by Diana Fraser
“The oak? Yeah, I managed to get one limb chopped, but the rest defeated me.”
“And I saw you trying to mend the fence last week. It didn’t look like you succeeded.”
“No.” She grimaced. “I didn’t. I only managed to wrench half the wretched piece of rotten timber and got a splinter for my troubles.”
“That’s no good. You need a man to sort things out.”
She bristled. “I don’t need a man to do anything of the sort!”
“Well, you don’t seem to be doing so well on your own.” His voice wasn’t accusative, he was merely stating a fact, but his words still rankled.
She took a deep breath. “No, I guess I don’t. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound short.”
“And I didn’t mean to sound like a male chauvinist. I simply meant you needed someone a bit stronger. I’m happy to help.”
She sat back in her chair. “I couldn’t. I mean that’s very kind of you, but we don’t know each other.”
“You know my name, you know I used to play with the All Blacks, you know where I live, you know I only drink water or beer. What else would you like to know?”
She shrugged. “What do people usually need to know about the other?”
“I’ll reel off some stuff and then you can tell me when you know enough about me.”
“Okay.”
“I work here in Akaroa, as well as on the marae, and for the Ngai Tahu Tribal Council. I’m a straightforward man—I either like things or I don’t. Some people have called me black and white, but I prefer to see it as having old-fashioned values and knowing my own mind. Enough?”
“You can carry on if you like.” She could have gone on listening to him forever, continued to look into those wonderful dark brown eyes, allowing her gaze to stray over his strong face, sensuous lips and occasionally down to his muscled forearms which rested on the arms of his chair. He was a big man, an impressive man, and definitely a man comfortable in his own skin—from his calm and assured gaze down to his strong body, which was relaxed and at ease.
“The rest you can find out yourself. If you want to, that is.”
Again the uncertainty warmed her heart. It had been years since she’d met someone as endearingly uncertain as this man.
She smiled, determined to ignore the implication that he wanted to spend time with her. “I think that’s enough to be going on with. And, yes, that would be really nice of you, if you could help us out in the woods and garden. It’s a mess and beyond me. Dad doesn’t seem interested and refuses to allow his sons to work on it, let alone hired strangers. I’d have to clear it with him first.”
“Oh, I’m sure Jim will be okay about it. Whenever we’ve worked on community projects together we’ve got on fine. I’ll come by after work tomorrow.”
“You know my dad, too?”
“Of course. Who doesn’t know your dad?”
It was a reasonable question, given her father knew everyone in and around Akaroa, not only because he’d spent his whole life there but because he was as nosy as hell, and was a member of any club, any community activity, that was going.
“Hey!” said Amber, suddenly appearing and thrusting menus onto them. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything!”
Rachel looked up feeling strangely guilty. There might not appear to be anything going on, but in her imagination there was, and Amber had obviously sensed it. “Of course not.”
“Right, whatever you say.” But from her grin, Rachel knew she didn’t believe her answer. “So…” continued Amber. “What can I get you? We’ve some lovely cakes, including some I made.”
“Thanks, Amber, but I fancy one of those custard squares today.”
“Sure. With Earl Grey tea?”
“That would be lovely.”
“And for you, Zane?” asked Amber.
“I’ll have the usual, thanks.”
They grinned at each other.
“You come here often?” asked Rachel.
“I bring my taua—my gran—in here when we’re in town, along with my sisters sometimes.”
“Your gran is so impressive,” said Amber. “She has great mana, great dignity. And she sorts you guys out like you were five-year-olds.”
Zane grinned. “That’s my gran. A force to be reckoned with.”
“Maybe, but she’s always charming to me.”
They both watched Amber walk away.
“That’s because your sister’s sweet,” explained Zane.
Rachel felt an unexpected twist in her gut. It was something like jealousy, she thought with surprise. She also hadn’t felt that in years. She glanced up at lips that weren’t full but were definitely sexy, and into thoughtful dark eyes which changed the twist into desire. She looked away quickly and poured herself a glass of water.
“Yes, Amber’s lovely. She wouldn’t hurt anyone, she’s as gentle as they come, and yet she’s strong about the things she believes in.”
They both looked up as Amber approached laden with food and drinks. Zane politely accepted a bowl of french fries and Rachel waited to see if he flirted with Amber, but he didn’t. Neither did he watch her walk away in her tight skirt—both of which Rachel had expected. She sat back and sighed. She really had been spending too much time with the wrong kind of man. And their behavior around women wasn’t the only difference. The men she’d been hanging out with worked in media, careers which didn’t tend to attract people who could lift a piano single-handedly, which the man sitting opposite her definitely could do. He was different all right, and that was no bad thing, given her track record.
“My kids love her,” he said.
There was that wrench in her stomach again. It was strange that this man could inflict so many contortions to her stomach in such a short space of time. Maybe different wasn’t so good after all.
“So how many kids do you have?” Rachel asked, in what she hoped was only a vaguely interested voice.
“Fifteen,” he said with a straight face.
“Fifteen?” She couldn’t get her head around that number.
