by Nikki Logan
The lab formerly known as the garage.
He’d thought about making it a store room, but then realised he wouldn’t be able to go in and out of there for stuff, so he’d left it empty. Better a science lab than empty as a tomb—although, the latter was more appropriate. Would Kate freak out if she knew? Part of him thought no—she was a scientist and used to much more grisly things than that—but part of him remembered that she’d been fond of Leo.
‘How often did you see my father?’ he asked a little later, when she was back to smelling like a clean, natural woman. She was trucking things from the verandah around to the double-doors of the garage. He lumped one of the bigger boxes as he followed her.
Kate paused and thought about it. ‘Maybe three times a week?’
For two years. That was a lot—compared to him. Yet she could still whack on the pressure when she had to. ‘Must have been tough while he was against your project.’
Kate smiled, and he realised how much he waited for those peek-a-boo dimples to show up. How he lightened just for seeing them.
‘He was no picnic even after he came round.’
I’ll bet. ‘Came round?’
‘Reconciled himself,’ Kate corrected.
Grant’s feet locked up at the roll-door to the garage. No way he was going a step further into that space. ‘To giving up his land?’
Kate dropped her box and straightened, frowning. ‘To giving up his dogged stance. I think he was just being belligerent out of habit toward the end there.’
Grant snorted. ‘He always was contrary.’
She thought about that. ‘No, I think he was lonely. Dragging out the negotiations gave him regular contact.’
Pain sliced unexpectedly low in his gut. He shot up straight.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kate rushed to make good. ‘That’s none of my business.’
‘My father didn’t really do lonely, Kate,’ he said, lowering his voice, critically aware of their location. Leo McMurtrie had liked nothing better than to be alone with his thoughts when Grant was a boy, sitting out high on a bluff somewhere. Leaving his son to find his own amusement.
‘I know he filled his spare time with committees and doing odd jobs for friends,’ she said. ‘But I think you can be busy and still lonely.’
‘Speaking from experience, Kate?’ Her eyes rounded and darkened with pain, then flicked away carefully. Grant gave himself the fastest of inner lectures.
She rushed on. ‘Just as some people can be bored but think they’re content.’
Was that a dig at him? No, she couldn’t know… ‘Bored is not a phrase I associate with Dad, either.’
‘No.’ Did that gentle smile mean she forgave him his snappy response? ‘No shortage of tasks when you’re running a farm single-handed.’
Grant winced. Everywhere he turned there were reminders of the future that his father had wanted for him. He should have been here with his dad, running the farm. Maybe then he could have headed Kate’s research off before it had even started. Maybe then there would have been no question of the surety of their property. Maybe then his dad would still be alive.
And maybe he’d be arguing loudly with an impossible man right now instead of talking quietly with a woman who was intriguing the hell out of him.
They added two more loads of gear to the pile at the roller-door. Grant knew the moment was coming when he’d need to press the remote and open it. There was nothing in there now but dust and storage boxes. But still his pulse began to hammer.
Kate turned to him. ‘Could I ask…?’
His heart squeezed painfully. No, don’t ask. Don’t make me say no.
She nodded towards the garage. ‘Just some of the bigger pieces?’
An icy sweat broke out along his spine. He called on every boardroom tactic in his arsenal to keep it from showing on his face, and then he really scraped the barrel and called on desperate humour.
Not his strong suit.
‘What happened to your fiery independence Ms Dickson? Does it only last until there’s heavy lifting to be done?’
He saw the impact of his words in the dimming of her eyes, in the stiffness of her shoulders. He kicked himself, while at the same time acknowledging that his sarcasm was still better than what he wanted to do: turn and sprint for the hills.
It was stupid not to have anticipated this moment. He should have left her to her unpacking and made himself scarce instead of hanging around like a blowfly waiting for her to smile again. Now he either had to forever position himself as a jerk in her mind or walk into the room he’d found his father in.
