A Child in Need

“Yes,” Nick said harshly.

“Nick—”

“Don't you dare feel sorry for me. If I'm not over it now I never will be.”

“I don't think you can ever be over something like that. Kids can bounce back from a hard time—but if they don't think they're loved….”

“Harry will be okay.”

She hadn't been talking about Harry—but now she turned to look down at the sleeping little boy.

“I guess.” She smiled and turned back to Nick. “If you stay on his side….”

“Hey, I'm committing myself to nothing here.”

“You're already committed.”

Families in the Making!

In the orphanage of a small Australian seaside town called Bay Beach are little children desperately in need of love. Some of them have no parents, some are simply unwanted—but each child dreams about having their own family someday….

The answer to their dreams can also be found in Bay Beach! Couples who are destined for each other—even if they don't know it yet—are brought together by love for these tiny children. Can they find true love themselves—and finally become a real family?

Look out for the next PARENTS WANTED story:
Their Baby Bargain
by Marion Lennox
#3662

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘M
Y PERFECT
woman…'

‘Yeah, Nick. You must have
someone
pictured in that cool, calculating head of yours. If you were ever to consider marriage…'

‘Ha!'

‘No, but say your career depended on it. Say you really needed a wife. Who would it be?' Nick's fellow lawyers were clustered around the bar late on Friday night, and they weren't letting him off the hook.

So Nick thought about it—but just to humour them. There was no way this could ever be serious.

‘Okay. Wife requirements coming up.' He frowned. ‘Anyone I married would have to be independent. I don't need a wife so she couldn't need a husband.'

There was a hoot of derisive laughter and the questioning intensified. ‘We guessed that much. Independent. Okay. What else?'

‘Beats me.' Nick gave a mental shrug. This was stupid. Marriage wasn't on his cards at all. But if it was…

‘She'd have to be really something,' he said slowly, thinking it through. ‘Tall and gorgeous. Of course.'

‘Oh, of course,' his friends agreed, rolling their eyes. ‘Cat-walk gorgeous.'

‘Trophy-wife gorgeous,' Nick agreed. ‘After all, that's the only reason I'd be marrying.'

‘And smart?'

‘Absolutely. Professional something. A lawyer or a doctor, maybe. So she'd have her own life.'

‘Rich?

‘Yep. There's no chance I'm supporting any woman!'

‘That's a bit unfair. You make a mint.'

‘And that's the way I like it. Wealth. Position. Travel. What else is there in life?'

‘How about kids?' they asked curiously.

‘You have to be joking!' That was emphatic. ‘No!'

‘Now, how did we guess that?' His friends now had their summary. ‘So… Gorgeous. Intelligent. Rich. Independent. Wanting no ties. Cold as ice? Something like you, in fact?'

‘Am I cold?' Nick asked mildly, but he knew the answer. Of course he was cold. Nick Daniels kept his emotions to himself. He didn't get involved. Not after what he'd been through.

So this conversation was ridiculous. Marriage for Nicholas Daniels was never going to happen.

 

‘It must be getting close now—or has John popped the question already?'

Shanni McDonald laughed and shrugged. They were a strange partnership, these two. Shanni, kindergarten director at twenty-seven, still looked about sixteen. Her assistant, Marg, was in her fifties, but they worked together brilliantly. There was only one disadvantage as far as Shanni was concerned. Marg's age meant she was never backward in asking the hard questions.

So now she was waiting for an answer, and there was only one to give.

‘Not yet.'

‘He will. I can feel it. And you'll agree. 'Cos he has to be your perfect man.'

‘I guess.'

‘Isn't he just what you've always wanted?' Marg demanded. ‘Don't you have a list?' She held up one finger after another. ‘Lives locally and never wants to move. Loves animals and kids. Family man. Loves the country.
Has room to stable horses and house half a dozen kids. Your families like each other. Everything's right, then. John fits everything on the list.'

‘I guess he does,' Shanni said, and tried to stop the note of doubt creeping into her voice.

