by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo
Typical martial arts solution. ‘There’s the telegraph pole.’
‘Perfect. You’ll feel much better afterwards. Call me from the hospital.’
‘I was wondering,’ he said doggedly, ‘if you ever managed to get Jianna out of your head.’ They’d never talked about Jake’s ill-fated marriage, not once. He’d never known how.
‘You want my advice? All right, then, you’ve got it. Walk away. Stay away.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘You don’t want to hear my answer to that question.’
‘I think I do,’ he said quietly.
He didn’t think his brother was going to answer. He’d pushed too far. And then Jake spoke.
‘You want to know if I still bleed? If I still think of Ji every day and dream of her at night? The answer’s no.’ And with a dark and biting humour, ‘Sometimes I go days without thinking of her at all.’
Tristan was dreaming of the dockyards of Prague and a decision he’d taken too long to make. Again.
He woke in a lather of sweat and a tangle of sheets, with his heart thudding in his chest and his soul full of bile. He shoved the sheet aside, flicked the bedside lamp on, and sat there on the side of the bed, breathing hard. When was he ever going to make peace with these memories? How was he ever going to shake them loose?
They’d said it wasn’t his fault. That he’d played it by the book, and that much was true. He’d played it straight down the line, both the undercover work and the takedown. He hadn’t known what was in that container, he couldn’t have known. And still the nightmares came.
A shower would help, he thought wearily, and with his next breath wondered if taking a shower at this time of the morning would wake Erin. No. The shower was adjacent to his room, not hers. He would be quiet. He would sluice away the sweat and the memories and by the time he was clean he’d have thought of something else to do with the rest of this night.
The water was hot but the spray was weak and he stood there beneath it, wishing it were fiercer while his heartbeat steadied and he shoved those memories back in their box. By the time he’d tugged on a pair of track pants and padded downstairs he was almost back in control. He headed towards the kitchen for something to eat, belatedly wondering why the light was on. He’d been the last to bed and he’d turned that light off; he could have sworn he’d turned it off.
He had. Someone else had turned it back on.
‘Morning,’ said Erin, abandoning her latest design in favour of taking a good long look at Tristan. He looked tired, she thought. Defeated. His demons were riding him hard.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said abruptly.
Not exactly the warmest of greetings, but then, she hadn’t expected one. ‘I had some designs I wanted to get down on paper,’ she said by way of explanation, and it was true to a point. She had been working on her designs. But she’d been waiting for Tristan.
He looked at the drawings, looked at her. ‘At four-thirty a.m.?’
She shrugged. ‘Why not? I was awake.’
‘I’m sorry if I woke you,’ he said awkwardly, and she bled for him even as she cursed his reticence.
‘Kettle’s boiled,’ she said, indicating the cup of hot tea in front of her. ‘And last night’s leftovers are in the oven.’
‘You’re feeding me?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Are you sure?’ he muttered. ‘It feels like you’re feeding me.’
‘I didn’t cook it so it doesn’t count.’ Tristan’s hair was tousled, he was shirtless again, and she tried to ignore the quickening of her blood and the warmth that blossomed low in her belly when she looked at him. She knew the feel of him now, knew it and craved it, but she wasn’t out to seduce him. She wanted to help him. ‘Do you have them every night?’
‘Showers?’
‘Nightmares.’
His silence spoke volumes.
‘You want to talk about it?’
‘No.’
‘Ever heard the one about problems shared?’
‘I’ve heard it,’ he said. ‘I just don’t hold to it.’
Erin smiled ruefully. ‘Yeah, well, maybe that’s your problem.’ She’d been expecting him to shut her out. She was used to it and not just from him. From her father. From Rory…Talking through their troubles wasn’t an option and it wasn’t just a gender thing. It was a warrior thing. ‘Tough guy.’
‘Not even close.’
