Expecting Miracle Twins

His reasons for following her to this café weren’t crystal clear to him, but he supposed he’d been hoping for useful tips on how to help old Roy. One thing was certain—he wasn’t here because she looked cute in those sleek grey trousers, or because her new hairstyle looked terrific and brought out the blue in her eyes.

Hell, no. He wasn’t interested in Mattie as a woman.

She wasn’t even close to his type. She was small and serious and mousy. Well, maybe she wasn’t mousy exactly, certainly not now, but she was most definitely small. And earnest.

The heat that had scorched him when she’d touched his hand a few minutes earlier was not what he’d first feared. He couldn’t possibly have experienced hot, pulsing lust for her.

On the other hand, Jake didn’t want to think too hard about why he’d ended it with his latest female companion, Ange, or why he’d started hanging about the kitchen in the flat in the mornings, or why he’d casually asked Mattie to the movies today.

None of his recent behaviour made sense, and Mattie was giving out confusing signals too. It was as if she was trying to impress him and avoid him at the same time and, like a fool, he’d followed her here. He wasn’t in the habit of following women, but he’d convinced himself that she would be able to give him good advice about Roy. That was the only reason he’d come here, wasn’t it?

He wished he felt surer. It was a relief when their meals arrived and he could concentrate on eating.

Mattie declared that her soup was delicious—so full of noodles and vegetables that she ate most of it with chopsticks.

Which caused a tiny problem. Jake found himself watching the way she deftly used the chopsticks. Her hands were pale and delicate and graceful, possibly the prettiest hands he’d ever seen. He pictured her holding a pen or a paintbrush as she created her whimsical works of art.

He thought about the way she’d touched him a few minutes ago. Imagined—

‘What’s the food like in Mongolia?’ she asked.

Jake blinked, dragged his mind into gear. ‘Er…do you mean the traditional food of the locals, or what we eat on the mine site?’

‘Both, I guess.’

‘Our cook serves mainly western food, but the Mongolians eat mutton. Loads of mutton. They even drink the mutton fat. It’s no place for vegetarians.’

Mattie wrinkled her nose. ‘I rather like Mongolian lamb.’

‘The meals in Asian restaurants here in Sydney are nothing like the mutton eaten out on the steppe.’

Mattie accepted this with a shrug. ‘Do you live in barracks, or one of those little round tents?’

‘I have a tent. They call it a ger.’

‘It sounds rather primitive.’

‘Actually, gers aren’t too bad. The walls are made out of layers of felt and they’re quite snug. In winter we have a stove for heating and in summer we can roll up the sides for ventilation.’

‘It’s a very different world, isn’t it?’ she said, glancing out through a window to the city lights.

‘That’s part of the attraction for me. Then again, I grew up in a remote part of the Outback, so I suppose that made it easier for me to fit in.’

Her blue eyes challenged him. ‘Why do you work there?’

Jake had been asked this question before, but suddenly, when Mattie asked him, he wished he had higher motives. There was no point, however, in trying to pretend he was a paragon of virtue.

‘I’m footloose and fancy free,’ he said, aware that his jaw was jutting at a defensive angle. ‘And the job offered a chance to see a really different part of the world. But the big drawcard is that it pays very well.’

He expected to read disapproval in her eyes. To his surprise, she smiled. ‘And when you’re on leave you can party hard.’

‘Mostly.’

The obvious fact that he’d been partying when Mattie had arrived on his doorstep and the equally obvious fact that he was nowhere near a party right now was not something Jake wanted to analyse too closely.

‘Tell me more about your paintings,’ he said quickly to change the subject.

Mattie dismissed this with a graceful wave of her hand. ‘They’re just illustrations for a children’s book.’

‘Do you plan to write the story as well?’

She nodded.

‘Have you been published?’

‘Uh-huh. I’ve had three books published so far.’

‘No kidding?’ He knew his eyes were wide with surprise. ‘That’s terrific. I’ve never met an author.’

‘Most people don’t think of me as a real author. They assume that children’s stories are incredibly easy to write.’

‘How could they be easy, when they’re created entirely out of your imagination? And you don’t just write the stories, you do the illustrations as well. Aren’t children supposed to be the harshest critics of all?’

She nodded and smiled, clearly pleased by his enthusiasm.

‘What are your stories about?’

Now Mattie looked embarrassed. ‘Nothing you’d be interested in.’ She poked her chopsticks into the noodles at the bottom of her bowl.

‘Try me.’

‘Don’t laugh,’ she ordered.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘They’re about a little girl called Molly.’ Carefully, she laid the chopsticks across her bowl and sat back, arms folded.

‘And…’ Jake prompted.

‘Molly’s actually a white witch and, when her parents aren’t looking, she has all sorts of adventures. She goes around doing secret good deeds and terrific acts of heroism.’

Just like her creator, Jake thought, and suddenly he was struggling to hide his amusement.

Mattie’s eyes blazed. ‘I knew you’d laugh.’

‘I’m not laughing.’ Why couldn’t he stop smiling? ‘Honestly. I’m seriously impressed. I’m sure Molly’s stories are very popular.’

‘They seem to be.’ Mattie sniffed, then rolled her eyes, as if she hoped he would drop the subject.