by Amy Andrews
Because she did. She wanted them with him. And it wasn’t just about the romance. It was about the shy little wallflower inside her who still found it hard to believe that a guy like Bodie could love a woman like her.
“And you’re so fucking brave. What you went through last night…” His voice cracked and it tore at her gut. “I am in awe of you.”
But she hadn’t done anything last night. She’d just endured. That wasn’t brave—that was life.
“And of course there’s more for me to learn, so stay…let me get to know all of you.”
Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut. She would not cry. She couldn’t stay. If she did, she wouldn’t leave, and this was not the kind of decision they should be making now.
Not twenty-four hours after they’d lost their baby.
She turned to face him. “I need to go home.”
“I thought this was your home?”
Eleanor glanced around the cavernous space. It had grown on her, but it didn’t feel like her home—not like the farm. He’d felt like home. But Bodie was part of the problem at the moment.
“I need my mother right now.”
Her voice cracked. She hadn’t meant it to. She hadn’t even thought about how much she wanted her mother until right now. But oh, she did. She yearned for home. It was a different yearning to that which she felt for Bodie, but it was just as strong, just as visceral.
“Christ, Eleanor.” He shoved a hand through his hair, defeat in every line of his body. “You’re really going to run home to your mother?”
Yeah. She really was. “For now.” She nodded. “I need space, Bodie. We both do.”
The tight line of his shoulders, the erect way he’d been holding himself, suddenly dissolved. “Okay. Fine. I’ll…drive you to the airport.”
Eleanor supposed she should feel triumphant that he’d seen it her way, but she just felt empty. “I’ll get an Uber.”
“I can take you to the goddamn airport,” he growled, his forehead furrowing.
“I don’t want you to.”
He stiffened again at her rejection, and Eleanor hated herself for it, but she didn’t know if she’d be brave enough to get out of his car once they got there. He’d told her she was brave for enduing the miscarriage, but she hadn’t had a choice.
This was a choice. And there was something about an airport that was so final.
“Goodbye, Bodie. I’ll ring you in a couple of weeks.”
Her heart thundered and her throat burned from holding back the emotion as she brushed past him. But she didn’t look back. Just picked up her bags and stepped out of his apartment.
Chapter Fifteen
Bodie stared at the television. He had no idea what was on—some eighties sitcom re-run. It was just background noise to drink to. To try not to think to.
It was poker night, but he’d skipped it for the third time in a row. He didn’t feel like shooting the shit and smack talking or listening to Linc crap on about women. If anything, since Linc had settled into monogamy, he’d become even more superior about women. Bodie didn’t need smug, unsolicited theories on his current poor form with the ball and its correlation to MSP—massive sperm pressure.
Bodie knew exactly why he was playing crap rugby, and while it had everything to do with a woman it had nothing to do with lack of sex. He’d never felt less like doing the wild thing. Not even a little hand relief appealed.
He checked his phone. Again. For the hundred thousandth time since she’d left. In case he’d missed a call or a text. Or she’d posted to Facebook or a blog on her website. Anything. Any communication.
But nothing. She’d told him she’d ring, but there’d been absolute silence.
He was trying not to be a Neanderthal. To give her the time and space she’d asked for. She was grieving, and he’d fucked it all up by blurting out he loved her at probably the worst time possible.
He’d screwed up. He knew that. But as the days passed, the urge to skulk into Bungindally and steal her back was becoming ever more powerful. He missed her and he loved her—he did love her, despite his crappy timing—and he was tired of doing nothing.
He played rugby. An aggressively take-charge sport. He took the game up to the opposition, he pushed, he made things happen.
Sitting around and waiting was not his strong suit.
A sudden thunderous knock on the door dragged him out of the quagmire of self pity. Ryder. He didn’t need to see his best friend to know it.
Bodie was tempted to tell him to fuck the fuck off at the top of his lungs, but he was pathetically needy where Eleanor was concerned. Maybe Ryder had some news of her? Since he’d asked this morning.
