by K T Bowes
Logan eyed his wife sideways as he cut another cross in the weed mat. Her flushed cheeks and bright eyes faked vibrant health, but he’d seen her black out and recognised the physiological signs of distress. Hana put her empty mug down on the deck and rose, anxiety in her face. Once upright, her confidence grew and she took a steadying breath. “I’m okay now,” she said, her voice rising in surprise. “I’ve no clue why that happened.”
Logan stopped and leaned his cast across his legs. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
“No.” Hana dismissed the suggestion. “I can’t face any more doctors or hospitals. Perhaps I hyperventilated like Mr Singh suggested before. I need to catch it happening next time and remember to breathe.” Pleased with her convincing tale, Hana gave him a radiant smile and ventured down the steps. “Here.” She held out her hand for the trowel and took over, squatting to plant a healthy yucca whilst avoiding its pronged tips.
“If you’re sure.” Logan took her place on the steps and picked at the edge of his cast. His gaze strayed to the bush line high above them. “I need to get fit again,” he commented. “That walk up the hill almost killed me.”
“I saw you stop,” Hana said, patting the soil. “You looked like you answered a phone call. Was it the plant man?”
Logan shifted in position. “I kept stopping to catch my breath. I might go up and down the hill a few times this week and see if I can get my fitness back. Then I can go to the school gym.” He scuffed his boots against grit on the steps and his eyes held a faraway look.
Hana sat back on her knees, resting her bottom on her heels. “I’ll come with you. I’m not doing enough exercise so we could go together.”
Logan’s brow furrowed for long enough to alert her to something amiss. He shook his head. “I might run some days. Can you keep up?”
“No.” Hana shook her head and her tight expression betrayed the sting from his rejection. “You go. I’ll never match your stride, especially not uphill.”
Logan lay back on the deck and closed his eyes against the bright sunshine. When Hana finished planting, he pulled the hosepipe around from the side of the house and watered the flowerbeds. “Maybe you could walk up with me once a day and I’ll run the other times.” Logan gave her a wary smile, perhaps aware he’d hurt her.
Pique made Hana want to refuse, but she accepted the olive branch. “I’d enjoy that. Want to go soon? I can show you the markers Maihi left if you want.”
Logan nodded his agreement and they locked up the house and activated the burglar alarm before setting off together. He clutched Hana’s hand and pulled her towards the right-hand side of the paddock. She resisted. “No. We need to go up the left so I can find the first marker.”
“It’s fine.” Logan gave her hand a tug. “It’s steeper this side but easier to see the bush line.”
“Why does that matter?” Hana peered across the distance to the dark spots beneath the canopy. “We don’t need to see it.” Her eyes widened. “Do you think someone might be watching and jump out at us?” She clutched her chest and Logan shook his head. Regret showed in the clench of his jaw.
“No babe. That’s not why I suggested it.” He squeezed her fingers. “If we go up one side and down the other we walk further. That’s all.”
“Okay.” Hana blinked and raked the dark spaces, seeing nothing. Alarm began a patter in her chest, anyway.
The steepness of the incline affected them both and Hana stopped several times to bend at the waist and hug her knees. Logan cut the corner at the boundary and took a perpendicular line towards the other side of the paddock. Despite his surgeries, his fitness proved impressive compared to Hana’s. “Can’t we wait here for a second?” she begged, leaning against the corner post. “I’m knackered.”
“No, come on,” Logan called over his shoulder. “You need to keep going.” He glanced up at the cloudless sky. “The weather is meant to turn today.”
Hana groaned and turned her head to stare into the bush. Something caught her eye and before Logan could stop her, she climbed the fence. Her sweater snagged on a barb and she pitched forward, saving herself at the last minute. Exasperation flooded Logan’s face as he turned and jogged after her. “Get back here!” he snapped. “What are you doing wahine?”
“Look.” Hana crouched down and peered at the biscuit wrapper nestled in the supplejack. “Someone left rubbish.” Her body tensed and she looked around her in jerky movements. “Do you think it’s them?” She rose and her wild eyes searched the area.
