Falling For Jack

‘Were you expecting rows of battery dogs?’ Jack’s mouth curved into a smile. ‘No. I employ a few men on the place and each of my men looks after a dog or two. That way they all have individual attention. I have a breeding programme, but in every other respect they’re my men’s dogs. But Jess is mine.’

‘Oh. I—I see.’ Bryony stared down at the gem scones Jack was now flipping out of the griddle and wrapping in a cloth. Her eyes widened. ‘Did you say ... did Maddy say you made these?’

‘Mmm.’ Morgan, there has to be a better conversation starter than this! He was tongue-tied again.

‘And the jam?’

‘That’s right.’ Not much better.

‘Do you want to plan my bedroom and then eat scones, or will you eat the gem scones first?’ Maddy asked anxiously, and Bryony sat down at the kitchen table and reached for a plate.

‘Both,’ she said promptly, and relaxed. She looked up at Jack and gave him her very widest smile. ‘A man who can cook! I’d like to know where you were when I was accepting marriage proposals,’ she told him. ‘Roger’s starting to look distinctly second-rate.’

The only problem was—it was true. Bryony had said it as a joke, but as Jack walked by her side up the stairs to Maddy’s room she was so aware of him that she felt the need for Myrna’s bucket of cold water.

He was so big. So ... so masculine. Roger smelled of expensive aftershave. Jack smelled...well. Jack smelled of Jack. Roger always looked immaculately groomed. Jack’s shirt had a rip in the sleeve above where he’d rolled the sleeves up, and his jeans were old and stained.

Bryony was starting to be breathless, and it had nothing to do with the stairs. Concentrate on work, she told herself fiercely. Desperately. Then leave. Fast. But she was needed here, for Maddy’s room was indeed sparse. Bleak would be a better word for it. Bryony stopped at the doorway and stared in dismay.

For a little girl’s room, it was pathetic. Oh, it was a nice enough room. Beige walls. Brown carpet. Beige bedspread. One window facing north with a great view over the sheep paddocks to the river beyond. That was its one redeeming feature. But there was not a toy in sight. Not a stuffed animal. Nothing to suggest this was a child’s room.

On the chair was one small battered suitcase. Full to bursting. On impulse Bryony walked over and pulled open the bureau drawer. Empty. The child had her suitcase packed, ready to go.

‘Diana suggested we paint the room pink and buy Maddy some new clothes,’ Jack said, and Bryony heard the desperation in his voice. ‘But Maddy won’t have a bar of it.’

‘Diana?’

‘My next-door neighbour.’

‘I don’t like pink,’ Maddy said stubbornly. ‘And I don’t like Diana.’