And every morning for the last three fucking weeks.
He stalked to the front door and yanked it back on its slider. His best friend stood there, cowboy hat pulled low, his big-ass belt buckle shining in the hallway light. He should have looked stupid in the middle of Sydney but somehow he managed to pull it off.
God alone knew what they were going to make of him in Italy, though.
“Shouldn’t you be at poker?” Bodie demanded.
“Shouldn’t you?”
“I’m busy.”
Ryder glanced over at the glass tumbler and the half empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table. “So I see.” He held up a plastic shopping bag.
“What’s that?”
“It’s an intervention. You going to invite me in?”
An inter-what? “Hell no.” Bodie stood his ground. The last thing he needed was well-intentioned advice. He needed a plan to get her the fuck back.
Ryder ignored him and pushed inside anyway. He headed straight for the kitchen and helped himself to the cupboard where the tumblers were kept. He crossed to the coffee table, placed the bag down, and poured himself a slug.
Bodie rolled his eyes and headed back to his glass, draining it then pouring himself another before throwing himself down on the couch again.
“So,” Ryder said.
Bodie stared at his friend belligerently. “What?”
“You fucked it up.”
The fight left his shoulders and he sagged into the couch. “Yeah.” He’d fucked it up royally.
“Didn’t I tell you not to fuck it up?”
The scotch tasted raw and bitter at the back of Bodie’s throat, but he took a decent swallow. “I believe you did.”
“And what are you doing about getting her back, because you’re a serious fucking downer at the moment, man.”
“She wants time. And space. I’m trying to give it to her.”
“Did you tell her you love her?”
Bodie thunked his glass down on the table. He wasn’t used to a deep and meaningful conversation from Ryder and frankly, it pissed him right off at the moment. “Well fuck man, that’s what I did wrong.”
Ryder grinned. Jesus…he has some stones. “What did she say?”
“She said I didn’t know her.”
“Exactly.” He nodded and picked up the bag. “So I bring you help. You want to know my kooky little sister? It’s all in here.”
Bodie sat forward, eager but afraid. He’d do anything to get Eleanor back, but it was a very small bag for what seemed a very big problem. “What is it?”
“Books and movies.”
“Okay?”
“Chick books. Chick movies. There aren’t any explosions. Or car chases or explicit sex.”
“No John McClane, I take it?”
Ryder smiled as he shook his head “No Peter Parker, either.”
He pulled out a copy of Pride and Prejudice. He tossed the book at Bodie, who caught it on reflex.
“I’ve read Austen.”
Ryder laughed. “Of course you have, rich boy. How long ago?”
“In high school.” It’d been one of those curriculum books they’d been made to read. But as he flipped through the pages he remembered he may just have looked at the CliffsNotes…
“You want to know who Nell is, what she wa
nts? What she’s always wanted? It’s in there.” Ryder rattled the bag. “In here.”
Bodie held out his hand for the nondescript plastic which Ryder handed over. He peered inside. Emma. Sense and Sensibility. Persuasion. Pride and Prejudice. A couple of boxed sets of what looked like television dramas. Two more Austen books—Northanger Abbey and Mansfield Park. Three books by Georgette Heyer.
A fragile flame flickered to life in the darkness of Bodie’s soul at the sight of them. Why hadn’t he thought of this? She’d told him that first night about her historical romance collection. About her love for Austen and Heyer.
He glanced at Ryder. “Thank you. I know you…I know I’m not what you wanted for your sister.”
“Nah, man.” Ryder shook his head. “I didn’t want my sister to fall in love with some rugby player with a permanent hard-on who only wanted her as a notch on his bedpost. But—” He shrugged. “You love her. Blind fucking Freddy can see that. And you’re my best friend. I couldn’t think of a better man for her.”
Bodie swallowed hard against the block of emotion in his throat. He and Ryder didn’t get mushy unless it was after a grand final win. But Ryder’s blessing choked him up.
