Evie responded with a low murmur and in spite of himself Adam found his gaze drawn to her. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail but wispy strands had escaped to frame her face. The harsh fluorescent lighting in the room gave her skin a greyish pallor, a sickly imitation of her usual healthy glow. The bags under her green-brown eyes stood out like huge bruises on her face and her perfectly formed mouth was down-turned. Slumped in the confines of her chair, she looked as tired as he felt. But her beauty, the natural allure of which she was so unaware, still somehow shone through.
He tore his eyes away. Being so close to her, being within arm’s reach and not able to touch her, was torture.
‘No, I’ll stay,’ Adam responded, dragging his mind away.
‘I’m not flying back to the farm in that chopper with you tomorrow unless you’ve had a proper bloody night’s sleep,’ Cam shot back. ‘Besides, I want to stay to keep an eye on our girl. I keep expecting her to wake up and start laughing about all the fuss. I’d like to be here when she does.’
‘But I should be the one—’
‘Not another word.’ There was no arguing with that tone. ‘I had a bite to eat back at the cabin, and used the landline to let Neil know what’s happened.’
‘How did he take the news about Meg?’ Evie queried.
‘The first thing he asked was “Did you get plenty of footage?” I could almost hear him drooling over the drama.’ Cam’s annoyance showed in his pinched expression.
Evie slowly shook her head. ‘Did he even ask how Meg was?’
‘What do you reckon? You know Neil and how single-minded he is about the series.’
Adam took in their quiet conversation with an ever-growing feeling of utter impotence and accompanying anger. What their words screamed at him was that the life-and-death situation they’d lived through today was no more than fodder for this television show he’d sacrificed his peaceful, uneventful existence for. Rage built up inside him like steam inside a kettle with no vent hole.
What an idiot he’d been.
The realisation pushed him over the edge of the brink he’d been teetering on since this morning’s accident. ‘Is that all you people ever think about?’ he exploded, taking his festering anxiety out on the only ones around.
He knew he was shooting the messengers, but he needed desperately to air his grievances before they seriously impacted on his psyche. The chance to burn up some anger was too strong an urge to dismiss; in fact, he almost welcomed it because it helped him forget deeper pains, and it was so much easier to keep going than to stop. ‘Need some more shots of the worried farmer? I can do that. How about a re-enactment? Drag Meg out of bed. I’m sure we can manage it somehow.’ The words continued to spill out.
Cam pushed back in his chair, eyeing him with a mortified look. Evie’s eyes were round with shock. But Adam hadn’t finished yet.
‘Isn’t this when you ask me how I’m feeling, Evie?’ he demanded, turning away, unable to look her in the face. ‘That’s what you do best, isn’t it?’
Cam quietly excused himself and walked from the room. Evie sat silent for so long after the tirade that Adam finally had no choice but to glance across. The face that stared back at him was a study in misery. Her mouth was twisted and her tear-bright eyes mirrored the anguish that had to be lodged in his. Anger melted into sorrow. What was he doing? This was the woman he adored. His remorse was immediate and heartfelt.
‘I’m sorry.’ He dug into his hair with his fingers. ‘That was uncalled for. I … I got caught up in the heat of the moment and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I apologise.’
Time passed agonisingly slowly as she absorbed his words. Finally she spoke, very quietly, as if she had no strength left for anything else. ‘I don’t blame you, Adam. It’s what you’ve come to expect from me because—’ her voice cracked, ‘—it’s what I do. It’s my job.’ The irritating detachment that had characterised the earlier part of the day was gone, replaced by genuine sadness.
Confused by a rush of conflicting feelings, not knowing what to say or how to say it, he remained silent.
Her abrupt laugh wavered on the edge of a sob. ‘I was so certain this job was what I wanted. Now I …’ Her voice trailed away.
He floundered for some response to her patent misery. ‘Come on. Fresh air’ll help. I’ll walk you back to the cabins.’ With a regretful look Meg’s way, he stood up.
