Devil's Lair

by Sarah Barrie

  ‘So I hear. She said you’ve been trying to get reviewers out to lift its profile.’

  ‘Trying. We’re a bit out in the sticks. I do have one possible lined up. A good one, from Melbourne.’ When he thought about it, Callie’s secrecy played into his confused feelings about her. He hated secrets and wondered how much he’d have to push to get her to tell him. How to broach it.

  ‘If he comes out and the food is as good as Tess says it is, you should get a great result.’

  ‘Hope so.’ Perhaps if he … ‘You know, if you don’t feel like the big send-off thing, I could show you the restaurant another night.’

  ‘You and me?’

  ‘Unless you prefer to eat by yourself. Sure.’

  She wasn’t quite looking him in the eye. ‘Like a date.’

  ‘She says as though I’d just asked her to join me at the gallows,’ he muttered, grinning into his coffee.

  She smiled, but it dropped quickly. ‘You don’t want to date me, Connor.’

  ‘Any reason why not?’

  If he’d thought she looked anxious before, it was nothing on now. She almost looked sick. ‘I thought Tess would have told you,’ she said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

  So that was it. He made sure her eyes were on his as he said, ‘I know who you are.’

  Relief overtook the discomfort but there was added disbelief. ‘Then why would you want—’

  He decided to go with honest. ‘To tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to talk myself out of it. That’s no reflection on you. It’s just where I’m at and I don’t have the prettiest history myself.’

  ‘It couldn’t possibly be anything as bad as mine.’

  ‘I stuffed up a relationship,’ he said. ‘And rather than go down the more traditional counsellor route, my ex decided to shoot me.’ The shock that came over Callie’s face was about what he’d expected. ‘So I’ve been less than keen over the past couple of years to consider giving the whole dating thing another serious go. Then you walked in and even with my past and your past and a few … current issues, that’s changed,’ he said. ‘It just changed. Does it have to be more complicated than that?’

  As she stared at him he pictured her lovely face as it should have been framed: in a tumble of long, luxurious hair the colour of a sunset. The shorter, straight, brown style might have added something to the fine bones of her face, but it was a poor substitute. Nothing detracted from those eyes, though. Those eyes were what pulled at him. They made him want to discover her secrets. And as he looked into them he saw the uncertainty creep over her usual bravado.

  Because he wasn’t sure she wasn’t going to bolt, he covered her hand with his. ‘If you run for the hills it’s going to make things really awkward. Just tell me what you’re thinking.’

  ‘I’m thinking I’m not there yet,’ Callie said quietly. ‘Where you are. Ready to try again.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said, and removed his hand.

  ‘If I were,’ she continued, surprising him when a hint of appreciation came over her features, ‘I’d say yes. In a heartbeat.’

  He felt the answering smile creep across his face. ‘Nice going, Red, you somehow managed to let me down gently while boosting my ego.’ He pressed a hand dramatically to his heart. ‘That takes skill.’

  ‘Enough with the “Red”,’ she murmured with a tug at her hair. ‘It’s brown.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be. That there—’ he pointed, ‘—is a crime.’

  ‘Is a necessity,’ she corrected, then the worry was back on her face. ‘I thought you might not have wanted me working for you once Tess told you.’

  He leant forward again, speaking quietly. ‘I think it’s screwed up that you had to do what you did, but if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d be dead, and that bastard might have gotten away with it. So no, I don’t mind.’

  He was pretty sure from the look on her face that he’d said the right thing, then had a moment of panic when her eyes glassed over. If she cried, he was toast.

  Instead, she took one very careful breath and the smile came back. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I mean it. Are we good?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, her voice full of relief. ‘We’re good.’

