All Saints: Love and Intrigue in the Stunning New Zealand Wilderness (The New Zealand Soccer Referee Series Book 1)

by K T Bowes

  “You could do that anyway.” His voice cut through my fantasy, dispelling it in the first drops of rain against the windscreen. A flash of anger clashed with the overriding sense of injustice.

  “Really?” I bit, the sarcasm ugly on my tongue. “The only way to leave All Saints is in a coffin.”

  At the sound of retching I gave a hiss of annoyance and Foxy abandoned the car by the curb at a jaunty angle, wrenching open the rear door and jumping backwards as Mark projectile hurled onto his own grass verge.

  I patted Mark’s back and forced his face clear of the car’s pristine interior, grinning at Foxy. “Nice reflexes there,” I joked. “Dad needs a new striker.”

  Foxy pulled a face and shook his head. “He really wouldn’t want me.”

  I gave Mark’s back a shove and Foxy pulled as I pushed, sweating in the humidity until the large man stood with his bum balanced against the wing of the car. My exit was through my own side, eager to avoid the puke and I waited until Foxy traipsed Mark right through it and up to his front gate. “You’d give Foxy a job as a striker, wouldn’t you, Uncle Mark?” I asked with a smile, dodging the stinking wet hand the drunk held out towards me.

  He shook his head, his eyes wide like saucers. “Bloody hell, no!” he exclaimed. “I’m surprised they let him in for the fat chick’s wedding!”

  I bit my lip and winced, mouthing an apology to Foxy. “Don’t be rude!” I snapped. “He gave you a lift home, you ungrateful old man. Wait until Jackie’s mother hears you calling her precious daughter a fat chick.”

  “She is,” he growled. “And her mother.” With a lurch he made it through the front gate and negotiated the steps onto his porch. Instead of sobering up, he seemed to get drunker by the second.

  “I don’t get this.” I put my hands on my hips and stared as Mark slumped onto the doormat, his back against the peeling paint of his front door. I waved my arm at him, confusion on my face. “You weren’t like this when we left the clubhouse. Was there something in that cigarette?”

  “Where are they?” Foxy asked, interest burgeoning in his expression.

  “Front left pocket,” I said, watching as he frisked Mark with capable hands. “No, inside top. Watch the sick on his shirt though.”

  Foxy pulled out the packet and inspected it, poking his finger into the cardboard folds. “Na, this is shop bought. Just tobacco.”

  “So why’s he getting worse?” I demanded. Staring at the unkempt bushes in Mark’s garden, I cast my mind back to the scene in the clubhouse as Mark stood to go outside, inviting me to accompany him. He chucked back a tot of whiskey in one mouthful, but he’d done that twice before with little effect. “Maybe he just reached his limit,” I conceded with a shrug. “Hey, lightweight.” I shoved Mark’s leg with the toe of my sandal. “Where’s your door key?”

  “In-shide,” he slurred and I rolled my eyes.

  Leaning over his head I pushed my knee against his cheek to stop him looking up my dress. Then I rang the doorbell and stood back. Fingers threaded their way round my hem again and I wasn’t quick enough. “No! Get off, Uncle Mark. You’ve got puke hands!” I dashed backwards, almost pitching off the porch. Only Foxy’s quick reactions stopped me meeting a crispy looking rhododendron bush bum first. His right hand gripped my wrist and his left snaked around my back. Once I’d righted myself, a quick glare ensured he released me.

  “I’m not doing that again,” I insisted, jerking my head towards the bell. “You press it.”

  Foxy obliged, jamming his finger over the doorbell and holding it down. The noise of a police car two streets over obliterated the sound of ringing inside.

  “Don’t tell them!” Mark begged, tears welling in his eyes. I looked at Foxy in confusion.

  “Tell who? Tell them what?”

  “Good girl,” Mark sniffed. “You always were a good girl.”

  I pulled a face of annoyance and turned, heading down the rickety steps to street level. “See you, Uncle Mark.” I waved over my shoulder and strode towards Foxy’s car, noticing the sheen of the paintwork in the confusing autumn weather. Sunshine beat down on the specs of rain from the momentary shower a few seconds ago, not a guilty cloud in the sky.

