For Hana to die in a senseless home invasion…
Dillon forced away the lump in his throat and placed the pot on the cooker to heat. Guilt filled him because she’d died in such a tragic manner, and he hadn’t been here to protect her.
Rufus growled deep in his throat, diverting Dillon from his remorse. He dragged the stew off the heat and padded after the dog who waited at the front door. Dillon paused, then retreated to his bedroom to grab a handgun.
Someone thumped on the door. Rufus ceased his growling and barked instead. Dillon checked the safety and shoved the handgun at the back of his jeans. Although he doubted the thieves who’d murdered Hana six months ago and ransacked their house had returned, tension slid through his shoulders. Rufus barked again as he opened the door. The shaggy mutt charged through and knocked over his visitor before Dillon could order the dog to sit.
A feminine shriek cut through Rufus’s barking.
“Rufus, heel!”
The mutt trotted to his side, sending him a chiding look as if Dillon had spoiled his fun.
Dillon stepped forward to aid his visitor. “You! What are you doing back here?”
Her hair plastered to her head and her dress and coat clung to her curves. Mud splattered her legs and the hem of her coat. Her cheeks were so pale, he noticed she had freckles on her nose. Her teeth chattered.
“L-landslide.” She sniffed and her expression scrunched as if she might cry. “It buried most of my car.”
“How far from the main road?”
“Um, two or three kilometers. My feet are killing me.”
“Hell.”
“I’m s-sorry. I h-had no place else to go.”
As if he’d send her away in this weather. He might prefer his own company, but he wasn’t a monster. “Come inside. You can have a hot shower while I find you dry clothes.”
She removed her gumboots and stepped past him. Water dripped off her black-and-white coat. It trickled off her hair and ran down her cheek. Dillon bit back an inappropriate smile. He had a younger sister and experience told him now was not the time to display his amusement.
“This way.” He strode along the passage leading to the bathroom. The woman thumped and blundered behind him, so he lengthened his stride and switched on the bathroom light. “What’s your name?”
“Ella Liddington-Walsh.”
“That’s a mouthful.”
Ella rolled her eyes at him. “My mother didn’t want to lose her identity, and after a long discussion, my parents decided to each take the other’s name and make it a true marriage.”
“You been in Eketahuna long? We haven’t met before.”
“My family come from…came from Masterton.”
Dillon spotted the flare of pain in her brown eyes when she mentioned her family and didn’t prod. Instead, he opened a cupboard and pulled out towels. “I’ll give you two towels in case you want to wash and dry your hair. Summer always used two.”
“Summer?”
“My younger sister. She lives in Auckland. Check the cupboard for girly soap and shampoo.” Dillon stopped talking. Her big brown eyes reminded him of a solemn owl. He was out of practice with females. Once he and Hana had married, he’d stopped tomcatting around, and after her death, it hadn’t felt right to start again. Out of respect. He cleared his throat. “I’ll leave clothes for you outside the door. Want something to eat?”
“No, thank you. I just want to get warm and sleep.”
Crap. He only had one bed. Never mind. He’d worry later. “The bedroom is the one on the right at the end of the passage.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry to be a nuisance.”
Dillon confined himself to a nod. He’d cleared out Hana’s clothes to give to the local hospice. They’d be too small for Ella. She’d have to make do with his sweatpants. In his bedroom, he sorted out a pair of boxer shorts and came across flannel pajamas his Grandma had given him for Christmas a few years ago. He added track-pants and a T-shirt to the pile for good measure, then escaped to the kitchen.
Ella’s presence breathed weird energy into the atmosphere, and he disliked the disturbance. Not that he’d send her out into the night. His mother would’ve boxed his ears for even considering the offense.
Dillon stared at the stew and his unexpected guest jumped to mind again. Hot water bottle. The idea popped to mind along with a vague memory of a crocheted cover sitting in the back of the linen cupboard. He went to search, and it was right where his mind told him. Weird. With a shake of his head, he strode back to the kitchen to boil the jug.
