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Home for the Holidays
Sarah Mayberry
A Christmas magic miracle…Joe Lawson has a thing for his new neighbour Hannah Napier. As a single dad, he shouldn’t be thinking what he is about her. Still, that doesn’t stop them from getting close. And the way she connects with his kids, it’s as if they’re a family. Turns out it’s too good to be true. Seems Hannah has plans that don’t include staying in Melbourne.Joe won’t stand between her and her dreams, even though letting her go is nearly impossible. Christmas is looking grim, with him and his kids missing Hannah like crazy. But it is the season of surprises and Hannah may have one for them!



“Listen, about last night …”
As Joe said the words he recognized this was the first time they’d been alone since the kiss the day before. He was acutely aware of it and Hannah seemed just as uncomfortable.
Hannah’s gaze flew to his face. “I know, it was a mistake. It was stupid—”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” he said before he could edit himself. “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”
“Oh.” She was silent for a beat or two. “What were you going to say?”
“Go out with me?”
“But—”
“But what?” He took a step closer.
She looked straight into his eyes. In an instant all the heat from last night was there between them. And the only thing he wanted was a repeat of what they’d done the last time they were alone.
Dear Reader,
Mills & Boon
books hold a very special place in my heart because it was through them that I first discovered my love of romance novels. Both my grandmothers had a stack of Mills & Boon
books, and I couldn’t get enough of them as I was growing up.
When I first started writing, someone suggested I should write for Mills & Boon and I can remember the utter shock I felt. It simply hadn’t occurred to me that I could be a part of something I adored so much. Now, several years after having my first book published, I still pinch myself every time I see my name on the cover of a book, and I think about both my grandmothers and thank them all over again for introducing me to the world of romance.
I hope you enjoy Home for the Holidays. I got so much out of writing Joe and Hannah’s journey to finding each other and understanding what family means. I love to hear from readers, so please drop me a line at sarah@ sarahmayberry.com if you feel the urge.
Until next time,
Sarah Mayberry

About the Author
SARAH MAYBERRY is an Australian by birth and a gypsy by career. At present she’s living in Auckland, New Zealand, but that’s set to change soon. Stay tuned! When she’s not writing, she loves reading, cooking and hanging with her friends. Oh, and shoe shopping. Never forget the shoe shopping …
Home For
The Holidays
Sarah Mayberry




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Thanks to Neighbours for inspiring this story.
Thanks to Claire and Helen for their wise advice and thoughts on children.
And thanks, as always, to Chris. You rock, in every possible way.
And last, but never, ever least, to Wanda. She knows why.

CHAPTER ONE
“DADDY, DO YOU THINK MOMMY will be able to find us in our new house?”
Joe Lawson paused a moment before answering his daughter’s question. Ruby stared at him from her bed, her small, angular face anxious.
“I’ll bet Mommy can find us no matter where we are,” he said.
“That’s what Grandma always says, but I’m not so sure. Melbourne is a long way from Sydney. It took us ages to drive here.”
As he struggled to find an answer, Ruby sighed heavily and tugged the covers closer to her chin.
“I guess I’d better go to sleep. School tomorrow. I need to be fresh.”
She rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes, apparently completely at peace now that she’d voiced her deeper metaphysical concerns.
The joys of being ten years old. If only he could dismiss her question as easily. Not for the first time, he wondered if he’d done the right thing moving the kids away from everything that was familiar to them so that they could be closer to the support his mother could provide.
Be honest. At least with yourself.
The truth was, he’d been more than happy to abandon the family home.
Pulling Ruby’s door shut behind him, he walked up the hall to check on Ben. As he had suspected, Ben was out for the count, his bedroom light still on. Joe watched him for a long moment, noting how thin Ben had become over the past few months thanks to a growth spurt. Soon, his thirteen-year-old son would be able to look Joe in the eye. He tugged the duvet up over Ben’s shoulders, flicked the light off then returned to the living room.
Boxes were still piled against the walls, filled with DVDs, books and God only knows what else, since he’d paid professionals to pack the contents of their former home. The kitchen was equally disastrous. In fact, the kids’ rooms were the only spaces that were even close to being livable.
He stared at the boxes. He hated moving. Always had. Beth had claimed he was the worst packer in the Southern Hemisphere and always supervised him ruthlessly to ensure he was working up to her standards whenever they moved. He was pretty sure Ben had been conceived the afternoon they were packing to leave the small apartment they’d bought when they married. After a day of being dictated to, he’d rebelled against Beth’s bossiness and seduced her on the kitchen floor. She’d been laughing and protesting right up to the moment when he’d tugged her bra down and started kissing her breasts.
He shied away from the memory, as he had from all the other memories that had surfaced during the day. It was impossible not to think about her, though, when he was unpacking the life they’d shared together. The dinner set they’d chosen when they were married. The kids’ finger paintings from preschool she’d saved. Even the damned side-by-side fridge reminded him of how excited she’d been the day it was delivered.
It had been two years. Everyone said time was the great healer—so why did he still burn with anger and grief when he thought about his dead wife?
He forced himself to cross the room and slit the tape on the top carton. The boxes weren’t going to unpack themselves. He peered inside. Books. Good. Books he could handle.
He’d stacked half the contents onto the shelves of the built-in entertainment unit when he found the photo frame. It had been wrapped in several layers of tissue paper, but he recognized it by feel because of its chunky shape. Beth had made it herself as part of a framing workshop and even though it was just the slightest bit off center, it had always held pride of place on the mantel.
He folded the tissue back and stared at the photo inside the frame. They’d been on a family picnic and Beth had asked a passerby to take the shot. The kids were much younger—Ben eight or so, Ruby only five—and Beth’s blond hair was long, well past her shoulders.
He stared into her face. Sometimes he forgot how beautiful she’d been. How could that be when he still missed her like crazy?
His head came up as the low, throbbing rumble of an engine cut through the quiet of the house. A motorbike. A really noisy one. He waited for it to pass by, but the rumble grew louder and louder. Just when it seemed as though the bike was about to race through the living room, it stopped.
Unless he missed his guess, the owner of the world’s noisiest motorcycle was also his new neighbor. Which meant he could look forward to the roar of a badly tuned engine cutting into his peace morning, noon and night.
“Great.”
There ought to be a rule when a person bought a new house: full disclosure. The vendors should have to reveal everything about the house and the neighbors so there weren’t any nasty surprises on moving day. Leaky roofs, yapping dogs, motorcycle gang neighbors, Peeping Toms.
It seemed unnaturally quiet after the racket of the bike. He put the frame to one side. He’d find a place for it later. He reached for more books, then tensed as the motorbike started up again. He gritted his teeth, waiting for the bike to roar off into the night. It didn’t. Instead, the engine revved again and again, the sound so loud he guessed the guy must be parked inside his garage, the roller door open, the sound amplified by the space.
Over and over the bike revved and Joe grew more and more tense. His kids were asleep, but they wouldn’t stay that way for long if this kept up. Surely the moron next door must have some idea that this was a residential neighborhood, a quiet middle-class suburb full of quiet, middle-class people who liked a little peace at the end of the day? Surely—
“For Pete’s sake!”
He slammed the box shut. He was barefoot, but he didn’t bother putting shoes on, simply threw open the front door and headed next door. As he’d guessed, the garage was open, light spilling out into the night. A motorbike stood propped on its stand toward the rear of the garage. A man squatted beside it, his back to Joe as he worked on something near the exhaust pipe.
Joe stopped on the threshold as he registered the guy’s leather pants and long hair and the Harley-Davidson jacket thrown over the rusty frame of a second bike. It was every bit as bad as he’d suspected—he’d moved in next to a longhaired redneck. No doubt Joe had noisy, boozy parties, visits from the cops and loud domestic arguments to look forward to in the future.
Fantastic. Just what he goddamn needed.
“Hey, buddy, you want to keep it down?” he yelled over the roar of the bike.
The guy didn’t even lift his head from whatever he was doing. Joe took a step closer.
“Mate!” he yelled. “You want to shut that thing off?”
Still nothing. Joe’s temper began to burn. He didn’t consider himself a short-fuse kind of guy, but he was tired and unpacking all the old stuff was tough and he needed this added aggravation like a hole in the head.
He strode forward and reached over the guy’s shoulder for the ignition key. One twist and the bike fell silent. The guy jerked in surprise, then shot to his feet and spun around.
Joe took an involuntary step backward as he realized that he’d miscalculated somehow. The leather jacket, the pants, the bike. He’d just assumed …
But he’d been wrong. Because his new neighbor was a she, not a he.
Her chin came up as she stared at him.
“Who the hell are you?”
She was tall—almost his height—with brown eyes and long, wavy brown hair.
He frowned. “I’m sorry. I thought … I called out but you couldn’t hear me over the engine. I came to ask you to keep the noise down. My kids are asleep.”
She blinked at him, then he saw comprehension dawn in her face.
“You’re the guy who bought the Steveway place,” she said.
“Yeah.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His gaze dropped to her breasts, then her waist. She had a good figure. Long legs, full breasts.
He looked away. He didn’t care what kind of figure she had.