Fuck. He was going to be crying into the copy of Pride and Prejudice if he didn’t man the fuck up.
“Thanks, dude.” Bodie stood and they exchanged an awkward manly shoulder check/hug thing.
Ryder pulled out of it as embarrassed as Bodie. “Just get your shit together. And tell my sister no more scratch marks, okay? That crap makes me want to pluck my eyes out, and I’m not much use to the team blind.”
Bodie stayed up till two in the morning reading Pride and Prejudice. It took him a week to plough through the rest of the books and all the DVDs. A week to realise what an absolute fucking idiot he’d been.
Eleanor was right. He hadn’t known her. Not her deepest, truest soul. He’d thought her encyclopaedic interest in the Victorian era was about the frocks and the glamour, a business necessity as well as a barrier for her to hide behind when she was feeling socially awkward.
He hadn’t understood that it was more than that.
That Eleanor had marinated in this era of chivalry and romance. Where virginity was prized and people courted. Where men formally declared themselves and asked fathers for hands in marriage and fancy wedding feasts followed.
He’d blown all of them.
He’d taken her virginity—although she had been a more-than-willing participant in that. There’d been no courting. No declaration of undying love. No romantic proposal. No asking her father for permission. No fancy ceremony with a stunning dress.
Just an offer of a thirty day wait for a quickie registry office affair.
The pregnancy had taken precedence, and Bodie had favoured expediency over romance. Those things all seemed hopelessly old-fashioned, but he should have known a woman who dressed in corsets and frilly pantaloons and was still a virgin at twenty-six was an old-fashioned girl.
That she’d been holding out for the one.
Add to that him telling her he loved as if it was some kind of afterthought, some kind of salve for her empty womb. To the woman who’d been holding out for the fairytale?
He really had fucked it up.
But he knew how to make it right. Knew he had to make it right. Or at least try. He didn’t know if he’d blown it for good. He didn’t know if she could forgive his stupid, male, ignorant, clumsy mishandling of it all. Or even if she loved him back. He just knew he had to go and find her and tell her he loved her.
Properly.
It took Bodie another week to put his plans into action. It was the longest week of his life, ending with a rather spectacular black eye from an elbow during the Saturday night game. They won, but Bodie hated that he looked like he’d been in a bar brawl instead of the dapper, contrite gentleman he’d been hoping for.
Still, it didn’t stop him from getting on the plane to Bungindally on Sunday. Nothing short of a coma could have stopped him. Not even Griff. Thankfully, he’d given Bodie two days off training. Bodie knew he’d pay for them when he got back, but he also knew he would have gone without Griff’s permission, so he was happy to have his coach’s blessing and take whatever Griff dished out on his return.
Especially if Eleanor said yes.
He wished he could be sure about her feelings. She’d never declared herself as he had. Which could well mean she didn’t have feelings for him at all. But she hadn’t told him she didn’t love him that disastrous day he’d blurted out his feelings. And she had chosen him to lose her virginity with. And left the farm and her life and moved in with him far, far away from her home.
Not to mention how she’d watched all six seasons of The Walking Dead with him just because he’d told her how much he loved it. She’d watched through her hands for at least fifty percent of every episode and winced at all the gore and grossness but she’d stuck through all of them. Would she do that for just any guy?
His gut told him no. But it’d been wrong before. And even if she said no, if she didn’t love him, then he had every intention of wooing her. Eleanor deserved what he hadn’t thought to give her last time—a good old-fashioned wooing—and unless she told him specifically to take a long run off a short pier, that’s exactly what he was going to do.
He didn’t know how he’d manage it with his training and game schedule but he’d be out at Bungindally at every opportunity, showing her with his actions and his words that he did love her.
That he’d always love her.
