Challenging Andie

by Sally Clements

  *****

  Andie rotated her shoulders, feeling the muscles roll loose and easy. She twisted her hair up and stuck a chopstick from the kitchen drawer through it to keep it off her neck, then opened the box of eggs brought in from the car.

  Everyone could cook—it was a necessary skill to master if you lived alone and wanted to eat. There was one specialty in her culinary toolbox, pancakes. She intended to use it.

  She sifted flour into a large bowl, and made a well in the center. Cracked in a couple of eggs, and mixed, watching as the flour clouded the eggs surface and the heavy grains fell from the sides into the thickening batter. Milk and water poured in a thin stream were added and stirred. The shower had stopped. He must be getting dressed.

  Andie swallowed, strangely nervous at the prospect of meeting Ryan now the sun was in the sky. In the darkness of the night they’d been totally in sync, bodies melding again and again in every possible permutation of lovemaking. She touched fingers to her heated cheek. She hadn’t been able to get enough of him. Like a potent drug that flooded her system, she’d been completely addicted. Now, in the clear light of day…

  Andie strode from the mixing bowl to fetch herself a glass of cold water. Nerves jumped in her stomach. It was ridiculous to feel so nervous, so worried about how he would feel in the morning. Last night had been a stolen moment in time. He would go back to Bekostan, and she’d never see him again. She’d been prepared for that the moment they tumbled into bed—the fact that somehow, sometime during the long night she’d started to long for something more was disquieting, nothing more. She’d dealt with someone she cared about leaving before. She could do it again.

  She took a lemon out of the brown paper sack they’d bought at the store on the way to the cottage, and concentrated on slicing it into thin rounds.

  The bedroom door creaked. There were heavy, slow footsteps on the stairs, then the kitchen door swung open.

  “You’re up early.” Ryan’s smile was forced. He looked pale, washed out and awkward. Hell.

  “I decided to make pancakes.” The early morning decision to dress in the sexy nightie had been a mistake. In her imagination, he’d smiled with one look at the pale ivory silk. In reality, he glanced away. “There’s coffee.” A point at the coffee machine. “I’ll just get dressed.” She needed to escape. To get out quick before she ran a hand over his creased brow, asked what was the matter. She was the matter. The night that filled her with a warm glow of belonging obviously had the opposite effect on Ryan. The sooner she strapped armor over her heart the better.

  Ryan’s strong hand caught her upper arm as she passed. “Andie…” Pain was evident in the depths of his eyes. Pain laced with regret. Andie’s stomach flipped as though she was in an elevator that had suddenly plummeted twenty floors. She didn’t want to hear. Couldn’t hide the disappointment on her face if he said the affair was over. Pride demanded she act like an adult and keep her dignity.

  “I’ve a busy day today. I want to go through my mother’s stuff. What are you planning?” Her cheeks ached with the stretched, stuck-on smile.

  Ryan’s hand fell to his side. “I don’t know.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “I guess I should review the news feed.”

  “The television?”

  “No, on the internet. I have a direct link to the office on my laptop.”

  “Okay.” Andie crossed her arms over a chest showing rather too much erect nipple under the circumstances. Her traitorous body hadn’t got the message Ryan didn’t want a repeat performance and leant in, unable to resist his potent attraction.

  She stepped away, desperate to escape before he realized how hurt and bruised she felt. “After breakfast we’ll get to work.” The urge to run tingled through her legs. Her calves clenched with the effort of keeping her strides even as she turned away and walked up the stairs. Long years of practice had taught her well.

  Later, with Ryan sequestered in the upstairs bedroom, presumably surfing the internet, Andie reconsidered the decision to stay in the cottage. She should just leave—say she’d forgotten an appointment or something, and get out of there before her heart shattered.

  But somehow, she just couldn’t. Their lovemaking had been special, but even more special was the emotion that flowed in an unstoppable wave every time she saw him, every time she considered the thought of leaving. Surely they deserved a chance?

