Читать книгу: «Nanny Makes Three»

Gregory cleared his throat.

“I, uh, want you to know, although it goes without saying… I mean, you don’t have to worry that I’ll, ahem, take advantage of our situation.”

“What do you mean?” Melissa turned to face him, soapy water dripping from her hands.

“You’re a young attractive woman living in a house with a single man – ”

“Oh, that!” Melissa said, astonished. “I never imagined that you and I… Why, you’re too ol – ”

Old. He raised his dark brows. “I’m too what?”

“O-old-fashioned,” she stammered. “I mean that in the nicest sense possible. You’re a gentleman.” She took a deep breath. “Besides, you’ve made it quite clear you think I’m a loon.”

He smiled tightly, still stinging from her assessment. He wanted to tell her that younger women than her had given him the eye. “Loon might be a little harsh.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

When Joan Kilby isn’t working on her next romance novel, she can often be found sipping a latte at a pavement café and indulging in her favourite pastime of people watching. Originally from Vancouver, Canada, she now lives in Australia with her husband and three children. She enjoys cooking as a creative outlet and gets some of her best story ideas while watching her Jack Russell terrier chase waves at the beach.

Dear Reader,

I couldn’t wait to go back to Tipperary Springs to write about Melissa, Ally’s sister from Party of Three. I knew even then that Julio, the Argentinian acrobat, wasn’t right for her. But what man could hold her interest and keep her feet on the ground?

Melissa is, let’s face it, a bit of a ditz. Her hero had to be strong, unruffled and deeply caring. Gregory juggles a law practice with running a rare-breed pig farm and bringing up Alice Ann. On the surface, Melissa doesn’t appear to be the best person to help others. But as it turned out, there was a whole lot more to her than even she knew.

I had so much fun researching the Wessex Saddleback pigs that Gregory raises. I visited a couple of real farms and discovered for myself how delightful and individual these creatures can be. Like Melissa, at one point I was surrounded by a dozen young pigs all nibbling at my boots and pants. I was surprised to learn that when startled, the pigs bark like a dog, just before running away.

I hope you enjoy Melissa and Gregory’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I love to hear from readers. You can e-mail me at www. joankilby. com or write to me at PO Box 234, Point Roberts, WA 98281-0234, USA.

Joan Kilby

Nanny Makes Three

JOAN KILBY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I’d like to thank Fiona Chambers of Fernleigh

Farms, who generously took time out of her

busy work day to show me her gorgeous Wessex

Saddleback pigs and answer my many questions.

Anthony and Tina Dusty were also extremely

helpful, providing information and anecdotes

that played an important part in writing

this story.

CHAPTER ONE

MELISSA CUMMINGS BUZZED down Balderdash Road in her apple-green Volkswagen Beetle, flipping between stations in search of country music. A little Keith Urban would be nice, or Missy Higgins. All she could find were ads and news.

…fine and warm this autumn afternoon in Melbourne…

…woman and two children missing from their Ballarat home…

…two for one at Carpet Emporium…

Dappled light filtered through the towering gum trees that crowded the narrow road. Melissa rounded a bend and shrieked as a figure darted in front of the car. She swerved, barely missing a boy of about eight years old. She had a fleeting glimpse of carrot-red hair and a blue T-shirt before the kid, his small limbs churning, dived into the thick undergrowth.

Melissa brought the car to a skidding halt, her heart racing.

Where had the boy gone? Was he hurt?

In the rearview mirror she saw a toy fire engine lying on its side across the center line.

Slowly she reversed, winding down the window. “Hello, little boy? Are you all right?”

The hot afternoon was heavy with the throb of cicadas and the resinous scent of eucalyptus. A magpie lifted his black-and-white head and sent forth a liquid warble. Melissa gripped the wheel with one hand and worried at a hangnail on the other with her teeth. Had she actually hit the boy? She couldn’t remember feeling any impact. But if he wasn’t hurt, why hadn’t he come out of the bushes? He could be lying in there, unable to move. What if he needed a doctor?