“I didn’t realize you’d moved in,” she said. “The Steve-ways were happy for me to work on my bike anytime.”
“Then they must have been deaf.”
He knew he sounded like a cantankerous old man but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Her being a woman had thrown him off balance, one too many curveballs on what had already been a trying day.
“It isn’t usually this noisy,” she said. “There’s a problem with the muffler.”
“Maybe you should leave it to the experts to fix, then.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Thanks for the advice. I know just what to do with it.”
He’d pissed her off. Seemed only fair, since she’d roused him out of his home with her racket.
“So you’ll pack it in for the night?”
“Like I said, I didn’t know you’d moved in.”
She put her hands on her hips and her T-shirt stretched over her breasts. Again he pulled his gaze away.
“Thanks, I appreciate the consideration,” he said flatly.
He turned away.
“Welcome to the neighborhood,” she called after him as he walked down the drive. She sounded about as sincere as he had when he’d thanked her.
He stopped in his tracks when he reached the privacy of his own driveway, a frown on his face, aware that he’d overreacted and not sure why. He stood there for a long moment, breathing in the cool night air. Then he shook off his unease and returned to his sleeping children.
WHAT A JERK.
Hannah Napier pushed her hair off her forehead then grimaced when she remembered her hands were greasy. She wiped her hands on a rag then hit the button to close the roller door. She’d wanted to get to the bottom of the noisy muffler tonight, but it could wait until tomorrow. The last thing she needed was Mr. High and Mighty on the doorstep again with his attitude and impatience.
She’d met some chauvinistic assholes in her time, but her new neighbor was going to take some beating. The way he’d spoken to her like she was one of his kids. The way he’d dismissed her with a quick once-over of his very blue eyes.
He’d almost given her a heart attack, sneaking up on her the way he had. She’d turned around and seen six foot plus of solid man standing over her and almost wet her pants. And not in a good way.
Not that he was unattractive. He had short, dark hair, and his face was deeply tanned. His shoulders were broad, his belly flat. Not bad, if your taste ran to bad-tempered, bossy men. She put him at mid- to late thirties, then she remembered the deep lines that bracketed his mouth and the hardness in his blue eyes and upped her estimate to early forties. He’d been around the block a time a two, her new neighbor. Probably managed to piss off everyone he met along the way, too.
So much for her mother’s hopes that the new owner of number twenty-four would be nice. Hannah grabbed her jacket and flicked off the lights as she used the connecting door to enter the house. Her work boots sounded loud on the tiled kitchen floor as she crossed to the fridge.
“Is that you, love?” her mother, Robyn, called from the living room.
“Yeah, Mom.”
“Your dinner’s in the fridge. And there’s dessert, too, if you want it.”
Hannah sighed. No matter how many times she told her mom not to cook for her, inevitably she came home to find a meal in the fridge, neatly covered with cling wrap. When she’d moved in with her mother six months ago, she’d done so on the basis that she wouldn’t be a burden. She should have known that her mother would fight tooth and nail to defend her right to wash Hannah’s dirty laundry and cook her meals. It was what her mother had always done, and it had been foolish to even think that things would be different because Hannah was twenty-eight now and had been living independently for nearly six years.
“Did you notice the lights on next door? The new neighbors have moved in.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” Hard not to when her new neighbor had just read her the riot act.
Hannah took the plate of chicken and salad to the living room and sat next to her mom.
“This looks great, Mom. Thanks.”
Her mother dismissed her gratitude with the wave of a hand and leaned forward, her brown eyes dancing.
“So, don’t you want to know?”
“Know what?”
“What he’s like. The new neighbor. And you’ll note I say he,” her mother said.
“I don’t need to know. I just met him.”
“Really?” Her mother almost leaped off the couch. “How? Did he come over and introduce himself?”
“He was pissed about the noise, actually. Came over to give me a piece of his mind.”
“That doesn’t sound like a very promising start.”
Hannah bit into a chicken leg, shrugging a shoulder. “Who cares? He’s a dick,” she said around a mouthful of food.
“Hannah! I thought he seemed very nice when I popped in earlier. His mother was helping him unpack, you know, and there was no sign of a wife.”
Hannah scooped up a spoonful of potato salad. She could feel her mother watching her, waiting for Hannah’s reaction. She concentrated on her plate, hoping her mother would get the hint.
“You didn’t think he was good-looking?” her mother asked after a long pause.
Hannah put down her fork. “Mom. Give it up.”
“All I want to know is if you think he’s attractive.”
She wanted a lot more than that but Hannah decided the best way to defuse this conversation was to answer the question and move on.
“I thought he was sad looking, if you must know. I thought he was about the saddest-looking man I’ve ever met,” Hannah said. Those lines by his mouth, those hard blue eyes. All that anger bubbling just below the surface.
“Oh. Do you think?”
Hannah shook her head in frustration. “It doesn’t matter, Mom. He could be Brad bloody Pitt and I wouldn’t be interested. You know that.”
Her mother eyed her steadily, her face creased with concern. “Don’t be like this, sweetheart.”
Hannah stood. There was no way she could eat the rest of her meal. She certainly couldn’t endure another heart-to-heart with her mother.
“I need a shower. Thanks for cooking.”
She scraped the remainder of her dinner into the garbage, rinsed her plate and slid it into the dishwasher. She spent ten minutes in the shower, washing and conditioning her hair and shaving under her arms. All the while, she reviewed the work she had tomorrow, prioritizing things on her to-do list. Anything to avoid thinking about what her mother had been suggesting.
As if she was going to start dating again. What a joke.
A towel wrapped turban style around her hair and another around her torso, she made her way to her bedroom. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the long white box on her bed. A receipt was taped to the front of it, along with a note from her mother.
H, the dry cleaners called again today. They said if you didn’t pick your dress up soon they’d consider it unclaimed goods and sell it. I knew you wouldn’t want that.
Mom.
Hannah circled the box as though it was a wild animal. Even though she told herself she didn’t want to look, that it didn’t matter to her anymore, that it was all in the past, she reached out and slowly folded back the lid.
Intricate crystal beading sparkled in the overhead light. Her gaze ran over the shaped bodice, the pleating at the waist. The white silk skirt shimmered and she couldn’t resist running a hand over it. She could remember the first time she’d seen the dress, the way it had felt sliding over her body when she put it on—cool and slippery and perfect. As though it had been made for her.
Anger rose in a hot flash. She shoved the box so hard it slid off the other side of the bed. She’d paid a small fortune to have it packed in acid-free tissue, but she didn’t want it in her room. It was too pathetic—a wedding dress that had never been worn. Too, too sad.
She had a sudden vision of herself taking the box out into the yard, dousing it with gas and setting it on fire. All that pristine silk would burn bright and long. It would be good watching it all go up in smoke. Cleansing.
Almost, she was tempted, but she knew her mom would freak. Not to mention that it would be a huge waste of money. If she put the dress on eBay, there was a fair chance she could make back some of her money on the damned thing. After all, it had never been worn. That had to be a selling point, right?
She took a deep breath, then rounded the bed to pick up the box. The truth was, she didn’t have the luxury of burning her wedding dress. Every dollar she could scrape together got her closer to her goal of being debt-free. And once she was debt-free, she could start planning for her around-Australia trip and get out of here once and for all. Leave it all behind her—the wedding-that-never-was, Lucas, Kelly, all of it.
She laid the box on the floor in the corner and sat on the end of her bed. More than anything she wanted to be gone. If she could close her eyes and make it so right now, she would. She wanted the road unrolling before her and the wind in her hair and nothing holding her back. She certainly didn’t want to be sitting in her old bedroom, surrounded by her teenage memorabilia, living this life of quiet endurance and survival.
For a dangerous moment, tears threatened.
She stood and reached for the freshly washed jeans her mother had left folded in a pile on the end of the bed. Three minutes later she was fully dressed and tugging her work boots back on. Her hair was wet, but she didn’t care. She could hear the television in the living room as she crossed the kitchen, but she didn’t bother telling her mom she was going out. She would only want to know why, and Hannah wasn’t up to fabricating an excuse for bailing again so soon after coming home.
In the garage, she tugged her jacket and helmet on then hit the button to raise the roller door. She was about to start the bike when she remembered the fun police next door.
She swore under her breath. For a moment she was tempted to start the bike anyway, then she recalled what he’d said about his kids sleeping. She rolled the bike down the drive and down the street, resenting every step. When she reached the corner, she slung her leg over the saddle. The engine started with a dull roar. She pushed down the visor on her helmet, leaned forward and opened the throttle.
She had no idea where she was going. As long as it wasn’t here, she figured it would be good enough.

CHAPTER TWO
“I DON’T WANT TO GO to school. Why can’t I stay here with you and help you unpack?”
Ruby’s face was beseeching as she looked at Joe across the breakfast table. He’d had a poor night’s sleep and a headache building in the back of his skull but he did his best to give his daughter the reassurance she needed.
“I know starting a new school is scary, but once the first day is over you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want to go.” Ruby pushed away her half-finished bowl of cereal.
She looked so small and defenseless sitting there. He stood and circled the table, squatting beside her chair.