It was just after midday when Bodie drove into Shady Gums, the Davis property, kicking up clouds of dust with the wheels of his hired car. He’d decided against announcing himself prior. Ryder had assured him that his family should be home as it was the middle of the calving season, so he’d taken a leap of faith that Eleanor and her parents would be in.
As he pulled up at the oasis of green that was the homestead, his confidence wavered. The place seemed quiet. Maybe they were all out tending to newborn calves?
Damn it. He’d psyched himself up and he was ready—he didn’t want to hang around for hours waiting for them to return. He wanted to get on with it.
But wait he would. If he had to.
Despite being the middle of winter, the air was warm and dry as he exited the car and he took a second to centre himself and soak in the glorious winter sunshine after a frosty start in Sydney.
The barking of dogs broke the stillness of the air and within seconds he was surrounded by four enthusiastic canines—cattle dogs—all barking happily, licking his hands and wagging their tails. Clearly they were there for their work ethic and not for their guard dog abilities.
“Dogs!” A distant voice called the animals. “C’arn ya all.”
Bodie followed the disappearing tails and the voice around the side of the house to find Eleanor’s father, John Davis, looking hot and dusty in jeans and long shirt, washing up at a tap. Four wide steps nearby led to the wraparound veranda so typical of Aussie country homesteads.
He straightened when he saw Bodie, a frown crinkling his sweaty forehead, a grimy band of sweat ringing his head where his hat had obviously been sitting. His eyes widened at the long velvet frock coat Bodie was wearing. It had taken him a few days and a not inconsiderate sum of money to buy it from the young designer who’d shown it at the exhibition, but it had been worth every cent.
Even if he did feel like a bloody dill, dressed up like a nineteenth-century earl in the middle of the Australian outback. He’d managed to find some riding breeches and long riding boots, too. He couldn’t vouch for the historical accuracy of the accessories but surely she’d give him points for effort?
John quirked an eyebrow. “You’re a little too old to be joining the circus.”
His drawl was exactly like Ryder’s and Bodie laughed. He supposed the clothes were a little like some a ringmaster might wear.
“You should have got a penalty kick for that.” He tipped his chin to indicate
Bodie’s eye.
Bodie shrugged. “Refs. What you going to do?”
There was silence for a beat or two as both men eyed each other warily. “Mr. Davis.” He walked closer and extended his hand. “I’m Bodie Webb.”
John shook it. “I remember. We met at the party.”
“Yes.” It had been brief, though, and Bodie wanted to get this right.
“And you got my daughter pregnant then broke her heart.”
Bodie’s gut dropped at the statement. He hadn’t wanted to do either. The fact that he’d done the latter, though, was somewhat encouraging.
Would Eleanor be broken-hearted if she didn’t care for him?
“Yes.” Bodie swallowed, nervousness and anticipation a hard ball in his stomach. “And I have come to apologise. And make things right.”
John’s gaze drifted to the screen door that opened into the house before returning his attention to Bodie. “Why?”
Bodie shifted. “Because I was an idiot.”
The older man folded his arms like he had all the time in the world. “I was thinking more along the lines of dickhead.”
“Dickhead definitely fits.”
John remained impassive, his inscrutable face lined with years of hard work. He stood there unblinking and patient, rocking back on his heels, considering.
A trickle of sweat ran down Bodie’s neck. He’d like to blame the warmth of the day but Bodie didn’t think his sweating was weather-related.
“I love your daughter, sir, and I know I screwed up, that I did this whole thing back to front, but I’ve come here today to make that right. To announce my intention to woo, court, and marry Eleanor, sir. I come to seek your permission and your blessing to do so.”
Long moments passed before the man finally cracked a smile. “You’ll do.”
Bodie let out a breath through pursed lips, the slick edge of adrenaline dissipating in a flash. He’d thought talking to Eleanor would be the hard part, but this had been nerve-wracking.
“I’m not the one you have to convince, though, am I?”
“No, sir.” Bodie’s gaze slid to the screen door and back this time. “Is she home?”