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SURPRISE:

OUTBACK

PROPOSAL

JENNIE ADAMS

A NATURAL

FATHER

SARAH MAYBERRY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SURPRISE:

OUTBACK

PROPOSAL

JENNIE ADAMS

About the Author

Australian author JENNIE ADAMS grew up in a rambling farmhouse surrounded by books, and by people who loved reading them. She decided at a young age to be a writer, but it took many years and a lot of scenic detours before she sat down to pen her first romance novel. Jennie has worked in a number of careers and voluntary positions, including transcription typist and pre-school assistant. She is the proud mother of three fabulous adult children, and makes her home in a small inland city in New South Wales. In her leisure time Jennie loves long, rambling walks, discovering new music, starting knitting projects that she rarely finishes, chatting with friends, trips to the movies, and new dining experiences.

Jennie loves to hear from her readers, and can be contacted via her website at www.jennieadams.net

Dear Reader,

When I started the story of Jayne Cutter, a career-focused businesswoman in her mid-thirties, I knew Alex MacKay, the youngest of my three MacKay brothers, would be the perfect match for her.

Jayne is uncomfortable with the idea of commitment, and isn’t facing the real reasons for that. When she falls for Alex, a younger man, she worries about getting into a damaging relationship where there are age disparities, as her father has done so repeatedly since Jayne’s mother left the family many years ago.

Alex MacKay was dumped on the doorstep of a Sydney orphanage as a baby. He has two wonderful adopted brothers and they should be all the family he needs—so why can’t Alex get rid of the restlessness that plagues him, the feeling that there is something more out there somewhere?

Alex and Jayne join forces for business reasons. Life throws them into each other’s emotional journey, pulling away layer upon layer of self-protectiveness until their real emotions, needs, hopes and fears must be exposed if they are to have any hope of a future together.

Please join me as I take Jayne and Alex on a journey through some of Australia’s beautiful country, and on a personal journey that will help them both to recognise and accept all they are as individuals, and what they can mean to each other.

Love and hugs from Australia,

Jennie

Thanks to the team at Neighbours for inspiring this story, particularly you, Mr. Hannam, with your talk of delicious, barefoot Italian men making gnocchi.

As always, this book would not exist if

Chris was not by my side, mopping my fevered brow

and rubbing my shoulders and making me laugh.

And then there is Wanda, who always makes my

writing better, always knows best and always makes

me laugh even when I think I want to cry. You rock.

CHAPTER ONE

“I DON’T FEEL SO GOOD.” Lucy Basso pressed a hand to her stomach. “Maybe I should do this another time.”

Her sister Rosetta rolled her eyes and passed the menu over.

“Stop being such a wuss,” Rosie said, scanning the menu. “I’m going to have the pesto and goat’s cheese focaccia. What about you?”

“How about a nervous breakdown?” Lucy said.

Around them, the staff and patrons of their favorite inner-city Melbourne café went about their business, laughing, talking, drinking and eating as though none of them had a care in the world.

Lucy stared at them with envy.

I bet none of you are unexpectedly pregnant. I bet none of you are so stupidly, childishly scared of telling your Catholic Italian mother that you decided to do it in a public place so she couldn’t yell too loudly. I bet none of you are contemplating standing up right now and hightailing it out of here and moving to another country so you never have to look into her face and see how disappointed she is in you.

Her sister placed the menu flat on the table and gave Lucy one of her Lawyer Looks. Over the years, Rosie had perfected several, and Lucy kept a running tally of them. This was Lawyer Look Number Three—the my-client-is-an-idiot-but-I-will-endure-because-I’m-being-paid one.

“There’s no point worrying about something you can’t change. And it’s not like you’ve robbed a bank or become a Buddhist, God forbid. You made a baby with the man you love. So what if you’re not married to him? So what if he’s just left you for another woman? None of that is your fault. Well, not technically.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes, for a moment forgetting her nerves. “What’s that supposed to mean? Which bit is technically not my fault? Us not being married or his leaving me? And please do not tell me that you think us being married would have made a difference to this situation, because that’s so not true. I’d just be sitting here with a stupid ring on my finger and he’d still be having tantric sex with Belinda the Nimble.”

Rosie smiled. “There, see? All you needed was to get a little temper going, and you’re fine.”

She looked so pleased with herself, Lucy had to laugh.

“You are the worst. Please tell me you have a trick like that up your sleeve for when Ma starts crossing herself and beating her chest.”

“She hasn’t beaten her chest for years. Not since we told her it was making her boobs sag prematurely,” Rosie said. “And what’s with the nimble thing, by the way? You always call Belinda that. Personally, I prefer ‘that slut,’ but I’m hard like that.”

Lucy reached for the sugar bowl and dug the teaspoon deep into the tiny, shiny crystals.

“It’s one of the things Marcus said when he told me he was leaving. That he’d met someone, and she was beautiful and captivating and nimble.”

Even though two months had passed since that horrible, soul-destroying conversation, Lucy still felt the sting of humiliation and hurt. She’d been so secure in Marcus’s love. So certain that no matter what else was going wrong in her life—and the list seemed to be growing longer by the day—he’d always be there for her.