“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” he said. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. She smelled of strawberries and talcum powder and she felt about as substantial as a baby bird in his arms. She burrowed her face against his chest, rubbing her cheek against his shirt.
“I want to stay with you,” she said, her arms clinging to him.
He laid his cheek against her head and remembered the fierce, adventurous little girl she’d been only a couple of years ago.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, drawing back so he could look into her face. She stared at him unblinkingly. “I promise I’ll be waiting at the school gate the moment you step out the door at three o’clock.”
She didn’t say a word, but a small frown wrinkled her forehead.
“How about this? We’ll make pizzas for dinner, from scratch like the old days,” he said. “That way you’ve got something to look forward to all day.”
Mastering the art of making pizza dough had been his one culinary achievement, and every Thursday night it had been a family tradition for Beth to put her feet up while he made the bases and the kids took charge of the toppings.
Ruby was silent for a long moment. Just when he was beginning to think he’d made a mistake suggesting they revive the tradition, Ruby smiled.
“Can I have three types of cheese on mine?”
Joe smoothed a hand over her fine blond hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. “Deal,” he said.
“Okay, then I guess I can go to school.”
Joe looked up as Ben entered the kitchen, his backpack already on his shoulders.
“Can I have some money for lunch?” Ben asked, hands dug into his pockets. His gaze shifted around the kitchen, not settling on anything.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” Joe asked.
“Yes.”
Joe hadn’t noticed a bowl or plate in the sink, but he had no reason to think his son was lying.
“I thought we could pick up some sandwiches from the coffee shop on the way to school,” Joe said.
He planned to get to the supermarket sometime this afternoon so he could make their lunches from here on in, but today he was winging it.
Ben frowned. “I don’t want to be dropped off.”
“Well, tough. It’s your first day. I want to make sure you know where you’re going.” Joe said it with a smile but Ben’s frown deepened.
“I already know where to go. I’m not stupid. I can work it out for myself.”
“I know you can, but it won’t be the end of the world to have a bit of help on your first day.”
Ben pushed away from the counter, hands fisted by his sides. “I don’t need help. I don’t want it.”
Joe stared at his son. Where had this sudden rush of anger come from? “Mate—”
“I’m walking to school,” Ben said defiantly.
He stalked from the room. Joe sighed. Ruby was watching him expectantly.
“You should go after him,” she advised.
“Thank you, Miss Bossy Boots, I was about to do that.”
She grinned as he moved past her and into the hallway. He pulled up short when he saw Ben wasn’t in his room. He checked out the window and, sure enough, Ben was on his way down the driveway.
Joe exited the house and took the porch steps two at a time.
“Ben!”
His son had reached the street and he paused, turning toward the house. He looked half afraid, half determined.
“What about a compromise? I’ll drop you off up the block and you can walk the rest of the way on your own. How does that sound?” Joe suggested.
Ben shrugged, his mouth a tight line. Joe studied him, trying to understand what was going on. Was this simple first-day nerves? A reaction to the move?
“Is there something wrong, matey? Something on your mind?” he asked.
Ben screwed up his face in utter rejection of the idea. “No! Why would there be?”
Joe ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just we’ve had a lot happening lately. Selling the house, saying goodbye to everyone, moving.”
Ben shrugged. “So?”
Joe watched him for a beat, but Ben simply stared back, his face blank.
“Okay. Come inside while I get your sister ready,” Joe said.
He managed to get them both to school on time without further incident but his gut was churning as he pulled away from Ruby’s school.
This is my fault. I shouldn’t have moved them. I should have taken Mom up on her offer to sell her place here and move to Sydney.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. It wasn’t as though he could undo the move. They were here now, they’d all have to make the best of it.
He checked his watch. If he hustled, there was just enough time for him to check out a few car dealerships before he was due at his lawyer’s office. He’d bought their current sedan to replace the car Beth had been killed in, but for some time now he’d been thinking about getting something bigger. An SUV, or a wagon, maybe. Something that could absorb all of the kids’ paraphernalia and still have room to spare.
He was taking a shortcut through the local Elsternwick shopping district on his way to the commercial strip along the Nepean Highway when he passed a shiny black SUV on the side of the road. He slowed when he saw the big For Sale sign in the back window. It was parked in front of an automotive garage and Joe hesitated a moment before pulling to the curb. Why the hell not, after all? Might as well see what the private market was offering before he hit the big car lots.
The SUV was a Mazda, only two years old with shiny alloy wheels. He did a lap of the car, peering in the window, checking out the panels. It was in good condition and a sign resting on the dashboard claimed that the car had been serviced since new at the garage and came with full records.
Joe turned toward the open bay of the workshop. A blue sedan was up on the hoist inside, a red coupe parked beside it. A middle-aged guy in grease-stained overalls was frowning at the underbelly of the sedan. Tinny radio music bled out into the street. The workshop floor was spotlessly clean, the walls freshly whitewashed. A promising start.
“Hey,” Joe said, walking forward. “Have you got five minutes to talk me through the Mazda out the front?”
The man shook his head. “No point talking to me, mate. You need Hannah. She’s the manager.” He jerked his head toward the other car and for the first time Joe noted a pair of legs sticking out from beneath the front of the coupe.
Right. A female mechanic. Apparently it was his week for finding women where he least expected them. In motorcycle leathers, beneath cars.
He moved closer to the coupe and squatted to make himself heard over the radio. “Excuse me. Any chance you could take me over the Mazda? I’m in the market for an SUV.”
“Sure. Give me a sec to tighten this sump plug … There we go.”
No sooner had she spoken than the mechanic slid out from beneath the car. He tensed. It was the woman from last night, the noisy biker with the attitude. She was smiling, but the smile froze on her face when she saw him. He wondered if his own surprise was as obvious.
There was a long moment of taut silence.
“Well, are you going to say it or am I?” she finally said.
She was still on her back on the mechanics’ trolley. He hadn’t noticed last night, but she had incredibly plump lips, the bottom lip rounded and full. Her sun-streaked brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, leaving her smooth cheekbones and small chin to speak for themselves. He’d noticed her curves last night, but it hit him suddenly that she was a very attractive woman.
“I guess it’s up to me, then,” she said. Her tone was heavy with irony when she next spoke. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”
Because she’d caught him off balance again, his first instinct was to retreat. He stood, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
“I wanted to look at the car,” he said stiffly.
She wiped her hands down the legs of her coveralls and pushed herself to her feet. He’d forgotten how tall she was. It was one of the reasons he’d been so startled to realize she was a woman last night—she’d been looking him almost squarely in the eye when she’d straightened and her face had been inches from his until he’d taken a step backward.
Now, she held his eye as she offered her hand.
“Hannah Napier,” she said coolly.
Joe stared at her hand a second before taking it. “Joe Lawson.”
Her hand was warm, her fingers firm. Her mouth quirked up into a lopsided, wry smile.
“Look at that—almost civilized.”
She turned toward the parking lot and started walking. Of its own accord, his gaze dropped to check out her body. More specifically, her ass. It was pure instinct, imbedded in him since puberty, and as soon as he registered what he was doing he looked away—but not before he’d noticed she had a full, sweetly curved backside.
“It’s two years old, one owner since new. I don’t normally do this but he’s a good friend and I wanted to help him out,” Hannah said.
Joe lengthened his stride to come abreast of her as they neared the car. “Why’s he selling?”
“Scored an overseas job. It’s a good car. Bit greedy with gas, but safe, solid. You’ve got kids, right? There are built-in anchors for car seats.”
He didn’t bother telling her his kids were well out of car seats. No point extending this encounter any longer than it needed to be.
“What’s he asking?”
“Thirty. It’s forty-five new, so it’s a good deal. Full leather upholstery, six-stacker CD. Cruise control, tiptronic transmission …” She glanced at him to check he was paying attention and his gaze got caught on the line of her cheekbone.
“Is this the model with the turbocharger?” he asked.
“Yep. It’s got it all. Like I said, it’s a good deal.”
She lifted a hand to smooth it down the length of her pony tail and the neckline of her coverall gaped. He caught a glimpse of shadowy cleavage and white lace.
He took a step backward, frowning. He’d seen more than enough here.
“Right. Thanks for your time. I’ve really only started looking but I’ll keep this in mind,” he said politely.
She looked surprised. “You don’t want to take it for a test drive, see how it handles?”
He made a big deal out of checking his watch. “I’ve got an appointment I don’t want to be late for.”
“Well, we’re open till five if you want to come back later.”
He nodded, already drawing his car keys from his pocket. Her eyes narrowed and she propped a hand on her hip.
“Be honest. You’re not coming back, are you?” she asked.
He frowned.
“Right. Let me guess—you don’t trust me,” she said, contempt in every line of her body. “What could a woman possibly know about cars, right? What was it you said last night? Leave it to the experts? Was that it?”
She was bristling with aggression, her chin high. As he’d thought when he first set eyes on her, she was trouble with a capital T.
“Like I said, I’ve just started looking.”
A muscle flickered in her jaw, then she swung back toward the car. As though he hadn’t announced he needed to leave, she started talking.