A cup of tea. Maybe the drink would warm her.
Dillon froze. Now that thought hadn’t come from the depths of his memory or had it? His mother and grandma were tea aficionados. The idea wasn’t such a stretch, and he’d absorbed the niceties during his upbringing. While the jug was boiling, he searched through the pantry and came across a box of chamomile tea-bags. His gaze snagged on a travel mug.
Five minutes later, he placed the hot water bottle into the bed and set the travel mug on the bedside drawers.
The pile of clothes no longer sat at the bathroom door. Dillon paused en route for the kitchen. “I made you a cup of chamomile tea. It’s sitting in the bedroom.”
“Thank you.”
Dillon continued to the kitchen. His belly rumbled and, with surprise, he realized he was hungry. Although he’d kept busy with outside chores and worked to maintain his fitness, he’d dropped weight. For the second time, he switched on the cooker and heated the stew. At the last minute, he grabbed a bag of snap-frozen vegetables from the freezer and microwaved a portion.
He sat at the kitchen table to eat. The table was new since his last visit, the wooden top lovingly varnished by Hana. Touches of his wife filled the farmhouse, bringing back treasured memories along with more guilt. The police hadn’t caught the culprits and an exhaustive investigation had turned up nothing. His contact at the police station had informed him there’d been a home invasion at a property much closer to the township of Masterton. The one here had occurred three weeks later and none since. His mother had worried about Hana living here alone while Dillon was overseas. Hana had told everyone she loved the peace of the countryside and the green of the pastures and bush. She’d taken to bird watching and had delighted in the number of native birds she’d spotted around their home.
Her emails to him had been full of the new things she was trying, some with hilarious results, and the friends she’d made in the district. Hana had been so content here, the last words spoken between them ones of delight and appreciation. Dillon hadn’t wanted her thanks. She and her family had done so much for his team, and he’d wanted to give her a slice of happiness in return.
Now she was dead
He swallowed hard to shift the obstruction blocking his throat and forked up more stew. He wished he could wind back time and change things, but Hana had fallen in love with his piece of land. It had been her idea to purchase alpacas so she could spin the fleece and transform it into garments. She’d fought for her independence, and he’d given in to her wish to live on his property. He’d decided it was safe since his parents had maintained regular contact with her.
Hana should’ve been secure here in New Zealand, rather than the victim of a cowardly attack.
Dillon forced himself to eat the last of his meal and stood to do the few dishes. Once that was done, he checked on Ella.
The bedroom light still shone bright, but she was fast asleep. Now able to observe her without looking like a perv, he noted the violet shadows beneath her eyes. Dillon jiggled the travel mug and discovered it was empty, so he took it and retreated, turning off the light as he left.
Outside, the rain continued, although the thunder no longer echoed through the hills. Not ready to face sharing a bed with Ella, he spent an hour stripping wallpaper in the kitchen. And once he tired of this, he’d have a quiet beer, watch telly and send messages to his younger brother Josh and reply to Summer’s email. If he sent the em
ails, his siblings would send favorable reports to his mother, which meant she’d ease up on the daily visits and twice-daily phone calls.
Dillon frowned. Tomorrow, he’d check out the landslide. Hopefully, Ella had exaggerated, and it wasn’t as bad as she’d described. His frown deepened to a flat-out scowl. Had she lied to him?
He’d received three visits in the last two weeks from single ladies from the Eketahuna area plus two more indecent proposals from married women. Was Ella a liar?
He shook his head, recalling the shock on her pale face, the bruises beneath her eyes. If she’d had ulterior motives, she wouldn’t have gone to bed as she had. She would’ve flirted with him, given him a glimpse of skin while covering her mouth with a shocked oops. Yeah, he’d been a recipient of all of those scenarios, and so far Ella Liddington-Walsh wasn’t playing to the script.
It was four hours later when Dillon padded into his bedroom and slipped between the sheets of his king-size bed. Ella didn’t move or notice his arrival and, Dillon relaxed.