Ha.

“Nimble. What the hell does that mean? That she can put her ankles behind her ears? Like that’s going to see them through the hard times,” Rosie said.

Lucy shrugged miserably, then caught herself. She was wallowing again. The moment she knew she was pregnant, she’d made a deal with herself that self-pity was out the window. The days of self-indulgent cannoli pig-outs were over. She had another person to consider now. A person who was going to be totally dependent on her for everything for so many years it was almost impossible to comprehend.

“Hello, my darlings, so sorry I’m late.”

Lucy and Rosie started in their seats. When it came to sneaking up on people unawares, their mother was a world champion. It was a talent she’d mastered when they were children, and it never failed to unsettle them both.

“Why you had to choose this place when the parking is so bad and my cornetti are ten times better, I don’t know,” Sophia Basso said as she scanned the busy café, clearly unimpressed. “We could have had a nice quiet time at home with no interruptions.”

“Ma, you’ve got to stop sneaking up on us like that. You’re like the Ninja Mom,” Lucy said.

“I can’t help that I step lightly, Lucia,” Sophia said.

Small and slim, she was dressed, as always, with elegance in a silk shirt in bright aquamarine with a bow at the neck, a neat black skirt and black court shoes. Over it all she wore the black Italian wool coat her daughters had bought her for her birthday last year.

“I know it’s hard to park here, but Brunetti’s make the best hot chocolate in town,” Rosie said.

Sophia sniffed her disagreement as she folded her coat carefully over the back of her chair. Then she held her arms wide and Rosie stood and stepped dutifully into her embrace, followed by Lucy a few seconds later.

“My girls. So beautiful,” Sophia Basso said, her fond gaze cataloging their tall, slim bodies, dark shiny hair and deep-brown eyes with parental pride.

She sank into her chair and Lucy and Rosie followed suit.

Sometimes, Lucy reflected, meeting with her mother was like having an audience with the queen. Or maybe the pope was a better comparison, since there was usually so much guilt associated with the occasion, mixed in with the love and amusement and frustration.

“You’ve put on weight, Lucia,” Sophia said as she spread a napkin over her lap. “It’s good to see. You’re always much too skinny.”

Lucy tensed. She was twelve weeks pregnant and barely showing. If she lay on her back and squinted, she could just discern the concave bump that would soon grow into a big pregnancy belly. How could her mother possibly notice such a subtle change?

Lucy exchanged glances with her sister.

Just say it. Spit it out, get it over and done with.

Ever since she found out she was pregnant five weeks ago, she’d been coming up with excuses for why she couldn’t tell her mother. First, she’d decided to wait to make sure the pregnancy was viable before saying anything. Why upset her mother for no reason, after all? But the weeks had passed and she’d realized she was going to start to show soon. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to find out from someone else. She could just imagine Mrs. Cilauro from the markets or old Mr. Magnifico, one of her customers, asking her mother when Lucia was due.

The thought was enough to make her feel light-headed. For sure the chest-beating would make a reappearance. And she would never be able to forget causing her mother so much pain. Not that being single and pregnant wasn’t going to score highly on that front. Her mother had struggled to raise her and Rosie single-handedly after their father died in a work-site accident when they were both just toddlers. Sophia’s most fervent wish, often vocalized, was that her two daughters would never have to go through the uncertainty and fear of single motherhood.

Guess what, Ma? Surprise!

“I saw Peter DeSarro the other day. He asked me to say hello to you both,” Sophia said, sliding her reading glasses onto the end of her nose. “He asked particularly after you, Rosetta. You broke his heart when you married Andrew, you know.”

“Oh yeah, I was a real man killer,” Rosie said dryly. “All those guys panting on my doorstep all the time.”

Sophia glanced at her elder daughter over the top of her glasses.

“You were too busy with your studies to notice, but you could have had any boy in the neighborhood.”

Rosie laughed outright at that.

“Ma, I was the size of a small country in high school. The only boys interested in me were the ones who figured I was good for a free feed at lunchtime.”

“Rosetta! That is not true!” Sophia said.

Lucy squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Any second now, the conversation was going to degenerate into a typical Rosie-Sophia debate about history as they both saw it, and Lucy would lose her courage. She took a deep breath.

“Mom, I’m pregnant,” she blurted, her voice sounding overloud in her own ears.

Was it just her, or did the world stop spinning for a second?

Her mother’s eyes widened, then the color drained out of her face.

“Lucia!” she said. Her hand found Lucy’s on the tabletop and clutched it.

“It’s Marcus’s. We think maybe a condom broke. I’m due in late October. Give or take,” Lucy said in a rush.

Her mother’s face got even paler. Lucy winced. She hadn’t meant to share the part about the condom breaking. She’d never discussed contraception with her mother in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“You’re three months already?” her mother asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Lucy nodded. She could see the stricken look in her mother’s eyes, knew exactly what she was thinking.

“I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure,” she said. It was flimsy, and all three of them knew it. “I didn’t want you to worry about me,” she said more honestly.

Her mother exhaled loudly and sat back in her chair. Her hand slid from Lucy’s.