She turned off the engine and climbed out of the car.

Picking up the fire engine, she wobbled into the bush in her high heels. “Helloo,” she sang out. “I’m coming.”

Dear God, please don’t let him be dead.

The dry grass brushed against her bare legs and left tiny seeds caught on the lace hem of her skirt. She forced herself to move steadily through the thick undergrowth. A trickle of perspiration dripped down her back beneath the sleeveless top. She crept to one side of a shrub and pulled back the leafy branches. A small boy, dirty and disheveled, peered up at her, clearly terrified.

“Thank goodness you’re alive.” Melissa held out his toy. “Are you hurt?”

The child snatched it from her hand and ran, only to stumble on a fallen limb hidden in the grass. He fell with a cry and rolled to one side, clutching his leg. Blood streamed from a gash on his shin.

At the sight of the blood, spots swam in front of Melissa’s eyes. She was going to faint. Deep breath in, deep breath out. First—stop the bleeding. She couldn’t even think until the boy’s leg was bandaged.

“Don’t worry,” she said, as much to reassure herself as him. “I’ve got a first-aid kit in my car.”

“Mum! Where are you?” The boy struggled to his feet, ignoring the blood still running down his leg. His ankle buckled under him.

“Josh!” A petite blond woman popped out from behind a bush a few yards away and pushed through the tall grass. She had a leather purse slung over her shoulder, and in her other hand she carried a plastic grocery bag. Her taupe linen top and khaki capri pants were smudged with dirt, and the scratches on her tanned calves were beaded with blood. When she reached the boy she threw her arms around him.

“Mummy!” A little girl of about six, with strawberry-blond hair, emerged from behind a large brushbox tree and waded through the grass to clutch at her mother’s legs. Her bare arm below the sleeve of her pink T-shirt sported a cluster of dark purple bruises, and there was another dark bruise across her cheekbone and eye.

“Did you fall and hurt yourself, too?” Melissa started to reach out, but the girl shrank back. “There’s a petrol station a few kilometers back. I could get some ice for that eye.”

“Callie’s fine.” The woman curled a hand protectively around her daughter’s shoulder as she urged the children back the way she’d come. “Josh’ll be fine, too.” The boy limped on his sprained ankle and the girl struggled to keep up, but neither made a peep.

Melissa frowned, confused by their reluctance to accept help. “His wound could get worse if you leave it,” she insisted, picking her way among fallen logs and scrubby weeds after them. “Infection, tetanus, gangrene…you can’t be too careful. You really should go to the hospital. I’d be happy to take you.”

“Mum?” The boy stopped and leaned on his mother. His voice quavered and his chin wobbled as he fought back tears. “I could use a Band-Aid.”

“Oh, Josh, darling.” She hugged him tightly. “Of course you can have a Band-Aid.” She turned to Melissa with a well-bred graciousness that not even soiled clothing could diminish. “Thank you for your kind offer of first aid, but no hospital, please.”

“Okay,” Melissa said carefully. What the heck was going on here? “I’m Melissa, by the way. What’s your name?”

The woman hesitated, her hazel eyes searching Melissa’s face. Finally she said, “I’m Diane. We’ll come back out to the road.”

At the car, Melissa grasped her large metal first-aid kit by its handles and heaved it out of her trunk. Then she carried it to Josh, who was sitting on a log in the shade of a gum tree.

Diane helped her lower the box to the ground. “This is the biggest first-aid kit I’ve ever seen.”

“I like to be prepared.” Melissa knelt before it and handed out gauze, butterfly adhesives, a tensor bandage, antiseptic ointment, scissors and tape. Her family thought she was a hypochondriac, but in her opinion one couldn’t do too much when it came to health and safety.

“Are you a nurse, too?” Josh asked. Tears had dried into tracks down his freckled cheeks.

