by Ros Baxter
‘No,’ she whispered, shaking her head at Sharni.
And then there was the second thing. Matt. The look on his face had changed, from ‘Oh dear, I thought you were room service,’ to something sly and knowing. It reminded her of the moment in the little room at the council that she’d realised she was on his hit list. This was no accident. He had planned for her to come here, and for him to have Sharni here, like this. He wanted to send her a message about what he could do, and who he could hurt. Lou wondered if things had already restarted between them, or whether Matt had engineered this purely for Lou’s benefit. She wouldn’t put it past him.
And now he was speaking, even though neither she nor Sharni could. They only looked at each other, across what felt like an unbreachable expanse of floor and bed, in shock.
‘Well, this is a bit awkward. God, Lou, I’m sorry,’ Matt said.
Lou tried to make her mouth form the right words. She thought about how easily the words had come that day in Franklin’s cafe, but somehow this was different. Because Sharni was here, Sharni had chosen to be here, with him. And who was Lou to jump in again and savage Matt like a mad thing?
Instead, she turned away. She couldn’t look at Sharni, not like this. She turned stony eyes on Matt, drinking in every second of his internal victory dance, stashing it away for some future when the desire for vengeance that burned in her belly might have free rein. ‘Nice one, Matt,’ she said quietly. ‘Congratulations. I came to talk business, but I’ll call you tomorrow.’
Matt smirked. ‘Sure thing, Lou Lou.’
The pet name was carefully timed, and Lou wondered if Matt had a death wish. She contented herself with visualising his face in the centre panel of the hotel room door as she pushed it open with the heel of her hand. But it was a hollow victory. Because as she slammed it shut on the other side, she heard Sharni starting to sob.
Lou drained the glass in a single gulp, and Mitch Cranney didn’t ask any questions as he poured her another. Mitch had been tending bar at the Queen’s Arms since Lou had been dragging her mother out of here at thirteen. There was nothing he didn’t know about broken hearts, pissed-off women or drinking to forget. Right now, he seemed like an angel.
‘Thanks,’ Lou mumbled, as she started on the second whiskey. She shut her eyes and enjoyed the thick burn at the back of her throat, and the way the whiskey was already spreading its tentacles into her bloodstream. Yep, drinking to forget.
To forget the sight of Matt Finlay’s smug face as he opened the door.
To forget the sound of Sharni sobbing.
To forget that Sharni hadn’t told her.
To forget what a fucking idiot and fool she was that she actually thought Sharni might have really left him in the dust this time.
When she opened her eyes, things seemed marginally better, but then booze always had that effect – for a while.
She took another long gulp of whiskey and tried to isolate all the separate pieces of her distress.
Her dad was in deep shit, and unless the council made a deal with the gas company, the town and all its significant landowners were too. Including Gage.
Her mother was dying, and while a week ago Lou would have thought she didn’t care and didn’t want to know, things were different now. She wasn’t quite sure how, they just were. Oh, and for good measure, Skye wasn’t talking to her because she hadn’t showed for her date at the cemetery. Well, Lou supposed, taking another long swig and looking with regret at how little was left in the glass, at least every cloud had a silver lining.
Her best friend was playing prom night with her shithead ex. And worse, she hadn’t told Lou. The world really was falling apart.
And then there was the fact she was here, in this town, the seat of her nightmares. And she couldn’t escape, not quite yet. Throw in playing house guest with a boy she ran out on twenty years ago, a boy who still had the power to rattle her bones with a single scorching glance, and Lou figured she deserved a drink.
In fact … ‘One more please, Mitch,’ she said, draining her glass and slamming it down on the counter.
The crusty old bartender raised an eyebrow and threw a packet of chips on the counter as he poured her the drink, but he still didn’t say a word.
‘This one’s on me,’ a smooth voice said as a body slid into place beside her at the bar.
Mitch raised an eyebrow at Lou by way of permission as Lou turned to consider her would-be benefactor.
‘No, thanks,’ she said, taking in the too-clever good looks, jaunty hat and bushranger beard.
Jack grinned. ‘Would you prefer a cocktail?’