‘Sorry,’ she said, clipped, frosty and calm. ‘You must have things to do. I’ll be fine.’
He knew that. If he hadn’t been here, she would have managed. All she had to do was take a few things out of the heaviest boxes. She didn’t actually need the help. Whether she knew it or not, she’d been making overtures of friendship since she’d walked in his front door with her paltry belongings two nights ago.
And he’d just thrown it back in her face.
Suck it up, kid. The voice in his imagination was a hybrid of his father’s and his own.
‘Kate, wait.’ He stopped her as she would have turned completely away. ‘That was a bad joke. I’m sorry.’
‘No.’ She shook his hand free, her eyes low. ‘You’ve been more than generous with your offer of lab space and a room. I don’t want to take advantage any more than—’
Grant silenced her by bending and intentionally taking the biggest of the equipment boxes. ‘Can you get the door?’ While he had an armful of box, he couldn’t operate the remote; something told him that was a button-press he simply could not make.
Even if Kate was with him.
That thought brought his head up sharply. Since when had Grant ‘the Closer’ McMurtrie needeed someone to hold his hand? Since never. But, as he watched Kate’s delicate index-finger activate the remote control and that enormous door began to rumble upwards, he’d never in his life been so grateful for the presence of another human being.
With no chance of stopping himself, he moved one step closer to Kate. Sweat broke out across his top lip.
‘Oh, it’s fabulous!’ She swept in ahead of him, into the large, open space. His heart pounded against his ribs and he forced his feet into action. Alan had rallied some volunteers to tow his father’s car away and help clean the garage out after his death. Only the mayor had known the significance of what they were doing. The resulting space was clean, empty and entirely innocent of the terrible thing that had happened here. The garage was as much a victim of his father’s decision as all of them.
It was due a reinvention.
‘Will this do?’ Only those who knew him best would spot the slight break in his voice.
‘Do? It’s perfect. It’s fully plumbed.’ Kate moved around the large space, checking out the features. ‘It has a fridge.’
‘Dad’s old beer-fridge.’ Beer and, for some reason, bowls of the most disgusting liquid covered in damp tea-towels and foaming away beneath a pancake layer of thick fungi. ‘I think Dad was working on his own laboratory experiment in here.’
At Kate’s quizzical look, he explained what he had found. Not when or why, but what.
Her face softened. ‘Kombucha tea. I’m glad he finally gave it a try. I put him onto it.’
‘What tea?’
‘Kombucha. It’s a fungus. It grows on the top and the tea below ferments and forms a naturopathic cider. It’s good for you.’
‘I can’t imagine how. It looked and smelled disgusting. I imagine the only thing it was good for was the compost heap.’
Why the hell had a grumpy, acerbic old farmer been talking herbal recipes with a gorgeous greenie? How much had the man changed in twenty years? And what kind of a relationship had he had with Kate Dickson? Every conversation Grant had with her led him to imagine the two of them had been more than just business colleagues.
Friends.
Kate’s enthusiasm for her n
ew lab chased more of the shadows away from this place; she was just so excited. But still she turned to him, eager to give him a last chance, presumably.
‘You’re sure you don’t want to use this for your Jeep?’
Not in a million years. ‘It’s all yours. Just don’t blow anything up.’
‘I think you’re over-imagining what kind of work we do here. It’s mostly microscopes and sifting.’
Ah, yes—the vomit. Charming.
Wide brown eyes turned to him. ‘You’re welcome to come in and have a look any time you want.’
He crunched his nose as she turned back to the mountainous boxes. ‘Don’t be offended if I pass.’ For more reasons than one. He couldn’t imagine himself ever getting comfortable in here.
Kate smiled as she hauled more boxes into the lab.
