I decided to hit the water because salt water cures everything. And if I came back to find out that she’d hightailed it back up to the fat cat camp, I’d hit the water again.
I already knew the day would be cooler, and the light easterly wind made for perfect surfing conditions – something I hadn’t seen in days. The slow rolling waves practically called my name as I stood ankle deep in the cool water, but for the first time ever I couldn’t commit to them.
I didn’t profess to be in love with Shiloh, but I wasn’t too dumb to recognise that I might’ve been on the edge of something special. Without putting too much thought into the reason why, I hitched my board under my arm and headed back to the shack.
Once inside, I crept into the bedroom, leaned across the bed and planted a soft kiss on her back. “No surf this morning?” she lazily mumbled.
“It’s not bad.” I swept her hair off her shoulder. “But the conditions in here are better.”
She turned over, granting me a smile that made me want to do wicked things. “Do you have plans for the day?”
I dropped my head, pressing my lips against her warm chest. “Just you.”
I felt her soft laugh. “If you alter that plan to include food, I’m in,” she replied. “Bacon and eggs and fruit and toast and coffee and – ”
I cut her wishful rambling short with a kiss. “I’ll see what I can do,” I murmured against her lips. “Meanwhile, don’t leave this bed until I get back.”
Her arms wrapped around me. “I’m not going anywhere until I get food,” she joked. “And don’t forget the bacon.”
Living in a third world country forces you to become resourceful, but even my epic hunting and gathering skills didn’t stretch as far as bacon. Kaimte didn’t have the luxury of supermarkets and restaurants. We shopped at the mid-week markets, spending half the morning sourcing the freshest produce we could find from the limited wares on offer. I’d become accustomed to scrubbing dirt off vegetables and washing the occasional feather off eggs, but it was one of the many reasons why life in Kaimte was reserved for hardcore travellers.
It wasn’t all culinary doom and gloom. My sisters often sent me care packages – usually boxes of biscuits and chocolates – but nothing that could be conjured into a meal. Convenience foods were highly lacking. Cooking took time and even the most basic meals required major preparation, but I had a plan that morning. It was Sunday, and that meant the regular rules didn’t apply.
***
Mimi Traore and her family lived on the northern edge of town, quite a distance from the scenic coast. Their aversion to living on the beach confounded me, but for some reason most locals preferred desert living.
Like most homes in Kaimte, the Traore home was a rough mesh of tin and cinderblocks that had been haphazardly extended throughout the years to accommodate her growing family. Mimi’s brood was large – three boys and three girls. In stark contrast to their mother the girls were quiet and shy, so I didn’t know them well. The boys, however, were a different story. The boisterous little blokes were the Kaimte equivalent of the English Premier League. The wannabe soccer superstars spent a ridiculous amount of time kicking a ball around their dust bowl of a yard, and that’s where I spotted the oldest one when I pulled up to the house.
As soon as I got out of the car Francis ran over to greet me.
“How are you, mate?” I put my hand on the top of his head. “You’re getting so tall. How old are you now? Seventeen?”
With a firm grip on his ball, he threw his head back and cackled as if my joke was hilarious. “I’m eleven,” he answered.
“Oh, right.” I grinned. “Where’s your mum?”
Francis pointed to a long line of laundry running between the house and an outbuilding. Mimi stood at the end of it, adding more clothes to the already perilously low hanging structure.
“What are you doing here, Mitchell?” She sounded annoyed, but I knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t. “Sunday is market day. You know that.”
I did know that, which was the sole reason for my visit.
Mimi didn’t frequent the sub-par mid-week markets in town – none of the local villagers did. They attended the mysterious markets that cropped up out of nowhere on the edge of the desert every Sunday morning. Expats weren’t welcome there, and despite my connections, that included me. The only way I could access the treasure trove of goodies on offer was by convincing Mimi to be my personal shopper, which rarely worked.
Attempting to weasel into her good books, I grabbed the basket of laundry off the ground and held it for her. “I was hoping you could pick up a few things for me,” I said optimistically. “I have a list.”
Mimi snatched a shirt out of the basket and gave it a violent shake. “No.”
“Please,” I begged. “Just a few things to make a nice breakfast.”
Her large brown eyes narrowed. “To impress the heks girl?” she asked sourly.
“Come on, Mimi.” My smile was wry. “Even witches need to eat.”
She roughly slung the shirt over the line, making the whole thing wobble. “Feed her sour milk and mouldy bread,” she replied. “She deserves nothing better.”
“Mimi Traore,” I scolded. “Show some heart.”
She turned to face me, looking downright furious. “I show you heart every day, dumb boy,” she barked. “I look after you every day.”
I took a large step back, worried that she might thump me. “I know you do, and I appreciate it.”
“But you don’t listen,” she replied . “The girl is no good.”
Absolutely nothing I said was going to change her mind about Shiloh so defending her was pointless. Nothing Mimi said was going to convert me into a juju believer either, so it was best to let it go.
I set the laundry basket on the ground and reached into my pocket. “Just some nice fruit and fresh eggs,” I begged, holding a small roll of banknotes out to her. “Please, Mimi. For me?”