“Tires have got another two years in them, depending on the kind of mileage you do. Suspension is independent, double-wishbone at the back. Brakes are discs all round, and it’s fitted with ABS. It’s a six cylinder, and with the turbocharger you’re looking at zero to one hundred in about 9.8 seconds.”
She moved to the front of the car. He remained where he was, arms crossed over his chest. She stopped and looked at him, defiance shining in her eyes.
Stubborn. And a pain in the ass to boot.
“Not real good at taking no for an answer, are you?” he said.
Something flickered in her eyes, then her face went utterly blank.
“You’d be surprised.” She shifted her attention to the car for a second, then back to him. “You won’t find a better car for the money.”
It was possible she was right, of course.
“I’ll think about it,” he said again. He dipped his head in acknowledgment and walked toward his car. He could feel her watching him all the way, the awareness like a prickle on the back of his neck. Yet when he got to his car and glanced over his shoulder she had already disappeared into the workshop.
Right.
He gave himself a mental shake. He needed to get going if he still wanted to check out the commercial car lots before meeting his lawyer. Then there was the grocery shopping to do, and the last of the unpacking—all before the kids were out of school at three.
He started the car and threw it into gear. As he had last night, he pushed his encounter with Hannah Napier out of his mind. She was nothing to him, the barest blip on his radar. Less.
Still, he glanced back one last time before he drove away, but Hannah was nowhere in sight.
HANNAH WAS SUPPOSED to catch up with her friend Mikey for dinner after work, but he canceled on her at the last minute, leaving her at loose ends. She figured she’d head home instead and put in some hours fixing the muffler on the bike—quietly, of course. No doubt Joe Lawson would come after her with an elephant gun or a lynch mob if she dared disturb his peace again.
The memory of his dismissive attitude over the car had risen up to bite her on the ass all day. How she hated narrow-minded men like him. She’d seen it over and over—the cautious look in their eyes, the doubt as they listened to her tell them what was wrong with their cars. As though having breasts made her less qualified to understand the workings of the internal combustion engine. Please.
She was hungry and more than ready for a shower when she rode into the street. She stopped short of pulling into her mother’s garage, however, her attention caught by the car sitting in Joe Lawson’s driveway—a Mazda SUV, same model as the one she’d shown him today, dark navy instead of black. She switched off her bike and kicked the stand out before dismounting. She tugged her helmet off as she walked the distance from her mother’s front yard to inspect the car. So much for I’ve just started looking. She’d been absolutely right—he hadn’t been able to bring himself to buy a car from her.
She narrowed her eyes as she surveyed the rear of the SUV, then dropped into a squat to peer under the wheel arch. She did a slow lap, squatting once again when she reached the left rear wheel arch, craning her neck to confirm her suspicion.
“I assume you won’t be billing me for the inspection?”
She started, then glanced over her shoulder. Joe Lawson stood there, one eyebrow raised. Her gaze dropped to his bare feet. No wonder she hadn’t heard him sneak up on her.
“Did you get a warranty on this thing?” she asked, standing and jerking a thumb toward the car.
He crossed his arms over his chest but didn’t say a word.
“I’m only asking because you’re going to need it. This car’s been in an accident,” she said.
He glanced toward the Mazda. “It’s been fully inspected by the automotive association.”
“Which just confirms my opinion of those idiots.” She gestured toward the wheel arch. “Take a look yourself. Something big ran into the back of this thing, ripped the chassis open. It’s been welded back together, but you can see the repair if you look closely. And the shock absorbers are all new. No one puts new shocks on a two-year-old car unless they have to.”
His hands dropped to his sides. He looked annoyed. Then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he knelt beside the car and craned his neck to see under the wheel well. She knelt beside him and leaned in to point out the line of the weld.
“They’ve driven around a bit to dirty it up some, but you can still see it there.”
“Shit,” he said, so low she almost didn’t hear him.
He was so close his shoulder brushed hers when he shifted his weight. She stilled, then stood, dusting her hands down her jeans.
“It’s not going to fall apart or anything, but you’ll probably have issues with panel fit and rattles. Once a car’s bent out of whack, it’s almost impossible for them to get it straight again even when they put it on the rack.”
He stood. “I suppose I should thank you for sharing your expertise,” he said grudgingly. She could tell it hurt.
“That’s very gracious of you,” she said dryly.
He crossed his arms over his chest again and widened his stance, as though he needed to brace himself for what came next.
“Thank you,” he said more sincerely. “I really do appreciate the heads-up.”
She smiled. She couldn’t help herself. He was so damned truculent, like a surly teenage boy being forced to apologize. “Don’t mention it. It was my pleasure.”
He raised an eyebrow and she shrugged a shoulder as if to say, “Hey, what did you expect?”
“You should take it back,” she said, turning to look at the car one last time. “Most of those big dealerships have cooling-off clauses in their contracts. Tell them you don’t appreciate being ripped off and make them give your money back.”
His chin lifted a little—not much, but enough to tell her that there was no way he was taking the car back. Not now that she’d told him to.
She could almost admire him for his dedication to his own point of view. Almost.
“Suit yourself,” she said.
“Oh, don’t worry, I will,” he said. He beeped the car open, then reached into the back and collected a grocery bag. For the first time she noticed the long, curling scar that ran from the base of his left thumb, around the back of his hand and up his strongly muscled forearm to disappear beneath the pushed-up sleeve of his sweater. Where on earth did a man get a scar like that?
It hadn’t occurred to her before to wonder what he did for a living, or why he’d moved into the neighborhood, but suddenly both questions were on the tip of her tongue. She bit down on them. As though he was going to answer anything she asked him when she’d made him look like a fool. She might not be an expert on men, but she knew that much.
He shut the back of the car with a firm click. The grocery bag rustled in his hand. She realized she was hovering for no good reason whatsoever.
“Anyway,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“See you around.”
He didn’t bother responding. She could imagine what he was thinking, though: not if I can help it.
He headed toward his house. She watched his shoulders rock from side to side with his long stride, then her gaze dropped to his butt. His jeans were faded and soft and they molded his ass faithfully. It was a good ass, too. Firm-looking, round. Quintessentially male.
Hannah registered what she was doing and swiveled on her heel. Who cared if he had a nice ass? It was attached to the rest of him, and that was arrogant and pigheaded and not-so-nice.
Still, she’d more than put him in his place tonight. He might have won this morning’s skirmish, but tonight’s battle was definitely hers.
Grinning, she headed into the house. Score: one all.
She was still smiling when she pushed open the connecting door from the garage and entered the kitchen. She could hear voices and guessed her mother was already in front of the TV, watching her soaps. Hannah rounded the corner, ready to regale her with the story of her two encounters with Joe Lawson.
“Hey, Mom, guess what just—” The rest of the words died in her throat when she saw who was with her mother. “What are you doing here?”
Her sister stood abruptly and smoothed a hand down her skirt.
“I was just going,” Kelly said. She was very pale and her hands were shaking.
Hannah felt sick. She hadn’t seen Kelly in months, not since the last confrontation when her sister had begged Hannah to forgive her, to understand, and Hannah had told her she couldn’t.
Kelly started gathering her bag and coat.
“Hold on a minute,” their mother said. She put a hand on Kelly’s arm. Hannah looked at it, then at her mother. “Kelly is visiting me, that’s what she’s doing here. She’s my daughter, too, Hannah, and I need to see her and know how she’s doing, just as I need to know how you’re doing.”
Bile burned at the back of Hannah’s throat. How long had this been going on? How long had her mother been comforting her sister behind her back? Didn’t Kelly have enough attention and love and adoration in her life?
Without a word, Hannah turned and started for her bedroom.
“Hannah.” It was Kelly, her voice high with tension.
Hannah kept walking. She had nothing to say to her sister. Nothing that hadn’t been said before, anyway.
“I came to talk about the apartment. We both feel really bad about you taking a loss on the sale. Please let us make it up to you,” her sister called after her.
Hannah shoved her door closed, the echo of the slam loud in the small room. Arms folded over her chest, hands gripping her elbows, she crossed to the window and glared out at the backyard.
She couldn’t believe her mother had been offering comfort to the enemy, and she couldn’t believe her sister was still trying to foot the bill for the sale of the apartment she’d once owned with Lucas. It had been Hannah’s place, hers and Lucas’s. Their home, not her sister’s. Kelly had had nothing to do with picking the decor, choosing the furniture, deciding which part of town they wanted to live in. Hannah was damned if she was going to let her sister reimburse her for her losses because she and Lucas had been forced to sell in a bad market. Kelly had stolen Lucas, stolen the dreams Hannah had had for her future with the man she loved. But Kelly couldn’t take this one small thing away from Hannah: if it killed her, Hannah would pay off her share of the remainder of the mortgage, no matter what. Just to prove to herself and the world that it had happened, that it had mattered. That for a whole year and a half, Lucas Hall had been hers and not her sister’s.
There was a tap on the door. Hannah tightened her grip on her elbows. If her sister dared to walk through the door …
“Hannah, it’s me,” her mother called.
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Fine, but you can still listen.”