So vulnerable, she thought with a catch in her throat. So heartbreakingly defiant as he stood there like some dark angel and dared her to breach his defences. His demons were his own; he would not share them. And still she tried to reach him. She was a warrior’s daughter; she could do nothing less. ‘Any ideas on how to make those nightmares go away?’
He reached for a glass, filled it with tap water and drank deeply. Stonewalling her deliberately, she thought with a sigh.
‘I’m thinking of handing in my resignation,’ he said gruffly. ‘Finding another job.’
Erin blinked and leaned back in her chair. Not what she’d expected to hear. And not what she thought would help him, for all that the notion appealed mightily to her. ‘Do you really think that’s going to help?’
Tristan shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘What would you do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What about internal transfer options?’
‘Desk jobs,’ he muttered.
‘No one works on the frontline for ever,’ she said carefully. ‘How long have you been there?’
Silence.
Too long, she thought as she stood and headed towards the oven, hoping that the aroma pervading the room meant that the food was hot enough to serve because it was either feed him or take him in her arms and soothe his hurt in a different way. ‘I think it’s ready,’ she said as she took the dishes from the oven.
‘Are you sure you’re not feeding me?’
‘Don’t dwell on it.’
‘What if I put the food on the plates?’ he said. ‘That might help.’
Only to make her want him more. But she let him do it anyway, careful to keep some distance between them as she picked up her loaded plate and took it to the table. Food was good. Food occupied hands that could otherwise be engaged in touching and caressing. ‘Are you planning on getting any more sleep tonight?’ she asked him between mouthfuls of lukewarm fried rice.
‘No.’
‘And we’re done talking about work options?’
‘If there’s a God.’
She ignored his fervour and concentrated on the big picture. Eating would take all of ten minutes. After that it’d be her, Tristan, a motel suite, and three empty beds. ‘The thing is, I’m experiencing a powerful need to help you take your mind off your troubles,’ she confessed. ‘I have a couple of options I think you might be interested in.’
‘I’m listening,’ he said.
‘We pack up and drive. Move on. Men like running from their problems.’
Tristan ignored the jibe. His thoughts had taken a sensual turn as he imagined another way in which Erin might think of to ease his troubled mind. A timeless, instinctive way. ‘What’s the second option?’
‘Of course, we’d have to backtrack a bit.’
He was already there. Back at the hot pool, right where they’d left off. With Erin in his arms and a fire in his blood.
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to go rock climbing?’
Chapter Seven
‘GOOD thing we didn’t take the climbing option,’ said Erin some two hours later as they drove towards Inverell. She was in the passenger seat, bright-eyed and clearly in the mood for conversation, which suited Tristan just fine. He wasn’t against small talk as such. Just so long as he didn’t have to provide it.
‘I was thinking Cornerstone Rib because it’s a brilliant climb no matter how experienced you are,’ she continued. ‘But it’s a two hour walk-in from the closest car park and over two hundred metres of vertica
l. Then there’s the descent. It can get slippery in the rain, and Lord knows it’s raining now.’
This was true. Wind whipped at the car and the wipers struggled to keep water off the windscreen. The weather had turned mean. ‘What else do you do in your spare time?’ he asked her as he checked to see if the windscreen wipers could go any faster. They couldn’t.
‘You mean besides scale vertical crags and drive thousands of miles in search of gemstones?’ She paused to consider. ‘Movies are good. And Rory’s talking about rally-car driving. That could be fun. Matter of fact that might be something you should consider. Some sort of car racing.’
He’d considered it. For a few years there he’d considered nothing else, but in the end he’d gone a different way. ‘You mean as a vocation?’
‘I mean as a sport. Something simple to take the edge off the stress that comes with your real work.’
‘You think car racing is simple?’
‘Well, yeah.’ She slid him an impish smile. ‘You get in a car, you drive very fast and you win. How hard can it be?’
‘Harder than that,’ he said dryly.
‘All the better,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Seriously, you need to find a way to relax. Maybe you could go to the raceway when we get back to Sydney. Take a test drive or something.’