  * * *

  Callie took her tools down the track to the rosebush. She’d finished up early at Calico Mountain, hadn’t wanted to risk bumping into Connor again until she had what he’d said straight in her head. So he was interested. And he didn’t seem to mind who she was and what she’d done. She wasn’t sure if that was an incredibly generous attitude or suggested an innate lack of self-preservation, but he’d hit her right in the heart with his understanding. Had known just what to say and, God, she’d wanted to say yes. Wanted to say, Sure, no big deal, let’s do dinner. But she knew, she damn well knew it wasn’t a good idea. She needed to recreate herself, discover who she was all over again. Now wasn’t the time for getting wrapped up in someone else.

  And even if she could convince herself she was ready to start dating casually, was it ever a good idea to date the person you were working for? If she started something with Connor and it turned bad, it could jeopardise her first real contract. A great contract. And at some stage it was bound to cross his mind to wonder. Could he really sit across from her at dinner and watch her play with her wineglass without thinking about it? She couldn’t hold a glass and not picture it lodged in Dale’s face. She was still so washed out emotionally. No matter how tempting it had been to say yes, she’d made the right decision saying no. She needed more time to heal before taking new risks.

  She reached the tangle of shrubs that hid the memorial stone and studied them carefully. Was the rosebush salvageable? She’d somehow convinced herself it wasn’t too bad but looking at it now, her confidence plummeted. Still, she was here with her tools so it was worth a shot.

  The rose had been completely overtaken by rootstock, so she cut it back carefully, did the best she could to bring it back to life. The sad little stick she was left with looked pathetic next to the pile of cuttings she’d hacked from it, so she got to work clearing some extra space around and above it to help it survive.

  She was so absorbed in her task it took her a while to examine the plaque. She rubbed it with a rag, trying to make out the engraving.

  My little rose amongst the thorns.

  An immense sadness filled her. What had happened? Who had that been? How long had this been here? ‘Well, whoever you are, I hope your rose grows back for you.’

  She smiled at the plaque as she would a child in need of sympathy then shook her head at her own silliness. This thing with Connor had left her feeling particularly fragile. She cleaned up the plaque as best she could, fed the ground, gave the rosebush light by pruning back the trees around it and using her drink bottle and water from the river, she watered it. She’d polish the plaque better next time—bring some cleaner down.

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  She spun. ‘Hi, Jonah. What are you doing down here so close to dark?’

  ‘Just giving Molly her walk. I had homework this arvo, so we’re late.’ He came closer, Molly out in front, panting.

  She greeted the pup, then straightened. ‘You know about this?’

  He started to shake his head. It turned into a hesitant nod, finished on a shrug. ‘Kinda, not really.’

  ‘The plaque was buried in the bushes.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What happened?’

  He leant in, his eyes darting back to the big house nervously as he whispered loudly, ‘It’s not to be talked about.’

  Confused, Callie pushed. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Nan says, “You start messing with that stuff, it’ll come back to bite you.”’

  ‘I’m not following.’

  ‘Sometimes strange stuff happens,’ Jonah said in a very mature way. ‘Has strange stuff been happening up at the cottage, Callie?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Whenever strange s
tuff happens that I don’t like, my gran always sings, “Back to bed, back to bed, pull the covers over my head. Monsters, monsters, go away, I am not allowed to play.”’ He sang it like a nursery rhyme. Grinned.

  ‘Does it work?’

  ‘Oh, yes. The monsters have to do what you say. That’s the key. If you forget you’re in control, that’s when they take over.’

  The absolute conviction in his tone had some of her smile slipping. ‘You seem to know a lot about monsters, Jonah.’

  He shrugged, but there was pride in his stance. ‘Lots of people don’t believe in monsters.’ And then the sing-song tone was back. ‘But just because you don’t believe in them doesn’t mean they can’t hurt you! Bye, Callie!’

  What the hell was that? Jeez, the boy had goose bumps spreading over her skin. Has strange stuff been happening in the cottage, Callie? What on earth would possess him to say that?

