by Loki Renard
Peering closer, she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the fine layer of dust coating his clothing and skin. Wherever he was taking her, if it was going to be as dusty as he was, she didn’t think she wanted to go.
A green tin mailbox flashed by on her left as the ute slowed down just enough to slide into the road on the right and clattered too fast over a cattle grid, making her bones rattle. Biting her lip to smother her squeal, Marnie clutched at the door, terrified. She’d been shaken around enough over the past two weeks; all she wanted to do now was stay still. She wanted to sit on something that didn’t wobble and stand on something that didn’t sway. And she most definitely did not want to be tossed sideways in an out-of-control ute fishtailing around a corner on a gravel road.
“I want to go home.” She hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but they slipped out anyway, sounding strangled and pathetic.
Sam glanced across at her briefly before looking back at the road. “Bit late for that, isn’t it? And where’s home to you now anyway? I thought your house got destroyed?”
Marnie didn’t answer, just scrunched down deeper in her seat. Damn him, he was right. There was no home for her to go back to. Her house was broken, her belongings covered in mud. Everything worth salvaging was stuffed in the bag on the back, getting sprayed in dust. She didn’t want to look at Sam anymore. He was cute, but looking at him just reminded her of all that she’d lost.
* * *
Ordinarily, Sam enjoyed skidding around corners on gravel roads. But the squeak that had escaped Marnie’s tightly clenched lips sent a flash of guilt through him. She was probably still traumatized from the earthquake and the hundreds of aftershocks since, poor girl. He wasn’t being very sensitive to her, rally-driving along the country roads he knew like the back of his hand, but which were completely unfamiliar territory to her. But he was glad to wipe that disdainful sneer off her face all the same.
He had no idea what Aunty Magda was thinking, agreeing to take on a new hand without at least a brief interview first. Now the fallout of her hare-brained scheme was going to be left to him to deal with. The last thing he needed was a useless city girl with issues to deal with.
He pulled up a little way away from the house, outside the hay shed. Before he could say or do anything, she pulled her seat belt off and glared at him. “You drive like a dick head,” she said bluntly. “If you did that in Christchurch you’d get pulled over so fast…”
“We’re not in Christchurch,” he said just as curtly.
It was just a plain statement of fact, but the flash of hurt and sadness in her eyes was obvious and in an instant he felt every inch the dick head she’d called him. She was biting her lip, obviously trying to keep from crying and he felt an impulse to try to comfort her. As annoying as she was, she was still a girl. He didn’t like making girls cry; at least, not this way.
“Hey,” he said, his voice softening as he reached for her. She pulled her arm away from him before he could touch her again, a near feral ferocity transforming her pretty face.
“You can go fuck yourself!”
She wrenched the door open and ran. He was stunned for a second, then he realized he was going to have to go after her. She didn’t have a clue where she was or where she was headed. She was impressively fast in those stupid shoes though. At first he didn’t hurry after her too quickly. He figured the electric fence would stop her when she got to it, but she put her hand on the post and jumped it as though she’d been hopping farm fences all her life.
“Hey! Stop! Girl…” What was her name again? He couldn’t remember as he broke into a run after her. She was headed for the paddock with the bull in it, assuming she didn’t break her ankle before she got to old Henry.
* * *
Marnie ran with tears in her eyes, blurring her vision. Everything was green here. Green and occasionally brown. She dodged the brown bits as she ran, not knowing where she was going, but knowing she didn’t want to be anywhere near that man. He was the worst. She’d come all this way and now she was being dragged around and yelled at. It wasn’t fair.
She could hear him shouting after her, but she ignored whatever it was he was saying. “Stop… Bull…”
“Bullshit,” she growled to herself. “Swearing at me even now. Dick.”
Just then she saw the mouth of a concrete tunnel. She bolted inside it, not really knowing why. As soon as she was inside it, she stopped, panting. It had been a while since she’d sprinted like that.
He must have been right on her ass, because within seconds he was there, crouching outside the mouth of her little hiding place. He fixed his eyes right on her and crooked a finger at her.
“Come here, little girl,” he drawled.
Little girl. The words made her stomach do flip-flops. She didn’t know why.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ll live here if I have to.”
“You’re in a ditch,” he said. “It floods with farm runoff.”
“Runoff?”
“Sheep shit.”
“Oh, god! Gross! What the…” She came crawling out as fast as possible under his less than amused gaze. “Is there anything not covered in fucking filth out here?”
“Watch your mouth,” he warned. “Aunty Magda doesn’t like swearing, and neither do I.”
“Oh, ick…” She was still too grossed out by the filth on her hands, especially considering its origin. She looked around for something to wipe her fingers on. There was nothing. Except—he was standing there, already covered in dust and dirt as far as she could see.
Following her impulse, Marnie reached out and wiped her hands on his shirt. The moment her fingers made contact with his torso, she realized that his body was hard underneath that fabric. Rock hard. She hadn’t felt a body on a man like that since… well, since ever. For a second, she forgot that she hated him. She forgot everything, including the quakes and…
“What the hell!” He swatted her hands away, the flat of his palm making sharp contact with the back of hers. “Whaddya think you’re doing?”
