stay.”
“Can’t, and you know why.” He stifled a chuckle as he noted her small hands fisted on her hips. The scowl on her face told him she was about ready to kick the delivery man right back to the city and Mac along with him. She glanced over to the truck, then back to him, eyes wide and glittering.
He knew it. Leah was thinking the same thing as him—there was definitely room for two.
He tossed the driver a grin. “Let me give you a hand.”
“Oooh.” Leah stomped right back up the front steps.
“The missus looks a tad angry, mate,” the driver said as he hefted the mattress from the back of the truck.
“Could say that.”
“Bunch of roses, always works for my wife.”
“You reckon?”
“Yep, then she’ll join you on this new bed of yours.”
Mac’s mouth curled up at the corners. Nice! “Could be a good idea.” He grabbed the other end of the mattress and directed the driver inside.
With his bed in place, grateful he’d not be hanging over the end by at least six inches, he headed back to the grove and worked for several hours without a break. Finally, he went in search of Leah and found her in the kitchen preparing dinner, her hostile mood unabated.
“Today broadband and a bed,” she snapped, refusing to look at him. “Tomorrow you’ll move into my office.”
“My laptop is as much office as I’ll bring here,” he said, thumbing in the direction of the small case beside his briefcase on the dining room table.
“Good. No need to get too comfortable.”
He watched his niece as she stood to get a toy, and noted the stiffness of her limbs, the way she threw her hip and upper body sideways as she moved each leg forward. It wasn’t bloody fair. She was just a kid wanting to play and… The lump in Mac’s throat choked his airways and he turned away.
At least Charlee wasn’t aware of the friction between her mother and him, and he sure as hell intended to keep it that way. He wasn’t about to repeat his childhood, but he also wanted some answers.
“When were you going to tell me about Charlee?”
Leah stole a horrified glance at her daughter, wariness walking across her face. When she spoke, her voice was clipped and spiked Mac’s suspicions further. “It’s none of your business, and,” she said, levering herself away from the bench, the short paring knife she’d been using to chop tomatoes still gripped in her hand and pointed dangerously close to him, “don’t say one word. If you intend to use that doting-uncle rubbish on me, then… Well, just don’t.” With an uneasy swipe, her gaze shifted back to her daughter. “Charlee has a disability, but don’t you dare take it out on her.”
Damn it. He’d made one hell of an impression. “What sort of guy do you think I am?”
She sniffed, put down the knife and wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh, I know what sort of guy you are. Who you are. Tough. Determined. Single-minded. In some, those are qualities that could be deemed admirable. But in a Grainger? Since I’ve been married to Curtis, I’m not so sure.”
Mac leant against the kitchen bench, hands in his jeans pockets, one ankle hooked over the other. He watched Leah, witnessed her anger and fear, a strange combination when a mother talked about her daughter, surely? “You haven’t answered my question about your daughter.”
Leah visibly trembled, and Mac knew his instincts were correct. Something wasn’t right.
“A year ago, Charlee developed a hip disease called Perthes disease. Mostly boys get it, and usually around the age of six or so.”
Mac’s gut hit bottom. “But she’s only four. I noticed her limp but figured she’d just hurt herself playing.”
Tears brimmed in Leah’s eyes. “I know. I did too, at first, but the limp didn’t go away. She kept saying her knee hurt, but it wasn’t until the doctor started talking about referred pain that it all fell into place. Her knee hurt, but the disease is in her hip.”
He turned toward
“Can’t, and you know why.” He stifled a chuckle as he noted her small hands fisted on her hips. The scowl on her face told him she was about ready to kick the delivery man right back to the city and Mac along with him. She glanced over to the truck, then back to him, eyes wide and glittering.
He knew it. Leah was thinking the same thing as him—there was definitely room for two.
He tossed the driver a grin. “Let me give you a hand.”
“Oooh.” Leah stomped right back up the front steps.
“The missus looks a tad angry, mate,” the driver said as he hefted the mattress from the back of the truck.
“Could say that.”
“Bunch of roses, always works for my wife.”
“You reckon?”
“Yep, then she’ll join you on this new bed of yours.”
Mac’s mouth curled up at the corners. Nice! “Could be a good idea.” He grabbed the other end of the mattress and directed the driver inside.
With his bed in place, grateful he’d not be hanging over the end by at least six inches, he headed back to the grove and worked for several hours without a break. Finally, he went in search of Leah and found her in the kitchen preparing dinner, her hostile mood unabated.
“Today broadband and a bed,” she snapped, refusing to look at him. “Tomorrow you’ll move into my office.”
“My laptop is as much office as I’ll bring here,” he said, thumbing in the direction of the small case beside his briefcase on the dining room table.
“Good. No need to get too comfortable.”
He watched his niece as she stood to get a toy, and noted the stiffness of her limbs, the way she threw her hip and upper body sideways as she moved each leg forward. It wasn’t bloody fair. She was just a kid wanting to play and… The lump in Mac’s throat choked his airways and he turned away.
At least Charlee wasn’t aware of the friction between her mother and him, and he sure as hell intended to keep it that way. He wasn’t about to repeat his childhood, but he also wanted some answers.
“When were you going to tell me about Charlee?”
Leah stole a horrified glance at her daughter, wariness walking across her face. When she spoke, her voice was clipped and spiked Mac’s suspicions further. “It’s none of your business, and,” she said, levering herself away from the bench, the short paring knife she’d been using to chop tomatoes still gripped in her hand and pointed dangerously close to him, “don’t say one word. If you intend to use that doting-uncle rubbish on me, then… Well, just don’t.” With an uneasy swipe, her gaze shifted back to her daughter. “Charlee has a disability, but don’t you dare take it out on her.”
Damn it. He’d made one hell of an impression. “What sort of guy do you think I am?”
She sniffed, put down the knife and wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh, I know what sort of guy you are. Who you are. Tough. Determined. Single-minded. In some, those are qualities that could be deemed admirable. But in a Grainger? Since I’ve been married to Curtis, I’m not so sure.”
Mac leant against the kitchen bench, hands in his jeans pockets, one ankle hooked over the other. He watched Leah, witnessed her anger and fear, a strange combination when a mother talked about her daughter, surely? “You haven’t answered my question about your daughter.”
Leah visibly trembled, and Mac knew his instincts were correct. Something wasn’t right.
“A year ago, Charlee developed a hip disease called Perthes disease. Mostly boys get it, and usually around the age of six or so.”
Mac’s gut hit bottom. “But she’s only four. I noticed her limp but figured she’d just hurt herself playing.”
Tears brimmed in Leah’s eyes. “I know. I did too, at first, but the limp didn’t go away. She kept saying her knee hurt, but it wasn’t until the doctor started talking about referred pain that it all fell into place. Her knee hurt, but the disease is in her hip.”
He turned toward
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