“Me? No way! I’m petrified at the sight of blood.” Melissa glanced at Diane. “Are you a nurse?”

“I haven’t practiced since before Josh was born, but, yes, I’m a registered nurse.”

“Thank goodness! You can dress his wound.” Melissa’s stomach was still churning at the sight of Josh’s torn flesh. Bits of grass and dirt were caught in the sticky blood oozing from the deep gash.

“Mummy, I’m hurt, too.” Callie whimpered and thrust out her arm. In addition to the bruises, she had a fresh scrape on her elbow. “I want you to nurse me!”

“In a minute, darling,” Diane said. “As soon as I get Josh patched up.”

“I can manage your elbow,” Melissa said to Callie, who reluctantly came forward in response to her mother’s encouraging nod. “I’ve got Winnie the Pooh Band-Aids. Do you want Pooh Bear or Tigger?”

Melissa took care of Callie’s scrape, then pulled the girl onto her lap while Diane swabbed the debris out of Josh’s wound, dabbed on the antiseptic and pulled the gaping edges together with butterfly adhesives. Melissa didn’t want to look, but couldn’t help admiring the capable, efficient way she worked, covering the cleaned wound and taping a gauze pad into place. Finally Diane wound a tensor bandage around Josh’s sprained ankle in a precise herringbone pattern and clamped the end with a metal clip. Brushing the tears from her son’s eyes, she said, “You’re a brave boy.”

Melissa helped Callie to her feet and started repacking the first-aid kit. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you walking way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

Diane gathered up the scraps of wrapping from the bandages, not meeting her gaze. “We…we walked into Tipperary Springs and now we’re on our way back to…the farm where we’re staying.”

“Oh, so you’re here on holiday,” Melissa said. “My sister, Ally, manages a cottage-rental agency in Tipperary Springs. Maybe you met her—brown hair, colorful cardigans, quirky brooches?” Diane looked baffled and Melissa decided she must have gone to another agency. “You’ll love this area. There’s hiking, fishing, hot-air ballooning, the mineral springs….”

She trailed off, frowning, as the oddness of their situation sunk in. The town was five kilometers away, a long distance on a road with no footpath. “Did your car break down? Do you want to use my mobile phone?”

“We came by bus.” Once again Diane slung her purse over her arm, hefted her bag of groceries, then took a child by each hand. Looking cautiously both ways, she started walking off.

Melissa followed. “Buses don’t run along this road.”

“I told you, we walked from Tipperary Springs.”

The woman looked well-off; it didn’t make sense that they’d taken a bus to town and walked from there. And now Josh’s ankle was sprained and Callie was drooping like a wilted flower.

“Hop in the car. I’ll give you a lift to where you’re staying.” Diane hesitated and Melissa added, “Your son’s leg could start bleeding again. And you know he shouldn’t walk on a sprain.”

“I don’t mind if my leg bleeds,” Josh said bravely.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Diane squeezed his shoulder. “All right,” she said to Melissa. “Thank you.”

When they’d loaded the kids in the rear and Diane had taken the passenger seat, Melissa pulled back onto the road. Soon the thick stands of gum trees gave way to small farms nestled among rolling green hills. Diane stared out her window, absently fingering a single strand of cultured pearls.

“Where are you from?” Melissa asked, trying to make conversation.

“Ballarat.” Callie piped up from the backseat.

“Shut up, stupid!” Josh elbowed his sister.

“Mummy!” Callie howled.

“Stop, you two,” Diane said tensely.

“You haven’t come far for your holiday,” Melissa observed. Ballarat was barely a half-hour drive away.

“I-It was a spur-of-the-moment idea,” Diane replied.

Why would a well-dressed woman with two young children travel a short distance by bus to a small town, then walk out into the country? “This is none of my business, but—”

“Slow down! Please,” Diane added, as they passed a single-story cream brick house set back from the road. “Do you know Constance Derwent?” She craned her neck to look back at the property.

