ex-cop, lived in Sydney his whole life. Has a real bad-boy reputation. Knocks up some society chick, marries her, has a child he adores. Then the wife dies, about four years ago, when the girl is a toddler, and he’s raised her on his own since. Carries a huge chip on his shoulder—like he blames the world for his problems.’
Carissa shook her head and stared wide-eyed at her sister, knowing that if the rumour mills were true what she’d just heard about Brody went a long way to explaining his grumpy manner. It sounded as if he’d had a rough time and then some. ‘Where did you hear all that?’
‘Daisy Smythe is the dead wife’s aunt. That’s one of the reasons he’s come to live here—so that his daughter can get some female influence in her life. Old Daisy told Pat at the pharmacy, and I overheard the whole thing.’
‘You mean you eavesdropped?’
Tahnee had the grace to blush. ‘Well, it wasn’t like the old duck was talking in whispers or anything.’
‘You’re unbelievable!’
‘So, how did you get big bad Brody to be your bunny? Tell all.’
Carissa remembered the look on Molly’s cute face when they’d first met, and Brody’s subsequent glower. She could hardly believe the taciturn man had found it in his heart to help her out at short notice—let alone throw himself wholeheartedly into the task, as indicated by his current wrestling match with half a dozen of the cherubs.
She shrugged, not wanting to add fuel to Tahnee’s thirst for news. ‘Looks like the guy has a soft spot for kids. He saw how much I needed help when old Dave Hill dropped out, and he put his hand up. With a little helpful twisting of it behind his back from yours truly, of course.’
Tahnee chuckled. ‘So the guy really has a soft spot?’
Carissa understood her sister’s scepticism if what Tahnee had learned from Daisy was true. And, from what she’d observed first-hand in his general demeanour, the guy didn’t exactly strike a welcoming chord with everyone he met. In fact, he looked about as friendly as Scrooge.
Not that she put much stock in anything old Daisy said. Daisy Smythe, a strait-laced spinster who’d lived in Stockton her entire life and shunned anyone she considered ‘foreign’—even those who came from Sydney, a scant two hours away—was notorious for her shallow views. And this was the woman Brody had chosen to be the female influence in his daughter’s life? Poor Molly.
‘He seems nice enough,’ Carissa said, trying to forget exactly how nice Brody was—particularly some of his impressive physical attributes.
‘Wish I could see him without that costume on.’ Tahnee popped another egg into her mouth and delicately licked chocolate from her fingertips like a kitten lapping up the last of its cream. ‘I like bad-boy types.’
‘He has a daughter to raise. I doubt Brody would be up for a fling—especially in a small town like this.’
‘Ooh.’ Tahnee’s eyes narrowed as she fixed her perceptive gaze on Carissa. ‘You sound mighty sure of what the man in question wants. Is there something you’re not telling me? Like you’ve got dibs on him? Little wonder Pete is out of the picture.’
‘For your information Peter dumped me, not the other way around. And I haven’t got dibs on anyone.’ Her interest in Brody Elliott stemmed from a desire to make his daughter’s life easier, not some ill-placed lust for him. ‘He’s my neighbour. I’m just helping him get acquainted with the town.’
Tahnee’s grin spoke volumes. ‘Riiight. Thousands wouldn’t believe you, Sis, but I will.’ She stood in one lithe movement and Carissa lamented that her two gorgeous sisters had got all the height genes in the Lewis family. She barely made it past five foot—and that was in heels!
‘Anyway, I better dash. I have a deadline to meet and my editor waits for no one. See you later.’ Tahnee kissed her cheek and strolled from the garden, a tall, slim blonde in hipster jeans and matching denim jacket.
Yeah, her sister was beautiful, all right, and if she ever set her sights on Brody he’d be toast.
Glancing at her watch, she realised the last hour had flown. Brody had done such a good job entertaining the children she’d hardly had to do anything—including calling on her back-up plan of distributing mass amounts of choccie eggs if the bunny had been too moody to play.
Thankfully the bunny had been one hop ahead of her all the time, and it had been a pleasure seeing him bring joy to so many little faces. She loved this motley bunch of kids, ranging in age from four to nine, all locals whose parents patronised her shop on a regular basis looking for gifts.
She’d been hired to organise fairy parties for all the little girls in town over the last few years, and knew almost every kid in Stockton personally—which was why she went the extra yard at Easter and Christmas, organising the pageant and Santa’s cave for the darlings.
Clapping her hands, she called the children to her. ‘Okay, it’s time for the Easter Bunny to go. What do we say to the bunny?’
‘Thank you, Easter Bunny. Come again next year,’ thirty voices rang out in unison, in the peculiar monotone they’d rehearsed a few hours ago.
Brody waved to the kids and hopped towards the back door of the shop. She smiled at him, wondering if he could see her through the peepholes in the rabbit’s mouth. In response, he turned, wiggled his cute little cotton tail butt at her and hopped into the shop, shutting the door behind him.
Well, well, well. Maybe there was more to Brooding Brody than he let on?
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU didn’t have to do this.’
Brody took one look at the table Carissa had set for dinner and wanted to bolt home. It looked too cosy, too inviting, and far too scary for his peace of mind.
He didn’t do dinners. He didn’t do dates.
And this meal she’d cooked as thanks for him helping her out with the bunny thing looked like a frightening combination of both.
She turned from the stove, brandishing a wooden spoon filled with rich bolognaise sauce in one hand and a fairy-covered pot holder in the other. ‘I know, but I wanted to. It’s the least I can do after the show you put on for the kids yesterday.’
He managed to look affronted for all of two seconds. ‘That wasn’t a show.’
Far from it. He’d enjoyed himself more than he had in ages—acting like a goofball with the kids, enjoying their rough-house tactics. He never played like that with Molly, was too scared he’d hurt her. She was all he had left in this world and he’d do his best to protect her—after doing such a lousy job with her mum.
‘No?’ She tasted the sauce and smiled the self-satisfied smirk of a cook who knew she was good and is proud of it.
And, despite his wariness of this whole situation, his mouth watered at the spicy aromas wafting through the small kitchen: a rich combination of garlic, tomatoes, oregano and basil infused the air, and he wondered if he’d ever smelt anything so tempting.
Or seen anything so tempting, as he watched Carissa turn back to the stove, the simple movement causing the short black skirt she wore to flip around her knees in a provocative swish. She was barefoot, her shapely calves beckoning him to feel their contours and keep heading north to the hidden delights underneath that flirty skirt.
He swore silently and thrust his hands in his pockets, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.
What the hell was he doing here?
He needed to escape. Fast.
‘The bunny act was nothing and this really isn’t necessary. So, thanks anyway, but I need to check on Molly.’ He sidled towards the door, unprepared for the flash of anger in her eyes as she swung around to face him.
‘I