wooden table.
Ryan’s hands zoomed out to catch his glass of beer and stop it from overturning.
‘I’m not bred for small talk,’ she said, her voice earnest, her expression pleading. ‘I’ll be honest. Your being here scares the living daylights out of me.’
Ryan tried to disregard the divine scent of apples and sugar, and something else—an unexpectedly exotic perfume wafting from the direction of the woman in the equally exotic costume. ‘You have no reason to fear me, Laura.’
‘I have every reason!’ She snapped her mouth shut, her fists closing tight atop the table. She seemed to collect herself, to temper her anguish. When she looked back at him from beneath her smoky lashes he knew she had found the calm in the eye of the storm.
‘I
