Her eyes twinkled; a soft blush touched her cheek. She’d just mirrored everything he was thinking. She still wanted him—badly, if her reaction to his kiss today was anything to go by…and her words.
Was she letting him know that she’d take what he was willing to give?
Parents who couldn’t stay together eventually became friends; it happened all the time. He’d been friends with Jen first, before love came along quietly, natural and sweet; then urgency had come for them in its time. But he couldn’t even think of Laila without burning for her. The urgency was always there, the wanting and need, and he had a feeling it would last a lifetime.
Pain slashed across him, but it was more like whacking a scar than tearing at an open wound…even the guilt at the thought hurt less—but he didn’t want to forget. Never.
“You need the rest, with this little guy.” He rubbed her belly; but instead of fatherly tenderness, he felt the forbidden fire streak through every nerve ending. Touching Laila. “Go,” he said, his voice strangled.
The light in her eyes dimmed. She turned and walked out of the stables, holding the small of her back with one hand.
Resisting the urge to follow her, to massage her obvious discomfort away, he turned back to the horses and unsaddled them, hung up the saddles, blankets and bridles and prepared to currycomb them before he went in for dinner.
“I want to talk with you.” Brian Robbins’s voice came from right behind him.
His boss didn’t sound belligerent, just determined. Jake suppressed a sigh. “Of course, sir.” He put down the brush and soapy water bucket and turned to the man who’d given him a place to hide from the past the last year. “What can I do for you?”
Robbins’s weatherbeaten face held the same determination as his voice. His hands splayed across his hips. “I’ve tried to be patient with you, to let you do the right thing in your time, but I want to know when you’re going to tell my girl the truth about who you are. I want to know when you’ll take her home to Burrabilla to meet your family.”
The shock raced along every nerve ending to his fingertips. Suspecting Laila’s father knew the truth was one thing; hearing the name of his home on the older man’s lips made him fling up a hand in instinctive denial. “Sir—”
“Don’t. I knew your father. You look more like your mother, but the Sutherland stamp is unmistakable.” Robbins swatted Jake’s hand until he allowed it to fall. “I’ve known you were the missing Sutherland heir since you started here. I’ve minded my own business, even when you got my girl pregnant and still didn’t tell her. I gave you time to get her to come to your way of thinking. She’s a strong-minded girl, my Laila.”
“You’ve got that right,” Jake muttered, pulling off his hat and twirling it on his finger. He hesitated a moment, then asked, “Does she know anything about me?”
“Are you asking if she’s heard the gossip concerning the deaths of your wife and daughter?” Robbins asked, his voice rough with unspoken sympathy. “Not through us—but apart from that, I couldn’t tell you. We’re a long way from Burrabilla and the Outback’s a big place. What’s more, she spent most of her time on school breaks doing what work experience she could get. If she knows, she hasn’t shared it with us.”
Jake had wheeled away with the first mention of his past. “You knew, and let me stay here?” he asked, his voice strangled.
Brian’s gaze was puzzled. “You thought I’d drive you out of here, away from Laila and your own child, because of a tragic accident?”
Jake’s shoulders slumped. He couldn’t speak; it was all he could do to stop the tears burning his eyes at a hundred and eighty degrees.
The gentle hand on his shoulder startled him. “Son, I think you’ve suffered enough for one lifetime. Shed the weight, boy. Tell Laila, and see what she says.”
All Jake could do was shake his head. He knew what his feisty, giving Laila would say…and until he could feel he deserved that redemption, he couldn’t reach out. No matter if he was dying inside a little more every day without her…
“Jake—is that what you’re really called?”
Jake nodded. “My dad was John. Jacob is my middle name.” His voice was husky.
“Okay, then. Jake.” The hand on his shoulder tightened a little. “Jake, have you always been this unforgiving to yourself? Or do you apply higher standards to yourself than to the rest of the human race? No wonder your kindness to Laila always comes out a little on the tough side.”
Frowning, Jake muttered, “You don’t understand.”
