Real Men Don't Quit (12 page)

“I am.” She flicked a disdainful glance at his stained T-shirt. “And you are?”

“Luke Maguire.” He considered offering his hand but doubted she’d shake it. “I’m the next-door neighbor.”

“I see.” Her flinty eyes narrowed. “I suppose you pop over all the time.”

He slitted his eyes, too. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing.” She tightened her jacket around her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get to the front door.”

He shifted his stance so he was blocking her path fully. “As a matter of fact, I do mind.”

Her head jerked up. “I beg your pardon! I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m Chloe’s grandmother. I have every right to enter that house.”

“Strictly speaking, that’s not true.” Folding his arms across his chest, he glowered at her. “Tyler and Chloe aren’t well today. They’re resting and not up to having visitors. You should probably come back in a few days’ time.”

She took a step closer until she was glaring straight into Luke’s eyes. “This is none of your business.” She was steaming like a bull about to charge, but he stood his ground, his stubbornness rising.

“I’m making it my business. Tyler told me about you and your demands.” He shook his head. “You can’t just take a young girl away from her mother simply because you want her. It’s…” He tried to think of the mildest adjective. “It’s completely selfish.”

Her mouth flapped open and shut a few times as Gretchen struggled to speak. “I’m d-doing it for Chloe,” she spluttered. “She’d be better off with me. I-I have so much to give her.”

Luke jabbed his finger in the direction of the house. “She has everything she needs right there—a loving home and a terrific mother. All you’d give her is money and a warped outlook on life.”

He’d spoken without thinking, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted his harshness. Gretchen wilted before him, blinking back tears. “You don’t understand… Chloe, she’s all I have left in the world…”

Damn, now he felt guilty for being so hard on her. “You still have a son, don’t you?”

“Oh, Damien, yes.” She looked away. “But he’s overseas. I don’t see him much.”

“And you blame Tyler for that, too, I suppose.”

She pursed her lips. “Well, they were both rebellious. She was just as obstreperous as Damien. They egged each other on; they were bad for each other.”

“But Tyler changed after she had Chloe. You may deny it till the cows come home, but she’s a good mother. She’d do anything for her daughter.”

“And what about me?” Gretchen’s expression grew cantankerous. “I should be allowed to see my granddaughter. And Chloe deserves to have a grandmother.”

Maybe the woman had a point. At least Gretchen wanted to be in Chloe’s life, whereas Tyler’s mother appeared to positively shun the little girl.

“But you don’t want to
visit
your granddaughter,” Luke pointed out. “You want to take her away. Is it any wonder Tyler doesn’t like you coming around?”

Gretchen huffed out her cheeks and glanced at the garden, seeming unwilling to meet his gaze.

“If you persist in backing Tyler into a corner,” Luke added, “you’ll never see your granddaughter at all.”

She shook her head and studied him as though seeing him for the first time as a person and not just an obstruction. “You seem to know an awful lot about Tyler and Chloe.”

“I’ve gotten to know them well.”

“And you’re really just a friend?”

At her suspicious tone, he clamped his jaw. “As opposed to what, exactly?”

“Boyfriend, paramour?”

“No.” Her nosiness made him clench his teeth. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Oh. Well.” Unrepentant, she lifted her shoulders. “I’m glad you’re making yourself useful at least.” She nodded at the freshly stained chairs nearby. “It’s difficult for me seeing my granddaughter forced to live in such squalor.”

Luke feared his head would explode. “You’d better leave. Now.”

His peremptory tone caused her to start. “But I want—”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse what you want. You’re leaving.”

Her expression curdled. “Really! There’s no need for such language—”

“If you don’t like hearing bad language, then you’d better get going.” He was all but snarling now.

Clutching her handbag, she backed away. “This isn’t the end of things. I’ll be back,” she warned him shrilly.

He sketched her a mocking bow. “I look forward to it.”

He continued scowling at her until she’d gotten into her car, reversed out, and driven down the road. Only then did he release a long breath and flex his shoulders. All the muscles in his back were pulled tight from the tension. One run-in with Gretchen Stafford was enough to give a man ulcers.

