by Bowes, K T
“Then do the opposite!” Logan’s patience sounded frayed, Wiri’s difficulties overlaid with memories of his own childhood. “I don’t bloody know, Hana. Just do whatever you think. I’m not a freakin’ psychologist, am I?”
Hana turned away stung and withdrew her hand from beneath his. Logan shook his head and fixed his face into an impenetrable mask. She fought the urge to retort, knowing from experience it wouldn’t give her any satisfaction, but Neville Du Rose wasn’t dead and nor was Anahera. One was pig-headed and the other incapacitated. Hana sighed, hoping her fumbled attempts at helping the damaged boy would be enough.
“He just needs you to love him.” Logan’s words sounded stilted and angry. “Just bloody love him, Hana. Please.”
She opened her mouth and wisdom made her close it again. Instead she watched the boxy houses whizz past the window. The rural school had lost its street appeal and Hana gaped as Logan made the final turn through the magnificent wrought iron gates. In the past year someone with planning permission had buried it beneath a housing estate, surrounding it in a brick siege. Ugly boundary fences ringed the soccer fields like sentries, protecting the new builds from marauding teenage boys. The absence of green and openness caused her to take a sharp intake of breath. Logan wrinkled his nose; his only comment on the progressive march of the human desire to conquer and occupy every square centimetre of earth and air.
The Gatehouse stood where it had for almost two centuries but a panelled fence protected its blank windows from the street. Hana turned in her seat to assess the damage as Logan launched the ute up onto the small driveway. “I bet it’s dark at the back of the house with that fence now.”
“Yup.” Logan tipped himself from the driver’s seat and left her sitting there as he skipped up the front steps and onto the villa’s wrap around deck. The front door opened at his touch and she heaved a sigh of relief. He disappeared for a moment and Hana watched him walk back outside, his cowboy hat and riding jeans incongruous against the formal backdrop of the private school. Her lips quirked at the memory of him in a suit, expensive Italian fabric hugging his neat bum and the shirt sleeves containing his veined biceps. He’d make the switch from chopping wood to teaching boys without breaking his stride but the cowboy boots would remain; a silent rebellion against the propriety of academia.
“Do we unload the car or the kids?” Logan pulled open the passenger door and leaned his forearm on the sill above Hana’s head. She smelled the familiar scent of New Zealand bush and summer.
“Neither,” she replied. “Just get back in and let’s go home.”
Logan smirked and the scar beneath his right eye wrinkled. “Whatever. Sorry about before. I’m just angry at Nev.”
“I know.” Hana’s fingers sought his face, tracing the line of his jaw and stumbling against the coarse hair breaking through the skin. “Don’t be so hard on him. He’s lost everything these last few years; his father died, his brother left, he lost Rueben’s half of the mountain, his eldest son cost you both a fortune with his stupidity and now his wife’s been sectioned. It’s not unreasonable to enjoy a well-deserved meltdown.” Hana watched her husband’s face cloud over and narrowed her eyes. “I know it sucks, Loge. Wiri’s caught in the crossfire but it’ll work out.”
“Like it did for me?” Logan’s tone held bitterness and sarcasm. “Don’t think so, somehow.”
“We can’t change the past.” Hana’s eyes strayed to the wooden pillars on the porch and the detailed filigree on every surface of the old house. “Let’s just keep moving forwards, hey?”
“I love you, Mrs Du Rose.” Logan caressed her name on his lips; anchor and lifeline. He tugged her from the ute and crushed her into him, keeping her balanced on the slender footboard while his nose pushed into her neck and his fingers roved under her shirt to touch the clasp on her bra.
“Not in front of the children.” Hana whispered and nibbled his ear lobe.
“They’re not looking.” His voice sounded muffled by her sweatshirt and she shivered at the touch of his warm fingers on her skin.
“Ah-hem.” The delicate throat clearing made Hana jump and Logan banged his head on the top of the door. He leapt back with a hiss and put his fingers up to look for blood, fearing an episode with his hemophilia. Hana held her breath and watched as he brought clean fingers down to inspect.
