Expecting Miracle Twins (3 page)

Blow me down.

The table was covered by a painting, which Mattie had
obviously left to dry. It was a pen and ink sketch, coloured with pretty watercolours in a soft wash, and it showed the corner of a bathroom.

A little girl peeped out of a sea of bubbles in an elegantly curved, claw-footed bathtub. Bright rainbow-tinted bubbles drifted over the edge of the bath and onto a white fluffy mat on the floor, where a pair of pink-and-white-striped socks with lacy frills lay abandoned.

The long sleeve of a blue jersey hung over the edge of a wicker laundry basket and the cheeky face of a black cat peeked out from behind the basket.

It was such a simple little scene, drawn with an economy of lines and coloured delicately, but there was something utterly fascinating about the picture. Jake looked again at the little girl’s mousy-brown curls and beady blue eyes and he chuckled softly. She looked incredibly ordinary and yet unexpectedly appealing. Not unlike her creator.

Mattie woke next morning to the unexpected sound of pots and pans being rattled in the kitchen, and when she opened her bedroom door she caught the distinctive aroma of mushrooms frying.

She’d slept in, after staying up much longer than she’d intended last night. When she’d finally finished work on her painting she’d lain awake for ages, thinking about the rest of her book, but she hadn’t heard Jake come in, so he must have been very late. How extraordinary that he was up already.

She dressed quickly, pulling on a T-shirt and jeans, and she made a hasty stop in the bathroom to wash her face and tidy her hair, then she entered the kitchen cautiously.

Jake was whisking eggs and he turned and grinned at her. ‘Morning.’

‘Good morning,’ she returned carefully.

‘I let Brutus out into the garden,’ he said.

‘Thanks.’ She blinked with surprise when she saw that he’d also filled Brutus’s bowl.

‘How did such a tiny mutt end up with a name like Brutus?’ Jake asked as he watched the little dog crunch miniature biscuits.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Mattie admitted. ‘I guess his former owners had a sense of humour, even if they were careless.’

‘Former owners?’

‘I have a good friend, Lucy, who’s a vet. Someone dumped Brutus on her doorstep and she needed to find a new owner.’

Jake stopped whisking eggs. ‘And you offered.’

‘Yes.’

For a long moment, Jake watched her with the slightest hint of a smile lurking in his eyes, then he pointed to the frying pan. ‘I found some leftover mushrooms in the fridge so I’m making an omelette.’

He looked rather pleased with himself, but Mattie refused to be amused or impressed. Last night she’d been shocked by her reaction to this man and she’d vowed to remain unimpressed by anything about Jake Devlin. With a little willpower, she could rise above the attraction of his broad manly chest, his sexy smile and his flashing dark eyes.

There was simply no point in getting hot and bothered about him. Apart from the fact that he already had a girlfriend, or possibly several girlfriends, he brought back memories of the one time she’d fallen disastrously in love and she’d vowed never to put herself through that kind of agonising heartache again.

Besides, no matter how attractive Jake was, he would
be gone in under a week. And, very soon after that, she would be pregnant with someone else’s baby.

No man on earth would be interested in her then.

Not that she minded. This was her year for living chastely. She was dedicated to a higher cause, to Gina and Tom’s baby. When she was old and she looked back on her life, she would see this gift to her friends as one of her greatest triumphs.

With a breezy wave of her hand, she smiled at Jake. ‘You’re welcome to the mushrooms.’

‘Would you like to share this omelette?’

‘No, thanks. I’m allergic to eggs.’

He shot her a sharp, disbelieving glance and Mattie shrugged. ‘I usually have oatmeal.’

He looked momentarily disappointed, and she couldn’t suppress a spurt of triumph.
Touché, Mr Devlin.

But then he gave an offhand shrug. ‘Bad luck for you. My omelettes are legend.’

As Mattie spooned boring oatmeal and water into a bowl and stuck it in the microwave, she asked, over her shoulder, ‘So where did you learn to cook?’

‘In Mongolia, on the mine site.’

She turned to him. ‘Really?’ In spite of her vow of indifference, she was intrigued.

‘We have this fabulous cook—a French Canadian called Pierre—and, whenever I’m at a loose end, I pop into the kitchen to lend him a hand.’

‘I don’t suppose there are too many ways to spend your free time on a mine site in Mongolia.’

‘Not unless you can get a lift into the capital, Ulaanbaatar.’ Using a spatula, Jake skilfully folded the omelette in two.

‘Are you a geologist like Will?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m an enviro.’

‘What’s that?’

‘An environmental scientist.’

