Protecting Her Son. Joan Kilby

crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back. “Summerside is a terrific place to raise children. Parks, the beach, trails through the bush…loads of places for your son to explore.”

      Isolated areas where a small boy on his own could be snatched. “You don’t have children, do you?”

      “Me? Nah. I’d like to someday,” Riley said. “I’ve been too busy till now but I’m ready to settle down. I’m moving into my childhood home this weekend now that my father and stepmother bought a unit close to the village. They haven’t done much to the old place over the years so I’m planning to renovate…”

      Paula tuned out. He was probably trying to put her at ease but the constant stream of words was making her more uptight. What was she going to do about Nick? There was nothing she could do until he made another move.

      If he made another move.

      Riley had stopped talking. He seemed to be waiting for a response from her.

      “Sorry, I missed that last bit.”

      “You’re not one for chitchat, are you?”

      “I’m worried about my son,” she admitted guardedly. “It’s his first day of school.”

      “How old is he? My sister Katie teaches at the primary school.”

      “He’s in grade one.” She’d met Jamie’s teacher briefly. Now that she knew Katie Henning and Riley were related she swiveled to study him more closely, noting his dark hair, dark eyes and rugged features. Her gaze lingered a moment on his sensual mouth. Something tugged deep inside, desires half-forgotten, wishes unfulfilled. Nope, not going there. “I can see a family resemblance. Your sister, huh?”

      “There, you see? I knew we could find something in common.” Riley leaned against his door, as if settling in for a long chat. “What’s your son’s name?”

      “Jamie.” She lifted the cup to her mouth, conscious a second later she was exposing her bare ring finger. Sure enough, Riley had noticed—and quickly looked away. For crying out loud, it was the twenty-first century. If there was one thing in her life she wasn’t ashamed of, it was giving birth to her son. “I’ve never been married.” She hoped her cool tone would deter further questions.

      Riley’s hand shot up. “Hey, it’s none of my business. Live and let live.”

      “You’re older than most rookies,” Paula said, turning the conversation away from herself. “What did you do before you joined the police force?”

      “I was a bouncer at a nightclub in Frankston.”

      “A bouncer,” she repeated dubiously. Riley was tall and strongly built, in his mid- to late-thirties. His skin had the deeply tanned look of someone who’d spent a lot of time outdoors. Bouncers usually looked pasty, as though they’d crawled out from a cave. She doubted he’d worked nights long term. “Before that?”

      He faced forward again, turning his gaze away from her. “Special Air Services Regiment.”

      Her eyebrows rose. Impressive. “Were you deployed overseas?”

      “I was in Kabul.” It might have been a trick of the dappled light flickering through the ti tree, but a shadow seemed to cross over Riley’s face.

      Before she could ask another question, he smiled easily. “So, what sports do you like?”

      Maybe they did have something in common. He didn’t like to talk about his past, either.

      “I used to play basketball—”

      A school bell chimed in the distance. She glanced at her watch. Lunch hour was over. She imagined the kids filing into class. Had Jamie made any friends? Had he eaten the sandwich she’d packed for him?

      What if Nick showed up at the school?

      Paula shifted restlessly. “I don’t know how much more of this thrilling police work I can handle.” She fiddled with the radar gun settings. “Is this thing even working?”

      Riley let a beat go by. “Why are you so tense? I noticed that back at the station. Is something wrong?”

      “Nothing’s wrong. I’m not tense.” Tapping the steering wheel, Paula watched the curve in the road.

      What if Nick was driving down this highway? He always obeyed the speed limit so he didn’t get pulled over. That could be him coming toward her right now, in that black sedan, and she wouldn’t know. She felt for her gun, snug and reassuring in its holster.

      “We’re partners,” Riley said. “Partners are supposed to bond. That means opening up to each other, getting to know and trust each other. Be friendly.”

      “All we need to know is that when the going gets tough, we have each other’s back.” Turning to face him, she leaned forward a little, gripping the steering wheel. “Can I? Can I count on you?”

      Riley drew back, shaking his head. “Lady, you are tense.”

      A bright red Ferrari screamed past so fast the draft shook the patrol car and rattled the branches of the ti tree.

      “Finally, some action.” Paula locked in the clocked speed on the radar gun and started the car engine. “Let’s get this jerk.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      RILEY STACKED HIS guitar case on top of a box of kitchen stuff and carried it from his car up the gravel driveway to the single story weatherboard home. Purple bougainvillea trailed over the veranda, annuals bloomed in loamy beds next to the house.

      He set the box on the wood floor in the entry hall and went exploring. It felt weird, walking through the empty rooms. So many years had gone by since he’d lived here, so many changes in both himself and his family. Mum had passed, his father remarried…

      The living room was smaller than he remembered, the dining room, tiny. He would need to knock a few walls out. He wandered in and out of his old room, Katie’s room, the master bedroom, peeked into the bathroom, then went down the hall to the kitchen, the center of their family life. At least it had been while his mother was alive.

      On the doorframe of the laundry room were the incremental marks where Dad had measured his and Katie’s growth. God, had he ever been that short? He twisted his head sideways to look at the dates.

      One stood out from the rest.

      The year Mum died he’d been twelve years old, and five foot six inches tall.

      There was a big gap after that, as if normal activities had ceased for a time. Riley dragged his gaze away.

      The old-fashioned kitchen looked exactly as he remembered. White-painted cupboards, worn linoleum, green-tiled walls up to shoulder height, then yellow paint above that. It was cramped, not enough counter space.

      You’d never know a professional cook had worked there. His mother’s weekdays had been spent testing recipes and typing up notes for her next cookbook, her electric typewriter all but lost among the clutter on the counter while two or three pots bubbled on the stove. Her brown hair would be tied back, her brow lightly creased in concentration as she tasted, adding a bit of this or that, then tasted again.

      Riley especially loved the dessert section of Mary Henning’s healthy-lifestyle cookbooks. The red ceramic cookie jar was always full when he came home from school. He’d grab a handful of oatmeal and raisin cookies then run outside to play cricket or footy with his mates.

      He glanced at the mark on the doorframe and ran his thumb across it, feeling the indentation of the pen in the soft wood. The beginnings of a headache stabbed his right temple.

      Why hadn’t he hung around and talked to her more often, just for a few minutes? She’d always stop what she was doing when he or Katie came into the room, ready to chat or give tastings. It pained him to think how he’d brushed her off. He’d give anything now to be able to ask how her