Lou almost laughed. Did he think he was in some episode of Sex and the City? Or back in Newtown? ‘Fuck off,’ she said, passing Mitch a twenty-dollar bill and knowing she could drink all night on it if she chose.
The young man grinned prettily at her. ‘You sore about Piper?’
Lou looked resolutely ahead, mentally counting the bottles of liquor lined up behind the bar to avoid letting her mouth run off with her. Mitch stood in front of her, arms folded, staring hard at her new pal. The baby bushranger put a hand on Lou’s arm.
‘I didn’t know she was seventeen,’ he said.
She turned to face him; he was working to project remorse. ‘I don’t care,’ she said.
‘The lady says she don’t care,’ Mitch repeated like a pissedoff echo. ‘So best you get your hand off her arm.’
Jack withdrew his hand but stayed on the stool beside her, lounging nonchalantly.
Lou remembered the call she had overheard. ‘Well,’ she said, her voice icy. ‘You know now, don’t you? And from what I can see, it doesn’t seem to be slowing you down.’
Jack grinned at the bartender and motioned to the top shelf as he finished off his own drink, brandishing a fifty-dollar bill.
‘Fuck off,’ Mitch said, folding his arms across his chest.
‘Fine,’ Jack countered, a slow snarl spreading across his face. ‘Put the last one on the Clean Gas tab.’
Lou watched the man move off, and something in his jaunty strut rang a bell in her overworked brain. Then he was gone, leaving Lou with more questions than answers. She turned back to Mitch, knowing if anyone was going to have any answers, it would be him.
‘What’s he do with the gas company?’ she asked, jerking her head in Jack’s direction.
Mitch snorted. ‘Think they call him a fixer.’
Lou frowned. ‘A fixer?’
‘Yeah.’ Mitch nodded. ‘He fixes shit, so they get what they want.’ Mitch’s face left no room for doubt about what he thought of gas.
Lou groaned inside. The whole town was going to hate her once she made this deal.
Then she thought about Jack setting his sights on Piper. Was it just a coincidence that he worked for the gas company as well? Piper was gorgeous, so he didn’t really need an excuse, but there was also a seedy sophistication to the guy that told Lou even the beautiful Piper wouldn’t normally be his speed. Then she sighed, thinking about Matt and Sharni. What the hell did she know about why people made the choices they did? She chugged her third drink, not quite as fast as the second.
Mitch flipped a dishtowel over his shoulder and looked at her glass. ‘You want some hot chips with that from the kitchen? If you’re gonna get plastered, you might want to lay down some carbs to absorb the shock.’ There wasn’t a trace of disapproval in his voice – it was pure practicality. Lou had no doubt Mitch had mopped up more vomit than any man alive.
She considered her options. Back to Sunset Downs to face her mother’s silent brooding and God-knows-what with Gage. Call Sharni and make up, although she was probably still with Matt. Go and see her dad to talk next steps.
She groaned as she considered the misery of her options. Then she nodded at Mitch. ‘Excellent idea.’
When Gage slid in beside her, on the same stool Jack had occupied two hours before, he looked like a long streak of take-me-now. His face was tanned even darker than when she ha
d seen him that morning and his hair was still wet from the shower, curling lightly at his collar. He was wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, black jeans and black boots. He smelled like soap and the kind of excellent sin you just can’t stay away from. And if he had announced, ‘I’m really the devil come to steal your soul,’ she might have believed him.
He motioned to Mitch to match her whiskey with one of his own and turned to face her. ‘Do you want me to go and hit him?’
‘Matt?’
He nodded.
‘No, thanks.’ She was all out of fury. Maybe it was the passage of time, the three hours to think things through, or maybe it was just all that whiskey, melting the anger off her like so much frost.
‘You sure?’ His green eyes burned deliciously. ‘I’d sure like to.’
His hands were on the bar, fiddling with a coaster while Mitch poured his whiskey, and then one of them balled into a fist as he considered the enticing prospect of doing violence to Matt.
‘Knock yourself out, but don’t do it on my account.’ The room was starting to spin a little, and Lou realised she really should be making tracks. But then she registered Gage properly, and realised he might be able to give her a lift. If he wasn’t busy. Confusing wisps of ideas fought to come together in her brain. ‘How do you know? About Matt?’