But Marg was astute enough to hear it. ‘So what's wrong?'

Shanni caught herself and shrugged. ‘Nothing, I guess… When he pops the question I'll be the happiest girl in the world. After all, he
is
my perfect match. Where could I find a better partner in life than John?'

T
HE
man who just might interfere with her wedding plans wasn't talking marriage now. Nick had other things on his mind, all bleaker than the thought of an unwanted wife.

‘I don't want to be a magistrate in Hicksville. I don't wish to be within a hundred miles of this place—so why on earth am I here?'

It was a good question, but there were sensible answers. Nick Daniels had one burning ambition and one only—to make high-court judge. Historically, once a lawyer joined Queens Counsel he could be appointed a judge without leaving the city, but that was hard to do now. There were new rules. No one wanted the country magistrate positions, and there was only one way to force aspiring judges to take them on.

‘If you want the plum job, then you need to do the hard work first,' Nick had been told by the head of his chambers. ‘Politically there's no other way. There's a job going as local magistrate at Bay Beach. Great little fishing town, four hours' drive from Melbourne. You're not married—you've no kids—no ties to keep you in town. Put in the hard work there, boy, and we'll see what we can do.'

‘For how long?' Nick had been aghast.

‘Two years.'

‘Two
years
!'

‘You never know.' Abe Barry had sucked his pipe and had surveyed his hawk-like junior with the beginnings of amusement. Nick was too darned clever by half. If he didn't get shot of him soon Nick would be edging him aside as chamber head before he knew it. ‘You might even enjoy a
spot of rustic idyll. You could apply for a county court judge position and stay there for life!'

‘In your dreams!'

‘No. In
your
dreams, and I know you dream of the big one,' Abe had told him, the steel in his voice telling Nick he had no choice in this. ‘But there's only one way to get it. You've had a taste of magistrate work already so you know the ropes. Now take yourself off to the country and show us what you're made of.'

‘What I'm made of…' Nick's hands clenched the wheel of his sleek little sports car until his knuckles showed white. Magistrate at Bay Beach! It was an uninspiring name for an uninspiring place. Nightmare stuff.

Accustomed to big-time criminal cases, now he'd be dealing with parking infringements, fines for illegal fishing and not much else. Though it served as a base for a much larger fishing and farming community, Bay Beach township had less than a thousand inhabitants.

So…fishing and farms! What qualifications did he have for judging farming or fishing disputes? What did he know of either?

Farms gave milk, steak, or wool which was exported to Italy and returned as Nick's superbly tailored suits. And fishing… Fishing produced salmon and caviar. That was the end of Nick's interest in farming and in fishing. Period.

Two years as country magistrate… Two years of purgatory! He rounded the headland, still groaning. Bay Beach lay before him, its whitewashed stone cottages glistening in the morning sun. The fishing fleet was coming in—at least, it must be the fishing fleet. There were six boats heading into harbour, and surely there couldn't be many more boats than six in this ends-of-the-earth place?

‘I'll go stark, staring crazy,' he told himself. The sea air was blowing warmly on his face but he hardly noticed. His skin was so tanned he didn't fuss about protection, and his
deep black hair was combed into submission so firmly the sea air didn't shift it. He sniffed—and wrinkled his aquiline nose in disgust. Salt! And cow dung! Ugh! Give him petrol fumes and city pollution any day!

Another bend in the road and the town limits came into view. There was a petrol station on this side of the town boundary and, on impulse, Nick pulled in. He had to fill the car with petrol, and he might as well do it now—give him a few more minutes before he entered this dump!

He pulled up to the bowser, looked idly over at the youth pulling petrol at the pump beside him—and his life changed for ever.

 

‘I need to go to the bathroom.'

Shanni sighed and rolled her eyes as three-year-old Hugh made his life or death announcement. It was Friday morning—thank heaven—the end of a week which seemed to have gone on for ever.

‘Marg, can you take Hugh?' Her assistant at Bay Beach Kindergarten was preparing milk and fruit. This would be Marg's fourth trip to the toilet during reading, and the way they were going milk and fruit wouldn't be ready until lunch-time. But needs must.