In the hallway he apologised to Cam, embarrassed by the intensity of his outburst, and gratefully accepted the man’s offer to remain at the hospital overnight. A deep weariness seemed to have settled over him; his flare-up had made it clear he needed a good night’s rest.
Outside, he tugged his Akubra down over his face against the glare of the late-afternoon sun as they made their way along the red-dirt road leading to the town’s small harbour, where the quaint cabin he’d booked for the night was located. Evie kept pace beside him, her head bowed low. Seemingly by mutual consent they walked in silence and at arm’s length, wary of the slightest contact.
When they reached the cabin and Evie signalled her intention to continue on to her rooms, suddenly Adam didn’t want to be alone. ‘You must be starved. You haven’t eaten since breakfast.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ she assured him. Just then a low gurgle from her stomach discredited the claim, and she half-laughed.
‘I, um, look, I ordered in dinner from the restaurant this morning before we left. It’s due any minute now. Stay and eat with me? Please?’
She hesitated, staring enigmatically at him for several seconds before accepting the invitation with a slow nod. ‘Okay.’ From the tone her response had surprised her, although her lovely face gave nothing away. ‘I’d like to freshen up first.’
* * *
Watching from the large balcony stretching out over the King Sound as the sun began its descent, Adam closed his eyes and breathed in the salty air. He’d thought things might be a bit uncomfortable, given the unrequited feelings he still harboured for Evie and the intimate situation they now found themselves in. But so far no awkwardness or self-consciousness had marred the peaceful interlude. And now, having finished a feast of freshly caught barramundi and chips, and with discussion about every aspect of Meg’s accident finally exhausted, they sat in companionable silence on cushioned chairs set side by side to look out over the bay. It was the most relaxed they’d been with each other for some time.
He exhaled on a deep sigh; this was the closest he’d come to a feeling of peace for days. Naturally, concerns for Meg’s condition lingered, but at least they knew there’d be no long-term effects for her. And this unexpected, unofficial truce with Evie had him thinking things might be getting back to normal. Although what normal actually was, he wasn’t too sure anymore.
The few weeks of the shoot had been a hectic time, a complete contrast to the heavenly serenity of tonight. No one else around, no camera recording every movement, no microphone recording every word. No endless questions about what he was thinking, how he was feeling.
The idea to turn the tables on Evie, to give her the smallest sample of what he’d been experiencing for the last few weeks, came from out of nowhere. He seized the moment. ‘Are you up for a taste of your own medicine?’ He nodded towards the camera Cam had set up inside the cabin. Her deep-throated husky laugh was a refreshing sound he hadn’t heard for too long.
‘What’s that old saying, “the condemned ate a hearty meal”? Is that why you fed me to bursting point?’ She inflated her cheeks and patted her perfectly flat stomach. ‘Before I agree to anything, just what are you condemning me to?’
If a return to their early bantering was what it took to make her laugh then he was happy to oblige. He put on his best Dr Evil voice as he poured another glass of Margaret River sauvignon blanc for them both. ‘My wicked plan has been uncovered. I’m condemning you to a tell-all interview where all your skeletons in the closet will be revealed.’
He was rewarded with another smile. �
�Ask away, Dr Evil.’
‘You told me once you’re an open book but I don’t think you are. I want to know some of your secrets.’ The words were out before he even thought about it.
She cocked her head to one side, eyes narrowed in speculation, and too late he realised that he himself had been the one to steer the subject down a path he’d always avoided.
‘O … kay.’ She used her fingers to work her long hair loose from the confines of the ponytail. ‘If that’s what you want, I can do that.’
Adam fetched the camera on the tripod then watched as she set it up, checked the angle then pressed the record button.
‘I’ll delete this later. I’m thinking Neil might not approve,’ she said, returning to settle back into her chair. ‘Ready any time you are.’
Adam leaned forward in his chair, mimicking the movements he’d observed her performing every day for the past few weeks. ‘Evie—’ He stopped to clear his throat. ‘You said you were sure television was what you wanted to get into, what made you so certain?’