“Son, my first wife died because we were far from help when she had an accident. Who can understand better?”
Brian’s voice was restrained, tight, and still, despite his happiness with Marcie, held love for his long-dead wife as he spoke.
“Minette’s been gone twenty-one years this March, and I still hurt—I still remember. So I do understand, Jake…and Marcie understands and appreciates that. There’s nothing to say Laila won’t understand if you tell her. It might help your situation.”
Jake turned his head to face Brian. “Why?”
Brian made a rueful face. “She’s not stupid, you know—far from it. She knows something is driving you to act the way you do, but it’s hurting her. I know you want her trust—but why should she trust you with her future, when you won’t trust her with your past?”
Jake almost choked as a ball of pain came burning up from his chest.
“Think about it,” Brian said, very quiet and serious. “It took me a long time, too—but when you do, the results could surprise you. It might be better than you think.”
All Jake could do was shake his head. How could things ever get better? How could he let things get better? To do so was to betray Jenny and Annabel’s memory.
Brian sighed. “When you’re as old as me, you’ll know that finding love again doesn’t discount the love you knew before—and living in apology won’t bring them back. Refusing to live does nothing for them but discredit what you had. I know that, too.”
The pain in his throat was like a band constricting him from speech; the knot in his gut just twisted tighter and tighter…and Brian just stood there, waiting. Finally he said the only thing that came to mind. “I have to get the horses done.”
A tired sigh came from behind him. The hand fell from his shoulder. “It won’t bring them back, son,” Brian said quietly, and left the stables; and Jake turned back to Starfire’s flanks, brushing down by rote. The action soothed him, its familiarity, but he didn’t see the animal. He didn’t see Jenny’s lovely face smiling at him, either, or even in her final hour of agony.
All he could see was the two graves he hadn’t visited since the funerals.
Laila sighed and rolled over again. 2:14 a.m. and she hadn’t slept more than half an hour.
The discomfort from the baby’s stretching left her restless, unable to find that deep, refreshing sleep she’d once fallen into with little trouble. She wandered in and out of vivid dreams that meant nothing, but left her disoriented and on edge.
Stupid just lying here, with this useless sense of waiting for something to happen…and she was hungry anyway.
She tossed off the covers—the nights were turning cool from hot days, as only Outback nights could do. Pulling on a terry robe, she padded downstairs to the kitchen.
The bananas were green, as were the apples, and she only liked red ones. Sighing, she headed for the fridge to pour a glass of milk.
A soft voice echoed across the big, empty kitchen. “You okay, darling?”
Laila turned to her stepmother, smiling. “I woke up hungry.” She held up her glass.
“That’s not enough. Nighttime hungries mean you need protein—water if you’re not pregnant.” Marcie bustled over to the fridge and pulled out two eggs. “Scrambled?”
Laila shuddered as she sat at the scratched kitchen table. “Sorry, Marcie, the thought of butter.”
Marcie smiled at her, and got out a saucepan instead. “Poa
ched, then—you can’t get blander than that.” She set about cooking.
Knowing this was Marcie’s domain, Laila didn’t try to stop her. As the youngest child, she had become Marcie’s daughter too many years ago. She would have called her Mum, but for Dar’s pain when she’d tried. When eleven-year-old Laila had shed tears of distress, Marcie had taken her upstairs to her room, and gently explained that though Dar loved her, he hadn’t forgotten Laila’s real mother, either. “Though you call me Marcie, I’ll know you mean Mum,” she’d whispered, smiling and kissing her tenderly.
She was shaken out of her reverie by a plate being set before her at the table. “Eat, sweetie—and when you’re done, maybe you can tell me what’s bothering you.”
Laila shot Marcie a grateful look. “Thank you. Maybe I will.” She chewed her food slowly, unsure if it would help or give her indigestion. Everything pretty much seemed to do that these days.
Through the west-facing French doors behind the table, in the half-moon’s gentle but clear light, something moved.
