Combatting Fear

by Sandy Vaile

Micah turned. “How did you know?”

  “A few months ago, Rowan left his favourite plush monkey at kindy, and I knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I offered to drop it to him. Chelsea said they were going out, but the door at the back of the garage was always unlocked.”

  Micah jogged over and stepped inside. “Damn it, no cars. I’m too late.”

  “Okay, so they’re definitely not here. We should go.”

  Micah moved towards an internal door.

  “Don’t,” she yelped. Hell, this wasn’t what she signed up for when she knocked on his cabin door.

  “Why would they leave the furniture, shoes, clothes? It’s still early. They might have just gone out for dinner,” he said.

  “Let’s get out of here before someone comes home,” she pleaded.

  Micah tried the handle.

  “That’s it. I’m out of here.” Neve didn’t wait to see if the door was locked. She ran around the house and up the long driveway, pushing through the burn in her thighs as she hiked up the incline. By the time she reached the car, she was gasping.

  Her speedy retreat kind of lost its potency when she realised she’d have to wait for Micah or he’d be stranded there.

  Tempting.

  God only knew what he was doing in Chelsea’s house, leaving fingerprints, breaking stuff. Dave could come home any second. Sweat prickled her forehead, so she opened the leather jacket to let some of the cold night air in and peered down the dark road in the direction she’d come.

  Just when Neve had convinced herself it would be better to start walking back to Turners Gully, Micah’s tall shadow appeared at the roadside. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, head bowed. He didn’t look at her as he stood by the driver’s door.

  “You have the keys,” he said flatly.

  “Oh!” She searched the pocket of his jacket and tossed them over the car.

  He pressed a button. Orange hazard lights flashed and the door locks clicked, but Micah continued to stand there.

  “Okay, well, you seem to have this under control, so if you could take me back to my car . . .” She opened the passenger door but hesitated.

  Micah tilted his head to one side, his voice barely a murmur. “I am so far from having this situation under control that it’s giving me an ulcer.” A long, miserable sigh rushed from his lips, and he glanced over his shoulder, towards Chelsea’s house.

  “You’re going to come back when I’m gone, aren’t you?” In the dark, she caught the glint of his eyes but couldn’t read his face.

  “You really stuck your neck out for me tonight. Let me repay you by buying dinner.” He glanced at his watch. “If we hurry, we’ll make it before the pub stops serving.”

  “You know when the pub shuts?” She couldn’t imagine him slumming it with the locals.

  “I ate there last night. I’d like to hear your ideas about how to move forward with Chelsea.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Dinner with Richie Rich wasn’t on the cards. She was already too involved in this mess. It was time to step aside and let Micah and Chelsea work it out between them.

  His mobile phone rang. “Hang on a minute.” He pressed it to his ear. “Kincaid.”

  Then he went very still. Alarmingly so. Neve walked around the car but couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Yes, I understand. No, I won’t. Yes. Of course I will. When?” He pressed the end button, but his mouth remained open.

  When Neve couldn’t stand the suspense any longer, she touched his arm. “Who was that?”

  “Dave said that Chelsea will sign the divorce papers and hand over Rowan on Monday”—he turned expressionless eyes to her—“if I deposit two million dollars into a bank account of his choosing.”

  “Holy shit!” Bile rose in her throat. “They want you to buy him?”

  It was unimaginable. Bloody Dave; she’d rip his arms off and beat him with them for thinking he could sell Rowan, but what she really wanted to ask was whether Micah would pay. Bron had said he was loaded, but two million dollars?

  “Hey, do you think she knew we were at her house?” Maybe Chelsea had been hiding inside the whole time or had cameras set up. Crap, now we’re in trouble.

  Micah was unresponsive, his breathing shallow and a sheen of sweat coating his brow. Her work persona took over.

  “Micah, you need to put your jacket on.”

  She took it off, and he was passively helpful as she slipped his arms into the sleeves and pulled it over his broad shoulders. At least her residual body heat would help warm him.