“Sorry to disturb you when you’re moving in.” The female voice drew Hana’s attention and her gaze met that of a smart woman in her forties with get-me-the-manager styled blonde hair, cut into her nape.
“Hi.” Hana’s eyes darted to Logan and back, seeing a lack of recognition. The woman took a step forward.
“I’m Ava.” At the couple’s obvious confusion, she elaborated. “I’m the principal here at Waikato Boys’. You must be the Du Roses.”
Logan recovered with incredible speed, dropping into a businesslike manner with frightening ease. He took the proffered hand and nodded, his face a blank mask. Hana straightened her shirt and looked away, fighting the urge to giggle like a cornered teen. The woman appeared clipped and professional unlike Hana; caught necking with her husband on school premises. She turned away, her eyes watering and reached into the ute to get her purse, her mirth compounded by a line of dribble running its course from Wiri’s mouth onto his jacket. Sunlight and optical illusion made it look as though the drips travelled up as well as down it like a zip line. Smothering a snort, Hana retrieved her purse and emerged backwards into a conversation about changed bell times and lessons lasting only fifty minutes. “It works well,” Ava explained. “It adds an extra period to the school day for enhanced learning and I’ve introduced a Semester A and B timetable to align our boys with university processes.”
Hana plastered a fake smile onto her face and offered her hand. “Hana Du Rose,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
The woman smiled, a genuine expression of pleasure and Hana relaxed. “Angus Blair spoke highly of you both. It’s wonderful to have you back.” Ava addressed Logan, turning her perceptive blue eyes on him. “He’d earmarked you for deputy principal, I understand.”
“Did he?” Logan sounded non-committal but only Hana knew the warning signs. She didn’t understand what had occurred to ruin a lifetime’s friendship, but Logan’s eyes showed suspicion at his former mentor’s name.
“That role’s still vacant.” Ava’s features took on a beaked appearance as she hooked her prey and attempted to reel it in. Hana observed her efforts of persuasion with amusement; Ava hadn’t experienced Du Rose stubbornness before. It would be a different form of education for her. Hana watched with cool disinterest as Logan sidestepped the blatant offer and indicated the ute with a jerk of his head.
“I’ll settle my family and check in with you,” he said, his mind already elsewhere.
Ava knotted her brow and then conceded. “No rush. Monday’s teacher-only day so you can catch up with your colleagues and fit in where required. I’ll see you at the staff meeting; we start at fifteen minutes past eight.”
Logan gave an upward tilt of his head in acknowledgement and with a smile at Hana, Ava turned and whirled away on high heels.
Hana wanted to ask about Logan’s broken relationship with Angus, but the more rational part of her didn’t want to know. It happened during a traumatic time in her life and she figured it was best left behind.
“How do we do this?” Logan’s question snapped Hana back to the present moment and she shrugged.
“No idea. Three grumpy kids, only the food I brought from home and no idea if there’re even beds for them. It’s our usual brand of chaos so I guess we’ll work through it.”
Logan’s face broke into a smile. “That’s what I love about you; your resourcefulness.”
An hour later, the children sat around the kitchen table eating sandwiches. After the initial eye-rubbing and displays of pique they warmed to their new situation, helped along by the presence of food. Phoenix picked crusts from around her sandwich and left them to the
side of her plate. “Nice kai, Mama,” she mused and Hana smiled in her direction.
“Thanks, baby.”
“Where Papa?”
Hana handed a stick of cheese to Mac and listened to the sound of Logan’s footsteps moving overhead on the first floor. “He’s putting up the travel cot for Macky.” She winced at a crash and amended her sentence. “He’s fighting the travel cot for Macky.”
“He fightin’?” Phoenix formed her rosebud lips into a little ‘o’ of exaggerated surprise and nudged Wiri. “Not again!”
“What? Your dad doesn’t fight,” Hana said, keeping her voice level and maintaining the careful illusion of perfection for her children’s benefit. The old Logan fought, but he hadn’t needed to for a while.
“He fighted Uncle Kane.” Wiri added his comment whilst eating the crusts Phoenix piled onto his plate like her own personal dustbin. “You fighted Uncle Kane.” He raised an eyebrow and shot her the classic Du Rose look of disdain. Hana writhed with dismay at the child’s enhanced memory.