Laila frowned and narrowed her eyes to focus, wishing she’d brought down her study glasses. Usually the night was still out here, only trees swaying if there was a breeze. Of course, it could be a kangaroo, but she thought it looked human.
The movement came again, coming closer. It wasn’t frightening, but Laila’s awareness grew with every movement; the sense of waiting for something crystalized. He turned a little, just into the light, and she could feel him there, watching over her and the baby.
Marcie stood behind her chair. “It’s him,” she said softly, confirming her heart’s belief. “I’ve seen him before at night. He doesn’t seem to sleep much.”
She could hear the smile in Marcie’s voice, but Laila couldn’t tear her gaze from the shadowy figure. Why was he watching the light without coming in? Surely from where he stood he could see her clearly…
As if compelled beyond her will and reason, she pushed her chair back, opened the doors and walked out to him.
Barefoot, the cool night breeze washed over her feet and legs; the moonlight, filtered through the windbreaker ghost gums, was eerie and cold. She shivered, and shivered again, but kept moving toward where he watched her and waited.
When she reached him, he pulled off his jacket and put it around her shoulders without saying a word, while Laila tried to find the right words to say.
“You’ll be cold,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
It does to me.
But he wouldn’t accept words of caring from her. Why was it that everything she wanted to say seemed taboo?
Finally she gave up and blurted out the wrong words. “Do you always watch the house—watch over me—at night?”
“I don’t sleep much. Two, maybe three hours.” Another shrug, as if that, too, didn’t matter.
“Why? Do you feel the need to protect us night and day?”
His jaw hardened, but eventually, when she waited in silence, he inclined his head.
“Jimmy left tonight,” she said quietly, not knowing why.
“I saw.”
She whispered, looking up into that face as beautiful and cold as the night, “Will you ever tell me why, Jake?”
They both knew she wasn’t talking about Jimmy’s departure.
“Have you talked to your father tonight?”
Surprised by the tautness of his voice, she tilted her head, in obvious enquiry, but he didn’t say more. She knew he wouldn’t.
“Good night.” She turned to the house. “Go back to your room. I’m fine, apart from being hungry.”
“Laila.” His voice was commanding.
She shook her head. “Don’t, Jake. Whatever it is, I’m too tired to hear it.” She took a step, two, then remembered his jacket, and peeled it off.
He caught the jacket as she threw it. “Laila, we need to talk.”
Shaking now with a fury she hadn’t known she was capable of, she wheeled back. “Oh, so now he wants to talk? Are you going to talk, or is it all up to me, as usual? Am I expected to give all of myself, while you give nothing?”
He stood very still and quiet. Just watching her.
“How unusual,” she mocked under her breath. “I’m tired of doing all the talking.”
“Laila.” The word seemed grated out of his throat. “Can’t you see I’m trying here?”
“Yes—but for every step forward you take, you end up taking another two backward.” Her eyes were burning. She rubbed at her cheek with a fist she only knew was clenched at that moment. “Waiting for you to see me is like waiting for the drought to break.”
His eyes blazed. “I see you.”
When she blinked hard, she felt the tears fall in tiny drips. “Then why do I feel invisible? Why is it that whenever you look at me, I think you’re wishing she was alive, and you were with her instead of me?”
In the white-and-gray light he should have seemed godlike, carved from marble—that was the way she’d always seen him—but this night, this moment, all she saw was the man: a man trying so hard to break free from his self-imposed prison, but no longer knowing how he’d built it. A man lost in a maze of old choices, old loves—of memory.
Her gaze fell from his face, before love and compassion entwined so intricately she would be in a prison of her own. “I can’t wait for you anymore.”
He lifted a hand to her in silent plea. “Laila.” His voice cracked.
She shook her head. “I can’t.” And she turned toward the house, her heart pounding so hard, aching so much, she almost couldn’t breathe.
“I need you.”