Logan cleared the fence with an easy spring and he reached her fast, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Hana, it’s blown up from the house.” He dug at the wrapper with his toe. “You brought one of those for me last week. At the hospital.”
“No, I didn’t.” Hana bent to retrieve it and Logan dragged her hand away.
“Don’t touch it.”
“Why?” Her tone sounded suspicious and she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Because it’s dirty.” The wrinkling of his regal nose indicated his disgust and he kept hold of her fingers. “Are you gonna show me these markers before it rains on us?”
A bird cawed in the depths of the bush and Hana gave a slow nod. She shivered and Logan reeled her in until she fit beneath his arm. “This place scares me,” she admitted and he laughed off her fears.
“Na, the bush is beautiful. I’ll take you exploring in the summer. You’ll love it.”
His confidence emboldened her and Hana’s body relaxed. “Okay,” she conceded. She squeezed his waist. “I love the top of your mountain. Maybe it’s because you love it.” Her rosebud lips parted in mischief. “Remember the first time you took me up there? You kissed me and I wanted more. We could christen this place.” She looked around, seeking somewhere to lie down.
Logan hissed through his teeth and hauled her closer. “No, Hana,” he said, lowering his voice. “Let’s go.”
“You don’t like it here?” Her eyes widened in surprise.
“I love it,” he answered, his eyes darting around. “I’m tired. Let’s get going.”
“Oh.” Hana’s face fell in disappointment and her lips turned down. “Okay.”
“Another time,” Logan whispered in her ear, leaning in to kiss her neck. “Not today.”
Hana turned at a sound like the snort of a pig. She crashed into Logan’s side. “Did you hear that?”
“No.” He gritted his teeth and steered her towards the fence. Behind his back, he raised his middle finger and the snort sounded again.
“Is it a pig?” Hana demanded, clambering over the fence and landing on her backside in the mud on the other side. She scrambled up and moved backwards as Logan thudded next to her. Her eyes raked the speckled darkness of the bush.
“It’s a great big fat pig.” Logan raised his voice and Hana stared at him with a look of dismay. She tried to peer around him and he ushered her away. He didn’t look over his shoulder, but sensed the hunter appear from behind a kauri trunk with a wide grin on his face. Logan felt the presence in his bones and longed to wipe the smug look from the man’s grizzled face.
After only a couple of mistakes, Hana led her husband to Maihi’s house. She swelled with pride at her navigation and looked back at Logan for approval. He seemed more relieved than proud. “Do you think you could do it in the dark?” he asked and Hana’s face fell.
“No.” She gnawed her lower lip. “Do I have to?”
Logan shook his head and forced a blank expression into place. “No. Just make sure you don’t leave it too late if you walk to Maihi’s during the day. Night draws in fast here.”
“Okay.” Hana sighed. “I’m tired now. Do you think we should call in or is it rude?”
“Na.” Logan set off down the slope. “In our culture it’s fine to visit without notice. Family is family.”
“But we’re not family.” Hana slipped after his long stride, her hands flapping at her sides. “What if she’s no
t dressed?”
Logan snorted and shook his head. “Who cares? She won’t.”
Maihi flung the back door open at Hana’s tentative knock and hugged them both like long lost friends. “You want dinner,” she asked, brushing off Hana’s protestations with a wave of her hand. “Come, sit,” she instructed and indicated the large dining table. They kicked their boots off on the porch and stepped inside. The room felt warm and cosy and the smell of cooking created the age old welcome.
“Gorgeous design,” Logan said, looking up at the high ceilings and exposed beams.
A large man bounded down the central staircase and Hana jumped back in fright. He towered over Logan’s six feet and four inches without effort, a veritable giant of a man. Broad shouldered and muscular he exuded pure strength. Hana recognised the handlebar moustache from the photograph, but age streaked it with grey and white. A full head of glossy black hair dated him as younger than his wife and Hana blossomed with gratitude at another point of similarity. “Guests?” he exclaimed and a smile lit his face.
“These are the people I told you about,” Maihi said, straightening her shoulders as though introducing her own flesh and blood. “Logan and Hana.”
