Blinking orange, the indicator light turned his gritted teeth and clenched jaw into a grotesque carnival mask. A line of sweat beaded his upper lip as he thumped his left thigh with a tight fist.
“Jax, what’s the matter?”
His chest heaved and he held his breath as he straightened. “Cramp.” Hands fisted, he huffed out the breath he held and met her gaze. “Sorry to wake you.” His face seemed paler than usual and a furrow had taken up permanent residence between his eyebrows.
Jax had never been laid low by so much as a flu bug let alone something as ordinary as a cramp when they were young, and he’d looked like a man in his prime at the airport. The sight of him propped against the car concerned her and called up long buried feelings. Like wanting to reach out and smooth away his frown. Repressing the urge, she folded her arms. “Don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”
"Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be fine.” He limped away with a rolling gait and stiff leg unlike Jax’s usual silent panther stride.
Willa watched as he disappeared into the dark of a moonless night before she dragged her mobile phone from her pocket and checked the time. She could still make the evening launch if she got him moving again. Scrunching her eyes she peered in the direction he’d taken. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called. “Jax, I’ll drive the rest of the way. Jax?”
Fumbling with her phone, she shone its torchlight along the verge, catching his return in its beam. His gait was better although still more stiff than the Jax of old. That Jax had never known any weakness. “How’s the cramp? Want me to drive?”
“Is your night vision better than it used to be?” He rested one hand on the rear window. Without turning her head, she couldn’t tell if it was for support or to throw her off guard. A whiff of his cologne teased her nose, so unlike when they were young. In what other ways had he changed?
The blinking indicator light intensified his frown and revealed his lowered jaw.
“Uh, not really. But we can’t be far from home.” In point of fact, Willa hadn’t driven at night since she’d had a minor prang in her father’s car before she left for Los Angeles. But if she concentrated really hard, she could manage the distance. “You still don’t look very comfortable.”
“I’ll drive.” Gruff, no-nonsense and straight to the point. This was a different man to the young rebel who had taught her to ride his motorbike before she was legally old enough. He’d indulged her whims, and incited her to push boundaries. And he’d loved her . . .
It’s all past tense. We’re different people now.
“Are you sure?”
He stroked a finger along her jaw and tapped her nose lightly. “Thanks for your concern but I’m fine.”
A tiny, silly part of her enjoyed that brief touch. The memory of other touches, the trace of warmth, the rough skin of his finger on her face. His intense gaze on her. Maybe her mind had moved on, but where Jax was concerned, it seemed her body had other ideas.
She sighed. The past was gone and they were no more than one-time lovers. His touch said maybe they could be friends if they saw each other again after tonight.
“The launch. I can still make it.”
“Come on, Miss LA Lawless.”
“You know that’s not the real name of the show, don’t you?”
His mouth pulled up in a ghost of a smile. “Hop in.”
Glad that she didn’t have to struggle to drive in the dark, relief made her smile back at him. “Great. Let’s go.”
Jax turned on the cruise control and eased his left leg into a more comfortable position. The army physiotherapist had explicitly advised against long periods of sitting still. His present discomfort was entirely his own fault for not heeding expert advice. But he wouldn’t ask Willa to drive when he knew how lousy her night vision was.
“Do you want me to drop you off at your parents’ home?”
Willa turned from silent contemplation of the street scene. Streetlights revealed then hid her face in frustratingly brief flashes. He wanted to know what she was thinking, whether their brief connection on the highway meant anything to her or if he was allowing their history to colour the present.
“Yes please. I’d better put on the war paint before I show up at the launch.”
“It wouldn’t be the thing to turn up without the face everyone wants to see.” His preference was still for the fresh-faced girl with cheeks pink from making love with him. Not that he’d be going down that road with Willa again. They’d always had different goals and their paths had diverged when he’d been accepted into the army. Willa’s rejection of his choice—of him—in favour of the bright lights of Hollywood had made it clear they had no future together. But it had been good to spend some time with her again.
Surprisingly good.
“Want me to wait and drop you there?”
“That’s kind of you, Jax, but I expect Dad will be happy to drive me. Or I can get a taxi. You’ll want to get to your mum’s and make the most of your leave with her.”
“True. I haven’t seen her in over a year.”
“Why so long?”
Jax glanced at Willa and his right foot jerked down on the accelerator. Her pink shirt had pulled taut across her breasts as she faced him and tipped her head to the side.
Enclosed in the car, in the darkness of a suburban evening, it was too easy to forget their differences when she focused her attention on him. Willa’s gift even as a teenager had been that ability to make him feel like he was the centre of her world. But he hadn’t been or she’d never have left him the way she did. Gripping the steering wheel, he eased back on the pedal and looked for the turn into her old street. “I was deployed overseas.”
“Where were you?”
“Syria.” He hoped she wouldn’t push him on it. He didn’t want to talk about it. Or remember that last night of active duty when a routine mission had turned into a nightmare. When . . .
“Jax?”
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“Didn’t you all return ages ago? I thought—”
“Special assignment.” He turned into her street and shut down a conversation he wasn’t prepared to have with anyone, least of all Willa. “The front light is on. Looks like they’re expecting you.”
