Blazing Fear

by Leisl Leighton

  He’d do anything to make certain Prita and her little boy were safe.

  ***

  Prita listened to the chatter of the boys as they talked about the Star Wars movie then flipped to the latest Minecraft mod they were playing and then making plans to go and grab Tilly and head out to watch Mac as he tried to get Rebel to cover one of the mares Flynn had earmarked for mating with the new stallion.

  Exhaustion was pulling at her and she knew she wasn’t going to last out much longer. She didn’t want to go and lie down though. There was too much to do. She rubbed at her head. Maybe she should take a painkiller though, because the low-grade headache that had been with her since she’d woken up in the hospital was making itself known.

  ‘You okay, Prita? You look a little peaked.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, taking a large swallow of tea, hiding the grimace at the bitter taste of the lukewarm brew. She rubbed her head again. ‘Maybe I’ve got a little headache.’

  ‘No wonder after what you’ve been through. Perhaps you should go lie down.’

  ‘Yes.’ Perhaps it would be a good idea. Just for a little while. She stood up just as the door opened that led out to the verandah and she looked up as Flynn walked in the door.

  She sucked in a breath as his gaze clung to hers, questions and longing and need reflected in his eyes, replacing the panic and embarrassment from when he’d left earlier. The air seemed to simmer between them, like the heat rising off a hot road. His expression changed and his gaze made her think he was remembering their kiss and not in the way he’d thought about it when he’d stormed out.

  He smiled. ‘Hi.’

  The impact of that smile was like a punch in the chest, filling her with something that made the exhaustion fall away. ‘Hi,’ she managed, more confused than ever as longing filled her. She wanted … she wanted … she wasn’t sure, but it all had to do with this man standing there with sex in his gaze as he looked at her.

  ‘Maccy!’

  Carter’s chair tipped over as he flew across the kitchen to Flynn, arms up to take the furry bundle he had cuddled against his chest. Flynn broke eye contact with her long enough to give the cat over to Carter who proceeded to coo and rub his face all over his pet. Maccy seemed happy to see him too, miaowing plaintively and rubbing his head against Carter’s cheek, his shoulder, any part he could reach. It was a mutual love fest. An actual physical sign that things were going to be all right.

  Before she had a chance to express her delight, Flynn was in front of her, his big form blocking out the sight of her son and his cat and their reunion. She looked up at him and the impact of meeting his gaze caught her breath again. He smiled and it was like lying in a field of wildflowers and the sun rising over the trees and covering her with its piercing warmth. She couldn’t help but smile in return. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What for?’

  She gestured behind him at Carter and Maccy. ‘You’ve made his day. You’ve made mine.’

  ‘Good.’ He broke his gaze from hers as Aaron came up to him for a one-armed hug.

  ‘I’m glad you’re okay, Dad.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Is it true you pulled Doctor Prita from the fire?’

  ‘Yes. Your dad saved me.’

  His gaze returned to her and pierced her with a look she couldn’t make out, one that was searching and questioning and needy, yet somehow held the quiet strength that she’d always liked in him.

  ‘I think it’s truer to say we helped each other.’

  Maybe they had. Maybe they did. Maybe they could. The thought made her a little breathless as she leaned in and said, ‘Can we talk a little later?’

  His smile crooked into that smile that made her flutter inside. ‘Sure. I was hoping to do just that.’

  ‘Good.’

  She didn’t get to say anymore because Carter came rushing over, his arms full of ginger, white and tabby cat, his happiness almost overwhelming. She let that happiness wash over her, yet couldn’t stop her gaze from flickering to Flynn, wondering what he wanted to talk to her about and if it was the same as what she wanted to say. She wanted nothing more than to go do that now, her rash side pushing at her relentlessly. But she held firm, staying with Carter to coo over Maccy because that’s what he needed—and it was what she needed too, if truth be told.

  But she didn’t forget Flynn’s request. Maybe he was going to ask for her help. Maybe he was finally going to admit he had a problem. Maybe she’d be able to help him through it. She hoped so, because if anyone deserved unconditional happiness in his life, it was Flynn Findlay. And even though she was totally and utterly confused by him and what he meant to her, she wasn’t confused about the need to help him. She wanted to do that, and maybe, in doing that, she could figure out what the hell she was supposed to do with all of what was going on inside her head.

  Chapter 19

  Prita didn’t get to talk to Flynn that afternoon. Not long after he’d got home with Machiavelli, Mac called to say he needed help with Rebel’s fences, so Reid and he headed off. She’d yelled after him to take care of his knee, but knew he wouldn’t listen. Frustrating man. Then Constable Bruce arrived to talk to her further about the fire and the dead possum and the threats. When he’d gone, she ignored the exhaustion tapping her on the shoulder, took some headache tablets and went down to the cottage to look at what needed to be done and make lists with Barb. If she stopped, she knew her mind would spin over everything and panic would rise about the possibility of losing Carter to some arsehole who had wanted nothing to do with him before money became involved. Then it would skip to the fire and who was after her, before circling back around to Flynn and the insane attraction they shared and how she was going to deal with it and help him and then onto what the hell she was going to do about Chandra because he hadn’t left and had called her not once, or twice but five times this afternoon wanting to see her again.