  “Hey, we can’t leave him there!” Foxy caught my arm and turned me so my breasts touched his shirt front. “What if he pukes and suffocates himself?”

  “Then sit down next to him and make yourself comfy. Give me your car keys so I can go back to the farcical wedding.”

  “I’m not giving you my keys!” A dimple showed in Foxy’s right cheek and I focussed on it to help me ignore his full, kissable lips and the angular cheekbones calling to the palms of my hands. I balled my fists to stop me thinking about how his rough shave might feel on the sensitive skin of my fingers.

  “Then drive me back!” I snapped, turning and yanking on the passenger door handle.

  “We can’t just leave him!” he insisted. “It’s not right!”

  “His wife’s there,” I said. “We rang the bell, remember? It might just take her a while to get to the door.”

  “She’s got cancer!” Foxy said, lowering his voice. “How’s she gonna carry him inside?”

  I snorted with laughter. “She won’t need to. With a voice like nails on a blackboard, she only needs to shout at him and he’ll crawl inside.”

  “What made you so hard?” His hand looped around the back of my neck, his dark eyes searching my face for clues. The invasion into my personal space made me tense in fear and he saw the mist descend over my eyes. He still didn’t move fast enough to avoid the swift kick I administered to his shin.

  “Touch me again and I’ll kill you,” I threatened and he stepped back, circling me like a wary cat. Nodding once with slow precision he deactivated the central locking and hauled open the passenger door.

  “We shouldn’t leave him.”

  “He’ll be fine!”

  The argument continued right up to the gates to the football club and Foxy drove past the sign marking the start of All Saints territory. I felt the involuntary shudder snake down my body from neck to ankles and gripped Foxy’s wrist as it rested on the gear stick. “Please could you give me a ride home?” I swallowed and worked on controlling the overwhelming sense of panic stomping through my chest.

  “Why?” He brought the car to a halt and peered at me, his face filled with concern.

  “I need to go home.” I took slow breaths and fought the flapping fish in my heart as it slapped and leapt, threatening to pitch me over the edge. “Actually, don’t worry.” I gripped the door handle and gave a shove, confused when it wouldn’t move.

  “Hang on, hang on.” Foxy pressed a button on the dashboard and I heard a comforting click. “It locks itself.”

  I nodded and swung my legs out sideways, still belted in as I pushed at the door. “Thanks.”

  “Look, stop!” Foxy grabbed my wrist and pulled, frowning as the contents of my handbag spewed into the footwell. “I’ll take you home. Just close the door.” The authority in his voice forced obedience and I closed the door, feeling lipstick and a mascara under my shoe as I put my feet back on the mat. I chewed my lip and wouldn’t look at him.

  The car swung around in the car park like shears through silk and I heaved a sigh of relief as the All Saints sign asked us to ‘Please drive home safely.’ At the main road, Foxy straddled the lane and fixed his perceptive brown eyes on my flushed face.

  “What’s your address?” he asked, his hand on the indicator ready to send the lights flashing left or right.

  I swallowed and then gave the complete stranger my home address, wondering as he flicked the indicator right, if I’d made yet another monumentally terrible life choice.

  Chapter 3

  I poured wine with shaking hands and lifted the glass to sniff the contents. The merlot smelled ok although it’d been open awhile; probably a month or more. Marking school work filled my evenings nowadays and living alone offered no sober driver if I needed to dash out in an
emergency. My father’s health declined in fits and starts and I wouldn’t want to miss the end. I pursed my lips and forced the thoughts away. The smile fixed itself like a wooden mask as I turned and approached the small sitting area, handing a glass to Foxy.

  “Thanks.” He lifted it to his full lips and drew a healthy sip. He put the glass on the table and got comfy, bending one long leg beneath him on the two seater sofa. His dark eyes followed me as I moved to the opposite side of the room and sat on the other one.

  “Sorry Mark was rude about your soccer skills?” I said. “I can’t imagine why he’d be so nasty.”

  He raised his eyebrows and gave me a knowing look. “You can’t?” Full lips quirked upward in a smirk and I laughed, despite myself. The sound seemed distant as though it belonged to someone else. I’d forgotten what it felt like to find something genuinely funny without the jaded pinch which seemed to accompany my humour nowadays. The stranger studied me with calm assurance. “My sister just texted. She doesn’t need a ride home.”

