Never Coming Home by Evonne Wareham

choices. Too many assumptions. Won’t make that mistake again,’ she said firmly. She sat back, closing the subject. The conversation ball was in Devlin’s court now.
    Devlin frowned. He got the message. No-go area. Her chin was up, with a tilt he’d already begun to recognise. Courage. It was setting a slow simmer in his gut – something suspiciously like anger. Jeff Elmore was a grade-A asshole, as well as a kidnapper – but there was something else here, too. ‘Your father thinks you have no artistic talent, when you have two gold medals from the Chelsea Flower Show?’ He sat back a little when she stared at him. ‘I just checked out your website,’ he defended himself. He’d wanted to know about the gardening thing, so he’d done a little fishing. And come away intrigued. ‘Designing and building a garden – that takes skill.’
    There was surprise in her eyes. ‘Arranging plants and flowers – it isn’t like working in oils and canvas.’
    ‘Well it impresses the hell out of me – seeing as I don’t know a daisy from the hole you’d plant it in. It might not be painting, but in my book it’s art. It’s just different, that’s all.’ He saw a flicker in her eyes. Pleasure. The simmering in his gut damped down. Warm. They sat for moment, just looking at each other. Then he dragged his mind back to the matter in hand.
    ‘Would your father know where Jeff might be? Have they kept in contact?’
    ‘I wouldn’t think so. Jeff was a disappointment and Oliver doesn’t do disappointment.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘My father is a great man. A genius. I respect that. But there’s a certain single-mindedness. High expectations.’
    Devlin eased back in his chair. ‘I guess geniuses don’t necessarily make hands-on parents either – not much time for bedtime stories and trips to the zoo?’
    She looked startled. ‘I can’t begin to imagine Oliver at a zoo. A sculpture park maybe.’ She gave a lop-sided grin. ‘When I was seven years old I remember wishing for a dad who’d push me on the swings and tuck me up at night, but that’s not what Oliver is about. Even then, I understood that my father was different.’
    Devlin digested the information, put it with a certain look in the eyes. Understanding didn’t stop something hurting. He was beginning to get some interesting insights into Katarina Elmore. More, probably, that she realised. She was opening up to him. At a guess, she didn’t do it often.
    That was one of his particular skills, getting people to open up. Usually the setting was more – hostile.
    The thought dumped him back into reality, cold turkey. He had no business sitting here, thinking warm fuzzy thoughts. He really had no business sitting here, period.
    Kaz Elmore had a knack of getting to some soft underbelly that he hadn’t acknowledged any time in the last century. The length of the eyelashes flirting against her cheek might have something to do with it, but not all. There was just – something about the woman   …
    She’d sighed. How the hell did a mere exhalation of air send something hot and sharp up under a man’s ribs? His ribs? Who are you kidding?
    ‘When Jamie was born I thought for a while that Oliver was going to turn into a hands-on granddad .’ He saw the shame in her eyes. The memory of a fleeting envy – for her own kid. Honest, to a fault, this Mrs Elmore. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to her. He held them still. ‘I thought he’d be outraged, that I’d been thoughtless enough to make him a grandfather, but he really took an interest. He always kept up with Jamie’s progress although he had a new partner and another daughter of his own. A new family.’
    The wistfulness, that she surely wasn’t aware of, goaded him.
    ‘You’re certain of that? That they are a family?’
    She looked up, startled. ‘Well, I haven’t seen him for quite a while   … the divorce   … and Jamie   …   ’ She stopped, shaking her head. ‘It isn’t