by Ford, Holly
Ah…Lennie waited, fascinated to learn what was coming next.
‘You know,’ Lois said, ‘I’ve always liked Mitch Stuart.’
‘Yeah.’ Lennie paused. ‘Me too.’ Beside her, Pesh’s head was starting to drop. ‘Okay, pretty girl, let’s get you inside.’
The sun was slipping behind the hills, and the paddock was getting cold. Lennie’s eyes rose to the mountain peaks still catching the last shafts of light. Somewhere over there, Mitch would be finishing work, and one of the things she wanted most in the world—just as soon as she’d got Pesh safely settled down—was to call him.
‘You must be starving,’ Lois said, in the kitchen, as Lennie coaxed Pesh into the waiting crate. ‘I’ve made us some mac and cheese.’
Some time later—Lennie had no idea how long—she became vaguely aware of Lois helping her up the stairs. About a minute after that, so it seemed, the morning sun was filtering pinkly through the bedroom curtains. Dragging herself upright, she stared in horror at the time emblazoned on her phone screen. Eight o’clock? She’d slept the whole night without checking on Pesh?
Lennie yanked her robe off the back of the door and hurried downstairs. In the kitchen, Lois and Pesh regarded her placidly, Pesh in her crate, Lois perched on a bar stool.
‘I kept an eye on her overnight,’ Lois said, before Lennie had time to draw breath. ‘We’ve been out for a little walk on the lawn, we’ve had a drink, and we’ve eaten all our breakfast.’
‘Thank you,’ Lennie said sheepishly. ‘You guys have been busy.’ Opening the crate door, she rubbed Pesh’s ears.
‘We’ve been perfectly fine,’ Lois told her firmly. ‘And we don’t need you for the rest of the day, do we Pesh?’
Pesh, seemingly in agreement, turned her head away with a groan, resting her muzzle beside her paw.
‘That’s sweet, Grandma—’
‘No buts. I’m perfectly capable of looking after her,’ Lois said. ‘And I’m not taking no for an answer. You’re going to have a day for yourself.’ She shot Lennie a look. ‘You can get your nails done, or something.’
Lennie smiled. She was pretty certain that wasn’t possible in Kimpton. Watching Pesh, she felt her pulse thud as she allowed herself to consider taking her grandmother up on the offer.
‘Len,’ Lois said, ‘have some faith in us both. We’ll be fine.’
‘Well,’ Lennie said, ‘if you’re sure…There is one thing I’d like to do.’
•
‘Mitch?’ Phone pressed tight to her ear, Lennie closed her eyes. ‘Are you busy? I was wondering if you…’ Oh, fuck it. ‘Look, I really want to see you. I need to say some things. Can I come over?’
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. ‘Okay.’
Reaching the main road a few minutes later, Lennie turned the ute for Kimpton. The sun had vanished and the temperature had dropped ten degrees by the time she pulled into The Hard Yard’s car park.
‘What have we got today?’ she asked Fifi, peering at the glass cabinet.
‘Pecan-mocha or…’ Fifi checked the card. ‘Apricot and white chocolate.’
Lennie got out her wallet. ‘I’ll take the lot.’
‘Yeah?’ Fifi picked up the tongs. ‘You got a morning tea to go to?’
‘Something like that,’ Lennie hedged.
‘I like your sweater.’
‘Thanks.’
Fifi looked it over again. ‘I couldn’t wear that. The whole thing would just fall down on me.’
Self-conscious suddenly, Lennie hiked the sweater back up her shoulders.
Fifi squeezed the final muffin into the bag. ‘How’s Pesh?’
‘Yeah, she’s doing really well.’ She seized the bag. ‘She’s with Grandma today.’
Lennie drove to Broken Creek through a squalling rain, sudden barrages hitting the truck, the rising outline of the hills ahead still etched in sun below a blackened, brooding sky. By the time she passed the turn-off to Herrick Racecourse, the range had closed in around her, and the wide, empty road was dry. Clearing the final one-lane bridge, she accelerated, making a dash for the Broken Creek road before nerves and the weather could catch her. She had a feeling that her window of opportunity to reach Mitch was closing, that now she and Pesh were safe, crisis over, he was going to wrap himself up in that cloak of invisibility he liked so much and vanish into the crowd.