  “Perhaps we should go back to your cabin so you can get warm?”

  This time he turned to frown at her. “Huh?”

  “You’re cold, might be going into shock.”

  He shook his head. “I’m okay. Rowan is nearby.”

  “Yes, that’s great, but I think you ought to sit down.”

  Obviously he was disturbed by the idea of having to come up with such a large sum of money, so there was no way she was letting him get behind the wheel. She snatched the keys from his hand and climbed into the driver’s seat. She’d never driven a car with leather seats and a polished wood dash before. So this was how the other half lived. It took a couple of minutes to adjust the mirrors and the seat that was pushed back a mile. Apparently long enough for Micah to defrost.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to take you back to the cabin and make a cup of tea, and we can figure out what to do next.” She turned on the heater.

  “I need something a darn sight stronger than tea,” he said. “Besides, I promised to buy you dinner.”

  “I don’t need anyone to buy my dinner, but I am tired and hungry and could do with a stiff drink myself.”

  At least a little colour had returned to his face. With a flick of her wrist, she motioned for him to go around to the passenger side, and he didn’t argue. She put the automatic into drive and cruised back over the hill to Turners Gully.

  It was nearly eight thirty when they squeezed into the last available park in the dirt lot across the road from the Oak Hotel.

  The old stone building sat well above street level, on the high side, with a second-storey perched on top and a side room that used to be the stables. She walked briskly beside Micah as they crossed the road and took the stairs to the alfresco area, where tables were nestled under broad Crown Beer umbrellas. She held her breath until they were through the cigarette smog.

  He held the door open for her.

  “G’day, Neve,” the regular Friday waitress greeted them, and none too subtly checked out Micah.

  Neve refrained from rolling her eyes. “Hi, Belinda.”

  “Wow, out on a week night.”

  “Very funny. We’re just grabbing a quick drink.”

  Micah cleared his throat. “Actually, we were hoping to get a meal, but I think we’re too late.” He made a show of checking his watch.

  Belinda looked like she might melt into a puddle on the floor from the voltage of his charm. “The kitchen hasn’t served the last meals yet. Let me check for you.” She adjusted her hair and trotted off.

  “Oh, please,” Neve mumbled.

  Micah shrugged. “What? There’s nothing wrong with asking. You don’t get anything in life by sitting on the sidelines.”

  Belinda returned. “Chef said it’s not a problem. I’ve got a nice quiet table in the back room.”

  Quiet table? “No, we—” Neve hurried after Belinda. That’s how small-town rumours started.

  The back room was built into the side of the hill, with a low ceiling and rough stone walls. Micah pulled Neve’s chair out.

  As Belinda bent to light the tea light candle on the table, she jiggled her eyebrows for only Neve to see.

  “We’re just friends,” Neve whispered.

  “Sure you are,” Belinda whispered back. Then she winked and added at a normal volume, “Here are the menus, and the specials are on th
e board there. I’ll give you a minute, Mr.—?”

  Neve cut her off. “Thanks, we’ll let you know when we’re ready.” No need for introductions. It’s not like he’d be in town long. As soon as he bought what he wanted, he’d breeze on back to the rat race.

  Micah raised an eyebrow in query. “I’ll order us those drinks, shall I?’ He didn’t wait for an answer but strode across the room and leant against the bar like he owned the place. The countertop was made from a thick length of two-hundred-year-old red gum with bark still adhered at the edges. Strangely, Micah seemed as at home here as she imagined he would be in a boardroom.

  While he studied the collection of Australian coasters above the bar, Neve studied him. Now that he was clean-shaven, to say he was good looking seemed like an understatement. His face was round and youthful, his body lean and powerful. Tight stonewashed denim clung to athletic legs and a firm butt. His hair looked carefully haphazard and was the same rich brown colour as the leather jacket.

  Thirty-two years were enough to make her biological clock tick loudly, but it didn’t mean she was desperate. She’d never wanted a man who could buy her the world. Only someone who would look at plain old Neve and see the world.