‘So it’s your job to make sure the mining companies don’t wreck Mongolia?’

He grinned. ‘More or less.’

‘I guess that must be rather satisfying.’

‘It’s not a bad job.’ Jake lowered the heat beneath his frying pan.

The microwave pinged and Mattie gave her oatmeal a stir.

‘What about you?’ he asked casually. ‘What do you do?’

‘Oh, I haven’t been to university, and I don’t have what you could call a career. I tend to drift from one situation to another.’

‘But you paint.’

‘Well…yes. I suppose you saw the mess I left last night. Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise. I was actually glad to see stuff lying about. Now I know you’re normal.’

His sudden smile was so charming that Mattie felt a dangerous flutter inside and she was grateful when a burst of song from the cage by the window distracted them both.

She darted across the room and removed the cover from the cage. ‘Morning, Pavarotti.’

Jake snorted. ‘Pavarotti?’

‘That’s his name. Like the opera singer.’

He shook his head as he skilfully tilted the pan so that the omelette slid smoothly onto a plate.

At the cutlery drawer, Mattie fetched him a knife and fork and got a spoon for herself, and then they sat opposite each other at the small kitchen table—and Mattie knew she was in trouble.

Her insides were twittering in time with the canary’s warbling.

Jake nodded towards the bird cage as he cut into his light and fluffy omelette. ‘So you’re a fan of opera?’

Remembering the heavy metal music he’d played, she almost said yes, just to provoke him, but her habitual honesty prevailed.

‘My gran was the opera fan,’ she explained. ‘She named the canary. I wanted her to call him Elvis, but he was her bird so of course she had the last say.’ Mattie realised that further explanation was necessary. ‘My grandmother died last year and I inherited Pavarotti.’

Jake nodded slowly. ‘You were close to your grandmother?’

‘Oh, yes. I lived with her and looked after her for the last two years of her life.’

Across the table, his dark eyes registered surprise and then, eventually, an unexpected sadness. He scowled and looked more like the gruff man Mattie was used to and the flutters inside her settled. She was much more comfortable soothing other people’s worries than dealing with her own fluttery insides.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Eventually, Mattie said, ‘Do you have something interesting planned for today?’

‘I was thinking of taking in a movie.’

‘On a lovely day like this?’

His jaw stuck out as if he didn’t appreciate her implied criticism. ‘I’ve missed six months’ worth of movies. I’ve a lot of catching up to do.’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you want to come?’

The question was so unexpected that Mattie’s mouth gaped unbecomingly. Her mind whirled. She wanted to ask Jake if Ange was his girlfriend. Or was he a free agent who hooked up with the nearest available woman whenever he was on leave?

She didn’t have anything planned for the day, but if there was even a slim chance that Jake was actually asking her on a date, she should say no.

‘I’m afraid I can’t come today,’ she said quickly and decisively, before she could be tempted to change her mind. ‘I have another appointment.’

If Jake was disappointed he didn’t show it, but after he’d gone Mattie sunk to a new low. She couldn’t believe how restless and just plain miserable she felt. The flat felt hollow and empty and she seemed to rattle around inside it—like a pebble in a tin can.

In a bid to think about something else—
anything
else besides Jake Devlin—she rang around the local hairdressers until she found one who had a cancellation.

Two and a half hours later, she grinned with delight at her reflection in the salon’s mirror. Chestnut and copper streaks had transformed her mousy hair, and an elegant bob flattered her jawline and gave a nice emphasis to her cheekbones.

She told herself she was doing this as a pre-pregnancy ego boost. The new image had nothing to do with Jake. But when she got back to the flat, she took a long bath and she changed into her best dark grey trousers and cream silk blouse and she put garnet studs in her ears.

She looked fabulous, but she felt foolish. Wouldn’t Jake wonder why she’d dressed up?

She was still trying to decide if she should change again when she heard the front door open, so she dived into the kitchen and pretended to be busy in the pots and pans cupboard.

Jake came down the hall, then paused in the doorway. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. ‘I think I’m in the wrong flat.’

To Mattie’s eternal embarrassment, she blushed.

‘I guess you’re going out?’ he said. ‘You’re all dressed up.’

‘Yes,’ she lied. As she closed the cupboard door, she hoped he couldn’t see through her fat white fib. ‘I’m meeting a friend for dinner.’

Jake nodded slowly, then said quietly, ‘Have a good evening.’

‘I will. Thanks.’

He was about to head down the hall when he turned back. ‘By the way, Mattie.’

‘Yes?’

‘The new hair looks fabulous.’