“No, I don’t,” Melissa said, slowing to a crawl. An apple orchard ran along the boundary with the pig farm next door. A sign out front advertised free-range eggs for sale. “Is that her house?”

“Yes, although she wasn’t home last time we checked. Stop here, please.” Diane pointed, not to Constance’s driveway, but to a rutted dirt track belonging to the next farm. “We’ll get out here.”

Melissa stopped, scanning the cluster of farm buildings on top of the hill. There was a barn, a water tank, a machine shed and an old bluestone cottage. A newer farmhouse on the far side of the yard was reached by a long gravel driveway that wound around a pond shaded by a weeping willow.

Black pigs with pink bands across their shoulders grazed in the sloping green field, some clustered next to small corrugated-iron shelters. Isolated in a small paddock of his own, a boar stood on top of a dirt mound. Melissa suppressed a shudder.

“I think this lane is for tractors,” she said. “The driveway is farther along. See, there’s the mailbox and a sign, Finch Farm.”

“This is the lane I want,” Diane insisted as she gathered up the handles of the grocery bag. “Don’t bother driving in. We can walk from here.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Ignoring her protests, Melissa turned off the paved road and into the lane, dropping down a gear to climb the hill. Her long feather-and-bead earrings swayed against her bare shoulders as the Volkswagen jolted along the rutted track. “Have they renovated the cottage for holiday makers? If you don’t have a hot tub, make sure you go to the mineral baths in Tipperary Springs. You can take it from me, the mud bath is wonderful.”

This enthusiastic recommendation was met with silence. Melissa glanced in the rearview mirror and noted Josh and Callie’s solemn faces streaked with grime across the foreheads and around the chins, as if they’d already had a mud bath.

Diane was nervously scanning the paddocks and the farmyard. A utility truck was parked next to the barn, and now that they were closer, a Volvo sedan was visible at the side of the house. “The farmer’s back,” she muttered.

Melissa parked in front of the cottage of rough-hewn, blue-gray stones. The curtains were tightly closed even though it was broad daylight. Weeds flourished around the foundations and the building had an air of neglect. “You’d think they’d fix the place up better if they’re renting it out.”

“It’s fine,” Diane said. “Quick, children, get inside.” She climbed from the car, clutching her bag of groceries, as the kids scrambled out of the backseat. Josh led the way, liweekoldmping, and tugging on his sister’s hand as he hurried her toward the cottage.

“I’m sure it looks better on the inside,” Melissa said dubiously, getting out of the car.

At the sound of voices inside the barn, Diane quickened her pace to catch up to the children. She put her shoulder to the heavy door, gave a shove and pushed the children inside.

“Thank you so much,” she said to Melissa from the doorstep, in a rush of polished vowels. “You’ve been extremely kind.”

Melissa put a hand on the door before Diane could close it. The air inside smelled dank and musty. Chilly. “Wait a minute. Who are you? Why are you so nervous?”

“You have to go.” Perspiration beaded Diane’s top lip and the posh accent sounded strained. “Please, don’t tell anyone we’re here. I mean, no one.”

Melissa’s jaw dropped. Before she could recover, Diane shut the door.

“Hey!” a man called. “What are you doing?”

Melissa whirled around to see the farmer striding toward her. He was only about ten yards away, startlingly close. He was tall and tanned, with a lean muscular build and wide shoulders. His black hair gleamed in the sun and his red plaid shirt and rough black work pants accentuated both his size and striking coloring. A black-and-white dog trotted at his heels.

Melissa pressed her palms against the rough wood of the door at her back as she tried to process what was happening. Why would Diane and her children be hiding from this man? Wasn’t she a paying guest?

The farmer seemed to be sizing Melissa up with his dark brown eyes, taking her apart and putting her back together. Her hands were damp. She pushed off from the door and hurried forward to prevent him from getting too close to the cottage. She suspected this man wouldn’t appreciate being lied to.