The door opened and her mother entered. Her expression was determined. “I think you should seriously think about your sister’s offer.”
Hannah made a disgusted noise. “Surprise, surprise.”
Her mother held up a hand. “Listen for a minute, will you? You’ve been planning this trip around Australia for months. Years, really, since you put it off when you first met Lucas. If you take up your sister’s offer, you can go now. I know that’s what you want, what will make you happy. Why not do it?”
“Because I won’t let her buy her way out of her guilt,” Hannah said. Her sister had always made more money than Hannah in her high-end IT job. Kelly’s yearly bonuses alone were sometimes triple Hannah’s salary as a mechanic. Even with the global financial downturn Kelly was still hauling it in hand over fist.
“I don’t think that’s why she wants to do it. She wants you to be happy,” her mother said.
“Then she shouldn’t have stolen my fiancé.”
“Would you really want to be married to a man who was in love with another woman? Do you think your sister should have stepped aside and let that happen, Hannah?”
“It should never have even been an issue. She’s my sister and he was my fiancé. The thought should never even have entered her head.”
“Or his head. But it did. Sometimes you can’t stop yourself from falling in love with someone, sweetheart.”
“Bullshit! I don’t want to hear this, Mom. And I’m not taking her money. It was my apartment. Mine and Lucas’s. I’ll pay for my fair share of what’s left of the mortgage. She can’t take that away from me.”
Her mother shook her head. “My God, you always were a stubborn one.”
“Yeah, that’s me—stupid, loyal, stubborn old Hannah.” Her voice broke on the last word and her mother stepped forward, hand extended. Hannah jerked away from her. She was angry with her mother, unfairly or not. Kelly had hurt her, betrayed her utterly. It felt like a further betrayal to learn that her mother had been seeing her sister all these months behind Hannah’s back.
“I need to work on my bike,” Hannah said.

CHAPTER THREE
HANNAH DIDN’T STOP WALKING until she was safely in the garage, breathing in the smell of damp concrete and engine grease. She sank onto her upright tool chest, pressing her hands to her face. For a moment she was so angry and sad she could barely breathe.
I’m so sick of this. I’m so sick of feeling this way.
The problem was, she didn’t know what to do with her anger. She’d thought that not seeing Kelly or Lucas for all these months would have made a difference, taken some of the heat out of her feelings. But she’d only had to look into her sister’s perfectly made-up face to feel it all surging back. That, and seeing the pity in her mother’s eyes …
Of course, her mother wasn’t the only one who felt sorry for poor, jilted Hannah. It had practically become a national pastime once the wedding had been canceled. Their family, all of her and Lucas’s friends, the neighbors, her customers—they’d all offered their condolences and shaken their heads. After all, it wasn’t every day that a tomboyish older sister was cast aside for her younger, more glamorous, more beautiful sister. It was a classic tale of woe and everyone could relate. And more than anything—perhaps even more than the pain of betrayal and loss—Hannah resented being cast as a victim. It wasn’t until her life had crashed around her ears that she’d understood how much pride she took in her independence and her unusual vocation and her own unique, take-no-prisoners view of the world. And now, thanks to Kelly and Lucas, she was simply poor Hannah, victim. Object of pity and sympathy.
And right now she was acting exactly like a victim, wallowing in her own messy emotional soup. No wonder her mother felt sorry for her.
Hannah surged to her feet and crossed to her bike. There was still an hour or so of daylight left and she might as well use it while she attempted to fix the muffler. Seizing the handlebars, she rocked the bike off its stand and pushed it down the driveway. After propping it on its stand again, she went back for her toolbox.
She deliberately focused on what she was doing, on what she needed to do next as she worked, and slowly she calmed. Later, she would apologize to her mother. Hannah knew she hadn’t exactly been a dream to live with the past six months, and although she burned every time she thought about her mother listening sympathetically to her sister, she knew it was her mother’s right to do what she thought was best. And Hannah was the first person to admit she was hardly unbiased in this situation.
Her stomach rumbled with hunger but she wasn’t ready to go in yet. Instead, she grabbed a beer from the bar fridge she kept in the garage and palmed a handful of peanuts from the jar on the workbench. She’d downed half the beer when she became aware that someone was watching her.
She glanced across into a pair of big, intent blue eyes.
“What’s wrong with it?” the little girl asked, toes hanging over the edge of the curb as she hovered near the bike.
Hannah had never been very good at guessing kids’ ages, but the girl was small and skinny with a delicate, pointed face and Hannah figured she must be about eight or nine. Her very blond hair was caught up on either side of her head in pigtails, and her top featured lots of sparkles and stars in various colors of pink. When she clasped her hands in front of her tummy, Hannah saw her nails were painted with glitter polish.
“There’s a hole in the muffler. I’m about to patch it,” Hannah said.
“What’s a muffler?” the little girl asked, taking a step closer.
Hannah pointed to the round tube at the head of the exhaust pipe. “It’s this part here, in front of the exhaust pipe.”
“What does it do when it’s not broken?” She took another step.
Hannah could see the girl was aching to touch the shiny red finish on the gas tank and she nodded encouragingly. “It’s okay, you can touch it.”
“It’s so shiny,” the little girl said, glitter-tipped fingernails gliding over the paint.
“The muffler is supposed to stop the engine from sounding so loud,” Hannah said, answering the girl’s earlier question. She tapped the motor. “When the bike is going, there’s a whole lot of noisy stuff going on in here, and the sound has to escape somewhere. The muffler is supposed to turn the volume down.”
“But yours has got a hole in it. Is that why it was so noisy last night?”
Hannah shifted guiltily. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that this was one of Joe Lawson’s kids. She had his blue eyes, for starters. And there was something about the way she held her head … Which meant he’d been right last night—Hannah had woken his kids when she’d been fooling around in the garage.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t realize you guys had moved in yet,” Hannah said.
“It’s okay. I didn’t mind.” The little girl thrust her hand forward. “I’m Ruby Lawson, by the way.”
Hannah suppressed a smile. She held up her own hand, displaying the grease on it.
“I’m dirty, sorry. But I’m Hannah,” she said.
“I don’t care about dirt,” Ruby said, and before Hannah could stop her she’d reached out and grasped Hannah’s hand, her small fingers wrapping around Hannah’s larger ones.
“Pleased to meet you,” Ruby said solemnly.
It was impossible for Hannah to hide her smile then. “Pleased to meet you, too, Ruby.”
Ruby smiled back, then looked at the bike. “Can I help you fix it?”
Hannah flicked a glance at Ruby’s sparkly top and purple pants. She didn’t exactly strike Hannah as the tomboy type. Still, Hannah wasn’t about to discourage her—she’d been laughed at and sent on her way too many times when she was a curious kid to hand out the same treatment to another little girl.
“Sure. You can pass me tools when I need them, if you’d like.”
“Okay. You might have to tell me which one is which, though.”
“Deal,” Hannah said.
They worked side by side for a while. Ruby was a fast learner, quickly working out how to tell what size the various spanners and wrenches were by checking the little markings on their sides. She took great delight in slapping each requested tool into Hannah’s hand with vigor. Hannah figured the kid must have seen more than her fair share of medical dramas on TV over the years.
“My dad used to work with tools like this,” Ruby said as they were refitting the patched muffler.
Despite herself, Hannah’s curiosity pricked up its ears. “So your dad is a mechanic, is he?” It couldn’t hurt to know a bit more about the man. He did live next door, after all. Might as well know what she was up against.
“My dad is an oilman. He works on the offshore rigs,” Ruby said proudly. “He’s done every job there is.”
Hannah didn’t know much about oil work, but she was pretty sure that offshore postings meant the person was away a lot. “You must miss him when he’s working, huh?”
She knew she was being nosy, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
“He’s been working in an office since Mommy died, and now he’s going to be a businessman.”
Hannah froze for a second.
A dead wife. It went a long way to explaining the look in Joe’s eyes.
Suddenly she felt as though she’d invaded her new neighbor’s privacy. She was almost one hundred percent certain that he would hate for her to know about his sad personal life.
“You know what? I think we’re about done,” she said. She stepped back from the bike and Ruby did the same, copying Hannah’s hands-on-hips posture.
“Do we start up the motor now, see if it works?” Ruby asked. Her eyes were wide with excitement when she looked at Hannah.
“Absolutely. You want to do the honors?”
Ruby’s eyes went even wider. “Really?”
Hannah simply handed over the keys. Ruby vibrated with anticipation as she stood on tiptoes and slid the key into the ignition. With an encouraging nod from Hannah, Ruby twisted the key and the bike roared to life. Ruby gave a little squeal and jumped backward. Hannah laughed, then immediately bit her lip when Ruby gave her a reproachful look.
“It just took me by surprise, that’s all,” the little girl said.
“I know. It startles me all the time, too,” Hannah said.
Ruby cocked her head to one side. “Is it fixed? It still sounds very loud.”
She was right; the bike was still too noisy. Ideally, the bike needed a new muffler, but Hannah couldn’t justify the expense when she was still paying off the personal loan she’d had to take out to cover what was left of the mortgage after they’d sold the apartment.
