Chapter 11
FAMILY, MORE OR LESS
He could’ve said that he went to sleep thinking of Skylar’s hair and eyes and softness—and her confusion, there at the end, and what it might mean.
In truth, though, he fell into bed and was asleep in seconds.
He did have a dirty dream about her, though.
Something about sitting in an outdoor café beside a stream, which was romantic, and slipping a hand under her shirt, which was possibly not.
It had gone on from there. The details were a bit hazy when he woke up, but there had definitely been some sex against the wall.
He could practically feel the backs of her thighs under his hands, and the feel of her around him, too, tight and warm and wet.
He needed to get laid. Next trip. Absolutely.
He shoved an arm behind his head and enjoyed remembering the dream all the same. Fantasy wasn’t reality, but it was better than nothing. Then, of course, there was a knock on the connecting door—oh, it was another knock, wasn’t it? That’s what had woken him—and Scarlett’s voice saying, “Dad. Dad.”
He yelled, “One sec,” and rolled out of bed, ignoring the various protests from his body, and discovered he was naked.
How had that happened? He didn’t remember it.
He hadn’t actually done all that with Skylar last night and forgotten, had he?
Gone into some sort of haze? He certainly remembered wanting to.
Not possible. If it had happened, he wouldn’t be aching right now, not in the bollocks area and not as much anywhere else, either.
Sex was a pretty good anesthetic, but seemed he was going cold turkey these days.
Probably good for his self-discipline. That’s what he usually thought when he couldn’t have something he wanted.
Oh. Kids. He pulled on a pair of rugby shorts and a T-shirt fast, then opened the door.
They were all dressed, to his surprise, though Duncan’s hair was sticking up in tufts and Georgia’s was fuzzy around her plaits.
Georgia had been standing beside Scarlett at the door, bouncing on her toes.
She cannoned into him as usual, and he picked her up, felt her hand on his face and her kiss on his cheek, and said, “Morning, all. How’d you go last night? ”
“I was sad,” Georgia said, putting her cheek against his, “because you weren’t here in time for bed, and Nan wasn’t here either. But Ms. Fairburn was here, and she fixed my hair and was very nice and told me a story.”
Scarlett said, “Pardon me? How about me helping you with your bath and your PJs?”
“Yes,” Georgia said, “but Ms. Fairburn is more special, because she’s my teacher, and she tells very nice stories. She didn’t even read it out of a book. She made it up in her head.”
Duncan said, “I thought you did well, Dad. You and Uncle Jack both scored a try. Was Uncle Gordon narky about that? He says he’s the try scorer, and you’re the brutal end of the business.”
“He does not,” Scarlett said. “He wouldn’t dare. He knows Dad’s the best. That’s why he’s the skipper!”
“He does, though,” Duncan said, not the least bit abashed. “Or at least he did once.”
“He probably just wants to make you feel better that you’re not big like Dad,” Scarlett said, sticking the knife where only a sister knew to put it.
Sure enough, Duncan was flushing. Zane forestalled battle by saying, “I’ve told you, it’s not about who scores the try.
Every try’s a team try. But cheers for the kind words,” he decided to add, as Duncan looked crestfallen.
“We had our moments when it counted. And you met the other kids, I guess. Ms. Fairburn’s kids, that is. Nice kids?”
“Yes,” Georgia said, just as Scarlett said, “No.”
“Huh,” Zane said, deciding to table that for the moment. “Is there meant to be some breakfast happening here anytime in the future? Anybody seen Nan this morning?”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “As if. Ms. Fairburn came over this morning and checked on us, though, like she’s in charge. I told her that I had everything under control, because I did.” She fixed Zane with her gimlet stare. “You didn’t ask her to look after us, did you? Dad. I’m twelve.”
“No,” he said, “but I’m grateful to her, of course. I hope you said ‘Thank you.’”
“She didn’t,” Duncan said. “She said ‘No, thank you,’ though. Or maybe just no.”
“Not good enough,” Zane said. “I want to hear you say, at breakfast, ‘Thank you for your help last night.’”
Scarlett looked at him suspiciously. More suspiciously. “How do you know she helped last night?”
“She told me, that’s how. Told me you did a good job on your own, too.
Said some nice things about you. Could be something for you to consider.
” He set Georgia on her feet again. “And I don’t know about you lot, but I could murder an eggs bennie about now.