“Hemi,” the man said, making a beeline for Logan. They clasped hands in a firm grip and Hemi pressed his forehead against Logan’s. The hongi felt intimate and power surged through both men as their flesh connected. Hana held her breath, only releasing it as they parted friends. Sensing her reticence, Hemi shook Hana’s hand in a gentle action as though believing her crafted from fine china. He waved them both towards the dining table. “Sit, sit!” he commanded.
“I should at least help,” Hana said and he protested and rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. Logan winked at her, easy in the family atmosphere. Maihi dumped a casserole pot in the centre of the table and Hemi set two more bowls. They made it feel natural and Logan lay back in his seat and relaxed. The hosts seated themselves and Hana watched as they clasped hands above the table. Maihi took Hana’s fidgeting fingers from her lap and jerked her head towards Logan. “Let’s say grace,” she said.
He swallowed in surprise and accepted Hemi’s outstretched hand. Hana smirked and looked away as the scales tipped the balance in her favour and produced something she understood. Hemi’s karakia formed a gentle lilt in her mind as he thanked their Lord for the food on the table and good company. When he lapsed into Māori she kept her eyes closed and allowed the lyrical cadence of the words to wash over her soul. “Āmene,” she agreed at the end of the prayer.
“Help yourselves to my wife’s famous boil-up,” Hemi declared, handing Logan a serving spoon first. Logan accepted it and his slender fingers filled a bowl of delicious pork and vegetables. Hana’s stomach growled as the messages passed from her nose to her brain. Logan handed the bowl to her with care, offering her a smile as he filled his own bowl and passed the spoon to Hemi.
Maihi poured red wine and they drank as they ate. Hana felt tipsy after very little and Maihi grinned at her from across the table. Logan sipped a beer with care, not wanting to compromise his antibiotics. He refused a second beer as Hana moved onto her third full glass. “How will you get your cows over to our place,” she asked, digging into a second bowl of broth.
“Truck them up.” Hemi looked at Logan and spoke with his mouth full. “Can your driveway take a double loader?”
Logan leaned back in his seat and narrowed his eyes in thought. “A double yes, but not a triple.”
“Are you running out of grass?” Hana asked, trying to sound intelligent in the realms of husbandry and failing.
“No.” Maihi leaned forward. “But my husband purchased a big old bull and he’s a little too efficient.”
“At what?” Hana asked, closing her eyes with pleasure at the taste of pork in her mouth. “Where did you get this meat? It’s gorgeous.”
Logan chewed his lower lip and watched Hana’s face. Hemi kept talking about truck sizes, digging into his food like a dump truck driver.
“A hunter shot a wild pig in the bush,” Maihi said, glancing once at Logan. “And what purpose do bulls usually serve on a farm with cows.”
“Oh.” Hana prodded the meat, her enthusiasm for it fading. Her cheeks pinked at the stupidity of her question. She compounded it by thinking up another. “How can a bull be too efficient?” she demanded.
Maihi snorted. “Because he’s covering all the heifers too soon,” she answered. “We want spring calves and this dude ain’t waiting. We can move the ones he hasn’t covered into your paddocks.” She rolled her eyes at her husband as though resurrecting an old dispute. “Not that there’s many still untouched.”
Hemi stuck his nose in the air and huffed. “He came up for sale, wahine. I needed to grab him fast.”
Maihi sniffed. “And you needed to pen him better too, but that’s another story.”
The peaceful atmosphere stuttered beneath a veil of brewing arguments and Hana stiffened. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re welcome to use our place as a backup.”
Hemi nodded and the storm left his eyes. “Thank you. We’re grateful. The truck only needs to travel half way up the drive. I can use the gate to the paddock.”
“What gate?” Hana’s brows knitted and the hand with the wine glass wobbled. “Is there another gate?”
“Yep.” Logan nodded and lifted Maihi’s empty bowl into his. “Half way up there’s a bend and a small pull in. Behind all that scrub is a gate.”
