Long Game
Page 7
‘Here, Cress.’ Mr Kennedy was on the opposite side of him to Cress, and slipped a hand beneath his armpit. ‘Think you can stand if we help you?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Quin hated deceiving the man, but he had no other plan.
With Cress and her dad’s help, he stood. ‘We’ll help you off the field.’ Quin couldn’t argue with Mr Kennedy so he hobbled off with their assistance.
As they neared the fence, Mr Kennedy cleared his throat. ‘Cress, will you run and get the ute, drive it here so we can get him home?’
She looked as if she was going to argue, but just nodded and was gone.
‘Good plan,’ Mr Kennedy whispered as they moved slowly off the oval. ‘I had no idea how we’d stop either of you playing.’
Quin’s stomach unknotted and his chest filled out. Mr Kennedy’s praise warmed him right through. It was worth faking the injury. ‘I don’t know how long I can keep her away.’
‘You’ll have more chance keeping her if I’m not there.’ He clamped his hand on Quin’s shoulder, stopping so Quin could lean against the fence surrounding the oval. ‘Good luck. We’ll be behind you but I think the boys will need to stay for a while longer—’
Cress pulled up and, leaving the car running, came around to help settle Quin. She had the passenger seat pushed right back so she couldn’t do much except look like a scowling dark cloud.
When Mr Kennedy had Quin settled, he nodded to his daughter. ‘Look after him.’
She gave a tight nod and went around to drive him home.
‘Watercress, you’re taking me to your place, aren’t you?’ It was an extra fifteen minutes to drive to the farm, making it longer that she was away. It was possible that she’d remain out there. With him.
She growled, or so it seemed to him. ‘Of course.’
They left the oval and headed to the farm. Quin sank back into the seat of the old ute, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. ‘Don’t be mad.’
‘Why not?’ Cress barked when she slowed for a turn.
‘We were looking out for you.’
She kept her concentration on the road, as if she needed to be fully attentive to an empty road she’d driven for years and knew like the back of her hand.
Chapter 9
Quin was unusually quiet as Cress helped him out of the ute. She wondered how long he’d play up his ‘injury’. She’d been tempted to drive him to the hospital and make a true scene out of it, but something else was bugging her about the whole scenario.
‘You may as well sit here. It’ll be cooler.’ She stopped on the verandah and left him to find his own seat. Assisting him from the ute had strained her patience. She needed his arm draped across her like she needed an injury from the town bullies.
Opening the door brought a burst of hot air against her face. At least on the porch there was the hint of a breeze and the overhanging trees and the climbing vine gave some relief to the hot summer’s day. She probably should have made Quin sit inside.
She opened a few windows as she stormed through the hot house. A draught would get the air conditioning working on cooling the place down. She wasn’t getting Quin ice. His acting was about on par with her brothers’—pathetic. Dad’s reaction was what had her confused and cranky.
Dad had always told them to toughen up and stand up to bullies. He’d also always called them out when they lied. Today, he’d not only allowed them to lie, but to run from bullies. It made no sense.
They should have been able to beat the Westons, like they had every other time the idiots had tried to one-up them. The Westons hated being townies. They wanted to farm, were jealous of the Kennedys, but too lazy to work hard and buy their own property. If they all pulled together, they’d be able to buy some local place. Instead they worked spasmodically, and drank their pay cheques, continuing to moan and whinge about their hard luck lives.
She knew they’d target her today and she was ready for them. It riled her that her brothers didn’t think she could stand up for herself. She had to on the football field. There wasn’t anything they could do to help her there. She thought she could give it to the best of them; compete against the toughest and hold her own.
Yet today, their lack of confidence in her rattled her.
Hitting the bathroom first, she splashed her face with water trying to cool down—her temper if not her temperature. The tank water was tepid, so it did little to decrease the flush on her skin. It did give her time to gather her perspective. Quin was only the messenger; she couldn’t shoot him but that didn’t mean she couldn’t give him a piece of her mind. He was as bad as her family in trying to protect her when she could jolly well protect herself. They weren’t always around. How did they think she fared on her own?
