Real Men Don't Break Hearts(3)
“Seth didn’t have the guts to tell me to my face the wedding was off, so he sent Nate instead.” The soap wrappers crinkled under the pressure of her fingers. She’d been sitting in the vestry with her nana and sister, wondering where Seth was, worrying he’d had an accident, when Nate had walked in without knocking. He’d tried to sound sympathetic and angry at Seth, but deep down she knew he was gloating. He didn’t like her, and he didn’t believe in marriage. He wanted Seth to be free and easy just like him, and he’d succeeded. “Oh, Nate had no problem telling me. I was so mad at him, I slapped him across the face. Twice.”
“You did? Good for you.”
And then she’d dissolved into a wet puddle of tears and tulle, the final humiliation in front of Nate, who’d still managed to look triumphant despite the red marks on his cheeks left by her stinging hand.
“Nate didn’t care. He’s never cared. He treated this place like his personal garbage can, and he infected Seth with his poison.” After the failed wedding, Seth had gone to Sydney, where Nate had helped him get into stockbroking. Nate was responsible for a lot.
Tyler made a moue with her poppy red lips. “Hell, I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.”
Ally’s spine stiffened. “Listen, I don’t want you treating me like a victim. I’m perfectly fine.”
“Oh, sure.” But Tyler didn’t look convinced.
“I mean it, Tyler. I don’t want you thinking I’m still hung up on Seth. I’m not.”
Her friend nodded vigorously. “I hear you loud and clear. Who wants to get hung up on a man? As far as I’m concerned, men are good for just one thing, and it ain’t killing spiders.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Oh, you should.” Tyler tossed back her hair. “Take it from me, there’s no such thing as Mr. Perfect. Just a lot of Mr. Fun-for-nows.”
Ally frowned. She was single, too, but unlike Tyler, she did want to fall in love and marry the man of her dreams. “I’m not like you. I can’t make men keel over with lust.”
“How do you know when you’ve never tried?”
“Well, I guess I don’t, but right now I have more important things to worry about.”
“Okay. Well, you won’t hear a word about the wedding from me.” Tyler made a zipping motion across her mouth.
“Hey, I just told you not to treat me with kid gloves. I don’t like the idea of the wedding happening in my own backyard, but business is business, and I need the money.”
The Southern Highlands had always been a haven for the rich. A hundred years ago it had been wealthy merchants who carved out their pockets of English countryside in the Australian bush. Now, it was well-heeled bankers and advertising gurus who fancied a country estate complete with manor, stables, and tennis court. But just like a century ago, a strict divide separated the wealthy “haves” from the everyday “have-nots.”
Yet somehow Seth had managed to infiltrate the rarefied stratosphere: he was going to marry Paige Kerrigan. Who was this woman, anyway? Someone who rode horses, Ally decided. A tall, athletic woman with a carrying voice. Blond, probably, with pearls and diamonds and linen shirts that never creased. On her wedding day she would wear Vera Wang and Chanel No. 5. Where would they marry? At St. Bridget’s, where she had waited in vain for Seth?
An unexpected spasm rippled through her. She turned around, her hip jarring the counter, and the pile of soap slithered to the ground once more.
“Not again!” She dropped to her knees.
The shop door jingled. “Good afternoon, ladies.” Mr. Cummings’s florid voice floated over the top of Ally’s head.
“Hi, Mr. Cummings,” Ally said, still on all fours as she reached for a bar of soap lodged beneath a postcard stand. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“I’ve brought someone to meet you, Ally.”
As Ally struggled with the caught piece of soap, a pair of men’s shoes appeared in front of her. Crocodile, hand tooled, expensive. Definitely not Mr. Cummings’s shoes. They were attached to trousers—finest wool, elegantly tailored, citified. Still on her knees, Ally straightened her back and found herself eye level with a slim pair of hips and a thin leather belt cinched around a taut waistline. Her gaze flew upward, past the crisp cotton shirt, silk tie, flawless jacket, and finally clashed with a pair of simmering brandy eyes. Eyes she could never forget.
Nate Hardy. In Burronga. In her shop.
And here she was kneeling in front of him like a penitent, her face practically in his crotch.
Chapter Two
Ally shot to her feet, the soap bars scattering to the floor yet again. “Blast!”
