Kezia stabbed her trowel around a stubborn weed and yanked until it slid from the soil. Autumn sunlight speared through the leaves of a bay tree in the corner of her front garden and dappled across the raised beds. This afternoon, she and Zoe would plant spring bulbs.
A miniature wilderness had surrounded their three-bedroom cottage when she arrived in Oban with her eight-year-old daughter last year. But during the summer school holidays, the two of them had tamed both the front and back yards. Come spring, they’d have neat rows of daffodils and jonquils to welcome the warmer weather.
She stood and stretched out her spine, glancing for about the sixtieth time up the road. Still no sign of them. Not that it was any of her business.
Thirty minutes ago, the blonde woman and little girl had stopped to ask for directions to Ben Harland’s house. Since her mamma raised no idioti, Kezia had pegged the child as Ben’s in three seconds. And since her housemate, Shaye—who happened to be Ben’s little sister—had never once mentioned a niece, someone could be in for a shocker of a morning. Unless Ben had kept secrets from his family? No…Shaye and Ben were tight.
So Ben was a daddy. Kezia shook her head. Ben knew kids like she knew car engines—which was to say, not at all. Not judging, just an observation. She’d watched him all summer from her classroom window. His sisters had twisted his arm into coaching cricket after school. He’d never seemed relaxed with the kids, just kept them busy with the game. But he’d caught her eye more than once—out there on the field—running, batting…muscles flexing as he bowled to a student.
And…cutting off inappropriate thoughts now. Kezia crouched and plunged the trowel into the soil. Ben was not her type. Actually, she hadn’t had a type since Callum died over four years ago. But if she did have a type? She sure wouldn’t go for men whose relationships didn’t last as long as the dairy products in her fridge.
“Mamma?” Zoe bounded around the side of their little cottage.
Kezia brushed her dirty hands on her apron. “Yes, bella?”
Her daughter ran to her side and Kezia kissed the girl’s mahogany curls.
Zoe tipped up her face, her dark-chocolate eyes sparkling. “Has the little girl come back yet?”
“Not yet. But remember, I said she might only be visiting for the day.”
Zoe raised her wrist and held her Hello Kitty watch under Kezia’s nose. “They can’t leave until the three o’clock ferry. That’s plenty of time for us to play—look. Here they come!”
Zoe darted out the gate and waved madly, calling, “Hi! Hi!”
Kezia hurried after her, but Zoe bulleted up the road. The blonde woman teetered down the hill toward them in cute but totally impractical red wedges that made Kezia’s rubber gardening booties look like clodhoppers.
Zoe bounced to a halt. “Where’s-your-little-girl-what’s-her-name-can-I-play-with-her-please?”
The woman stopped and shot Zoe a pinched smile.
“Hello again.” Kezia touched her daughter’s shoulder, which trembled with bottled-up energy. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to ambush you, did we, Zoe?” She smiled at the woman. “You found Ben’s place okay?”
“Yes.” She smoothed out non-existent wrinkles in her hot-tamale skirt and glanced down the road at the cluster of buildings forming the tiny township.
“I’m Kezia Murphy, and this is my daughter, Zoe. We’re both friends of the Harland family.”
The woman’s gaze travelled from Kezia’s hair—which no doubt contained bits of fauna, snagged in her curls—to her dirt-smeared gardening clothes and rubber boots.
YOU ARE READING
Melting Into You
RomantiekBen Harland is, by his own admission, a bit of a grouch. He doesn’t do soppy chick-flicks and he’s hen-picked enough as it is with his mother and two younger sisters on his case. He sure doesn’t need any more drama in his world. But life has a way o...