His injury was genius, she had to give him that. It was the only thing that would have gotten her out of there, and she knew none of her brothers would have faked an injury because they’d have looked sissy doing it.
She grabbed a jug and filled it with ice cubes and drinking water. Taking it outside with two glasses seemed to calm her again. By the time she was placing the jug on the small table beside Quin, she almost had her temper under control.
‘You’re not throwing that on top of me?’
She managed to give him a grin, even if it was somewhat forced. ‘I thought about it.’
‘Figured.’ Quin took the glass from her. ‘Thank you. Sorry you’re missing the game.’
Quin was going to wear the brunt of her anger, even if he didn’t deserve it.
‘Are you?’ Her tone was scathing and anyone who hadn’t known her forever would probably be running away.
Quin stared at her, his jaw jiggled and she had no doubt he was grinding his back teeth to keep from saying anything inflammatory. At the moment, that could be anything at all. She could almost feel flames licking at her heels she was so riled.
She sat heavily on the step and watched him closely. ‘Why don’t you think I can stick up for myself?’
His eyes widened and his head jerked back a little. ‘That’s not it.’
His reaction was genuine so she knew his words were honest, even if they were surprising. ‘It’s not?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s because the Westons were going to take you out just to destroy your dream.’
‘Because I’m a girl playing a man’s game.’ It made her wild. Why did men have to own everything? Why couldn’t it be shared, or available to all?
‘That’s got nothing to do with it. No one thinks of you as a girl. They’ve tried to do it to me too. It’s because we’ve got dreams.’ He gulped water and swallowed. ‘The boys are looking out for you because you’ve helped them achieve their dreams and now it’s time for yours.’
‘What?’ Cress moved forward, away from the verandah post she’d slumped against. ‘What dreams?’ she asked, even though the large proportion of her brain was stumbling over the girl comment.
‘You’ve all always worked on the farm to help your dad’s dreams. Then you kept working with him as Tris, Olllie, Damo and Gar all went off and got the jobs they wanted. You worked full-time in the end, letting them do what they want. You’ve never asked them to come back and help. Ever.’
There were no words. Quin was speaking the truth as he believed it. His eyes weren’t hiding anything. His gaze stayed with her. His body was relaxed.
She broke eye contact and looked out over the yard and further, to the sheds. Then she sipped her water, unable to look at him. ‘So why pretend to get hurt?’ she murmured before she took another sip.
‘I couldn’t think of any other way to stop you playing.’
She glanced at him. ‘Scared I’m going to go back?’
‘Yep.’ He was still staring at her. Quin shifted on the couch. ‘You didn’t realise?’
She shook her head as she felt his caring and kindness wash over her. Then she remembered that he didn’t see her as a girl, and she shook off the emotion. There was no point feeling anything for him if
he didn’t for her. On top of the fact that she couldn’t fit anything beyond football into her life.
‘It still makes no sense. Why did Dad let us run from bullies, and lie, when he’s taught us not to do either?’
Quin sighed as if the conversation was getting too deep and meaningful for him. It probably was. She and Quin kept things light and fun in Sydney. Never had they had a chat like this. It was obviously way beyond his comfort zone.
‘I think the others aren’t running. It’s only us. Because of your dreams, and mine.’ He held up a hand when she went to argue. ‘Watercress, someone only needs to video it and we’re in all sorts of strife. Fighting at a country football game, when we’re stars of the game, isn’t a good look before the season starts, for either of us. No one would care that you were standing up to bullies. All they’d see is that you’re bringing the game into disrepute.’
‘I’d be … what?’
‘Surely you’ve seen the headlines of footy players involved in these sorts of things. You know what the media coverage is like.’
‘I’m in Grong Grong, not Sydney.’
