Time to Trust

by Rosemary Badger

  TIME TO TRUST

  Rosemary Badger

  His hurt seemed so raw

  "My son and I have learned to expect nothing, absolutely nothing from your sex, Miss Chalmers," Gerard Hunter told Kate--and after she had just saved his son from nearly drowning.

  Kate wasn't about to let one rude neighbor ruin her holiday at Australia's beautiful Bargara Beach. But she couldn't easily forget the intriguing, dark stranger and his lonely little son.

  Kate felt strongly that despite Gerard's bitter words, someday he would need and want a woman's love again.

  For my sister Terry

  CHAPTER ONE

  The child slipped easily over the dunes. Across one bare shoulder was an oversized fishing rod while slung over the other was a pair of giant wading boots. On his head was perched what looked like an old battered fishing hat. He was about four or five years old, deeply tanned and sturdily built. His soft baby hair was the rich black colour of coal and his eyes were as blue as the sky above.

  Kate watched him from where she was stretched out on the volcanic rock getting her tan. She pushed her sunglasses back to the top of her head where they immediately became lost in the thick, luxurious mass of copper-coloured curls. A grin spread slowly across her face as she enjoyed the spectacle of the little boy with his cumbersome load. She had seen him before, in fact he was her neighbour, but despite several attempts to talk to the lad, he had chiefly ignored her and Kate suspected he was shy rather than deliberately rude.

  Her green-flecked, hazel eyes drifted from the boy to his house. Over the years, small cottages like her grandmother's had all but disappeared at Bargara, the small beach resort only a four-hour drive north from Brisbane on Australia's sub-tropical eastern coast. In their places elaborate brick mansions had been constructed, and the boy's home was the newest and by far the largest.

  A tall dark-haired man came out on to the patio and called to the boy. The child turned and reluctantly started to make his way back up the dunes. Kate rolled over on to her back and slipped her sunglasses down again. Ah, the peace of it all, the beautiful peace of Bargara by the sea. How she loved this place! Her job as a reporter at a television studio in Brisbane meant a hectic lifestyle and this was where she came to recharge her batteries.

  The rumblings in her tummy reminded her she hadn't had breakfast. She pictured the contents of her small fridge and wondered what she would have. Her demanding job usually meant she rushed meals or did without, but when she was at the beach she made up for it. Perhaps she would have an omelette.

  She sat up and adjusted the top of her bright yellow bikini. The little boy had returned to the beach and this time he meant business. He had donned the wading boots, clutching the wide rubber openings under his chin with one hand while he waded into the surf, the fishing rod held tightly in his other. He was going fishing and that was that!

  An uneasy prickle crept along Kate's spine.

  Her own swim of not more than an hour ago had warned her of a rip tide. Her eyes darted to the boy's house. Surely someone was watching him? Where was the man who had called him back before? she wondered uneasily, as her eyes returned to the child. Incredibly, what struck Kate at that instant was not the fact that the child was in danger but just how utterly alone he looked.

  It all happened so fast! One minute he was there, the next minute he was gone. An incoming wave knocked him down, another dragged him out. There was a splash of rubber boots and the hat floated almost peacefully before it was picked up by a wave and tossed out to sea. The fishing rod seemed to stand straight up, the sun catching the reel and sending out a dazzling beacon of light before it, too, was sent hurtling.

  The boots had filled with water, pulling the boy under and preventing his escape. The roar of the sea filled Kate's ears as she raced down the beach towards him. A wave picked up the fishing rod one more time, and it was the last thing Kate saw before she dived under and began her frantic gropings for the child.

  Kate felt the rip immediately. Its powerful sucking motions grabbed at her legs, her whole body, pulling her out to sea, preventing her from rising to the surface to fill her lungs with air. She held her breath, not fighting the rip but going along with it, knowing the boy was swept up in the same monster. If she was to be any help to either of them she must preserve her strength. When the rip finally released them it would be up to her to swim back to shore with the boy.

