by Jennie Jones
She looked up, taking her eyes firmly off that chest. ‘Are you teasing me about my officiousness?’
‘Maybe I’m just trying to make you like me.’
He was teasing her, or messing her about, trying to make her feel at ease in the face of so many problems. Hopefully he hadn’t realised how much she adored him. Hopefully he was showing her his caring-friend side, which was very nice of him.
‘Can I ask you something?’ he said, leaning forwards. ‘It’s about Buchanan.’
She kept her sigh in check. Why couldn’t he ask his question tomorrow, when it was morning? When the soft light from the standard lamp didn’t make her feel so homey and warm with him. She drew a breath. ‘Ask.’
‘Did you kiss him?’
She nodded, but didn’t look him in the eye in case she saw pity, or lack of respect. ‘Before I knew he was married, obviously.’
His chest muscles tightened, as though he’d tensed. ‘Did you sleep with him?’
What a question! And had she detected a strain in his voice? She shook her head.
‘Are you telling the truth?’
She nodded.
‘So why can’t you speak?’
Because having Ryan question her morals and her values, as though he’d already made assumptions about them in the first place, hurt quite a bit.
But it was her knotty problem, one she’d got herself snared in and one she was going to get herself out of. She sighed, and leaned an elbow on the bench, putting her chin in her hand. ‘It’s really difficult being this messed up, Ryan.’
‘I don’t think you’re messed up. Just a little off-kilter. It’s no surprise.’
‘Isn’t it?’ She peered at him but couldn’t see pity or disrespect. ‘Why did you ask me about this?’
‘I wanted to know how far you’d gone with him. So I know how much I have to do to wipe him from your memory.’
‘There’s nothing of him in my memory, except the bad.’
‘Good.’
‘Why?’
‘Because like I said—I’m chasing you.’
He smiled so tenderly that Edie laughed with relief. He was really good at acting. She ought to persuade him to play the leading man not just stand in during rehearsals.
‘You’re funny, Ryan.’
‘Want to kiss on that?’
She pushed out a laugh, and stood. ‘Gary’s not here. You can stop with the routine.’ He had no idea what asking if she wanted to kiss did to her. Joke or otherwise.
But it was lovely, and comforting, being on solid ground with him. They hadn’t once exchanged one of those awkward eye-catch moments tonight. Every time she glanced at him and found him looking at her, he smiled, his eyes shiny and loving. Well, friendly loving.
She had a sudden desire to open up and tell him everything. How much she admired him. How long she’d been attracted to him as a woman and not a little kid hanging on his shirt tails.
Then Gemma’s advice outside Kookaburra’s came ringing in her head. Ryan needs stability, Edie. He’s going through a difficult time.
What was his problem? Was it the army and everything he’d been through? She’d better start being a good friend, since he’d been so good to her. She didn’t want him to leave without making their friendship better than it had been.
She walked around the bench and kissed his cheek—just a peck, nothing that would make him think she was making a move on him. But just to be doubly sure he didn’t get the wrong idea, she patted him heartily on the shoulder. ‘Night, Ryan. It’s lovely having you around for a while. You’re really funny too. I didn’t realise you were such a jokester. Sleep tight.’ There—not too effusive, not over-friendly, just showing she cared.
She turned and held her breath all the way to the door and even down the hallway until she climbed the stairs. His cheek had been warm, and only slightly raspy from stubble. That lime-scented soap he used was edible.
A swirl of her light perfume suffused Ryan’s nostrils as she left the kitchen.
He growled from the back of his throat. Attempt number two: fail.
He hadn’t expected her to laugh when he told her he might be trying to make her like him, and he hoped Gary never found out. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked if she wanted to kiss—that could have been where he’d gone wrong but it had just popped out in a ‘seize the moment’ response.
The kiss on his cheek was good, and unexpected, but the pat on the shoulder was nothing more than placatory. A friendly, amused kind of pat.
What the hell had happened to his pulling technique?
