Nine Month Countdown

by Leah Ashton

  Tom had asked him once if he had bad dreams.

  Bad dreams about what they’d seen. What they’d done. What had happened to them. What could’ve happened to them. What could still happen to them.

  Because it turned out Tom had really bad dreams. The type of bad dreams where he woke up soaked in sweat, or where his wife needed to shake him awake.

  The type of dreams where sometimes he didn’t want to go to sleep.

  Sometimes, Angus had said. Sometimes I have bad dreams.

  And Tom had nodded, and swallowed, and looked so damn relieved that his mate understood what he was going through that Angus had been glad he’d lied.

  But it had been a lie.

  Because he didn’t have those dreams.

  He didn’t come home from combat and then feel unsafe in his own home. He wasn’t alert to every sound, to every movement.

  He didn’t sometimes sleep in his lounge room with all the lights on. Or drive all night so he didn’t have to sleep at all.

  He didn’t gamble or drink or do drugs to dull painful memories.

  He debriefed, he came home, and he was fine.

  But not everyone came home fine. Tom hadn’t come home fine. The guy that Cam had told him about—Patrick—he was messed up too.

  And Angus knew some of the guys saw psychs at times. It made sense. Most guys seemed to work their way through it, and they’d all been told enough times about normal reactions to trauma that he knew it was just that: normal.

  Although some guys didn’t work through it. Tom hadn’t.

  But how about him? How about Angus?

  How could he be so unaffected? How could he blissfully sleep like a log when he’d experienced so much, knew so much?

  When your work dealt directly with life and death—and the pendulum could so easily swing one way or the other—of course that would mess you up, at least a little?

  At some point—before Tom’s diagnosis with post-traumatic stress disorder—Angus had been quietly rather proud of his resilience.

  He’d thought he was particularly tough. Thought he was particularly strong.

  But Tom had been tough, as tough as Angus. Tougher. Stronger.

  So now...now he didn’t think he should be proud.

  Now he wondered what it was he lacked.

  Of course it wasn’t the same, but wasn’t it at least a little unusual that he could have the most explosive kiss of his life with a woman who’d literally turned his life upside down, and then sleep in a strange bed for—he rolled over to check his phone—almost eight hours straight?

  Shouldn’t he have tossed and turned, just a little?

  Yesterday Ivy had tried so desperately to control him—to pack him away into a neat little lawyer-lined box. She didn’t like the undeniable pull of attraction between them, that was clear. To be honest, Angus wasn’t a big fan, either.

  It did complicate things.

  Last night Ivy had told him she lost control around him, and he’d openly told her that he found it pretty hard to stay in control around her, too.

  And that did surprise him. He’d followed Ivy up here because that contract had made him so damn angry—and because he wasn’t going to let Ivy manipulate him.

  He certainly hadn’t intended to kiss her.

  He wanted a relationship with his child, and he wanted a cordial relationship with Ivy. Nothing more.

  There was a reason he was single now, and his previous girlfriends had all eventually become fed up with him.

  He’d begun to join the dots years ago, beginning to see the similarities between his ability to process and shrug off the impacts of war and his ability to distance himself so effortlessly within a relationship.

  The thing was, in his job, it was a good thing. In day-to-day life, not so much.

  So it was better, he’d decided, simply not to have relationships. That way he didn’t hurt anyone. And he certainly didn’t want to hurt Ivy.

  Angus levered himself up and swung his legs off the bed. He’d slept in only his boxers, and the air conditioning was cool against his skin.

  Last night, when Ivy had yanked up his T-shirt, the air conditioning had been shockingly cold against his heated body—for a moment. But he’d immediately forgotten that when he’d been so absorbed in Ivy and the soft skin of her hips, and belly and breasts...

  Angus smiled.

  So no, he might not have dreamed of Ivy, or tossed and turned all night.

  But it couldn’t hurt to think about her now: how she felt, how she’d looked.

  The flush to her cheeks, the pink of her lips, how she’d felt so perfect beneath him, even if separated by too many layers of clothes...

  The house was silent as Angus walked to the en-suite bathroom for a shower.

  He wasn’t usually one to daydream, either.

  But for Ivy, it would seem he’d made an exception.

  * * *

  Ivy woke up to the smell of cooking bacon.

  Mmm. Bacon.

  Bacon?

  Ivy’s eyes popped open. Sun was streaming in through the curtains she’d left open all night, and it was clearly a long time past dawn.

  Angus.

  She squeezed her eyes shut again.

  Angus.

  He’d filled her dreams—not for the first time—and he was still here now that she’d woken up.

  Not that he could’ve left. It wasn’t as if he could easily flag down a taxi.

  But that would’ve been nice, though. To wake up, and for Angus to have magically disappeared.

  That way this weekend could’ve been what it was supposed to be. A break. A proper break, not like every other holiday she could remember.

  No work. No nothing. Just—herself, and Bullah Bullah Downs.

  Perfect.

  But that really wasn’t working out, was it?

  Nothing was working out right now. Nothing.

  Not her supposed holiday, not the contract, and not that kiss.

  How had she let that happen?