  Crap. She needed to keep herself busier if she wanted these stupid circling thoughts to stop. Thankfully, Wendy, a pregnant patient, called in a panic because she’d been having contractions and was only thirty-four weeks along, so she got Cherry to pick her up and they drove out to see Wendy and spent the next hour calming her down and explaining about Braxton-Hicks contractions. By the time she got back, it was dinner time and she had to peel Carter away from Maccy and make him eat, have a shower and put him to bed.

  Flynn came to eat dinner just as she was about to put Carter to bed. As they passed in the doorway, Flynn leaned down and whispered, ‘I’ll meet you at the cottage after you’re finished here.’

  The headache and exhaustion that had been plaguing her all afternoon slipped away as the heat of him, the brush of his breath on her cheek, the look of need in his eyes, swept through her, leaving tingling expectation in its wake. She’d begun to think he’d been avoiding her, that he regretted agreeing to talk, but apparently not. She smiled and said, ‘I’ll be down as soon as I can.’

  Once Carter was tucked into bed, a purring Machiavelli sleeping next to him, she slipped out of the back door of the house and hurried down the moonlit road to the cottage. Warm yellow light flickered through the trees, indicating he was already inside. Music drifted on the breeze that blew her hair back from the hot skin of her neck, getting louder as she approached. Something with a pulsing beat and soaring melody, pushed by a male voice that was so familiar.

  Her papa.

  Flynn was listening to Diarmuid Brennan’s music. It was a signature sound, that Celtic driving rhythm, the strumming of the guitar and the play of piano and violin throughout—a mix of rock and pop and classical music all entwined that was intrinsically her papa.

  She played his songs a lot—Carter was always asking to hear them—but his music had never felt quite like it did now as she stepped up onto the porch, light spilling out of the open door, the sound of Flynn’s voice—rough and barely in tune—carrying above her father’s voice, twining around her, pulling her in.

  She stopped w
hen she saw him step out of the shadow of the hall on the other side of the lounge room, carrying an armchair, his limp not as pronounced as it had been that morning. Maybe he had followed her advice and rested it during the day rather than worked his arse off as usual—which would be a first. He certainly wasn’t resting it now though.

  He didn’t notice her at first as he stepped to the left, carrying the chair over to where there was another like one under the window and placing it there. She was about to enter the room and take him to task for his stupidity, but then he stopped, head lifted as the music reached the crescendo of its story, his throat pulsing as he sang out the refrain alongside her papa, his eyes closed, grooves lining his forehead, veins in his throat strained.

  The off-key pitch would normally have made her flinch, but it didn’t. It tugged at something inside her. He felt this. This song about love and loss and never having the heart to love again. He knew what that felt like. She could see it in every line of his being as he sang along with her papa, voice so full of emotion, so full of truth.

  He turned.

  And stopped when he saw her.

  Her mouth went dry.

  The magic of the moment, of the truth she’d seen in him, the knowledge of it on his face, simmered between them. Suddenly, he broke eye contact, walked over to the stereo and turned it off. Silence fell, broken only by the chirrup of cicadas outside. He didn’t turn to face her. Was he embarrassed she’d seen him like that? So lost in her father’s music?

  ‘Flynn,’ she managed to say after a long moment of silence passed. ‘I didn’t know you liked my papa’s music.’ It was a stupid thing to say, but she could think of nothing else.

  ‘I’ve always liked it. He has a way of expressing things that feels true.’

  ‘Yes.’ He still wasn’t looking at her, but she could see his finger running along the top of the stereo, almost as if he wished to turn the music back on, to escape back into it again.

  She swallowed hard. They’d agreed to talk, but hell, it was more difficult than she’d imagined it being. She took a small step into the room. ‘You should be resting your knee.’ She almost groaned at herself. Stupid thing to say. Not at all appropriate to the moment.

  ‘I did.’ He sounded like he was smiling. ‘Reid would only let me hold Rebel while he and Mac fixed the fences. Then they wouldn’t let me do anything but sit and clean saddles and tack for the rest of the day while Barb ordered Reid and Ben around in here emptying out the two back bedrooms for your clinic. They didn’t get everything finished though, and I couldn’t just do nothing while waiting for you, so I thought I’d finish off moving the last few things.’

  ‘Thanks, but you shouldn’t be carting furniture around.’

  He shrugged. ‘It was only a few small things. Besides, the knee doesn’t hurt so much now.’ He gestured to his knee as he moved away from the stereo, pacing across the room, no closer to her, but not further away. He ran his hand along the back of the couch that lay between them. ‘I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.’

  ‘Carter took a long time to settle.’ She took a step into the room. Stopped. The tension of him was like a saw on her nerves.

  ‘You’re lucky he still wants you to put him to bed. Aaron only wants a goodnight. He doesn’t want me to tuck him in or read to him anymore.’

  ‘Their needs change as they get older.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She swallowed. Loudly. ‘Shall we talk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She waited. He simply stared at her. She took another step closer. ‘What did you want to talk about?’ Her voice was low, harsh, her throat so horribly dry all of a sudden. Her skin prickled and she’d never been so aware of the heat of the night or the breath in her lungs.