‘My father is Ewan Sinclair.’ The words were flatly delivered, as if the statement told him everything he needed to know.
The name struck a chord but he wasn’t sure how she expected him to react. ‘I’ve seen or heard that name somewhere, but I’m not sure where. Should it mean something to me?’
Her laugh was a bark. ‘He’s the producer of Perfect Mate.’
He smacked his forehead. ‘Right! The same surname. It just didn’t register.’
‘Yes, well, my dad’s an exceptionally talented producer and very well respected in the industry.’
‘And you want to be like him?’
He saw something in her waver. ‘Not exactly. I want to prove to him I have what it takes to succeed in this business.’
‘Because you look up to him?’
‘Actually, Neil’s the hero-worshipper. Dad was his mentor. They’re a lot alike.’ A brief shadow of disgust passed over her face. ‘Unfortunately.’
‘So there’s not a lot of love lost between you and your father?’
Evie’s gaze scanned the quiet waters of the harbour, as if the answer to his question lay there. Then she scanned his face, a sudden show of strong emotion in her eyes. Had his observation been too intrusive?
‘It’s not that.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘Our relationship’s complicated. He was away on location for much of my childhood, working his way up to where he is now. And he can be bloody hard to please. But I love my dad, and I’m … sure he loves me …’ Her voice trailed away uncertainly. ‘Nearly as much as he loves my sister,’ she added, almost as an afterthought.
‘You have a sister? Lucky you.’
What Adam would’ve given for a brother or sister. Someone to call family and know it was the truth, someone to grow up with, sharing a common bond. But then the bond they shared would have been the hell he’d gone through on his own. He couldn’t bring himself to wish that on his worst enemy.
‘Mmm.’ The noncommittal response was telling. ‘We used to be close. Not anymore. I have my reasons for that, and it’s not just because Lulu’s the pretty Sinclair sister.’ She gave a self-deprecating laugh with no humour in it.
Adam let his gaze wander over her. Sitting barefooted on the cushioned rattan chair, her eyes flashing brilliantly in the last rays of the dying sun, her long hair falling like a silky brown curtain over her shoulders, it was impossible to imagine anyone more beautiful. Her presence, so close beside him, was thrilling and disturbing all at the same time.
‘Prettier than you? Not possible.’ The words slipped out before he could catch them.
The truth needed saying, but after yesterday, after the way she’d made no bones about the need for clear boundaries, it was not a smart move. Especially not now, not here, alone together tonight. The intimacy was frighteningly seductive and it could lead to a course of action he’d later regret. He’d be fooling himself to believe that opening up about his feelings for her again would result in anything other than rejection.
‘My little sister and I are nothing alike. In looks, or anything else.’ Evie’s face was unreadable but a hint of sadness overflowed into her voice.
‘Who do you take after?’ he asked, shifting subjects, annoyed with himself at having made her sad.
‘From the videos and photos I have, it’s my mum. She died in a car accident when I was very young.’
He immediately regretted the question. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. It’s not like I missed out on having a mother. Sarah, my step-mum, has always loved me like I’m her own.’
‘I meant I’m sorry because I had no right to go digging like that.’
Evie’s stare distractedly dissected him before she made a small gesture of dismissal with one slim shoulder. ‘It’s only fair. It’s what I’ve been doing to you.’ Her grimace of a smile, he guessed, was an apology for that.
They sat so close that their hands almost touched. His heart was racing and he had to curl his fingers into fists against a need to reach out for her. She wasn’t nearly as tough as she pretended to be. The show of confidence and capability she presented to the world was a front; underneath she was just as vulnerable as he was. And she was letting down her walls with him.
A powerful urge to protect her washed over and through him, quickly followed by guilt for even thinking this way. These feelings he had for her were so wrong. He could never honourably act on them.
Uncomfortably conscious of the growing silence, he said the first thing that came into his head. ‘You and I have more in common than I realised.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked quietly.