“Here, let me get those for you.” Nate dropped to his knees, and now their positions were reversed. His head of thick, dark hair hovered so close to her legs she could almost feel his breath on her bare skin. She stood stock still, wishing she’d worn stockings to cover her winter-pale legs, wishing she’d put on a nicer pair of shoes, wondering why she cared at all about how she appeared to Nate. Nate Hardy, of all people. What on earth was he doing in her shop? Today of all days, when she’d just learned about Seth’s impending marriage. Was he really such an insensitive brute?
“Where d’you want these?” Nate stood, his hands filled with soaps, a curiously tentative expression crinkling his face.
Still too flabbergasted to speak, she gestured toward the counter behind her. He tipped the soaps onto the wooden top and brushed his hands.
Mr. Cummings spoke. “You remember Nate Hardy, don’t you?”
Beside her, Tyler let out a low whistle. “Speak of the devil!” she muttered.
Speak of the devil indeed. It was as if she and Tyler talking about Nate had conjured him out of thin air, like a magic spell gone horribly wrong. If only she could snap her fingers and make him disappear in a puff of smoke.
“Nate Hardy?” She cleared her throat and set her tone to freezing. “Ye-es…” She pretended to rack her memory. “Weren’t you arrested a few years back? Was it disorderly conduct or something like that?”
His brandy eyes snapped at her, but his voice remained cucumber cool. “Something like that.”
Mr. Cummings had gone pink to the top of his shining dome. “Um, I have some news for you, Ally.”
She turned to him, regretting the embarrassment she’d caused him. Besides being her landlord, he was a friendly, unassuming man, and he seemed agog with some important information.
“I’m moving to Queensland.” He bounced on his heels several times. “I’ve sold the building just this afternoon. Ally, say hello to your new landlord, Nate.” With a flourish he presented Nate like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.
“My new…” Air squeezed out of Ally’s lungs as she felt her eyes goggling. Beside her, she heard Tyler taking in a sharp breath.
“Landlord,” Nate finished for her.
Her new landlord. Oh God, this could not be happening.
“You…you bought this building?” She pointed to the floor. “This building?”
“Yep.” A look of satisfaction spread across his nauseatingly handsome features.
“When?”
“About twenty minutes ago.”
Twenty minutes? She shook her head. “I don’t understand.” She turned to Mr. Cummings. “You told me not to worry. You told me it would take a while to find a buyer.”
“That’s what I thought.” The old man laughed and patted his protruding belly. “But then this afternoon I met Nate here over at the Red Possum, and we got to chatting, and I told him I was looking to sell and retire. Well, half an hour later we shook on the deal, and here we are. Isn’t it capital? Heh-heh.”
Capital? To Mr. Cummings, everything was capital. At his satisfied chuckle, an impotent frustration boiled up in Ally’s veins. He had no idea what he was doing to her. All he saw ahead of him was endless days of sunshine and fishing. He couldn’t imagine the mess he’d inadvertently tipped her into.
“Er, Mr. Cummings, could I have a word with you in private?”
“Well…” He shot an apologetic glance at Nate before turning back to her. “Certainly, m’dear.”
Ally ushered him into the cramped storeroom at the back of the shop. “Sir, are you sure you know what you’re doing, getting involved with Nate Hardy?” she asked as soon as she’d shut the door behind them. “You must be aware of his reputation—petty theft, vandalism, brawling. If you don’t mind my saying so, you shouldn’t be doing business with him.”
His smile faded as he pursed his lips. “Now, I may look comical, but I’m no fool when it comes to money, Ally.”
Oh, dear. She liked Mr. Cummings. A few years back, his wife, two decades his junior, had run off with her lover, and in the subsequent divorce the woman had gouged Mr. Cummings of half his assets. After all that, he deserved some good luck.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, but you must admit it sounds dubious that a man you bumped into at the pub wants to buy your property.”
“You’re right, but Nate isn’t a stranger. Yes, he had a troubled youth, but I know of his business reputation. He’s a successful investment manager for a reputable finance company. Has been for a number of years. I’m pretty sure he’s not trying to scam me, and besides, I’ll have my lawyers double-check the contract every step of the way.” He gave her shoulder an avuncular pat. “I know you’re just looking out for me, but believe me—you have nothing to worry about.”