This really was perfect. She couldn’t imagine why Grant wouldn’t want to keep his precious car in here, but his loss was her gain. She’d downplayed the difference having an on-site lab would make to her program, because he was still so sensitive to their progress and because his offer really was a gift from the research gods. The truth was it would make an enormous difference to their ability to process samples and with the hours saved she could dedicate some time to searching up the coast for the seals’ primary breeding-site.
All she needed was a boat. And someone to sail it.
How hard could that be to find in a fishing community? First chance she got, she’d head into town and see who she could rustle up. Things were beginning to go her way again. Kate could feel rightness returning to the world.
‘So when do farming lessons begin?’
His voice was still tight but his body looked more relaxed than when he’d first entered. You’d have thought he was being escorted to the gallows. She’d given him one last chance to opt out if he was that reluctant to have her lab in his house—or maybe to help her project out, after all—but he hadn’t taken it. And, although he’d been painful about helping her move her stuff in, he was certainly applying himself and all those compounding muscles admirably to the task. Super-quick, in fact. Like he couldn’t wait to get out of here.
Kate sighed. It would be easy to trust him and believe that he had the Atlas colony’s interests at heart; that he was trying to offer a compromise that meant they both got what they needed. But at the end of the day that was navïely futile. No way could they both walk away from this situation equally happy. Grant was going through the motions out of courtesy, but everything in his manner said he couldn’t wait to be out of here. After the rocky start they’d had, courtesy was something, but just because she was starting to like the man didn’t mean it was mutual.
This was Leo all over again. Look how long it had taken him to warm to her—although once he had it had almost been like becoming family. When the McMurtrie men bonded, they really bonded.
Which was not something she should be thinking in Grant McMurtrie’s presence. Not when he stood between her and her nicely ordered world, her nicely ordered future.
So when should farming lessons begin—if at all?
‘Without the travelling time I should have a few hours each evening,’ she said carefully. Dinner. Conversation. The intricacies of sheep castration. Nice and neutral. ‘Could that work for you?’
‘Night school…’ Jade eyes considered her. ‘I like it. It’ll fill those long evenings.’
Right. Another subtle reminder that this was business to him. As it should be to her.
‘Would you mind if we postponed Friday night’s tutorials? I was hoping to go into Castleridge.’
His reply was immediate. ‘Into town? Sure. I’ll come in with you.’
That brought her head around. ‘Why?’
Charming lines furrowed his brow. ‘Uh…’
Kate smiled. ‘Getting used to the company, Grant?’
He slid one last box onto the work bench. ‘Maybe I’m looking for a better class of company.’
She would have been offended if she’d thought for a moment that was true. While she might not be the best reader of men on the planet, she did know sharp conversation when she found it, and her discussions with Grant so far had been diverse and free-flowing. Almost scintillating. Especially when you threw in the healthy dose of chemistry that zinged around between the words.
In between remembering they were on opposite sides of this awkward situation.
Her smile widened into a full tease. ‘Well, then, perhaps we’ll both get lucky in that regard.’
He muttered something she couldn’t hear but then decided she didn’t want to. She’d kid herself a little longer that there was a mini-friendship brewing here; she wouldn’t go bursting her own bubbles just yet. Life had a way of doing that for her—with terminal impact.
‘I’ll come along to keep you out of trouble with the locals. They might not take kindly to a conservationist in their territory.’
Kate grinned. Finally something they agreed on. ‘If there’s something I know all about, it’s territorial mammal behaviour. Especially the bulls.’ She kept her gaze innocent and open, but his narrowed eyes told her she wasn’t fooling anyone. ‘Do you think we’ll need some kind of secret signal if I get in trouble?’
‘No need,’ he assured her, a tasty twist to his full lips. ‘I’ll hear the sounds of the gallows being erected and come running.’
Kate bent for the final box of equipment. ‘To help them with the finishing touches?’
His gaze smoothly shifted from her back end to her face as she straightened. ‘That remains to be decided.’
She held a cupped hand to her ear and tipped her head towards the floor. ‘Why, I do believe that’s the sound of ice cracking in hell.’
