Instant Family (4 page)

"I know you shouldn't vandalize people's things and steal cars."

"Shut up, Katy!" Julian cried.

"Where's Seb?" asked Chloe.

"Asleep."

"I need a shower." Chloe slid off the bed. "I have to go to work.
I'll ring Gran to come over."

"Why?" Katy asked.

"Because Seb is only home on the proviso there's an adult here"
Chloe's stomach churned, a feeling that had become uneasily familiar in the last few hours. There was no easy way to break the news to
Simone. Cold turkey was best. Straight out, no frills. The reaction
would be much the same whichever way the shock was delivered.

But Simone amazed her. "I'll be over straightaway, lovey. Don't
you worry."

Perhaps it was another of her acts. This time she was being the
competent older woman calmly stepping into the breach and holding
things together, ever reliable, as the crisis crashed around her family.
If only that were true for more than five minutes.

Chloe stood behind the counter at The Music Room serving the
trickle of customers on automatic pilot. Twice before lunchtime she
phoned Simone to make sure Seb was actually in his bed.

"Go and check," she insisted when Simone protested he was fast
asleep.

"He's not leaving this house, Chloe, and when he wakes up,
he'll have to explain himself to me. We've never had a thief in the
Gardiner family, and we're not starting now." Simone's voice had
resumed its normal volume, so she must have left the bedroom
and the sleeping sinner. "I've cleaned the bathroom properly for
you, and Katy and I are making muffins when she gets home from
tennis."

"Thanks, she'll love that." Julian had cleaned the bathroom yesterday with his usual meticulous care, leaving taps and tiles gleaming, towels hung neatly and new soap in the holder.

Tiredness slammed into her, midafternoon. Luckily the hot weather
discouraged shoppers, and The Music Room was virtually empty. She
sat on the one stool trying to keep her eyes open while her colleague,
Tran, scoured the online catalogues for a customer inquiry. With her
mind in its current overwrought state she'd chosen a soothing New
Age CD to play through the sound system. Maybe she should have
gone with Tran's preference for jazz instead. Wind chimes, rain, and
gently lilting flutes were soporific in the extreme.

What would happen to Seb? Would that man insist on a trial? How
could she cope with work and monitoring Seb with two weeks of
school holidays left? She'd have to tell the boss she couldn't work as
much. Or Simone would move in. Horrors.

A customer asked for a recording of Carmina Burana. Chloe roused
herself, slid off the stool, and led her to the correct section.

A man entered accompanied by a little dark-haired girl. Chloe
glanced at the pair, then looked again. The same surge of attraction
swamped her in the instant before she could clamp down on it. It
was him. Seb's victim, the very angry man, wearing the same shirt
and slacks, clean-shaven now, gazing about the shop, those penetrating blue eyes searching for something. Her? Impossible. It was a
nasty coincidence.

He didn't look angry now, but he might when he saw who worked
here. Chloe hurried around the end of the row so an Andre Rieu
promotional display obscured her hot-cheeked, shaking self from
sight. She couldn't face another scene here in public. Or anywhere,
for that matter. In a couple of minutes they'd be gone. He was talking to Tran at the counter. The New Age tinkling drowned out their
words.

"Chloe." Tran's voice pulled her reluctantly from her hiding
place. "Someone to see you." He went back to the computer.

They were walking past the COMPLETE OPERA section. Her eyes
flitted to the door. Could she make a run for it? Ridiculous. She
forced herself to stand her ground. He didn't look nearly as intimidating now, especially holding a small child's hand. The daughter?

"Hello, Chloe." His voice was surprisingly gentle, deep, and
smooth. But she knew he had another voice, one that cut with sarcasm
and bit with anger, went for the throat and the heart. Ruthless.

"May I help you?" Her smile wouldn't work when faced with the
memory of his venom. Her mouth dried in an instant. He was too
handsome; he attracted her too much. She couldn't stand it, knowing
what viciousness he was capable of. She looked away from the unbearably false intimacy of his gaze, to the child.

The little girl stared up at her through gray eyes in a disgruntled,
round face topped by straight brown hair cut in a bob. Definitely not
pleased to be dragged into this boring shop. The white T-shirt strained
over the stomach, and the yellow shorts revealed solid brown thighs
and knees. He must spoil her rotten. She was probably as used to getting her own way as he was.

Chloe gave her a brief smile, then shifted her attention to the father. This man who seemingly had sought her out, here at work.
Was he allowed to do that? His blue eyes were assessing her again,
still piercing, still disconcerting. But she'd regrouped in those few
moments, donned some fragile armor against his charm, against her
own weakness.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said.

"How did you know where I work? Surely the police didn't tell
you."

The words tumbled out, made her sound young and foolish and
incompetent, certainly incapable of raising a teenage boy adequately.
Chloe bit her lip. She'd backed up against PIANO CONCERTOS and
eased herself away from the support. She wouldn't appear weak in
front of this man and his grumpy child, but she glanced to where
Tran was still engrossed in the computer screen. All she need do was
call out for him to ring the police.

"I found you in the phone book. The lady I spoke to directed me
here." No doubt Simone thought it was a boyfriend at long last. She'd
have been extremely helpful. Probably told him all about Chloe's
nonexistent love life.

"Did you tell her who you were?"

His name would mean nothing to Simone. Or to herself. Who was
he? The police didn't say; she hadn't asked. After that exchange she
didn't want to know. And why had he come searching for her if not
to continue his attack?

"No. I asked for you." The child pulled at his fingers. He ignored
her.

"Why?"

He licked his lips but met her gaze directly. "To apologize."

Chloe stared at him. Apologize? Completely out of left field.
Completely out of character?