He’d been a boor toward her, but she clearly wasn’t the type to give up easily. She’d be back just like she promised, and next time Luke might not be around to ward her off.

Chapter Ten

Sunday dawned fine and sunny. At eleven thirty, Tyler, Chloe, and Luke set off for Helen’s party. The drive from Burronga to Goulburn took less than an hour, traffic was light, and the trees along the roadside were coming into their autumn glory. It should have been a pleasant drive, but as Tyler glanced across at Luke, she couldn’t help noticing his fidgety fingers and tense jaw.

“Hey, it’s just your sister’s birthday party,” she said. “We’re not going to the Oscars.”

Smiling vaguely, he made a visible effort to relax in the driver’s seat. “I’m hoping Helen won’t bring up the subject of my mother’s house again.”

Tyler hoped that too. She didn’t want Luke moving back to Goulburn. She liked having him next door. Maybe a bit too much. Even though they’d agreed not to act on the sizzling attraction between them, that didn’t mean her imagination had gone to sleep. Now, sitting next to Luke, it didn’t take much for her fantasies to heat up again. His thigh, encased in denim, was temptingly close to hers, so close she could easily slide her hand over it and give him a squeeze.

“Plus,” Luke continued, “I’m not looking forward to bringing up the subject of my father. Helen is sure to flip out when I mention him.”

She gripped her hands together. Fondling Luke’s leg was
not
on the agenda. “Wait until near the end. Let her enjoy her day first.”

“Yeah, except I’ll be dreading the moment all afternoon.”

She threw him a curious look. “You don’t have to do it, you know. You’re not responsible for your father, especially not to your sisters.”

“Thing is, I do feel responsible. And guilty, too. My sisters all despised him even before he finally deserted my mother, but somehow I couldn’t work up the same hatred.”

“You’re more forgiving.”

At that, he grunted. “You’re giving me more credit than I deserve. No, the horrible truth is, my father was nicer to me than to my sisters. He favored me, for some reason.”

“Because you were the baby of the family?”

He shrugged, still appearing uncomfortable. “Maybe.” He didn’t speak for a while. “But maybe it was also because we shared a love of books. I never saw him read to my sisters, but he was always reading to me.”

“It’s not your fault he neglected them. You shouldn’t feel guilty about that.”

Luke grunted again, and she knew she wasn’t making him feel any better. It was time to change the subject. “So what was it like growing up in Goulburn?” she asked.

“Quiet, down-to-earth. It’s not as trendy as Burronga, mostly working-class families. We have the state’s maximum security prison plus the police training academy, so I guess we cater to all types.”

“What did your mum and dad do for a living?”

“My mother worked in a sock factory. My father was a traveling sales rep, but he was always changing jobs, keeping odd hours. When he left us, my mother took on a second job flipping burgers at the local bowling alley.” His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. “Soon as I was old enough, I had a part-time job too, but Mum wouldn’t let me work very many hours. She insisted I concentrate on my studies.”

He spoke quite freely about his mother, but Tyler could sense the depth of emotion lying beneath his deceptively casual tone. “It’s a pity she only got to enjoy your success for a short time,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer, just compressed his mouth and kept his gaze on the road. She wanted to reach over and squeeze his arm to show her solidarity, but the remoteness in his posture held her back. Luke was used to bearing things on his own, she reminded herself. He didn’t need her. She leaned back in her seat and watched the countryside as they drove into Goulburn.

Helen lived in a modern villa not far from the center of town. Since she was a widow and her two daughters were at university, she’d moved into a smaller place, Luke explained to Tyler as they approached the door. Inside, the house seemed even more compact, crowded as it was with Luke’s sisters, their husbands, and their children. For a few minutes a noisy clamor rose as Tyler was introduced to everyone she hadn’t yet met.

After a few moments, she noticed that Chloe wasn’t clinging to her as she usually did when confronted by a roomful of strangers. Instead, she’d taken refuge with Luke. The sight of her daughter clasping Luke’s sturdy hand made her heart pinch. Had she let Chloe grow too attached to Luke? Wouldn’t her little girl be devastated when he left, even if he did keep in contact? As she watched, Luke murmured something to the girl and pointed at a big box of toys in the corner of the living room. Reassured, she let go of his hand and scampered to the box. Luke caught Tyler’s eye and grinned, making her heart constrict even further.