  Old Tom—one of the regulars who was perched on a stool in the front bar—waved through the service window. Micah waved back.

  How the hell do they know each other?

  Micah returned with the drinks.

  “I took you for a wine connoisseur.” She tapped a nail on the side of the brandy balloon.

  “I am, but with the week I’ve had, I thought we should skip straight to the hard stuff.”

  “You haven’t seen the wine cellar. It’s impressive.”

  “Maybe another night.”

  Not likely considering he could leave town at any minute.

  “You know the locals?” She nodded in the direction of the front bar.

  “I sure have chatted to quite a few in the past couple of days. They all seem to know you though.”

  “What? You’ve been asking about me?” Her hands snapped onto the tabletop.

  He pushed a placating palm towards her. “Hang on a minute. I asked about Chelsea, but no one knew much about her. They did, however, say that if Rowan attended kindergarten, I should talk to you.”

  God, I’m such a dope.

  Not that she cared what he thought, of course. She was strictly here to help Rowan.

  Belinda arrived and pulled an order pad and pen from her back pocket. She fluttered her eyelashes at Micah and jotted down their orders.

  What the heck was a small town kindy teacher supposed to talk to a zillionaire about? It’s not like she knew jack about fancy cars or high maintenance wives. Really he didn’t need her. He could pay a bunch of professionals to help him. Sure, he’d had her worried for a minute after Chelsea’s phone call, but he looked calm and collected now. Awkward.

  Stick to small talk. “So, do you have other family, besides Chelsea and Rowan?”

  There was a slight twitch at the corners of his eyes, and he folded his arms. “Sure. A sister who’s married with children, a brother who is a pilot and travels the world, and then there’s Mum, who lives with me in Sydney.”

  “Doesn’t living with your mum cramp your style?”

  “I guess it should at my age, but we get along just fine.”

  “You didn’t mention your dad. Is he still alive?”

  “Not to me.” His jaw tightened for a moment, and then he tilted his head from side to side and relaxed. “Thanks again for helping me.” He cupped the brandy balloon between both hands and swirled the caramel-coloured liquid around the glass. “Tell me again why.” He looked at her with such intensity that she couldn’t turn away.

  “Burnt sugar,” she murmured.

  “Burnt what?”

  Crap, did I say that aloud? “Umm, you have the same coloured eyes as Rowan. That’s how I knew you were his father.”

  His expression softened, and the longer he stared into Neve’s eyes, the harder it was to breathe.

  “You seem to genuinely care about Rowan. As though he’s more than just one of your charges, I mean.”

  “He reminds me of my brother, that’s all.”

  “Your brother’s only four? He must’ve been quite a surprise for your parents.”

  “No.” This wasn’t something she wanted to get into with him.

  “Oh, you meant Rowan reminds you of your brother when he used to be that age. Does he live in Turners Gully too?”

  Well, he asked for it. At least once people knew the truth, they stopped with the questions.

  “My brother and mother died twenty years ago in a car accident.”

  Chapter 11

  Neve’s eyes became expressionless, and her mouth hardened. Could he shove his foot any farther into his mouth? There were a million questions on his tongue, but she was clearly a private person, and he of all people should understand that, so he left them unspoken and sipped the cognac.

  After a few minutes, he decided to break the silence with general chitchat. “So, how long have you worked at the kindergarten?”

  “Six years, two as the director. I love it.” Her eyes sparkled. “I’m so lucky to work there, and they’re a great bunch of kids. I guess because we all live in the area, we’re like one big happy family. Even my staff live locally and have worked there for years.” She sipped her cognac. “Wow, that’s good.”

  “It’s extra old.”

  “And that’s desirable?”

  He chuckled. “Twenty years in an oak barrel is why it doesn’t burn on the way down like the cheap rubbish.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “Well, XO cognac would be enough to convert a nun. What made you want to work in preschool?”

  “It’s all I ever wanted after”—she averted her eyes—“Carlos died.”