Duncan, go stick your head under the tap, and Georgia, find me a comb so we can fix your hair. ”
“I’ll do it,” Scarlett said. “I was about to, but Georgia wanted to barge in and wake you up, so I knocked instead.”
“Never mind,” Zane said. “I need to up my dad game if Nan’s going to be around the place less. Always good to add to the skill set.”
Which was why he still wasn’t dressed when there was another knock—on the outer door this time.
He went to open it, expecting Nan, but it was Skylar.
Fully dressed in the jeans she’d worn to their speed-dating evening—why didn’t more women wear the tight ones anymore?
So much better than the baggy kind that didn’t show you her shape, or to be more precise, her bum—and a new shirt, a red one with a neckline that showed some skin, with three snaps that were too far apart to actually snap.
She was wearing something under it, unfortunately, but at least it was thin and black and stretchy.
Maybe one of those little tops with spaghetti straps like she’d had on last night, when the strap had fallen down.
Focus. “Hi,” he said, and grinned. Comb in his hand, one of Georgia’s plaits done up again reasonably neatly and the other side of her hair still loose.
As for him, it was still the rugby shorts and a faded T-shirt from a thinner period of his life, because it was a bit tight—and no undies, but she wouldn’t know that.
His own hair wasn’t combed, he wasn’t shaved, and his teeth weren’t brushed.
And he still felt fine. “Want to get some brekkie? My shout.”
“Oh,” she said, her eyes instantly returning to his face.
She’d been looking at his chest. Hadn’t she?
Her cheeks were pink, anyway, so he thought it might be true.
That was the best thing about a ginger; they had that skin that couldn’t hide a thing.
The kind that flushed the minute you started kissing them.
“It’s meant to be Granddad’s shout, but I haven’t seen him.
Or your Nan. I think maybe we should go ahead.
Text them, maybe, and say where we’ve gone, if they want to join us.
But you don’t have to pay for us, of course.
I mean, of course you wouldn’t.” Flushing some more. Flustered.
“After you came all this way to watch me?” he said. “Nah.”
“Excuse me,” Scarlett said, “but don’t people normally pay to watch you? Why would you have to pay her?”
“Well, let’s see,” Zane said. “How many rugby matches have you paid to see in, say, the last five years, Skylar?”
She was flushing more. He liked that. “Actually,” she said, “none. Though I’ve seen you on TV, of course,” she hurried to add, as if he’d be wounded otherwise.
“They’re a bit—” and stopped. A bit dear, she’d meant.
Or maybe ‘a bit boring,’ but she hadn’t sounded like that last night.
She’d sounded like she’d enjoyed it. You should be proud, she’d said.
Of course, she may not have said that if they’d lost.
“Right,” he said. “You came here for your granddad, and he’s abandoned you, just like Nan.” He put up a hand at Scarlett’s objection. “Which is fine, because I’m here. Maybe you’ll let me be the white knight and ride to the rescue, at least for breakfast. It’d be doing me a favor.”
“How would that be?” she asked, the green eyes narrowing. “Exactly?”
He tried to think how, but couldn’t come up with much. “Because I like it better that way?” Best he could do.
Skylar glanced at Scarlett, who was no doubt offering up a glare blazing with the heat of a thousand burning suns.
Zane was familiar with that glare. Then she looked back at Zane, tilted her chin a bit—so there was some stroppiness under all the sweetness—and said, “Well, thank you. I won’t pursue that too much—it’d probably be bad for you—but I will take you up on the offer, because I don’t have much choice.
We’ll be ready in ten minutes. Knock me up when you’re ready.
” Some more flush. “On my door, that is.”
Her granddad turned up just as she and the kids were leaving the room.
As Zane was holding the door for them to leave, that is, and Skylar was trying not to notice that he’d shaved.
And combed his hair, and dressed in a black T-shirt, jeans, and the sort of wool-lined waxed-canvas jacket normally worn by a man whose dog had just jumped into the back of the ute to move the sheep to the new paddock.
It certainly hadn’t come from Paris. Unfortunately for her, it was still snug at the hips and showed how much wider his shoulders were than his waist. Also, why did a certain kind of man look even better in a black T-shirt?
She didn’t have a chance to ponder that, fortunately, because Granddad said, “There you all are,” as if he’d been looking everywhere.
He was holding Maureen’s hand and looking mightily pleased with himself.
She did not want to think about her granddad having sex.
Just no. She’d think about him paying for breakfast instead, so she wouldn’t have to restrict the kids to the cheapest items on the menu, or to explain why she was doing that.