by Bowes, K T
“No, but you can break me with one look,” he whispered.
Hana winced as the baby latched on to her breast and fed hungrily. Logan’s masculine scent intoxicated her and she felt her resolve weaken. “I’m an outsider,” she mused, surprising herself at the random sentence which conveyed her fractured status within the Du Roses. “I don’t fit into your history.”
Logan shook his head and squatted next to her, his forearms on her knees. “No, Hana. You don’t know our history. That’s different to not fitting in. There’s generations of us twisted together like supplejack vine. How can you expect to unravel it in a year?”
Hana nodded, accepting his truth and picturing the brown vine which spread through the bush. Vigorous and hardy, it wound its way around the native plants, thwarted by nothing. “Sorry about before,” she relented. “I made a right mess of everything as usual.”
To her surprise, Logan wrinkled his nose and smiled. He sat on the arm of the chair, pulling Hana’s head against his waist and stroking her hair. He sighed. “She’ll be right,” he said.
Hana tried not to roll her eyes in exasperation at the Kiwi man’s mantra. They said it casually about burst pipes, missing children, not enough toilet roll in desperate circumstances and situations beyond their control. ‘Kiwi ingenuity’ they called it, but Hana wanted to rename it, ‘Kiwi stupidity’ because it made light of some enormous problems. “I hate that expression,” she grumbled.
“Now you’ve admitted it, I’ll say it more to annoy you,” Logan replied and Hana heard the smile in his voice.
“I might have to kill you,” she jested.
Logan snorted. “Then be careful where you bury my body. I know about the English fetish for burying spouses under patios so make sure it’s a damn long one.”
The spectre of death hushed the room with its black shroud and took Hana’s breath away, unexpected and grim. She bit her lip to give herself something else to focus on. “Has Michael left?” she asked, patting the baby’s delicate back.
“Na, they’re both downstairs having afternoon tea with your father and Elaine.”
Hana groaned. “Fancy falling asleep in the day,” she complained. “What must they think of me? They drove all this way to see me and I’ve been up here all afternoon.”
“Yeah, nana-naps aren’t usually your thing.” Logan’s breath whooshed against Hana’s hair. “That’s why I left you. It might be the stress recently. We’ll have a quiet couple of weeks and do whatever you feel like.” Logan kissed the top of her head, enjoying her scent and stroked his baby’s cheek with his free hand. Phoenix popped out of her mother’s tee shirt and beamed.
“Use it or lose it, baby,” Hana grumbled, not wanting to muck around. Phoenix took the hint and fed efficiently, collapsing afterwards and snoring in Hana’s arms. “Did Michael tell you Aroha’s pregnant?” Hana asked.
“No!” he said, his voice dull. He passed no comment and Hana didn’t have the energy to press him for a verdict.
Logan carried the baby downstairs and put her in the pram, wheeling it along to the family dining room.
“Ah, my dear!” Robert stood as Hana walked in, kissing her on the cheek and patting the chair beside him. Elaine sat on his other side and smiled fondly at Hana. The elderly couple looked happy and rested after the journey to the hotel.
“I feel awful for falling asleep,” Hana apologised and they waved it off indulgently. Michael nodded from across the table and Aroha looked sick again. Hana reached inside her jeans pocket and pulled out sachets of peppermint tea, pushing them across to the other woman. Aroha looked grateful, splashing hot water from the urn over one of them and sipping slowly.
“This is so generous of you, Logan,” Robert said in his brogue accent, “are you sure we can’t contribute?”
Michael looked up in surprise from his huge slab of fruit cake and had the decency to look guilty, Logan’s earlier words ringing in his ears. It wasn’t the Du Rose family home anymore; it was his business.
Logan shook his head at Robert, finishing his mouthful of apple. He sat with his other arm resting casually across the back of Hana’s chair and his cowboy boot across the bar underneath. “Actually, I’d welcome your advice about something. Hana says you’re a keen gardener and I’m trying to make a memorial garden. I’d be grateful for your help.”
Michael stopped chewing and looked at Logan sideways. Hana couldn’t read all the emotions in his face but he channelled a curious mix of jealousy and anger. Miriam’s absence as both mother and hotel house manager had created a different dynamic. The hotel was Logan’s domain and Michael struggled with the new era.