‘Let me get this straight. You’re against the armed forces—and policing for that matter—because of the dangers involved but you encourage mountaineering and motor sports? I don’t get it.’
‘I’m not against someone choosing a dangerous occupation for a living,’ she said loftily. ‘I’m against secrecy, the tyranny of distance, and putting duty to country or mankind before family.’
‘You don’t think duty to country or mankind is important?’
‘I didn’t say that. Someone’s got to do it. I appreciate that.’
‘Just not your someone.’
‘Exactly. And don’t you look at me like that. I gave at the office.’
And every step of the way throughout her childhood, he thought, remembering her seafaring father. He knew how much the absence of a parent could colour a lifetime, knew that the scars she carried were real for all that they were internal. ‘I’m not looking at you like that,’ he said gently.
‘And don’t you pity me either!’
No. It would be a mistake to do that. But he did think he’d just gained a slightly deeper understanding of her. ‘So what kind of someone are you looking for?’
‘One who loves me and isn’t afraid to admit it.’
Ouch. ‘Besides that.’
‘One who’s in our relationship for the long haul,’ she said next. ‘I want laughter, even if it’s sometimes mixed with tears. I want a lifetime of it.’
‘What if it’s not working out?’
‘Then we both give a little more, bend a little more, and we make it work out.’
‘What about money?’
‘Money is good but it’s optional. Workaholics need not apply. I can contribute to moneymaking endeavours.’
‘What about military men? Can they apply?’
‘No. Their passion for their work is admirable and they have many fine qualities but the cost to their families is unacceptable. I won’t be shut out,’ she said fiercely. ‘I refuse to be.’
‘Even if it’s for your own good?’
‘Do I look like a powder-puff to you? Do I look like I need protecting?’
He slid her a sideways glance. ‘Yes.’
‘Excuse me?’ Her eyes narrowed and if she hadn’t been sitting in the passenger seat he was pretty sure her hands would have gone to her hips. ‘This is a size thing, isn’t it?’
‘No.’ It was far more complicated than that. ‘It’s an instinctive thing. Men protect what they cherish.’
‘And women nurture what they love!’
‘I think this is where the “give and take” philosophy comes into play,’ he said dryly.
Erin scowled. ‘Yeah, well, there’s a lot to be said for a passionate, no-strings-attached and extremely short-lived love affair these days too.’
‘Hell!’ He rounded a curve at speed, overcorrected, and the car almost ended up in a ditch. ‘Can Interpol cops apply for those?’
It was mid-afternoon before they reached Inverell. The streets were wide country thoroughfares and the architecture of the older buildings was early colonial, but the rest of it was a mixture of modern architectural styles and the city centre was armed with every convenience. Built on the back of sapphire-mining and agriculture, Inverell had grown big enough to hold its own.
Choosing a motel was harder this time but eventually Tristan pulled into the one deemed most suitable by them both; the one with undercover parking next to the reception area and carports next to each room.
‘We need a couple of rooms for the night,’ Erin told the young girl behind the reception desk as she ran her hands up and down her arms. It was cold in Inverell. Far colder than in Lightning Ridge.
‘Adjoining?’
‘Er…’ Erin slid him a sideways glance.
‘Separate,’ he said. He couldn’t do another night that close to Erin and not take her. He knew he couldn’t. And for all her fast talk of a passionate, no strings attached and extremely short-lived love affair, he knew damn well that it wouldn’t satisfy her. When Erin Sinclair gave, she gave everything. She deserved a man who could give something back.
‘Rooms number eighteen and nineteen are free,’ said the girl, ‘and you won’t get soaked bringing your stuff in.’ She reached to one side for the keys as Erin filled in the paperwork. Tristan busied himself by picking up a brochure on sapphire mines in the area. He still didn’t like it that she was paying for the accommodation. ‘Are you interested in sapphires?’ asked the girl as she turned back around and handed him a key, placing the other one on the bench next to Erin. ‘We have some very reputable mining operations hereabouts. Here,’ she said, picking up a flyer and handing it to him. ‘This one’s open today and they’re having a sale.’