She reached down for her handbag and the almost empty bottle of water. “I texted them. Mum’s finally learning to use her phone for more than phone calls.”
“Past the technogumby stage at last.” Jax pulled up in the driveway of Willa’s home. It looked much the same as he remembered, even down to her parents who emerged through the open door. He switched off the engine and Willa pushed her door open and ran into her father’s open arms.
“Darling, at last!” Her mother’s voice was a little higher than Willa’s, whose accent held more than a hint of California.
Willa moved from her father to her mother and the women embraced.
More slowly than he liked, Jax eased out of the car. His leg ached and he knew with certainty that he’d pay for today’s long drive. Not that he regretted the time spent in Willa’s company. Her presence and determined cheerfulness on the drive out from Townsville had pushed back the darkness of his memories. Maybe the army shrink was right. Post-rehabilitation, he needed to engage with people outside the army. People who didn’t know what he’d been through, what he’d done. Who would treat him like any other soldier home on leave.
He looked at Willa chatting with her parents. Rumpled and with her hair in a messy braid, she looked more like the teenage girl he’d spent two wild and glorious summers with.
Wild Willa.
Without conscious effort, they’d slipped back into casual banter after dropping Corporal Preston in Cloncurry. In one whole day with her, he’d hardly thought about Syria and that last assignment. Willa’s presence had soothed his battered spirit but inflicting his damaged psyche on her wasn’t the answer.
He hauled her suitcase from the boot and felt the drag of weight on his left l
eg as he eyed the raised garden bed. Willa had jumped it like a young gazelle. He, on the other hand, was more likely to fall flat on his face if he tried to lift both the bag and himself across it.
“Jax Heathwood. That is you, isn’t it?” Willa’s mother wrapped an arm around Willa’s waist.
“Good evening, Mrs. Raynolds, Mr. Raynolds.”
“You’ve had a long drive. Won’t you come in for a cuppa?” Always Willa’s mother had offered him hospitality.
Her father crossed his arms and moved so he blocked the stairs. So, no change in his attitude to Jax, regardless of the intervening years.
“Thanks but Mum is expecting me home.” And he didn’t plan to move once he hit her sofa. Maybe not even to go to bed.
“She’s been waiting over a year to see him. It wouldn’t be fair to delay him.” Willa didn’t need him hanging around. She had a long absence to make up to her parents, and an event to attend this evening.
“I’ll just bring Willa’s bag around—”
“I’ll get it.” With remarkable speed, Willa’s father came down the four brick steps and strode across the garden. He held his hand out for Willa’s suitcase.
Jax handed it up, glad the garden problem was easily solved. “See you around, Willa. Goodnight Mr. and Mrs. Raynolds.”
Willa called from the veranda. “Night, and thanks, Jax. Say hi to your mum for me.”
Her dad dumped the suitcase at the bottom of the steps. “Can’t understand how they didn’t kick him out of the army. How did he ever—”
Jax closed the door on the rest of Willa’s father’s comment and reversed out of the driveway. As he shifted into first gear, he looked over at Willa once more. The outside light made a soft halo around her blonde hair. Pity she’d changed the lustrous reddish tint that was her natural colour.
Willa raised her hand and waved as he drove away.
And that was that. He wouldn’t see her again.
Chapter Three
“Willa, Sweets, you made it!” Brodie Magnusson, currently the studio’s favourite director, kissed both cheeks before she’d taken two steps inside the marquee.
“Hi, Brodie. Yep, long drive but it was the only way out of Townsville. Any news on the cyclone damage?”
“Why the concern? It’s just wind farting extra loud. Come with me. We’re on skeleton staff tonight but I want Laurie’s opinion before we put you in front of the cameras.” He gripped her elbow and towed her around the back of the crowd focused on the mayor’s speech about how good the project would be for the region and into a small, curtained-off change room.
A figure cloaked in layers of flowing cheesecloth leaned over a box of prop guns.
A surge of pleasure filled Willa at the sight of the production assistant from Texas with whom she’d become friendly in LA. “Laurie, I’m so glad to see you.”
“Howdy, Willa. Y’all didn’t get blown away after all.” Laurie pulled her into a bear hug and the scent of vanilla and peaches eau de toilette enveloped Willa.
Laurie held Willa’s shoulders and considered her outfit, hair and makeup. “You look great, Hun. Good work on doing your makeup. Suzie doesn’t arrive until tomorrow but I got a costume organised in case you made it. Brodie, care to step out while Willa gets changed?”
“Two minutes, girls. Then I want Willa in front of this audience.” Brodie twitched the curtain into place behind him.
Willa giggled. “Looks like Brodie hasn’t changed much.”
Laurie squatted and held the camo pants ready for Willa to step into. “I don’t get why they picked him for this project. It’s so not up his alley. Now Clint Eastwood—”
As Willa wriggled the pants over her hips, she sighed. “I’d love to work with him on the miniseries. On anything really.”
“Brodie’s got a good eye, even if I can’t see him within a hundred miles of a battle zone.” Laurie slipped a matching camo jacket over Willa’s head and adjusted the shoulder seams. “There, ten seconds to spare. Time for a chat after the hordes have taken their photos.”
