Wild About Harry (Hearts of the Outback Book 5) Read online

  That was when the idea hit—bright and brilliant and simple. Bri had a plan and if it worked out, Harry and Vicky wouldn’t be lonely any more.

  Chapter Eleven

  On the flight back to town, with the sun setting and a golden light filling the cabin of the Cessna, Vicky nodded off against Harry’s chest. He tucked her into his side and adjusted the headset to cover her ears, while his mind churned with a possibility created by random events. Most of the time he hated random with a passion, but Bri’s car woes meant she wasn’t leaving town for a while. Surprisingly, the thought lifted his spirits. His daughter was missing out on simple things in life. Things Bri thought of that he, Vicky’s father, hadn’t considered. Not that Bri had pointed the finger of blame at him.

  Far from it. But her vibrant presence in his home had woken him to one important detail. He had the power to give Vicky some of what she wanted. Heaven help him, he didn’t want another wife. He sure as hell didn’t want to bring more children into such a precarious, uncertain world that could take a woman like Linda.

  But he could give Vicky the friendship of a woman like Bri. Temporarily, while he considered the idea of finding another wife.

  Aside from Bri’s unfortunate tendency to blurt out whatever was in her head, she had a kind heart, and Vicky liked her. Convincing Bri to accept a position as nanny would be tricky, but Harry was good at strategy, and he had patience and determination by the bucket load.

  If it meant a benefit for Vicky, he could be charming. At least, he thought he remembered how to do it.

  He turned from contemplation of the sunset. Bri was watching Vicky, a half smile tipping up one side of her mouth. If Bri would consider filling in until Felicity was mobile again, he’d solve his problem and help Bri in one well-planned move.

  By the time Amy landed the Cessna, it was dark and Harry was certain of his course. He unclipped both his and Vicky’s seatbelts, removed their headsets and lifted his sleeping daughter out of the plane. She stirred and snuggled into his neck. “Bri, would you mind giving me a hand? Can you grab Vicky’s backpack and that cooler please?”

  “Sure.”

  They walked side by side to the car park while Amy and Dan logged off and hangared the plane. Once he’d strapped Vicky into her booster seat, he relieved Bri of the cooler and backpack, set them on the ground and turned to look at her. “I have a proposition that helps out both you and me.”

  Damn, that came out wrong. What was it about Bri that made him forget the right words when he needed them?

  The security lights were behind Bri and her face was in shadow, but she tipped her head up at him. “A proposition, hey?” There was humour in her tone and he waited, expecting a quip to trip off her tongue. Holding his breath, he wanted her to say it to annoy him. To make him feel—something. A hitherto unsuspected perverse flaw in his character wanted Bri to tease him.

  “What do you need help with, Harry?”

  Subconsciously he was aware he’d phrased his request to elicit a teasing response—he knew he had. Why he did it was a whole other game. He liked Bri’s teasing. It made him feel as though he’d woken from a long, dark night into the glimmer of dawn. He enjoyed her banter—as long as it didn’t impact on Vicky. But she was asleep and there was just the two of them.

  Plain and simple, that was the best approach. If he kept the exposition factual, and focused on Vicky, he’d be successful. He visualised that success, what it would mean, how it would look. Vicky with neat braids and pretty dresses every morning, shared meals of an evening.

  The memory of their first shared meal slipped unbidden into his mind—Bri and that damned toastie. It was the first time in so long that he’d felt anything remotely like interest in a woman and he’d lost too much sleep thinking of her lush lips, fantasising on their taste and how they would feel beneath his. That way lay madness. He turned to look at Vicky’s relaxed body; this was all about his daughter, nothing more.

  “Felicity had a bad fall and broke her ankle.”

  “Vicky’s nanny? Poor girl.”

  “She’ll be unable to work for several weeks. It’s impossible for me to fulfil my contractual obligations to the mine if I can’t get out and do field work and I can’t take Vicky to work with me.”

  “Hang on. You work for the—mine?” She paused before ‘mine’, then stretched the single syllable into two, imbuing the word with disgust and contempt. He’d factored in her remarks about her grandfather’s poor health, and the probability she would be anti-mining became certainty.