“Doesn’t make any difference to you, does it,” she smirked, satisfied that she’d gotten her own back. The two muddy handprints on his stomach looked good. Sort of… intimate.
He cut his eyes at her, but she thought she saw a slight flicker at the corner of his lips too. He didn’t really seem to care about the extra dirt, but he had an issue with her, that much was obvious.
“Little brat,” he growled. “You’re going to end up with your rear tanned if you don’t watch out. Come on. Aunty Magda is going to want to know where you are.”
He turned on his heel and started walking away, leaving her with her mouth open, her mind replaying those words over and over. Tanned rear? What was he threatening her with exactly? And why did it excite her so damn much?
Now that they were both walking, she had a hard time catching up with him. His legs were a lot longer than hers, and he was wearing far more practical footwear. Maybe she should get some boots. Not that there was anything even faintly resembling a store anywhere around here. Looking around, all she could see was grass, more grass, a few trees planted in heavy lines, and then the mountains in the distance. Animals dotted the rolling terrain, but that was about it. A sense of isolation started to sink into her bones and she hurried a little more so as not to be alone.
“Don’t run off again,” he said gruffly as she got within a few steps of him. “We’ve got a bull in that paddock over there and he’ll go for you if he gets a chance.”
“Ohhhhh, that’s what you were saying,” she said. “I thought you were swearing at me.”
“I was,” he said, turning to face her. She stopped hurriedly, almost running into him.
“You’ve got to start listening,” he said, his hands on his hips as he looked down at her, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “You don’t seem to know why you’re here, and having known you for five minutes, I’m guessing that’s because you didn’t listen when you were told.”
> “You don’t know me!”
“You’re right. I don’t. But I know you haven’t taken a thing I’ve said on board since I started talking, and if you keep it up, I’ll have to smack it into your little ass.”
* * *
Sam hadn’t meant to actually say that, but the threat slipped out before he could stop it. This girl was about the most spankable chick he’d ever met. From the second she’d opened her mouth, he’d wanted to lay his hand, or maybe his belt across her ass. She filled out her jeans nicely; he gave her credit for that.
She stared at him, shock written all over her face. He was ready for her to go off again, but to his surprise, she didn’t. A red hue suffused her face and she pulled her eyes away from him and looked down at the grass.
“Shut up,” she mumbled. “Dick.”
Her swearing was undermined by the fact she couldn’t even look at him. She sounded petulant and small, and really in need of that spanking he was talking about.
Maybe nobody had ever laid down the law for her before. It wouldn’t have surprised him. He was curious about her, why she was out here. She obviously didn’t like the country much, so if she’d had anywhere else to be, or anyone to be with, he reckoned she would have taken that option.
“That’s enough of the back chat,” he said, putting a deeper note in his voice, same as he did when the farm dogs were acting up.
She didn’t answer back, just folded her arms over her chest defensively and looked out to the distance.
“Come on,” he said. “Magda will have Milo and super wines. Maybe some bubble log, if you’re lucky.”
* * *
“What’s bubble log?” She didn’t really care, but she had to break the silence somehow as she followed him up the cracked concrete path to the house.
Sam raised an eyebrow as he looked back over his shoulder at her. “How can you not know what bubble log is? CWI ladies have been making it for generations! I thought it was a childhood staple.”
Marnie shrugged. “I’m from the city, remember? We don’t have the CWI there. The ‘c’ in it stands for ‘country,’ not ‘city.’ And city women have more to do with their time than join ladies’ institutes and sit around talking about knitting and baking all day.”
Biting her lip to fight back the giggles that threatened to erupt from her at the furious expression on Sam’s face, she gave him an innocent smile.
“How do you know so much about the CWI then, being from the city and all?”
“I have a grandma. Well, actually, I had a grandma.” She swallowed. “The earthquake claimed her.”
“I’m sorry.”
She bit her lip again, forcing back tears this time, rather than giggles, as memories floated back. Good memories of special times she’d shared with her grandma were overshadowed by the horrendous nightmare of the earthquake that had been so terrifying and claimed so many lives. She would not cry. Not here, not now. She’d shed enough tears over the past two weeks to last a lifetime.
“And Grandma liked baking, dammit!”
Sam’s hand on her shoulder, the strong fingers gripping gently, comfortingly, tipped her over the edge. She tried to shrug him off as tears stung her eyes, wanting to preserve some dignity, but he ignored her silent protest. Instead, he drew her in toward him as she lost the battle against her tears and he held her against his hard body, one hand tangled in her hair, the other rubbing her back, as she cried into his shirt.
It felt good, being wrapped in his arms. His body was hard, strong, and muscular, and he was much taller than she realized, because her head nestled perfectly just under his throat. She felt safe, but more than a little embarrassed. She barely knew this man, yet she was snivelling all over his shirt. Still, he didn’t seem to mind, and it was nice having him be kind to her instead of bossy.
She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, sheepish. “But I still don’t know what bubble log is.”