“I asked Rosie to bring over a few toys,” he said as he came toward her.

“Thanks,” she said. “That was really thoughtful.”

“It’s nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing. He knew how Chloe would feel and had considerately provided for her. He was so good to her daughter, which would only make it worse when he eventually quit their lives. Maybe she should have been thinking more of Chloe instead of herself. Shoot, why couldn’t she appreciate his kindness without dwelling on the consequences?

Helen opened her gift from the twins and gratified Tyler when she exclaimed over the necklace. “It’s so pretty,” she said as she hooked it around her neck and everyone admired it.

“Uh-oh, wonder what this is?” Helen grinned teasingly as she picked up Luke’s gift. Her grin turned to a gasp of delight as she held the earrings. “Oh, Luke, they’re b-beautiful.” She teared up while she examined the pieces. “I never expected…”

Luke put an arm around her. “You’re disappointed because you were expecting that waffle iron, weren’t you?”

“Silly duffer.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “You could never disappoint me.”

“Yeah? I should try harder, then. Anyway, I don’t deserve the credit. Tyler suggested I buy the earrings.”

Helen smiled at Tyler. “Thank you. If you don’t mind my saying so, you’ve done wonders with my brother.”

Tyler felt her cheeks heat. Avoiding Luke’s eye, she cleared her throat. “Uh, I got you a little something, too.”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

Tyler’s gift was a couple of silver bracelets decorated with a simple Celtic design. After all the presents were opened, everyone descended on the casual buffet lunch, piling food onto plates and sitting wherever there was space. Chloe was more interested in the toys—other people’s toys were always more interesting than her own—but Tyler managed to get some food past her lips. After lunch the younger kids persuaded her to go outside with them and play.

“She’s doing great,” Luke murmured to Tyler, his lips agreeably close to her ear.

All through lunch he’d sat next to her on the couch, and because of the crowd, he’d been squeezed right beside her. She had a sneaking suspicion he didn’t have to be quite so close, but she wasn’t complaining. Her qualms about Chloe growing too attached to him had faded as the length of his muscular thigh pressing against hers had induced a warm buzz in her, aided by the faint scent of his sandalwood soap wafting from his shirt. With his arm stretched out along the back of the couch behind her head, she was practically scooped in by his body, and she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

While she was basking in his half embrace, Helen pulled up a stool next to them and pinned Luke with a determined look. “I went over to Mum’s place yesterday and gave it a good clean.”

Instantly Tyler felt Luke’s leg tense up against hers. “You didn’t need to do that,” he said cagily. “I can clean it myself.”

“Well, I didn’t know when you’d turn up.” She crossed her arms and legs and waggled her foot before she directed her gaze at Tyler. “Has Luke shown you the house where he grew up?” Tyler shook her head. “Why don’t you take Tyler there now?” she said to Luke.

Luke shifted about. “It’s your birthday.”

“So? It won’t take you long to stroll over. You’ll be back before teatime, and I’ll look after Chloe. Go on, it’s just around the corner.”

Luke opened his mouth as if about to argue further, but then he shrugged and turned to Tyler. “When my sister gets going, she’s like a bulldozer. It’s easier just to do as she says, and probably quicker.”

“Okay,” Tyler replied, getting to her feet. “I’ll tell Chloe where we’re going. She might not want to be left here.”

But Chloe was in the middle of a complicated game with the other kids and shooed her away. Tyler went back to Luke, and they slipped out of the house. She was eager to see his old home, even if he wasn’t. So much of his formative years had passed in that house, good and bad years that together made him who he was today. And he’d been avoiding his home, had run away from it and landed next door to her. She wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t interested in what had made him flee.

…

From the outside, the house looked virtually unchanged since he’d been a boy. A humble, workingman’s cottage, it sat square in the middle of a plot dotted with rose bushes and garden gnomes. A concrete path edged with bricks led to the plain blue door. Luke unlocked it and beckoned Tyler to go ahead of him.

Even six months after Luke’s mother’s death, the house still retained that unique scent of hers, though it was fading now. They stepped into a narrow, enclosed veranda running the width of the house.