  But where was he? Her lungs were ready to burst, she felt sure of that. The pain was unbearable and she knew if she wasn't released soon she would be forced to breathe and that would be the end. Suddenly everything became brighter. Her head broke through the surf and she was taking in great gulping breaths of pure sweet air.

  The child rose at the same time, his blue eyes filled with terror. Kate reached out to him, touched his small tanned hand, almost had him and then he disappeared. She screamed, her cry gurgling in her throat as she was swept under. She saw his foot and then nothing. Her strength was going and she had swallowed water. Her last thought before blackness started to set in was for the boy. He was too young for this ... both of them . . . too young to die, and it wasn't right that it should be here at her beautiful, peaceful Bargara. . .

  Something gripped her leg, hard, and to her numbed senses Kate thought she surely must have died and was being transported to heaven at an astonishing speed. When her head broke through the swirling foam, she was staring into a pair of incredibly blue eyes set in a face so handsome that she was convinced this was no earthly creature.

  He pulled back her head and covered her mouth with his, blowing air into her lungs. She coughed and spluttered, and he held her away just in time for her to empty the sea contents from her stomach. Immediately she apologised in a croaking voice while she wondered how she could have done such a vile thing in front of this stranger.

  The boy was there too, slung over the man's broad shoulder, his small face an unnatural white. The man was treading water, one arm under her armpit, and she marvelled at his strength. He pulled her higher out of the water before flipping her on to her back. With her chin tucked snugly in his hand and with the boy crooked in his arm he slowly and laboriously brought them back to safety.

  Kate sat hunched in a small ball on the beach watching fearfully as the man worked frantically on the boy. When the child finally moaned, a cry of anguish tore from the man's lips as he gathered him in his arms, rocking him back and forth, crooning to him.

  'Matthew . . . son . . . my little Mattie . . . oh, dear God, thank you! It's all right, Mattie, it's all right . . . Daddy's here . . . Daddy's here . . .'

  The man hugged the child to his chest, his eyes closed over the small head, and Kate knew he wasn't even aware of her presence as she sat silently watching. She willed the child to speak, to say something to reassure his father that he was indeed all right. But the child said nothing, and even though he was in the protective enclosure of his father's arms he still seemed incredibly alone. He's like a tiny seedling, Kate found herself thinking, a seedling who has had something vital crushed from him.

  When the man opened his eyes Kate saw the fear had gone but the anguish remained. A convulsive tremor swept through his body followed by a ragged sigh as he stood up with his son still cradled in his arms. For the first time he became aware of Kate still huddled on the sand. Anger flared in his eyes and she wondered if it was because she had witnessed his anguish. It had seemed such a personal thing, even to herself. He reached for her hand and pulled her up.

  She stood awkwardly in front of him, hoping he wouldn't think it necessary to thank her for her part in the child's rescue. He was well over six feet tall, and the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. His hair was straight and blue-black, the same as the boy's. Brilliant blue ey
es were narrowed beneath slashes of jet-black brows, the unusual blue shadowed by incredibly long lashes. There was a deep cleft in the strong square of his jaw and only the full sensual cut of his mouth saved his face from being . : . Kate suddenly shivered . . . harsh.

  She dragged her eyes from his face only to be confronted with the broad width of his chest. Through the wet white silk shirt Kate could see the black hairs curling across his chest and working down to a V at his belt buckle. Long, white trousers clung damply to well-muscled thighs. His feet were bare and he was standing with legs slightly apart and Kate felt his stance as well as his attitude was . . . was menacing!

  Her appraisal had taken mere seconds, but Kate felt she must be staring. She turned her attention to the boy and raised her hand, intending to stroke the soft hair curving in at the nape of his neck. The man made no perceptible movement, nothing she could ever remember afterwards, but just as she was about to touch the child, her hand suddenly dropped, almost as though the man had slapped or pushed it away! Kate clasped her trembling hands in front of her and the man smiled bitterly.

  'You've had your attempt at heroism, Miss . . . ?'

