Kindergarten Cupids

“Elena’s bringing some drinks out onto the terrace for you,” Cain told the boys. “Let’s see who can get up there first.”

The two boys shot off, and Mardi held her breath. Ben was much taller and faster than Nicky, and she was afraid that her son would try so hard to keep up with his lanky friend that he’d trip over and break his glasses.

“A race might tire them out,” Cain commented hopefully, “and make them settle down a bit.”

“They seem very happy to see each other,” Mardi conceded, still watching anxiously as she and Cain headed off after the boys—at a more leisurely pace.

She only took her eyes off Nicky when he safely reached the terrace and flopped into an outdoor chair. Ben was already pouncing on the bowl of cookies, while Elena poured drinks for them from a big jug of orange juice.

Mardi glanced around. There was no doubt about it…it was a beautifully designed garden, with its slim ornamental pines and neat flower beds, its well-clipped lawns and graceful statues. Hardly a garden for boisterous little boys.

There were no trees suitable for climbing, as Ben had pointed out, no hardy shrubs for playing hide-and-seek, no playground equipment, no sandpit, no areas specifically set aside for energetic wear and tear. Cain Templar would probably throw a fit if his son tried to stick cricket stumps into his immaculate lawn or trampled on one of his exotic plants. Or worse, knocked over one of those slender statues dotting the lawn.

“Have you ever thought of buying a jungle gym or a swing for Ben?” she asked. “Boys love to climb. Well, you’ve just seen how they…” She trailed off as Cain’s dark brow drew down in a frown. And no wonder, she thought in immediate self-reproach. She’d been here for five minutes and she was offering suggestions that in his eyes, no doubt, would desecrate the place!

“My wife believed that play equipment would spoil the view…as well as the aesthetics of the garden.” Cain’s impassive tone gave no clue to his own thoughts on the subject. “It was difficult enough persuading her to fence the pool. The garden was her pride and joy….She oversaw everything that went into it.”

Oversaw, Mardi noted. No, Sylvia Templar wouldn’t have soiled her well-manicured hands by doing the gardening herself. But she would have employed the very best landscaping artists and gardeners.

“And she had to live with it more often than I did,” Cain added with a shrug. “I’ve always worked long hours, including weekends, and I’ve spent a lot of my time away from home on business.”

Leaving his wife at home alone…feeling lonely and neglected?

Mardi shrugged off her sour thoughts. She was supposed to be thinking of what was best for his son. She turned her mind back to swings and monkey bars.

So, it was Cain’s wife who’d banned play equipment. But his wife was no longer here. Couldn’t Cain put his son’s needs first now?

“We do have a gymnasium under the house,” Cain said. “There’s all kinds of exercise equipment there.”

Mardi pursed her lips. Exercise bikes and treadmills? Not quite the same as outdoor swings, slides and monkey bars…or a cubby house. Nicky was forever building cubby houses at home…out of old cartons, under drooping trees, in bushes. She couldn’t imagine cardboard cartons being allowed to litter the Templars’ impeccably kept yard. As for hanging ropes and a tire from a tree to make a swing, as she’d done for Nicky, there were no trees here big enough.

Her spirits dipped as she remembered that soon Nicky would have no rope swing, no trees to climb, no garden to build a cubby house in. Maybe not even room to play.

“But that’s not what you mean, is it?” Cain’s eyes were on her face. “You mean outdoor play equipment. Designed specially for kids.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “You could put a swing or a slide around the side of the house somewhere, out of direct sight,” she suggested boldly.

Cain jerked a shoulder. “There’s a granny flat and a double garage on one side of the house, and a paved barbecue and entertaining area, with border shrubs, on the other. But I guess there’d be room there somewhere….”

Mardi’s jaw dropped slightly. He was actually going to consider it?

Emboldened, she added, “And maybe you could move those statues in your lawn closer to the garden beds, to avoid them being knocked over when the boys run around.”