“But of course I don’t bring them here all at once. That’s a treat if they’ve done something to deserve it.”
It could only mean one thing. “Like? Good marks or something?”
“Maybe. More likely a group of kids who worked well together as a team.”
She grinned. “Okay, you’ve had your fun. You’re a sports coach.”
“Yeah. Rugby.”
“So, it’s teamwork you reward, not winning?”
“Me mahi tahi tatou, kia manawa nui, kia toa. The Maori rugby motto—work as one, in spirit and heart we are strong.”
“That’s so cool.”
He leaned forward and grinned. “And we love to win.”
She laughed. “So, you coach the local team… what else do you do around here?”
“I teach math and PE. I’ve seen you walk past the school. And I thought…” He paused. “That maybe you’d seen me. Haven’t you?” he asked hesitantly. “You seemed to be looking around pretty intently.”
She shook her head, alarmed that she’d been seen. She hoped she hadn’t been too obvious about what she’d been doing. “No.”
He sat back in his chair and laughed. “You really know how to wound a guy.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a big macho man who likes to be noticed… especially by a beautiful woman.”
The blush started in the pit of her stomach and slowly rose—there was no stopping it—until her face was glowing.
“Hey, that blush made up for it.” Zane grinned and took another french fry. “Don’t tell me you don’t get called ‘beautiful’ all the time. You must be used to it.”
Rachel shrugged. “The world in which I work calls everything ‘beautiful’, nothing is ever less than superlative. I guess it sounded different coming from you.”
“Well, I don’t know where your world is, but I only ever say something I mean.”
“That makes yo
u very unusual.”
“And that makes you very cynical.”
Rachel opened her eyes wide in surprise and lifted her cup of weak black tea, trying to hide her discomfort. She took a sip and their eyes met above her teacup. He looked concerned.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sure you’re not cynical. I didn’t mean to imply…”
“It’s okay. I just hadn’t thought of myself as being cynical. But I guess you’re right.” She replaced the cup in the saucer. “So tell me about you. How long have you been working as a teacher in Akaroa?”
“Coming up to a year. Before that I was based in Auckland.”
“But…” She frowned. “Your family is here, at Ti Tahi?”
His smile faded a little. “They are. But I moved to Auckland when I was ten.” He paused. “My mother lived there. She liked the idea of me living with her.”
“Like the idea?”
“Yeah. It didn’t last. With the help of my step-father who didn’t last much longer than me with Mum, I went knocking on the door of St Stephens. It’s a Maori boys’ boarding school. I decided pretty early on that was my best option.”
“They must have been surprised.”
“If they did, they didn’t let on. They got in contact with my whanau and I stayed that night and then for the next seven years.” He toyed with a french fry, dunking it into some ketchup and then wiping it off again, before looking up at her. “It saved my life. My mother wasn’t what you’d call maternal and the only other option, where she lived, was the gangs.”
“It must have been hard for you.”
He shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“And you returned. You don’t find Akaroa small after Auckland?”
“Yes. That’s why I came. I couldn’t stand the city. I couldn’t breathe.”
She smiled. “I was the opposite. I grew up in Akaroa and felt I couldn’t breathe so went to Wellington.”
“Could you breathe there?”
It was a simple enough question, but not one that had been asked before. She nodded. “For a while I thought I could. But it wasn’t the right sort of breathing, if you know what I mean. It just passed for breathing.”
“Then you should stay away. What is it exactly you do?”
She nearly choked on her tea. He really didn’t have a clue, and she decided to keep it that way. It was refreshing. He wanted to talk with her, to be with her, simply because of who she was, not what she was, or what she could do for him. “I’m a chef. All us sisters are foodies. My other sister Lizzi runs this great café in Tekapo, the Mackenzie country. I’ve a couple of commitments from my old job and then I’m free to decide what to do next. I’ll see what comes up.”
“Why not stay here? I take it that breathing is easier here?” he asked with that disarming grin.
“It’s better. Definitely better. But it has its challenges. Dad, being the main one.”
“I’ve always found your father to be pretty cool. He’s on the Board of Directors at our school and he seems to be one of the good guys.”
“He is. But he’s getting older and refuses to deal with things. Like the garden. Like the house. He sees anything we kids offer to do, or try to do, as an insult to him, as if we’re easing him into old age. We’re not, but…”
Zane slipped his hand across the table and placed it on hers. She stopped speaking and stilled instantly, glancing down at his large hand over hers. There was no pressure, no possessiveness, only a brush of comfort. She looked up into his eyes, their brown, darker now, like the best kind of dark melting chocolate, pure and delicious.
“But he doesn’t see it that way,” Zane finished her sentence. “It’s hard because you’re his kid. My papa’s the same. I’m forever finding him knee-deep in mud trying to rescue a lamb or something. But we have our secret weapon—my gran. She’ll divert him and let us kids get on and fix things up. That way, it’s all done and he keeps his mana, his respect. That’s what your dad’s scared of losing.”
He withdrew his hand and Rachel felt its loss. Like a soft mohair blanket—light but warm—withdrawn on a chill day. She shivered. Both at the loss and his words. He was right.