  'Chalmers,' Kate supplied quickly. 'Kate Chalmers.'

  '. . . and failed miserably!' The man completed his sentence without bothering to acknowledge her name.

  Kate squared her small shoulders, while a warm flush crept across her cheeks. 'Failed miserably, Mr. . . ?'

  He shifted the boy higher on his shoulder. 'Hunter,' he lashed out, the bitter smile on his lips telling her he knew she was trying to bait him and how foolish she was even to think of trying. Her flush deepened and spread to the roots of her copper-coloured hair.

  'Hunter,' she muttered with a nod. She dragged her eyes from the man's to look at the boy. One little fist was curled under his chin and his eyelids were half closed. Her voice was soft as she said, 'Well, Mr Hunter, if I had a little boy like that I would be grateful for anyone doing what I tried to do and I would certainly never consider telling them afterwards that they had failed miserably. I think I'd get down on my hands and knees and thank them from the bottom of my heart.'

  'Yes, I dare say that is what you would do, Miss Chalmers,' he snapped angrily, 'but your actions not only placed my son's life in more danger, but your own as well. I saw Matthew go into the water and I saw you race towards him. I shouted for you to stop, but you raced recklessly on, making it necessary to rescue you as well.'

  Kate stared mutinously up at him, detesting his smug arrogance. 'I didn't hear you shouting,' she muttered.

  'You didn't, the rest of Bargara did!'

  Green daggers flashed from her eyes. 'Silly of me, I know, but I actually thought you would thank me for at least trying to help Matthew, and I was even prepared to say that I didn't expect any thanks, that anyone would have done the same. Now I get the feeling you expect me to ... to apologise!' Her voice was filled with incredulous disbelief.

  His voice was filled with unconcealed bitterness. 'My son and I have learned to expect nothing, absolutely nothing, from your sex! Now, Miss Chalmers, I'm going to take Matthew home and see that he has a warm bath.' Hard blue eyes trailed scathingly over the slender curves of Kate's perfectly formed body, making her skin break out in goose bumps. A sardonic smile twisted the handsome line of his mouth. 'I suggest the same for you!' he drawled.

  Kate was left standing with her mouth open as the man, with his small son tucked safely in his arms, strolled purposefully away from her. She watched him climb the dunes with ease, the weight of the boy no apparent burden as his broad shoulders disappeared up the path leading to their home. From where she stood, her own cottage was completely masked by the Hunter mansion. As she walked slowly home she felt troubled and disorientated, her encounter with Mr Hunter and his son filling her with a strange restlessness. There was something odd about the two which aroused feelings of dread rather than curiosity. The man was obviously embittered and it wouldn't take a bright person to realise his bitterness had been brought about by a woman. His wife perhaps?

  And what about the boy? He was such a silent little fellow. Children were usually such chatterboxes. Kate thought of her brother's two children and how they could wear you out with their endless prattle. Perhaps the child couldn't speak! If that was the case it could explain the man's manner towards his sou. She would never forget the unspoken warning she'd received when she had been about to touch the boy.

  Later that same day Kate was in the garden behind the little cottage filling a pan with water and honey for the rosellas which had flocked to the casuarina trees waiting for their treat. The large colourful birds with their bright green, yellow and crimson plumage were squawking in great excitement as their beady little eyes followed her every, move. With the pan filled, she sat on the old garden swing and watched them savour their treat.

  The garden certainly wasn't what one would call well groomed, she thought with satisfaction. It was a wild profusion of colour and sweet-smelling scents. Jasmine climbed over the pergola, sweeping across to the carport which housed her small Corona. Hibiscus shrubs with their huge blossoms of golds, corals, creams and whites nestled against the dilapidated old grey fence which separated her cottage from the Hunter property. The heady perfume of frangipani blossoms clung heavily in the air, their velvet petals clinging like ballerinas across the gnarled old branches of the trees. There wasn't a thing about this place Kate didn't like, there was nothing she wanted to change.