Quin waved his mobile phone at her. ‘Digital age. It takes a few seconds to get to Sydney.’
She sat back. Truly, deeply, shocked.
‘You have to be cleaner than a newly shorn sheep, Watercress.’ He sounded jaded, tired, and old beyond his years. ‘Nothing you do can end up on someone’s phone to be seen out of context and twisted to distort the truth. You have to be careful. More careful than you’ve ever been.’
‘Quin.’ She stood and went to him. Sitting beside him, she wrapped her hand over his thigh. The muscles flexed beneath her touch but she held on, needing the contact. Her heart was aching for him, and she felt naive. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’ She rubbed her hand on his leg, the rough hairs abrading her palm lightly. She could have hurt both their careers. ‘I’m so far out of my depth.’
After a few strokes, he caught her hand, lifted it and held it in his own. He squeezed and she met his gaze. ‘I don’t want you to learn the hard way.’
She held his stare and hand, even as her heart picked up its beat and her stomach tightened. He was so close she noticed a couple of hairs just above his lip that had missed his razor in this morning’s shave. ‘I’m sorry that you had to.’ She couldn’t be sure he had learned the hard way as she hadn’t heard anything negative about him, but his anguish seemed to suggest that.
She lifted her hand to brush her thumb against those slightly longer bristles. His lips met her thumb, soft with a damp centre. Warm. She briefly closed her eyes to concentrate on the pleasure sliding through her body.
The dampness in the centre of her thumb increased. Her eyes flew open. The tip of his tongue slicked along the whorls, before his teeth nipped at the pad. Suction. Her head was tipping backwards but she fought that because she didn’t want to break his gaze; didn’t want to miss a moment of what he might do. What they might do.
‘Quin.’ That one word held awe, and more than a hint of disbelief. She wasn’t dreaming this, was she? She rubbed her other hand along his thigh, muscles twitched beneath her fingers, and she was pretty sure it was real. Quin was real. Quin biting her thumb was real.
Moving to get closer, she heard a vehicle in the distance. When he sucked the entire top of her thumb into his mouth and bit around her knuckle, his eyes shone with mischief. It made her giggle. Giggle, but nothing like a schoolgirl; this was a giggle like a seductress, rich and full-bodied, with a hint of naughtiness. He growled and her thumb tingled in the vibrations. This was a Quin she’d only dreamed about.
He opened his mouth, her hand closed on his jaw and then she heard tyres bump over the cattle grid. ‘They’re nearly here.’ She was breathless. Flustered. Needed space.
Leaping to her feet, she was across the verandah and at the top of the stairs before she turned back to Quin. While she felt as if she’d been shattered, he appeared unaffected. He gave her a normal grin and a nod. Like a friend. She couldn’t see anything heated in his gaze. He didn’t run his tongue across his lips, or even wink. She shook her head but it did little to dispel the tingling warmth flooding her body and brain.
He stared out across the paddocks. There was no time to say anything. No time to question what had happened.
She flew down the stairs and waited for Dad and her brothers, hoping her heart would get back to normal before they noticed anything. She curled her thumb inside her fingers, protecting the moisture left on there as if it held some secret essence she needed to keep. This would never leave her. The moisture may dry but that kiss, was it a kiss, would remain with her forever.
Part of her felt like she was a giddy kid again; yet there was another part that told her she’d grown up a lot in one afternoon. Neither part sat comfortably inside her. Everything was confused.
‘Quin’s fine,’ she said as the guys got out of their vehicles and headed towards her.
Five men hesitated and glanced at each other somewhat strangely.
‘His knee looked bad,’ Dad said, and took the steps towards her, slinging his arm across her shoulders.
‘I used magic ice.’ She forced a grin, not wanting to think about any other magic. At least not now. Not until she worked out how she felt about the day, herself, Quin, what he’d told her, what he hadn’t said, and what they’d done.
‘You okay?’ Dad asked with lines etched deeper into his forehead and cheeks. He peered closely, as if trying to discover deceit.