His indulgent smile shouldn’t have been steamy, but it was. Somehow teasing Grant was turning into a specialty of hers, even when she didn’t mean to. How could it not be, with positive reinforcement like that? When she teased, he smiled. And those smiles were rewarding in a way she was only just beginning to understand.
‘The only thing cracking around here is my back under the weight of these boxes,’ he grumbled. ‘What’s in this stuff? Gold bullion?’
Kate paused a moment, deciding whether to let him retreat from their flirtatious exploration. But then reality came creeping back in and she realised that putting things back on a professional footing was not only wise but overdue.
Even if it was also a lot less fun.
Grant stood directly between her and her project. He was the man robbing her of the choices she’d worked so hard to assure, taking control out of her hands.
And no-one was doing that again.
No-one.
CHAPTER SIX
EVEN though they’d joked about the townsfolk stringing her up, Kate hadn’t actually believed it would happen. But here she was, metaphorically at least, being marched to the gallows by the fishing fraternity of Castleridge. She’d come to find a man with a boat. What she’d got was a whole lot more complicated.
‘Not a single hour free in the next month?’ She gaped. ‘Seriously?’
Joe Sampson was the fourth fisherman she’d tried. How could they all be busy?
‘Not for the sort of job you want.’
Oh, here we go. ‘You charter your vessel. Isn’t a job a job?’
‘Not around here, love. I can afford to pick and choose.’
Another person ripping options out from under her. ‘So why are you choosing to turn down my charter?’
Joe turned his grizzled face and his beer breath her way. The whites of his eyes were stained as yellow as his nicotine teeth. ‘I told ya. I’m busy.’
Kate narrowed her eyes and raised herself to her full height. She raised her voice, too. ‘Not too busy to find time to get drunk with your mates, I see.’
Two of those mates laughed, booming, gusty guffaws; Joe Sampson turned and glared at them. When he came back to her, his eyes were sharp like a fox. ‘That’s right, love, I like a drink. The last sort of person you
want driving you up the coast.’
She’d heard that about him. She planted her fists on her hips and glared at him. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’
His friends burst into fits of laughter again, one of them coughing and spluttering with the effort. Kate distantly wondered whether he’d ever tried kombucha for his lungs.
Out of nowhere, a steely hand closed around her upper arm and pulled her away from the fuming Joe Sampson. ‘Kate,’ a familiar, velvety voice said. ‘Sorry I’m so late, got a call from the city. Let’s get our table, shall we?’
The words triggered a delicious tingling through her body. She spun around to face Grant. Table? What was he doing here?
‘She’s a guest on your land, McMurtrie,’ the old fella wheezed. ‘And it’s out of respect for your father that I haven’t told her exactly what she can do with her request to charter my vessel.’
‘Joe…’
Grant and the bar manager spoke at the same time but the older man wasn’t deterred. ‘Leo might’ve gotten himself all addled by a piece of city skirt, but not everyone is as easily swayed as he was.’
Kate spun around again, not sure which insult boiled her blood more. ‘Easily swayed? Had you met Leo McMurtrie?’
Joe finally put down his beer, ready for a battle. ‘I grew up with him, love.’
Then something else hit her. ‘And I am not a piece of city skirt. I grew up in a town smaller than this one.’
‘Good for you,’ Joe snapped. ‘Why don’t you head back there? Your kind is not wanted here.’
Even his own mates stepped in then, taking Joe’s beer from the bar and moving away from their seats as if he’d follow, pied-piper style. They underestimated him.
She straightened to her full height. ‘Is that so?’
‘Kate…’
Grant’s warning was warm against her ear but she was too far gone to care. She ignored his plea and shot back at Joe. ‘And what kind is that, exactly?’
The whole bar stopped to listen. People peered in from the dining area next door.
‘You greenie mob. More interested in saving a bunch of thieving sea-dogs than the lives and livelihoods of the people living here.’