“Now Marcus will have to step up and take care of his responsibilities,” Sophia said. “You are angry with him, Lucia, I know, but for the sake of the baby you will take him back. You will buy a nice house, and he will get a real job to look after you and the baby.”

Lucy blinked. Fatten her mother up, give her a sex change and stuff her mouth with cotton wool, and she’d be a dead spit for Marlon Brando in The Godfather right now, the way she was organizing Lucy’s life like she was one of the capos in her army.

“Ma, he’s with someone else now. He loves her,” Lucy said flatly.

Sophia shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He has responsibilities.”

“Since when did that ever make a difference with Marcus?” Rosie said under her breath.

Lucy’s chin came up as the familiar urge to defend Marcus gripped her. She frowned.

He’s not yours to defend anymore, remember?

“This child needs a father,” Sophia said, her fist thumping the table.

Lucy knew that her mother’s words were fueled by all the years of scraping by, but they weren’t what she needed to hear. She couldn’t undo what had happened. She was stuck. She was going to have to do the best she could with what she had. And she was going to have to do it alone.

Rosie’s hand found her knee under the table and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s not like I planned any of this,” Lucy said. “It was an accident. And I can’t make Marcus love me again. I have to get on with things. I’ve got the business, and Rosie and I have been talking—”

“The business! I hadn’t even thought about that! How on earth will you cope with it all on your own?” Her mother threw her hands in the air dramatically. “All those fruit deliveries, lifting all those boxes. And it’s just you, Lucia, no one else. This is a disaster.”

“Ma, you’re not helping. You think Lucy hasn’t gone over and over all of this stuff?” Rosie said.

“She hasn’t gone over it with me,” Sophia said, and Lucy could hear the hurt in her voice.

“I know this is the last thing you want for me,” Lucy said. “I know you’re disappointed. But it’s happening. I’m going to have a baby. You’re going to be a grandmother. Can’t we concentrate on the good bits and worry about the bad bits when they happen?”

Suddenly she really needed to hear her mother say something reassuring. Something about how everything would be all right, how if she had managed, so would Lucy.

Tears filled Sophia Basso’s eyes and she shook her head slowly.

“You have no idea,” she said. “Everything becomes a battle. Just getting to the grocery store, or keeping the house clean. Every time one of you was sick, I used to pace the floor at night, worrying how I was going to pay for the medicine and who was going to look after you when I had to go into work the next day. All the times the utilities were cut off, and the times I couldn’t find the money for school excursions. I would never wish that life on either of you.”

“It won’t be the same, because Lucy has us,” Rosie said staunchly. “What Lucy was about to tell you is that she’s moving into the granny flat at the back of our house. When the baby comes, Andrew and I can help out. Between all of us, we’ll get by.”

Lucy saw that her mother’s hands were trembling. She hated upsetting her. Disappointing her. Deep down inside, in the part of her that was still a child, Lucy had hoped that her mother would react differently. That she’d be more pleased than concerned, that she’d wrap Lucy in her arms and tell her that no matter what happened she would be there for her.

The nervous nausea that had dogged her before her mother’s arrival returned with a vengeance.

She was already scared of what the future might hold. Of having a baby growing inside her—a crazy enough concept all on its own—and then taking that tiny baby home and having to cope with whatever might happen next without Marcus standing beside her. She’d told herself over and over that hundreds of thousands of women across Australia—probably millions of women around the world—coped with having babies on their own. She would cope, too. She would. But she knew it would be the biggest challenge she’d ever faced in her life. And it would be a challenge that would never stop, ever. At seventy, she would still be worrying about her child and wanting the best for him or her. She only had to look at her mother’s grief-stricken face to know that was true.

She stood, clutching her handbag.

“I can’t do this,” she said. “I’m sorry, Ma. But I can’t do this right now.”

It was too much, taking on her mother’s trepidation and doubts as well as her own.

Her mother gaped and Rosie half rose from her chair as Lucy strode for the entrance, fighting her way through the line of people waiting for service at the front counter.

Outside, Lucy stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat and sucked in big lungfuls of air. She stared up at the pale blue winter sky, willing herself to calm down.

It’s going to be okay. I’m twenty-eight years old. Last year, I started my own business. I can do this. I’m a strong person.

She found her car keys in her bag and started to walk, chin up, jaw set.

After all, it wasn’t as though she had a choice.

A month later

DOMINIC BIANCO RAN his hands through his hair and stifled a yawn. If anyone asked, he was going to blame the jetlag for his tiredness, but the truth was that he’d gotten out of the habit of early starts while he’d been visiting with family back in the old country. Six months of touring Italy, hopping from one relative’s house to the next had made him lazy and soft. Just what he’d needed at the time, but now he was back and there was work to do. As always.

Around him, the Victoria Market buzzed with activity. Situated in the central business district, the markets were the heart of the fresh produce trade in Melbourne, supplying suburban retailers, restaurants and cafés across the city. Bianco Brothers had occupied the same corner for nearly thirty years, ever since new immigrants Tony and Vinnie Bianco started selling fruits and vegetables as eager young men. Today, the family stall sprawled down half the aisle and turned over millions of dollars annually.

Dom checked his watch. Five o’clock. One hour until customers started arriving.