Laila halted midstep at the voice: the voice of the night she’d gone to him—the stark yearning she hadn’t heard in his voice in months. Her eyes closed over; a gasp of air from lungs suddenly unfrozen hurt her. Oh, how she ached and burned to answer his call. He needs me.
A tiny whisper came from somewhere deep inside, from everything that made her a woman. “I can’t keep hoping, can’t keep waiting for you, risking it all and getting nothing, always shut out of your life. It’s over.”
“Laila! Laila, no! Wait!”
She shook her head, and strode toward the house.
Within moments he’d caught up to her, and he swung her around to face him, holding her up. “It’s not over,” he snarled, his hands holding her against him. His face was so close that everything but his eyes was a blur, but his intensity zapped through her like a surging current. “It’ll never be over. Damn it, you woke me up from a five-year sleep, made me ache and hunger and want. You can’t walk away now. I won’t let you!”
His mouth crashed down on hers with the final word—but Laila refused to respond, no matter how badly she hungered to give in.
This moment—everything he’d said—was too important to let him distract her now.
She struggled against him until he let her go. “You’ve woken up? You want something from me besides the baby? Prove it,” she cried. “I can find a guy at the local pub to kiss me if I want. I could get half a dozen guys around here to marry me if marriage was all I was after. Give me a reason why I should choose you!”
Standoff. His shutters crashed down as his mouth had on hers moments before. His body, stiff and cold and half-averted, screamed his rejection louder than any words could.
Aching, she wanted nothing more than to curl in a ball and cry him right out of her life—but he’d never let her go, not with their child binding them. She lifted her chin and looked into his eyes, just as cold. “Check and mate. Don’t bother me again until the baby’s born. You have rights to him, but none to me. None.”
And she turned for the house once more.
“Laila!” An imperative call came from the house. Marcie. “Laila, come quickly!”
Imagining she’d fallen and hurt herself, Laila bolted homeward. “Marcie? Marcie, are you okay?” she cried as she raced through the double French doors.
“I’m fine,” her stepmother pant
ed, looking frazzled—not a state the unflappable Marcie was often in. “The Appleyards’ prize mare’s foaling, and the foal is breech. Nothing they’ve tried has worked, she’s bleeding and Dave Randall’s already on an urgent call to the Brenners. They desperately need help.” Marcie gave her a swift, uncertain look. “They’ve asked for you.”
About to bolt upstairs, she stopped and turned back. “Marcie, they’re aware I can only help in an unofficial capacity? I’m not qualified, and if I help, it’s at their own risk?”
Marcie nodded. “Did you think I wouldn’t protect you, sweetie? They know the risks. You’re there to help out, not as a qualified vet—and they’re sending a fax as we speak to that effect, signed by both Appleyards.”
“Tell them I’m on my way, then.” Elated and unsure at once, she strode past Marcie to her room. “I’ll get dressed. Get my kit out, will you, and the silken ropes and the birthing harness—and call one of the boys to pack the light plane with my gear and have it ready for takeoff. Ask the Appleyards to have the airstrip clear.”
A deep voice, one laced with fear yet reassurance, came from the direction of the French doors. “I’ll fly you there. Don’t worry about her, Marcie, I’ll be with her the whole time.”
“Why am I not surprised about that?” she muttered. Since someone had to fly her there, she didn’t answer, just passed through the door to the stairway.
Four Tree Run, Outback New South Wales
“Come on, little one, please,” Laila was begging the orphaned foal that was refusing to drink the milk from a mare rubbed over with her dead mother’s skin. “Please, baby, just drink. Your mother would want you to live, sweetheart, please!”
Weak, standing on shaking legs, the foal had turned her head from the mare’s offered sustenance, after Laila had once again rubbed the teat with the mare’s skin.
The unreality of the situation the night before had long since turned grim. Walking through the cool, starlit night and through the big, wooden double doors to the warmth of a fire and quiet, dim-lit darkness and people hunched over something lying in the hay in the middle of the stables, it almost looked like a divinity play to Jake.
Harlequin Romance Bundle: Crowns and Cowboys Page 27