‘Why the sale?’ he asked.
‘No idea,’ she said. ‘They’re just having one.’
‘What are the regular prices like?’ asked Erin.
‘It’s popular with locals; that’s always a good sign,’ said the girl with a grin. ‘I got my engagement ring there.’ She held out her hand to show them the ring.
‘It’s lovely,’ said Erin, leaning forward to examine it more closely even as Tristan took a hearty step back. ‘Congratulations on your engagement.’
The girl beamed. ‘We didn’t want to spend much cause we’re saving for a house, but I wanted something I could look at in fifty years time and still love as much as the man who gave it to me.’
‘That’s the master plan.’ Erin’s smile was wistful.
‘About those rooms…’ he said.
‘Halfway along on your right,’ said the girl. ‘Checkout’s at eleven and let me know if you need anything meantime.’
‘Thanks.’ And because she really was a sweet kid, even if she was far too young to be getting married, ‘Nice ring.’
Tristan’s room was functional and impersonal. He’d stayed in hundreds of rooms just like it over the years. A bed was a bed. A room was a room. It had never bothered him before. But it bothered him now. There was no warmth in it, no welcome. No…Erin.
Damn but he had it bad.
Jake would tell him to run, he knew that already, and Pete would ask him what he was waiting for. Luke would ask him searching questions he didn’t want to answer—no way was he ringing Luke—and as for Hallie, there was no way he was calling her either. Hallie was crazy in love with her new husband and happier than he’d ever seen her…she’d be delighted that he’d finally let someone in.
As if he had a choice.
Erin knocked on Tristan’s door as soon as she’d unpacked. It was only three-thirty and she wanted to visit some sapphire mines before the end of the day. She was anxious to find what she needed. Anxious to be on her
way. She’d thought she could keep her distance from Tristan but, the more she knew of him, the harder it was. She’d thought she was resistant to such men. She’d thought he would keep his distance from her.
‘I’m just going for a drive out to this place with the sale on,’ she said when Tristan opened his door. ‘You don’t have to come, though. You’d probably rather stay here and catch up on some sleep.’ They’d been up so early and he’d done most of the driving—nasty, rainy-day driving. He looked exhausted.
‘I’ll come,’ he said.
‘No, really. I’m just going to browse. You don’t have to take your bodyguarding duties that seriously.’
‘I’ll come,’ he said in a way that warned the discerning listener to beware the steel beneath. And that was the end of that.
Twenty minutes later they pulled into the car park of Wallace Sapphires, a medium-sized mining operation with its own onsite shop. There was a ‘thirty per cent off marked price’ sign on the shopfront door. Thirty per cent off everything.
The woman who looked up at them from behind the counter as they entered had a faded loveliness that matched her vintage clothing. Her eyes were shrewd but her smile was friendly as she greeted them with an invitation to look around and call her if there was anything they wanted to take a closer look at.
‘I might get you to help me from the start,’ said Erin, skirting a large tank of brilliantly coloured tropical fish that held centre stage in the shop. She pulled the opals from their Ziploc pouch and set them on the counter. ‘I’m looking for sapphires the same colour as the blue in these opals. And I’m looking to buy in bulk.’
‘May I?’ The woman indicated a large magnifying glass set on a stand on the counter, and, at Erin’s nod, set the opals beneath it. She peered down at the opals. ‘They’re quite beautiful, aren’t they? Such a vivid blue.’ And with a sigh, ‘Most of our stones are darker. For this colour you really should be looking at Ceylon sapphires.’
‘I know.’ But she couldn’t afford Ceylon sapphires. Not in the quantities she was after. ‘I thought it was worth a try.’
‘We did find colour like this once,’ said the woman hesitantly. ‘Came from a seam my late husband discovered more than twenty years ago. Good-sized stones they were too, but a terror to cut. We left most of them in the rough.’