by K T Bowes
“It’s kind of you,” she responded. “We didn’t know about the market.”
“I came last week,” said Maihi. “Just to be neighbourly. But I drove and didn’t expect to see a gate blocking my way.” She shrugged. “The last guy didn’t have no gates.”
Logan nodded. “Hana’s son ordered the gate to help with our security issue. I’m glad he did now.”
Hana watched in surprise as Maihi patted his hand. He let her, accepting the show of affection without protest. Hana tried hard not to feel like an outsider in their little Māori world full of mystery and lyrical speech she couldn’t follow.
Maihi jumped up and slipped her coat around her shoulders. “I should go,” she announced. She moved towards the stove and poked the vegetables with a sharp knife. “Not long now. Make sure youse watch it girly, so it doesn’t catch on the bottom.” Then she turned to Logan. “You can show me round now, tāne.”
Like a meek little lamb, Hana’s formidable husband led the wizened old lady around the villa. Hana smirked at the sight of his deference, struggling to line the image up with his usual hard exterior. She heard Maihi’s exclamations of enjoyment as she saw the improvements.
“Goodbye, Hana!” Maihi popped her head into the kitchen again before she left. She nodded with approval at the sight of Hana peering obediently into the pot. “Youse make this house sing! Welcome to the Hakarimatas.” She waved with enthusiasm and Hana noticed her own hand waving back, looking at it in surprise as though it belonged to someone else.
Logan returned, his fingers moving across the keypad of his mobile phone. “We exchanged numbers,” he said. “She’s awesome.”
“She has a cell phone?” Hana asked in surprise and Logan smirked.
“She’s savvier than you might think.”
“Do you think she rang before? The call we missed.”
Logan shook his head and impatience flicked beneath the surface. “No, Hana. We just exchanged numbers then. Forget it!”
Hana felt the bite of his irritation, surprised at his vehemence. She remained silent as Logan poked in the saucepan with a wooden spoon. He placed a lid over the top and turned the heat to simmer. “What?” he demanded, responding to Hana’s sideways glance.
Hurt made her spiteful and she drew her face into an expression of mock adoration. “Oh, come on Maihi, I’ll show you round. Look at the bathroom. That’s where I keep my slippers. Would you like to inspect my undies drawer? I can line my socks up on parade if you wish.” Her voice trailed off at Logan’s blank stare.
“She’s an elder,” he said. “We’re brought up to respect the kaumātua.
“That’s nice.” Hana shrugged, mystified by the hidden code of honour in his culture.
Logan smirked and gave an exaggerated sigh. “You’re such a Pākehā,” he muttered.
Hana’s lips parted in horror. “Did you just infer I stink like a whale?”
“No!” Logan dragged her to his side. “It’s the word for European.” Hana let her head relax against his shoulder. “And alien,” he whispered, ruining the effect.
Hana shied away in mock offence, examining the broth through the glass lid. Pumpkin and kumara bounced against the movement of the water. Logan stroked her hair back behind her ear and dropped a kiss on her neck. Hana glanced at him sideways. “Stop looking at me like that. You’re too sick,” she told him, noticing the twinkle in his eye.
“I feel much better all of a sudden.” His voice took on a seductive tone and Hana shivered as he ran his index finger down her spine. “It must be the kawakawa tea,” he breathed onto her neck. “And I think Maihi put some into the stew.”
“You’re a very bad man. And what about the veggies?” Hana tried to dodge her husband’s kisses.
“Turn them down,” he whispered, his voice muffled in her hair.
Hana flicked the switch on the stove and the bubbling calmed. Logan pushed his fingers beneath her sweater. “No! Not here!” Hana squealed. “I bet you gave her a key.”
Logan snorted. “No I didn’t, but we should. She’s trustworthy.”
“Yeah, she’ll also be shocked if she wanders in unannounced! You have the sex drive of a randy stallion! You’re meant to be sick!”