He leaned back and folded his arms. Maybe he’d read those self-conscious glances between them wrong. Although he didn’t think so; he’d felt the air simmer between them in a way it never had before. But she was agitated, and more worried than she was letting on about Buchanan and her career, and about whether she even had a career to go back to. The rest of her life was at stake, or that’s the way Edie would see it.
But this was also a new scenario for Edie. He’d never chased her before. He’d done the opposite and retreated. It was likely she didn’t understand what he was trying to do. He’d been a little offhand with her when she first moved into the house, but that had only been because she’d ignored—or hadn’t noticed—his first attempt on his arrival with the prayer thing and the ‘I missed you too, Edie’ thing.
Not exactly a neon sign from his end of comms—a kiss on her cheek, like the one she’d just given him. Maybe this mission needed a bigger push. She didn’t expect him to make a move on her. He had to make it clearer, without compromising her or making her think he was going in for the kill.
He straightened, hands on his thighs. Okay, one more shot … Be obvious. But first he ought to check if she’d be willing to live in Swallow’s Fall in the first place, let alone live here and still have her career, because if she wasn’t, he’d be back to where he was yesterday.
15
Rehearsing for the Real Thing
Ryan finished the call with his PI mate who was doing some snooping on Buchanan, and pocketed the mobile in his jeans. His ex-2 Commando mate, known as Killer Vince due to his ability to charm the kids in Afghanistan with his clowning around, had discovered nothing on the man Hanger but a reasonable amount of insider info on Buchanan, his business dealings, and a new woman he was kicking about with between the sheets. Vince had turned up information on two other women Buchanan had had affairs with, and then annihilated their careers. These women were no longer employed in their respective industries and had taken lower paid jobs—but why? What had Buchanan done?
Ryan had spoken to Nick late last night too. Nick’s take on the farrier—full name Simon Wilkins—was that he was the jovial, good-natured type, knew about horses and how to forge, didn’t drink much, was polite to the bar staff and everyone around him, and was too good to be true.
Ryan leaned forward, hands on the sink.
Staring at the wild garden outside the kitchen window calmed the uncertainty in his mind as the overgrown grass blew across the jasmine, which had begun to climb the wall of the barn. He’d have to get the mower and the whipper-snipper out and tidy it up before Edie’s play opened.
But that wasn’t his main concern this morning. He’d got up early, showered and dressed long before Edie. She normally didn’t get up until around seven and it had only just gone six.
What was it about Buchanan that made the man feel he was so safe? That he could use and abuse at will, without fear of retaliation, even from his wife in California who had been screaming up a storm. She’d been shut down quickly by Buchanan’s lawyers, according to Vince, and had gone quiet this last couple of days. Buchanan had to have something on others in order to play the field this way, but what? Regarding his wife, was it something to do with Strike Productions—even though she had majority shareholding? Buchanan had to be holding something else over his wife. Something that would damage her—maybe ruin her reputation.
And who was Hanger and what
was he capable of? Was it Simon the farrier? If so, he was good. Nobody would believe he was a hard man beneath all that humour. Or was this Hanger guy a thug with a criminal background, or was he ex-Special Forces—a guy gone bad? It would make a difference in the way he approached Edie, and in his capabilities for getting the job done. Which reminded Ryan of his worst fear—that Buchanan might have instructed Hanger to clean up his mess and silence Edie permanently.
He watched the grass blowing outside, the wind taking the silver tufts from the many dandelions and stirring them up into the air like a shower of wishes.
He reached for the glass of orange juice he’d poured earlier, and instantly became aware of someone behind him.
In a split second his senses were on alert, his body tense—ready to protect or strike. He turned, throwing up the glass. Orange juice splashed his T-shirt and the glass smashed on the floor.
Edie screamed.
But he’d already grabbed her, turned her so she had her back against him, and he had his forearm around her throat.
‘Christ, I’m sorry.’ He released his grip and put both arms around her, protecting her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, head bent low, next to hers, his breath suddenly coming hard. ‘You frightened the life out of me.’