He wondered if he would see her today. Then he shook his head. What was he, sixteen again?

“Grow up, idiot,” he told himself as he turned toward the pallet of boxed tomatoes waiting to be unloaded.

She might not even come. For all he knew, she might not even be buying her produce from his father anymore.

He flexed his knees and kept his back straight as he hoisted the first box of tomatoes and lugged them over to the display table. His uncle Vinnie was fussing with the bananas, ensuring the oldest stock was at the front so they could offload it before the fruit became too ripe.

“Be careful with your back, Dom. You know what happened with your father,” he said as Dom dumped the first box and went back for another.

Dom smiled to himself. For as long as he could remember, his uncle had said the same thing every time he saw anyone carrying a box. Dom figured the hernia his father had had while in his twenties must have really messed with his uncle’s head.

By the time Dom had unloaded all the tomatoes, he’d worked up a sweat beneath the layers of sweatshirts and T-shirts he’d piled on that morning. He peeled off a couple of layers, enjoying the feeling of using his muscles again.

It was good to be back. He’d felt a little uneasy as the plane took off from Rome two days ago, but it was nice to be home. Even returning to the old house hadn’t been that big a deal.

Danielle’s stuff was gone. The only sign that she’d ever lived there was the pile of mail addressed to them both that his sister had left on the kitchen counter.

Mr. and Mrs. Bianco. He wondered if Dani was planning on reverting to her maiden name now that their divorce was final. It wasn’t something they’d ever discussed. He frowned as he thought about it. It would be strange to learn she was calling herself Dani Bianco. As though the only part of him that she still wanted was his name.

“Dom, how many boxes iceburg lettuce we got?” his father called from the other end of the stand.

Dom shook his head when he saw that his father had his clipboard out and pencil at the ready. For thirty years Tony Bianco had kept track of his stock and sales in the same way—on paper in his illegible handwriting. Any notation he made would be indecipherable to anyone else.

Dom did a quick tally of the boxes stacked beneath the trestle tables.

“We got two-dozen boxes, Pa,” he called. Enough to see them through the day.

Before he’d left for Italy, he’d spoken to his father about bringing the business into the twenty-first century. There were a bunch of user-friendly, highly efficient software systems available for running businesses like theirs. Knowing what stock they had on hand, what it was costing them, how much they were selling and who their best customers were at the touch of a button would be of huge benefit to Bianco Brothers. Currently, all that information was stored in his father’s head and consequently Tony’s business decisions were often based more on gut-feel and instinct than hard figures.

Predictably, his father had been resistant to the idea of change.

“I do it this way for thirty years,” he’d said, then he’d gestured toward the long rows of produce and the customers lining up to make their purchases. “We do okay.”

His father was being modest. They did more than okay. They did really, really well. But, in Dom’s opinion, they could do better. He’d backed off last time because he’d been too messed up over Dani to concentrate on the business, but now that he was back it was time to start pushing harder. He was going to be running this business someday, since none of his cousins were even remotely interested. He didn’t want to have to deal with boxes full of his father’s scrawlings when he tried to work out where they stood.

He dusted his hands down the front of his jeans and glanced over the stand, checking to see that all was as it should be. Everything looked good, and he turned back to the stack of pallets piled behind their displays. Might as well get rid of those before the rush.

By the time he’d tracked down one of the market’s forklift drivers and arranged for him to shift the pallets to the holding area, half an hour had passed. The bitter cold was starting to burn off as the sun made its presence felt, and Dom shed another layer as he made his way back to the stand.

He’d just finished pulling his sweatshirt over his head when he saw her.

She was wearing a long, cherry-red coat, the furry collar pulled up high around her face as she talked to his father. Her long, straight dark hair hung down her back, glossy in the overhead lights. She turned her head slightly and he watched her smile, noting the quick flash of her teeth, the way her eyes widened as she laughed at something his father said.

As always when he saw her, his gut tightened and his shoulders squared.

Lucy Basso.

Man, but she was gorgeous. Her sleek hair. The exotic sweep of her cheekbones. Her ready smile. The elegant strength of her body.

Gorgeous—and now he didn’t have to feel guilty about noticing.

He stepped closer, automatically smoothing a hand over his hair to make sure he didn’t have any goofy spikes sticking up from dragging off his sweatshirt. Just to be safe, he checked his fly as well. Never could tell when a clothing malfunction was loitering in the wings, waiting to bring a guy down.

All the while, he drank her in with his eyes. She looked even better than he remembered.

Lucy and her sister had grown up in Preston, just one suburb across from his own family’s stomping ground in Brunswick. They’d gone to different schools but the same church, and he’d been aware of her from the moment he’d first started noticing girls. There was something about the way she held herself—tall and proud, as though she knew exactly what she was worth.

He hadn’t been the only guy in the neighborhood who’d noticed. He’d never been put off by competition, but somehow the timing had never been right to make his move. Life kept intervening—other girlfriends for him, then, when he was free, she’d be with some other boy. Then they’d stopped running into each other altogether as they grew up and went out into the world. He’d only reconnected with her in the past year when she’d approached his father about the new door-to-door fresh produce delivery service she was starting up. After that, he’d seen her every day for six months before he bailed on his life for Italy. And he’d felt guilty every time he looked at her and felt the pull of desire. It wasn’t like he’d needed the added hassle as he and Dani battled through the ugly death throes of their marriage, and often he’d resented the attraction he’d felt.

