Bargain in Bronze

Three of the guys moved immediately—hauling out a boat from the shed and carrying it down to the water for them. She watched the awestruck, so-eager-to-help teens with wry amusement, understanding how they felt. No doubt Jack could have been a champion rower too, but what impressed her more was the obvious respect and loyalty he inspired in the club members. Everybody liked Jack Barnes—including her. She stumbled as she walked down—as it hit her heart. She more than liked him.

“You’re going to have to do all the work you realize.” She managed to tease as she stood on the jetty, feeling colder by the second. “As always.”

“You do your thing.” He curved an arm around her and guided her to the boat. “And you know it. But yes, you’re pretty much just a passenger today.”

“You’re not going to wear one of those high-tech, skin-clinging outfits?” she asked, trying to stick to light-hearted tease.

“I will if you will.” He mocked up a leery look with an eyebrow lift and a lascivious grin.

She resisted the urge to reach up on tiptoe and nip his lips with her teeth—he’d always gazump her in the playful stakes. She took off her shoes as directed and then studied the boat. It seemed crazy narrow to her while the river was wide and flowed fast.

“You can trust me.” His amusement was even more obvious now as he held the boat steady for her to step into.

“I know.” And she did. He was a good guy. That suspicious, arrogant attitude he’d had that first day was merely a mask, symptomatic of his protective nature. She knew he’d do anything for anyone—quite the knight. Trouble was, she ached inside for more, and that could never be. She didn’t want to hurt or be hurt and she couldn’t trust that her body wouldn’t let her down. She sat in the small, hard seat and watched as he sorted out her oar. She twisted round and saw he had two for himself.

“Won’t this make us go round in circles?”

“Yours is more for decoration,” he laughed. “Just enjoy the ride.”

Well that wasn’t going to be hard.

He rowed strongly, the boat swiftly glided through the water and in no time they were away from the club. She was glad he was behind her and couldn’t see how much she was acting the princess—her one oar was totally for show as it rested across her legs and out of the water. He took her up river. She didn’t know which bank to look at, with the monumental buildings on each side either steeped in history or architectural greatness. Eventually he stopped rowing and let the boat begin to float back with the current.

“I have something for you,” he said.

The something was tossed over her shoulder and into her lap. She picked it up and looked at it. “You’re trusting me with a key for the bakery?” she asked, her blood frozen despite the strength of the morning sun.

“It’s not for the bakery.” His reply was low. “And you already know the alarm code.”

Her heart—and brain—stuttered. He’d given her a key to his home? “Jack—”

“And there’s someone I want you to meet,” he said with more volume, apparently ignoring her audible panic.

She put her hands to her face. Her cheeks were at deep fat fryer temperature but the rest of her had iced over. Why had he given her a key to his house? That was far too serious for either of them. And while there was a corner of her heart trying to dance for joy, the rest of it seized in fear.

“Her name’s Jemma.” He continued speaking. “She’s an enabler—you know, introduces people to people. People who might want to invest in start-ups or accountants who can help develop business plans and stuff. I’ve dealt with her in the past and she was interested in what you’re doing.”

Start-ups? As in like her cereal business? “Why do you want to set this up?” she croaked.

“I think you could make a real success of your muesli. You have an amazing product.”

“I thought oats were for horses?” She joked weakly. “And don’t you think it’s too expensive to be anything more than for a tiny niche market? That there’s no real way of making it viable?”

“I think it could work. Meet with Jemma—she’s very good at what she does.”

No. “That’s really nice of you Jack, but…”

“It’s nothing.”

She heard the faint edge—but she couldn’t act pleased or laugh this off. She couldn’t take any of what he was offering.

“I’m only arranging a meeting. It’s not like I’m offering to invest millions in your company,” he broke the long silence. “Or is that what you want?”

“No.”

The charged word hung between them—final.

“You know I can’t help myself.” His tone changed, like he was now joking. “I help out Tom and Anne all the time. Even when they don’t want me to. It’s the curse of the elder brother.”

All Libby could hear now were the panicked thoughts spinning in her head. She didn’t want his protectiveness—didn’t want to think about what it might mean. She didn’t want to know what he felt for her—never wanted to know if it was more. Because she couldn’t do more.

And now she couldn’t escape this conversation unless she dived in the water. She smothered a hysterical laugh, if she did that she’d end up with Thames belly. Somehow she had to extricate herself from something that had grown painfully beautiful, too quickly.

The trouble wasn’t only him. She felt too much. If she took his assistance now, she’d always associate her company with him. She’d always be in his debt and he’d always be in her mind.

Truth? She feared he’d be there always already. She’d never be able to look at maple syrup again without thinking of him. But she couldn’t let this happen—if she said yes, it would always have an association with him and it would be too painful to hold on to if it reminded her of him. It was her passion, her baby—her only one because she’d never have real babies. She couldn’t risk it.

“Libby.”

She didn’t turn to face him, but she heard everything in the way he said her name—the frustration, resignation, the dawning realization. He knew what she was going to do. He knew and she knew.

“It’s not you,” she said. So, so sorry.

“Oh come on.” His laugh was brief and laced with bitterness. “I thought you were more imaginative than that.”

“It’s the truth. It’s me. I can’t do this.” She twisted in her seat and put the key down between them.

“What is this?”

“This was a light fling that’s gone on a little long.” She swallowed. “I don’t want anything that goes on.”

“You were still having fun last night,” he argued. “All that’s happened since is I’ve offered help. Is that my mistake?”

“If this goes on it would become too involved and too messy.” She turned away from him, unable to bear the intent scrutiny of his sharp, blue eyes.

“And you can’t do anything messy? Libby, the maple syrup is messy.”

“Don’t.” She gripped her oar and curled up her legs, hunching over her knees. She didn’t care that she was rocking the boat. She just needed to hold in her heart. “Jack, please.”

Silence.

“Here, I got these. You might as well have them.”

Another something was tossed over her shoulder. She looked down and drew the card from the envelope. Tickets to a circus coming to town next month.

Next month was too long. Another month of making love and laughing and growing closer and falling deeper, deeper, deeper?

Her heart hurt already but it would hurt more in another month. It would be unbearable six months after that. But this wasn’t only about her heart. This was about his. And if he cared for her—even a smidgeon as much as she cared for him—then he was in trouble. She wanted to spare him trouble. She wanted him to be free. To go and have fun. And maybe one day to make a family with someone else. She’d fooled with a guy who—for all his playfulness—was actually sincere and full of heart.

“Knife throwing might be dangerous for us to be ar

ound together,” he said sharply.

“Please try to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“That I can’t do a serious relationship,” she said fiercely. “I told you that at the start. I can’t get close to anyone. I won’t.”

“Why?”

She twisted in her seat and glared at him. “Why do you think?”