  He’d done it again. This was the first time he’d really talked to her, and she was fascinating, but with his rampant foot in mouth disease, it might be safer to shut up.

  Belinda delivered their meals, hovering just a moment too long. He flicked the serviette across his lap as Neve pushed a chip around her plate.

  So, Rowan reminds her of her dead brother. What was he supposed to make of that? It still didn’t exactly explain why she was helping. There was something she wasn’t saying.

  She glanced up and caught him staring. “So, what else did Dave say?”

  Back to business then. “I told you everything. I guess he’ll phone with the bank details and a hand over location.”

  Neve flinched. “And that’s what you want?”

  Her expression was unreadable.

  “Honestly? I didn’t want any of this. When I married Chelsea, I meant it to be for life. When we had a baby, I meant to care for him until my last breath. Things don’t always turn out the way we want.”

  Her eyes softened. “No, they don’t. Can you, umm, raise that kind of money?”

  He tried to read any underlying intent in her words but failed. Still, he had had a lot of practice avoiding women who started with gentle queries about how much money he had and graduated to hints about the gifts he ought to buy them.

  “I’ll manage it.”

  Neve frowned. Disapproval or calculation, he couldn’t tell. She opened her mouth and closed it again, drawing his attention to her lush lips—deep pink, even without a stitch of lipstick on them. He was so used to being surrounded by women to whom cosmetics were a second skin, it was refreshing to meet someone who felt confident enough not to want to cover up. She was a classic head-turning beauty.

  Their gazes met and held, and a tiny muscle under her eye ticked.

  “Just like that, you’re going to hand over two million dollars?” she asked.

  And back to the money. “I don’t have a lot of choice.”

  He would give Chelsea twice that if it meant having Rowan back in his life, but that wasn’t any of Miss Botticelli’s business. He’d
built his business so that he could provide for his family, although he’d never dreamt it would come to buying his own child.

  “Well, I guess you don’t need my help anymore—”

  “Hang on. What do you mean? Of course I do. I need someone Rowan knows to be at the hand over, becau—” His mouth snapped shut; he twisted his fork into the last piece of broccoli.

  “You’re afraid he won’t recognise you,” she said gently.

  Micah nodded, still staring at his plate.

  When she reached across the table and picked up his Blackberry, he grabbed her wrist. That little device held more vital information than his laptop.

  “I’ll put my number into your contacts so you can let me know what the plan is after Chelsea phones tomorrow,” she explained.

  He nodded and released her.

  She touched his grazed knuckles with one finger. “What did you hit?”

  He moved his hand to his lap under the table. “It’s just a scrape.”

  Neve’s cheeks tinted pink as she tapped buttons on the Blackberry and put it back on the table.

  “Do you really think Chelsea will hand Rowan over? She is his mother.”

  Micah closed his eyes. “She’s never been much of a mother, but I have to believe she’ll keep her word.”

  She crossed the cutlery on her plate. “It’s getting late.”

  “Yes. I’ll drive you back to your car.” He waved Belinda over, and she placed a black folder on the table.

  Neve grabbed it before he could blink, and scanned the docket.

  “I said I’d buy you dinner for helping me,” he reminded her.

  “I’d feel better if I paid for my own meal.”

  “As you wish.”

  Neve fished in her purse for the correct money. Even someone who was as outraged at his wealth, as she seemed to be, would usually jump at the chance for someone else to buy their dinner. Not this independent dynamo.

  Thanks to the low visibility, the drive back to his cabin was tedious, the streetscape haunting in the shroud of fog. When he cut the motor in front of Cabin 4, they sat listening to the tick of the cooling engine. The seat leather creaked as he turned to face her and found she was already studying him.

  Her gaze travelled from his hair, across his face, and down to his lips, as intimately as the touch of a finger. It rested there, and he wanted to hold her, like he had in his cabin, to smell the honey scent in her hair, run his palms down the silky skin of her arms, and press against her warm body.