From his boat he headed towards the swing bridge at Smiler’s, tramping over the springy boards and into the rundown car park. He could see Smiler knocking in fence posts over by the caravan but didn’t want to get into a conversation about the buggered-up plate rack, so he picked up his pace, hoping to escape unseen. No such luck.
“Oi, Robin! Over ’ere, mate, I need a hand with this.” Smiler’s tone was commanding, and Robin bristled at it but didn’t think it a good idea to fall out with the man. Not when he sold the cheapest fuel in the Bath area.
Smiler lived in a caravan on the land he owned—a narrow strip between the road and the canal—and had set himself up as some kind of landlord-cum-chandlers. From the inside of an old shipping container you could buy sacks of smokeless fuel, gas bottles and all manner of boat supplies. You could even fill up with marine diesel if you moored your boat up next to the bridge. There were car parking spaces and private moorings to rent in a small marina he’d had built. It would have been a good place to overwinter if Robin could have afforded the rates…and put up with having a miserable git as his landlord.
“Come on, Robin, get a fucking move on. I need you to hold this bastard post still for me. It’s being a right bloody nuisance, the little fucker.”
Smiler’s hard eyes glared at the post from under bushy brown eyebrows. Robin remembered his own altercation with the plate rack and smiled. God, he hoped he hadn’t looked that much of a twat when he was yelling at a defenceless piece of wood. He knelt down and took hold of the post, careful to keep upwind of Smiler, because the man reeked after his morning’s work. Fresh sweat Robin didn’t have a problem with. In fact, on the right person, fresh sweat could be downright sexy, but stale sweat clinging to clothing that looked like it hadn’t been washed for the whole summer was another matter.
“This okay?” Robin asked. The sooner Smiler finished the job, the sooner he could get away and sort his head out.
He was answered with a swing from Smiler’s sledgehammer, which gave a satisfying thunk when it hit the wood. He strained to hold the post straight as Smiler continued his swings. Adrenaline flooded his system and his heart raced. All it would take would be for Smiler to succumb to his scrumpy hangover, miss, hit Robin’s head, and he’d probably be dead. And for all the crappy things he’d had to put up with over the last few years, Robin wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.
“Right, that’s done. Nice one, mate. Got the fucker beaten into submission at last.” Smiler grimaced as he turned to his roll of fencing wire.
Robin let go of the post and stretched his fingers out, letting his breathing return to normal before he rose. He wondered if he could just leave now, but the well-brought-up son in him knew that some small talk was expected.
“What’s the fence for? You getting livestock?” God help the poor animals if he was. He wouldn’t trust the man to look after a hamster, let alone a chicken. The thought of animals brought Morris to mind, and he scowled at the idea that he might never see him again.
“Nah, can’t be bothered with all that animal-welfare crap. This is to keep the nippers safe when they visit. Their mum’s bloody paranoid about them getting hurt or drowning in the canal, the stupid cow. Don’t know why I even bothered fighting for access.”
The expression on his face was contemptuous, but even though they’d only got to know each other a few weeks ago, Robin knew that Smiler was thrilled about seeing his girls again. He’d mentioned them practically every conversation they’d had. He felt sorry for the girls, really, for having a dad like Smiler. Mind you, when he looked around the giant play area the man had constructed, he had to concede that a lot of thought had gone into it. There was a tyre swing dangling from a branch of the overhanging oak tree, a sandpit made out of an old tractor tyre, and some kind of assault course cobbled together out of logs and bits of old farm machinery. He stifled the traitorous thought that his own father had never built anything like that for him. He was always far too busy, and anyway, his surgeon’s fingers were far too valuable to risk doing manual labour. There’d always been plenty of expensive toys for Robin to play with after all.
“It’s looking good. See you later.” Robin started for the gate out to the main road, but Smiler wasn’t yet finished with him.
“Oi, what about that plate rack? I needed that by about fucking yesterday, mate.”
Really, the man was a complete arsehole. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll bring it over later. Just got to put the finishing touches on it, so that it meets my high standards.”