"For the way I spoke to you this morning. I'm sorry" He had her
impaled. The eyes, the expression, the broad chest, the sheer presence of the man. Overwhelming. Unrelenting. That gaze too intimate
for this place, with his daughter as unwilling observer.

"Who are you?" Chloe asked abruptly. "What's your name?"

"I'm sorry," he said again but in a different, almost disconcerted
tone. "I didn't realize. Alex Bergman. This is Stephanie." He extended his hand, and Chloe was forced to grip it briefly or seem churlish and
rude. His fingers held hers for a split second. Large, warm, masculine
fingers-strong, used to work, but not rough-skinned with ingrained
grime or damaged nails.

"Hello, Stephanie." Why had he dragged a six-year-old along
while he made his apology? Was this just a quick stop before grocery
shopping or the movies? A quick appeasement of the conscience before getting on with more interesting things, family things? Was the
wife waiting impatiently somewhere, tapping her foot and looking at
her watch while he did what he saw as this duty?

"Hello," Stephanie murmured grudgingly. She tugged at his hand.
"Daddy, I want to go now. Come o-o-o-n-n-n." The last word dragged
out in a singsong whine.

"In a minute, hon." He smiled down at her, then looked at Chloe
again. "It's not the proper time or place, I know, but I needed to tell
you how sorry I am. I didn't know your situation, and I'm mortified.
Will you forgive me?"

The lips creased in an appealing smile, which faded when she didn't
immediately respond by capitulating. But she was over the first shock
of attraction now, had her emotions under control. Pity about the manner. He anticipated her acceptance as automatic, a given. And why did
her "situation," whatever that meant, matter? Very tempting to tell him
to get lost.

"Thanks," she said. "But I don't see what my `situation' has to do
with your rudeness."

What else could she say? Forgive him? Salve his conscience for
him when really she should be apologizing to him for the behavior
of her brother? But she'd done nothing wrong. Seb had, and he was
taking responsibility for his actions.

The blue eyes seemed to peer right into her soul. He didn't say
anything, didn't react. Just frowned slightly.

"Daddeeee." Stephanie yanked at his hand. Her face wore a sulky
pout, and she glared at Chloe as if it was her fault their outing had
been interrupted.

"I'd better go." A smile flicked on and off. The eyes softened. His
expression sought understanding. One parent to another. Except she
wasn't a parent, technically.

"Yes. Good-bye, Stephanie."

But Stephanie was already dragging her father toward the door.
Chloe returned to the counter.

Tran said, "Can't stand whining little kids."

She stared across to the door. The pair had left the shop. Disappeared. "Me neither."

But that brief flicker of a smile lingered in her mind long after it
should have. In that instant she'd caught a glimpse of a completely
different man. In that breathtakingly attractive physical package.
And he needn't have sought her out to make an apology. Maybe he
wouldn't be as inflexible in his attitude toward Seb as she'd thought.

Making the apology to Chloe Gardiner didn't make Alex feel any
better. It was patently obvious that he terrified her. From the moment
she'd glanced up and recognized him, he saw fear. Fear and dislike.
Her whole body was poised for flight. The anxious gaze flew from
the door to her colleague. He had her cornered, he knew, but he could
only go ahead with the words he'd practiced silently on the way to
the city center in the car.

Apologies weren't really his thing. He didn't make them often. Not
to adults, anyway, as Lucy was fond of pointing out to him when they
were married. But with this young woman, Chloe, he hadn't hesitated.
He'd maligned her in a most insulting and vicious way. Quite uncalled
for and inexcusable. The memory of his words and her face as he
shouted at her replayed constantly in his head, twisting his brain and
his stomach into knots until they both ached. Seeing her face-to-face
and speaking his contrition would, he'd thought, be the only cure. Except it hadn't worked. His stomach still harbored the dull pain of nervous tension.

"Daddy, I want popcorn."

Alex looked down. Steffie was becoming very plump. Lucy had
told him last year that she was teased at after-school care but hadn't
done anything about it diet-wise.

"You can have a popsicle and juice or water, hon. We've only just
had lunch, so you can't be hungry."

"But I always have popcorn at the movies."

The queue shuffled forward three steps.

"Not today."

"Daddeee." She stamped her foot.

Alex squatted down to her level, conscious of the critical glance
from the mother in front of them. "Stephanie, I said no. Please don't
whine, or we'll go home."

Her bottom lip protruded in a fierce pout, and tears started in her
eyes. "I don't like you, Daddy," she said loudly.

Alex straightened. Sometimes these weekends seemed endless. He
tried to take her out, keep her amused, because if they stayed at home,
he had to think of ways to entertain her. She became bored very easily.

Five minutes later with Steffie firmly in tow, he headed for the Theatre 3 entrance clutching two popsicles, two chilled bottles of fruitflavored sparkling water, and straws, prepared for a couple of hours of
torture.

A matinee session of an animated hit movie on a hot afternoon
was his idea of hell, or close to it. How anyone could follow the
story or hear the dialogue over the chatter of young voices, numerous toddlers who began running up and down the aisles, and the crying of babies was beyond him.

After about fifteen minutes his attention wandered from the screen.
Chloe Gardiner. How old was she? At least twenty-three, because to
take charge of the younger children five years ago she'd have been
eighteen, minimum. How on earth would a girl that age cope with
three children? Plus deal with the trauma and grief of losing her parents and sister in that one, shocking, mindless act.

Alex closed his eyes and groaned. How could he have said what
he did to her? And she was right when she'd asked what her situation had to do with his rudeness. An insult was an insult however
you dressed it and whomever you addressed it to.

What a headache.

Plus the town house project was running behind schedule. He
should be out there now checking what was going on. Maybe they
could go after the movie. He yawned. His eyes drifted shut and
flicked open as a roar of childish laughter jerked him awake.