Finally, the toughest woman I had ever known took pity on me. She snatched the money out of my hand, which was the closest I was going to get to an answer.
“And some of those little cakes too,” I cheekily added as she walked away. “I love those things.”
“Fine,” she grumbled. “You can watch the boys while I’m gone.”
***
Keeping the boys occupied while their mother was away was a no-brainer. All I had to do was play soccer.
“It’s not called soccer,” insisted Francis. “It’s football.”
“Not where I come from, mate,” I told him. “Where are your brothers?”
He motioned to the house with an upward nod. “Packing beads.”
In addition to working part time at the Crown and Pav, Mimi ran a small jewellery business. Handmade powder glass beads were her specialty, and the small but steady influx of tourists kept her in trade.
I stepped onto the porch, pausing to check out the works in progress that were laid out on a table.
“You like them, Mitchell?” asked a small voice from behind.
I turned around to see Kenny, Mimi’s middle son. He was little for an eight-year-old, but what he lacked in stature was made up for in cheek.
“I think they’re awesome,” I replied honestly.
“Buy some for your girl.” He made it sound like a dare and considering she’d only been my girl for a few hours, buying Shiloh jewellery probably was a brave act.
I pointed to a long string of turquoise beads. “How much for these?”
Kenny flashed me a bright white smile. “Six hundred American dollars.”
“Bloody hell,” I choked. “Are they diamonds?”
“Glass,” interjected Francis, rebuking his brother with a hard bump of his shoulder. “And they’re ten American dollars.”
Kenny still had the nerve to look smug as he hitched up his ridiculously long shorts. The T-shirt he wore was massive too – at least six sizes too big for his tiny frame. “Are you buying or not?”
“You don’t have a team,” said Francis.
Picking his moment well, the smallest Traore boy wandered out of the house. I picked the toddler up under the armpits and waved him in front of his brothers.
“I do now,” I replied triumphantly. “You and Kenny versus me and Ronaldo.”
“He can’t play,” Kenny jeered. “He’s too little.”
“Mate,” I drawled. “His name is Ronaldo. He was born to play football.”
Ronaldo Traore didn’t look much like a pro, and at just two years old his skill set was probably limited, but I wasn’t exactly spoiled for choice when it came to picking a teammate.
I looked out at the makeshift sandy field, weighing up my options. “If Ronaldo doesn’t live up to his namesake, I’ll sub him for one of the goats,” I suggested.
Both boys dissolved into a fit of giggles. “Goats can’t play either,” said Francis.
“Maybe not,” I agreed lowering Ronaldo to his feet. “But that chicken over there looks like he has some serious kicking skills.”
Concealment
SHILOH
The last thing I wanted to do was get out of bed. I was enjoying the feeling of excitement and optimism that comes with new romance – except this didn’t feel new. After three weeks of living together, there was plenty of familiarity and zero awkwardness. I’d seen Mitchell naked a hundred times. Nothing had changed. He was still gorgeous and looking at him still made me blush – just for different reasons now. But the feeling of contentment only stretched so far. The niggling complication of being too far away from the phone that I’d been ordered to hide was at the forefront of my thoughts that morning – ahead of bed and bacon.
I needed to get it out of my suitcase and into the shack, and I needed to get it done before Mitchell got home.
***
It wasn’t overly early, but there wasn’t a soul in sight as I made my way up to the fat cat camp, for which I was grateful. Doing shady things is always easier without an audience.
I unlocked the door, crept into the house and headed straight for my half-packed suitcase in the bedroom. Hit by an overload of boring beige, I had the sudden urge to pack everything up and drag it back to the shack where it belonged, but that wasn’t the objective. The only thing I grabbed was the phone. Everything else could wait.
I knew finding a suitable hiding place in the tiny four-room shack wasn’t going to be easy, and after considering every room, I concluded that it was downright impossible. Hopelessness quickly set in. Yet again, I couldn’t get the job done. Burying the phone in my ironing pile was the best temporary solution I could come up with, which is where I was headed right up until a loose floorboard creaked under my foot.
Moments of ingenuity don’t hit me often, but this one hit with full force. Using my house key, I levered the board off the floor and peered through the hole, seeing nothing but white beach sand.
The crawl space under the shack was the perfect hiding spot. Mitchell wasn’t keen on spiders so he wasn’t likely to venture under there without reason, but crawling under the house to check my phone for messages didn’t bother me.
I picked my spot well, sliding the fridge forward to make use of the spare power socket behind it. I plugged the charger into the wall, prised the board off the floor underneath it and dropped the charging phone onto the sand below. The thin cord easily fitted through the gap when I pushed the floorboard back into place, and once the fridge was back in position the charger was hidden.
Excitement got the better of me as I gave into a short but epic victory dance that made the whole house wobble. Somehow I’d pulled it off. However fleeting the moment might’ve been, for now, Federal Agent Shiloh Brannan was playing the game to perfection.