“Right, well, you make sure you do that, Robin Redbreast.”
Robin ground his teeth as he headed up the incline to the wrought-iron gates that led out onto the main road. His life would be a hell of a lot easier if he didn’t have to deal with people all the time. Somehow he’d had the idea that the boating life would be a way of getting away from people, but even though you kept moving all the time, you still found yourself getting involved in close-knit communities whether you liked it or not. And then there were those people who weren’t part of the boating community at all, but who somehow managed to get past Robin’s defences. Well, okay, that one person…
As he headed into the woods on the other side of the road, Robin let himself mull over the problem of Dan properly for the first time that day. Impertinent, maddening Dan with his dirty little smirk and mischievous eyes… Not forgetting his wicked tongue and sinfully squeezable arse. Robin groaned, feeling his cock stir in interest when he remembered the press of Dan’s hard body against his own.
Fuck! He really didn’t want to fancy someone like Dan. Someone who was obviously such an unrepentant slut. He couldn’t go there, wouldn’t go there. No way. Not after what happened with Jamie. Blokes like that were way too risky.
As he headed deeper into the woods, Robin scuffed up the leaf litter with his boots and cast his eyes around for edible mushrooms. He’d brought a bag with him out of habit, and now he was here, he might as well do some foraging. It was free food, and who knew when his next pay cheque would come in? After Smiler’s plate rack was finished, it could be weeks before anyone else wanted his skills, and he was buggered if he was going to ask his mum. At twenty-five it was mortifying to still be reliant on your parents, but it was almost impossible to sign on when you had to keep moving all the time. Besides which, the last time he’d managed to force his way past the gaggle of junkies and drunks who blocked the door of the DSS, the woman at the desk had thrust a massive stack of paperwork at him. He’d been too embarrassed to admit his difficulties and ask for help filling it in, choosing instead to dump it in the nearest bin when he got outside. It wasn’t worth the humiliation. He’d rather be penniless.
His mobile rang, the sound jarring in the quiet woodland but making a welcome distraction from his circling thoughts. Robin pulled it from his pocket. It was bound to be yet another progress update from his mum on his sister’s pregnancy. Now the birth was only weeks away, she had been phoning him almost every day, gabbling on about Braxton Hicks contractions, doulas and the appalling state of the NHS hospital in Cheltenham. That was just about durable if he tuned it out, but the minute she started on about his life and plans for the future, he had to resist the urge to throw his phone into the canal.
Unknown Number, the display read. Frowning, Robin dropped his bag and lifted the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Robin? It’s Dan. Listen to me, I’ve—”
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say, and how the hell did you get this number?” It had better not have been Mel. He’d have to have words with her about Dan.
“No, you’ve gotta listen to me.” Dan sounded urgent, almost panicked. “It’s Morris. Your cat. I’ve found him.”
Robin clutched the phone to his ear and leant back against an oak’s sturdy trunk. “Is he okay?” He held his breath, trying not to jinx things by second-guessing Dan’s answer.
“He’s been hurt, but I can’t tell how bad
ly as he won’t let me look. He’s resting now—looks exhausted.”
He was alive. Thank God he was alive! Robin swallowed against the lump in his throat. “Where are you? I’m going to come and find you.”
“We’re near your boat, down in the field at the bottom of the valley. Are you home?”
“Not yet. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Okay, I’m probably closer than you. D’you want me to take him back to the boat, then?”
“If you think you can manage it without hurting him. Just leave him where he is if you think moving him will make things worse.”
“That’s not really an issue. He seems to have welded himself to my T-shirt. He’s coming with me whether I like it or not.” Dan sounded serious, and Robin hoped he was capable in a crisis. The evidence of the previous day hadn’t been encouraging.
“If you get to the boat first, then just let yourself in the doors on the front deck. It’s all unlocked.”
“Okay, then. See you soon.”
Robin took a few moments to try to calm his racing heart, but realising it was probably futile, he set off down the hill at a gallop.
Chapter Six
Dan pushed his bike with one hand, the other supporting the weight of the injured cat. He could see Robin’s boat up ahead, gleaming red like a beacon. Morris was now a dead weight inside his jacket.