And yet she was going to. With luck, he would never find out.

CHAPTER TWO

THE WOMAN HURRYING TOWARD him seemed very young, with rich, cherry-red hair—impossibly red hair—that fell past her bare shoulders in gentle waves. What was she doing here, anyway, when the house was clearly the main residence?

“Have you come about the ad?” Gregory asked, frowning.

“What ad?” Her deep blue eyes widened and she touched her long, feathery beaded earrings with slender fingers.

“For a nanny.” This girl-woman looked nothing like his idea of a nanny. Her black lace top, revealing a hint of cleavage, would be more suitable in a nightclub than a farmyard, and her smooth hands looked as if she’d never done physical work in her life.

“I’m Gregory Finch,” he said. “And this is…” He glanced around to see if his daughter had come out of the barn. There she was, poking bits of grass between the wire fence to her favorite pig, a twelve-week-old runt she’d nursed from a bottle. Her long dark hair was tangled and her pink corduroy dress hung down almost to her oversize blue gum boots. Love and worry infused him as he called her away from the pig she persisted in viewing as a pet. “Alice Ann!”

His daughter gave him a sunny smile and pushed her hair out of her periwinkle-blue eyes, the only legacy of her late mother. Skipping over to where he stood, she asked, “What is it, Daddy?”

“I want you to meet…” He glanced at the woman, eyebrows raised.

“Melissa.” Her tentative smile warmed generously. “Hi, sweetie. How old are you?”

The child threw out her tiny chest and twinkled up at her. “I’m four. I can ride a two-wheel bike.” She pointed to a shiny pink bicycle fitted with training wheels and propped against the barn. White tassels dangled from the handlebars and a vanity license plate picked out her name in red letters.

“What a big girl!” Melissa said, then added to Gregory, “She’s adorable. However, I’ve just accepted a job at a call center. It’s not quite what I wanted, but it’ll do for now—” She broke off to watch Maxie sniff the ground around the Volkswagen Beetle, then move in a zigzag path toward the cottage. Melissa’s hand went to her throat, her gaze riveted on the dog.

Alice Ann tugged on Gregory’s pant leg. “What’s Maxie doing, Daddy?”

“She must have scented an animal. I hope possums haven’t gotten into the roof of the cottage.” He turned back to Melissa, eyeing her curiously. “If you didn’t come in response to my ad for a nanny, why did you come up the lane?”

“Well, I—” She broke off again.

Maxie was now running back and forth between the car and the cottage, whimpering and whining. She finally stopped in front of the wooden door, ears back.

“Oh!” Melissa exclaimed.

“Maxie, get away from there!” Gregory called. “Maxie!”

“The animal must be in there, Daddy. Should we look? Maybe it’s not a possum. Maybe it’s a bear.” Alice Ann bounced up and down in her squeaky gum boots, her eyes shining. “A polar bear with fluffy white fur and a blue satin collar.”

“There are no polar bears in Australia, with or without satin collars,” Gregory told her. “But maybe we should have a look for signs of possum.”

He walked over to the cottage, reached for the handle and nudged the dog gently aside with his foot. “Get away, Maxie, so I can open the door.”

“Excuse me!” Melissa slipped between him and the cottage more quickly than he would have thought possible. Her deep blue eyes met his at close range and the faint, fresh scent of wildflowers drifted up to him. “I came up the lane to…to buy free-range eggs. There’s no one home next door, and I wondered if you might have some for sale.”

“As it happens, I do,” Gregory stated, taking a step backward. “My neighbor forgot to take down her sign before she left on holiday. But I’m looking after her chooks. I have eggs up at the house for her regular customers.”

“Constance left you the eggs?” Melissa asked. “Constance Derwent?”

Gregory nodded, wondering at the peculiar emphasis she placed on the name. Maxie whined and scratched at the door.

