Ironic, considering her background. Once upon a time several hundred thousand dollars had been chickenfeed to her. Nowadays she lived on the wages she earned as a nurse at the medical centre she jointly owned in the small rural town of Motueka, far removed from that glamorous life. She had a tiny nest egg, put aside for rainy days, but nothing big enough to buy out Logan Pascale.
‘Don’t you dare think like that,’ growled Becca.
‘I showed him the property valuation and suggested I could spread the loan out for thirty years.’ She’d be sixty-four and nearly ready to retire by then, but it would be worth it.
Becca leaned closer. ‘It shouldn’t mean a thing, but half the problem is you’re not a local. Here, coming from the Big Smoke up north is like coming from another country.’
‘I’ve heard that enough to know it’s true.’ But it didn’t explain the malicious gleam in Pederson’s eyes as he’d told her no. He’d been enjoying himself at her expense. ‘Bet he’s looked me up online.’
‘Are you sure you want a mortgage hanging over your head? Couldn’t you ask someone in your family for the money this once?’
‘What?’ Karina shuddered. Prove to her father that what he believed had been right all along? That she couldn’t make it on her own? ‘No!’ she barked, too loudly.
Becca wouldn’t understand her need to stand on her own two tiny feet and do what was right for a little boy who relied entirely on her for everything.
‘I can’t do that,’ she reiterated, more quietly. This was the toughest test she’d faced so far in her stand to be independent. So suck it up and beat the odds.
‘I figured that’d be your answer, but don’t let your pride get in the way of what’s right.’
Jeepers, Becca, be blunt, why don’t you?
‘Anything I do will be what’s right for Mickey.’
Mickey. The boy she loved as if he were her own. As one of his two guardians, she intended doing everything within her power to make sure she kept the only home he’d known. She’d promised his parents no less.
‘How is that bundle of mischief? I haven’t seen him for days.’
‘Mickey’s cool.’
Damn, but this was hard. She also needed to keep everything exactly as it was for herself. She’d crafted a new life in which she was in control and happy, in a quiet, comfortable way.
‘Just the usual hiccups. Not enough honey on his toast and me putting the wrong shirt out for him to wear to kindergarten.’
‘I bet you give him everything he wants.’
‘How can I refuse when he gives me that gappy grin? But this morning he was very clingy and didn’t want to go to kindergarten. Most unusual. Said his tummy was sore.’
‘Did you insist on him going?’
Karina shrugged. ‘Jonty’s looking after him while I’m here.’
Becca returned to the original problem. ‘What are you going to do about buying out Dr Pascale now?’
‘Know a millionaire with lots of cash stashed under his bed?’ A few hundred thousand was all she needed but, hey, in for an apple, in for a sack full of dollars.
‘You want a sexy hunk to go with those millions?’
‘Rich and sexy? All in one package? What’s the catch?’ Because she’d had that package and knew the pitfalls all too well.
‘I don’t know any guy around here fitting the description.’ Becca grinned.
‘Just as well.’ Karina smiled back, thankful that her friend hadn’t pointed out which of them actually knew the most millionaires.
‘You still don’t want to put your toe in the dating pond?’
‘That’s the last thing I want. I’m enjoying being in charge of my own life. Why would I want to give that up to be told which functions to attend and who to invite to dinner?’
Becca chose not to answer that. Instead she went with ‘Heard when the good doctor’s actually arriving?’ A gleam of excitement lit up her eyes.
‘Not a dickey bird. I don’t even know if he’s left Africa yet.’ Hopefully he was still out in the wilderness, working with people who needed his medical skills. ‘The longer I hear nothing, the longer I’ve got to come up with a solution for the house.’
But the days were running out—fast.
‘Wonder what he’s like? Even if he doesn’t have millions under his bed he could be sexy.’
‘Like that’s going to make a difference to anything.’
The situation was complicated enough, with them sharing guardianship of Mickey and having joint ownership of the house and attached medical centre. They’d never met, which suited her perfectly. She’d kept everything ticking over since Maria and James had died. Dr Pascale hadn’t made it home for his brother and his sister-in-law’s funeral—hadn’t talked to Karina at all, even by phone. Their only communication had been through the lawyers acting for the unusual partnership put in place solely to protect Mickey.
When a letter had arrived from the estate lawyers stating that Dr Logan Pascale wanted to sell the property and invest the money for Mickey’s future, she’d felt a familiar punch in her stomach. Only this time she refused to fold. This time she would stand up to anything being thrown at her and would not be told what to do. Mickey shouldn’t be moved away from all his memories of his parents.
When Maria and James had approached her about becoming a guardian if the unthinkable happened, she’d promised to do everything to make Mickey happy. Maria, her best friend ever, had hugged her and said that was exactly why they were asking. Now she had a promise to keep.
Putting that aside, Karina said, ‘Guess I’d better be getting home.’ She turned to stare out through the glass doors and shivered at the sight. ‘It wasn’t raining when I walked up here.’ Though the sky had been grey and threatening. ‘My car needs two new tyres.’ It sat in the driveway going nowhere in the meantime.
‘I’d offer you my truck, but my brother’s borrowed it.’ Becca handed her a large umbrella with bright blue logos splashed across it. She winked. ‘Compliments of the bank. They’re only for our most important clients.’
Karina couldn’t speak for the sudden lump in her throat. Thank you, she thought as she stared at this woman who’d unexpectedly become a good friend. Thank you. Hopefully Becca understood.
The wind blew rain into her face as she headed down High Street towards home. Home, Mickey, the surgery: her life. The life she liked to think she controlled.
‘Mostly…’ she muttered as the rain got worse.
Within minutes her skirt was soaked and her blouse was getting damp down the front. Her jacket hadn’t been designed to be closed across her breasts. Very classy, but totally impractical for her newer, more prosaic lifestyle. She hurried along the footpath, quickly giving up on avoiding the puddles. She’d have jogged all the way, but given she was wearing three-inch narrow heels—all to impress an unimpressionable goat of a banker—she figured that might be a little crazy even for her.
The cooler air did nothing to chill her anger at being refused a loan. She should have asked on what grounds she’d been turned down, but giving Mr Pederson the pleasure of knowing he’d upset her hadn’t been an option. Now she’d have to think of another way to raise the capital. Oh, yeah, like how? Short of selling herself down at the wharf, there weren’t any ideas shining