  “How come?” I asked, concerned for the pretty dark-haired girl in the long, silver gown.

  He shrugged and looked unruffled. “Last time I saw her, she had her tongue pushed down the throat of a Devonport defender. I think she’ll be fine.”

  I smiled and tried to remember the thrill of the chase, coming up against a bone jarring brick wall. My teenage crush married someone else and his donning of a police uniform meant he was dead to the Saints. There were few rules but all three of them were written in family blood. Thou shalt not marry a cop, a convict or a referee; of either sex.

  Foxy swigged his wine as an awkward silence descended and I dragged my rebellious brain back to the moment. “Why do they call you Foxy?” I asked, making an effort with the conversation as curiosity budded in my chest. The man intrigued me. He looked like any of the other soccer players in the club house; athletic, muscular and capable of running eight kilometres in a game without breaking a sweat.

  “Teina Fox,” he replied. “It’s my name.”

  “You look familiar,” I said. “Who do you play for?”

  An expression of confusion moved across his face and he downed the last of his wine. “Why aren’t you in the line-up this season?”

  The strategic change stumped me for a second and I swallowed and lowered my eyes. “I don’t want to.” I clenched my jaw. Teina watched me and sized up my reply, finding it wanting.

  “That’s crap.”

  My brown eyes flashed and I felt an angry pulse begin in the side of my neck. “It’s my choice!” I snapped.

  He shrugged and still those dark eyes bored into my face. “You were the best defender they had. I’ve seen what’s on offer and they’ll struggle without you.”

  Misplaced vanity gave my ego a moment in which to stroke itself before I regained control. “It’s nice of you to say that,” I conceded. “But they’ll be fine. They’re a great bunch; they’ll work for it.”

  “Na.” Teina leaned forward and placed his glass on the table with exaggerated care. “You put those girls into that league; you should help keep them there.”

  I knew my smile appeared ragged as I seethed inside. “You know nothing about it.”

  He pinched his top lip between thumb and finger and sat as though ready to leave. My head screamed a warning at him to go but my heart appealed to the inner loneliness I saw in his eyes and he gave a quizzical smile. “You’re right; it’s none of my business. Play, don’t play. It’s up to you.”

  “Thank you!” I snapped. “What I choose to do with my weekends will be my choice from now on.”

  “And what’s that?” His tone seemed placid and so non-confrontational; a casual enquiry from a stranger. He didn’t know me, my family or my circumstances.

  “Pole dancing,” I said, keeping a straight face. “I figure it’ll be fun.”

  Teina’s eyes crinkled at the sides and his lips spread in an attractive grin. “For who?”

  “Whomever I choose to dance for,” I replied and then bit my lip. Who was I kidding? I tutted and closed my eyes, pinching my exposed thigh hard enough to stem the unexpected flash of emotion.

  I heard the sofa creak and tensed, waiting for the tap of Teina’s shoes on the wooden floor as he left. His footsteps sounded light and I jumped as the sofa cushion next to me dipped. He slipped an arm around me and kissed the side of my head and the fraternalism of the action stabbed at the root of my misery. “Sorry,” he whispered. “My sister says I shouldn’t bait people but I can’t help it. Besides,” he squeezed my shoulder, “your eyes flash when you’re mad.”

  “And that’s a good thing?” I asked, sounding sore.

  “Yeah,” he replied and kissed the side of my head again. “You know why.”

  But I didn’t and the courage I needed to ask for clarification evaded me. I smelled pleasant aftershave and comforting maleness and in a fit of false modesty, shrugged myself free of Teina’s arm and snatched up his glass. “I’ll get you another.” My legs felt shaky on the way to the kitchen and nervousness made me slop wine over the side of the glass. I put it into his hand and crossed to the other sofa, leaving the coffee table between us like a boundary marker.

  “Who do you play for?” I repeated the question and handed him the glass, watching his discomfort in the long blink of the enviable dark eyelashes.