“Do you think you could get me some? Now, I mean,” their visitor said urgently. “I’m late for an appointment.”

“Of course. Come up to the house.” Gregory dragged Maxie away from the cottage door by her collar. Alice Ann ran over to get her bike, and rode, weaving, across the hard-packed dirt yard.

“I’m one of Constance’s most regular customers,” Melissa assured him as they started for the house. “Two, three dozen eggs a week. I eat nothing else.”

Gregory stopped short. “You eat nothing but eggs?”

“Goodness, no. I mean, when I eat eggs I insist on free-range. Constance’s eggs are the best.” Nervously, she glanced around to see where the dog was.

“You don’t need to be afraid of my dog,” he said. “Behind that big bark she’s a complete softy.”

Melissa gave him a quick smile as she twisted her silver bangles. “Tell that to the polar bears.”

“See, Daddy?” Alice Ann said as she nearly crashed into him on her bike. “Melissa thinks there are polar bears in there, too.”

Gregory chuckled and shook his head. “You’ll see there aren’t any bears when I clean out that cottage this week for your new nanny.”

Beside him, Melissa breathed in sharply. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stumble on the uneven ground in her high-heeled sandals. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, fine.” She smiled brightly. “What kind of pigs are these?”

“Wessex Saddlebacks,” Gregory said with quiet pride. “A rare breed originally from England. I’ve got five sows and a boar. This paddock holds the weaners—five months old. The smaller group in the next paddock are growers, about three months old.”

“My aunt and uncle kept pigs, the pink kind,” Melissa replied. “I used to spend a week at their farm every summer when I was a child.”

“Ah, so you have an appreciation for the animal,” Gregory said. “They’re smarter than some dogs and have loads of personality.”

Alice Ann brought her bike to a wobbly halt at the fence and dismounted. “Benny!”

At the sound of her voice, a young pig trotted over, grunting and squealing. Unlike the others, his pink saddle stopped short on one shoulder. His moist pink nose wiggled about, sniffing the air as he lifted his head to peer at the girl from under his floppy ears.

Melissa went to join the child. “Is Benny your pet?”

“Yes,” she said happily, and to Gregory’s exasperation, fed him a marshmallow from her pocket.

“Pigs aren’t pets.” He had tried to instill this concept into Alice Ann since Benny was born, five months ago. To no avail. No matter what he said to discourage her, she persisted in treating the runt like a puppy, and consequently he followed her around like one. Worse still, she took advantage of the fact that pigs had a sweet tooth to lure Benny, using all manner of sugary treats.

Alice Ann took no notice of him. Instead, she handed Melissa a marshmallow. “Do you want to feed him?”

“Are you sure this is okay for him to eat?” Melissa asked, glancing doubtfully at the sweet.

“He loves them,” the four-year-old replied. “Go on.”

Melissa stuck her hand through the wire and laid the marshmallow on the ground. Benny gobbled it up and grunted for more. Alice Ann produced a cookie and fed it to him.

Gregory shook his head as his daughter fussed over the pig. Heaven help her—and him—when the weaners were taken to the abattoir in a few days. Gregory had to tell her soon, but he could never seem to find the right moment.

“When’s Ruthie going to have her babies?” Alice Ann demanded, running back to her bike. “Will she have to go to the hogspital?”

“Pigs don’t go into hospital,” he replied, suppressing a smile. The heavily pregnant sow was lumbering up the hill with long tufts of grass hanging out of her mouth, on her way to the corner of the paddock where she was making a nest. “She’ll give birth right here on the farm.”

“Ruthie looks as though she’s ready to pop any minute,” Melissa said. “When is she due?”

“Early next week,” Gregory told her.

“I can’t wait to see the babies!” Alice Ann hopped on her bike and wobbled off toward the house. “They’ll go wee, wee, wee, all the way home.”

Gregory and Melissa followed. He stepped onto the back veranda and held open the screen door to the kitchen. “Excuse the mess.”