“Get back to bed, wahine!” Logan ordered and Hana ran along the hallway giggling. She tried to shut the bedroom door against his onslaught but wasn’t strong enough. Logan breached her pathetic efforts without breaking his stride. As he undressed her one-handed without losing eye contact, Hana sensed herself melt beneath his gaze. “You’re such a player,” she giggled as his rough palms caressed the soft skin of her spine. Logan smirked and brushed his lips across hers.
“I know,” he replied with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. His gentle fingers released the zipper on her jeans and pushed them over her buttocks.
Later, Hana groaned as the hands of the clock moved towards midday. “I need to get up,” she said with a sigh. Guilt laced her tone.
“Stay with me,” Logan whispered, a sexy edge to his voice.
Hana sat up with a shrug and the sheet slipped to her breasts. “I can’t. It feels wrong to stay in bed all day.”
“What about when you lived by yourself?” The rumble of Logan’s voice sent a comforting sensation along Hana’s spine. “Didn’t you lie in bed all day then?”
“No.” Hana hung her head. “I still got up and put my makeup on, even though I might not see another person.” She hugged her knees, the sheets spilling around her waist to reveal a soft, creamy stomach. Her empty weekends spread out behind her in the wake of cleaning, food shopping and remoting on to work via her laptop to stem the loneliness with unpaid labour. “Gosh, my life was dull,” she breathed.
Logan ran his finger along the ridges of her spine. It tickled and she shivered. When he slipped his hand around her ribs and started to tug, Hana pulled away. “No, you bad boy. I need something to show for my day!”
“I can show you plenty.” Logan’s full lips quirked upwards and his eyes promised mischief.
Hana giggled. “I can’t spend all day in bed! It’s just wrong.” She escaped into the bathroom, almost tearing the bed sheet in her haste.
Logan called to her retreating back, “What’s wrong about it?”
Hana took a shower and Logan joined her, any sense of romance ruined by the plastic sleeve over his cast. “It kinda spoils your sex appeal,” Hana said as she rubbed soap into his back, her fingers sliding over his olive skin with deliberate playfulness.
They ate the stew for lunch. It simmered itself to a pulp on the stove. “Will you tell Maihi we let it cook for too long?” Hana said, concern in her eyes. “I bet she checks.”
“Yep, she’ll check, but it’s tasty and that’s all she’ll care about.” Logan dug his spoon into the hearty mixture again and sighed. “It tastes like my childhood.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad?” Hana licked her lips, waiting for his answer.
“This is a good memory.” Logan’s voice dulled. “Tasting this meant we had money for food. Or Jack’s veggie garden prospered that year.”
Hana nodded. “I imagined the mountain a great place to grow up, but sometimes when you speak about it, I’m not so sure.”
Logan sighed. “Nor am I, Hana.” The portcullis of his emotions descended with painful slowness and Hana feared exclusion. She rallied to change the subject.
“Can you manage another portion?”
Logan nodded and she rose to take his bowl. Gentle fingers clasped hers. “I love you, Hana,” he whispered and she relaxed.
“Yeah, I think you do.” The soft pad of her thumb grazed his stubbly jaw. “You rock my world.”
Logan’s grey eyes bored into her soul as he stroked her wrist. “You’ve upended mine,” he admitted. Hana swallowed, not wanting to crush the moment. So much of him lay hidden beneath the surface, a fragile veneer of snow covering perilous rocks and sharp edges. Hana leaned forward to kiss him and felt lust
and temptation mingle. with a fragile, fledgling sense of hope.
She pulled away and took Logan’s bowl to the saucepan. “Maybe we can try the Saturday markets next week?” she mused.
Logan shook his head. “Not yet. Not until the cops catch those guys. Why lead them straight back here?”
“True.” Hana’s bubble of optimism burst and she quieted, the house crowding in on her like a prison again. “How did Maihi get onto the property?” she asked, a while later.
Logan shrugged and pushed his bowl away, swapping it for a glass of water. “Not sure. She mentioned an ancient path through the bush. She assured me only the very best tracker would find it.”
He trailed off and Hana read his mind with frightening clarity. “You think we should learn the route?” she asked. “In case we need to escape.”