  As she swung slowly back and forth on the garden swing she felt at peace with the world. Not even the thought of her formidable neighbours could disturb this beautiful feeling of euphoria. She leaned back and closed her eyes while the swing rocked her slowly back and forth.

  Suddenly her eyes flew open. The horrid Mr Hunter was leaning over her, his face only inches from hers. Shocked, Kate could only stare up at him, completely mesmerised by those hypnotic blue pools.

  'You're awake,' he drawled the obvious. 'You looked so peaceful, I thought you must be sleeping.'

  Kate jumped off the swing. The man had crept up on her, meaning to scare her, she felt sure. He chuckled softly, the sound like the purr of a jungle cat. He knew he had frightened her and was heartlessly amused. He took her in at a glance.

  Her hair was pulled back and held with clips. The small perfect oval of her face was tightened in anger and her hands had become balls of fists held rigidly at her sides. Dressed in a white T-shirt and white shorts she looked like a kid at day camp. He viewed her with amused scorn, unaware of how she was viewing him!

  If he had a pitchfork in his hand, she was thinking, he would get the part of the devil in any drama production. In contrast to her white clothing he was entirely in black. A black T-shirt stretched dangerously across taut muscles, and she wondered how he had ever managed to squeeze into those tight-fitting jeans. Earlier his hair had been wet; now she realised it was much thicker than she had thought and it seemed to crackle with a vitality all of its own. She judged him to be in his early thirties and he fairly bristled with life. A dangerous electrical magnetism seemed to radiate from his every pore, making her want to step well back from him but at the same time being drawn irresistibly closer, as though he had the power to rob her of her will. Or so it seemed to Kate as she eyed him warily, wondering how he had entered her own private little world. 'How did you get in here?' she snapped. 'And what do you want?'

  One black brow shot up in open disapproval at her tone and she almost laughed aloud at the gesture. She wondered if this little trick of the old raised brow brought Matthew immediately to heel. It certainly didn't intimidate her.

  'Two questions,' he drawled. 'Which do you want answered first?'

  His soft manner of speaking unnerved her. There was a dangerous quality to the tone. She eyed him through eyes narrowed with suspicion. His manner earlier had left no doubt in her mind that this man would never purposely seek her company. Yet here he was, uninvited and of his own free will. There had to be a reason, and whatever tha
t reason was, Kate knew she would somehow be the one holding the short end of the stick.

  'You decide,' she snapped saucily.

  Mr Hunter took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It came to Kate he was enjoying this encounter even less than she was. Good, she thought. Neighbours they might be, but friends? Never! Besides, this man probably didn't know the meaning of the word.

  'In answer to your first question,' he drawled with exaggerated patience, 'your front door was open and I could see down the hall to the garden. I called out to you, but you obviously didn't hear me above the clatter of the birds.'

  The second time she hadn't heard him. Goodness gracious!

  'There seemed to be no other way to reach you,' he continued wearily, as though bored by this whole awkward business of having to seek her out and having this tiring conversation. 'Both sides of your house are a tangle of weeds and vines.'

  'Shrubs and vines,' she corrected him. 'Years and years of careful growth created this.'

  'Careless neglect would be more like it!' His eyes swept over her garden and he shuddered at what she thought beautiful. Kate bristled at his rudeness but held her tongue. She wasn't going to let him provoke her.

  'Anyhow, I haven't come here to discuss your rather remarkable foliage,' he continued drily.

  'Why did you come, Mr Hunter? We've already met, so it couldn't be to introduce yourself, and as I haven't had any wild parties it couldn't be to complain about the noise.'

  He was watching the rosellas, the birds having earned his attention and not her taunts. 'What are they drinking?' he demanded to know.

  'Honey and water, they love it.'

  'Obviously.' His eyes returned to her. 'This cottage was deserted until you arrived a few days ago. Are you renting, or do you own it?'

  'My grandmother lived here until she died almost five years ago. It belongs to my father now, but I'm the only one who ever uses it. I simply love the place!' and her radiant smile proved she did.