Driving the final, unfamiliar kilometres up the Broken Creek valley, Lennie watched the thick macrocarpa hedge that walled the homestead go by. Five hundred metres further on, the shingle road narrowing to little more than a track, she found the driveway Mitch had described. She turned, rattling over the cattle-stop and into the tunnel of trees that led to the house. The clearing behind it was dim in the light of the coming storm.
She pulled up beside a veranda clinging to the front of a small cottage, new red roofing iron above the old cob walls. Behind the veranda, two deep-set sash windows flanked the open front door. Mitch was already walking to meet her, the hunched muscles of his shoulders radiating unease.
Lennie pushed open her door. ‘Hey,’ she said softly.
‘Hey.’
‘I brought you something.’ She held out the bag of muffins. ‘It’s overdue.’
As Mitch looked inside, Lennie thought she saw the beginning of a smile. Doing what she’d do to greet anyone she knew well, she moved to hug him. Mitch’s hands skated over the arms of her sweater as he held her away. ‘Lennie, this is a bad idea.’
All trace of smile was gone from his face.
Lennie offered him hers instead. ‘You said it was okay,’ she reminded him gently.
‘I’ve had two hours to think about all the reasons I should have said no.’
She bit the inside of her lip for courage. ‘Too late,’ she said. ‘I’m here.’
The reason she’d wanted to meet Mitch here, to corner him on his home turf, was so he couldn’t run away from her this time. It occurred to her now, glancing up at the mountainsides dwarfing the trees around the house, that Broken Creek was a very big place. Lennie tried, and failed, to find his eyes. ‘Can I come in?’
In silence, Mitch held out a hand towards the veranda. As they walked over to it, the first spatter of rain hit the iron roof. In the hills, a bass drum of thunder echoed it, and the light faded even further. When Mitch closed the door behind them, the hallway was almost completely dark. To the left, Lennie caught a glimpse of a bedroom. She followed him into the room on the right, glancing around as he set the bag of muffins down on the wooden chest in front of a smouldering fire.
‘Do you want one of those?’ There was a touch of dry humour back in his voice.
Lennie shook her head. Her stomach was so knotted up, she might never eat again.
‘Coffee?’ he asked.
‘Thanks.’ She turned back to the door, ready to follow him to the kitchen.
‘Stay there,’ Mitch said brusquely. ‘I’ll get it.’
Left alone, Lennie wandered to the window, leaning in to assess the thickness of the old dirt walls. The whitewashed sill was nearly as deep as her arm. Outside, more rain rattled the glass of the sash. Moving away again, she settled on the edge of the well-used leather sofa, watching the fire smoke as the wind gusted down the chimney. She could hear Mitch somewhere at the back of the house. Having run her palms up and down her thighs a few times, Lennie picked at a rip in her jeans. She stopped as his footsteps moved in the hall.
‘Here.’ Mitch put two mugs on the chest beside the muffins. He sank to his heels in front of the fire, coaxing the reluctant logs back into flame. ‘How’s Pesh doing?’
‘She came home last night,’ Lennie said. ‘Alice is there, too. I meant to call you when we got back, but…’
‘That’s okay,’ Mitch said. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Mitch, I wanted to call you. I wanted to say thank you.’ She stared at his stiffening shoulders. ‘Thank you for bringing Alice back…’ The same lump rose in her throat every time s
he thought about it. ‘I don’t even know how you did that.’
Mitch got up and walked to the window. He stood with his back to her, looking out at the rain. ‘It was easy enough. We’ve had that bag in the shed for years. Nate’s stepdad had a crack at live deer recovery back in the day.’ He paused. ‘I’ve been told it’s harder when they’re wild and conscious.’
‘Thank you for Pesh,’ Lennie said. ‘For being there. For helping me.’
Mitch was silent.
‘I don’t feel…’ She glanced at the muffins. ‘I don’t feel like I’m saying this right. I just want you to know how much—’
‘I do,’ he said. ‘It’s okay. I know.’
‘And I also want you to know—’ Lennie got it out in a rush, before she could lose her nerve ‘—that when you saw me that day at the races, it wasn’t…’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does matter.’ She pushed back her hair. ‘Because what you thought you saw wasn’t happening. I know how it must have looked, but that’s not how it was.’