  He’d been so quiet over breakfast she’d almost picked a fight just to get some sort of reaction. Where had the teasing, flirting, intense man determined to woo her of the night before gone? Gran always warned that men were after one thing. Andie’d made her own mind up about that, not willing to believe all men were like her father, running for the hills at the prospect of commitment. Maybe she’d been wrong.

  Andie gritted her teeth. She might feel like running away, and maybe the old Andie would have packed her bag and run out of there, rather than risk rejection. Things were different now. The new, brave Andie didn’t run. She faced her fears.

  She clenched her teeth tight. Last night had meant something to him too. The tenderness and care in his eyes hadn’t been faked. Okay, he wasn’t so love-struck this morning, but maybe he was just bad at mornings?

  You’re fooling yourself, girl. Her heart fluttered and dived. She pushed the nasty little inner voice away, and swallowed the bottom inch of cold coffee in her cup. She might as well use the time productively. Andie examined the large cardboard box she’d found in the attic. Ran a hand over the lid, brushing off the smeared remnants of dust that crusted the surface. Then eased off the top.

  A little stack of letters tied with faded red ribbon. A battered notebook with a black leather cover. Receipts clipped together with an oversized paper clip. The last time she’d ventured into this box, she’d had her heart broken. Her fingers gripped the cardboard tight. She scrunched her eyes up, and forced away the urge to replace the lid and avoid more pain.

  Her mother was dead and gone. If Andie didn’t read the letters, she’d always be wondering. Imagining what they contained. Their contents couldn’t have the ability to hurt her more than she already was, and what was the point of postponing agony—she might as well get it all over with one tear of the bandage.

  Her fingers shook as she untied the ribbon, took a letter from the pile, and opened the envelope.

  In the first letter, Emily at least made reference to her child, but the following letters confirmed what Andie already knew—her mother had been completely consumed by her job. Through letter after letter, she talked about the women and children struggling to survive in makeshift shelters in the slums of Rexa. Many of their husbands, fathers and sons had disappeared. Andie and her grandmother were shadow figures against the backdrop of these people who were obviously so real to her that she felt their pain, and fully identified with their plight.

  For the first time in her life, Andie’s mind shifted to allow a glimpse of another vision of her mother. A woman who cared passionately about the plight of those in jeopardy. Had dedicated her life to try to report their struggles to the world. A small seed of guilt and shame grew inside. For so long she’d resented her mother’s disinterest—been angry that Emily hadn’t been able to settle on her infrequent visits home. As Emily shared her day to day life with her mother on the page, more aspects of what it must be to be a woman reporting in conflict came to light. The unbroken nights. The constant fear, scant rations when camping in the townships. The awful, all pervading presence of death. Home in England must have seemed pale and insipid in contrast.

  Andie folded the letter into its envelope. She took another from the little bundle and rested it on her lap, then pushed up the sleeve of her sky blue cotton shirt and glanced at her watch. Past one, and no sign of Ryan.

  Chapter Seven

  In the spare bedroom, Ryan sat at the small writing table that had been their mother’s and read through the latest news feed on his laptop. Distraction always worked. No matter what the circumstances, pouring all his
attention into work had always been a welcome escape, and this time was no different.

  His fingers trailed over the desk’s familiar mahogany surface, tracing the dips and curves of the intricate carving at its edge. Everywhere he looked, rescued mementos of their life before the accident jolted him back to childhood. A childhood where he’d been loved, and had loved in return.

  Bri had slotted the memory of their mother into her life. In contrast, the pain of loss had ensured he’d done his best to forget. He rubbed his fingers across his closed eyelids in a quick pass. Gazed out of the window, and let his mind drift.

  A vision of Andie’s heart shaped face floated into his mind. He breathed in, and fancied he caught a whiff of the light, lemon scent of her hair. The sky outside the window was darkening now, matching the remembered cloud of hurt shadowing the sea blue of her eyes.

  She’d held herself tight and stiff as he’d passed on the way upstairs. Her voice was light and even, but he could tell that the change in him had infected her, that she was hurting.