“Come on, cat. Don’t you go dying on me now.” He’d rather have claws and teeth sinking into him than this freaky torpor.
He threw his bike against the hedgerow, leapt onto the boat and tried the doors. They opened, just as Robin had promised, letting out a gust of warm air.
“Robin? Are you back?” There was no reply. He took a deep breath and stepped into the sanctuary of another man’s home.
After the bright autumn sunlight, the interior was dim, but his vision soon adjusted enough to take in his surroundings. He was in the galley, a counter with the hob set in to his right and the sink over on the left. All manner of cooking utensils and crockery hung from hooks set into the wooden ceiling and walls. Dan stepped forward a couple of paces to where an open set of shelves made a barrier across half of the boat’s width, and he was in the saloon, the stove kicking out heat. He sank down onto the welcoming sofa with a sigh and opened his jacket.
Morris had curled into a ball against him, looking like a picture of innocence, although Dan’s hands and chest told a different tale: the scratches bloody well smarted.
“I was only trying to help you, you know. There was no need to get rough with me.”
Morris opened his eyes, blinked and closed them again. A rumbling sensation started up on Dan’s stomach. After all that, the creature had the cheek to start purring! Dan chuckled. Robin was going to be thrilled. He wondered how Robin behaved when he was happy. Was he gregarious, or would he keep it low-key, showing his gratitude with a smile? Dan knew so little about the man. Not that he was normally all that bothered about the life history of a potential shag, but Robin had him intrigued. He cast his eyes around the boat, trying to get more of a sense of the man from his dwelling.
It was almost like being inside a tree, the walls and ceiling lined with wavy-edged boards—the bark still attached—and the floor constructed from smooth, honey-coloured planks. There was a warm sheen to it all from the light that filtered through the porthole windows and the large, raised skylight. The saloon was mostly filled with the built-in sofa that ran along one side, with the wood-burning stove angled back against the kitchen to cast its light and heat into the saloon. Opposite the sofa was a long, upholstered bench, also built-in, which looked like it would make a good footrest. Pulling a cushion behind his back, Dan stretched out his legs and lounged backwards.
The clean simplicity of Robin’s home was a pleasant surprise. Like himself, Robin had a refreshingly minimalist approach to possessions, but whereas Dan’s London flat felt empty and barely lived in, Robin’s boat was cosy and welcoming. Weird. He felt more at home here already than he did after nine years in his own flat.
Beyond the sofa, bathed in the light from the skylight above, was a space roughly as long as it was wide. It had been set up as a carpenter’s work area. A workbench extended from the wall that divided the back of the boat from the saloon, and above it hung an array of hand tools that Dan vaguely recognised from his grampa’s shed. There were planes, fretsaws, coping saws, chisels, files and other things he didn’t know the names for, all gleaming in the sunshine. Indeed, the only thing that didn’t look so well cared for was the floor, which was littered in curly ribbons of wood shavings and sawdust.
“Hey, Morris, is your daddy a carpenter, then? That’s pretty smart. I like a man who knows how to use his hands.” He stroked the fur on the top of Morris’s head, and the cat arched up against the pressure, purring even louder. He was just contemplating whether he had time to sneak a look down at the end of the boat to check out Robin’s sleeping quarters, when he felt the boat rock towards the bank and then back again.
The doors swung open.
“How’s he doing? Is he okay?” Robin’s voice was urgent, breathless, and he closed the space between them before he had finished speaking. He fell to his knees beside the sofa and leaned over to caress Morris with trembling hands. His voice dropped to a low murmur, but Dan could still hear it shaking. “Hey, how’s my naughty boy, then? You gave me quite a scare, you did. Oh, but you seem all right now, don’t you?”