Logan nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
Hana sighed. “I’m tired of living my life looking over my shoulder. If the cops don’t catch them by the time you return to work, I’m going back too.”
Logan raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Hana veered between not caring, to panicking over nothing. He fingered the phone in his dressing gown pocket. Hana cleared the bowls away and checked the fire in the lounge. “I’ll fetch more wood,” she said, poking her head through the kitchen doorway. The wood basket clanged against the frame.
“Okay. Thanks. I think there’s a movie on television. We can snuggle down and watch it.” Logan turned in his seat and winced. Too much activity increased his pain. Bedroom antics counted as way too much activity. He waited for Hana to clump down the back stairs and withdrew the phone from his pocket.
“I wanted Bodie,” he said when Amy answered his call.
“He took Jas to the park,” she replied. “And forgot his phone again.” She sounded fed up. “He might be gone for one hour or six.”
“Sorry.” Logan held his breath, not wishing for further confidence.
“It’s fine.” Amy sighed. “I should feel grateful. At least Hana wants you for yourself, not some advantage you bring with you.”
“I didn’t give her the chance,” Logan replied and regretted it. Hana didn’t know what he brought with him into their marriage and he preferred it that way. For now. “Hana’s going stir crazy.” Logan steered the conversation away from dangerous ground. “I need to know how far the investigation’s got. Nobody will tell me.”
“Ask Odering,” Amy replied. “And good luck with that. Guy’s an ass.”
Logan groaned. “You think I don’t know that?”
Amy sighed. “We’ve both used Hana’s car a couple of times. Just to see what happened. We each picked up a tail. A black BMW followed me and a beat-up Subaru stayed with Bo. Neither had an Asian driver or a blonde. Different men both times.”
“But definitely following?” Logan demanded.
“For sure.” Amy clattered cutlery in the background. “We ran both sets of plates.”
Logan groaned. “Both stolen.”
“You got it.” Amy sounded tired, as though the rigors of crime in the city made her bone weary. “Both sets of plates stolen locally. Someone used one set later to steal petrol from a gas station in Rototuna. Same plates, different vehicle.”
“Where does that leave us?” Logan demanded. “Why didn’t you arrest the men following you?”
“How?” Amy snapped. “Prove they’re following us. We arrest them, tie them up in legislation for a couple of hours for the stolen plates. Then the courts let them go with a slap on the wrist and three hours community service. That doesn’t help you long term. There’s something big happening. Odering’s wheeled in more of his Auckland cronies. Just wait it out for now.”
Logan snorted. “Wait it out? Easy for you to say.”
“I know.” Amy’s tone changed. “The other alternative is to put Hana into witness protection. Maybe you should consider that between you.”
Logan gritted his teeth. “I can’t go with her. And we just married, Amy.”
Amy sniffed, bringing the conversation to an end. “You know the choices, Logan. Go with her. Don’t go with her. I think she should consider it.”
Logan ran a hand through his hair. “This is crazy.”
“I know,” Amy conceded. She lowered her voice. “Bodie’s planning to visit Mrs Bowman unofficially. He knows something but won’t tell me. His mate on the investigative team let a piece of information slip and he’s upset about it.”
“What?” Logan demanded and felt Amy’s attitude change. She switched from concerned co-conspirator to woman spurned.
“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Bodie only talks to me because of my son. I wish he never came back.” She ended the call with an abruptness which made Logan wince.
Hana huffed to the top of the stairs with the wood basket, hearing the rumble of Logan’s voice as he spoke to someone. Glancing through the kitchen doorway as she passed, she saw the phone pressed to his ear. He discussed his injuries. She heard the back end of the conversation as she placed more logs into the fire. “Na, I’m fine. It’s not serious.” He wandered into the lounge and watched her activity with unseeing eyes. “Hana’s looking after me.” She saw a vein tick in the side of Logan’s neck as he grew agitated. “No, Dad, it’s okay. I don’t wanna hear about Tama. No, don’t tell me. He’s Mike’s problem now. I don’t want to know anymore.”
The conversation ground to a halt with a grunted goodbye. Logan shoved the phone into his pocket with a jabbing action. He slumped onto the sofa and groaned at the impact. Hana raised her eyebrows and gave him a sad smile. “Problems?”
