the charge too. Or maybe that look simply said hands off.
Stepping back, she drew her tingling hand away. ‘Plenty of people have satisfying relationships with fish,’ she said in an unintentionally husky voice.
An intrigued smile swam in the depths of his eyes. ‘Do you?’
Her glance took inventory of the wall of tanks behind them. ‘We have scores of fish here.’
‘But do you have fish at home?’
‘No.’
‘A dog?’
‘I’m not allowed.’
His brows jumped. ‘You live with your parents?’
She blinked twice. ‘I rent.’
‘But you have family close by.’
Her stomach lurched at his assumption. Orphaned at a young age, she’d been brought up by an aunt on the rural east coast of Australia. She had no brothers or sisters, grandparents or cousins. Other than Aunt McKenzie, she had no one.
She swallowed against a flush and regained control. ‘I’m not sure that has anything to do with you buying a fish, Mr…’
‘Stuart. Mitchell Stuart.’ As if annoyed at himself, he waved a dismissive hand. ‘And, no, it doesn’t. Totally off track.’ He narrowed his focus on the gaping fish again and slowly grinned. ‘I think he’ll do nicely.’
She forced her thoughts away from family—or lack thereof—and back onto business.
For a moment she’d wondered if this customer might enjoy a closer connection…someone to walk and have fun with. Guess she’d been mistaken.
But she was pleased for the fish; clearly he was going to a good home. She was sure he’d be fed the finest fish food and have his home regularly cleaned by the housekeeper.
She went to lift the tank. ‘Do you have any names in mind?’
Frowning, Mr Stuart took over the weight of the tank. ‘Fish have names?’
At the counter, she collected flakes, stabilising drops, a complimentary miniature Poseidon and his trident, then went through everything with Mr Stuart regarding the care of his new goldfish. After he’d scrawled a signature on the transaction slip, she handed back his card. ‘I’m sure you’ll have no problems.’
‘If I do?’
‘Call me.’
She whisked a business card from its holder. He gripped it, genuine victory shining in his eyes. ‘I feel good about this.’
‘Then so do I.’
Mr Stuart collected his bundles. On his way past the puppies, he faltered, but then shot a glance over his shoulder and held up the fish with a smile that said, Right decision.
She winked and saluted. Another satisfied customer. And the puppies would go quickly to homes filled with love and adequate attention. Maybe one day Mitchell Stuart would return when he was ready for a bigger commitment.
Would she still be here? She had to believe tomorrow’s appointment with her bank manager would save the day. She couldn’t bear to think of the alternative.
Two hours later, she flipped the sign on the door as the phone rang. If that was the feeders and drinkers supplier after a payment, the cheque was definitely in the mail. If it was the landlord reminding her to be out in two weeks…
She held her nervy stomach. Maybe she wouldn’t answer.
When it rang again, she buckled and picked up. No hello from the other end, just a straight out, ‘I’ve found a name for my fish.’
That deep voice was even more bone-melting over the phone—low and unconsciously inviting against her ear.
‘Mr Stuart. Hello.’
‘Kamikaze.’
She stammered. ‘B-Beg your pardon?’
‘He won’t quit jumping out of the tank. He’s on a suicide mission.’
She sank down onto a chair and rubbed her brow. Oh, dear. ‘That sometimes happens.’
‘I filled the tank, added the right amount of drops, set up the filter, gave him a feed. When I turned my back, he jumped out. I put him back in. He jumped out again, and again.’ His voice dropped to a growl. ‘Clearly he’s not happy.’
‘Could be a couple of things, like not enough water.’
‘I’ve already put more in.’
‘Maybe there’s too much.’
His voice cracked. ‘A fish can have too much water?’
‘Only in so far as making it easier to leap out.’ She gnawed her bottom lip. ‘And then there’s the possibility…’
‘What possibility?’
‘Some fish are just, well, jumpers.’
She heard his groan, then a shuffle as if he’d moved and dropped into a seat himself.
A vision flashed to mind: gorgeous Mitchell Stuart dead on his feet after staying up all night, a scoop in one hand, a fist made out of the other, ruing the day he’d ever set foot in Great and Small.
Vanessa gripped the receiver tight. She’d said she’d help if need be. Statistics said people bought pets from shops relatively close to their homes. Doctors made house calls. No reason she couldn’t.
‘Mr Stuart, I’ve just shut up shop. Would you like me to drop over and see what I can do?’
‘You do that kind of thing?’
She lied. ‘All the time.’
A relieved expulsion of air travelled down the line. ‘I’ll give you my address.’
‘You think this is funny?’ Mitch manoeuvred Kamikaze off his redwood dining table into the net and, suppressing a shudder, plopped him back into the tank water. ‘Well, fun and games are over, buddy boy.’
Help was on the way. Help in the form of a petite, twenty-something-year-old whom he had no intention of getting to know beyond, Thanks for saving my fish. He wouldn’t acknowledge Vanessa Craig’s long, glossy hair, iridescent green eyes or the way his blood warmed like syrup on a stove whenever she smiled that I’m totally harmless smile. He was on sabbatical from women.
All women.
When his father had passed away fifteen years ago, Mitch had become the man of the house. Although he’d moved out of the stately Stuart mansion seven years ago, he was still the one the females of the family scampered to for help…and it seemed they always needed help. Help with