She was really mad with herself as she set off on foot down the street. Ever since she’d met Jake she’d lost her grip on her common sense. Now, she’d lied about her plans for this evening and here she was, wandering the streets of Sydney like a lost waif, looking for somewhere to eat. The really silly thing was she’d stocked the refrigerator with the ingredients for a perfectly good supper.

She decided to eat at the first place she found—a café a block away. It was a simple place with bare concrete floors, metal tables and chairs and selections of Asian-style noodles and stir-fries scrawled in chalk on blackboards.

Most of the customers were wearing jeans and T-shirts
and Mattie felt distinctly overdressed, but she took a seat and was determined to enjoy herself.

She placed her order and asked for a glass of white wine and all went well for about ten minutes. Then Jake strode in.

M
ATTIE’S
heart began a ridiculous thumping. Jake was dressed in black and his unruly hair was tousled by the wind as he stood at the café’s front counter. Framed by the doorway, shoulders back and feet planted wide apart, he looked unbelievably gorgeous.

She wasn’t sure if he’d seen her, but it could only be a matter of moments before he did, and even if she could come up with a plausible explanation, he’d probably realise that she’d lied about meeting a friend. Talk about embarrassing!

His dark eyes scanned the café and she quickly dropped her gaze, letting her smooth new hairstyle swing forward, hoping that it would hide her face. Perhaps she could pretend she hadn’t seen him.

Within a heartbeat, however, strong, confident footsteps rang out on the concrete floor, and they stopped at Mattie’s table. Holding her breath, she lifted her head and there he was, standing before her.

He looked directly into her eyes and he smiled.

Mattie swallowed. What could she say? It would be pathetic to trot out a feeble excuse about her friend being delayed. Somehow, she just knew that Jake would expose her as a fraud.

While she sat there, feeling silly, Jake held out his hand. ‘How do you do?’ He smiled with effortless charm. ‘I’m Jake Devlin. Do you mind if I join you?’

She expected to see a teasing glint in his eyes but, to her surprise, she could only find genuine warmth. Nevertheless, she hesitated.

‘Come on, say yes,’ Jake urged. ‘Otherwise you’ll force me to try my pick-up lines.’

‘Are they corny?’

‘So bad you could feed them to chickens.’

His confession was accompanied by a lopsided self-deprecating grin that melted Mattie on the spot. She suspected that Jake had seen right through her, but it somehow no longer mattered. He was wiping their slate clean. Starting again. And she was enchanted. Caught. Hook, line and sinker.

‘You’re welcome to sit here, Mr Devlin.’

‘Thank you.’ He pulled out a chair and sat opposite her and happiness fizzed inside Mattie like soda pop.

Following his lead, she held out her hand. ‘How do you do? I’m Matilda Carey.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ Jake’s expression was deadpan. ‘Do your friends call you Mattie?’

‘Quite often.’ She gave a little shrug and added rather recklessly, ‘At times they’ve been known to call me Florence Nightingale.’ She didn’t mention the other tag that she hated—Saint Matilda.

‘Is that accurate? Are you a caring type?’

‘Fraid so.’

The skin around his eyes crinkled and he cocked his head on one side. ‘Let me guess. You’re probably the kind of girl who cares for sick grannies.’

Mattie’s sense of fun faltered. Was he teasing her? Uncertain, she quickly changed the subject. ‘I’ve already ordered. I’m having the chicken noodle soup.’

‘I think I’ll try the beef stir-fry.’ Jake waved to a waitress and, when she came over, he gave his order. ‘And I’ll have a beer.’ Turning to Mattie again, he asked, ‘Would you like another glass of wine?’

She tapped the side of her glass. ‘This is fine.’

When the waitress left, Jake leaned towards Mattie, hands linked on the table top. His smile faded and, with it, all pretence dropped away. ‘Seriously, Mattie, I’ve been thinking about what you did for your grandmother. That was a huge gesture, to spend two years looking after her.’

She took a quick sip of her wine to cover her surprise, then set the glass down.

‘Did it feel like a big sacrifice?’ he asked urgently.

‘Not at all. Those two years were rather lovely. Gran was always so sweet. So grateful for my company. She never complained about her health.’

‘Was she very ill?’

‘She had a weak heart, so she tired easily and she couldn’t take proper care of her house, but I was happy to help.’

‘What do you reckon would have happened if you hadn’t looked after her?’

‘She’d probably have gone into a nursing home. My parents run a hardware store in a little country town and they were too busy to give her the care she needed.’

‘They were lucky you stepped up to the plate.’