Logan shook his head, changing the action to a nod half way through. “Michael left. Tama’s looking for me. He wants to talk.” Logan’s lips curled back from his teeth in a sneer.
“Did Alfred tell him where you are?” She held her breath.
Logan sighed and a strange look drifted across his face. “He can’t tell what he doesn’t know,” he replied.
Hana swallowed, but the warning look in his eyes drove the question from her head. “You look tired,” she said, her voice soothing. “Go and lie down for a few hours.”
“No.” Logan’s jaw tensed. “Unless you come with me.”
Hana resisted, alarmed by the greying look in his complexion. She turned the afternoon movie on and he slept within the first ten minutes. Muting the sound, Hana covered him with a furry throw, closing the curtains and dimming the lights. In the kitchen, she set up her sewing machine and made curtains for the French doors, finishing them quicker than expected. “I’m getting good at this, Tiger,” she told the cat as he brushed past her legs.
Logan slept all afternoon and into the evening. Hana checked him at intervals, noticing how he shivered and adding another blanket over his legs. She hung the new curtains, drawing them against the darkness outside. Loneliness shrouded her as Logan’s prolonged slumber forced her into a familiar isolation. She put more wood on the fire, realising as it hissed and spat that she brought up the wet stuff by accident. Evening shrouded the house with a black cloth and Hana resisted venturing out for more wood. “Stay away from it then,” she said to the cat as he jumped back from the spitting fire.
Boredom drove Hana back to her fabric collection. She fingered the heavy navy material intended to tie in the colours from outside. Deciding to continue sewing until Logan awoke, she began with the easiest window in the wide lobby, making both curtains in less than an hour. “I should do this for a living,” she said to the empty kitchen. “As long as people just need hemmed rectangles with header tape.”
Hana hung them to inspect and then removed them again, knowing she still needed to paint the walls. Making a wide curtain for the front door inadvertently produced her best work of the project. She shuffled a cute happy-dance in her socks and jiggled the reluctant cat around the hallway in her arms. “That’s my best curtain,” she whispered, smooching his black and white face into her neck. He put up with her affections for a
n acceptable length of time before mewing and wriggling free. His paws landed on the floorboards with a heavy thud. “Sshhhh!” Hana put her finger to her lips and he shimmied off, his tail kinked at the end in irritation. “You’ll wake Logan,” she hissed. Glancing at the clock, she pondered waking him herself. Loneliness made her selfish and desperate to tell someone about her success. Hana poked her head around the lounge door.
Logan still slept. The greyness gone, his complexion looked ruddy and overheated, a bead of sweat sliding along his temple. “Loge.” Hana peeled the blanket away, surprised to find it damp to the touch. Her maternal instincts screamed alarm. Shaking fingers loosed his dressing gown cord to expose his torso and horror filled her green eyes at the pink and red seepage. It leaked through the white gauze and covered his stomach, dripping through the fabric of his dressing gown and onto the cream leather of the sofa. Hana hesitated, staring at the mess in front of her, her heart rate hiking as panic took hold. “Logan!” She shook his shoulder, grateful for the groan which escaped his parched lips. “Logan!” He muttered something incoherent in reply and Hana rested her palm over his forehead. Heat blazed through his skin and a clammy sweat stuck to her fingers.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Logan?” Hana shook his shoulder again, her tone urgent. “Sweetheart, wake up. Logan?”
Groggy and disorientated, Logan roused, pushing at Hana’s fingers with weak, ineffectual movements. He clapped his hand over his mouth and leaned sideways with a groan.
Hana snatched the leftover paste bucket from her wallpapering and shoved it on the floor next to him, only just making it back in time. Logan tried to sit and threw up, red liquid spattering the remnants of paste. He reeled without control and Hana struggled to hold him in place. He pushed her hands away again as he vomited and she let go, backing off. “Sorry, Logan,” she hissed under her breath. “Please forgive me.” She reached into her pocket for her phone and slid it out, letting it rest in her palm.