  ‘You.’

  ‘Me?’

  He nodded. Stepped around the couch, closer. ‘Us.’

  ‘Us?’ Oh god, had her voice squeaked? And this wasn’t the conversation she thought they were going to have. ‘What about us?’

  He took a breath and another step closer. ‘I realised something.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Another step. This time close enough that he could reach out and touch her. His hands stayed by his side. ‘I think we were friends. Before the kiss.’

  ‘Yes.’ She knew she should say something more, but as he took another step closer, leaving but a hand space between them so that she had to tip her head to look up at him, more than one syllable seemed impossible.

  ‘The kiss changed things.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because I liked it.’ He swallowed. ‘A lot.’

  ‘Me too.’ Oh, had she just said that? It was too late to pull it back into her mouth, a mouth he was now looking at with such intensity, it made her skin tighten, prickles of energy sparking along her nerves.

  ‘Good.’ His lips quirked up into a small smile as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the sear of heat as his fingers slid across her skin making her knees tremble. ‘We’re also adults.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Adults who, for our own reasons, don’t want a relationship.’

  ‘Yes.’ She knew her reasons, thought she knew his.

  He moved his head as if gesturing to the outside world. ‘You’re married for reasons other than love from what I heard.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And your husband is in love with a man. Having a relationship with him. Sleeping with him. All with your consent.’

  ‘Yes.’ Could she say anything other than ‘yes’? Apparently not.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘What about me what?’ Ahh, there, she could say something other than ‘yes’.

  He cleared his throat and stepped a little closer so that there was only a centimetre between his chest and hers. ‘Did you look outside the marriage? Did you sleep with someone too?’

  Her mouth dried. ‘No. I didn’t want that.’

  ‘Did someone hurt you?’

  Such worry, such angry-fear in his voice, his eyes. ‘No. Not like that. I hurt me.’ She looked away then back at him, not wanting to be a coward. ‘I acted out in my teens. I slept with a lot of guys. Did a lot of stupid things to hurt my mother’s family, but really, I just hurt myself. The only good thing I did was when I decided to become a doctor. I did it in part because they’d given up on me, thought I had no future and I wanted to show them. But then, I got in and I loved it and it made me want to change, to help others, to do better.’ She was saying too much but couldn’t seem to stop. ‘I didn’t want to sleep around anymore. My aunts thought this meant I was ready to settle down, so when they started to try to set me up with nice Indian boys, and wouldn’t listen to the fact I didn’t want that, that I just wanted to concentrate on my studies, and Chandra was in such distress about who he was and hiding it from his family, it just seemed like a good idea for us to get married. It got everyone off our backs and allowed me to do what I wanted. I became a doctor and decided to travel and use my skills for people who had no basic rights or amenities. Chandra came with me at first and volunteered and took photos and sold them.’

  Flynn’s eyebrows rose. ‘He did those photos you had in your practice.’

  ‘Yes.’ Now they were gone too. But she wouldn’t let that sadness taint her at the moment. She concentrated on her story. ‘Chandra actually met Vivaan on one of our trips. He was volunteering to rebuild a village in East Timor and ended up coming back home with us. Chandra and he set up a yoga and massage therapy business and I kept travelling.’

  ‘You didn’t think of getting divorced after Vivaan came on the scene?’

  ‘No. It made it easier for them with Chandra and I still married. Besides, being married to Chandra was a great way of putting men off.’

  ‘Why did you have to put them off?’

  Because she couldn’t trust herself. Because she’d got to a point where sex meant nothing. Because she’d been afraid. All of those things were true but she couldn’t say any of them now. ‘I jus
t wanted to do my work. That’s all that was important.’

  ‘Do you feel that way now?’

  ‘No. Carter changed things.’

  ‘And me? Did I change things?’

  ‘Yes.’ Oh god, was there a heater on in here? She was so hot. And the words wouldn’t stop. ‘I wanted to sleep with you.’

  ‘Because you wanted a relationship with me?’

  ‘No.’ She still didn’t want that. Did she?

  The thought halted when he said, ‘Good.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Because I don’t want a relationship but I do want to sleep with you.’

  She stared at him, her mind blanking for a moment as she tried to comprehend what he was saying. ‘You want to sleep with me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because?’ When had his hands moved to slide into her ponytail, pulling it free so that her hair cascaded onto her shoulders and down her back? His fingers stroked through her hair and then he moved his hands to cup her head, tipping it back even further, his gaze searching her eyes and then slipping down to her mouth.

  ‘You weren’t the only one to feel the attraction. Between us.’ His voice was so soft, a husky whisper, but it strummed through her, lighting every nerve on fire, making it impossible for her to do anything but nod. This was not the way she thought this conversation was going to go—knew she should backtrack and make him talk about his issues too, see if she could help—but for the life of her, she couldn’t stop the direction this was going in. Didn’t want to.

  ‘We both fought it. Neither of us want anything serious in our lives, right?’

  She managed to nod a little and licked her lips.

  ‘Except, I could do with a distraction though. I think, so could you.’