  She scattered some fertiliser around the base of the rose and mulched it thickly with the leaf litter already around on the ground. No, nothing strange had been happening. Particularly. Sure, there was the weird chanting she’d thought she’d heard when she’d first arrived, and the incident with the lights, and the screaming, the moaning. But nothing she wasn’t pretty sure couldn’t be explained. She tried to forget it. The silly suggestion wouldn’t have been so difficult to shrug off, but Jonah’s tone and delivery had left a mark.

  She kept working, and was almost finished when she heard the shout.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing!’

  At the speed Cliff was approaching, she was just glad he made it without toppling over.

  ‘What have you done to it? You have no right!’

  He seemed genuinely distressed, so she kept her voice calm. ‘The longer a rose lives, the more care it needs. A neglected old rose like this one needs special treatment if it’s going to survive and flower.’

  ‘I didn’t say you could touch it!’

  ‘I’m just helping it along, bringing it back. I’ve removed the suckers and some of the old canes, thinned out the weak ones and pruned the younger ones back. You know that older rose varieties can live to fifty or more years when taken care of? This needed taking care of.’

  ‘It never flowered,’ he said in a much quieter tone.

  ‘I’m not surprised. It’s in heavy shade, the soil’s compacted—I bet it hasn’t ever been fertilised. With this little bit of help, you never know. It just might get a new lease on life.’

  ‘It’s not a bad rose,’ he muttered, and the intensity with which he stared at Callie had her tripping over her words.

  ‘What? No. It just needs some TLC.’

  He nodded and there was regret in it. ‘Often that’s all that’s required. A lack of it can be … devastating.’

  He was halfway back up the path when he turned around. ‘I’m sorry, Callie.’

  She wasn’t sure there weren’t tears in his eyes. ‘No, I’m sorry,’ she said, relieved he’d calmed down. ‘I was just trying to help.’ He obviously had a sentimental attachment to the rosebush. ‘Can I ask—who it’s for?’

  ‘Paisley never told you about—’ he watched her closely, ‘—Ava?’

  ‘Ava? No.’

  ‘Guess I’m not surprised.’

  He started back up the track slowly while she stared at the plaque. What had happened here? Must have been incredibly tragic. Some of that chill—and that sadness—returned. It would be better when Paisley was back for good. The place would feel warmer with company.

  Not sure whether Cliff would need a dinner made up because Ned was at the house, she ended up frying sausages, just in case. It was an easy meal, and when it was done, she took some over. Cliff could always eat them the next night. She went straight in and saw Ned sorting through the piles of stuff on the dining table. One end of the room was already stacked with more garbage bags and a separate smaller pile was amassing at the other.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, just brought over Cliff’s dinner.’

  ‘You’re not interrupting. Thanks, Callie.’

  ‘This is a lot of boxes,’ she said conversationally. ‘I thought Paisley already had most of them out the other day.’

  ‘Not even close. Not sure what to do with some of this stuff.’ He waved his hand at the smaller pile he’d made.

  She picked up a very old children’s book from a larger stack of leather bound and hardcover novels. The edges were slightly damaged but otherwise it was in great condition.

  ‘You could have a look online. You might discover a site or two that’ll tell you what’s valuable and what’s not.’

  ‘Got the agent coming round to take a look in the next couple of weeks. Have to get through it. Paisley said she’s coming down to help for the weekend.’

  ‘Friday.’

  ‘Reckons she can get the place all spick and span. I dropped some more wood over. It’s on the patio.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Callie.’ Cliff limped down the stairs with his stick. ‘What have we got tonight?’

  ‘Just some sausages,’ she told him, ‘but they’re gourmet butcher ones.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. Have you got a minute?’

  ‘Of course.’ She took the dish and followed Cliff into the kitchen.

  ‘I want to ask you something, Callie,’ he said, easing himself onto a chair.

  Fascinated and concerned, she sat beside him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘What do you really think about this house? Do you feel comfortable here?’