Bad timing—again.

But things were different now. He was a single man. Divorced. Not exactly a shining badge of honor, not something he’d ever planned, but it was what it was.

And Lucy Basso was standing in front of him, looking amazing, daring him to reach out for something he’d always wanted.

She’d been one of the reasons for coming home. Not the main reason, not by a long shot. But he’d always wondered where she was concerned. What if.? And now there was nothing stopping him from finding out.

He was about to take the last step forward when a voice piped up in his head.

What are you doing, man? What happens if things get serious and she discovers you’re an empty promise?

He pushed the thought away. He refused to live half a life, no matter what had happened with Dani. Especially when Lucy was standing within reach.

“Lucy Basso. Good to see you,” he said.

She was already smiling as she turned to face him, her olive skin golden even under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“Dom! Hey, long time no see. I heard you’d taken off for Italy,” she said.

She had an amazing voice. Low and husky.

“Decided it was time to take a look around the old country, see what all the fuss was about,” he said. He tucked a hand into the front pocket of his jeans and rested his hip against the side of the stall.

“And?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, a small smile playing around her mouth.

“The Vatican is an okay little place. And they did some nice work at the Coliseum. But, to be honest, it would have been much more impressive if they’d finished building it.”

She laughed and pulled a face at him. “Bet you didn’t make that joke when you were in Rome.”

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I didn’t.”

She laughed again.

He shot a glance toward his father, aware that Tony was watching their exchange with a big smile on his face.

Go away, he urged his father silently. There’s no way I’m asking her out with you standing there. I’ll never hear the end of it.

“I bet you’re glad to have him back, Mr. Bianco,” Lucy said.

“I save work especially for him,” Tony said, rubbing his apron-covered belly with his hands, his smile broadening. “To make up for long holiday.”

His father was looking at Lucy with admiring eyes and Dom realized he wasn’t going anywhere soon. He might be pushing sixty, but Tony knew a beautiful woman when he saw one and he wasn’t above a little harmless flirtation in his old age.

“Six months in Italy. I can only imagine,” Lucy said, closing her eyes for a beat. “Heaven. The way I’m going, I’ll get over there when I’m ready to retire,” she said.

“Make the time. It’s worth it,” Dom said. “Even if you only go for a few weeks.”

She shrugged, her hair spilling over her shoulder. “Nice idea, but it’s not going to happen,” she said ruefully.

Then she reached for her purse to pay for her order, and her coat fell open.

The words Dom had been about to say died in his throat as he registered the gentle bump that had been hidden by the long lines of her coat.

She was pregnant.

Lucy Basso was pregnant. Which meant she was married. Not free. Not available. And definitely not about to go out with him.

Bad timing again. The worst timing in the world, in fact.

Fifteen years of lust, blown away in a few seconds.

Damn.

CHAPTER TWO

SOMEHOW DOM MANAGED to make coherent conversation for the next few minutes, but his gaze kept dropping to the bump swelling Lucy’s sweater. After a while, she placed a hand there and blushed.

“Starting to show now, I guess,” she said.

“Uh, yeah. When are you due?” he asked.

“Just before Christmas.”

“Wow. I guess your husband must be over the moon,” he said, fishing unashamedly.

Who had she married? How come his mother hadn’t mentioned it in one of her letters to him? He’d gotten updates on every other birth, death or marriage in the neighborhood. Why would she miss Lucy Basso’s?

Lucy tugged her coat closed and slid a button home to keep it that way.

She shrugged casually, as if to say that her husband’s happiness was a given.

“You know, I’d better get going with all of this.” She gestured toward the trolley she’d filled with her supplies for the day.

Dom frowned as he noted several large boxes and bags of produce in her order.

“I’ll give you a hand,” he said, stepping forward.

“It’s okay. I’ve got a hydraulic tailgate in the back of the van,” she explained.

“Right.” He rocked back on his heels.

She was nothing to him, a neighborhood acquaintance and now a customer, but he hated the idea of her lugging groceries around all day when she was four months pregnant.

She laughed, obviously interpreting the look on his face.

“Italian men,” she said, shaking her head. “Honestly, I’m fine. I wouldn’t do anything to put my baby in danger.”

She curved her hand possessively over her bump, and he felt that tight feeling in his gut again.

Forget it, buddy. Forget her. It’s over.

“Okay. If you’re sure,” he said.

“I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow. You, too, Mr. Bianco.”

She smiled once more before pushing her trolley up the aisle.

He wasn’t aware that he was staring after her until his father came and stood next to him.

“Beautiful girl.”

Dom forced a casual shrug. Beautiful, married and pregnant. Not exactly a winning combination.

“Yeah, she’s nice,” he said.

He turned back toward the stand. Ridiculous to feel as though he’d just lost something valuable. For all he knew, she was a ball-breaking shrew with bad breath and a worse temper. There was nothing for him to mourn, no loss had occurred. They barely even knew each other.

