by Gover, Janet
She turned slowly back to face him. ‘Actually. I haven’t eaten. I was thinking of getting a burger across the road at the pub …’
She let the sentence hang in mid-air and was rewarded by a broad smile.
‘That sounds good. They do a good steak there, as well. I need to wash up first though.’
‘I’ll see you there.’ This time when she turned to go, Tia was not running away.
Trish had her eyes on Max the moment he walked through the door. He’d expected the smirk on her face as he slid onto a bar stool next to Tia. He’d been in Coorah Creek nearly five years and, in all that time, he’d never had dinner with a woman in the pub. Not like this. Not a date, if that was what this was. But on this occasion he didn’t care what Trish thought; or what she told the town. They could read anything they liked into this. All he was looking for was a chance to have dinner with this woman who had occupied his thoughts far too much since the day he had first laid eyes on her. Then maybe he’d find a way to put her into a proper place in his mind and move on.
Or maybe not. He glanced sideways at her and once again caught the hint of colour under her shirt. That tattoo! He really wanted to get a good look at it. He wondered what it might show and where it might lead.
A beer glass sat in front of Tia, dripping moisture slowly down to the bar mat beneath it. A second glass sat in front of the stool Max now occupied. Neither had been touched. Max reached for his drink. Tia took hers and held his eyes for a long moment. Her eyes were the brilliant green of emeralds and he felt as if he could lose himself in them. Slowly she raised her glass and tipped it gently towards him in salute. He followed suit and they both drank.
He knew he had to speak first. Their encounter on the road had taught him that. Tia wasn’t the chatty sort. But when she did speak … oh boy! Her voice had been exactly as he expected. Low and controlled and sexy. It was exactly right for her and he knew that he was going to spend many hours awake, remembering the way she had called him Sergeant. Now he wanted to hear her speak his name.
He searched for a safe topic of conversation, suddenly feeling a bit awkward, like a teenager on his first date. He knew nothing about her and he wanted to know it all.
‘So,’ he said when the glasses were back on the bar, ‘that’s some bike you have. Tell me about it.’
It wasn’t the right thing to say. He saw it in an instant. A veil came down over those lovely green eyes.
‘I figured by now you would have run the reggo,’ she said warily.
Max shook his head. ‘I had no reason to. And remember,’ he indicated his jeans and short-sleeved shirt, ‘I’m out of uniform. I’m just interested in the bike. You don’t see many like that out here. In fact, it’s the first hog I’ve ever seen. What year is it?’
He saw her hesitate as she reached for the answer.
‘I’ve only had it for about a year, I don’t know much about its history,’ she said in a tone that suggested she wasn’t interested in taking that topic any further.
That was interesting. Harley owners were usually keen to talk about their precious bikes. They could and would tell you in a heartbeat everything about the bike from the size of the engine to the air pressure in the tyres. He fought back the policeman’s instinct that was telling him something wasn’t quite right. Not tonight, he told himself. Tonight I am not a police officer. Tonight I am just Max Delaney having dinner with a woman I very much want to get to know better.
They sat in silence for a moment, each taking another long drink of beer as the tension between them thickened.
‘So, can I get you some food?’ Trish appeared in front of them like some sort of lifesaver. ‘We’ve got my famous lamb casserole on tonight. The steaks are good too, as always. And there’s home-made lasagne, Ellen’s recipe.’
‘Do you know Jack North?’ Max asked Tia. ‘He does a bit of work at the mine. General maintenance. He looks after the airstrip and the plane and fills in here as barman sometimes. He’s a good bloke and his wife Ellen is the best cook in Coorah Creek. She used to cook at the Mineside before they had their baby. Now she cooks here sometimes.’
Tia shook her head.
‘Ellen and Jack are away east,’ Trish continued. ‘Taking their new baby to visit the grandparents, which is nice. They’ve got two older kids as well. They are Ellen’s kids really but Jack treats them as his own. I do miss Ellen and the kids. I like being around babies. It makes me feel young. But even though I cooked the lasagne, it’s still Ellen’s recipe. And it’s still very good.’
Max and Tia shared a subtle look. Trish was a talker; there was no doubt about that. Max was used to her, but for Tia it was still a novelty. She had yet to learn that the thing to do was simply let Trish talk. She usually didn’t expect an answer. Except to the questions about food, of course.
‘What do you want?’ Max asked Tia. ‘My shout.’
‘I’ll try the lamb casserole,’ she said. ‘But I pay my own way thanks.’
‘I’ll have the lamb too,’ Max told Trish before turning to Tia. ‘Didn’t you just shout me a beer?’
‘No, she didn’t,’ Trish jumped in. ‘You owe me for the beer as well as your dinner.’
Max couldn’t help but laugh. Beside him Tia laughed too. It was a lovely sound, like birds singing after a light summer shower. He guessed she didn’t do it very often. When she stopped, he found himself searching for something to say or do that would make her laugh again.
‘So, where did you learn how to make such beautiful things from old wood?’ Tia asked.
