by Margaret Way
“Right. You stay here and soak up the healing sunlight. I’ll get the sandwiches and some coffee. Black or white?”
She considered sweetly. “Cappuccino, if they have it.”
“Look, you can have a cappuccino, a latte, a mini-cino, a Vienna, a short black, a long black—”
“Thank you. I get the message.” She smiled. It was the most incredible thing to be at peace with a man. For all his height and breadth of shoulder, the dark smoulder, he was surprisingly easy to warm to.
“Won’t be long.” He strode away, glimpsing the town sticky beak, Ruby Hall, peeking through the window of the general store.
He lifted a sardonic hand to wave, but instead of waving back she unsuctioned her nose from the glass.
Dr Sarah Dempsey had come a long way from when she was a girl helping her widowed mother run the store, he thought. After Sarah had left town, Ruby assisted Muriel part-time, inundating everyone who went into the store—which was just about the whole town—with suggestive little questions designed to translate in to hot gossip.
Ruby Hall, nosy parker, really should be stopped, he thought—not for the first time. What she didn’t know she made up.
He had attended Mrs Dempsey’s funeral—as had most of the town—and shortly after that Sarah had taken over at the hospital from its long-time resident Dr Joe Randall, who had died of cancer at Wunnamurra homestead, stronghold of the McQueen pioneering family, one of the most powerful landed families in the country.
Now Sarah was shortly to marry Kyall, the heir, as good a man as any woman was likely to get. If his new neighbour had Sarah Dempsey for a friend she had made the right connection.
They sat in rustic wooden chairs beside a bench in the shade of flowering orchid trees and a grove of ancient white gums. White gums flanked the curving banks of the creek, the iridescent green water eddying around small boulders that dotted the stream.
“The stream is the colour of your eyes,” he pointed out casually. “A sparkling green.”
What a voice he had! Deep, warm, sexy, with that interesting little cutting edge. He even had a slight foreign accent, or was she imagining it?
“It’s lovely here,” she said happily, incredibly comforted by his presence and the fête-like atmosphere of the town centre. “And to top it off these sandwiches are delicious. Fresh bread, lovely thick ham, just enough lettuce, whole-grain mustard. Perfect.” With a total stranger she felt safe.
“Don’t forget your cappuccino. It’s not terribly good, I’m afraid. I can do better.” He reached out a long arm to position it nearer her. “And there’s a couple of little cakes.”
“One each?”
“They’re for you. You seem a tad underweight.”
“No doubt because—” She stopped abruptly. She was being seduced by sun and water, the sweetly melancholy song of the magpies, the joyous shrieks of children, and most of all by this big, mesmerizing man who seemed familiar in the deep recesses of her mind.
“You weren’t having lots of fun?” He followed up with a question.
“No.” She felt a momentary chill as the past brushed up against her.
“What do you intend to do with yourself while you’re here?” he asked, his tone brisk.
“Do with myself?” Her voice was startled. “As a matter of fact I haven’t thought that far. It’s enough to be here.”
“You’ve got yourself in a state if you had to disappear.”
Her eyelashes quivered. “A breathing space. No more.”
“I see.” He exuded disbelief.
“Sarah has been marvellous to me. I’ve been staying with her until I find a place.”
“What? In the haunted house? Lucky old you!” His laugh rumbled deep in his chest.
“I’d only been in town ten seconds before I heard about it. But ghosts don’t frighten me as much as real people.”
He spun his head to stare at her, the dappled shade highlighting his broad, darkly tanned, handsome face. All he needed was a gold earring and he’d be perfect as a swash-buckling pirate. “Let’s get this straight. Your boyfriend was frightening you?”
It was evident he’d never considered for a moment she was married. Did she look so young and inexperienced when she had known such terrible turbulence? “Ye gods! I didn’t say that.”
“Ye gods?” he gently jeered. “Where did you dig that out? I haven’t heard that for years.”
“My father used to say it.” A sad expression came into her eyes. “He was killed in a car crash when I was eighteen. I adored him.”
He nodded, never very far from his own grief. “I miss my father terribly. We were very close.” He looked away to where a large flock of pink and grey galahs were busily picking over the grass seeds.
“He died?” she said gently.
“Also in a car.” He didn’t add that he had been murdered by terrorists Evan’s own lover had put in motion.
“Are you an only child?” She tried to picture him as a boy. Couldn’t. He was so adult. So big. So commanding—even in a short-sleeved blue cotton shirt and jeans, boots on his feet. He made her feel like a doll.
“Like you? Continue the inspection,” he invited dryly. “I’m used to being looked over.”
She blushed. “You mean by the women of the town?” She heard about this, and understood now she’d meet the high level of feminine interest.
“Women are always looking for a mate,” he said, a smile flitting around his handsome mouth.
“But you don’t need one.” He seemed enormously self-reliant.
He was silent a while. “Of course I need one. But I have to get my life back together before then.”
“Your experiences have affected you deeply?”
“Things I don’t want to talk about, Laura.” Killing fields. Unimaginable brutality.
“So I’ve learned a lot and yet nothing about you.”