Stretching out to him, she ran her fingers along his forearm before covering his hand and squeezing. ‘I understand, Dad. Don’t worry.’
He jerked back, as if her rational understanding of the situation was impossible, and then his lines faded as a smile broke through. He slung his arm around her neck, and holding her in a loose headlock, they headed to the house.
Quin was standing with her brothers. She caught his gaze as she struggled to break from Dad’s hold, but something in his look made her pause. Searching his warm stare, she could easily decipher respect, but there was something heated in there too. Could he be as hyper-aware of her as she was of him? Could he be ruing the interruption as much as she was? Would they have gone further?
She squirmed free of Dad’s hold and raced for the verandah and the esky in Ollie’s grasp. ‘Let’s turn these salad rolls into hamburgers.’ Chopping onions and burning steaks sounded like a good segue into an afternoon of swimming and mucking around by the dam. If she was lucky, it’d be so noisy, she wouldn’t have to think about kissing, or football, or the confusing feelings in her stomach.
Chapter 10
The Kennedys attracted a crowd, and the Royal Hotel on New Year’s Eve had a crowd. When a group of women swarmed the table, a swirling haze of confusion threatened to overcome Quin. He sought out Cress with a glance. Without saying a word, she snuck into a space beside him and dragged him out of the sickly over-flowered miasma. How she knew what he needed, he didn’t understand and he wasn’t about to question. They were at the back pool table, playing, before he shook off the wave of panic that had engulfed him. But something worse was chewing up his insides now—anger. Bitter and nasty.
He thought he’d be okay. He was at home, in the friendly country pub of his childhood but it didn’t seem to matter that he’d told himself he was safe, he wasn’t. Not in a pub at night, with a horde of women, where alcohol could easily dull common sense. He’d been avoiding this exact situation for months and surely that was enough time to be over his irrational fears. Enough time to shove the memories deep inside and tuck them away.
Cress broke and the cracking sound of balls hitting against each other drove into his mind. He drew a breath. Watched Watercress lean over the table, her body extending beautifully and balanced, while she pocketed ball after ball. A sense of calm came over him. He breathed more slowly. Evenly.
‘I’ve got to go and get Ollie and Dad soon,’ Cress said as she lined up her shot. ‘Do you want to come for the drive?’
‘I’ll be fine, thanks.’ He even sounded like he might be. ‘It was just the perfume smell.’
Cress chuckled. ‘You’re stealing my city complaints. Watch out.’
Her grin should have soothed him, except she was going in a few minutes and he’d be here on his own. A burst of fear caught in his throat before he looked across at her brothers. He wasn’t alone. He could handle this.
Seriously, he used to soak up female attention. He used to think it was unusual not to have crowds around him. Now he couldn’t breathe as they closed in and he had to work that out.
Cress brushed his arm. ‘Your shot.’ A frown puckered her forehead and her teeth flicked across her bottom lip. She knew he was spooked but she still wasn’t pushing him, and he couldn’t work that out. Cress always pushed and bullied, sometimes she cajoled, but she always found out. What was different this time? ‘Why are you like this?’
The way her eyes flared and that step she took back from him gave away her surprise at his question, or maybe she’d call it an outburst.
She recovered quickly, stepping right into his personal space, almost bumping chests with him. She held his gaze as if she was throttling him. ‘Because whatever’s eating the hell out of you, Quinlan Fitzpatrick, is your business. I got that message weeks ago.’ There was no anger in those words, just caring and more than a bit of hurt. She stepped back, still holding his gaze in a stare he couldn’t seem to break.
When had he told her off for prying?
He hadn’t. He was sure he hadn’t.
He looked away first, skimming his eyes across the table and taking the only shot he could. His hands shook. The cue didn’t move cleanly and he missed an easy shot. She wiped the table in seconds and then rested her cue. Lifting her hand, she slid it flat, down his forearm. Checking on him, at the same time as calming him.