  Ivy noticed she’d brought her fingers to her lips and snatched them away. Why had she done that? To test if they felt different? Bruised? Ravished? Special?

  They didn’t, of course. Because nothing had changed, not really.

  What was yet another awkward memory between them?

  She climbed out of bed and got dressed. It would be hot today—it always was this time of year. She’d planned to head out to one of the gorges at Karijini today, but without a driver that wouldn’t happen. She’d had Martin booked all weekend to come collect her as needed, but she’d been too flustered at the airport to think of only cancelling his initial task of driving her to the homestead.

  Instead, she’d organise for the Molyneux jet to fly both Angus and herself home today. It wasn’t as if she’d be able to relax this weekend, even once Angus left.

  Besides, it would also give her all of Sunday to work.

  Dressed in tailored navy-blue shorts and a cream linen tank-top, she headed for the kitchen.

  Angus sat on one of the tall stools at the breakfast bar, a full plate of bacon and eggs piled up in front of him.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, his back to her. ‘I may have already started.’

  He twisted on his seat, and then paused as he ran his gaze along her body.

  ‘You have great legs,’ he said, so matter-of-fact that Ivy blinked. ‘I haven’t seen that much of them before in daylight.’

  At this, she blushed.

  He grinned, and left his plate to walk to the other side of the bench. The gas cooktop sat in the middle of all that white-speckled granite, a couple of fry pans already in place.

  ‘How do you like your eggs?’

 
Ivy still stood, frozen, in the door way. This wasn’t what she had expected. She’d expected silence. Possibly antagonism.

  Not this. Not a sexy smile, complete with matching sexy stubble.

  He stood comfortably in her kitchen. As if he belonged, and as if he had nowhere else to be.

  ‘Scrambled,’ she said, eventually, then left the relative safety of the hall to slide onto the stool beside his.

  She ate her breakfast almost warily, not at all sure what was going on.

  ‘What are we doing today?’ he asked, laying his knife and fork together on his now empty plate.

  ‘I’ll phone my office after breakfast and organise for the jet to come pick us up. With any luck we’ll be home by late afternoon.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  Ivy looked up from her eggs, surprised. ‘Because you want to go home, and I can’t justify the cost of the jet flying up tomorrow as well.’

  Angus leant against the low backrest of his stool, and crossed his arms. ‘I never said that. I’m happy to stay.’

  ‘You’re happy to stay?’ Ivy repeated. ‘You mean, you’re happy to remain uninvited in my home with me—a woman you don’t like very much?’

  His lips quirked upwards. ‘Oh, I think we both know that isn’t true, Ivy.’

  Ivy shook her head as her cheeks heated, ignoring him. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I think it’s best if we both go home. I was silly to fly up anyway. I have so much work to do—’

  ‘Ivy,’ he said firmly. ‘I meant it last night. I’m going to be a part of our baby’s life, and that does mean being part of yours. Given that, doesn’t it make sense we get to know each other better?’

  ‘Didn’t we try this before, at the café?’ she said. ‘Besides, we can talk on the plane if you want. Play twenty questions with each other or something.’

  ‘I’m not getting on a plane today, Ivy. I’m going to drive out to Karijini and explore. I’ve never been to the national park before—it would be crazy not to go this weekend when we’re so close. And I was hoping you’d be my guide.’

  His plans were so similar to what Ivy had originally intended, it would’ve been uncanny—if visiting Karijini and mining iron ore weren’t basically the only two things you could do in the Pilbara.

  Even so, it was tempting.

  A big part of her—the stubborn part—wanted to stick to her guns, and insist she absolutely must fly home to work.

  But another part of her—the bit that was tired of arguing, and also just plain tired—couldn’t do it.

  She could think of a lot worse things to do today than go swimming in a secluded waterhole amongst plunging gorges two and a half billion years old. And working all afternoon was certainly one of them.

  Plus, reluctantly, she had to acknowledge that Angus had a point. If she was stuck dealing with Angus—and she was, now that he wouldn’t sign her contract—maybe it would help to spend more—platonic—time together. Maybe familiarity would even dilute the attraction between them.

  She could hope, anyway.

  ‘We’ll go to Fern Pool,’ she said, ‘but we need to get moving. It’s a decent drive.’

  Angus studied her for a long moment, and Ivy liked that she’d clearly surprised him.

  Then he smiled, and Ivy found she liked that even better—and couldn’t bring herself to care that that probably wasn’t a good thing.

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Angus said. ‘Let’s go.’

  * * *

  Angus drove them out to Fortescue Falls. The forty-minute drive took them from red gravel to smooth bitumen and back to red gravel again as they approached the car park. October wasn’t the best time of year to come to Karijini, with the unrelenting, impossible heat of summer only weeks away, but it did mean far fewer tourists, with only two other cars parked amongst the dirt and the surrounding scrub-tufted hills.