“That was years ago.” She dismissed it as insignificant although it paved the way for her acceptance and mana within the Du Rose family. She’d hit Logan’s hemophiliac half-brother and he’d bled. “Fighting’s wrong,” she conceded with a wince of guilt. “It’s never okay.”
“Fightin’s wong!” Phoenix stressed and piled more crusts onto Wiri’s plate.
Logan appeared in the doorway, his dark hair mussed and his right index finger in his mouth. Hana cringed. “You cut yourself?”
“It’s fine. I used my spray.” He smiled over his hand, hiding the blood running into his mouth. “I’ll run it under the tap.”
“Fightin’s naughty!” Phoenix yelled. She balled her fists and tensed her body as though enduring some kind of muscular episode. Hana jumped, Logan knitted his brow but Wiri laughed. Phoenix looked pleased with herself and performed again for her cousin’s benefit.
“Don’t encourage her,” Hana chided the older boy and handed another stick of cheese to her silent son. His lips moved with anticipation, already sucking before the yellow wedge arrived in his fingers. Hana patted her mouth and Mac’s eyes watched, his left hand mimicking the action. Tiny fingers flicked the thank you sign, pushing away from his mouth as his green eyes danced with pleasure at Hana’s ready smile. She stroked his cheek and the silent communication felt like a milestone passed. Hana turned, finding her husband’s grey eyes watching her.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispered and Hana nodded.
“Run your hand under the cold tap.”
“I used my spray.”
Ignoring his protests, Hana dropped into her role of family nurse, dragging sticking plasters from her purse and patching up the ragged wound. She prayed the bleeding would stop to allow Logan’s body to behave as God intended. The city seemed to crowd in on her, cluttering her mind and pushing away anything except her role as wife and mother.
Hana Du Rose drowned out her fears by moving her mind through the details of bath time in the huge upstairs room, making a passable dinner and settling the children in the big classroom next door to their bedroom. The old house creaked and groaned with every movement and the temperature dropped, requiring the ancient, gravity fed central heating which added to the cacophony of unfamiliar sound. The baby monitor rumbled with strange vibrations on the kitchen table and Hana nursed a mug of tea and listened to Wiri telling Phoenix a whispered story about a rabbit with super powers, calling from his bed to hers. Mac snuffled and settled with ease, tired from the journey and an overload of sensory challenges in an unfamiliar environment.
“Hey.” Logan turned aside from the old dishwasher which emitted a resigned hiss as it gave in and began to fill. He leaned his bum against the counter and folded his arms, observing Hana from across the wide room. “What’re you thinking?”
Hana shrugged and cradled the mug, turning it round and round on the scarred table. “I’m thinking it was a mistake to come back here.”
“Oh.” His handsome jaw dropped and Logan tried and failed to hide his dismay. “Memories?” he asked and she nodded.
“Yeah. This city’s not been kind to me and I can’t cope with any more tragedy.”
“It’s not all been bad.” Logan covered the distance between them in a few long strides. He pulled her to a standing position and settled himself in her chair, hauling her down onto his knee. “You met me here.”
Hana’s lips curved into a smile and she met his serious gaze with a coy look. “Not true. I met you on a Circle Line tube train in London, or have you forgotten?”
“I’d never forget that. But Hamilton held you until I returned and that makes it a great place for me.” He ran a gentle finger down the side of her face and Hana felt the tingle of attraction. Logan’s thighs felt solid and safe beneath her and she glanced at the strong biceps which once carried her upstairs and would again. She reached for his top button and saw his pupils dilate with immediacy, obscuring the stunning grey irises with instant darkness. A flicker passed between them as the button slid through its slot and Logan’s lips parted as hope burgeoned.
Hana leaned down and tasted him, his mouth smooth and dry beneath hers. Powerful fingers settled either side of her waist and she revelled in the secure feeling his grip gave her. It would all be fine; Mac, everything. Logan Du Rose made it right just by being there with her, his kisses so soft but capable of furious passion. “I love you,” she whispered, their lips touching as she murmured the treasured words. His body told her he knew, chest hard against her breasts and his hands pushing through the back of her hair and cupping her neck.
