Читать книгу Zane: The Wild One - BRONWYN JAMESON, Bronwyn Jameson - Страница 10

Julia wished she had been the one to deliver the clever exit line and saunter off. She wished he had been the one left standing nonplussed in her garden. Except that scenario wasn’t ever likely to happen, seeing as it completely contravened nature. Mitch had snaffled all the family genes for saber-sharp one-liners, and Chantal had garnered most of the clever DNA.

Besides, walking away would have been impolite, and Julia was always polite.

That didn’t stop her wishing…or trying to devise the perfect comeback. By the time she finished walking Mac, she had declared the latter an impossibility. How could she come up with anything sassy enough to top his reaction to her piercing?

She pictured him standing in the dappled garden light, those silvery eyes dazed, his expression dumbfounded, and her body almost buzzed with the unfamiliar blend of power and pleasure. Because nice, polite Julia Goodwin had shocked—nay, stunned—the baddest boy ever to swagger through the corridors of Plenty High. It was an intoxicating notion, and it made her feel strong in the most female of ways.

Strong enough to walk into the Lion, to sit down beside him, to order those drinks? Probably not. But that didn’t stop her enjoying the fantasy. Not even the sight of Mrs. Hertzig, patiently waiting to ambush the next passerby, could dampen the moment.

“Hello, dear. Been out walking the dog, I see.”

Julia’s fantasy dissolved as her elderly neighbour leaned over her front fence, eager to natter.

“We’ve been all the way out to Maisie’s and back,” Julia supplied. When Mrs. H. didn’t immediately pitch a question about her best-friend-slash-rival’s garden, Julia knew there was something on her mind. And as Kree liked to point out, Mrs. H. never kept anything on her mind for long. She always aired it for public consumption.

“I couldn’t help noticing you had company earlier.” Her lips pursed on the word company, giving Julia enough time to think, Uh-oh. “If I’m not mistaken, it was that wild O’Sullivan boy.”

Boy? Julia didn’t think that tag quite fit her visitor, unless defined by the word bad.

“Back in town to visit with his sister, is he?”

“Yes, and—”

“He’s a bad egg, that one. Do you think it’s wise to have him in your yard, dear? I doubt your parents would approve. Your mother won’t have forgotten that window he broke in her office.”

“He’s grown up since then,” Julia pointed out, but Mrs. H. was in full flight.

Graffiti, vandalism, theft, arson—in her mind all Plenty’s crime of the past twenty years could be laid at the feet of “That wild O’Sullivan boy.” It was really too much, even for Mrs. H.

“Mrs. Hertzig? Mrs. Hertzig!” she tried a little more firmly. “Zane didn’t even live in Plenty when Larbett’s was broken into.”

“He can drive, can’t he?” And she was off again.

Julia frowned, disturbed by a side of Plenty gossip she had never considered. Then she heard the faint burr of a ringing phone.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Hertzig, but that sounds like my telephone. I’d best run and see if I can catch it.”

She felt Mrs. H.’s affronted glare boring into her back as she trotted off but couldn’t summon any guilt. Not even for denying her neighbour one of her few pleasures—someone to talk to, or at least to listen to her.

As Kree would likely be home by now, and if not the answering machine would pick up, there was no need to chase after the ringing phone. Except she did not want to hear any more stories about Zane’s wild youth, especially those she knew had been stretched and embellished until they bore no resemblance to the truth.

As she stepped onto the veranda, the phone stopped mid-ring. She opened the front door and called, “If that’s for me, I’m home.”

Kree’s head—an extraordinary shade of strawberry-blonde this week—appeared from the living room doorway. “Chantal,” she mouthed.

Since Julia’s dinner party no-show, her sister had been very cool. She would turn even frostier when she found out Julia had passed on dating Dan.

“I’ll take Mac,” Kree offered as she handed the receiver over; then she winked cheekily. “Don’t say anything I wouldn’t say.”