“I’d be delighted, my dear boy,” Robert gushed. “And Elaine’s something of an expert on different shrubs and bedding plants. We’d love to help you.”
“That’s great. I’ll take you up to the site one day next week. We can use the Jeep now the new road’s in.” He laughed at Hana, who pulled a face. “I always make my wife ride up.”
Elaine looked suitably relieved she wouldn’t have to straddle a horse and Robert giggled like a schoolboy, covertly spotting the look which crossed her face. Hana felt grateful for his happiness, the pain of her mother’s loss subdued by recent events. The elderly couple excused themselves and tottered upstairs to find walking shoes in their luggage.
“I gave your dad a map of the shorter bush walks,” Logan said, brushing a curl from Hana’s cheek as she pushed a scone around her plate. His brow knitted and he narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to go with them?” he asked.
“They didn’t invite me,” she said, sounding sad.
“Just tag along,” Logan suggested and Hana shook her head.
“I’ll get my feet up while Phoe’s asleep.” She punctuated her sentence with a yawn. “A foot massage might be nice.”
Logan bit his lip and smirked. Hana widened her eyes in mock horror and he ran his finger lightly down the back of her neck, smiling at the shiver it induced. “Let’s go then,” he said, moderating his enthusiasm with a sideways glance at Michael.
As Logan stood up, red stuff erupted down his tee shirt. He put his hand up to his nose, squeezing with his fingers and putting his head down. “Oh, crap! Not again.”
Hana dragged Phoenix’s towelling square from under the pram, glad it was clean as she held it up to Logan’s face. “try to contain it in this,” she said, wincing at the blood spatters around his feet.
Michael watched with clinical interest but Aroha looked sick again. Hana turned her back on them to shield some of the gore. Logan’s tee shirt soaked up the blood so quickly, it stuck to his chest and he pulled it away from his skin with his free hand.
“Hold on a sec,” Hana said, shifting the scarlet square of towel beneath the flow. She smirked. “You look like an axe murderer.” She saw only her husband’s eyes over the towel and he rolled them in an exaggerated movement, tugging at his shirt.
“Noo ssherrt,” he tried to tell her, his speech impeded by the blood and subsequent swelling. He tugged again and blood sprayed over Hana’s arms.
“Ok, ok,” she soothed. “I’ve got the message, but there’s not much point now; it’s ruined.”
Logan muttered something unintelligible and tugged again. Hana pulled at the hem and extracted his arms one by one as he swapped hands holding the towel. Blood marked the wooden floor making a dreadful, sticky sound as their feet moved over it. Aroha moved back in her chair to avoid the red spray, giving her a great view of Logan’s impressively muscular torso and first-hand sighting of the dreadful scar which snaked its way up the side of his body. It was ugly and gnarled looking and Hana heard the other woman’s reaction as Aroha’s breath caught in her throat. Hana gritted her teeth, cursing the tactless reaction. A glance at Logan found him oblivious, his face pushed into the crimson towel.
Aroha put her hand up to her mouth and Hana moved to block her from view, knowing how self-conscious he was. Michael observed the scar with a surgeon’s eye, but his interest strayed towards the tattoo o
n Logan’s upper arm and shoulder. In blocking Aroha, Hana opened a clear line of sight for Michael. The tee shirt hung limply in Hana’s hand and she stroked Logan’s hair away from his eyes. “You ok?” she whispered and her husband nodded, squinting through one eye as the constant blood flow swelled his tortured blood vessels and induced a headache.
Hana eyed the pram and the route to the doorway which took her past Michael and she caught the smirk on his face as he read the lines of ruined genealogy on his half-brother’s skin. Hana’s eyes narrowed in dismay at the ugly grin of victory. He looked thrilled that Logan’s whakapapa was wrong and she bristled with anger and loyalty. She glared into his grey eyes and saw his expression alter, moving from amusement to rage in an instant.