“Mmmm…right. Any other ideas?” Cain asked as they climbed the steps to the terrace.

The faint dryness in his tone brought a tinge of pink to her cheeks. He’d sensed that she’d been less than impressed with his perfect garden. But she’d been looking at it purely from a child’s point of view, from a practical point of view.

“I’m sorry.” Her tone was placating. “You must think I’m extremely rude. I haven’t even told you how beautiful your garden is.”

The corner of his mouth tweaked. “I know how beautiful it is. What I need to know is how to make it more child-friendly. I’d appreciate your honest opinion—if you can think of anything else.”

Cain caught the surprise in her eyes as she glanced up at him, and in the same instant the sun picked up the rare amber of her eyes and made them glow like molten gold. He felt something stir, deep in his gut. Lust… What else? Cynicism twisted his lips. He’d fallen in lust with another pair of eyes once….Sylvia’s eyes had been just as beautiful…not golden, but a dramatic, depthless black.

He scowled. He didn’t want to equate this woman with his wife. Mardi, he sensed, was a different kettle of fish altogether. From what he’d observed so far, her values and priorities would be totally different from Sylvia’s. She cared about her son…cared about her grandfather…cared about people other than herself. And she wouldn’t be the kind of woman, he suspected, who would play around behind her husband’s back…or, for that matter, be the kind of woman he would want to play around with. In fact, she was the last woman in the world he would want to get involved with. Darrell Sinclair’s widow…

Damn it, but Ben needed someone like her.

Mardi caught his scowl, and the brooding faraway look that followed, and bit back the suggestion on her lips. He might be asking for her ideas, but he plainly didn’t want to hear them. Perhaps it made him feel disloyal to his wife’s memory.

Better, she decided, to keep any further ideas for another time…if there was another time.

“Let me think about it,” she hedged, and he nodded, as if satisfied. “Um, I haven’t thanked you for the pie and the cake,” she added. “There was really no need….”

“I felt responsible, calling on you at such a bad time. Hey, kids, leave some for us!” he called out as they reached the terrace. “We want some drinks and nibbles, too.”

Ben stuck out his chin. “We’ve had enough anyway. Come on, Nicky…” He grabbed his friend’s hand and dragged him away. “Let’s look for snails.” They ran down the steps together.

Cain rolled his eyes. “I doubt if they’ll find any. Our gardener’s very meticulous about snails and weeds.”

Yes, she could see that. “How often does he come?” she asked curiously. Any gardening needed at home she’d always done herself. Not that her own garden needed much attention, being mostly native gum trees with a few hardy shrubs.

Darrell, obsessed with his rise up the ladder of success, had never had the time or the inclination for gardening. He’d insisted that their house had to be furnished and decorated before they made any major changes to the existing native garden, and he’d left her with the unpaid bills for those fine new furnishings—with accumulated interest to rub salt into her wounds.

“Our gardener, Joe, comes each day, Monday to Friday,” Cain replied. “He has the weekends off.”

Five days a week? Mardi blinked. Still, it was the kind of garden, she supposed, that would need constant attention.

“Some orange juice, Mardi?” Cain was pouring a glass for her as he spoke. “Please, sit down. We can watch the boys from here.”

We? Mardi flicked an edgy tongue over her lips. He was going to stay out here with her? Or did he intend to make an excuse to escape the minute he’d finished his morning tea?

Cain, eyes narrowed against the sun, noted the nervous gesture. She was obviously uncomfortable with him. Because he was Sylvia Templar’s husband and a disquieting reminder of her husband’s affair with his wife? Well, he guessed it was understandable that she’d feel a bit uptight. Especially if she’d loved her no-good husband.

He looked into the veiled amber eyes and found himself angry on her behalf, and curious to know more about her.

Leaning back in his chair, he tried to put her at ease. “Well, Mardi, what do you do during the week, when you’re not looking after your son and your grandfather? Do you work? Have a career? Play bridge?”