‘Who’d you expect it to be?’ she panted.
Remorse hit hard. ‘Did I hurt you?’ Reluctant though he was to let her go, he released her and checked that he hadn’t done any damage to her throat. There was nothing more than a slight reddening on the side of her neck and collarbone, but it pained him to see what he’d done. ‘I’m sorry, Edie. Are you okay?’ He reached out and touched the mark on her pale skin.
She stepped back and pulled her silky dressing gown around her more tightly, then pushed her hair back. ‘If that’s you worried in a quiet country kitchen, I’d hate to see you in combat mode.’
‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was thinking about something I need to deal with.’ Buchanan, not to mention Hanger. ‘I acted instinctively. I apologise. It won’t happen again.’
She bit her lip for a moment. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Are you sure?’ She still looked shocked.
She nodded. ‘Your T-shirt’s ruined. You ought to soak it in cold water.’
He checked the yellowing stain from the orange juice, then pulled the T-shirt up his chest, over his head and threw it over the edge of the sink. He bent to collect the glass fragments. ‘Stand still,’ he said when he noticed Edie’s bare feet—with bright red toenail polish—next to some large glass chips.
He stood, and before she could move or utter a sound, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the other side of the island bench.
‘Ryan! There’s no need for this—’
Too late. He’d done it. He plonked her on her feet in a safe zone behind the island bench and reluctantly withdrew his arms from around her. Her body was warm beneath that silky dressing gown. ‘Good job you didn’t get juice on this,’ he said, pulling the neckline so it didn’t gape and so that it covered the rise of her breasts, before training his eyes on hers.
Their gazes caught.
‘You’re up early,’ he said, as his heart pumped in his ears.
‘Got a lot to do today.’ She seemed to have stalled too, as though just as unsure as he was about whether or stay put or move apart. Something in the air was pinning them both to the spot.
Then her eyes darted to his chest.
Ryan was used to women looking at him and being appreciative, but having Edie respond in this way gave him a heady dose of confidence.
‘You look lovely this morning,’ he said, testing that tension between them—the one that felt like a wire pulled taut.
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Thanks.’ She smiled shyly. ‘So do you.’ Her eyes flipped down to his chest again, then she looked at his forearm. Her gaze eventually settled on the tattoo on his shoulder.
‘Do they bother you?’ he asked. Not all women liked a man with tatts, although he didn’t have anywhere near as much ink as some.
She shook her head as she studied the 2 Commando unit badge on his shoulder. Black, with a silver dagger and the unit motto written in Latin on a golden scroll.
‘They’re a reminder, that’s all,’ he told her. Most guys didn’t explain what they meant, and most soldiers didn’t need to ask. For Ryan, it was simply a recap of the job. Of what he’d done, what he’d seen, who he’d helped and those he hadn’t been able to help, rather than a full inked depiction of battle, like many had.
‘I like them,’ she said, then glanced at the words he’d had inked on his forearm a number of years ago.
Until recently he’d had a future focus in all directions of his life. Reach, strike and return to base unharmed. Now he was out of the army, he was wavering. He was without a job to do. Which made him feel like he had no purpose. Somehow, he’d have to get the retreat set up or he’d wander around at a loose end for the rest of his life. Time waited for no man, and he was beginning to see how that happened.
‘Ryan?’
He focused on her.
‘When are you leaving?’
He took a breath. It all depended on Edie …
‘You mentioned something about it, then Gemma said you told her too.’
Gem was interfering like no other sister could.
‘Obviously, I knew you wouldn’t be staying,’ she said. ‘I mean, what is there to keep you here?’
Only you.
‘So I was wondering how long you were going to be around.’ She sounded cautious. ‘Not that it’s a problem,’ she added. ‘You can stay here at the house as long as you like …’ She trailed off, eyes wide in query.
‘Depends,’ he said, shifting his weight. ‘Are you staying?’