He waved a dismissive hand, annoyed at saying out loud what he was thinking, for raising questions in her mind. Questions he had no intention of answering.
‘Never mind.’ He needed to distract her. ‘Getting back to your dad—if he’s hardly ever been there, and he’s as hard to please as you say, why is it so important to you to impress him?’
She lifted both shoulders. ‘Everyone wants to make their father proud, don’t they?’
A knot tightened around his heart, squeezing. Do they?
‘Depends on the calibre of the man.’ His voice emerged more bitter than he intended. ‘Just because you father a child it doesn’t make you an expert in parenting.’ He caught her staring intently, trying to read his secrets from his face.
Eventually she nodded. ‘Can’t argue with that. But Dad wasn’t a bad dad, just an absent one. And when he was home, we both wanted his attention. Not that it was a competition. I loved my sister and it was never that way between us. But being the youngest, and cutest, Lulu got more than her fair share of his time.’
‘Is that why you think he loves her more than he loves you?’
‘Lulu’s more than just pretty, she’s a classic beauty. Petite, blonde, blue-eyed.’ Her face creased into a frown. ‘A lot like Chrissy, actually.’
A telling admission. Perhaps the strained relationship with her sister was behind Evie’s patent distrust of Chrissy?
‘Sibling rivalry. Don’t know anything about it myself, but I get the picture.’
‘I don’t know that you do,’ she contradicted him, quickly on the defensive. ‘Our dad is just one of any number of men that Lulu has always been able to wrap around her little finger.’ Her voice wobbled for an instant and her hand flew to her heart, as if to protect it. ‘Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.’
‘Don’t apologise. Better out than in, as Mum says.’
‘Wise woman, your mum.’
He nodded. Yep, May’s plum full of advice. If only I had the strength to follow it.
‘Anything else that needs airing?’ he asked in an effort to distract himself from where his thoughts might lead.
Evie sighed into the deepening dusk. ‘Lulu and Dad had a connection that just seemed to be missing between him and me. My father referring to my sister as the pretty daughter, it … well, it hurt.’
Her expression didn’t alter but he saw the outline of her throat move. ‘So I did everything I could to be the clever daughter. Following in his footsteps is going to win me that proud father smile.’ The expression on her face dared him to challenge her conviction.
It was difficult to find the right response. He gazed at her, wanting to say so many things. If he shared his own horrendous experience with his father maybe it’d somehow help her come to terms with hers. But the thought of voicing any of the things that had happened to him compressed his chest and started his heart pounding wildly. Confiding even a watered-down version of the horror he’d gone through was too confronting. Instead he offered her an observation he knew firsthand to be the truth.
‘A person’s background has tentacles like a jellyfish. They can wrap themselves around long after they should, and sting like crazy.’
‘Is that experience talking?’
How to explain to her how it had been for him, the physical and emotional abuse, growing up not knowing where he came from or who he really was? Simple answer—he couldn’t.
‘Nah, words of wisdom from my dad, this time.’
‘What was your dad like?’
‘He was wise and loving, full of stories about anything and everything, funny as all get out. Larry was a great man. I miss him.’ He swallowed around the sudden ache in his throat.
My natural father, on the other hand … A picture flashed before his eyes. A rictus-distorted face, drunken drool dribbling from the mouth.
Chills ran down his arms and legs. A rock crushed his chest. Why did his thoughts insist on taking him to these dangerous places? Why couldn’t he confine the brutal memories to the realm of nightmares? Why was the past, after all these years of holding it inside, flooding back in such horrific detail?
Thoughts racing crazily through his head, he looked up to meet Evie’s eyes. Her gaze shimmered with compassion in the dying rays of the day. And, as if he’d been struck by one of the sun’s shafts, the answer came to him.
Fighting to forget the past was a losing battle.
May had tried to warn him it had a habit of catching up. Now it had. The place his mind refused to go had been breached. And his desperate determination never to confront the horror of his damaged childhood was no longer enough.
The Farmer's Perfect Match Page 19