Calm and unflappable, Marg grinned good-naturedly, shrugged, and took Hugh's hand. ‘Okay, Hugh, let's go. But we'd best hurry. This is a very exciting story.'

‘Miss McDonald always tells exciting stories,' Hugh announced. ‘I tell them to my dad, and my dad says, “Why can't exciting things like that happen around here?”'

‘I guess pirates wouldn't be a very peaceful thing to have around in real life,' Shanni said thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, boys and girls? Would we like it if a real live pirate climbed through the window?'

‘Oh-h-h no…'

But as Shanni went back to reading she couldn't stop a vague feeling of regret.
Oh-h-h, no.
But…

Maybe not a pirate—but something! Sometimes Bay Beach was just too quiet for words.

I wouldn't mind one very small pirate, she thought as she went back to reading of
Dirty Dick's Dastardly Deeds
. An image of her John rose before her—kind and placid and as immovable as the Friesian cows he ran on his property. They'd be married soon, Shanni knew. All in good time. When he'd paid off the new dairy and had enough to put a decent size down payment on a new home. He had it all planned out.

‘Just a very small pirate,' she whispered to herself, and then went back to her book—which was the only place around here that things happened.

 

It was Len Harris.

Nick stared at the youth beside him and the name was burned into his brain. They were all of two feet apart. No!

Two weeks back, Nick's junior, Elsbeth, had taken Len on as a duty solicitor case, and she'd asked Nick's advice. ‘He's on his ninth conviction but he's only sixteen. How do I keep him out of remand home?'

‘You don't,' Nick said, skimming through the file and closing it with a snap of finality. ‘Hopeless. Save your talent for something worthwhile.'

‘He probably won't even get to court,' Elsbeth said morosely. ‘I'll spend days on this and then he'll skip bail.'

Which was exactly what must have happened. Nick had seen him in his pre-court briefing. Len had been dragged into chambers by his social worker and, like Elsbeth, Nick had thought the kid's chances of making court were somewhere between zero and none. Len had looked surly, defiant and fearless.

Which was just the look he gave Nick now. The youth
stared at him for a long minute—enough to recognise Nick as surely as Nick recognised him—and then he swore. He threw the fuel hose aside so it snaked away still spurting petrol, he leaped into the Mercedes he was driving—that
had
to be stolen—and he spun out of the petrol station leaving a trail of burned rubber behind him.

 

‘Harry, don't you want to hear about the pirates?' Before she returned to reading, Shanni tried one more time to attract Harry's attention. Harry was three years old—almost four—like the rest of her class—but Harry was different. Abused and battered, he'd only just joined the kindergarten after being moved from an uncaring family situation into one of the five homes that made up the local orphanage.

‘You don't need to take him on if you don't think you can cope,' Shanni had been told by the welfare authorities. But of course she'd taken him. How could she not? Harry was enough to wrench the most hardened of hearts.

Harry's leg was recovering now from a break which had been poorly tended in the past. It had needed resetting, and because the healing was taking so long it was bound in a fibreglass cast with an inbuilt heel. The whole structure seemed much too heavy for such a little body.

The child was so small—little more than a baby, really—and he was permanently withdrawn from the world. He spent his kindergarten time underneath the furthest table, and if Shanni or anyone else tried to drag him out he kicked and screamed until he was allowed to return. After a month in kindergarten, Shanni was no closer to reaching him than the day he'd arrived.

But still she tried.

‘This is a really exciting book,' she told Harry, but the huge eyes peering out distrustfully at the world edged further back into the shadows.

The rest of her children were waiting. Shanni sighed and kept on reading. Pirates. Pirates and problems…

 

‘Police? It's Nick Daniels here, the new magistrate.' Nick was back behind the wheel of his car and was barking into his mobile phone. ‘There's a youth driving south into town in a grey Mercedes. He's sixteen, a bail absconder and erratic as hell. He's seen me and thinks I'm after him. The way he's driving he's heading for trouble. I'm driving behind him, but I've backed off so he doesn't think I'm chasing him. He's turning left toward the coast. He's…
No!
'

 

Shanni read on.