He took a long chug of his drink. ‘Sharni rang me. She’s worried about you.’
More fog, more trouble thinking it through. ‘How did she know I was here?’
Gage frowned at Lou then grinned. ‘Let’s call it a wild guess,’ he said, patting her hand. ‘How about I take you home once you finish that one?’
Home? Where the hell was that? Did he mean Sunset Downs? All the problems and loneliness and hard choices welled up, big and scary inside her. Going home would be so nice. It might even be nice to fold herself into Gage’s big arms, lay her head against that broad chest, and let him carry her out to the car.
She startled herself out of the daydream, remembering what had almost happened in the car, before she had gone to the council chambers and Gage had headed off to – the bank!
‘How did you get on today?’ Lou made a tremendous effort to concentrate on making sense. This was important. ‘At the bank?’
Gage made a face like he’d suddenly realised his whiskey had gone off. ‘Let’s just say we’re not toasting bank managers tonight,’ he said darkly, holding up his glass to hers. They clinked, and he lowered his voice. ‘To you, Lou. The best friend Sharni ever had.’
Lou felt like crying as she clinked glasses with him and thought about her darling friend. ‘Is she …?’
Gage shook his head. ‘I think she came to her senses once you interrupted. She’s at home with her ma. I can take you there if you like?’
Warring parts of Lou screamed ‘No way’ and ‘Yes, please’ into her brain, which was enough, combined with the effects of the whiskey and Gage’s proximity, to make Lou feel decidedly queasy.
Her brain decided on ‘Um …’ just as her phone buzzed on the counter. It had been doing this for hours, to remind her she had more than three messages waiting. Her phone didn’t like it when she didn’t check her messages; it was something her very efficient executive assistant back in Sydney had programmed in to make sure she stayed on top of the sometimes manic flow of business. Usually, it wasn’t a problem; Lou was very efficient.
Today, however, she was sure those messages had something to do with her mother – either the police or the insurance company – and she just wasn’t sure she needed another problem right now. Of course, it may not be a problem, but the way her day was going, it was safest to assume something bad was waiting on the end of the line.
Gage gestured to the phone, his hand too elegant to belong to someone who basically did a manual job for a living. Sure, it had its share of calluses, but the skin was so smooth and brown, like a model’s. Lou’s liquored brain sat down for a little while beside that thought – spending some time admiring those hands and conjecturing about how he might maintain them in the face of the hardships they must endure.
‘Gage,’ she said, wondering if she should ask. ‘This is going to sound kind of personal, but …’
‘Shoot.’ Gage was looking right into her eyes and she was rapidly losing her train of thought as she tried to understand the power those wild green eyes held over her.
‘Okay,’ she said, taking a breath, ‘but don’t be offended.’
Gage held up his hands in surrender, as though the suggestion was preposterous.
‘Do you moisturise?’ Lou gestured to his hands.
Gage’s face was blank, then a small frown appeared between his eyebrows. He lifted his hands and turned them over, looking carefully at both front and back. When he spoke, it was slow and careful, like he was dealing with someone very dangerous. ‘Do I moisturise?’
Lou nodded. ‘I said you might be offended.’
Finally, Gage laughed. ‘Honey, I’m not offended. Goddamn, I’m hard pressed to think of a thing you’ve ever done that’s offended me.’ He seemed to lose his place for a minute, then said more quietly, ‘Even when you should have.’ He shook his head. ‘So no, I’m not offended. But honestly, Lou, you’ve known me how long?’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Thirty years? Longer?’ He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘What do you think? Do you think I moisturise?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll admit it’s hard to imagine.’ Her inebriated mind tried to remember why she had started on this. Ah, the gesture at the phone. ‘But you do have pretty hands.’
He was staring at her like it was definitely time to take her home. ‘And capable,’ she added. ‘Your hands, I mean. They look …’ She trailed off at how pathetic it all sounded. ‘They look capable.’ She decided to get a second opinion, and called out to Mitch. ‘Whaddya reckon, Mitch? Do you reckon Gage has the prettiest damn hands you ever saw?’