He was so absorbed in trying to look busy that he almost missed his father’s next words.

“Such a shame. Her mother very worried, I hear.”

“Worried? Why?” Dom asked. Then his mind jumped to the obvious. “Is there something wrong with the baby?”

He knew what it was like to hope each month for good news, only to learn that once again all the wonders of modern medicine could not make up for the failures of nature. For four years he and Dani had tried in vain to have a baby. He could only imagine how wrenching it would be to have all the joy of finding out you were pregnant, only to learn there was something wrong with your child.

“Something wrong with the baby? How would I know?” his father asked, giving him a look.

Dom returned it in full measure.

“You’re the one who said her mother’s worried. What’s she worried about if it’s not the baby?”

Tony rolled his eyes, then held up his left hand, pointing to his own well-worn wedding ring.

“No husband. Lousy no-good left Lucy for other woman,” he said. He looked like he wanted to spit, the notion offended him so much. “Poor Lucy, she left with business and bambino all on her own.”

Dom stared at his father.

“She’s not married?” he asked, just in case his ears were deceiving him, feeding him what he wanted to hear.

“Didn’t I just say that?” his father asked. Muttering to himself in Italian, he strode off to serve the customer hovering nearby.

Dom stared blankly into space for a few long seconds.

Not married.

Single, in fact.

A smile curved his lips. He even turned on his heel, ready to race after her and ask her out.

He stopped before he’d taken a step.

She was pregnant.

Four months pregnant with another man’s child.

Not exactly your typical dating situation.

“Hey, Dom, those arms of yours painted on?” his uncle Vinnie called from the other end of the stall.

Dom blinked. A queue of customers had formed in front of him, waiting to be served.

Right. He was at work. There was stuff to do. He could think about Lucy Basso later.

It was a great theory, but he found it impossible to stop himself from thinking about her as the morning progressed. The flash of a red coat glimpsed briefly through the crowd. The sight of a woman pushing a baby stroller. A young couple walking hand in hand, both glowing with obvious contentment over her big, swollen belly. Everything seemed to remind him of her. She’d rocketed from being a vague incentive to come home to the most important thing on his agenda in the space of a few minutes.

Why was that? Because of the profound disappointment he’d felt when he’d thought she was married, lost to him for good?

Man, she’s pregnant, he reminded himself for the twentieth time that day.

But did that really matter? Really?

THAT NIGHT, Lucy sat with her laptop at her dining table and stared at the number at the bottom of her monthly spreadsheet. It wasn’t abysmal. It was almost respectable, considering her business, Market Fresh, had been in operation just over twelve months. But would it be enough to impress the man at the bank tomorrow?

Market Fresh had seemed like such a great idea when she came up with it two years ago. She’d been working as hostess in a busy suburban restaurant and listening to the chef’s constant complaints. He didn’t have time to get into the city markets every day to pick produce for himself, and he was perpetually disappointed in what he could source locally. Because she lived close to the city, Lucy had offered to stop by the markets on the way into work each day and fill his shopping list. The restaurant paid her for her time, and she selected the best produce at the best prices, going straight to the wholesaler rather than allowing a retailer to act as the middleman.

The chef had been so impressed with what she’d brought back and how much money she’d saved him, he’d bragged about it to his chef friends. Before long, Lucy had two, then three, then four shopping lists to fill each day. After a while, she realized that she’d accidentally discovered a niche in the market, and Market Fresh was born.

She did her homework for a whole year before jumping in. She took some small-business courses, and she went through the sums over and over with her sister. Finally, she leased the van and pitched herself to her former employer and his friends. After a few ups and downs, the business was now holding its own.

Except she’d reached a difficult stage in her company’s growth. She needed more clients, but she couldn’t afford to put on an extra driver to service them until she had more money coming in. Also, she needed to up her game to ensure she retained her existing clients. The answer to all her problems was obvious but expensive: the Internet. Ever since she’d found out she was pregnant, Lucy had been exploring the idea of taking Market Fresh online. With a Web site, she could deliver a real-time list of available produce to her clients each day and receive and collate their orders automatically. She already knew from discussions she’d had with several of her key clients that they were attracted to the convenience of the idea. She was confident that new clients would be equally drawn.

She just had to find the money to get online. Hence her appointment with the bank tomorrow.

Lucy rubbed her belly. She hated the thought of taking on more debt. She already made lease payments on the van, and while she was keeping her head above water, it would take the loss of only a few clients or a hike in fuel costs to put her in the red again. She didn’t want to risk that, not with the baby on the way.

But she also wanted to ensure her child’s future. Build something that would keep them both safe and warm for many years, without having to rely on the generosity of Rosie and Andrew, or handouts from her mother.

She closed her eyes at the very thought. Since the meeting a month ago when she’d told her mother she was pregnant, she’d been on the receiving end of all the fussing a pregnant woman could endure. Home-cooked meals appeared magically in her fridge, and every time her mother visited she brought something for the baby—stacks of disposable diapers, a baby bath, receiving blankets, tiny baby clothes. The study nook where she planned to put the baby’s cradle was already jammed to overflowing with her mother’s gifts.