There was an almighty smash, and a huge grey car came crashing through the kindergarten fence. Shanni's book dropped to the floor as the car ended up with its nose pressed hard against the kindergarten windows.

 

‘It's crashed.' Nick was still connected to the police, his hands-free phone letting him concentrate on driving as he talked. ‘Dear God, it's a kindergarten. I'm pulling up. Back off. Don't let any police near. He's capable of doing something really stupid…'

But even as he said it he heard sirens in the distance and knew it was too late. Len, sitting dazed and scared witless
in his smashed car, would hear the sirens too. If he was capable of getting out of the car, what would he do now?

And suddenly Nick knew. He swerved into the kerb, got out, left his car where it was and started to run.

 

‘Children, don't move. Marg, stay with them.' Marg had burst back into the room at the sound of the crash and was staring out through the cracked windows at the mess outside. Her jaw was sagging almost to her waist. ‘Call the ambulance and the police.' Shanni could see smoke drifting up from the engine. If the driver was trapped…

She moved fast toward the door—and then stopped dead.

A boy was climbing from the wreck. He looked about fifteen—skinny and undergrown, filthy windcheater, ripped jeans, long fair hair that hung down over his eyes. He had a cut on his forehead and he staggered as he took his first step.

Shanni opened the door—and then saw what he was holding. As she saw him, he saw her. And raised his hand.

A gun was levelled straight at her heart.

‘What the…?' Her words were barely uttered before she was interrupted.

‘Don't move. Don't do anything stupid.' It wasn't the boy. It was a man's voice, tough and authoritative. Shanni, her hand still on the door and standing as if she was frozen, looked beyond the boy and saw a man behind the smashed Mercedes.

He couldn't be more different from the boy. He was in his thirties, immaculately dressed in smart casual trousers, a linen short-sleeved shirt and a tie that must have set him back a kindergarten teacher's weekly salary. He was olive-skinned, dark-eyed, and tall—six foot or so to Shanni's five-four. His jet-black hair was combed back in city-sophisticate style, and his bone structure was strong and…and male, for want of a better word.
Very
male.

In short he looked a man accustomed to strength and accustomed to command. His deep brown eyes were creased against the sun, and his words were sharp, incisive and they flicked like a whip.

‘Len, don't do anything stupid. You're hurt. Put the gun down and let us help.'

‘You…' The boy's breath hissed in as he wheeled to face him, and his fear was palpable. ‘You were going to put me away. You and that stupid other lawyer. Well, no chance. I'm not going to remand school.' He waved the gun back at Shanni, and his hand trembled. ‘Get inside.' Then he turned and waved it at Nick. ‘You, too. You try anything and the lady gets it.'

His hand wasn't trembling enough. The gun was too steady to do anything else.

There was nothing for it but to obey.

 

So in the kindergarten there were now twenty-five goggle-eyed children, one goggle-eyed kindergarten assistant, Len and Shanni and Nick.

‘Line…line up against the wall.' Len sounded desperately unsure. The sirens in the distance were getting closer. ‘Everyone.'

‘Leave the children on the mat,' Shanni said, in a voice that made Nick take a closer look at her. No fainting or hysterics here, then. Shanni was diminutive, far shorter than Nick, with shoulder-length blonde curls running riot, blue eyes and freckles. She was wearing jeans and an oversized man's shirt smeared with finger paints. She looked about sixteen, but her voice was authoritative and as sure as an experienced school-marm.

‘We'll sit on the mat with the children,' she told him. ‘Then you can point the gun at all of us and the children won't be frightened.'

Len took an audible breath. He really was a child him
self. ‘O…kay.' The gun waved wildly. Outside a siren cut off, and there was the sound of running feet. ‘You…' He waved the gun at Nick. ‘Stand just outside the door. Tell them…'