Recently, he hadn’t slept well himself. Hopefully, his restlessness or, worse, one of his nightmares, didn’t startle Ella awake.
2 – Body Language
Ella came awake gradually, warm and snug in her bed. For the first time in ages, the ghost hadn’t woken her with loud thumps and rattling pipes or chilly breezes, allowing her a refreshing night of rest. She stretched, stilling when she realized someone shared the bed with her. Her pulse raced a tad faster as she rifled through her mind, trying to recall the how and why. Not a memory surfaced. She came up empty. Not surprising, given she never functioned well on awakening. Her morning required a cup of tea to kick her brain into gear.
Ella fumbled for her bedside lamp, her hand waving at air. Then she remembered. She wasn’t at home. This wasn’t her bed.
So who the devil—?
“Stop fidgeting. It’s still early,” a masculine voice rumbled through the darkness.
“You! Why are you in my bed?” Ella attempted to scramble farther away and almost fell out of bed. “Ahh!”
“It’s mine. You’re in my bed,” he corrected as his arm came around her waist and he hauled her back to her original position.
“The same one as me, you big oaf. Why are we in bed together?”
“Because it’s the only one I have and I didn’t want to freeze my arse off trying to sleep on the couch.”
“I would’ve taken the couch.”
He paused. “That makes no sense. You were asleep. I hated to wake you.”
Ella swallowed, every muscle filled with tension. “That isn’t your knee pushing into my backside.”
He chuckled, the sound rusty as if he either didn’t laugh much or hadn’t for a long time. “I’m a male, honey. I can’t help it.”
“That’s what all the men say,” she muttered.
“Oh? Sleep with lots of men, do you?”
“That is not what I said. Can’t you shift over, so I can get out of bed?”
“Why?”
“You’re making me nervous.”
Dillon shifted a fraction and removed his arm from around her waist. Unaccountably, she missed the contact straightaway.
“Apart from shifting in my sleep, I’ve done nothing to indicate I intend to rape you. My mother raised me better than that. I converse with my lovers before we have sex.”
A scoffing sound escaped Ella. “You’ve never had a one-night fling? Surely not. I’ve got eyes.”
That arm slipped around her waist again, this time turning her body until they faced each other. Dark screened her view, but his citrus scent and manly musk filled her rapid breaths.
“What do your eyes tell you?” Humor filled his question. “Please answer. This week I’ve had a procession of uninvited female visitors.”
“Is that why you were so rude to me?” Ella relaxed, eased by his amusement.
“Partly.”
“My eyes tell me you’re a handsome man and take after your father. In case you’re wondering—I’ve met him at couple of times at local functions. You’re big and fit and if we lived in the caveman days, I, along with every other cavewoman would queue to win you because of your muscular arse.”
“I…what?”
Ella held back a giggle.
“What has my arse got to do with anything?” His tone held a touch of uneasiness.
She withheld a grin at his discomfort. “A muscular and tight masculine arse tells a woman this man has good forward propulsion, which is required to transfer sperm.”
“Is that true?”
“I have a book on body language. We read it for book club last month.”
“I’m unsure if I should be terrified or not. You mean to say the women in your local book club have read this book and checked out the available men?”
“Your mother goes to the book club.”
Dillon said nothing for long seconds. “Change the subject. I do not want to picture my mother, backsides and sperm transfer in the same sentence ever again.”
“Body language tells you a lot about a person.”
“Obviously,” he said. “You sound chirpy. Every time I woke during the night, you were snoring.”
“I do not snore.”
“You have no way of disproving me.” He sounded distinctly smug.
“It’s stopped raining.” She pictured her car and the possible damage. “How long will it take to clear the road?”
“Months, if I know the local council.”
“Months.” Her horror echoed and bounced back to strike her brain for a second time. “You’re joking.”
“There are three properties on this road. The council will have other more important damage to repair.”