Logan stood in a fluid movement, the muscles bunching and flexing as he commanded his body to lift Hana, not permitting a millimetre of separation between them. He carried her up the stairs and past the room where three dependent children tugged on the umbilical cord of parenthood.
Closing the door with his foot he laid Hana on the bed and undressed her, stopping to admire every part of her body. His work-worn hands caressed the silvery traces on her skin where her womb stretched to carry his babies and grateful lips kissed and nibbled their curving trails. A patient man he took his time, relenting when the icy room temperature drove them beneath the sheets Hana brought from home. He enveloped them in a tent which smelled of the mountain and Hana responded to his touch with a frenzy of frustration only satiated when he bound her to him and rocked their bodies in familiar pleasure.
“It will be okay,” he promised again as they hid in the warmth of their joint body heat. Hana moved her head on his chest and nodded, listening to the sound of her hair moving across Logan’s soft skin. The fingers of her left hand sought the whakapapa tattoo on his right shoulder, tracing the memorised genealogy, reading it like braille and seeking reassurance from the tangata whenua honoured there.
“Mac’s deaf. We both know it. Tests won’t change that.” Her voice sounded loud and aggressive in the darkness but Logan responded by pulling her closer and wrapping the sheets tighter around them.
“I don’t care. He’s my son.”
“I think I caused it.” Hana let the statement do its worst, waiting for Logan to react and surprised when he didn’t. She lifted her head. “Say something.”
“What’s to say? You didn’t.”
Hana raised herself up onto her elbows and chewed her lip, seeking Logan’s gaze in the darkness and failing. “I discharged a loaded shotgun right next to him only minutes after he was born. It might’ve burst his eardrums.” She heard Logan’s head move on the pillow and his fingers clasped around her shoulders, forcing her down onto his chest. He resettled until she lay on top of him, their bodies molding together in a familiar posture. Her toes wiggled against the hair on his shins and she nestled in, seeking comfort and absolution for her terrible crime. Logan’s arms wrapped around her back and his fingers locked.
“You protected our son, Hana. I’ve never told you how grateful I am and I should’ve. It took courage to sit in that bathroom in t
he state you were in and face whatever came through that door with a loaded twelve bore. I admire you wahine and even if Mac’s deafness is the result of that, nothing will change how I feel about you and him. You and my tamariki are the only thing that matters to me. Don’t forget that. There’s nothing else I value more. We’ll deal with what happens next just like we always have but please, Hana, give yourself a break.”
She cried then, silent tears rolling across Logan’s shoulder and tumbling onto the mattress with a faint plop in the darkness. He smoothed his large palms across her soft back but refused to let her dwell on her guilt, banishing it with easy kisses and mind blowing sex which drove all other thoughts away. Hana’s sleep when it finally came was laced with exhaustion and she stayed close to Logan throughout the night, seeking his warmth and surety like oxygen.
It would all be fine. He’d promised.
Chapter 26
Drama and Blessing
“I’ve left him!”
Hana stood at the front door with a blue plastic baby spoon in her fingers. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. Leslie gave her a hearty shove and weaved past her into the house. Her buttocks wobbled in the too tight dress as she bent to prod off her shoes with a practiced finger. “Nasty old man. I’ve come to live with youse.”
Logan emerged from the kitchen with a grizzling Mac on his hip. “Hana, this kid’s hungry. What’s going on?” He gaped at the sight of his stepmother hauling ass towards him with her arms outstretched. “Hi.” He sent a nervous glance Hana’s way as Mac tipped forward into his grandmother’s arms and pushed his face into her shoulder. He tensed and pressed sore gums into her ample flesh and Leslie dropped into the role with ease, patting his back and ruffling his ginger hair.
“Is my bub teething?” she demanded, entering the kitchen. Hana heard the squeals of delight from Phoenix and Wiri as they spotted her. Loud chatter commenced and Hana swallowed and looked at Logan with apology in her eyes.
