Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
As David sat down at the piano and Brodan made the children laugh to relax them a bit, Ellen sidled up to me. “Pen mentioned you two have history,” she murmured under her breath.
Pen was a P3 teacher who had been in Lachlan Adair’s class at school. She was also a gossip.
“It’s nothing.”
Ellen sighed heavily. “I’m thinking it’s something. If there’s animosity between you two, you should have said something. This could be a terrible idea.”
“No. The kids love him.” I gestured across the room where he had them laughing at who knows what. “You help him audition the kids. I’ll keep the others quiet.” And stay far, far out of the immature bastard’s way.
BRODAN
* * *
I knew I was being an immature arsehole.
But every time Monroe got near enough for me to smell her perfume, I wanted to bare my teeth like a savage animal. It didn’t matter if she was an inch from me or thirty feet away. I could feel her in the room. Every bloody second.
I’d spotted her as soon as I strolled into the gym.
She wore a dark green dress with long sleeves and a high neck. The hem came to just above her knees to reveal dark tights on her short but great fucking legs. The green made her hair look like copper as it spilled down her back in natural waves.
None of my primary school teachers had looked like Monroe Sinclair. Christ, she was thirty-seven and still looked like she’d barely graduated from uni. I knew women in my line of work who would kill for Monroe’s perpetual youth. Looking at her made holding back the memories difficult, so I’d stopped.
In fact, I was adamantly not acknowledging her.
Like a prick.
I didn’t know how else to get through this.
Forcing myself to focus on the kids, I zeroed in on my nephew. I’d noted he’d grabbed a girl’s hand to come join him to audition. She was a cute wee thing with blond pigtails and big blue eyes. Callie was her name, and she had an American accent. It had shocked me and Thane that Lewis wanted to audition for the musical since he was a bit of an introvert compared to his sister.
But Lewis further surprised me by stepping forward with determination to audition for the role of the Scarecrow. My shock was even greater to discover that my nephew was a wee comic. He delivered the lines with humorous nervousness and his clumsy physicality had me laughing out loud. I guessed acting was in the genes, after all.
His American friend, Callie, was clearly shy and probably coerced by Lewis to audition for Dorothy, but she delivered the lines with a cuteness I knew the audience would find adorable. After we’d had all the kids run lines, we asked them to sing any song they wanted a cappella.
Lewis didn’t have a fantastic singing voice, but he didn’t need one. Callie, however, had a soft but sweet voice that, with a bit of work on projection, would do nicely for Dorothy.
As soon as we stopped to discuss quietly, however, my attention drew away from Ellen and David to Monroe. The back of my neck tingled, and I wondered if she was watching me. If she was as hyper fucking aware of me as I was of her.
Giving in, I casually turned to peruse the kids and let my gaze linger on Monroe.
She wasn’t looking at me. She kneeled down by a small girl, listening attentively to whatever she was saying. Her expression was soft and kind as she nodded and then gave the girl a reassuring smile.
I watched her take the girl’s hand, and they stood together. My heart thudded in my chest as Monroe walked across the room, murmuring with the child as she gripped her hand. She said something to Ellen, who nodded, and then I watched as Monroe led her from the room.
My chest ached like I’d been struck.
A throat cleared, and I turned to find Ellen staring at me in curiosity. She’d caught me watching Monroe.
Damn it.
This was torture.
And Walker Ironside would pay for putting me in this position.
13
Monroe
I bumped into Arrochar Adair Galbraith in Golspie, of all places.
After spending all of Friday morning with Brodan, I’d been desperate to flee Ardnoch and everything it represented. So I drove up the coast Saturday morning and walked around the quaint neighboring town of Golspie. I considered driving just a bit farther out to spend the morning at Dunrobin Castle because I hadn’t been there in years, but I’d situated myself in a coffee shop just off Main Street and was enjoying my latest book too much to leave. The proprietor happily kept my coffee filled, not caring if I’d glued my arse to one of her small bistro chairs.
It was peace.
A lovely distraction.