‘You were happy,’ Mitch said. ‘That’s what I saw. It looked like you didn’t have a care in the world.’
‘If I was happy that day, it wasn’t because I was with Benji. And I did have a care. A pretty big care, actually. For you. For where you were, and what you were thinking, and when I was going to see you again…’ Lennie ground to a halt. He really needed to say something now.
‘I know you care about me.’ Mitch’s voice was even lower than usual. ‘I care about you too. But Lennie, things aren’t easy for me. Ordinary things, sometimes. You don’t need that in your life.’
‘Do you like it when people tell you what you need?’
He gave a short, sharp laugh.
Tired of talking to his shoulderblades, Lennie walked over to the window, leaning back on the sill to see Mitch’s face. ‘Recent history suggests that having you around works out pretty well for me.’
‘I’m not saying you can’t call if you need something.’ His eyes were still on the strengthening rain. ‘If I can help you, I will.’
‘What are you saying?’ Barely touching, she put her hand to his chest.
Mitch looked down at it, his forehead furrowing. ‘You can’t fix me. I’m never going to be better than I am now.’ Taking her hand, he returned it to her lap. ‘I’m never going to go back to being the guy I was.’
Lennie didn’t let go. ‘I don’t know the guy you were.’ She held his hand between her knees. ‘I only know who you are now.’
He looked at her, a fleck of surprise in his eyes.
‘Mitch, I don’t want you to change. I want the man I’ve met, not some person you used to be.’
Reaching up, she kissed his mouth softly, the stubble of his jaw beneath her hand. When she drew back, he looked at her for a long moment, light and shadow playing over his face from the rain outside. There was a flicker of something else, an ember of humour starting to glow.
‘I remember that jersey,’ he said.
Lennie blushed a little. She’d been hoping he would. Mitch extracted the hand she’d been holding.
‘I think the last time I saw it, it went a little like this.’ Easing one shoulder to the top of her bicep, he adjusted the other to match. Lightly, he ran the tips of his middle fingers down her neck, lingering briefly in the well of her throat before sinking to meet the wool now stretched across her breasts. His hands returned to her arms, drawing the sweater lower.
Lennie raised her chin, her naked skin longing for his touch.
Pushing her hair back, Mitch kissed her slowly. She freed herself from the fallen sleeves of the sweater, running her hands over his stomach, learning the curves of the muscles under his shirt as he unhooked her bra. She worked his shirt open, slipping it from his shoulders, the grey rainlight moving over his skin. His hands were unzipping her jeans, sliding over her hips, sinking under the lace of her briefs, removing both in one motion, lace and denim hitting the floor at their feet.
Lennie had opened her knees to him without conscious thought, and now she reached for his hips, unbuttoning the jeans rough between her thighs, her hand searching out the hard silk of his erection, exploring its length. As she leaned forward, tracing the shape of his tip with her lips, Mitch’s hand twisted in her hair. Taking her by the waist, he set her back on the sill, the sweater falling from her hips. He caught her breasts in his hands as she arched away from the cold glass against her back, one open palm grazing her hardened nipple as his other hand moved down.
Lennie gasped, raising her mouth to him, his kiss taking the breath from her body as his fingertip slipped gently, joltingly, over her clitoris, his other hand still teasing her nipple, his dark eyes open, watching her every move as she flushed and swelled to his touch.
Oh god, he was hard…
The slow, sure slide of his fingertip circling the growing knot of her clitoris, the mirrored motion of his thumb on her breast, was sweeping her high, so high she wasn’t sure she could handle the rush, and her body was crying out for him.
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Please…’
‘Not yet.’ The low voice in her ear was rough but controlled, taking over her mind the same way his hands were taking over her body. ‘I want to see how you work.’
Lennie arched to him again, but the pressure of his hands held her back, their twin motion continuing, the intensity rising, rising, with every slippery, circling stroke, mind and body parting company in the white moment of weightlessness as she reached the top of the wave. Then she was crashing down with it and Mitch was inside her at last, his hands gripping her hips, and instead of diminishing, the intensity was increasing again and her body had passed beyond her recall, lost, totally his, the shuddering echoes of her climax gathering around the mount of his, gathering into god knew what, as he drove into her slow and hard, finding places she hadn’t believed she possessed.