The wink Sam gave her made her insides somersault. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Before they reached the veranda, the front door opened and a woman who appeared to be in her late sixties bustled out, her face lined, her eyes crinkled at the corners from her wide smile.
“Welcome! You must be Marnie. I’m Magda, Sam’s aunt.”
Marnie looked around. “Who is Sam?”
“Samuel!” Magda scolded. “Did you not introduce yourself? Where are your manners?”
“No, he didn’t,” Marnie said. “I was expecting someone called Sam, but that could have been a woman, for all I knew. He didn’t tell me anything about himself at all!”
Although she’d enjoyed being in his arms just minutes before, now Marnie enjoyed the blush that crept across Sam’s face. He squirmed slightly under his aunt’s scrutinizing glare and it was all she could do not to giggle with glee. Certain she’d found an ally in his aunty Magda, she put on her most innocent smile.
“He was late to pick me up,” she informed the older woman.
“By about two minutes, brat!” Sam growled. He flexed his hands, glaring at her menacingly.
“And he drove like a maniac on the way home, fishtailing around the corners,” she snarked.
“Samuel!” Magda scolded again, the welcoming smile having completely left her face.
A tingle went down her spine as Sam glowered at her fiercely, his hands now clenched tightly into fists at his sides.
“And that was after he threw my bag onto the back of that dirty, dusty old ute!”
Magda sniffed and turned away. “There’s a lot of dust and dirt out here, love,” she murmured. “You’d best get used to it.”
Marnie felt deflated as Magda’s heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor inside. Looked like the older woman wasn’t going to stick up for her after all, and she’d be left to deal with that … that brute, alone. She didn’t belong here at all, she was totally out of place.
“You tried to get me in trouble, brat!” Sam growled. “You probably would have, too, if you’d left off the bit about the dust. Aunty Magda is a stickler for manners. And for punctuality. But it hasn’t rained for six weeks; dust is just a fact of life out here. None of us like it much, but we’ve all had to get used to it.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say. Having experienced Sam’s kindness, she felt the tiniest twinge of guilt at having tried to use his aunt to gang up on him.
“So what happens if I do get you in trouble?” Marnie couldn’t resist asking.
“You get your ass smacked.”
She snorted. “Yeah, whatever! By who?”
Sam glared at her. “Me.”
“I’d like to see you try. Dick.” It was a direct challenge, especially with the insult tacked on the end, but one she very much hoped Sam wouldn’t take her up on. Not yet, anyway.
“You’ll get that chance pretty soon, brat,” he assured her.
Leaning his shoulder against the front of the house, Sam stood on one leg to rid himself of his filthy boots. Marnie knew she should do the same, but she couldn’t bring to herself to drop the subject just yet. It was far too intriguing. Almost as intriguing as Sam’s socks, which were stripy red, blue, green, and yellow with the individual toes each a different neon colour.
“So how does that even work, anyway? How do you not get in trouble when you screw up?”
Sam exhaled loudly, probably with the exertion of taking off his boots, but possibly with frustration at her questions. “I’m the boss here, not Aunty Magda. So if I screw up, I have to fix it.”
“And if I screw up?”
“You probably get your ass smacked.”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m an adult. You can’t hit me.” Although she spoke determinedly, she felt her face heating up under Sam’s penetrating stare. He was towering above her, his legs hip-width apart, with his arms folded across his chest in a manly alpha-male way that made her feel small, helpless, and vulnerable. His whole stance told her that he could, indeed, hit her if he chose to. His whole s
tance told her that smacking her butt not only could be done, but it wouldn’t take very much effort at all. She was small—a hair over five foot four in her strappy shoes—and he had to be well over six foot tall.
“Come on, take your shoes off. Magda will be waiting.”
Bending down to unbuckle her expensive, strappy sandals, she felt Sam’s disapproval wash over her.
“I hope you brought some more appropriate footwear,” he said. “You won’t last five minutes trying to work in those things.”
“No, I didn’t,” she snapped, straightening to glare at him. “I didn’t bring the right footwear. I didn’t bring the right clothes. I didn’t bring any fucking foam sticks or bubble wood or whatever it is. It’s all wrong, so you may as well get it over with and tell me how wrong and terrible my whole existence is.” She waved her arms in an encompassing manner.
He did not look amused by her outburst. “I’ll deal with you when Magda goes out to tend the goats,” he said, his tone grim.
“Yee haw,” she said, mockingly, putting on an American accent for no reason other than she didn’t really know how to take the piss out of the country lifestyle without it. “Grind some chickens and pick some cows.”
He shook his head curtly, turned on his socked heel, and walked inside.
She followed after him, feeling a little hollow in the pit of her stomach. This guy was big, and she was pissing him off, almost on purpose.
The moment she stepped into the farmhouse kitchen with Magda, she felt better. Magda was a calm, kindly presence and Sam didn’t seem to be quite as scary when she was there. He obviously respected the older woman a lot, and she seemed fond of him too.
Bubble log turned out to be awesome, rice bubbles mixed with honey and sugary goodness to make a slice that was chewy and crunchy at the same time. She had two pieces and would have had a third if not for Sam’s brow lifting a fraction and igniting her nerves.