“Well, it’s not perfect, but it’s going to have to do for now,” Hannah said. She reached out and switched the bike off again.
“Can we go for a ride?”
Hannah smiled. She’d been waiting for that one. “I don’t think your dad would appreciate us doing that.”
“He wouldn’t mind.”
“Hmm. I’m not so sure about that.”
Ruby pressed her hands together and gave Hannah a limpid-eyed beseeching look. “Pretty please?”
As pitiful pleas went, it was very effective. Hannah wondered if Ruby had practiced in the mirror. “Sorry, sweetheart. You can have a sit on it, though, if you’d like.”
Ruby considered for a moment. “I guess that would be okay,” she said grudgingly.
Hannah wiped her hands on her jeans and helped boost Ruby onto the saddle. Ruby’s legs barely straddled the seat and she wobbled and clutched at the handlebars, a worried frown on her face.
“Hang on a minute,” Hannah said. She slung a leg over the bike so that she was sitting behind Ruby, holding the little girl’s hips with her hands. “Is that better?”
“Yes. Can I rev the engine?”
“Sure, why not?”
Hannah twisted the ignition key and the bike rumbled to life beneath them. Ruby giggled.
“It’s all bouncy,” she said.
Hannah laughed. She vaguely registered the sound of a door slamming shut in the background as she leaned forward to twist the throttle.
“See? You grip this and twist it slowly forward. But not too much—you don’t want to push it too hard.”
Ruby reached out, fingers spread wide.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Hannah nearly fell off the bike as Joe stalked across the sidewalk, his expression livid.
“Are you out of your freaking mind?” he demanded. He grasped Ruby around the waist, plucking her from the bike as though she weighed less than a feather.
“No, Daddy. Hannah was just going to let me rev the engine,” Ruby protested.
Joe set her on the ground and put a hand on her shoulder. “I want you to go inside.”
“No! We weren’t doing anything wrong. We were just sitting there,” Ruby insisted.
Hannah could see the little girl was getting herself worked up. She could also see that Joe was in no mood to listen to reason. She met Ruby’s gaze.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she said reassuringly. “You do what your daddy says.”
The small exchange only made Joe angrier. He forcibly turned Ruby around. “Inside, now!” he barked.
Ruby’s bottom lip stuck out and her eyes filled with tears but fear won out over valor. Hannah didn’t blame her—Joe Lawson in full-blooded fury was a pretty damned intimidating sight. With one last glance over her shoulder, Ruby raced toward the house.
Joe waited until his daughter was well out of hearing before turning on Hannah. “What kind of a reckless idiot takes a kid for a ride on a motorbike without a helmet? You want to answer me that?”
“You’re overreacting. If you calmed down for one second—”
“Don’t tell me to be calm, lady.” He shoved a finger in her face. “You had no right to risk my daughter’s life. Did you even stop to think—” He broke off, unable to articulate his fury.
Hannah held his gaze, pride demanding that she not waver for a second in the face of his misplaced righteousness.
“Are you finished?” she asked calmly. “Any more insults you want to throw at me?”
He gave her a scathing head to toe. “Stay away from my daughter.” He turned on his heel and strode toward his house.
Hannah let out the breath she’d been holding.
Wow. That had been exactly what she hadn’t needed—a big, shitty cherry on top of an already shitty day.
She started gathering her tools and was dismayed to see her hands were shaking. She squeezed her hands into fists, willing them to steady. She hadn’t done a single thing wrong. She refused to let him get to her.
When she opened her hands again, the shaking was barely discernible.
Good. That was the way it should be. Back straight, she wheeled her bike into the garage.
JOE PAUSED OUTSIDE Ruby’s bedroom door to take a deep breath and consciously relax his shoulders. His blood was still pounding in his head, but Ruby didn’t deserve his anger. She was just a kid, going with the flow. It wasn’t her fault that Hannah Napier was reckless and irresponsible.
He lifted his hand and rapped on the door.
“Rubes, it’s me,” he called.
She didn’t say anything but he pushed the door open anyway. She was stretched out on her bed, her face buried in her pillow.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you like that,” he said as he crossed to the bed and sat beside her. He laid his hand on her shoulder. He could feel the agitated heat coming off her body. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Hell, he was the one who’d been frightened. Seeing his little girl perched on the bike like that, realizing what Ruby had been up to while he’d been kneading pizza dough in the kitchen … He’d seen red. If Hannah Napier had been a man, for sure he would have grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and shaken her till her teeth rattled. Luckily for her, she’d been protected by her gender. Just. For a few seconds there, it had been a close-run thing.
“What happened wasn’t your fault, okay?” he said. He stroked Ruby’s rigid back. “But I need you to promise that you will never, ever go for a ride on a motorbike again without talking to me, okay?”
Ruby lifted her head and he could see she’d been crying. “No!”
He frowned. “I know they look like a lot of fun, but they’re dangerous, sweetheart. There’s a whole bunch of special equipment you should be wearing before you even think of riding one of those things.”
His voice caught as he imagined what could have happened to her if something had gone wrong. Ruby was so small, so bloody fragile ….
“No, Daddy, you’ve got it all wrong. Hannah didn’t take me for a ride and now you yelled at her and she’ll never let me help her again.”
Joe frowned. “Ruby, I saw you on the bike. I know you’re only trying to protect your new friend—”
“She didn’t take me for a ride! I asked her to but she said no. Then she said I could sit on the bike if I wanted to and she was really nice and lifted me up and held me when I thought I was going to fall,” Ruby said in an urgent rush.
Joe stared at his daughter. Ruby held his gaze unflinchingly, her blue eyes drenched with tears. The tight, uncomfortable feeling in his gut told him his daughter was speaking the truth.
Damn.
He closed his eyes for a long moment as he reviewed his reaction through the filter of this new information. Over-the-top? Just a little.
“Hannah’s going to hate me now,” Ruby said miserably.
Not half as much as she hates me.
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you, Rubes. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who made the mistake.”
“I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. I asked and asked Hannah to take me for a ride, but she said you wouldn’t like it. I even said you wouldn’t mind, but she said she thought you would.”
Just in case he didn’t feel enough of a heel already.
“Yeah. The thing was, Rube, I saw you sitting up there, and the bike was running, and it looked like you guys had come back from a spin around the block.”
Dear God, could he sound any more defensive?
Ruby gave him a level look. “You should have listened when I tried to explain.”
“You’re right. I should have. And next time, I promise I will.”
Ruby sniffed loudly, then knuckled her eyes dry. “It’s okay. I forgive you,” she said magnanimously.
“Thank you.”
“But we should go next door right now and apologize to Hannah,” Ruby said. She was already wriggling toward the edge of the bed and she looked at Joe expectantly.
He nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
Even though it was going to make him squirm.
“Oh, I know what we should do!” Ruby grabbed the front of his sweater she was so excited. “We should invite Hannah over for pizza! She won’t be able to stay angry with us if we make her pizza.”
Want to bet?
“It’s a lovely idea, Rubes, but I think we might leave the pizza for another night. Hannah probably doesn’t want to have dinner with us just now.”
“Then we should take her one for her to eat on her own. I’ll make it for her and we’ll take it over together and explain how you got it wrong and how you’re sorry for yelling at her.”
For a moment Joe was tempted to agree to the idea, but he knew that taking Ruby with him was the coward’s way out of the hole he’d dug for himself. There was no way Hannah would give him the verbal smackdown he deserved with his daughter standing beside him.
“I tell you what. Why don’t you make a pizza for Hannah, and I’ll take it over to her on my own and apologize?” he said.
Ruby studied him. “Don’t be embarrassed because you made a mistake, Daddy. You only got upset because you love me. I know that.”
Joe smiled. Maybe he should take his daughter with him, after all. There wasn’t a jury in the land that would convict him with her on his side.
He tugged on one of her pigtails. “How did you get to be so wise?”
Ruby smiled and shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”
They went to the kitchen to create a pizza especially for Hannah. Ruby insisted on putting every single topping available on it, since they didn’t know what Hannah liked or didn’t like.
“This way, she can pick off the bits she doesn’t want,” Ruby reasoned. “But if the bits aren’t there in the first place, she can’t put them back on.”
Ben had a bit to say about his sister’s logic, but finally Joe had a pizza in his hand and a speech roughed out in his mind.
He’d apologize straight up, not offer any excuses. And when she let fly at him, he’d take it. The way she’d taken it when he dished it out to her.
He felt like a kid going to the principal’s office as he walked up the front steps to Hannah’s house. Gritting his teeth, he rang the doorbell.
There was a rattle of a door chain being removed, then Mrs. Napier opened the door.
“Oh, hello, Joe. How are you doing? How did the big move go?” Robyn said, a welcoming smile on her face.
“I’m good, thanks. And the move was pretty smooth, all things considered.”
“Did you want to come in? Or were you after something? Goodness, is that a pizza?”
“Um, yes, it is. I was actually wondering if I could have a quick word with Hannah?”
Robyn’s smile widened. “Of course you can. Why don’t you come in and I’ll go grab her?”