Which left plenty of leeway. Julia settled into the nearest armchair and put the receiver to her ear. “Hello, sis. What’s new?”

She hadn’t moved when Kree returned sometime later.

“That dog is such a guy. You know what he—” She came to an abrupt halt when she saw Julia’s face. “Hey, what’s up? Is it your parents? Has there been an accident?”

“No. It’s nothing like that.” Julia’s attempt at a reassuring smile failed badly, so she focused on the pattern in her Axminster rug as she struggled to put the crux of the phone call into words. “You know Paul’s cousin-in-law who works at Chantal’s law firm?”

“Janet Harrington?”

“She told Chantal that Paul is having a baby.”

“Wow.” Kree raked both hands through her short spiky hair. “How did that happen!”

“In the usual fashion, I should expect.”

Kree didn’t laugh at her attempted humor, but then it wasn’t a particularly funny attempt. Instead her eyes clouded with concern as she peered into Julia’s face. “How do you feel about it?”

“I’m still working on that one. I mean, how should I feel? He’s not my husband anymore. He has a new wife and obviously they’ve decided to start a family.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t feel something.”

“Okay, so maybe I feel a little… I don’t know…”

“Heck, Jules, you were married to the schmuck for six years and he didn’t give you a thing worth keeping. She’s married to him six minutes and she gets a baby. You’ve a right to feel cheated.”

Cheated. Did that describe how she felt? Did it explain the strange sense of hollowness, the emotional black hole where her reaction should reside? Perhaps she should feel cheated by her seeming lack of emotion. Something more palpable, like the sharp spike of jealousy or the bitter taste of regret, would make more sense.

A baby was the one thing she had wanted, desperately, from her marriage, but Paul had wanted to wait a few more years. Paul had insisted they wait. And now she was fast approaching thirty, with no prospect of ever experiencing the joy of carrying a baby, of childbirth and motherhood.

“What if I can’t have one, Kree? What if I never do?”

Her voice sounded as empty as she felt, but there must have been something in her eyes, a trace of pain or the hint of a plea, because Kree sank down onto the arm of her chair.

“Oh, honey, there’s no need to think like that, not when you’ve never even tried.”

“By the time I do try, my ovaries will be all shriveled up.”

“Probably.” But there was compassion in her smile, and in her spontaneous hug. “But, hey, why do you need a baby? You have me to look after, and God knows I can be pretty immature.”

Julia couldn’t help but smile.

“And if you think not having a baby’s tragic, imagine if you had had one with Paul Petulant. What if the kid was just like daddy? Can you picture a two-year-old version of your ex-husband? The tantrums?” Kree gave a melodramatic shudder. “Honestly, Jules, you did not want that man’s child!”

She squeezed a little tighter before letting go and springing to her feet. Sitting still was not in Kree’s nature. Nor was dwelling on an issue.

“Enough of the sappy stuff—I feel like a drink. You gonna join me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Come on,” she cajoled. “Let’s mix up something exotic, and then we can discuss your sex life.”

Julia rolled her eyes.

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t have a sex life, a small matter which will need remedying if you’re ever going to have that baby you yearn for.”

“I’m not about to go out and pick someone up just to get pregnant, if that’s what you’re implying. You know that’s not what I want.”

“Yeah, I know. All I’m saying is how do you expect to find this prince you so desperately want to marry and make babies with, when you spend half your life sitting around here? You need to get out more, have some fun, kiss a few frogs.”

“I’ve been meeting plenty of frogs.” I just haven’t been kissing any of them.

“Yes, well, your sister does seem to know her fair share.”

With the mood successfully lightened, Kree leaned down and tweaked Julia’s ponytail. “If you won’t try a new cocktail, how about trying a new colour?”

Julia started to shake her head.

“Oh, come on, Jules, this is exactly what you need. I could do you tomorrow after work. A decent cut, some red highlights—you’d be a new woman by nightfall.”