It was incredibly generous, and it also took a huge burden off Lucy’s shoulders in terms of her baby budget. But every time her mother handed over an offering, Lucy remembered the nights her mother had stayed up late ironing business shirts for fifty cents apiece. And the weekends she’d spent sewing wedding and bridesmaid dresses, and confirmation dresses for the girls in the neighborhood. And all the times Lucy had watched her mother carefully count her change into the rainy-day jar. Her mother was retired now, living off a small pension and her savings, and Lucy knew that every gift to her came at her mother’s expense.

Her mother had sacrificed so much to give her and Rosie a good home, and now she was sacrificing again to support Lucy’s unplanned pregnancy.

Lucy shoved her chair back so sharply it screeched across the timber floor.

She had to convince the people at the bank that she was a good risk. Somehow she had to push the business into the next phase, and she had to look after herself and her baby without leaning on her mother. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t the kind of daughter Lucy wanted to be. She remembered how proud she’d felt when she and Rosie had presented their mother with the lush, expensive Italian wool coat. Sophia’s eyes had lit up then filled with tears when she’d understood that the beautiful garment was hers, a token of her daughters’ esteem and affection.

That was the kind of daughter Lucy wanted to be—the kind of daughter who gave instead of took, the kind of daughter who could give her mother the retirement she deserved after all her hard years of work.

Lucy ran a hand through her hair and let her breath hiss out between her teeth, wishing she could release her tension as easily. She had her business papers in order and her best suit was hanging at the ready—even though she had to use a couple of safety pins and leave the zipper down to get the skirt on. As long as she didn’t take her jacket off, no one would ever know.

“They’ll listen,” Lucy said out loud, trying to convince herself. “They’ll see my vision. They have to.”

“First sign of madness, you know,” Rosie said from behind her, and Lucy started.

“For Pete’s sake!” she said, one hand pressed to her chest. “Have you been taking lessons from Ma or something?”

“I knocked,” Rosie said, gesturing toward the door that connected the flat to the kitchen of the main house. “You were too busy talking to yourself to hear me.”

Lucy punched her sister on the arm. “That’s for scaring the living daylights out of me.”

Rosie rubbed her arm. “If you weren’t knocked up, you’d be in so much trouble right now,” she said. “But even a lawyer has to draw the line at taking on a pregnant woman.”

“Very noble of you.”

“I’m good like that. You coming in to watch Desperate Housewives with us?” she asked.

Lucy shot a look toward her laptop. She had her accounts in order, but her nerves demanded she go over them one last time, just to be sure.

“I think I’ve got too much work to do,” she said.

Rosie’s face immediately creased with concern. “Everything okay? You’re all good for the bank?”

“Sure. No problems,” Lucy said, careful to keep her voice casual.

“I can still cancel my afternoon appointment and come with you,” Rosie said.

While a part of Lucy wanted her support more than anything, she knew she had to do this alone. The whole point of getting the loan and growing the business was to become more independent and self-sufficient. Lucy didn’t want to be a charity case for the rest of her life. She owed her baby a better start than that.

“It’s all good. Really. I’ve already ironed my shirt and everything,” she said.

Rosie looked like she wanted to argue some more, so Lucy said the first thing that popped into her head.

“Hey, guess who’s back in town? Dominic Bianco. Saw him at the market this morning.”

As she’d hoped, her sister stopped frowning and got a salacious, speculative look in her eye. Rosie had always had a thing for Dom Bianco.

“How long was he away? And is he as hot as ever?” Rosie asked.

“Six months. And he looks the same as always,” Lucy said.

“Ow. Must have been some divorce that he needed six months time-out to recover,” Rosie said with a wince. “Nice to know he hasn’t lost his looks, though. Tell me, does he still wear those tight little jeans?”

“At this point I feel honor-bound to remind you that you’re a married woman.”

“I can still admire from a distance. And Dominic Bianco is worth admiring. Those cheekbones. And those black eyes of his. And that body.” Rosie fanned herself theatrically.

“Careful or I’m going to have to hose you down.”

“How can you look at that man and not have sweaty, carnal thoughts?”

“Um, because I’m four months pregnant,” Lucy said, “and about to become a walking whale?”

“Irrelevant.”

“Maybe he’s not my type.”

“You have twenty-twenty vision and a pulse, and you’re pregnant so it proves you’re heterosexual. He’s your type. Next,” Rosie said, wiggling her fingers in a gimme-more gesture.

Lucy frowned. She’d never seriously given the matter much thought before. In fact, she’d never really paid much attention to Dominic, truth be told. He’d been married until recently, and she’d been living with Marcus, and Rosie had always had a thing for him—he’d been out of bounds for a bunch of reasons, really. And Lucy wasn’t the kind of person who got off on lusting after the forbidden.

“I don’t know. Maybe I never let myself notice,” she said finally.

“Ha!” Rosie said triumphantly. “I knew it!”

“You want to share what you know? ‘Cause I’m still in the dark here.”

“You have the hots for him. Only someone who really has the hots for someone would completely block out the other person’s attractiveness like that. And The Bianco definitely qualifies as attractive. The man is a god. Sex on legs. H-O-T.”