Big Mitch Cranney wandered across, flicked his tea towel over his shoulder as was his habit when interrupted, and picked up Gage’s hands. ‘Prettiest damn hands I ever saw,’ he agreed, eyeballing Gage dead-on. ‘Gage, you using some girly shit on those hands? ’Cause, y’know, it’s gonna really fuck your hard-man reputation if it turns out you’re moisturising.’ Then he laughed a huge, juicy, belly laugh, and moved back over to where some young men were calling for his attention.
‘Time to go, sweetheart,’ Gage said, draining his drink, standing up and looking like he wanted to kill someone and couldn’t decide whether to start with Lou or Mitch.
‘Don’t want to,’ Lou huffed petulantly. She was only just starting to have fun.
‘I can see that,’ Gage said, his face sympathetic but the tense lines of his body betraying his diminishing patience. ‘But you’re sad, or angry, or something; you’ve had too much to drink; and once I leave here – which is now – you’re gonna have a hard time getting home. So you’re coming with me.’
‘Am not,’ Lou said, planting her feet hard against the edge of the bar in case he tried to drag her away.
Gage took a deep breath and made a gesture of appeal with his hands. ‘Why not, darlin’?’
Lou put her head on the side and considered the question. ‘Because it’s been a shit day,’ she said, shredding a beer coaster furiously. ‘Everything’s hard, and once I leave here I have to get with the program and start to work it all out.’ She shrugged. ‘Here, on the other hand, it’s nice. Mitch is my new best friend.’ She waved a hand at the big bartender. ‘Aren’t you, Mitch?’
‘Anything you say, Miz Lou.’ He smiled.
‘And I sure as shit know he won’t sleep with Matt Finlay.’
Mitch winked at Gage. ‘Not unless he has hands as pretty as yours.’
Gage clenched his fists and pulled in another breath. ‘Okay, Lou, so you just want to stay for a bit?’
‘Yep,’ Lou said, glad he had finally got with the program.
Gage gestured at Mitch. ‘What time do you guys close tonight?’
<
br /> Mitch flicked a look at the clock. ‘It’s Sunday, so eleven,’ he said, wiping the bar.
‘Okay, Louise Samuels,’ Gage said, sliding into place next to her, ‘you have an hour.’
‘You’re staying?’ A warning bell rang in the back of Lou’s head, but she couldn’t imagine why her brain was warning her off hanging out with Gage for an hour. After all, they’d known each other since forever, it was a public bar and no harm could come of it.
Could it?
Twenty minutes later, Lou was gasping for air as she broke away from the mad drug of Gage’s mouth. She hadn’t wanted to pull away; she had been sure his lips were the only sensible place for her to be right now, but there had been this pesky urge to take in some oxygen. She was pressed against a wall in the sitting area of the ladies’ toilets; Gage had insisted on chaperoning her given how unsteady she had been on her legs when she got up. But she couldn’t blame him for this. It hadn’t been his idea to start snogging for Australia in front of the mould-speckled vanity mirror. It hadn’t been him who had pushed her up against the wall to start with, or asked her if she wanted to celebrate the one-week anniversary of their kiss under the jacaranda tree at the school reunion by going in for round two. In fact, as Lou vaguely recalled – very vaguely, because her memory had packed up and headed home about the time she should have, several hours ago – Gage may even have made a valiant effort to resist, saying something about not making a habit of taking advantage of drunk women. At which point, Lou was almost sure, she had leaned over, tweaked his nipple and called him a chicken.
Everyone had their breaking point.
Since then Gage had been paying the kind of attention to Lou’s mouth that she was sure should be reserved for movie scripts and sex workers. Really – he was that good. And even if he hadn’t been, Lou knew she would have felt just the same. Everything about this man got under Lou’s skin and made her want to rub it against his. Her skin, that is, and probably other parts of her too. His smell – so outdoorsy dirty man and clean clothes and hot skin – made her insides quiver every time he was close. Those long-lashed eyes that never tried too hard or lied even to spare your feelings, that were so brutally, beautifully honest, scorched her in ways that were even more disturbing than the sheer slam-down physical impact they had on her. Who was she to resist this thing between them? She was only human, for Chrissakes, and he was like some wild, dirty god. In really tight jeans.