Falling For Jack. TRISHA DAVID

      Bryony appeared to consider. ‘Well, if he is seriously rich...’

      Myrna threw a cushion at her. ‘Bryony Lester, I know what you sold your agency for in New York. If you want the Bahamas, there’s nothing stopping you. And Roger’s not exactly poor...’

      ‘There’s nothing to stop a girl wanting more.’

      ‘So join the spider-widow club. Marry serially and poison them off as you go, starting with Roger and working through every eligible bachelor in the country.’ She grinned and threw another cushion. ‘Bryony, get these indecent thoughts right out of your head and let’s get to work.’

      

      

      Which was all very well, but the indecent thoughts just wouldn’t go. Bryony gave herself severe lectures all day, but all they did was give her more excuses to think of Jack.

      Jack’s smile.

      Jack’s body.

      Jack’s hands...

      She was having hot flushes on hot flushes and she was engaged to Roger.

      ‘So get out there, plan Maddy’s bedroom and get the heck out of their lives,’ she told herself severely.

      

      Jack’s home was a rambling homestead, huge and solid, with verandahs running right round and a fragrant, overgrown garden teeming with birdlife, poppies and roses. Spreading English oaks grew on the boundaries of the home garden. Set amidst wide paddocks dotted with river gums and grazing sheep, and with the river running on its northern boundary, the whole place looked like paradise.

      Bryony was met by Maddy, who’d clearly been waiting for her. The child led her through the house to the kitchen, and by the time they reached it Bryony’s nose had told her that paradise was just where she was.

      ‘Jack’s made gem scones,’ Maddy said anxiously. ‘Do you like them?’

      ‘Do I like them?’ Bryony shook her head. ‘Gem scones! I haven’t eaten them since my grandma made them when I was a little girl. No, Maddy. I don’t like them. I love them. And they love me.’ Then she frowned. ‘Did you say Jack made them?’

      ‘He did.’ Maddy appeared desperately anxious to impress. ‘And he made the jam, too. Strawberry. There’s bought stuff if you want, like my grandma used to buy.’ She gave Bryony a look of entreaty. ‘But Jack gets a bit funny if you eat bought stuff instead of his.’

      ‘I don’t blame him.’ Bryony laughed.

      Maddy swung open the kitchen door and the first sight of Bryony that Jack had was of her laughing, which was just how he remembered her. He’d been taking the gem scones out of the oven. Now he straightened, turned to put the griddle down on the sink and tried to smile. It didn’t quite come off.

      She took his breath away. Literally. Today Bryony was wearing a soft blue skirt that almost reached her ankles and a tiny white knit top, high-necked but with no sleeves. Her fiery curls tumbled down to her shoulders, her arms were slim and lovely, her face was creased into laughter and her green eyes twinkled. All in all, it was as much as Jack could do not to drop the griddle on his boots.

      ‘Hi.’

      ‘Hi.’

      For two mature people it was a pretty limited conversation. Jack tried again. ‘Did you have trouble finding the place?’

      ‘No. But I thought...’ Bryony was stammering. ‘I thought... Myrna said you bred sheepdogs. There’s only Jess...’

      This was an improvement. He could think of something to say on this one.

      ‘Were you expecting rows of battery dogs?’ Jack’s mouth curved into a smile. ‘No. I employ a few men on the place and each of my men looks after a dog or two. That way they all have individual attention. I have a breeding programme, but in every other respect they’re my men’s dogs. But Jess is mine.’

      ‘Oh. I—I see.’ Bryony stared down at the gem scones Jack was now flipping out of the griddle and wrapping in a cloth. Her eyes widened. ‘Did you say ... did Maddy say you made these?’

      ‘Mmm.’ Morgan, there has to be a better conversation starter than this! He was tongue-tied again.

      ‘And the jam?’

      ‘That’s right.’ Not much better.

      ‘Do you want to plan my bedroom and then eat scones, or will you eat the gem scones first?’ Maddy asked anxiously, and Bryony sat down at the kitchen table and reached for a plate.

      ‘Both,’ she said promptly, and relaxed. She looked up at Jack and gave him her very widest smile. ‘A man who can cook! I’d like to know where you were when I was accepting marriage proposals,’ she told him. ‘Roger’s starting to look distinctly second-rate.’

      

      The only problem was—it was true. Bryony had said it as a joke, but as Jack walked by her side up the stairs to Maddy’s room she was so aware of him that she felt the need for Myrna’s bucket of cold water.

      He was so big. So ... so masculine. Roger smelled of expensive aftershave. Jack smelled...well. Jack smelled of Jack. Roger always looked immaculately groomed. Jack’s shirt had a rip in the sleeve above where he’d rolled the sleeves up, and his jeans were old and stained.

      Bryony was starting to be breathless, and it had nothing to do with the stairs. Concentrate on work, she told herself fiercely. Desperately. Then leave. Fast. But she was needed here, for Maddy’s room was indeed sparse. Bleak would be a better word for it. Bryony stopped at the doorway and stared in dismay.

      For a little girl’s room, it was pathetic. Oh, it was a nice enough room. Beige walls. Brown carpet. Beige bedspread. One window facing north with a great view over the sheep paddocks to the river beyond. That was its one redeeming feature. But there was not a toy in sight. Not a stuffed animal. Nothing to suggest this was a child’s room.

      On the chair was one small battered suitcase. Full to bursting. On impulse Bryony walked over and pulled open the bureau drawer. Empty. The child had her suitcase packed, ready to go.

      ‘Diana suggested we paint the room pink and buy Maddy some new clothes,’ Jack said, and Bryony heard the desperation in his voice. ‘But Maddy won’t have a bar of it.’

      ‘Diana?’

      ‘My next-door neighbour.’

      ‘I don’t like pink,’ Maddy said stubbornly. ‘And I don’t like Diana.’