Joe stepped into the foyer as Robyn disappeared up the hallway. He glanced around as he waited, taking in the fussy wallpaper and antique hat stand in the front hall. Interesting. Not the kind of furnishings he’d imagined a woman like Hannah favoring.
There was a family portrait hanging next to it, a photograph of Robyn and two young girls. He moved closer and recognized the oldest girl as Hannah. He guessed she must have been about twelve or thirteen when it was taken. Her hair was cut short and she wore jeans and a football sweater. She had her arm wrapped protectively around her younger sister and there was a challenge in her eyes as she smiled down the barrel of the camera.
Full of attitude, even at thirteen. It figured.
A door closed somewhere in the house and Joe turned away from the photograph just as Hannah entered the foyer wearing a pale green satin bathrobe. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and she had her arms crossed defensively over her chest as she stopped in front of him. She glanced at the pizza and arched an eyebrow.
“It’s for you. Ruby made it,” he said awkwardly.
She looked different without her coverall or biker gear. Softer. More vulnerable.
“To say thank you for the motorbike ride I didn’t take her on, I assume?” Hannah asked coolly.
He squared his shoulders. “Yeah, about that. I owe you an apology. I jumped to conclusions. I should have let you explain before I barged in.”
“Yep, you should have.”
He shifted his weight. He hadn’t expected her to make it easy for him, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this uncomfortable. “I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I was out of line and I’m sorry.”
“Let me see if I can refresh your memory. Reckless idiot, I think you called me.”
He winced. “I’m sorry.”
She eyed him for a moment, then her gaze dropped to the pizza. “Ruby made this for me—is that what you said?”
“Yes. It’s a Ruby superspecial with the works. Homemade base and everything.”
She held out her hand and he passed the pizza over. Now that her arms weren’t crossed over her chest, he could see the outline of her breasts against her robe. The soft shape of her nipples was clearly visible beneath the silk, and he realized that she must be naked beneath it.
For a moment he got caught on the thought, his mind filling with images of soft skin and even softer curves.
Where the hell did that come from?
He shoved his hands into his pockets. Then he cleared his throat. “Before I go, I wanted to thank you for taking the time to talk with Ruby. I know she probably got in the way. It was kind of you to let her help.”
Hannah gave him a scathing look. “It wasn’t kind. She’s a good kid. Smart, funny. A minor miracle, considering who her father is. But I won’t hold that against her.”
She stepped forward and opened the front door. “Tell Ruby thank you for the pizza,” she said.
His audience was over. He stepped over the threshold and turned to face her. “I will. And I just want to say again—”
The door closed in his face. He blinked, then slowly turned away. Despite everything, a reluctant smile curved his mouth.
Hannah Napier was a handful. He’d got that much right about her.
And despite that, he wanted her.
The realization killed his smile. He hadn’t felt a thing for another woman since Beth died, yet for some crazy reason every time he looked at his new neighbor he found himself thinking things he had no business thinking.
It’s only sex. You haven’t touched a woman in two years. You’re only human.
All true, but somehow not enough to ease the tight feeling in his gut. He didn’t want to be attracted to another woman. He wasn’t over Beth yet, not by a long shot.

CHAPTER FOUR
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Hannah pushed through the double doors to The Watering Hole, the local pub and her favorite after-work hangout. It was the kind of pub that used to dominate the suburbs of Melbourne before slot machines were introduced—scuffed and dented around the edges, friendly vibe, no pretense about it. She loved the cream and burgundy tiles behind the bar and the dusty memorabilia hanging on the walls.
Her mate Bugsy raised a hairy arm in greeting when he saw her. “Napier. Took your time.”
She smiled. She didn’t know what she would have done without her biker buddies over the past few months. Bugsy and Grunter and the rest had quietly circled the wagons when the wedding fell through. No one had said a word, but she knew they’d felt for her and she’d appreciated their silent support.
She slid onto a stool beside Bugsy and accepted the beer he pushed toward her. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass.
“Straight back at you.”
She took a long pull from her beer. There was nothing better after a long day at work. She rested her elbow on the counter and smiled at Bugsy. “Gonna let me whip your ass on the pool table?” she asked.
“You can try, little girl.”
She laughed. Then she caught sight of a man out of the corner of her eye and did a double take.
Joe Lawson.
Man. Was it too much to ask for her to have a moment’s reprieve from the guy? She felt as though he’d invaded her life since he’d moved in.
He was talking to Mandy, The Watering Hole’s longest-serving waitress. Hannah hoped she was giving him directions to someplace far away. Hannah had come here to relax and she was pretty damn sure she wasn’t going to be able to do that with him sitting across the bar.
He glanced up and caught her staring. His expression didn’t change but his shoulders shifted. For a moment they stared at each other, then his focus returned to Mandy.
“What’s wrong?” Bugsy asked.
“Nothing,” she said. She took another mouthful of beer. “Let’s go play pool.”
She slid off the stool and grabbed her jacket with one hand, her beer with the other. Bugsy led the way to the seen-better-days pool table in the back corner, but she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder as she followed him, just to check on where her nemesis was. She almost walked into the cigarette machine when she saw Mandy ushering Joe behind the bar. What the hell …?
Mandy was gesturing toward the spirits lined up on the shelves behind the bar. Joe nodded, asked a question. Mandy turned and pointed to the beer taps along the front edge of the counter.
“You coming or what?” Bugsy called from behind her.
Hannah tore her gaze away and walked the final few steps to join him.
Why was Joe Lawson being invited behind the bar? If she didn’t know any better, she’d think Mandy was giving him an orientation tour.
Shit. What if he’d taken a job at The Watering Hole? It was possible, after all. He was new to the area, and Ruby had said he’d retired from the rigs. He must need to work. Still, this was the one place she could relax and not worry about anything, the one place where she felt utterly comfortable. She didn’t want to have to run the gauntlet of her surly neighbor every time she wanted a beer and a game of pool.
Hannah was distracted as Bugsy set up the table then flipped a coin to see who would break. She kept glancing across to the bar to check what Joe was doing. Sure enough, he’d started pulling beers for customers.
“Bloody hell.”
Bugsy broke and started sinking balls. Hannah tried to concentrate, but she was too thrown to really follow the game. When Mandy sailed past with a tray full of empty glasses, Hannah called after her.
“Mandy. You got a minute?” she asked.
The older woman paused and smiled at Hannah. “Sure. You guys want another round?”
“We’re all right for now, thanks. I was just curious about the new guy.”
Mandy rolled her eyes and fanned herself with her free hand. “I know, isn’t he gorgeous? Talk about dumb luck, huh? When Arnie told me the news I was sure it was going to suck big-time, but now that I’ve met Joe I’ve got to say, I’m definitely coming around.”
Hannah frowned, confused, but Mandy just kept talking.
“And the great thing is, the way he’s talking, Joe’s not going to change anything. He’s definitely not going to put in slot machines or try to turn the place into one of those slick yuppy hangouts, thank God. So even though it’ll be sad saying goodbye to Arnie after all these years, I think I can live with it.”
Hannah blinked as she deciphered Mandy’s ramblings. “He’s bought the place?” Hannah hoped against hope that she’d gotten it wrong.
“Yeah. Didn’t you see the notice?” Mandy pointed to a handwritten note stuck near the till. “Sale was finalized yesterday, but apparently they’ve been negotiating for over a month.”
Hannah swallowed the four-letter word on the tip of her tongue. “Well. How about that.”
Mandy wiggled her eyebrows suggestively one last time before moving off. Hannah tried to come to terms with what she’d just learned.
Joe Lawson, arrogant, judgmental neighbor extraordinaire, had purchased the one place left on earth where she felt like a normal human being. What were the odds?
She was seized with the sudden urge to march across the bar and demand he undo the sale, that he choose some other pub to invest in. This was her home away from home. She’d already lost the apartment she and Lucas had lived in, the future they’d planned. She’d narrowed her life to working hard and paying off her debts so she could escape. The Watering Hole had been her solace.
And now Joe Bloody Lawson had taken that away from her, too.
She should walk out the door and never come back. She didn’t like him, he didn’t like her. He made her uncomfortable. There were plenty of other places she could play pool and drink beer with her mates. But leaving felt like admitting defeat. Even if he owned the place now, she’d been here first. She’d been coming here for years, for Pete’s sake. There was no way she was going to let him run her out of town, so to speak.
“Your shot,” Bugsy said.
Hannah dragged her gaze away from where Joe was pouring shots for a group of university students. Jaw set, she took up her cue. Lining up a ball, she took her shot. The ball sped straight into the pocket with a satisfying thwack.
“Aw, man,” Bugsy complained as she started to clean up the table.
She wouldn’t back off. She would come here after work two or three times a week, same as she always had. Joe was nothing to her. Less than nothing.
Absolutely.
TWO WEEKS LATER, Joe let himself into the house to find his mother dozing on the couch. He tried to be quiet but she started to wakefulness as he entered the room.
“Joe! You scared me.”
“Sorry. I tried to be quiet.”
She sat up and ran her hands over her hair.
“My goodness, it’s after eleven. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but television was dreadful tonight. All that horrible reality TV just celebrates the absolute worst in humanity. What happened to good old-fashioned dramas like Dallas and Dynasty?”