  “Nobody,” he said and I narrowed my eyes and let them rove across the muscular chest and athletic build. His gym training showed in the definition beneath the fabric of his shirt and he’d seemed at ease around the club house and Mark Lambie. Why would he lie?

  “You’re a referee.” The realisation came to me as his identity fitted into place. In my mind’s eye I saw the black shirt and shorts on the lithe body and marvelled he’d been allowed to attend the wedding. My family hated any brand of soccer authority, especially those in possession of whistles, cards and the ability to turn the game against All Saints. “You red carded my husband once,” I said, a smile playing on my lips.

  Foxy winced. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “He deserved it.” I shrugged. My mind wandered, remembering that one game when Pete didn’t go out with the team to drown his sorrows. He came home to me that night instead, robbing my peace with his whining about the card and making me wish he’d gone on a bender that would last through Sunday when he rolled home stinking of beer, other people’s scent and sex. Something happened that night; something I’d rather forget.

  Foxy sipped the wine, silence growing between us. If I kept this up he’d leave and I’d be alone again. The walls threatened to close in on me, squeezing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want that; I needed his company and I rallied, trying not to drive him away. “What do you do when you’re not blowing your whistle?” I asked, wincing at my social ineptitude.

  Foxy’s dark eyes settled on me, his black fringe flipping into his face as he blinked. “Law,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “In town.”

  I nodded, sensing the thread of connection as he held my gaze and my stomach flipped. “From one sort of refereeing to another,” I replied sagely, thinking of cops and hardened criminals and he laughed. His teeth looked straight and white against his olive skin, a small chip in the side of one of his front teeth marring the perfection, but making him seem less perfect. He leaned forward and sat his glass on the coffee table, stretching his arms backwards so that his hands touched the wall behind. Defined chest muscles and washboard abdominals pressed against his shirt and I caught the outline of a tattoo through his white sleeve. He studied me, his eyes calm and steady as he tried to read my thoughts. I held my breath and craved the feeling of his arms around me, crushing me to his chest and telling me everything would be ok. I wanted arms which weren’t my dad’s spindly, decaying muscle tone and empty platitudes. I ached to be held and cossetted, made to feel special and needed. I wanted it. I didn’t want what went with it.

  “I should go,” he said and something clicked in my chest. His company provi
ded a temporary balm for my unease. I’d lived in the apartment for six months and in that time had two unwanted visitors. I owned little worth taking but they tossed the place both times. The second time they’d done everyone on my floor. Druggies, the cops reckoned. Loneliness snaked a cold hand around my heart and terrified me with the thought of the long, empty nights ahead. My singleness spread before me like an endless road of torment and rejection, resounding with the last words my husband spoke to me. ‘Geez, Ursula. The only great thing about you is your Saint name. I don’t know why I thought we could pull this off.’ His body lay in the cemetery as beetles and earthworms sucked the skin from his bones; more use in death than he ever proved to be in life. Yet still he retained the power to hurt me. An overwhelming need to overwrite the entirety of our marriage with something else drove me to my feet, desperate for the attractive male to stay. I owned nothing worth giving away and as I offered the final, most precious thing, my conscience screamed at me to stop.

  Chapter 4

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so...” I scratched around for the word but only hostile presented itself. Teina Fox watched as I rose, picking my way around the coffee table until I stood before him, my face blank and expressionless as I worked to keep the empty need at bay. My eyes betrayed me and he read it there instead. “Will you hold me again?” I asked, desperate to touch the rippling muscle and feel his strength wrap around my body. He moved and I inhaled a heady breath of his masculine scent. My calves pressed against the coffee table as he stood, occupying the remaining floor space between me and the sofa. I swallowed, waiting for rejection.

  It didn’t come. Teina said nothing, drawing me into his chest and enfolding me in his arms. He squeezed and the breath went out of me in a whoosh. I snaked my arms around his waist and held on, desperate for it not to end. Safety enveloped me and I wished I could stay there suffocating in the clean smell of his shirt, my cheek pressed against the soft, expensive fabric. “Are you married? Or with someone?” I whispered, sparing a thought for the woman he belonged to, being thrust into my position of jilted wife and knowing I wouldn’t be able to follow through and seat her on my victim’s throne.