‘I was happy to help,’ she said again. ‘Anyway, it was tit for tat. When I was little, my gran nursed me through the chickenpox and the measles and umpteen bouts of tonsillitis. Mum was always too busy helping Dad in the store.’

Unexpectedly, Jake frowned and he looked deeply pained as he rearranged the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table.

‘What’s the matter, Jake? Have I said something wrong?’

He let out a heavy sigh. ‘No. You’re just confirming my worst fears.’

‘Really? How?’

Exhaling another deep sigh, he rested his chin on his hand, and suddenly he was telling her about an old stockman he knew, someone from his childhood called Roy, who was now in a nursing home here in Sydney. As Jake talked about how strong and tough this stockman used to be and how shockingly weak and shut-in he was now, Mattie could see how deeply he cared for the old man.

‘My parents and I have let him down,’ he said quietly. ‘We should be doing more for him.’

On impulse, Mattie reached out and touched the back of Jake’s hand. He stiffened as if she’d burned him.

‘It sounds as if you’ve visited Roy whenever you can,’ she said softly. ‘There’s not much else you can do if you’re working in Mongolia, but I’m sure your visits mean a lot.’

His gaze met hers and his dark eyes were shimmering and vulnerable and something shifted inside her, almost as if a key had been turned in a lock.
Oh, help.
She’d been trying not to like Jake Devlin, but now she feared she was beginning to like him very much.

Too much. Was she falling in love?

Surely not. She mustn’t fall in love. Not again. Not ever. Certainly not now.

Gently, she removed her hand from his. ‘Did you take Roy with you to the movies today?’

‘No.’ Jake looked angry as he shook his head. ‘I didn’t
even think of it. How selfish am I? Roy would have loved a movie. It was an action-adventure flick and they’re his favourite.’

‘There’s always tomorrow,’ Mattie suggested gently.

His brow cleared. ‘Yes, of course. It’s my last day, but that’s a good idea.’

‘Actually,’ Mattie said, warming to this subject, ‘if Roy’s an outdoor type, he might prefer to be out in the fresh air. You could take him on a ferry ride on the harbour. Do you think he’d be well enough for that?’

‘I reckon he might be. That’s a
really
good idea.’

The waitress brought Jake’s beer and Mattie couldn’t help watching the movements of his throat as he took a deep draught. Every inch of him seemed breathtakingly male and dark and sexy. She was beginning to think she’d never met such an attractive man.

Apart from her fiancé, the guys she’d dated had all lived in her home town and she’d known them since they’d first grown baby teeth. She’d gone to kindergarten and school with them. They’d belonged to the same pony club and Sunday school. There were no mysteries there.

Jake, on the other hand, was a man surrounded by mystery.

Pink rose in Mattie’s cheeks and Jake watched the telltale colour with mounting dismay.

His reasons for following her to this café weren’t crystal clear to him, but he supposed he’d been hoping for useful tips on how to help old Roy. One thing was certain—he wasn’t here because she looked cute in those sleek grey trousers, or because her new hairstyle looked terrific and brought out the blue in her eyes.

Hell, no. He wasn’t interested in Mattie as a
woman
.

She wasn’t even close to his type. She was small and
serious and mousy. Well, maybe she wasn’t mousy exactly, certainly not now, but she was most definitely small. And
earnest.

The heat that had scorched him when she’d touched his hand a few minutes earlier was
not
what he’d first feared. He couldn’t possibly have experienced hot, pulsing
lust
for her.

On the other hand, Jake didn’t want to think too hard about why he’d ended it with his latest female companion, Ange, or why he’d started hanging about the kitchen in the flat in the mornings, or why he’d casually asked Mattie to the movies today.

None of his recent behaviour made sense, and Mattie was giving out confusing signals too. It was as if she was trying to impress him and avoid him at the same time and, like a fool, he’d followed her here. He wasn’t in the habit of following women, but he’d convinced himself that she would be able to give him good advice about Roy. That was the only reason he’d come here, wasn’t it?

He wished he felt surer. It was a relief when their meals arrived and he could concentrate on eating.

Mattie declared that her soup was delicious—so full of noodles and vegetables that she ate most of it with chopsticks.

Which caused a tiny problem. Jake found himself watching the way she deftly used the chopsticks. Her hands were pale and delicate and graceful, possibly the prettiest hands he’d ever seen. He pictured her holding a pen or a paintbrush as she created her whimsical works of art.

He thought about the way she’d touched him a few minutes ago. Imagined—

‘What’s the food like in Mongolia?’ she asked.