At first, Hana couldn’t work out why and glanced at Logan in confusion. In beautiful, gothic font, the words, Hana – Phoenix – Tama Du Rose wrapped around Logan’s bulging bicep with a flourish. Michael’s eyes became gimlet hard and he stood, flexing his fists. Hana felt the danger descend over the room as rage filled Michael’s face. His jawline grew granite hard and Hana saw his teeth grind beneath the skin of his cheek. Logan wasn’t in any position to defend himself and Hana yanked on his arm with urgency. “Let’s get to the bathroom,” she hissed. “We need to move.”
Logan saw nothing, his head bowed and his face shrouded in the towel. He trusted Hana and moved forwards at her direction. Sweat beaded on Michael’s forehead as he stoked himself into a frenzy of jealousy and panic rose in Hana’s chest. She yanked on Logan’s wrist and the towel came away from his nose, pebbling the floor with droplets of blood. Hana eyed her pram on the opposite side of the table, conflicted between her baby and husband. If she got Logan safely to the door, she could go back for Phoenix. They shuffled around the table towards the door, Hana passing Michael first and keeping herself between him and Logan.
His face looked possessed as he drew back his fist, his face curled into a demonic snarl. Rage blinded him to the slender redhead between him and the half-brother who owned everything including his bastard son. Aroha cried out in fear. “Michael! No!”
Hana reacted, throwing the dregs from Aroha’s mint tea into Michael’s eyes and causing him to splutter and cough. She shoved Logan towards the doorway, dropped the empty mug on the table and seized the cake plate. She delivered a fantastic backhand into Michael’s face with brute force, amazed the plate remained intact. Michael grunted and covered his face with his hands in self-defence as Hana risked a second swing, hearing the dull thud as the robust china clanged against his knuckles.
“Hana?” Logan’s face channelled horror as the towel dripped onto the floor and his wife gulped and ran her hand over the floral design.
“I always loved this set,” she said and hefted it with a flourish. Logan watched in amazement as Hana wedged the edge of the plate against Michael’s throat and leaned in close. “Try that again and I’ll hurt you worse!” she hissed.
The pained look on Michael’s face spoke volumes but Hana hadn’t finished. Logan continued to produce a red waterfall and recovered his face with the towel, stifling a snort of hilarity. He heard Hana get up into Michael’s face and spit out the word, “Coward!” through gritted teeth.
Hana seized the pram handle on her way through and somehow acquired a sobbing Aroha. With pounding heart and shaking hands she guided her entourage towards the lift, leaving a bright red trail guaranteed to upset Leslie. In the bedroom she pushed Logan into the bathroom, parked Phoenix by the dresser and plonked Aroha back in the armchair by the window.
As her anger dissipated and her energy levels plummeted earthwards, Hana eyed the bed with a desperate gaze. “I’ll be bloody glad when today’s over,” she sighed.
Chapter 28
“I can’t believe this,” Aroha sobbed. “How could I make this mistake again?” She clutched her stomach and bent herself double in the armchair. “I’m so stupid.”
“Don’t say that,” Hana soothed. “It’s not good for the baby to get so upset.” Poor Aroha continued to cry. Michael had portrayed himself as the debonair doctor and then descended into the egotistical male stereotype and his girlfriend reeled from the shock. “I thought he was different to Kane,” she howled. “But they’re all the bloody same!”
“No, they aren’t,” Hana asserted, rocking the pram to keep Phoenix asleep. “Logan isn’t.”
“He was going to hit Logan!” Aroha sniffed. “That wasn’t just inappropriate, it was unfair!”
Hana watched the distraught woman rock herself and mustered the energy to behave with compassion. Tiredness dragged at her feet as she fought to control the situation. Logan splashed around in the shower, washing the blood from his face and torso and Hana smiled in all the right places. Aroha lost everything in her flight from Kane, not only her baby son but her sanity and self-respect. “I’m done with all of them,” she declared. “It’s over!” Remembering her unborn child, Aroha sobbed at the cruel twist of fate which left her in exactly the same mess as two decades previously.
Hana checked on Logan, finding him naked and his clothes partly rinsed out in the shower tray. “You ok?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He nodded, stuffing cotton wool into his nostrils.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Hana sighed and he raised his eyebrows in a half grin.
“Do you realise that you say that every time?”