  Tread lightly, he cautioned himself. “I’m a geologist. The mine does not employ me, but I do occasional contract work for them. I have a contract I need to complete, and I need help.”

  Her shoulders relaxed and she nodded. “So you aren’t management.”

  “I work for myself, Bri. That’s the way I like it—in control of what I do and when I do it.”

  “Me too, most of the time. Are you by any chance about to ask me to look after Vicky?”

  “Yes.” His gut tensed, needing to know what Bri thought, but unable to see her reaction. He stepped past her then turned. Now the security light fell on her face and—best of all, her smile. Hope unfurled like a new bud as Bri’s smile reached her eyes. “She likes you, and you’re good for her—with her. I’ll pay above award, with board and accommodation as part of the deal. Six to eight weeks probably and you’ll be well on the way to buying another car.”

  “And this would be just until Felicity is back on her feet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you have any objection to me taking Vicky on a photographic job if it’s on a non-kindy day? Another of the schools that was scammed has been in contact and offered a day’s work to get their student photos done. Apparently your friends, the Faulkners recommended me. I’ve already accepted the job.”

  It was a small concession if he could get Bri to care for Vicky. It might not be ideal, but Harry wouldn’t quibble about the overlap. “I may be able to work from home that day, but if I can’t, it’s okay with me. Just this once.”

  “Of course.” She held out a hand. “You’ve got yourself a temporary nanny. When do you want me to move in?”

  Chapter Twelve

  The aroma of tomatoes and basil and bolognese sauce filled the kitchen as Bri and Vicky set the table for dinner. Vicky folded a red paper serviette into a lopsided triangle and set it under a fork. “Daddy will be home soon, won’t he, Bri?”

  Bri glanced at the antique clock hanging above the sideboard, both heirloom pieces, she figured. “Yep. He said he’d be home by half past five and that’s in—let’s count how many minutes.” She lifted Vicky onto her hip and pointed at the long hand. “This needs to be pointing to the number six, so how many lines are between the six and the five?”

  Vicky counted them off and announced, “Five! Daddy will be home in five minutes.”

  Hoping Harry was on time, Bri lowered Vicky to the floor. “Just enough time to pick some flowers and put them in a vase. Come on.” Vicky slipped her small hand into Bri’s and skipped beside her down the steps and into the front yard. The bones of a well-planned garden were evident, but Harry probably didn’t have time to do more than mow and trim the edges. Vine grew through lavender bushes, which stretched scraggly branches towards an overhanging cotoneaster, and geraniums sprawled along the low fence separating Harry’s home from the next door neighbour.

  “Which flowers do you like, Vicky?”

  “The purple ones. They smell pretty.”

  “Okay, we’ll take five stems of lavender. Can you count each one as I cut them?” She began snipping long stems of fragrant lavender and handing them to Vicky.

  “One—two—three—four—”

  The chug of a diesel engine turning into the driveway made them both turn. Harry pulled up under the carport and stepped out of the car.

  “Da—aaa—dy, you’re here!” Vicky ran across the brown that passed for grass and jumped into Harry’s arms. Bri clipp
ed a couple of pieces of fern to go with the lavender and turned to watch Vicky greet her father. Vicky was delightful and bright and funny, and at the end of Bri’s first day on the job, she suspected leaving would be tough when the time came.

  Harry strolled across the yard and stopped, eyeing the small bunch of flowers Vicky handed to Bri. “How was your day? Was Vicky a good girl?”

  Vicky placed a hand on either side of Harry’s face and stared into his eyes. “Daddy, I’m always good.”

  “Is this true, Briony?”

  Bri couldn’t hold back a laugh at his mock serious expression and Vicky’s anxious little face as she looked for confirmation. “She was beautifully behaved all day. And we’ve made something yummy for dinner. Do you want to show Daddy what you’ve done?”