“This is where I used to sleep,” he said. Roasting hot in summer, freezing cold in winter, but at least he’d had his own little space. “There used to be a partition wall here.” A flimsy particleboard barrier that blocked out little of the noise coming from the rest of the house.

They moved into the low-ceilinged living room. Tyler glanced around at the plain, sturdy furniture. Everything was twenty years old but in pristine order. “I see where you get your cleaning genes from.” She nodded toward the ancient television in the corner. “Does that thing still work?”

“Yes, which is why my mother kept it. She couldn’t bear to throw out things that were still useful. Even after my sisters were working and my royalties started rolling in, she refused to let us buy frivolous things for her.”

“Looks like it was a tight squeeze in here when your whole family was together.”

Luke nodded. “There are only two bedrooms. I got the sleep out, but my sisters all had to share a room. When I could afford it, I offered to buy my mother a house. I thought she’d choose a modern one, but she insisted this was the home she wanted.”

“Must have been nice growing up in a large family,” Tyler said a little wistfully.

He thought of the crowding, the lack of privacy, the tempers that flared, the piles of laundry always waiting to be done. But then he remembered his mother’s satisfied smile when they all sat down to dinner and the casual hugs from his sisters and the reassuring notion that he was surrounded by people who cared. “Yeah, it was good.”

One of these days he’d have to decide what to do with the house, but right now, with the memories soaking into him, he could understand why Helen was having a hard time of it.

“Show me your bedroom. The one you were using not long ago.”

He ushered her into the bedroom, not sure what she expected to see.

“Wow!” Tyler exclaimed. She gazed at the walls covered with all the memorabilia his mother had collected. Certificates, prizes, degrees, newspaper and magazine articles—all had been carefully framed and hung on the wall, forming a mosaic above the desk. “This is so amazing. I’m guessing your mother did all this. She must have been so proud of you.”

He tried to see it through her eyes, but all he saw was a monument to his abilities, his potential, and his secret failure. He dropped into the swivel chair in front of the desk.

“She was immensely proud, but you know what? She never got my writing, never understood what my stories were about, and she always assumed it was because she wasn’t smart enough. Oh, she never said anything to me, but I suspected it, and all this”—he gestured to the wall in front of him—“this
tribute
to my supposed talent just sticks in my craw every time I see it.”

She studied him for a while, digesting his confession. “And that’s why you had to get away? You couldn’t write here anymore?”

“Exactly.” Pressing his elbows onto the armrests, he bowed his head. “In fact, I don’t think I can write anymore, anywhere. I’m thinking of giving up, doing something different, maybe teaching.”

“What?” She looked aghast. “You can’t stop writing.”

“I have already, in case you hadn’t noticed. Why else is your yard looking so great?”

She stood there, a slow flush rising in her cheeks. Then she lifted one foot and kicked at his chair, sending him spinning backward. “Hey,” he protested.

“I’ve never heard such bullshit,” she fumed, advancing on him. “You hit a little speed bump and you’re ready to chuck in the towel?”

He scowled back at her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I may not know anything about writing, but I sure as hell know about giving up. Writing is your job. You’ve just had a week off from your job. That’s great. But now it’s time to get back in the saddle.”

He felt his temper shooting out of control. “Chucking in the towel, getting back in the saddle. How many more clichés are you going to throw at me?”

“As many as it takes to get through to you. Luke, you’re better than this. I know it, and your mother knew it.”

He shut his eyes briefly. “You don’t play fair.” Opening his eyes, he saw her rubbing her arms, her face strained with worry, and all his ire disappeared.
She is upset for me
, he realized with a start of surprise. “Sweetheart, I don’t think I can write another damned Kingsley Jeffers book. I just freeze up at the thought of him.”

A strange, brooding expression came over her face before she moved closer and slid down onto his lap. His brain froze, but his body knew what to do, his hands immediately settling onto her hips.

“Then write something else,” she said softly.

Belatedly the cogs of his brain creaked over. “What?”

She shrugged. “Anything. Just write whatever comes to your head. It doesn’t have to be good, doesn’t even have to make sense. It just has to get you back into the habit of writing.”