It wasn’t the first time Kree had begged to be let loose on Julia’s hair, but it was the first time Julia had been tempted. A new woman by nightfall. She liked the sound of that.

Sensing capitulation, Kree danced around the chair, talking colours and styles. All excited animation, she dragged her fingers through her own hair, and the spikes stood up like the Opera House sails. Julia shook her head firmly. What was she thinking?

“I’m sorry, Kree, but I like my hair the way it is.”

Kree studied her for a long, silent moment, her blue gaze uncharacteristically somber. “Yes, but do you like your life the way it is?”

“I don’t know,” Julia admitted honestly.

“Then I’ll keep that appointment free.”

Kree’s question hammered at Julia that night and right through the next day at work. There were aspects of her life she treasured. Her home, for one, and her close relationship with her family. Her many friendships, her standing in the community.

But if she were truly content, she wouldn’t have lain awake half the night mulling over other aspects of her life. She wouldn’t be accepting blind dates in the hope of finding another husband. She wouldn’t feel this yawning hollowness whenever she thought of her future without said husband and family. And she definitely wouldn’t be dwelling on the fantasy of being a new woman by nightfall. The last time she’d started thinking that way, she’d ended up with her navel pierced.

And was that a bad thing? Did she want to wear the label of Good Girl forever? Or did she want the stimulating buzz that came from shocking the unshockable?

If only she could find answers as easily as she found questions. By the time the store closed and she started dragging her feet home, Julia was no closer to those answers. As she neared Bill’s garage, her feet picked up their pace in time with her pulse, and it took a huge effort of willpower to prevent her gaze from raking the drive-through or peering into the yawning entrance to the workshop.

She could have saved herself the effort.

He wasn’t in the garage; he was in the street outside, talking to the driver of a flashy red car. Her surprise at finding him there brought her to a dead stop in the middle of the footpath.

Time seemed to hit that same brick wall as she took in his casual posture, one hand splayed on the roof, the other tapping a beat on the driver’s door. As usual, his hair picked up the glow of the sun and threw it back tenfold. As usual, her gaze caught on the hard outline of his arms, bared by a sleeveless black shirt. As usual, he looked so arresting, so vital, so male, that it took several of those long, slow-motion moments before anything else registered.

The anything else brought real time back with a sickening crash. The driver he seemed so cosy with was a woman…a woman who looked as fast and flashy as her car. A woman such as that wouldn’t have compromised on the tattoo. She wouldn’t hesitate about walking into a bar and buying a man a drink, especially a man who looked like Zane O’Sullivan.

Something fired deep in Julia’s stomach, something she didn’t wait to analyze but which cried New woman by nightfall as she turned on her heel, then kept up the chant all the way back to the main shopping center.

When she walked into Hair Today and selected a chair, Kree’s eyes boggled. “Tell me I’m hallucinating.”

“You are not to come anywhere near me with scissors,” Julia replied sternly. “And if you insist on red, fine, but only highlights. If you make it as red as Alice Pratt’s, then you will need to find another place to live.”

Kree did insist on red, and Julia was glad. She studied her reflection in her bathroom mirror for about the twentieth time and shook her head in that deliberate measured way of hair product models. She was getting quite good at it, she decided as her blunt-cut layers swung in a wide arc before settling on her shoulders.

And she laughed out loud, at first because she couldn’t help herself—the delight just uncoiled like an overwound spring set loose—and then in recollection of Kree revealing the colour. Paprika.

Julia had flown out of the chair, her eyes wide with horror. “That sounds like orange.”

“No,” Kree said as she eased her back down. “That sounds like hot.”

Did she look hot? Julia narrowed her eyes to inspect her image more objectively. The woman staring back at her didn’t look like Julia Goodwin. She looked like… Julia tried a pout. Oh, my, she thought with a wild fluttering of excitement in the pit of her stomach. She could almost pass for one of those models. She could pass for a woman who drove a red sports car.