“Oh.” Hana closed her eyes and pictured an area half way up the long and winding driveway. She pulled in sometimes and used it to watch the main road before running down the last straight and exiting the property. It gave her a view of Hakarimata Road from the town end and provided a useful safety precaution. “I didn’t know it had a gate there.”
Logan stood with the gathered crockery and walked to the kitchen. Maihi followed with the tureen of casserole. “Dessert?” she asked, patting his shoulder.
He looked back at Hana and saw her scull the last of her wine. “Thanks. It’s dark. We should probably find our way back.”
“Hemi can drive you.” Maihi looked at her husband and frowned at the fourth bottle of beer in his hand. “Bloody hell, tāne!” she groaned. “They weren’t all for youse!”
Hemi looked down in surprise. “Sorry.” A sheepishness slid across his expression and Hana giggled.
“We’ve all had too much. Except Logan.” She quirked an eyebrow at her husband and her growing lack of coordination made the expression look painful.
“We’ll be fine. Thanks for dinner.” Logan kissed the top of Maihi’s head and rolled his eyes at the occupants of the table. “Whose bright idea was it to put those two together?”
“That will be yours, tama,” Maihi laughed. Her use of the word for son made Logan frown and she touched his arm. “What is it?”
Logan shook his head and shrugged. “A story for another time, aunty.”
“Okay.” She widened her eyes as Hemi reached for the red wine and poured Hana another glass. “Best get your wahine home.” She raised her voice and spoke to her husband. “Hemi, get them a bike. They’ll break their necks in the bush. You won’t need it this week.”
Hemi grunted in hearty agreement. He slapped the table with his palms. “Ah, yes. The bike.” He stood and strutted to the outer door, flinging it wide and leaving it open to the elements. Hana snorted as Logan pulled her up from the table and pushed her arms into her sweatshirt.
“I feel a bit drunk,” she announced and Logan shook his head.
“You don’t say,” he replied, sounding annoyed.
“I don’t drink much,” Hana whispered, spitting onto his hands as he did up the zipper.
“We can tell,” he answered, hiding his smirk.
The fresh air hit Hana like a concrete block and doubled the effect of the alcohol. She weaved around the porch, struggling to keep her balance. The sound of a roller door moving on its r
unners disturbed the night and Hemi appeared, pushing a motorbike up the slope.
“Oh. I’m not riding that.” Hana’s legs buckled and she set down on the steps like a protestor.
Logan whistled with appreciation. He looked the machine over and nodded his head a few times. Hana couldn’t understand his conversation with Hemi. She cocked her head in confusion, identifying a few mechanical terms and realising they spoke English. Logan squatted on his haunches and Hana giggled as his jeans pulled taut across his bum. She remembered Sheila’s description of his buttocks as though from a different life and sniggered to herself. “My colleague said they were like two ripe peaches,” she said to Maihi and the old woman stared at her.
“Logan and Hemi?”
“No!” Hana widened her eyes for emphasis and waved a hand towards Logan. “Logan’s things.”
“Oh, my life, kōtiro!” The old woman turned her face away to hide her grin. She raised her voice at her husband. “This girly needs to go home,” she chuckled. “She wants fruit for dessert.”
“We got fruit.” Hemi stood up, the effects of the beer on his giant frame already worn off.
“Yeah, I don’t think we got what she wants.” Maihi waggled her eyebrows and Hemi shrugged without understanding.
Logan straddled the bike with his long legs, looking confident. He kick started the motor with a few powerful strokes. Hana jumped up and down on the spot, getting no nearer to arriving in the saddle behind him. Maihi burst into a series of undignified snorts. “Somebody help her,” she cackled, waving her hands at her husband.
Hana felt the ground disappear as Hemi lifted her around the waist and plonked her behind Logan. “Youse weigh nothing,” he exclaimed as Hana squeaked and gripped the back of Logan’s jacket. She tried to wriggle off.
“I can’t do this,” she announced. “I can’t stay married either.”
“What?” Logan half turned in the saddle.
“Miriam said.” Hana hiccoughed. She lowered her voice and adopted a terrible Māori accent. “Youse can’t marry a biker and not get used to riding pillion.”