  Harry lowered his daughter onto the steps and, taking her hand, let her lead him into the kitchen. Vicky climbed onto the chair Bri had pushed against the bench. Three plates were lined up ready to receive their load of spaghetti bolognese. “Ta-dah! See, Daddy, spag bog. Me and Bri made dinner.”

  Bri popped the flowers into the vase and moved into the kitchen. She washed her hands, pulled on a pair of oven mitts and took a foil-wrapped loaf of garlic bread from the oven. “We had fun, didn’t we? Vicky buttered the bread and helped wrap it in foil.”

  A small frown settled on Harry’s face. “Looks like you’ve both been very busy. Clever girl, Vicky. How about we go and wash your hands.”

  Vicky ran up the stairs. Harry paused. “Do you think it’s wise to allow a child to wield a knife?”

  The warm, fuzzy feeling inside Bri dimmed, but she swallowed the snarky response. Harry was paying her to look after his daughter. She knew he was cautious; some might call it overprotective, but that was his way. Instead, she picked up the white plastic knife and wiggled it in front of Harry’s face. “This is Vicky’s knife and I was beside her the whole time.”

  “Oh, okay. That’s good. Look, Bri, I don’t expect you to cook dinner every night. That wasn’t part of our agreement.” Maybe he saw a flash of disappointment in her face although Bri tried not to let Harry’s lack of pleasure get to her. “But thank you. That’s kind of you to take the time.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to cook. I enjoy it, but I’ve been moving around so much I haven’t had a kitchen at my disposal in far too long. My parents started teaching me to cook when I was little. By the time I started high school, I could make a complete roast dinner for the family. Cooking is relaxing. Besides, Vicky was keen to help.” Bri shrugged and turned away to stir the sauce. She didn’t add that Felicity had apparently never cooked more than tinned spaghetti on toast. Vicky had no idea how to cook, but soaked up Bri’s instructions like a little sponge. While Bri had responsibility for Vicky, it was her choice what activities they engaged in. Mostly. So long as Harry approved. “I thought you’d be okay with her learning how her food is made.”

  Harry said nothing and when she glanced up, he was watching her with a peculiar expression in his eyes as though seeing her for the first time. She paused, the foil package half-unwrapped in her hands. “Is that okay or would you prefer me not to teach her cooking?”

  He shook his head. “Felicity has never once suggested cooking, but Vicky sounds like she had fun today. Thank you. If you want to cook, I’m grateful. It’s one less chore when I get home.” He followed Vicky up the stairs.

  Bri had been unsure how Harry would react. Indulging her love of cooking had felt more like a gift to herself, but Harry’s appreciation filled her with a pleasant glow. Win-win!

  By the time Harry and Vicky returned to the table, Bri had served the meal and was carrying the plates to the table. “Enjoy. Parmesan cheese is in that bowl. The bread is still a bit hot. Be careful, Vicky.”

  “Yes, Bri.”

  Harry tucked a serviette into the neck of Vicky’s T-shirt and picked up the bowl of grated Parmesan. He helped himself and passed it to Bri. She served a generous spoonful over her meal and offered the bowl to Vicky. “Would you like some cheese on yours?”

  Harry answered for her. “She doesn’t like Parmesan.”

  “Yes please.” Vicky and Harry looked at one another.

  “You don’t like this cheese, Pumpkin.”

  “I do like it, Daddy. Bri let me taste it before she grated it. It’s yummy.”

  Harry tipped his head to the side. He was doing that a lot lately, as though he hadn’t caught up with all the changes in his home. It was comical and endearing and Bri wanted to laugh. She pressed her serviette to her mouth, hoping it hid her grin. Laughing at her employer might not be good for their relationship, but it might knock some of the stuffiness out of him. If he just loosened up a bit he might actually be rather—too appealing.

  Bri looked at him then shook her head.

  Don’t even think about him in that way. In two months I’ll be gone.

  “Okay, but you have to eat everything on your plate even if you change your mind.”

  “Silly, Daddy. I can’t eat my spoon.” She giggled and grinned at Bri then scooped up a mouthful. “Yum.”