Hana closed the door and leaned against it, watching her husband’s reflection in the mirror.
“Stop checking me out,” he said, turning so she could enjoy the full effect.
“Can if I want to,” Hana leered, drawing a snort from him. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.
“We?” Logan gave her a cynical look and Hana groaned.
“Fine, me then. What am I gonna do?”
Logan grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. “What the hell happened?” he asked. “One minute I’m blinded by blood and the next, you’re threatening Michael having thrown cake all over the table.”
Hana gave the cotton wool walrus tusks a curious look, smiling indulgently but offering no explanation. Logan rolled his eyes. “I need my clothes; is she planning on staying in there all day?”
“Don’t be mean,” Hana sighed, pulling the door open.
Aroha saw Logan’s muscular body partly clad in his towel and rose to leave. She wiped her hand across her eyes. “I should leave; I’m sorry. Do you think a taxi would come this far out?”
Hana shook her head. “I don’t think so. How far do you need to go?”
“Auckland.” Aroha bit her lip.
Logan stood in the doorway, drying his hair on a hand towel. “Stay here tonight,” he said, his voice authoritative but unthreatening. “I’ll get someone to drive you home tomorrow.”
Hana nodded. “That’s a great idea. Logan, do you know the keypad number for Barry’s old room?”
He recalled it instantly; his mathematical brain impressing Hana and producing a smile of approval. She led Aroha down the hall, installing her in the spacious bedroom of a boy who died young. Barry Du Rose slipped into death as violently as he had lived his life, his organs shutting down one by one as he bled out inexplicably.
“It’s a beautiful room,” Aroha sniffed and Hana agreed. “Shame Barry Du Rose was such an arsehole.”
“Oh.” Hana’s lips parted in amusement. “I didn’t know him.”
“But you’ve heard, right?” Aroha said, pulling open the drapes to reveal a room decorated in a classical theme. “I bet they’re all too superstitious to use it,” Aroha sniffed. She admired the pretty pale green colours with contrasting cream duvet cover and curtains. “At least I know Michael will stay away.” Another round of tears sprang from her eyes.
“Think of your baby,” Hana told her. She made Aroha a drink and settled her on the bed before excusing herself to return to her husband.
In the hallway outside she ran into Michael. “Don’t t
ouch me!” Hana snapped, distaste evident in her face. He put his hands up as though to defend himself and apologised.
“Please, I’m sorry; I don’t know what came over me. You know I’m not like that. Can I see Logan and explain?”
“No way!” Hana exclaimed. “You aren’t coming near my husband! Luckily for you, he didn’t see your ridiculous behaviour. Why don’t you devote your time to Aroha, who’s now terrified of you, stupid little man!”
Michael groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I saw ‘Tama’ written on his arm next to your baby and it hurt.”
“What’s your problem?” Hana raged. “You’re like a spoiled brat who wants everything Logan has; it’s pathetic.”
“But Tama’s my son!” Michael put his hands on his hips and towered over Hana. She saw the beginnings of bruising on his throat and forehead and took a step forward, seeing his cowardly demeanour return.
“And you gave him nothing!” she bit. “Logan loves Tama and always showed him a father’s love. He belongs to us now so get over it. You just can’t bear Logan to take something else you believe is yours. Do everyone a favour and grow up, Michael. You make me sick with your juvenile rivalry. Just go home!”
“You can’t make me,” Michael spat and Hana’s green eyes flashed with the force of the dare.
“Can’t I?” A wicked smile touched her lips as she accepted the dare. “I can call any of the stock men and they’ll throw you out of here without asking why. Is that what you want?” Hana reached into her pocket for her mobile phone and Michael took a step back.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Hana unlocked the screen and he relented with surprising speed.
“Don’t! Please, don’t.”
Hana turned and stalked back to her bedroom, hearing Michael knocking on Barry’s old bedroom door. She let herself into the room and leaned against the door with a sigh, dreading dinner time with a passion.
“Trouble?” Logan asked and Hana shook her head.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
Logan pointed at his clean jeans and then wrinkled his nose. “I’m trying to pluck up the courage to put on a clean tee shirt.” The walrus tusks still dangled from his nose, streaked with bright red blood.