Real Men Don't Quit (5 page)

Alone in the kitchen, Luke saw the room was a lot more orderly than yesterday. The dirty plates and laundry had been cleaned up, the floor was swept, and an enticing aroma drifted out from a pot on the stove.

Still, Luke’s fingers itched to tidy up. Those plates on the drying rack could be packed away, that pile of freshly laundered tea towels needed folding, and those recipe books weren’t straight. But he contented himself with scraping Chloe’s dinner plate and soaking it in the sink. A solid-looking flip lock had already been fitted to the back door. It was placed high enough that Chloe would be twenty before she could reach it. Regardless of her housekeeping skills, Tyler had her priorities straight when it came to her daughter.

A minute later, Tyler returned. “That swim made her nice and tired. She was out in two seconds. Didn’t even need a bedtime story.”

“She’s a great kid,” Luke said.

Tyler picked the pot off the stove and carried it to the table. “Thanks.” She smiled. “Even if you’re just being polite.”

“No, I mean it.”

She smiled again, a luminous honey of a smile that sent a strange buzz through him. He blinked, wondering if he was imagining things, but the tingle lingered, fizzing to all his nerve endings.

“I hope you like paella,” she said, setting two full plates on the table.

He nodded. Right now, if she’d served him a pot of elephant testicles, he would have nodded.

“This is really good,” he said after a few mouthfuls. “I just realized I haven’t eaten properly since I moved to Burronga.”

“Do you cook much when you’re at home—your proper home, I mean?”

He lifted his shoulders. “I don’t have my own home.”

“What do you mean? Surely you’ve got your own place?”

“Well, I inherited my mother’s house in Goulburn, but even though it’s my childhood home, I don’t consider it my permanent abode. I haven’t had a fixed address in about four years.”

Tyler set down her fork and gazed at him. “What have you been doing all that time?”

“For a while I was studying an MFA in the States and writing my Kingsley Jeffers book. When it came out, the promo involved a lot of travel, both abroad and here. Since my mother died six months ago, I’ve been alternating between her house and a friend’s place in Sydney.”

“Your mother died recently? I’m sorry about that.” She paused, waiting for Luke to say something more about his mother, but he simply nodded. She continued, “So what, do you just load up your car and off you go?”

“More or less.”

A line appeared between her eyes. “Like a gypsy.”

“Gypsies have caravans. I just have my Range Rover. I can write anywhere.” At least, he used to be able to write anywhere. Now, for the life of him he couldn’t string one coherent paragraph together. “And anyway, most people are too attached to possessions.” Possessions got in the way, slowed a man down.

She tilted her head. “You’re a very unusual man, Luke,” she said thoughtfully, reaching for her glass of water. “But it’s not just about possessing things for the sake of having them—at least, not for me. For me, it’s about security, certainty, feeling grounded.”

“It’s different for you. You have Chloe to think about.” He’d had enough of talking about himself; it was time to change the subject. “So, does Chloe’s dad see much of her?”

She choked on her water. “What made you say that?” she spluttered as she set her glass down with a
thunk
.

“Writers are inquisitive creatures.” He paused as he took in her guarded expression. “Feel free to ignore me if you want.”

“I don’t need permission to ignore you.”

The unexpected bite in her tone made him blink. “Okay, then.”

Awkward silence swelled between them before she exhaled. “I didn’t mean to be so prickly. People don’t often ask about Chloe’s dad.” She sucked in her lower lip. “Not even Chloe.”

There was such a wealth of mixed emotion behind her words that it brought him up short. He’d asked about Chloe’s father out of mere curiosity, but now he burned to know the details and yet, at the same time, was oddly reluctant to hear them.

“She’s still very young,” he said. “But the questions will come one day.”

Tyler nodded, her expression somber. She toyed with her fork for a while before she said, “I met Damien in my final year of high school. He was a bit older than me. We were both Goths.” She shrugged. “Funny how you think you’ve met your soul mate just because you share the same tastes in music and clothes. Anyway, after high school I was desperate to live in Sydney, so Damien and I left together. I got part-time work waitressing while Damien had a series of odd jobs. We didn’t have any plans aside from having a good time. Then I got pregnant and realized I had to grow up. I cleaned up my act, stopped smoking and wasting money, focused on my jewelry making. Before Chloe was born, Damien came into some money from his father’s estate. I thought we had a real chance of making it, but I was wrong.”

