The Family She Needs. Sue MacKayЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘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 out at her.
Shoving the disappointment and her sense of unfairness down deep, where she kept insurmountable problems, she focused on reaching home as soon as possible. Before lunch she needed to change Jonty’s wound from when he’d fallen in the chook pen and caught his forearm on a stake.
Dear old Grumpy Jones. Secretly, she adored Jonty. Underneath all that griping he was such a sweetheart, and so helpful. Without him she’d never have got the garden dug in time to plant spuds and onions. He’d complained about it with every turn of the soil, but when she’d tried to wrest the spade from him he’d given her an earful.
A gust of wind slammed into her and caught the umbrella, turning it inside out. The heavens poured water onto her carefully styled hair and turned her blouse see-through. So much for trying to look half-decent for once. Of course the bank’s umbrella was rubbish. Went with the miserable manager’s image.
Locking the gate at the bottom of her driveway, she turned for the house and groaned. The hole in the asphalt had overflowed, sending water streaming out to the road. Water, water everywhere …
‘It’s so tempting.’
Despite her angst with the world she felt a flicker of mischief unfurl deep inside, and she raised a grin. Might as well get some fun out of the day and act like the delinquent Mr Pederson believed her to be. This hopelessness needed stomping on—and stuff the shoes. It was doubtful she’d be wearing them again anyway.
Karina breathed deep and leapt into the air to land in the shallow hole. Splashes of murky water shot in every direction, including up her legs. Up, down, splash, splash. She pretended the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes were from pure pleasure, and not exasperation at her inability to fix the current crisis.
‘I want to do that!’ Mickey yelled from the veranda.
‘Come on, then.’
So the sore tummy had recovered. She watched anxiously as he leapt off the steps and charged towards her.
‘Go easy,’ she muttered. She hated that he believed he was invulnerable. But she also acknowledged that his condition mustn’t hold him back.
Splash. Mickey’s round face split wide into a grin. Bending his knees, he bombed his feet into the deepest water he could find. His shrieks filled the air, and soon Karina was laughing hard. To hell with banks and money and everything. This was what life was about: enjoying the little things, and especially having fun with this boy she loved so much.
When Mickey was totally soaked she grabbed his hand and started for the house. ‘Let’s get into dry clothes and then I’ll make us hot chocolate drinks.’
‘Can we?’ Mickey shouted. ‘Really?’
‘I reckon.’ She bounded up the steps and kicked off her shoes. ‘Is Mr Grumpy here or out in the shed?’
‘Inside our place.’
She untied Mickey’s laces and tugged his shoes and socks off. ‘Straight to the bathroom, please. Get out of those clothes while I find you some dry ones.’
‘What about my hot chocolate?’
‘After you’ve changed.’
She ruffled his hair and gently pushed him inside, before banging the door shut behind them. Dropping her sopping bag and the useless umbrella into the bucket in the corner, she spun around to head to her bedroom and pulled up short at the sight of a man walking towards her.
‘Who are you?’ she gasped, though from the way goose-bumps were lifting her skin she already had an inkling. So much for hoping he was weeks away. But, hey, it was that kind of day.
‘Logan Pascale.’ The long and lean, tanned man held a hand out to her. ‘You’re Karina Brown?’ His eyes were very wide, and definitely not focused on her face.
Automatically putting her hand in his, she tried to lock eyes with him, but he was staring at something below her chin. When she followed the direction of his gaze she gasped again. Every last scrap of her clothing was wet, clinging to her like plastic wrap, and her blouse was more see-through than if she’d worn nothing. Her breasts pushed hard against her bra … her very lacy, transparent bra.
Open up, floor, right now. Gobble me up.
When nothing happened she dredged deep for what little pride she could muster. ‘Yes, I’m Karina.’ She lifted her head to study the stranger who held the future of Mickey’s home in the warm, strong hand she was still holding. Snatching her hand free, she stepped back and returned to scrutinising him.
‘Jonty let me in. He’s popped home for a moment.’
Despite the chill settling over her due to all that wetness, warmth eased through her body, touching her tummy, her toes, her face. He might be too lean for her taste, but her body didn’t seem to care if the way it responded when she looked at him was an indicator. His face was gaunt, as if he needed feeding up. But those eyes were what really caught at her. Piercing, yet guarded, while also holding a hint of humour and compassion. A disturbing mix.
Oh, man, this was so wrong. The guy should come with a warning label. Don’t come near unless you hold all the aces. She was short on aces today. Worse, she couldn’t stop staring.
Tall … Okay, anyone was tall compared to her. Oh, and he had the most gorgeous crop of overlong black hair, while his day-old stubble made her mouth water.
‘Karina, I want my clothes!’ Mickey yelled.
‘Coming,’ she called back, far more quietly.
‘I’ll wait for you in the kitchen,’ her distracting visitor told her. ‘Want me to make that hot chocolate I heard you mention?’
‘With marshmallows, ta.’
He was already acting as if he lived here. She shrugged. Get over it. Logan Pascale owned half the place; he could come and go as he pleased. Was that good or bad? That warmth he’d engendered evaporated, leaving her shivering with cold and apprehension as she opened drawers to find Mickey some clothes.
Logan did hold all the aces. He wanted to sell the place she’d made her home and had believed she’d live in for many years to come. He had as much right to make decisions about the property and Mickey’s future as she did. But had he even heard of joint decisions? Her sigh was filled with annoyance and frustration of the most irritating kind. If he thought selling up would help his nephew’s cause then he didn’t know damn all about Mickey.
But of course he didn’t. Visiting briefly once a year meant he hardly knew his nephew. Hadn’t seen the day-to-day growing up stuff, didn’t know what he liked and hated, wouldn’t understand how the Down syndrome affected him.
No doubt Logan intended getting things done fast so he could fly away again, leaving her to cope with the mess he’d created.
Well, think again, Pascale. I’m made of stronger stuff. You won’t get away with it. I’ve grown a backbone because of men like you. Men who charm women out of their three-inch-high