Dan studied the top of Robin’s head. Although it was cropped to less than half an inch, the hair was naturally thick and lustrous. The urge to reach out and stroke Robin’s head was something Dan had to struggle against. Maybe he’d get a chance later. While checking Morris over, Robin’s hands brushed against Dan’s arms and chest, every accidental touch stirring a response in Dan’s body. He looked down at those strong hands with the network of raised veins on the back and the dark hairs encroaching from the wrists. They’d look great against Dan’s own smooth flesh. He breathed deeply, inhaling Robin’s smoky, earthy scent.
But it wouldn’t do to get overexcited right now. Dan tried to focus on Morris instead. “I found him halfway up a tree down in the valley. I think he must have climbed up there to keep safe from whatever attacked him.”
“He was attacked?” Robin gazed up at him with wide, watery eyes. Christ, he was really cut up about this cat, wasn’t he? “I can’t find any injuries.”
“I think he might be lying on it. There was something matted in his fur that looked like blood. I couldn’t see any more than that because he went mental when I tried to pick him up.” He held out his right hand, which had received the worst mauling. Robin’s eyes flicked to it for a brief moment before returning to the cat.
“We’d better turn him over so I can get a look.”
Right. Not a lot of point in angling for sympathy at the moment, then. Not unless you had four legs and a tail. Dan swallowed his pique and helped to lift the cat, who seemed even heavier now fully relaxed. He shifted over on the sofa so that Robin could sit next to him, and held Morris gently as Robin searched through the long fur. “I think it was down by his hind leg. Yep, that’s the place.” Dan felt the cat tense in his arms, but a few gentle words and strokes from Robin soon calmed him down again. The next time Robin tried to inspect the wound, Dan distracted Morris by tickling him under the chin, which seemed to go down well if the volume of purring was anything to go by.
“I’m going to have to clean this up to get a proper look, but I don’t think it’s too serious.” Robin’s eyes were clearer and brighter this time when they met Dan’s. “Just hold him for me a little bit longer, please?”
“Always happy to help you out,” Dan said, and he didn’t even have to make a conscious effort to give his most charming grin—it just happened. This man with his peculiar mixture of arrogance, good manners and vulnerability seemed to call it forth from him.
His gaze roamed over Robin’s body as he turned away and stretched in a peculiar, folded-limbs fashion no d
oubt adopted by all boat dwellers. Dan had already whacked his knuckles on the boat ceiling more times than he cared to recall. Must be a nightmare for a big guy. And wasn’t Robin just deliciously large?
It probably wasn’t a good idea to mentally undress a drop-dead-gorgeous man when you had your arms full of injured cat. Made it bloody tricky to hide a hard-on, for a start. Dan could have shifted Morris over to cover it, but that just seemed wrong, not to mention dangerous, considering those sharp claws. Robin made no comment though, and perhaps he didn’t even notice with his attention focused on cleaning the wound. As Robin wrung out the cloth, rusty particles of dried blood swirled out into the bowl. Dan could feel some of the excess water soaking into his Ralph Lauren T-shirt. That was going to stain, although it was probably already a lost cause what with the claw damage from earlier.
But Dan’s concerns about his clothing were forgotten the moment Morris sank his claws into his stomach. That fucking well hurt! He grunted, biting his cheeks to keep from giving a girly whimper. Not that Robin noticed. On the plus side, at least his cock was behaving again.
The more blood Robin cleaned away, the more Dan could smell its metallic tang. Eventually the fur was clean and they could see what lay beneath.
“Is that it?” Dan asked. How could such a tiny wound have bled so profusely?
“Looks like it. Hey, Morris, it’s all clean and I think you’re going to be fine.” Robin tickled the cat, who pulled his claws out of Dan, turned over and wriggled, demanding more attention.
Dan had never felt jealous of an animal before, but God, he wanted some of that affection lavished on him. However, when Robin looked up to him with sparkling eyes and a warm smile, he forgot all his uncharitable thoughts. The love Robin had for that cat shone out of his face, blessing Dan with some of the second-hand radiance. Surely this was time for his reward kiss? To say thank you properly. To say—
“Thanks, Dan, I really appreciate all your help.” And then Robin picked Morris out of Dan’s arms and cuddled the cat close, flopping back against the sofa and closing his eyes as the last of the stress drained out of his face.
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