“Same here. But you’re such a clever thing I’m surprised you can’t read my mind.”
“I’m doing my best. Do you like music?” she digressed. “Or do you merely pretend? No, you wouldn’t pretend, would you?”
“It’s never struck me to pretend about such a thing.”
“But about other things?”
“We’ve all got secrets, Laura. Some people have nightmares.”
Like me. Laura closed her eyes and knocked a hand to her breast.
“Why did you do that?” He was surprised and rather perturbed by her gesture.
“I don’t know. Reflex action. I’m not a very brave person, I’m afraid. Sometimes panic rises up inside me like a flock of birds.” As she spoke she looked towards the noisy galahs.
“You’re like me. At this point in our lives we need the vastness of the Outback to breathe in. Speaking of music, the highly persuasive Harriet Crompton—that’s the town school-teacher—”
“I know Harriet. Sarah introduced us. She’s quite a character.”
“She is.” His eyes glittered with amusement. “Dear Harriet drafted me into the town orchestra. I play cello in the string quartet as well.”
“Do you really?” She turned in her chair to stare at him.
“Why the arched brows, miss?”
“I thought you looked a little like Beethoven,” she teased. “No, seriously, I look on your playing with the orchestra as wonderful. It’s just that you seem a very physical man—as in action. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to find out you’d been a commando in your other life.”
He grunted wryly. “I can’t believe the number of guesses you’ve had. I told you I’m a wood worker. I’ll make you something, if you like. A chair. A table. A jewellery box. Did you bring your diamonds, emeralds and pearls? I bet you’ve got them.”
“Why ever would you say that?” Her voice shook slightly.
“Whatever you’ve been, Laura, you weren’t broke.”
She let her long hair slide forward to hide her profile. “It’s really weird, the way we’re talking so freely, don’t you
think? We only met an hour or so ago.”
“Don’t let that bother you. The truth is people have always come to me with their troubles.”
“I’m not telling you mine.”
“Not even the first chapter? Clearly you don’t know how to choose boyfriends. Why in hell are you running anyway? Won’t he take no for an answer?”
“Be nice. Get off the subject,” she begged.
“Okay. Providing we can continue at another time. You’re not dieting, are you?”
“Good grief, no. Can’t you see? I ate the sandwiches.”
“Then eat the cakes. They cost good money and I’ve no intention of throwing them away.”
“All right, then.” She picked up one of the little home-made cup cakes. “Have you finally found your role?” She glanced mischievously at him out of the side of her green eyes.
“As in big brother?” he asked sarcastically. Far better to treat her that way. “I feel almost geriatric beside you.” She carried with her the innocence and freshness of spring.
“At thirty-seven, thirty-eight?”
“I stopped being young long ago,” he said too bluntly.
“Now, when you’re finished I think we ought to hit the Trading Post. They sell new furniture as well as old.” He raised a quizzical brow. “How do you intend to pay for it all?”
“Why?” She raised an anxious face, always worried about endangering herself, bringing Colin after her.
“So I can be sure the name on your credit card matches the name you told me. Laura Graham.”
“I can pay in cash.”
“Cash?” His deep voice slid dismally. “Surely you’re not carrying around lots of cash?”
“Hey, cash will do.”
“Don’t you have credit cards? It’s illegal for banks to give away private information.”
“Surely people can find out anything if they want to?”
He shook his head, staring into her face, past and beyond it. “Why don’t you tell me all about it on the way home?”
“No thank you, big brother,” she joked. “You mustn’t worry about me.”
“On the contrary, I might have to.” He disposed tidily of the café’s take-away boxes and paper cups. “If for no other reason than you’re going to be my next-door neighbour.”
“There’s something comforting in that,” she said, feeling safer than she had at any time since she’d lost another big, strong man radiating kindness and authority. Her father.
Picking out furniture proved to be the greatest fun. They wandered through the store, which was divided into two sections—Used and New Furniture—debating what would go where. Evan must have called in on the Lawsons, the owners of the cottage a few times, she reasoned, because he had an exact knowledge of the layout and dimensions of the various rooms.
“Yah goin’ house-huntin’, little lady?” The salesman, a lanky laconic middle-aged man, followed them around, wedging himself between Laura and every piece of furniture she particularly wanted to see.
“I’ve found it.” She smiled pleasantly.
“The young lady will be renting the Lawsons’ cottage for a while,” Evan intervened. “Don’t worry about showing us around, Zack. We’ll wander about, then get back to you when we find what we like.”
“Sure thing, Evan,” Zack said cheerily. “Listen, I got folks wanting those carved armchairs you’ve been makin’. They were real successful. You sure are a gifted guy, what with playin’ the cello and all. Me wife keeps tellin’ me it’s so romantic; I think I’ll go back to playin’ my ukelele. Might fill in a few evening’s. Reckon I could sell anything you cared to make. We’ve never had a cabinet maker anythin’ like you,” he added fervently. “Folks around here just love yah designs. Reckon yah could put the price up easily without goin’ over the top. Folks would be willin’ to pay.”
“I’ll think about it, Zack. And thanks for the nice compliments.”