Her mouth turned down at the corners, her eyes clouded. “Damien always had a weakness for drugs. While we were poor, it was just dope, but when he got ahold of his inheritance, it became hard stuff. I couldn’t take it, not with a newborn baby around. So I left.”

She stopped abruptly. In the sudden silence, the
plop-plop
of the tap in the sink sounded louder. Tyler was staring down at her plate, her hands tense on the tabletop. Luke waited, schooling himself not to speak. He hadn’t expected such candor but sensed there was more she wanted to say, more she hadn’t said in a long time.

But instead, she lifted her glass, took a drink, and gazed at him, her eyes blue and defiant. “So, no, Chloe’s dad doesn’t see anything of her, by his own choice, and that suits me fine. I don’t need him drifting in and out whenever it’s convenient for him and playing havoc with our lives. We’re better off without him.”

Fathers. Why were they so often weak, disappointing? At least Chloe’s father seemed to have recognized his abject inadequacy and stayed away. Not that he could see Tyler allowing the man to toy with her daughter’s affections. The mettle in her eyes told him this Damien guy wouldn’t stand a chance if he dared disappoint Chloe.

“So what about this inheritance of his?” Luke asked. “Aren’t you entitled to some child support? It would make your life a lot easier.”

Tyler snorted and flung her hair over her shoulder. “Huh. I don’t need any child support.”

“You could do with a new car.”

“My car’s fine.”

“So it’s up and running now?”

Her lips pursed. “It will be, as soon as I get it fixed.”

“And until then you’re relying on the bus?”

“Yup. It’s just a matter of being organized and knowing the timetable.” She waved her hand airily. “Maybe I don’t need a car at all.”

“Maybe you don’t. Maybe you could ride a bicycle with Chloe in a kiddie seat behind you, and that great big bag of yours in the front basket.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Come on, Tyler. You need a car around here, especially with a young child.”

“Maybe, but just because I can’t afford a decent one doesn’t mean I’m not a good—” She bit off her sentence as if she’d realized she’d said too much, and her gaze shifted sideways.

“Yeah?” he said encouragingly.

“Never mind.” She pushed her half-empty plate away. “Would you like some coffee? I only have a French press, but the coffee is from the store, so it’s first-rate.”

“That sounds good.” Rising to his feet, he reached for her plate. “Let me do the dishes. It won’t take long.”

For a while they worked side by side in the kitchen, he washing the few plates and bowls while she made the coffee. As she moved around, he was hyperaware of her presence. Her blue dress whispered against her legs, her citrus scent teased his senses, and when her arm brushed briefly against him, his muscles twitched with pleasure.

He couldn’t help dwelling on her half-finished sentence.
Doesn’t mean I’m not a good mother
. He was sure that was what she’d been about to say, but who would make such an accusation? Not Damien, the long-absent, drug addict ex-boyfriend. Then who? Someone from social services? Is that why she’d been so fearful yesterday when he’d stomped in here, accusing her of not looking after her daughter properly? His gut clenched at the thought.

Moments later, a thin wail came from the other side of the house. Tyler stilled, her head tilted to one side. “Sometimes she settles down without my help.” But the cry grew louder. “Okay, not this time.” She left the kitchen.

Luke listened as the whimpering quickly died down. He finished the dishes, then folded the tea towels that had bothered him earlier. He walked to the living room, wondering if he should leave, before he stopped at a side door he hadn’t noticed earlier. The door was slightly ajar and appeared to lead into a sunroom. Peeking in, he made out that it was Tyler’s workshop and pushed the door wider to step inside.

Under the window was a worktable laden with jewelry-making tools. Shelves on the wall contained dozens of neatly stacked boxes. A velvet-covered board held a number of finished and half-finished pieces of jewelry. Everything in this room was surprisingly tidy and ordered.

Tyler works damned hard
, he thought. She took care of her daughter, ran the business, and still found time to make her jewelry. All on her own. She insisted she didn’t need help from anyone, but he could see a little wouldn’t go astray.