Nine Goals
MITCHELL
I heard Mimi’s beaten-up jalopy long before I saw it. The small hatchback’s state of repair was on par with my jeep, but her exhaust was much worse. It sounded like a keening animal, but after an hour of having my arse kicked on the soccer field I was relieved to hear it.
“Last kick, fellas,” I called. “Your mum is home.”
It was going to take Team Ronaldo nine goals to win the game. To save my ego, we only needed one. I’d stuck to the rules until that point, but in the dying seconds, play got dirty. I scooped Ronaldo into my arms as I made a mad dash for the ball. With Francis and Kenny hot on our heels, I bent down, grabbed the ball and handed it to Ronaldo.
Perhaps realising the game had lost all integrity, both boys quickly gave up the chase and stopped dead, giving me a clear run to the goal. I lowered my toddler teammate to his feet and lined up the ball. “It’s yours, Ronaldo,” I encouraged. “Kick it!”
The tiny bloke’s grin was much stronger than his coordination. He finally connected with the ball on the third swing of his foot and we stood watching as it rolled through the makeshift goal in slow motion.
I cheered with the enthusiasm of a man who’d actually won the game, much to the boys’ amusement. All three cackled, which made me smile.
“How do you like that, fellas?” I gloated.
“You lost,” Kenny reminded me. “Eight-one.”
“I know, right?” I grinned. “Close game.”
***
Mimi came through in a big way. She sent me home with a huge basket of the finest food Kaimte had on offer, and a stern warning not to share any of it with my witch girlfriend.
“You’re a wonderful woman, Mimi.” I tried to hug her but she pushed me away. “It’s your sunny and gentle nature that I like best.”
She laughed, half-heartedly rebuking me with a swat of her hand on my chest. “Go home and eat your food,” she demanded. “And I want my basket back.”
“I’ll bring it to work tonight,” I offered.
“I won’t be there tonight.” Her grin was wide and troubling. “You gave me the night off.”
“I did?”
“Yes.” She pointed to the basket in my hands. “And in exchange, I gave you cakes and fresh fruit.”
“I knew you loved me.” I smiled triumphantly. “You got me cakes.”
Six of them,” she replied, already walking away. “And some mouldy bread for the girl.”
Secret Places
SHILOH
According to Mitchell, sourcing the perfect breakfast could only be a romantic gesture if it was served to me in bed. “And you have to be naked too,” he added as an afterthought.
“Should I shower first?” I asked. “Maybe wash my hair and put on a bit of lippy?”
Mitchell set the basket of mystery goodies down on the bed. “You couldn’t begin to imagine the delicacies that I brought home for you.” His voice was low and gorgeous. “Or what I had to do to get them.”
“I’m a little worried about that, actually.” My hands linked around his neck. “You left to go shopping and came home two hours later shirtless and sweaty. What did you have to do to get them?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I felt his laugh against my mouth and when it morphed into a mind-scrambling kiss, I didn’t care where he’d been or what he’d been up to.
I moaned out his name.
“Shiloh,” he replied.
“Did you bring bacon?”
Chuckling, he pulled away and headed for the shower, ordering me not to peek in the basket before he got back. I was more interested in peeking at him, and then I realised I no longer needed to be sly about it.
“You’re a perfect looking man, Mitchell Tate,” I complimented from the bathroom door.
The smile he gave as he glanced over his shoulder was uncharacteristically coy. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Miss Jenson.”
I hated it when he called me that. It was the biggest reminder that our budding romance was one truth away from falling in a heap.
Mitchell stepped under the shower and I flopped d
own on the bed, quickly saving the basket from tumbling to the floor by stopping it with my foot.
“What did you get up to while I was gone?” he called.
It was an innocent question that depressed me. The pat on the back I’d awarded myself after successfully concealing my phone now felt unwarranted. No one deserves praise for being shady.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I replied.
“I’d believe anything,” Mitchell replied, appearing in the doorway. “I spent the morning playing soccer with Ronaldo.”
***
Breakfast definitely lived up to expectation. After weeks of eating floury apples and bruised bananas, I was treated to some of the best fruit I’d ever eaten. Mitchell was more interested in the baked goods – a homemade selection of little friands.
“Where did you really get all this from?” I was too curious not to know. As far as I was aware the markets only traded on Wednesdays, and compared to what we were eating, their produce sucked.
“I can show you if you want,” he offered.
“Really?”
“Sure,” he replied indifferently. “It’s not a secret place.”
I dropped the mango I was holding and unceremoniously lunged, pinning him beneath me on the bed.
“Pity,” I murmured. “I like secret places.”
Mitchell groaned as if I’d hurt him, but his wandering hands suggested otherwise. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of my shorts. “Do you have any secret places, Shiloh?”
I relaxed my body and dropped my head to his chest. “A few, but I think you’ve found most of them.”
Mitchell trailed a long line up my back with his fingertips, taking my shirt with him. He tossed it across the room and I lay back down, enjoying the wonderful feeling of my bare skin pressing against his. I let out a breathy sigh. “It doesn’t get better than this.”
“Yes it does.” He leaned, kissing the top of my head. “We’re going to fall hopelessly in love, and then things are really going to get good.”
Shiloh Page 11