She was clinging to him, her fingers sunk into the muscles of his shoulders, every synapse enflamed, fearing as much as she craved the next almost unbearable stroke, and he was pushing her back, making her feel it fully, his hand sliding over her throat, between her slippery breasts, driving deep, deep as the swell that was moving forward and back, threatening to overwhelm her as it went on, and on. All at once she was coming around him, unable to stop as he continued to move, her whole body reduced to one raw, hot point of blindness that flared and was gone, leaving her in an unknown place where she was conscious of nothing but Mitch still deep inside her, still moving, his grip on her tightening as he started to come. As the rush of his climax swept through her Lennie felt it almost as powerfully as her own, the lines between their bodies blurring, Mitch holding her so close she wasn’t sure whether the pounding between her breasts was her heartbeat or his.
His mouth was on her wet skin, his hand in her hair. They were both breathing hard, jolts of pleasure still running between her body and his. Lennie could feel herself starting to laugh.
Pulling her hair back, Mitch kissed her hard, a kiss that had her halfway back to longing again. Then he was laughing too.
‘Well,’ Lennie said. ‘You seem to have got the hang of things okay.’
‘It’s a start.’ The smile he was giving her was like nothing she’d seen before. It tugged at her heart the same way his kiss tugged at her body, and Lennie felt a small clunk of fear. It was way, way too early to be this much in love with a man. With this man. ‘There’s always room for improvement,’ he said.
‘I’m not sure I can handle improvement.’
Mitch wrapped his shirt around her shoulders, kissing her again as he withdrew from her body. Lennie groaned, already wanting him back. She stroked his stomach as he re-buttoned his jeans, her knees tightening around his thighs. He lifted her easily, one arm scooping up her legs, the other pressing her to his chest.
In the bedroom, he laid her down, his lips brushing her throat, her breast, her stomach. She felt another wave—pure happiness, this time—as she watched him s
tep out of his jeans and move onto the bed, pulling the duvet around them both as she settled into his arms, his warmth against her cooling skin, his breath on her forehead. She kissed his neck, tasting the salt on his skin as the rain drove against the window.
Nineteen
Lennie woke up to the touch of Mitch’s hand on her cheekbone, the back of his index finger tracing its line. He was bending over her, fully dressed, his jacket on.
‘I have to go,’ he said softly.
‘Go?’ she echoed, consciousness swirling up.
‘Mountain Rescue are paging me. I have to go fly a search.’ Mitch paused, smiling slightly. ‘For humans, this time.’ He kissed her mouth. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be.’
‘No.’ She frowned, struggling up to her elbows. ‘Of course…’
Before Lennie had shaken off the last of her sleep, Mitch was out the door. She lay back, pulling the unfamiliar duvet a little closer. A few minutes later, she heard the helicopter take off for the hop across the hills to Kimpton.
As the noise faded, the silence in the cottage was total. Lennie realised the rain had stopped. She looked around, taking in the strange room. It was unfussy, neat. A grey light edged the thick curtains Mitch had pulled over the remains of the afternoon, and the rough white walls were shadowed. There was an old dark-oak wardrobe beside the door and a matching chest of drawers against the back wall, its surface clean of clutter.
Swinging her legs out of bed, Lennie found a rug beneath her bare feet. At the same moment they met it, her eyes found the photograph below the lamp on the single bedside table. Lennie’s stomach twisted. It was them. The Mitch she’d never known and the woman he’d wanted to spend his life with. Gazing at Emily’s handsome, strong-boned face, the curve of her mouth, the spark of wit, of life, in her eyes, Lennie felt like a trespasser. A thief in the house. She forced herself to keep looking.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, her own voice strange in her ears. ‘I know it should be you here.’
Mitch was sitting beside Emily, two pints on the table in front of them, a very English-looking stone wall at their backs. He looked relaxed. And young. They were both glowing, both tanned, the light catching Emily’s short, ash-blonde hair, an unselfconscious smile on Mitch’s face as he looked up into the phone he was holding. Lennie wondered how many more days they’d had together after he’d taken the picture. Not enough. Not nearly enough.