Like help from him?

The instant the question popped in his brain, his whole being shied away.
No
. The visceral answer pummeled his skull.
No, you idiot
. He wasn’t going to step in and offer Tyler his help, no matter how much she deserved it. Or how much he wanted to see more of that melting smile of hers.

He couldn’t recall encountering a woman who excited his senses as much as Tyler did, but he had to keep some distance between them, for so many reasons. One, he had a book to finish and no time to waste. Two, she was way too smoldering hot, and if he gave in to temptation it would consume him. Three, hadn’t the guilt he felt over Jennifer taught him a lesson? Four, she was a single mother, and he never went after single mothers because of the potential complications. Five, Chloe might not appreciate him getting involved with her mother. Six, he didn’t like all this hodgepodge filling up Tyler’s house.

Okay, reason six was lame, but still he had five solid reasons not to involve himself in Tyler’s life. Five very valid reasons why he should get himself back next door and not invite neighbors to use his pool or accept their dinner invitations.

…

Tyler sat on the edge of Chloe’s bed, stroking her daughter’s curls. The little girl sighed and snuggled deeper into the pillow as sleep pulled her under. Tyler tucked Mr. Piggy under the sheets. For once her thoughts weren’t dwelling on Chloe and what might have disturbed her sleep. Instead, they were fully occupied with the man she’d left in the kitchen.

Luke Maguire. Did he have any idea what he’d done to her today? Spending an hour with him in the pool had been a new and disturbing experience for her. She couldn’t remember when last she’d had such a primitive, instantaneous reaction to a man. The sight of his broad torso, wet and gleaming in the afternoon sun, had squeezed the breath from her lungs and made her want to run her hands all over him. She’d ogled him something bad, unable to help herself, and she was fairly sure she hadn’t been able to hide her reaction.

To make things worse, he’d been so great with Chloe, mucking around in the water with her for ages. He seemed to genuinely enjoy playing with her, which only tormented Tyler further. Nothing hotter than a man who was good with kids, in her opinion.

She hadn’t meant to invite him over for dinner. The words had popped out by themselves. When he’d said yes, she’d felt so strange, almost giddy with delight. Completely out of character. As was the way she’d torn about the house before he arrived, madly cleaning up the worst of the mess, shoving stuff where it wouldn’t be noticed, changing into a cobalt blue dress that flattered her coloring. All to impress Luke. Jeez, she had it bad, all right.

And now…now she was all a-jitter at the thought of him waiting for her to come back. Rising from Chloe’s bed, she smoothed her dress down, adjusted the straps, combed back her hair. Crap, she was preening herself. Since when had she become so eager for a man’s admiration? She was Tyler Jones. She attracted her fair share of male attention, but if a man wasn’t interested, it never bothered her in the slightest. Plenty of pebbles on the beach and all that. But now, as she shut Chloe’s door softly and walked back to the living room, there was an uncomfortable, nervy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The living room was empty. Luke had already gone. Her stomach lurched without warning.

Then she caught a movement in the sunroom. As she moved toward it, the flutters returned to her stomach.

Luke turned as she entered. “Hope you don’t mind my looking around your work space.”

“Not at all.” She gestured toward the table where her tools were laid out. “I’m working on a special commission for Crystal Kerrigan.”

“Who?”

“Crystal Kerrigan. You know, she has that TV talk show?”

“Sorry, never heard of her.” He smiled in apology.

“You don’t watch much television, then.” He just dated television presenters.

“I don’t own a television.”

No, he didn’t own much at all. Luke was a drifter; she had to remind herself of that. A very hot and hunky drifter, but a drifter all the same.

“You’re different from most men,” she said.

“I get that a lot.” He tilted his head. “So, how am I different?”

For a start, you’ve got my heart pattering like a hunted dormouse
. Not that she was going to confess
that
. “You’re very…contained.”

“Oh, I can be uncontained, too.” In the soft light, his eyes glinted.

She took a step back to lean against the doorjamb; she needed the support. “Oh yeah? And what does it take to ‘uncontain’ you?”

“Uncontain?” His lips twitched at the corners. “Is that a real word?”