“We’re partners, ain’t we? You make. I sell. Tell yah somethin’ else. Folks love yah boxes. Sold the last one to Tessy Matthews for her weddin’ chest.”
“That’s great! Had I known it was for her wedding chest she could have had it for nothing.”
“Folks don’t treasure what they get for nuthin’,” Zack maintained.
“You’re a smart, smart man, Zack.” Evan laughed, steering Laura through the archway that led to the secondhand section.
“You get along with him okay?”
“Why not? I’ve never had any trouble getting along with people. Even very difficult people.” He remembered the number of men holding guns he had interviewed. Some genuine patriots. Others a bunch of fruitcakes.
“Yet you’ve earned the reputation of being something of a loner.”
“Is that so?”
She nodded. “Difficult to sustain when the young women of the town are on a crusade to draw you out?”
“Who told you that, precisely, Laura?”
“I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” Indeed, she had noted the curiosity and interest as they moved amid the smiling sea of faces. probably they were already an item of hot gossip in the coffee shops, with a dazzle of gazes through the colonial windows. “Harriet mentioned it as well, if I’m not telling tales.”
“Harriet’s a throwback to everyone’s slightly astringent favourite aunt.” Evan grinned. “So, Harriet told you there are women anxious to enjoy my company?”
“I like being with you,” she pointed out, as though that were entirely reasonable. “You’re bracing and kindly.”
“Hell, I’m not your goddamn grandfather,” he retorted. “You seem to prize kindliness in a man above all else.”
“Every woman wants a man who will be kind to her and her children,” Laura answered, very seriously indeed.
“And you’re worried that your boyfriend isn’t a great choice for life?”
“Correct,” There was pain and sorrow in it.
“But you miss him already?”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions, Mr Thompson,” she retaliated. “If you answer truthfully my lips are sealed. Are you married?”
“Never. Not once.” He looked directly at her.
“How come?”
“For a lot of years of my life I never knew where I was going to wake up.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” She’d already sensed he was a man of adventure.
“On the move, Laura. I’ve travelled the world.”
“As a wood worker?” she queried dubiously.
“When I could find the time.”
“Don’t you miss it?”
“Miss what?” He bent to examine a small desk. A few scars. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed.
“Whatever you did. I’m not so totally inexperienced I can’t see you were personally acquainted with danger.”
“So much for my tight cover.” he mock-growled.
“You won’t always live here, will you?” she persisted, accepting the powerful natural attraction of him.
“No more than you. In fact I marvel at the fact you found your way out here. This is truly the Outback, the Never Never, the Back of Beyond.”
“I love it already,” Laura said, her lovely face dreamy. “The peace, the freedom, the vastness. I’ve decided I’m going to walk every inch of the Simpson Desert,” she joked. “Maybe I’ll take a pack of camels, like that wonderful woman author. I can’t remember her name at the moment, but I was fascinated by her book.”
“Robyn Davidson. The name of her book was Tracks. It’s an account of her 1700-mile journey across Australia with camels. It won her an award.”
“You’re very knowledgable.” She looked at a coffee table, thinking about where it might go.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“You’re a writer? You’re a famous author?”
His brilliant gaze told her she was way off beam. “Let’s get this whole thing cleared up. I’m a wood worker.”
She was afraid she had overstepped the mark. “I’m
sorry. I don’t mean to pry, Evan. I was just having—fun.”
“Hey!” He watched her face, saw it lose colour. That really bothered him. “I’m sorry too if I sounded a bit stern. Who hurt you, Laura?” he questioned, looking like a man who would listen. “If I don’t ask I’ll never know.”
Her eyes clouded. “Why do you want to know?”
“There’s something very endearing about you,” he said with simple truth. “Witness the way you’ve cajoled reclusive me to take you out for coffee and sandwiches. Just between the two of us I want to know enough to be on the look-out for your boyfriend, should he decide to try to track you down. Do you think he will?”
Her whole body tensed. “No, no. Everything’s okay.”
“Of course. That’s why you just trembled. I promise you I’ll keep an eye out, and you don’t have to put me on the payroll. Maybe you can invite me in for dinner some time. Can you cook?”
She smiled. Shook her head. “I thought I could. Now I’m not so sure.”
“Your self-esteem has taken a battering.”
“Why do you say that.”
“It couldn’t be clearer if it were front page news on today’s Courier Mail.”
“There you go again.” She paused in her inspection of a sofa to look across at him. “You’re a reporter. An overseas correspondent. There’s something else in your background, I think.”
“Please tell me,” he invited, deliberately using a casual tone. He continued down the aisle, thinking she was way too perceptive.
“This might be a bad time for it as you’re helping me choose my furniture.”
“Fire away.” He touched his fingers to the surface of a smallish circular table. Good red cedar. “I won’t hold it against you.”
“All right.” A curious thrill raced down Laura’s spine. “I know we only met today. And I’ve never seen you before in my life. Yet the more I look at you the more I’m convinced I know your face from somewhere. Have you ever worn a beard?”
“Good grief, Laura.” He rolled out a leather armchair on castors.
“Tell the truth.”
“Every man has a beard from time to time, even if it’s only the weekend growth.”