“Thanks, Laurie. I’m really glad you agreed to fly over for this job.” Taking a deep breath, Willa stepped through the curtain and into the hubbub of loud voices and clinking wine glasses, and made her way to the dais.
Brodie was at the microphone calling for quiet before she had a chance to step onto the stage. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I’m thrilled to introduce the star of Ronson’s Raiders: Fightback who really needs no introduction. Your very own international star, Willa Raynolds!” Flinging his arm up and back in a grandly theatrical gesture, Brodie made way for Willa to step up to the microphone.
“Willa!”
“Miss Raynolds.”
“Told you.”
The chorus of voices blurred beneath a barrage of camera flashes. Posing for initial photos, she unleashed a mega Willa-special before declaring she’d be happy to answer a few questions from the floor. She expected the usual superficial type and got them.
“How does it feel to be back in Oz?” The question came from a woman in the rear.
“Townsville blew me away with its welcome.” A round of laughter burst from the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Brodie on his mobile phone. He appeared annoyed and imperiously summoned Laurie to his side. Her friend skirted the edge of the throng and they turned their backs in what appeared to be a tense discussion.
“Will you return to LA as soon as filming finishes here?”
“The American network has signed me for a third season so, yes.”
“Got a bloke yet, Willa?”
An image of Jax dressed in his army fatigues flashed into her mind and she rubbed her palms over her camo costume, suddenly feeling like a fraud. She stretched her smile wider, concerned her mask had slipped, and prepared to toss out another light-hearted response.
“I’m free, Willa.” A young reporter in his mid-late twenties winked and gave her a cheeky smile. “Name’s Brent Wilson, from the local station. Happy to show you the splendour of the Isa.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks, Brent, although you do know I was born here?”
Brent came straight back at her. “Then you can show me the best places to—you know.”
More laughter erupted and Brodie joined her on stage. “We’ll take one last question and then it’s open bar and time to mingle.”
Brent’s hand shot up and Brodie pointed to him. “Yes, young man?”
“How do you plan to present the post-apocalyptic aspect of this series?”
“Post-apocalyptic— where did you get that idea from?”
“Willa rocks camo gear, but that’s gotta be costume for the series. And there’s a truckload of army props out back, plus your earlier reference to a world gone mad. Will you be primarily using practical effects or relying on CGI to create the war zone illusion?" Brent’s gaze flicked back to Willa as though he couldn’t help himself.
Beside her, Brodie released a low hum of satisfaction. The question gave him an opportunity to spruik the series. “This isn’t some zombie movie and there won’t be any nuclear bombs going off, but if you’ve read the books, you’ll know it’s set post-invasion of Australia with groups of resistance fighters harrying the enemy. We’ll use both practical and CGI effects but our main focus is on the characters and their relationships.”
The journalist nodded and lowered his recorder. Catching her eye, he winked and smiled, a big, friendly smile of appreciation.
“Okay, the bar is open and Miss Raynolds will be glad to pose for a few more photos. Thanks for coming.” As Brodie wrapped up proceedings, he grabbed Willa’s hand and drew her to the side of the stage, and held her elbow to stop her joining the surge towards the bar. “We’ve got a small problem.”
Chapter Four
Jax groaned and flung an arm across his eyes to block the sun streaming through the window. Muscle spasms in his thigh had broken his sleep despite a couple of painkillers and he felt grumpier today than
after his flight had been cancelled. On the upside, if it hadn’t been for meeting Willa after all these years, and young Preston’s offer to drive her home, he’d probably be holed up alone in a Townsville hotel instead of lying in his own bed.
Unprepared for the sight of Willa at the airport, he’d found himself sitting beside her before he could think better of his decision. Bottle-blonde hair and plain clothes were no disguise. As if he wouldn’t recognise her anywhere. Which just went to show he hadn’t completely got over her, in spite of her desertion.
Willa.
Beautiful, wilful Willa. It had been too long since anyone had questioned one of his orders or told him what to do, but Willa had always challenged him. To be better than he was, to realise his potential. Ironic to think if it hadn’t been for her, he’d never have joined the army and become one of the youngest majors ever. Joining up had been the making of him.
And the breaking of us.
A quick knock preceded his door opening. The aroma of bacon and toast wafted in behind his mother.
“Are you awake, Jax?”
He leaned up on his elbows and summoned a smile. His mother hadn’t wasted any time spoiling him. “I am. That wouldn’t be Eggs Benny and bacon by any chance?”
“What do you think? Haul yourself into the kitchen and they might still be hot when you get there.”
“On my way.” He flung the sheet back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed—and grunted and swore as pain streaked up his leg like a red-hot knife.
“Jax? What’s the matter?” His mother’s shoes tapped quickly across the wooden floorboards and her hand gripped his shoulder.
He cursed under his breath, knowing it was too late to hide the evidence of his injury.
Her gasp was quickly cut off and as he met her gaze, she pressed her lips firmly together. “Oh, my . . . Jax, why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s nothing.”
Winds of Change (Hearts of the Outback Book 4) Page 2