“How come you’re so wise?”
His grin cracked open his face, like a shaft of sunlight on his dark features. He shrugged. “Born that way, darlin’.” As soon as he said it, the grin faded, as if he was concerned that he’d been too familiar.
Rachel couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been worried that they’d been too familiar with her.
“I reckon you were. And I reckon your gran did a great job bringing you up in those early years.”
“She’d appreciate that. She’s always telling me what a fantastic taua she is. Trouble is, she’s right.”
“She sounds wonderful. I’d love to meet her.” The words were out before she could censor them. They came straight from a place she hadn’t spoken from for a long time. Her heart.
“Then you must come to the marae and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
“That would be nice.”
“And I’ll come over and help sort your dad’s garden out.” He paused. “How shall I get in touch?”
She hesitated. She’d had so much bad stuff from her ex via her phone, that she was reluctant to give her new number to anyone. She pulled a napkin toward her, he passed her a pen, and she wrote the phone number of Belendroit on it. Somehow it felt right. More traditional.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’d really appreciate it. As would my brothers and sisters. And even Dad will eventually. But, you must let me do something in return.”
He frowned for a moment. “We’ve a fundraiser coming up. It would be great if you could help out.”
Rachel was disappointed. She’d thought he hadn’t known about her fame. But maybe he’d simply been clever in not acknowledging it. Because it sure looked like he wanted to use it.
“You don’t have to, not if you’re busy,” he said, obviously reading her expression.
“No, you’re helping me out, so it’s only right for me to help you. It’s fine, honestly. It’s what I do.”
“Well, if you’re sure. That would be great. I’ll ask the organizer to get in touch with you.”
“Sure,” she said with a tight smile, rising out the chair. “Look, I’d best get back.” She went to pay but he rose and placed his hand more firmly this time over hers as she brought out a note from her purse.
“Please, allow me. I butted in on your afternoon with your sister.”
Again, that feeling as if she’d stepped back into a different world. The veil of suspicion, which had lowered at the mention of her involvement with a fundraiser, lifted. He was such a gentleman, and such a hunk, that instead of feeling suspicious about his motives, instead of feeling insulted that he wanted to pay, she felt wonderfully cosseted, like a treasure he’d found and wanted to protect from harm.
“Well, okay, thanks.”
Outside, the town was busy with tourists enjoying the summer sunshine on the beach and on the shady verandas of cafés, overlooking the harbor.
“It’s been great talking, Rachel. I’ll call you later, okay?”
She nodded. It was more than okay. Again that grin before he walked away. She watched him, unable to look away. Apart from the impressive physique, he was an impressive man. Confident in himself, sure of himself and—something she hadn’t thought about in relation to a man for a long time—he was kind. He turned suddenly and she was caught for a second time. She blushed and he grinned, before walking across the street and disappearing around a corner.
She was embarrassed to have been caught out—not cool, not cool at all—but the embarrassment passed. Cool was something for Wellington, not here. Cool was about appearances and it seemed Zane Black wasn’t concerned at all about them. He took things as he found them—if he liked them, that was. And, she grinned to herself, it seemed he liked her.
For a brief moment, she wondered what her future would have been
like if Zane Black had been her ex-boyfriend from Ti Tahi Bay marae; if he’d been the reason that she’d returned to Akaroa, the reason why she kept looking into the schoolyard, trying to find a dark-haired girl of ten years of age. She wondered how different things might have been if Zane Black had been the father of her child.
2
Rachel had forgotten the profusion of flowers to be found in the garden at Belendroit. In summer Belendroit was at its best with towering foxgloves, lupins, and wildflowers. Unhindered by pruning, the clematis had beaten the stranglehold of weeds to valiantly fight for space amid the wild garden. Its leaves tapped at the windows when a stray breeze took them, making the place feel alive. Beyond them, where the grass grew longer before disappearing into the trees, wildflowers grew—in all shades from bright orange and purple through to soft blue and white—rising on slender stalks, arching toward the sun. Rachel had been here several months now and had only in the last few days—since her afternoon with Zane—noticed the profusion of color and scent. How had she missed seeing it all before?
She lifted a bright orange wildflower that was in danger of bending too far toward the road and cupped it between her fingers, before smelling it. She grunted softly in surprise at the delicacy of such a wild thing, before resting it on a neighboring plant, and carried on walking up toward the house.
She was hot after her daily walk back from Akaroa. She’d been walking rather than taking her car for a week now, somehow managing to bump into Zane, accidentally on purpose, each time. Every day, at four in the afternoon, Zane would emerge from school as she called into the café to see Amber, or as she sat with a coffee looking out at the harbor and the summer visitors. Their conversations were always playful, fun, and increasingly flirtatious, making her feel young again somehow, even though Zane was a good four years older than her. There was something about being with him that took her out of herself, made her aware of things around her, and the sensations within her. And she couldn’t get enough of those feelings—nor him.
Rachel walked past her car, dusty after a week’s disuse, and up the veranda steps to where her father sat reading. He let his glasses drop on his nose and peered at her.