Newspapers and magazines he never got time to read were stacked on the antique sideboard; bills and work papers were scattered over the red-gum table. The breakfast dishes were still in the sink, the tiled floor needed sweeping and the granite counters needed wiping. Alice Ann’s last wardrobe change—a blue T-shirt and yellow cotton skirt—lay on the floor where she’d dropped them. He kept vowing he’d make time to clean up, but there was only him to take care of Alice Ann and the animals, while holding down a full-time job.

“Don’t worry,” Melissa said, glancing at the exposed beams and the open shelves holding the jars of cereal and dried fruit. “I like it.”

“I’ll only be a minute.” He went into the walk-in pantry and came back with two dozen eggs. Melissa took out a coin purse, then hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Constance usually charges two dollars a dozen,” he said, adding with a dry smile, “Or do you have a line of credit?”

“No, no.” Melissa gave him the coins. “Don’t bother seeing me out. Goodbye, Alice Ann. Take good care of Benny.”

“Bye, Melissa!” His daughter followed as far as the veranda and watched her walk across the yard to her car. Wistfully, she added, “I wish she was going to be my nanny.”

Gregory came outside, too. As unsuitable as Melissa was, he felt a slight pang of regret as she climbed into her Volkswagen and beetled off down the rutted lane.

And yet…there was something odd about her visit. If she was one of Constance’s regular customers, why did she have to ask if he was selling the eggs? She should have known. On the other hand, why would she lie about something like that?

“HI, EVERYONE.” Melissa went around the mahogany table in her parents’ dining room, dropping kisses. She’d never thought she’d be living back home, but she’d leased out her own tiny house when she’d taken an extended holiday to travel with her ex-boyfriend, an acrobat with the Cirque du Soleil. She was grateful to be welcomed back into the fold, but there were drawbacks, namely her parents’ close scrutiny of her life.

Her mom’s blue-and-white kitchen gleamed in the late afternoon sun that was streaming through the louvered blinds. The delicious aroma of roasting lamb permeated the family room. The TV in the corner showed a footy game in progress, the sound muted.

Ally, looking neat and cool in a watermelon-colored sundress, had come for dinner. “Where’ve you been?”

Melissa hesitated, remembering her promise to Diane. Did that include her family? “I, uh, gave some people a lift, then I stopped to buy free-range eggs,” she said, depositing the cartons on the counter.

“Two dozen!” Cheryl exclaimed, elegant as always in a black silk tank and white slacks. “You were with me yesterday when I picked up a dozen at the supermarket. What were you thinking?”

Whoops. She’d forgotten that. “Ally, do you want some?”

Her sister shook her head. “Ben brings home eggs from the restaurant.”

Melissa shrugged off the whole egg debacle and sank into an empty chair. Taking a kalamata olive from the dish in the center of the table, she turned to Tony. “How’s the olive-oil biz, Dad?”

“Excellent! Now I’m expanding into wine.” Tony pushed back his linen shirtsleeves to pour her a glass of Shiraz. “Hear anything from that circus fellow you were so keen on?”

“Honestly, darling!” Cheryl shot him a warning look.

“It’s okay, Mother,” Melissa assured her, even though it wasn’t really. “I’m over Julio. After I followed him to Adelaide and then Perth, I realized that although the Cirque du Soleil was going places, our relationship wasn’t. He accused me of not being flexible, but, hey, who can compete with acrobats?”

Ally, who knew better than to be fooled by her flippant tone, eyed her sympathetically. “You’re not as footloose as you’d like to think you are.”

Melissa lifted a shoulder noncommittally, but Ally had hit the nail on the head. Following Julio from town to town had made her realize how much she missed her home. He, on the other hand, wasn’t ready to settle down, and probably never would be. “It was fun for a while, but he wasn’t right for me.”

“It’s a shame, considering you gave up your job at the boutique to go with him,” Ally said. “Have you found anything else yet?”