‘My dad started me off,’ Max told her, happy to think she wanted to get to know him better. ‘He was an old-fashioned cabinetmaker. He whittled too. He could turn a bit of wood into a bird or a horse or a kangaroo in no time at all. He gave me my first whittling knife when I was about twelve. My first effort was the strangest looking horse you’ve ever seen.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘I’ve been making things with wood ever since. I slowly got better. Most of my horses have four legs now, but my speciality is dinosaurs.’
He was rewarded with another laugh, and a smile that lit her eyes.
‘Your house must be overflowing with little wooden birds and animals.’
‘No. I give them away. Kids seem to like them.’
‘And the furniture you make. It’s really good.’
‘Thanks. I give most of that away too.’
‘Why?’
‘I like working with my hands. Keeps me occupied in the evenings. And I get a lot of satisfaction from—’
‘No. I mean why give it all away? You could get good money for handmade furniture like that. Especially back in the city. There must be rich people down there who would pay really good money for the sort of stuff you make.’ Tia seemed genuinely puzzled.
Max shrugged. ‘I get the wood for nothing. There are a lot of people around town who haven’t got a lot of money, so I make stuff they can use. I like to help out. Besides, I’m not a wood carver or a carpenter. I’m a police officer. That’s who I am.’
He watched the veil come down over her eyes as he spoke. He sensed her withdrawing as she picked up her glass and drank, not because she was thirsty so much as to break the communication between them. He’d seen that sort of behaviour before in police stations, interrogation rooms and cells when he’d been questioning suspects. His professional instincts were telling him there was a lot about Tia’s background that he didn’t know. And a lot that probably wasn’t good. The diverted eyes and the bike told him that. The tattoo, however sexy it might be, was another sign. If he didn’t know better he’d think she was, or at least had been, a gang member. Or in trouble with the law. Maybe in a juvenile centre for a while. He glanced at her bare arms. There was no sign of needle marks, but he hadn’t expected any. She wasn’t behaving like a druggie; more like a runaway trying to hide her past.
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He was a police officer. What or who was she?
Another thought he’d been ignoring pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. Her driver’s licence had been in the name Felicity Walsh. Tia was pretty close, and the description matched. Just because she called herself Tia, that didn’t mean anything. Maybe she didn’t like the name Felicity. A lot of women wouldn’t. He pushed the thought back to the far recesses of his mind. Much as he loved his work, there were times when he wished he could let it go, and simply be himself for a while.
Before he could think of another conversational tack to try, Trish arrived with two steaming plates of food. Tia started eating without a word. Max did too, while watching her out of the corner of his eye. She ate fast, as if determined to get the food down before it was taken from her. For his part, he didn’t taste a single mouthful of Trish’s most popular offering. His mind was too busy trying to solve the enigma of the woman sitting next to him.
They finished their meals in silence. Tia drank the last of her beer, then got to her feet.
‘You could stay and have another,’ Max said.
‘No. I’m on overnights. I need to be back at work in a couple of hours. It’s not a real good idea to drink before you get behind the wheel of a Cat 793.’
Picturing the massive mine trucks, Max had to agree.
‘Some other time, then,’ he said.
Tia shrugged and raised a hand to attract Trish’s attention.
‘What do I owe?’ Tia asked when the older woman arrived.
Max wanted to tell her to forget it; that he would pay. However, he knew Tia well enough by now to know that would be a mistake. Instead, he remained silent while she paid her bill and headed for the door.
‘Goodnight, Tia.’
‘Goodnight … Max.’
Max watched her go. She walked with a long, easy stride. Confident and strong. He was beginning to think that something softer lay beneath that tough girl exterior. He drank the last of his beer as outside the Harley roared into life and drove down the highway south towards the mine.
‘Well?’ Trish appeared in front of him again.
‘Of course. Sorry. How much do I owe you?’ Max pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. That wasn’t what Trish was really after, but that was all she was going to get. Max was fond of Trish. Her encyclopaedic knowledge of everyone in the town and seemingly everything they did or thought had proved useful to him in his official role at times. But tonight wasn’t one of those times.
He put the money on the bar and headed out into the night.
He stayed up late, working in his shed, replaying his conversation with Tia. Replaying every flash of her eyes and those rare but wonderful moments of her laughter. Hearing again the way she said his name. For once, he could not lose himself in the joy of working with his hands to turn something old and abandoned into something new and beautiful. His mind was elsewhere. When at last he went to bed, it was all he could do not to think of the lines of her body under the motorcycle leathers, and that tattoo that peeped from beneath her top.
He was tired and still restless when dawn came. He got out of bed, donned his uniform and his professional demeanour and opened the station early. He was about to do something he had never done before – use his position for personal reasons.
He powered up his computer and logged in to the police department system.
He didn’t give himself time to think. He typed in the name he had seen on that driver’s licence last night. Felicity Walsh. He added the Brisbane suburb listed on the licence as her old address. The search found nothing. No traffic tickets or outstanding warrants for her. No criminal record of any kind. He was surprised to find himself breathing a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realised how worried he was that the search might show something that would force him onto a path he did not want to take.
One more thing to check. He typed in the Harley’s reggo.