  Bri’s gaze caught and held Harry’s. His mouth curved up in a slow smile, surprising only by its unfamiliarity. When Harry smiled he was charming and attractive. This version of Harry was very appealing. She grinned back, unable to help herself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Harry sat at his desk, but his mind wasn’t on the graph on his screen, or the data in his folder. In the week Bri had been living with them, Vicky seemed happier and more settled, and he’d felt . . . comfortable about leaving her in Bri’s care for three days and two nights while he carried out fieldwork. Last night at bedtime, Vicky had taken her bedtime story out of his hands and read to him. With inflection and dramatic pauses.

  He mourned the change, and at the same time revelled in her progress. Half wishing Bri could stay longer, he decided there would be changes when Felicity returned. He tossed the pen he’d been rolling between his fingers on the desk and reached for the parenting guide he’d purchased when Vicky was a baby. An envelope marked the last chapter he’d read.

  By two years, your baby . . .

  He dropped into the armchair and flicked over several chapters until he came to one headed: ‘Four to six years’ and settled in to read. Several pages later he ground to a halt in a section devoted to discussing role models of both sexes. Vicky’s role models were few; Felicity wasn’t bad, but the young nanny wasn’t particularly good either. Clare Spencer was good, but did Vicky see enough of her teacher? Female friends like Amy and Lizzy were strong women, but not frequent visitors.

  Harry closed his eyes and let his head thump on the back of the chair. Was he a bad father for not considering providing his daughter with a stepmother? Linda had only been gone for eighteen months, but he doubted there would ever come a time when he felt ready to consider the problem. Would lack of a more permanent role model adversely affect Vicky? Guilt and self doubt settled like a stone in his stomach.

  A gentle tap and the swish of his door opening brought him upright. Bri stood at the door, holding the handle. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ve put the kettle on. I’m having a cuppa and thought you might like a cup of tea or coffee too?”

  Harry closed his book and set it on the arm of the chair. “Yes please. Coffee. Shall we have it in the living room?”

  Bri gave him a quick smile and closed the door. He shut down his computer, switched off the desk lamp and stood in the dim light cast by a street light. He picked the book up again and stepped towards the door then stopped and tapped the book against his hand.

  Would Bri take offence if he gave her the parenting guide to read? She was good with Vicky, but Bri had no children of her own and, by her own admission, no experience. Instinct, common sense and her own childhood memories had guided her so far.

  Such as teaching Vicky to cook as Bri’s parents had taught her. Tonight’s roast dinner included Vicky’s newfound gravy making skil
l. She’d even written their initials on three of the Yorkshire puddings.

  Felicity with her childcare certificate hadn’t done as much with Vicky in eighteen months as Bri had in just a few days.

  He tossed the book on the desk and patted his stomach. Seven more weeks with Bri in their lives sounded good. Time enough another night to discuss Vicky’s progress and the book’s guidelines. Tonight Harry just wanted to relax with a pretty woman who wouldn’t complicate his life.

  Seven weeks with Bri, weeks that would be simple and pleasant. Smiling to himself, he pulled the office door closed and strolled into the living room. He dimmed the lights, switched on the television and flopped into an armchair.

  “Great timing.” Bri set a tray with two steaming mugs and a brandy bottle on the low table. She placed one mug on a coaster near Harry’s right hand, and lifted the brandy bottle. “Do you fancy something delicious and decadent with your coffee?”

  He looked up as Bri held out the bottle. She was offering to add a splash of brandy to his mug. He knew that, as surely as he knew his name. But in the dim light, with the soft strains of Spanish guitar playing from the television, Harry lost track of the conversation.

  Delicious and decadent.

  The taste of brandy from Bri’s lips, sweet cognac on her breath, the possibilities that followed shared kisses. Lulled into a feeling of comfort, his imagination pulled him into a daydream . . .

  “Does that sigh mean yes, you’d like brandy in your coffee, or no, Bri is a wicked woman for offering me such treats?”

  Had he sighed? Harry blinked and sat upright. His response to her innocent question surprised him. What would she do if she knew what he was thinking? Run for the hills? “It means yes please and make it a double.”