  And why wouldn’t she be? The way he’d acted, she must believe that the night before had meant nothing to him, when in fact the polar opposite was true.

  The moment she’d announced her attention to watch the DVD of Emily’s reports, he’d had to get away, and had used the excuse of work to snatch up his laptop and climb the stairs two at a time.

  He’d always prided himself on his ability to be a dispassionate observer, but his heart was pounding so fast at the thought of seeing Emily’s animated face he hadn’t trusted himself to stay in the same room while Andie watched the recordings. Guilt roiled through him. If he’d been in the hotel instead of Emily, he would be the one dead. Andie needed to know the truth.

  Andie’d said there were recordings of some of Ryan’s bulletins too, which probably meant that Joe had copied Ryan’s most famous broadcast on there. Reliving it while he felt so damned raw had seemed impossible. So he’d run. Leaving Andie to face watching her dead mother alone.

  With a groan, Ryan closed the laptop. He scrubbed his palms over the rough denim of his thighs, and took in a deep breath. Bekostan could wait. Making things right with Andie couldn’t.

  When he silently entered the sitting room, Andie sat on the sofa, hands clutched around a letter. A large cardboard box sat on the sofa beside her, a little stack of similar letters bound by a faded pink ribbon visible inside. She stared off into the middle distance, as though lost in thought, unaware as he entered the room. The look of sadness on her face tugged in some undiscovered inner place. She’d lost her mother. Was locked in a nightmare too.

  His feet made no sound on the woven rug as he stepped closer. It was a beautiful, sunny day, but the echoes of pain hung heavy in the air. Being in the cottage was bad for them both. They needed to be outside, let nature take them out of themselves and change both of their moods.

  “Hi,” Ryan said softly.

  Andie jumped. “I didn’t hear you come in…” A tentative smile flirted at the edges of her mouth, then faded. “I was reading through some old letters.”

  “From your mother?”

  “From Emily to Gran, ones I found a while ago, but hadn’t read.” She glanced down at the letter in her hand. Stroked a finger over it, then reached into the box to retrieve the stack, and slotted the letter back into place.

  When she’d replaced the lid, Ryan picked the box up and placed it on the coffee table so he could take its place on the sofa. He stroked the hair back from her face, fingers lingering on the soft skin of her cheek. Her lips parted a fraction. Soft and pink, inviting. Her eyes remained wary.

  Now wasn’t the time to taste. Not while sadness hung in the air between them like fog.

  Andie’s fingers played with her necklace. She glanced at the box on the table. “I didn’t know she was so involved with the people in Bekostan. It was a lot more than a job to her, wasn’t it?”

  Ryan nodded. “She was keen to help the women trying to rebuild their lives after the bombing. With their houses destroyed, they were forced to live in a makeshift camp with very little in the way of facilities. Emily spent much of her time there, and used her reporting to try and get aid funding. Did you watch any of the DVDs?”

  The reports would reveal more than a stack of letters ever could. Emily’s compassion and determination to help the women’s community shone through all of her bulletins. It was one of the reasons why her reports were such compelling viewing. That, and the fact she was so immersed in local culture and so accepted within the community she had gained access into areas out of bounds to other journalists.

  “I didn’t have time,” Andie confessed. “To be honest, I feel so shaken by reading the letters I’m not sure I can face them at the moment.”

  Relief flooded Ryan. He didn’t feel able to watch Emily, either. Not when guilt twisted in his gut. Watching the woman he should have protected in the presence of her grieving daughter, a woman he’d come to care for, would be torture.

  He should have told her last night.

  He swallowed and pulled in a ragged breath. “When the call came in to the hotel that Arnat had agreed to the interview, I wasn’t there.”

  A parallel groove of lines scored between Andie’s eyes. She doesn’t understand.

  “If I had been, I would have gone, instead of Emily.”

  Andie gave a little cry. Pushed a hand against her mouth. “Did you tell her to go?”