“Joan Collins got old and J.R. got sick,” he said. He dropped his keys onto the coffee table and stretched out his back. “How were the kids? Did Ben get through his homework okay?”
Joe had been making a point of being home when the kids got in from school most days, only heading into the pub after they’d had their dinner. His long-term plan was to hire a night manager, but his mother had been good enough to cover the evenings while he learned the ropes at The Watering Hole in these early weeks. Tonight, however, he’d had to delegate all child care to his mother while he dealt with a staff crisis. Not a big deal, but annoying given that the whole point of buying the business had been to offer his kids a more stable home life.
“He told me he did it. I’m not sure what that means anymore,” his mother said.
He ran a hand over his hair. He knew exactly what she meant. Ben had become increasingly incommunicative lately. He spent a lot of time alone in his room listening to his iPod or playing on his handheld game, and no matter what Joe said or did he couldn’t get more than a shrug and a handful of words from his son.
“Have you had that talk with him yet?” his mother asked.
“Yes. He said school is fine, he’s making friends. He likes the new house. I couldn’t get anything more out of him.” He sat on the couch beside her. “I should have stuck it out in Sydney.”
“Maybe, but you’re here now. And once Ben and Ruby settle, things will even out, you’ll find new rhythms and routines.”
“I guess.”
“How’s the pub going?”
“Good. Still getting used to being on my feet most of the day.” He gave her a tired smile. “Got soft over the past few years, being a desk jockey.”
He’d given up his work on the offshore oil rigs when Beth died and taken a desk job so he could be around for the kids. It had been more than enough to prove to him that suit-and-tie stuff was not for him. Hence the purchase of the pub. It had always been Beth’s dream that they buy their own place and run it as a family.
“You look tired,” his mother said, her eyes concerned.
“I’m okay.”
“I know it must be hard. You and Beth always planned on doing this together.”
He shrugged. He had to do something with his life now that he could no longer do the rig work he loved. He’d decided to go ahead with Beth’s dream because he hadn’t had one of his own and she’d always said that when he gave up offshore work he’d go stir-crazy if he tried to take on a nine-to-five job. The past two years had more than proven her right.
Just for a moment he allowed himself to wonder what she’d think of The Watering Hole. He hoped she’d like its old-fashioned wooden bar and beat-up floor, the scratched and scarred tables and chairs and the chalkboards dating back to the 1930s. She’d always talked about buying a traditional place, a pub where families could get a reasonably priced meal and where the locals came to spend time with each other. No slot machines, no loud bands to scare people off. A neighborhood place.
His mother stood and started collecting her things. “I’d better get going. I’ll see you around dinnertime tomorrow, okay?”
He looked at her. “I appreciate this. You know that, right?” He’d never been great with words, but he hoped she understood how much he valued everything she’d done for him and his kids.
“I do. And you don’t have to keep thanking me. Ben and Ruby keep me young.” She squeezed his hand and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Get some sleep.”
He walked her to her car and waited until she’d rounded the corner before turning back to the house. He glanced at the Napier place as he walked up the front path. The light was on in the garage, illumination leaking out around the edges of the roller door. He could hear the radio playing. Hannah was obviously in there, tinkering away at something. He didn’t need to check his watch to know it was late, well past eleven. What the hell did she have to do in there that couldn’t wait until morning?
Over the past two weeks he’d watched her at The Watering Hole. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d been unable to help himself. The moment she walked in the door she exerted a gravitational pull on his senses that he found impossible to ignore. She came in twice, maybe three times a week. She had a beer, sometimes two, played a couple of games of pool with her biker friends, then she left. She never got drunk, never flirted, never let the guys win to make them feel good about themselves. Watching her interact with them, he was almost certain she wasn’t sleeping with any of them. Although why that was any of his business he had no idea.
She’d let Ruby help her twice since his knee-jerk reaction. Both times Ruby came home with greasy fingernails and clothes and conversation peppered with lots of “Hannah saids.” Through his daughter he’d learned that Hannah was restoring an old Triumph Thunderbird, that she planned to take off on a round-Australia road trip as soon as she had enough money saved, and that Hannah couldn’t stand Brussels sprouts, turnips or radishes.
He couldn’t work her out. She was gorgeous, yet she spent most of her time alone, up to her elbows in oil and grease. He’d finally discovered that her mother owned the house next door and that Hannah was living with her, and not the other way around. Yet Hannah didn’t strike him as the kind of person who would cling to her mother’s apron strings.
She was a mystery. One that his mind kept mulling over, again and again.
He climbed the steps to the house, shutting out thoughts of his provocative neighbor along with the cool night air as he closed the front door. He had no business speculating about her, just as he had no business fantasizing about what she looked like naked or how her skin would feel against his own. It was a dead end, and he didn’t have time or energy to waste on dead ends.
He locked the door then did his nightly check on the kids before heading to bed. Ben’s door was closed, but Joe eased it open and stepped into the room. His son looked much younger than his thirteen years when he was sleeping, his face more rounded, his chin less determined. Joe backed out silently then made his way to Ruby’s room. Her door was ajar and he swung it open quietly. Unlike her brother, Ruby was twisted in her quilt, one hand flung up near her head on the pillow. He crossed to the bed to untangle her and frowned when he saw the damp patch on her pillow. Her eyelashes were spiky with moisture, her cheeks flushed. She’d been crying, had cried herself to sleep, in fact. That was a blow to his solar plexus. It was one thing for him to be around while his daughter cried, to be able to comfort her and talk to her, but it was another thing entirely to know she’d been huddled in her bed, crying her misery into her pillow all on her own.
He wanted to wake her and reassure her and make her world right again. Instead he crouched beside the bed and smoothed the hair from her forehead. She looked more and more like Beth every day. She was going to be beautiful like her, too.
Because there was nothing else for him to do, he straightened her quilt, making sure she was warm enough. His fingers encountered something where the bed met the wall and he pulled out a crumpled ball of paper. He waited until he was in the hallway and the door was closed before smoothing the page. It was a flyer, sent home from Ruby’s school.
Elsternwick Primary School invites entries for its annual Mother and Daughter Fashion Parade. All funds raised will go toward the new gymnasium …
Joe swore under his breath and let his hand drop to his side. No wonder she’d been crying.
“Damn.”
Life was going to be full of moments like these for his children. Casually delivered school notices, other children’s birthday parties, a myriad of other social and community events centered around families. He couldn’t protect Ben and Ruby from them all, no matter how much he wanted to. But God, how he wanted to.
He walked slowly to the kitchen and placed the flyer on the counter. He stared at it, trying to work out how to handle the situation. Wait until Ruby brought it up? Mention it himself? Did the fact that Ruby hadn’t said anything to his mother tonight and instead chose to cry alone in her room mean he should tackle this more vigorously or give her more space?
He was truly clueless. He rubbed a hand over his face. Then he folded the notice in half and slid it into the junk drawer. He would talk to Ruby in the morning, see if she mentioned the fashion parade. If she didn’t … He would cross that bridge when he came to it. If she did, he would offer what comfort he could. Maybe his mother would be an adequate substitute. Or maybe he could offer to do something special with her the night of the parade and turn it into a father-daughter event instead of an occasion of sadness and grief.
Maybe. It was becoming the most overused word in his vocabulary.
THE NEXT DAY, HANNAH exited the workshop and waited for a pause in the traffic before crossing to the small group of shops opposite. She could see there was already a queue forming in the bakery, but she knew Ian would bitch and moan all day if she didn’t bring him back the doughnut he’d requested for morning break.
Resigning herself to a long wait, she joined the line and dug her hands into the pockets of her coveralls, jingling her change in the palm of her hand. She was glancing idly out the front window when she saw a dark-haired boy walk past with a couple of taller, older kids. She’d have to be blind not to recognize the younger boy as Joe’s son—she’d seen him coming and going from the house often enough.
She checked her watch. It wasn’t even close to lunchtime, which meant Joe’s kid had no legitimate reason for being on the street during school hours.
Unless he was ditching, of course.
She turned her attention to the menu board behind the bakery counter and concentrated on choosing between a Danish and a vanilla slice for herself. So what if Joe’s kid was sneaking off from school with what looked like older, meaner kids? It was none of her business.
It was harder to stick to her decision when she exited the bakery and spotted Joe’s son emptying his pockets near the corner while the older kids inspected his haul. It had been a while, but Hannah recognized the classic signs of shoplifting when she saw them. The furtiveness, the repressed excitement and fear. She could imagine how it had worked, too—the older kids distracting the shopkeeper while the younger, more innocent-looking kid played mule and stuffed his pockets.
She hesitated on the curb, watching the smaller boy shake his head in response to something one of the older kids said. Joe Junior or whatever his name was looked a lot like his old man—same dark hair, same blue eyes. No doubt he’d grow up to be as big and strong, too. As though he felt her regard, Joe Junior looked up and for a moment they locked gazes. He looked away first, but not before she saw the sadness in him. Another thing in common with his father.
She crossed the street and reentered the workshop, tossing Ian the bag with his doughnut in it.

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