The details flashed up on the screen – and his eyes widened. The Harley was not registered in Tia’s name. It was in the name of Andrew Kelly. The reggo address was the same as the address on Tia’s licence. The bike had not been reported stolen, in fact, the reggo had been paid just a few days before. Presumably by the owner; this Andrew Kelly. Why would he pay for reggo on the bike if it was stolen? Maybe there was some sort of relationship between Tia and this guy. He should check him out. See if he had a record.
Max frowned. Despite what his instincts were telling him, there was no crime he could see. And he was going to stop there. There was a mystery about Tia. But it was one Max would solve – as himself, not as Sergeant Delaney. He reached for the mouse to close the window before he could be tempted to look any further.
Chapter Ten
‘Dad. Are you sure you’re feeling up to this? I can handle it. Honestly.’
‘Now, Sarah. Leave it be. I’m not dead yet, and until I am, I’ll work.’
The words cut through Sarah like a knife, as did her father’s anger. She took a half step back, biting her bottom lip to help maintain her calm.
‘Oh, Sarah, honey, I’m sorry.’ Ken’s face softened. ‘I didn’t mean to snap at you. And I didn’t mean to say … well, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay, Dad.’ Sarah stepped close to her father and wrapped her arms around him. Ken was thin and looking frail, and as she buried her head in his chest, she realised that he smelled different now. The cancer and the drugs he was taking to treat it had changed him. But he was still her dad and she loved him just as she had when she was a little girl, curled up in bed falling asleep to the sound of his voice reading her favourite stories. She loved him even more now she was an adult and knew enough about the world to understand what a good man he was. She loved him so much and she was so desperately afraid she was going to lose him.
His arms tightened around her and he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head, just as he had always done when she was upset; ever since she was a small child.
‘All right,’ his voice was rough with emotion as he broke the embrace. ‘Let’s get to work. We need this storeroom tidied up by this afternoon. We’ve got a lot of new stock coming. I’ve decided to start carrying a small range of children’s toys and things. I know you can get it all off the internet, but people sometimes leave it too late. So I thought, as the only general store in town, we should carry some kids’ toys and small gifts. After all, people are always buying things for kids. And children get pocket money too. They need to be able to do something with it.’
Sarah’s heart gave an unexpected little skip. ‘When are you expecting the delivery?’
‘This afternoon. Now, first thing we need to do is sort through the rest of the non-food items. I think they should all be kept in one section. The corner by the back door would be about right.’
Sarah nodded, her thoughts elsewhere. Right now, on the road north of the Creek, Pete was driving his big blue and white truck towards them. His strong hands would be on the wheel and he might be singing. He did that sometimes when he worked, although she doubted he was aware of it. She’d heard him singing softly as he unloaded boxes from his truck. He probably did it when he drove as well. He wasn’t the world’s greatest singer, but he had a pleasant voice. She’d happily listen to him any time, although that probably didn’t have a lot to do with his voice. It was just because she liked being around him and was rather drawn to the idea of sitting beside him, listening to his songs as they travelled through the outback.
‘Sarah? Did you hear? I said we may need to put up some new shelves in that corner to make the stock easier to get to.’
‘Yeah. Sure, Dad. Have you got the necessary bits and pieces?’
If there were shelves to be built, she would be the one doing it. She had come home to take over those tasks that were now too much for her dad to handle. She braced herself to argue with him if he insisted on
doing it himself. At the same time, she braced herself for the heartache if he stood back and handed control to her. That would be an acknowledgement of how ill he really was, and that was going to be just as hard to take.
‘I do,’ Ken said. ‘There’s a complete set of prefab shelving in the garage that will work fine here. I’ll mind the store while you go and get them.’
Pete stretched his arms and flexed his fingers against the steering wheel. The road ahead seemed longer than it normally did and he was having trouble concentrating. That was not a good thing when you were driving a road train. He flicked his stereo on, seeking music he could sing along to. But turned it off again after a few minutes.
He was never going to drink that much beer again. Ever. He was a professional driver and seldom drank more than a single beer. But last night …
It had all started over dinner. Linda had pretty much moved in to live with him now. She’d cooked a nice dinner and there’d been plenty of beer in the fridge waiting for him. It was probably her idea of domestic bliss. After dinner, she’d kissed him long and hard. Her invitation and desire were clear, but he’d turned away. He’d had no desire for sex with Linda since she’d told him the news. She knew how he was feeling and he’d seen the hurt on her face. There had been something else there too. Fear, perhaps. She was afraid he would turn away from her and the child. He’d felt a little hurt by that. Surely she knew him well enough to know he would never desert a child. If she didn’t, that said a lot about any future they might have together.
After that, he’d taken more beer from the fridge and gone outside to sit alone in the darkness and drink. He had drunk far too much of that beer and ended up falling asleep on a squatters chair on the veranda of his small rented house. When the first rays of the sun had hit him squarely in the face, he’d staggered inside to grab a couple more hours of sleep on the sofa before heading off to work before Linda woke. He was ashamed of his behaviour. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t the sort of person he was. It was time he got himself together and dealt with what life had thrown at him.