  She wondered why it mattered, and thought about her answer carefully. ‘I think that once we open this place up, give it a good clean, let the light in, the air, it’ll feel much better.’ She believed it. At least, she wanted to, because for all the chills it gave her and the strange weight that seemed to hang around the place, she fell a little bit more in love with the house’s charm every day. She could see possibilities.

  Her answer seemed to appease him and with a nod, he lifted the lid on dinner. ‘Will you eat with us tonight?’

  ‘Great idea,’ Ned said, coming inside. ‘Been hoping to share a meal with you, Callie.’

  ‘That’s a lovely offer, thank you both, but I had a late lunch, so I couldn’t eat yet. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She hoped Ned hadn’t assumed she’d made dinner for him too.

  She’d just stepped outside when he caught up with her.

  ‘How about dinner tomorrow night, after I fix your lights?’

  ‘I’ll make enough for you as well as Cliff, it’s no problem.’ She supposed it wasn’t. Then she stepped back from the hand he placed on her arm.

  ‘No, I mean, just us.’

  ‘Ah, Ned, look. I appreciate how kind and thoughtful you’ve been. But—’

  ‘It’s no trouble, told you that. I could pick you up at eight, take you into town.’

  ‘Ned, I’m not going to go out with you. I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I’m not interested.’

  ‘I see,’ he said after an age of simply staring at her. ‘You’re still getting over your husband. It’s a long process. We can start out slow, no problem. I don’t mind.’

  ‘Would you stop?’ she snapped in frustration. ‘You’re not listening. I’m not interested in having any sort of relationship with you. Not now, or ever! Is that clear?’

  ‘No need to be rude,’ he said, obviously hurt.

  She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes closed. Was there any right way to handle this guy? ‘I didn’t mean to be. I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you understand.’

  He nodded stiffly. ‘I get it.’ She was halfway through a breath of relief when he added, ‘I’ll just have to work harder on changing your mind.’

  ‘No! You w—’

  ‘See you soon, Callie.’

  The frustration made her want to scream at his back, but she let him go, stormed to the cottage and locked herself in. She’d been worried about hurting his feelings? Ha. Nothing she’d s
aid had dampened his optimism in any way. He’d no doubt gone back to the house to plan their next date.

  She realised she was chewing her nails and dropped her hand to her side. It had been an emotional day—and maybe that’s all there was to it—but for the first time she started to worry about Ned and his refusal to take no for an answer.

  CHAPTER

  17

  The tools hit the crates in a series of loud clangs and crashes. It was almost time to go. Cole would be back for the men soon and Connor needed to catch up with Tess about some of the activities booked over the next couple of days. And finding Tess would probably mean running into Callie. They’d been talking about working together this afternoon when he’d seen them in the garden earlier.

  He’d spent a few lunches with Callie this week. Conversation had been stilted for a couple of days, despite them parting well enough after the conversation about dating. Yesterday had been easier, at least to the point where her smiles more regularly made it to her eyes and the dialogue was relaxed enough that he didn’t cross-examine every word before it left his mouth. He shouldn’t have pushed. But as easy as it was to see the sense in leaving things be when he was alone, the second he spent any time with Callie, his logic evaporated. She’d surprised him by admitting the attraction wasn’t one-sided and it had stuck in his mind. He still couldn’t say whether he wanted her to reconsider or not.

  He got his mind back on packing up, watched the men finish up on the fence. Orson was somewhere further down the line. He hadn’t been sure he’d really wanted Orson back, but Cole had convinced him to give him another chance on the condition he didn’t go near the guesthouse again. So Connor had said yes, and Orson had apologised three times and, devastated over Bailey’s death, had worked harder all day than the other two put together.

  ‘What are you daydreaming about this time?’ Logan asked, dropping his tools in the ute.

  ‘I was thinking about something Orson said during one of his many apologies today.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘He said thank you, because we’d given him a chance, that it’s one of the few he’s ever had. That no matter what happens next, he’ll always be grateful for this.’