Dreaming Of You: Bachelor Dad on Her Doorstep / Outback Bachelor / The Hometown Hero Returns

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Bachelor Dad On Her Doorstep (#u3ea32e4f-9241-5191-9031-c7ad61a0b4dd)

Michelle Douglas

At the age of eight MICHELLE DOUGLAS was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, ‘A writer.’ Years later she read an article about romance-writing and thought, Ooh, that’ll be fun. She was right. When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English Masters programme, for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero—husband Greg, who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings. Michelle would love you to visit her at her website: www.michelledouglas.com (http://www.michelledouglas.com).

To Varuna, The Writers’ House, with thanks.

PROLOGUE (#u3ea32e4f-9241-5191-9031-c7ad61a0b4dd)

JAZ hadn’t meant her first return to Clara Falls in eight years to occur under the cover of darkness, but she hadn’t been able to get away from work as early as she’d hoped and then the traffic between Sydney and the Blue Mountains had been horrendous.

She was late.

At least a fortnight too late.

A horrible laugh clawed out of her throat, a sound she’d never heard herself utter before. She tried to drag it back before it swallowed her whole.

Not the time. Not the place.

Definitely not the place.

She didn’t drive up Clara Falls’ main street. She turned into the lane that led to the residential parking behind the shops. Given the darkness—and the length of time she’d stayed away—would she even recognise the back of the bookshop?

She did. Immediately.

And a weight slammed down so heavily on her chest she sagged. She had to close her eyes and go through the relaxation technique Mac had taught her. The weight didn’t lift, but somehow she found a way to breathe through it.

When she could, she opened her eyes and parked her hatchback beside a sleek Honda and stared up at the light burning in the window.

Oh, Mum!

Sorry would not be good enough. It would never be good enough.

Don’t think about it.

Not the time. Not the place.

She glanced at the Honda. Was it Richard’s car?

Richard—her mother’s solicitor.

Richard—Connor Reed’s best friend.

The thought came out of nowhere, shooting tension into every muscle, twisting both of her calves into excruciating cramps.

Ha! Not out of nowhere. Whenever she thought of Clara Falls, she thought of Connor Reed. End of story.

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel and welcomed the bite of pain in her legs, but it didn’t wipe out the memories from her mind. Connor Reed was the reason she’d left Clara Falls. Connor Reed was the reason she’d never returned.

The cramps didn’t ease.

She lifted her gaze back to the bookshop, then higher still to stare at the flat above, where her mother had spent the last two years of her life.

I’m sorry, Mum.

The pain in her chest and legs intensified. Points of light darted at the outer corners of her eyes. She closed them and forced herself to focus on Mac’s relaxation technique again—deliberately tensing, then relaxing every muscle in her body, one by one. The pain eased.

She would not see Connor Reed tonight. And, once she’d signed the papers to sell the bookshop to its prospective buyer, she’d never have to set foot in Clara Falls again.

She pushed open the car door and made her way up the back steps. Richard opened the door before she could knock.

‘Jaz!’ He folded her in a hug. ‘It’s great to see you.’

He meant it, she could tell. ‘I… It’s great to see you too.’ Strangely enough, she meant it too. A tiny bit of warmth burrowed under her skin.

His smile slipped. ‘I just wish it was under different circumstances.’

The warmth shot back out of her. Richard, as her mother’s solicitor, had been the one to contact her, to tell her that Frieda had taken an overdose of sleeping pills. To tell her that her mother had died. He hadn’t told Jaz that it was all her fault. He hadn’t had to.

Don’t think about it. Not the time. Not the place.

‘Me too,’ she managed. She meant that with all her heart.

He ushered her inside—into a kitchenette. Jaz knew that this room led through to the stockroom and then into the bookshop proper. Or, at least, it used to.