  Ryan shook his head. “She knew how important the interview was. She didn’t wait…”

  He’d thought Andie would shrink away, blame him. Instead, she slid her arms around him. “You can’t blame yourself,” she whispered. “Emily would have been so focused on getting the story she wouldn’t have considered the dangers.”

  Even though she spoke the truth, Ryan’s heart ached with the unfairness of events. A woman who had someone to come back to, someone who loved her, had been taken in his stead.

  He pushed a hand through his hair. “I think we should go out. Get some lunch, and try something new. Have you ever been in a hot-air balloon?”

  Hot-air ballooning was Brianne’s thing really. She’d often driven out to the small county airfield, and climbed aboard the huge wicker basket. It was a constant joke between them that she had a crush on The Captain, the hot-air balloon’s owner. Brianne always bristled at the suggestion that she was attracted to the older man, and in his heart Ryan knew it was the experience that captivated her, rather than the ex-army man with the handlebar moustache. She’d tried to get Ryan to come too, telling him what a fantastic experience it was, but he’d always been too busy; too focused on other things to spend time just doing nothing.

  Right now, doing nothing sounded perfect. As long as Andie was at his side.

  He half expected a refusal. After all, if she couldn’t face rollercoasters, being suspended high above the earth in a wicker basket beneath a pillar of flame must be terrifying. To his surprise, her mouth curved in a smile.

  “That sounds exciting, I’ll get my jacket.”

  A fifteen-minute drive through the leafy lanes abutted by crop-filled fields and the airfield was in sight.

  Now, as The Captain loosened the guy ropes, and the basket jerked, Andie grasped his arm and smiled the wide smile of a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

  The burner roared, pouring hot air upward into the open mouth of the balloon.

  “Here goes—hold on,” The Captain shouted above the thunderous noise, and slowly, ponderously, the basket edged high into the air.

  The pressure on Ryan’s arm increased.

  Her eyes widened.

  Below, the earth spread out like a patchwork of varied shades of green and gold. Fields of wheat and bright yellow rapeseed filled in the squares formed by hedgerows and fences. The breeze against Ryan’s face was clean and clear, and his heart lifted with the basket. He looked down into Andie’s rapt face. The air had brought color to her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled like blue sapphires. It was second nature to
put his arm around her shoulders, and draw her close. The most natural thing in the world to lower his mouth and kiss those tempting lips.

  Her hand at the back of his neck held him close as the kiss intensified. When she finally pulled back and glanced over at The Captain, Ryan accepted with regret this wasn’t the time for another mindless make-out session.

  “I’ve never flown before.”

  “I didn’t expect you had. I’ve never been in a balloon either.” Brianne had been trying to get him up in the air for years, but he’d always put off the experience, a decision he now regretted keenly.

  “No.” Andie’s headful of golden hair lifted and blew around her face as she shook her head. “I’ve never flown before—not ever.”

  “Except in a plane…” Ryan leaned closer to hear her reply over the sudden roar of the burner.

  “Not ever.” The corners of Andie’s mouth lifted in an angelic smile. “It’s on my list of challenges. I’ve never been in an airplane. Is it like this?”

  From the look on her face Ryan knew he must be frowning. Andie glanced away. How could she be telling the truth? He spent a large part of his life in the air. Even when his mother was alive, he and Brianne had been whisked off on family holidays to Europe. It didn’t make any sense that she’d never flown before.

  “But your mother, how did you visit her?”

  “I didn’t.” There was a note of finality in Andie’s voice. She crossed her arms. Her mouth tightened with compressed lips. “I stayed at home. With Gran.”

  “Yes, but surely you visited her…”

  “No.”

  The Captain added another burst of flame up into the multi-colored silk—forcing heat to the top of Ryan’s head. He ducked away, arm loosening from Andie’s shoulders.

  She looked away.

  There was a change in the air as their previous closeness loosened and drifted. Emily Harte had done more than leave her daughter at home. She’d effectively built a world into which Andie wasn’t welcomed—and Andie knew it.