Jake blinked, dragged his mind into gear. ‘Er…do you
mean the traditional food of the locals, or what we eat on the mine site?’

‘Both, I guess.’

‘Our cook serves mainly western food, but the Mongolians eat mutton. Loads of mutton. They even drink the mutton fat. It’s no place for vegetarians.’

Mattie wrinkled her nose. ‘I rather like Mongolian lamb.’

‘The meals in Asian restaurants here in Sydney are nothing like the mutton eaten out on the steppe.’

Mattie accepted this with a shrug. ‘Do you live in barracks, or one of those little round tents?’

‘I have a tent. They call it a
ger
.’

‘It sounds rather primitive.’

‘Actually,
gers
aren’t too bad. The walls are made out of layers of felt and they’re quite snug. In winter we have a stove for heating and in summer we can roll up the sides for ventilation.’

‘It’s a very different world, isn’t it?’ she said, glancing out through a window to the city lights.

‘That’s part of the attraction for me. Then again, I grew up in a remote part of the Outback, so I suppose that made it easier for me to fit in.’

Her blue eyes challenged him. ‘Why do you work there?’

Jake had been asked this question before, but suddenly, when Mattie asked him, he wished he had higher motives. There was no point, however, in trying to pretend he was a paragon of virtue.

‘I’m footloose and fancy free,’ he said, aware that his jaw was jutting at a defensive angle. ‘And the job offered a chance to see a really different part of the world. But the big drawcard is that it pays very well.’

He expected to read disapproval in her eyes. To his
surprise, she smiled. ‘And when you’re on leave you can party hard.’

‘Mostly.’

The obvious fact that he’d been partying when Mattie had arrived on his doorstep and the equally obvious fact that he was nowhere near a party right now was not something Jake wanted to analyse too closely.

‘Tell me more about your paintings,’ he said quickly to change the subject.

Mattie dismissed this with a graceful wave of her hand. ‘They’re just illustrations for a children’s book.’

‘Do you plan to write the story as well?’

She nodded.

‘Have you been published?’

‘Uh-huh. I’ve had three books published so far.’

‘No kidding?’ He knew his eyes were wide with surprise. ‘That’s terrific. I’ve never met an author.’

‘Most people don’t think of me as a
real
author. They assume that children’s stories are incredibly easy to write.’

‘How could they be easy, when they’re created entirely out of your imagination? And you don’t just write the stories, you do the illustrations as well. Aren’t children supposed to be the harshest critics of all?’

She nodded and smiled, clearly pleased by his enthusiasm.

‘What are your stories about?’

Now Mattie looked embarrassed. ‘Nothing you’d be interested in.’ She poked her chopsticks into the noodles at the bottom of her bowl.

‘Try me.’

‘Don’t laugh,’ she ordered.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘They’re about a little girl called Molly.’ Carefully, she
laid the chopsticks across her bowl and sat back, arms folded.

‘And…’ Jake prompted.

‘Molly’s actually a white witch and, when her parents aren’t looking, she has all sorts of adventures. She goes around doing secret good deeds and terrific acts of heroism.’

Just like her creator, Jake thought, and suddenly he was struggling to hide his amusement.

Mattie’s eyes blazed. ‘I knew you’d laugh.’

‘I’m not laughing.’ Why couldn’t he stop smiling? ‘Honestly. I’m seriously impressed. I’m sure Molly’s stories are very popular.’

‘They seem to be.’ Mattie sniffed, then rolled her eyes, as if she hoped he would drop the subject.

To make amends, Jake said quickly, ‘Would you like to go somewhere for coffee?’

She almost glared at him. ‘Don’t you have other plans?’

Across the table their gazes met, and held. Mattie’s eyes were very blue and steady and Jake had the distinct impression she was about to decline his invitation. Which was wise, wasn’t it? After all, they weren’t planning to hook up. To go on somewhere else for coffee implied taking another step—in completely the wrong direction.

Before he could think of a way to extricate himself from this trap of his own making, Mattie smiled slowly.

‘Coffee sounds good,’ she said and her smile deepened, revealing an enchanting dimple. ‘Your place or mine?’

He couldn’t help returning her smile. She was cleverly letting him off the hook, placing them back on their correct footing. As flatmates. For one more day.

‘Try my place,’ he said smoothly. ‘It’s very handy—just around the corner.’

A breeze was blowing in from the harbour and it buffeted them as they walked home, making it hard to talk. When they reached the flat, Brutus was as eager to see Jake as he was to see Mattie. Jake laughed as he gave the little dog a scratch behind his silky ears.