She sighed despondently. ‘I might have to.’
‘But you don’t want to?’ She’d given him an opening and he was all for taking it. ‘Edie, has there ever been a time when you thought perhaps you didn’t want to be an actor?’
‘What a ridiculous notion!’ She answered fast, maybe too fast.
‘If you want to talk about your choices,’ he said, ‘then I’d like to have that conversation with you. I’ve got some things I’d like to say that might help make up your mind.’
‘I haven’t got to the stage where I can make my own choices.’
‘I know, but—’ How to explain without saying outright that he wanted to be with her. For the rest of their lives. It might frighten the rest of her life out of her. ‘Maybe there are options …’ Lame. But he was new to this game of chasing a woman he was in love with. ‘Do you think you’ll ever get hooked up with someone? Like—settle down.’
‘Me?’ she asked, looking aghast. ‘I’m likely to be the old woman with a hundred cats.’ She gave him a wary look. ‘Are you thinking of settling down?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve given it some thought.’ If need be, could he up and move to Sydney? Ouch. He couldn’t see that working. Not long term.
She shrank back from him. As though the thought of settling down stirred up panic and resistance. Yet she loved her family, loved the memories of belonging to a tight-knit community. ‘I never thought about you settling down,’ she said, her voice light, but there was also disbelief in her tone.
‘Isn’t it something we all think about, eventually?’
She didn’t answer and he decided to change the subject. ‘So what are these plans you’ve got for today?’ he asked, taking the conversation away from what he didn’t want to hear her say—that she only wanted her career and had no desire to settle down with anyone, least of all Ryan.
He collected a brush and pan from the cupboard beneath the sink and cleaned up the broken glass.
‘First read-through is tonight. I want to make it an easy affair, and just let them get acquainted with the play. So we’ll sit around the table here in the kitchen, and I’ll ply them with tea and coffee and my homemade biscuits.’
‘You bake biscuits?
’ he asked, then instantly hoped he hadn’t sounded too surprised.
‘It’s easy. You nip down to the Tillman twins’ grocery store and buy a packet of theirs. Can I borrow your car?’
‘Absolutely not. As far as I know you haven’t driven a car for years.’ He tipped the broken glass into the kitchen bin.
‘Is that why you don’t want me to buy one? Well for your information, just six months ago we were on a national tour with The Unexpected Guest—Agatha Christie—and Tony and Damien and I decided to drive across the country. Not only did I successfully navigate my way around cities and large towns without getting a ticket once, I drove all the way across the Nullarbor. From Melbourne to Perth.’
He kinked an eyebrow. ‘All the way?’
‘Took me four days. Tony had the flu so he had to prostrate himself on the back seat, and Damien, who’s an introvert unless he’s onstage, panicked that he might hit a kangaroo and wouldn’t be able to live with the remorse of being a roadkill bandit.’
He put the brush and pan back into the cupboard, then wiped a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.
‘Don’t laugh,’ she told him. ‘Damien’s sensitive. So can I borrow your suped-up four-wheel drive?’
‘No. I don’t want you out and about on your own. Anyway, I’ve got to take the eleven am fitness class. You’re coming into town with me and we’ll—’
‘Hold on!’ She stopped him with her tone. Her stance had him automatically pulling his shoulders back, waiting for the barrage he knew was coming his way.
‘If you’re going to get all macho with me,’ she said, ‘you need to know I can do that too. From a female perspective, which might be a lot tougher than anything you’re used to.’
‘Edie, I’m trying to look out for you. Help me out here and do as I say.’
‘Do as you say?’ she asked, incredulously. ‘What decade are you from?’
‘I didn’t mean it in that way!’ He kept a firm hold of his frustration. ‘I’m trying to …’ Look after you, and at the same time, make you like me. ‘I told you I was going to help you with the Buchanan issue,’ he persisted. ‘I think he’s dangerous, Edie, and I’m not letting you out of my sight until I know more about what he’s planning.’