“Okay, I got it.” Lucy shook her head at both her sister’s convoluted logic and her use of her teen code name for Dom. “Is this the kind of argument you try on in court, by the way? Do judges buy this crap?”

“It’s the only explanation,” Rosie said, crossing her arms smugly over her chest.

“Really? How about this—you’ve been hot for Dom for so many years that you’re trying to live vicariously through me?”

Rosie cocked her head. “Hmmm. That’s not bad.”

They both laughed.

“You’re a dirty birdy,” Lucy said, reaching out and tugging on her sister’s shoulder-length hair.

“Thank you. I do try.” Rosie turned toward the door. “Sure you’re not up for ice cream and Housewives?”

Lucy bit her lip, tempted now that she’d let go of some of her anxiety. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t already gone over and over her application. “What flavor have you got?”

“New York cheesecake and macadamia toffee,” Rosie said.

Lucy slung an arm around her sister’s neck. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” she said, planting a kiss on her sister’s cheek.

“You, my dear, are an ice-cream hussy,” Rosie said. Then she slung her arm around Lucy’s fast-disappearing waist and kissed her back. “Love you, too.”

LATER THAT NIGHT, Rosie finished smoothing moisturizer into her face as she sat in bed. She dropped her hands into her lap, her thoughts on her sister. Lucy was so strong and bright and determined, but Rosie couldn’t help worrying about her. It was part of the job description of elder sister, but it also came down to simple empathy. Her sister was in a tough situation and Rosie would feel for any woman faced with the same challenges. The difference was, Lucy was her sister, and Rosie had a lifetime of feeling responsible for her to add to her natural sympathy. It made her want to move mountains for her, even though she knew her sister was determined to stand on her own two feet.

If only Marcus wasn’t such a loser. It wasn’t the first time Rosie had had the thought, and it wouldn’t be the last. From the moment she’d met him she’d spotted him for what he was—a moocher, content to pursue his “art” while someone else footed the bill for all the everyday things like food, water, shelter. That someone else had been Lucy for so many years that Rosie had almost gone crazy biting her tongue. And now Marcus had shown his true colors and bailed on her sister when she needed him the most.

What an asshole. Lucy deserved so much better.

“What time are the Johnsons coming in tomorrow?” Andrew asked as he exited the ensuite bathroom.

He had stripped down to his boxers, and as usual the sight of his solid, muscular body filled Rosie with a warm sense of comfort and proprietorial pride. He worked hard to stay fit, and she made a point of admiring the results as often as possible because she knew that, like her, he’d been an overweight teen and the ghosts of past shame still lurked in the corners of his mind.

“Looking fine, Mr. James. Looking fine,” she said, giving him her best leer.

Andrew struck a few muscleman poses, each more ridiculous than the last. She was laughing her head off by the time he slid into bed beside her.

“Come here,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist.

She went willingly, curling close to his big, warm body, her head resting on his shoulder. She wondered for perhaps the millionth time how she’d gotten so lucky. She’d had the hots for Andrew James since she walked into her first common-law lecture at Melbourne University. He’d been sitting in the third row, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He’d glanced up from his notebook, and her brown eyes had met his blue, and the deal had been sealed then and there. He hadn’t even needed to smile, but when he did, she’d literally gone weak at the knees.

Rosie smiled as she remembered. She hadn’t believed in love at first sight until that moment. Life sure showed her.

“What are you smiling about?” Andrew asked.

“Just thinking about the first time I saw you,” she said.

“That old thing,” he said. “What is it with women, always mythologizing the past?”

She dug an elbow into his ribs. “Don’t ruin my sentimentality with your man-logic.”

Her thoughts inevitably clicked to the subject she’d been worrying at before Andrew came through from the bathroom.

“I wish Lucy could have met someone like you instead of Marcus the moocher,” she said.

“She’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”

“I can’t help it. It’s in my genes.”

“It’s not like she’s in this alone. She’s got Sophia and she’s got us. We’ll all pitch in.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know. But it’s close, and it’s more than a lot of people have. Lucy’s a lot tougher than you give her credit for, you know.”

“I know.”

“Anyway, it’ll be good practice for us, being Uncle Andrew and Aunty Rosie. By the time our own kids come along, I’ll have mastered the whole diaper thing, no problems.”

She tensed.

“Wow. I’ll have to tell Lucy you’re volunteering for pooper-scooper duty,” she said.

She felt his chest rise as though he’d taken a breath to say something, but he didn’t speak. For a moment there was a whole world of not-talked-about stuff hanging in the air between them.

“Oh, I forgot. The Johnsons. They rebooked for eleven,” she said.

“Right. Yeah, I’d forgotten,” he said.

He stretched to the side and clicked off the bedside lamp.

“Good night,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

She kissed his chest one last time and slid back to her side of the bed. As much as she’d love to fall asleep on him, she knew she’d just wake up in half an hour with a numb arm.

The sheets were cool on her side and she stared up at the ceiling, reliving that telltale little hitch in their conversation.

You have to pay the piper sometime.

There was a conversation coming, looming on the horizon. She knew that. And it filled her with fear. Because she knew how much Andrew wanted children—and she had no desire at all to be a mother.