  But they were lucky—today was perfect: low thirties with a glorious, cloudless blue sky. At a little hut, Ivy paid the small entry fee, then smiled at Angus over her shoulder as she pointed towards the deep red sand track ahead of them. He wore a black T-shirt, knee-length shorts, leather work boots and a backpack slung over his shoulders—and he looked one hundred per cent like the soldier he was, complete with bulging biceps and muscular calves. Ivy didn’t think she’d ever admired a man’s calves before. In fact, until today, she wouldn’t even have thought it possible that they could be attractive.

  But, it turned out, they could. Hair and everything.

  It wasn’t a long walk to Dales Gorge, less than half a kilometre. Here it was perfectly flat and easy—a stark contrast to the descent ahead of them. Ivy enjoyed the silence as they walked, after Angus had taken her twenty questions dig to heart and they’d talked most of the way here. About nothing particularly important, mostly about the Pilbara and the sights of Karijini Park—which Ivy had appreciated, still feeling a little raw from the night before.

  There was just something about this man that had her revealing more than she ever intended.

  In more ways than one, actually.

  That thought made her smile, and she must have giggled, as Angus went still beside her.

  ‘What’s the joke?’ he asked.

  Ivy forced her lips into a horizontal line, and shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Which was completely the wrong thing to say, as now she’d intrigued him.

  ‘Oh, really?’ he said, ‘Because—’

  ‘Why don’t you have a girlfriend?’ Ivy blurted out, cutting him off.

  Slightly horrified and with no clue where the question had come from, Ivy charged on ahead, although, given they were almost at the start of the walk down to Fortescue Falls, she really didn’t have very far to go. At the lookout she pointed down into the abrupt one-hundred-metre-deep gash in the landscape.

  ‘This is Dale Gorge,’ she said. ‘You can see the falls all the way down there.’

  Angus, who had easily kept pace beside her, laughed. ‘Yes, I got that.’

  Ivy nodded. ‘Of course. Right—so—this way!’

  She knew he was still smiling, but decided not to pay any attention. Instead, she thought it was better to focus on her surroundings. It had been a couple of years since she’d been into Karijini. As she took in the vivid red of the ruthless, tiered red-brown cliffs and the rumbling sound of the falls beneath them, it seemed impossible she’d left it so long.

  ‘I don’t have a girlfriend because of my job,’ Angus said.

  Ivy tensed at the words, wanting to wish back her question. She had to walk slowly now. The path was narrow and twisting.

  Angus was directly behind her, his boots crunching far more loudly than her sneakers.

  ‘I’m not a fan of emotional farewells.’

  She’d meant to remain silent, hopeful the subject would change, but once again she’d lost control of her mouth. ‘But wouldn’t that be worth it for the equally emotional welcome home?’

  ‘I’m told I’m not much good at those either,’ Angus said. Ivy sensed his shrug, even though she couldn’t see him. ‘Besides, that’s only if I do come home.’

  Ivy slipped on some gravel, and threw her hands out for balance. Instantly Angus’s hands were on her, catching her at the waist before she could fall.

  He quickly righted her, but slid his hands away just a little more slowly than was necessary.

  ‘Thank you,’ Ivy said softly, but was quick to start walking again.

  Stupidly, she hadn’t really put a lot of thought into Angus’s career. She’d been caught up in the sexiness of it—the idea of a soldier: the uniform, the weapons, the courage. Not the reality, and certainly not the brutality of war and of death.

  Her stomach had plummeted at his casual words: only if I do come home.


  For their child, of course. She’d lost her father—not through death but through distance and lack of interest—and that had been difficult enough.

  And maybe it had plummeted just a tiny bit for her.

  ‘How do you do it?’ she asked. ‘How can you risk so much?’

  They were about halfway into the gorge now, and the colours of the rocks led the way—changing from orange to red to purple as they descended. To their left, the falls, which had seemed barely more than a trickle from a distance, now revealed their true size. A tourist, clambering along the adjacent rocks, gave some scale to the sprawling, towering year-round falls.

  ‘Because I love it. The teamwork, the tactics, the challenge. It’s what I’ve wanted to do since I was seventeen, and I’ll do it for as long as I can.’

  ‘But what about—?’ Ivy began, but didn’t really know how to continue.

  ‘The bad stuff? You mean like death and destruction? Living under constant threat? Killing people?’ He rattled off his terrible list roughly, and didn’t wait for her to clarify. ‘Of course that isn’t fun. At times it’s awful, actually. Indescribably awful. But then I get to come home.’

  If he came home.

  ‘And then a few months later, go and do it again.’

  That was what Ivy couldn’t wrap her head around. To survive war, and then risk it all again.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Sometimes—’ he began, then stopped.

  ‘Sometimes what?’

  They were deep within the gorge now. Down here they walked amongst greenery and paperbarks—an incredible contrast to the parched landscape above.

  ‘Sometimes I wonder if maybe it should be harder for me to go back.’

  There was enough space for Angus to walk beside her, and she looked up at him.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  But he wasn’t looking at her. Instead he lengthened his stride, then looked back over his shoulder. ‘Come on, I’m keen to get to this Fern Pool you were talking about.’

  He clearly wasn’t going to answer her question, but still Ivy very nearly repeated it. Besides, wasn’t she just trying to get to know him better? Just as she was supposed to?