Yesterday's Bride

‘I was thinking how lucky Melanie is that your nose is the result of a rugby game and not hereditary. She’s the image of you, Craig,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t even get a look in.’

Shocked as he was by her admission, he wondered if he hadn’t imagined the sadness tinging the words. So, his daughter looked like him. Funny he’d never given any thought at all to what the child might look like. Now it seemed he would be finding out firsthand.

‘What’s she like?’ he asked.

‘That’s something you’ll have to find out yourself. I’m biased. I think she’s wonderful.’

This time her smile was full-strength pride and happiness, and having been starved of it for five years, Craig was unprepared for its potency. It put his pulse speed up and all but knocked the breath from his lungs. Strange how something as simple as a smile could practically bring a grown man to his knees, but then Taylor’s had always had that effect on him. From the first time he’d seen her, he realized her happiness ensured his happiness....

Why then was he standing here contemplating meeting the person who had stolen that happiness?

About to refuse the lunch invitation, he glimpsed a flash of fear in the clear emerald eyes that studied him. What was it she feared? The past or the future? Herself or him?

‘What do you want me to do, Taylor?’ he asked.

‘Me? I...’

Caught off guard by his question, she paused and took a slow breath, the rise and fall of her breasts taunting him. Gripping the sides of his chair, Craig forced his face to remain impassive.

‘I want the decision to be entirely yours, just as lunch was Melanie’s. What I don’t want, Craig, is for her to be hurt.’ There was a wealth of warning in her voice.

‘And what,’ he asked coolly, ‘do you think would hurt her the most? My refusal or my acceptance?’

‘Your bitterness.’ There’d been no hesitation in her answer.

Amazement froze every muscle in Craig the instant he saw the child. Looking into the tiny face was like looking at a childhood photograph of himself-identical colouring and identical brown eyes.

The notion that this child was his own flesh and blood created alternate waves of terror and masculine pride within him. He had the urge to embrace her, but feared the consequences of doing so. Such an action was bound to be fraught with emotional danger although whether for him or the kid, he wasn’t sure.

Though physically Melanie looked nothing like Taylor, Craig experienced the same sensation of uncertainty under her thorough visual inspection as he had when Taylor had looked him over from the other side of the yard twelve years ago. There was interest but no indication of whether the observer was pleased or disappointed by what they found. She had Taylor’s style and panache, too, he decided, taking in the miniature hiking boots, khaki shirt and shorts, and the baseball cap worn backwards atop her long, straight hair.

The child darted a quick, uncertain look at her mother, before bringing her brown eyes back to him. Uncomfortable with the ongoing silence, Craig cleared his throat. ‘Hello, Melanie.’ He wasn’t surprised to hear his voice lacked some of its usual confidence.

‘Hello.’

The response was soft but not hesitant as she boldly stepped to within two feet of him and tilted her head back. She was small—barely reaching his mid-thigh.

‘How tall are you?’ she inquired.

Stunned to discover the kid had obviously been sizing him up, too, he was slow to reply. The delay earned him an impatient look.

‘Don’t you know?’

‘Sure I do! I’m...six foot four.’

The child nodded and continued to silently appraise him. Craig looked to Taylor for some indication as to what was expected of him now and was nonplussed to see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. It had a heart-wrenching and sobering effect. He glanced back at the little girl.

‘So,’ he said, ‘you want me to have lunch with you, huh?’ She nodded solemnly in response, but her steady gaze hinted she was expecting more input from him. ‘Right then...well, er, do you like Italian food?’

‘Do you?’ she countered.

‘Well...yes. Yes, I do.’

‘I don’t.’ She gave a theatrical shudder. ‘I hate Italian food.’

‘I thought all kids liked pizza.’ Craig was basing his assumption on the fact there were always kids in pizza commercials.

‘Pizza isn’t Italian. Pizza is normal food.’

‘Normal food...’ he echoed. ‘I see...’ He didn’t and looked towards Taylor for verbal backup, but her eyes remained focused only on her daughter. He was obviously on his own. ‘Well, I guess we could have pizza for lunch if—’

‘No,’ the pint-size female vetoed the idea. ‘I don’t feel like pizza. Know what kids really like?’

He shook his head. ‘Believe me, I wouldn’t have a clue about—’

A childish giggle cut him off. ‘What’s your favourite food in the whole world?’

Again she caught him mentally off stride. ‘My favourite food in the whole world?’ He paused, trying to recall if he had one. ‘I guess it’d have to be grilled barramundi.’

‘Oh.’ If the child’s tone hadn’t told him he’d again come up with the wrong answer, her stance would have. Her arms were folded and she was frowning at him as if she were a teacher and he a troublesome pupil. ‘You do like McDonald’s, though, don’t you?’ she prompted. ‘Everybody likes McDonald’s.’

Craig wasn’t crazy about the direction this conversation was taking, but he had no chance to voice his objections.

‘Cheeseburgers are my favourite,’ Melanie told him. ‘Cept Mummy—’ her tone was scathing ‘—hardly ever lets me go there ’less it’s for a real special reason.’

Peripherally aware of Taylor’s tense stance, Craig struggled for both patience and a tactful response. ‘Yes, well...I guess mothers are like that,’ he said.

‘Fathers aren’t, though,’ the child stated. ‘My friend Renee’s father takes her there every Friday.’

‘Lucky Renee!’ he muttered, earning a withering look from Taylor.

‘Struth! What was he supposed to say, for God’s sake? He knew zilch about kids and even less about what fathers were and weren’t supposed to do. ‘Well, I guess,’ he said cautiously, ‘it’s all right on Fridays—’

‘It’s Friday today!’

His stomach pleaded a silent protest at the child’s reaction and again he looked at Taylor. She knew he’d never been partial to hamburgers, not even designer ones.

‘You can always have chicken nuggets,’ she suggested neutrally.

‘Thanks, you’re a big help!’ he muttered before addressing the child again. ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t rather have something else—Chinese, French, fried chicken...’

He wondered how much vigorous shaking a kid’s head could take before it actually fell off. Ah heck! How bad could it be?

‘OK,’ he said wearily, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. ‘McDonald’s it is, then.’

Across Melanie’s head, Taylor mouthed the words thank you and gave him a smile so warm he was tempted to tell her he’d buy the kid her own franchise if Taylor would only keep looking at him like that!

Reacting to long-past memories and old habits, his hand moved inviting Taylor’s into it, but she averted her gaze, and it was her daughter’s hand she reached for...not his.