“But how will I get home? I have work today. I can’t stay here. My boss will worry because I’m reliable. Responsible.”
Dillon said nothing for a while. “We’ll get out a phone call or an email to tell people you’re okay.”
“My phone doesn’t work here. I tried after…after I crawled out of my car and was in a safer place.”
“I have a satellite phone for emergencies. It was for Hana.”
Since she had been alone at the farm. Ella interpreted the subtext and understood without further explanations. Hana’s murder had hit the national news and had occurred shortly before she’d moved to Eketahuna, and she’d picked up local gossip since. It was difficult not to tap into the local news and scandal. Her Masterton girlfriends had expressed horror at her decision to move closer to her job, but Ella hadn’t regretted her decision. Her social life was busy these days, which reminded her.
“I have a date tonight and standing him up is mean. Wait—is it possible to walk home?”
“It’s possible, but the forecast is for more rain.”
“Oh.” The thought of repeating her journey put a dampener on that plan. “I hate to inconvenience you.”
“My bed was warm when I got into it last night. That’s a plus.”
Ella bit her lip. The sleep had recharged her, but she didn’t want to share his bed for another night.
Somewhere outside, a dog barked.
Dillon groaned. “Rufus is my alarm clock. It must be seven. I can’t believe I’ve slept this late.”
“Haven’t you been sleeping well either?”
“Bad dreams.”
Succinct and to the point. Ella assumed he’d carry emotional luggage since he was on active duty. Local gossip said he was NZSAS, part of New Zealand’s elite fighting soldiers. Only the best military men made it into the New Zealand Special Air Service. She understood the younger Williams brother was also SAS.
Dillon moved away from her and let a waft of frigid air under the covers as he climbed out of bed. He flicked on a bedside lamp, and she received the perfect view of his boxer-clad backside as he bent over to open a drawer. He pulled out a pair of jeans and donned them while Ella stared at his naked back.
When he turned to her, heat suffused her cheeks. Caught in the act.
“Sorry,” she blurted. “Your backside is spectacular.”
“I will put that on my CV,” he said drily. “Stay in bed. I’m going outside to feed Rufus and let out the alpacas to graze. It sounds as if it’s still raining.”
Ella swallowed and barely resisted tugging the covers over her head. Dillon Williams wasn’t bad when he relaxed. She let out a groan once the front door slammed. Her workday started at eight-thirty. She scrambled out of bed and spotted her handbag, right where she’d left it. Perhaps she could get a call through now. She powered up her phone. Nothing. Just perfect. Michael would ask nosy questions. She hadn’t informed him of her ghost and the message for Dillon. Actually, she hadn’t shared this info with anyone, fearful of them consigning her to Crazy Town.
Unable to go back to sleep, Ella rifled through the pile of clothes Dillon had given her and dressed in a T-shirt, sweatpants and a hoodie. Everything was too big, but she used her dress belt to hold the pants in place and rolled back the hoodie sleeves. A thick pair of socks completed her outfit.
Last night, she had paid little attention to the interior of the house. It was bigger inside than she’d guessed. Bits of wallpaper drooped in places, the pattern screaming of the seventies. Dillon’s bedroom appeared freshly decorated, although it held sparse furnishings. The bathroom, too, was modern with a sparkling white-and-chrome shower stall. The white clawfoot tub was positioned to overlook a stand of native trees and the skylight above would offer a great view of the stars on a clear night. Right now, a gray, sullen sky filled the square.
In a continuation of her tour, she poked her nose into the rooms off the passage. One room was full of boxes and furniture. Another seventies fashion statement. The next room was also recently decorated. Cream paint covered three of the walls and teal, gold-and-cream curtains dressed the windows. The fourth wall was one big mural, showing a desert scene and a herd of camels. A discreet signature in the bottom right corner told her Hana Williams had painted the slice of home. A spinning wheel filled one corner, partially woven fleece hanging from the spindle as if the owner had stepped away for a few minutes.
Stranded With Ella Page 2