Winds of Change (Hearts of the Outback Book 4)

by Susanne Bellamy

  As her gaze connected with his, her eyes widened and her lips parted a fraction.

  A wall of heat surrounded him, hotter than the dying day, stealing the air from his lungs.

  So much for moving on, not getting involved. His visceral reaction to Willa thrummed through his body. He hadn’t moved on. Unfinished business demanded answers, and answers he would have.

  “Call in on your way home. I’ll see if I’ve got a smile that fits tucked away in the back of a cupboard.”

  “Okay. It may be late by the time we’ve seen the rushes and debriefed. Will that be a problem for your mum?”

  “She flew out to Sydney this afternoon.” He lifted her hand off his arm and dropped it like a hot cake. Fingers tingling, he wished he could take back his impulsive offer.

  So now I’m a coward at the thought of facing Willa?

  “I’ll see you then.” He nodded, and walked away.

  No more than half a dozen steps later, Jax stopped and turned back. Willa was standing still as a statue where he’d left her. Her gaze flicked up from—had she been watching his limping gait or his backside?

  “How are you getting home? You didn’t drive, did you?”

  “Laurie picked me up. I’m sure she won’t mind a small detour on the way to her hotel.”

  The last thing Jax wanted was for the production assistant to have her suspicion confirmed by Willa asking to be dropped off at his home.

  “You know what, I might just join you for a drink. This might be my only chance to see what rushes are.” His leg protested the delay but hell, he was the one in control, not his body.

  “You might find it enlightening.”

  As he came within reach, Willa tucked her arm through his and they slipped in through the side opening of the marquee.

  Jax snaffled a couple of bottles of light beer from the mess table. “Should I be finding someone to pay for these?”

  Willa accepted the bottle he offered and drank a mouthful. She shook her head. “No, the company puts on a few drinks like this whenever we have a long day of shooting. ”

  “Generous of them.” He looked around for a couple of free chairs. In the back corner furthest from the drinks table, stacks of plastic chairs teetered towards each other like drunks around a bar.

  “Come on, Willa.” Forgetting his decision to play down their relationship, Jax took her hand and headed towards the seats. He lifted two chairs from the stack and set them side by side. Willa sat next to the stack. As Jax stretched his left leg in front of him, he cast a glance around the gathering.

  Laurie stood beside the drinks table, her gaze locked on him and Willa. The assistant picked up a glass of red wine and took a sip. As she lowered the glass, she smiled and made her way over to their corner. “I see you had more success convincing Jax to stay than I did, Willa. But then, you’re old friends, aren’t you?”

  Willa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. It wasn’t a Willa-special, and it gave Jax the impression she was less than pleased at the intrusion. As for himself, Jax would have been happy to consign the whole tent to perdition and beyond. Hunching his shoulders, he rested his elbows on his knees and waited to hear how Willa deflected the production assistant.

  “Sort of. Join us?”

  Groaning inwardly, Jax levered himself up, handed his bottle to Willa, and lifted another chair from the stack for Laurie. As he turned to place it beside his seat, Laurie slid in behind him and sat on his chair and he was forced to settle with Laurie between him and Willa.

  So much for the quiet chat he’d hoped for.

  Making small talk drove Jax nuts but, having opened his big mouth and offered to drive Willa home, he was stuck. “Do they show the rushes in the tent?”

  Laurie jumped in before Willa could reply. “When these guys get their butts out of the way, you’ll see they’re setting up a screen at the other end.”

  Willa rested her elbows on her knees and looked at him around the obstruction of Laurie. “It won’t take long. Ten minutes at most, if they show the best of today’s takes.”

  “Ten minutes from a whole day’s filming? That doesn’t sound efficient.”

  “Oh, Jax, honey. You know nothing about this industry, do you?” Laurie laughed, a high-pitched, breathy sound that grated on his eardrums. “The scenes we shot today will be lucky to make thirty seconds of screen time.”

  Above the din of conversation, a male voice shouted, “Hoy, you lot, we’re rolling!” Metal banged against glass in a time-honoured tradition of claiming the assembled group’s attention. “Okay, team, listen up. Pull up a chair or a patch of ground. It’s show time!”

  Everything about the director was overly dramatic, from his mannerisms to his penchant for hogging the spotlight. As the lights dimmed and the first take rolled, Jax wondered if he could appeal this secondment. If day one was anything to go by, working with a director who ignored his advice would be a complete waste of time.

  Take two rolled with little to differentiate it from the first. But as the third take began to play, an earlier shot preceded the gully walk. Willa’s anguished expression as she closed the eyes of her dead lieutenant dominated the screen. Sadness and vulnerability were replaced by determination as late afternoon light faded into a blaze of orange and gold. The camera pulled back and panned along the group of guerrillas trudging along the top of that damned gully before individual faces disappeared. Only the silhouettes of a handful of weary soldiers against a dramatic sunset crossed the screen.

  Wrong. It was all wrong.

  It would never happen that way, but memory hit, stung, and spun out of control.

  Dust clogged Jax’s nostrils and dried his throat as he led his outfit on their final mission before returning to Australia. Private Santos—soon to be Corporal—scouted ahead. A gully ran beside the pockmarked, bombed strip of bitumen—a bend in the road—

  Routine. It should all have been routine.

  Mortar fire, ambush, screams filling the air. Santos was down, clutching his stomach. Returning fire, running, dragging Santos by the arm back behind the troop giving them cover fire. Applying pressure as Santos’s bright blood fed the barren sand and the light in the private’s brown eyes dimmed. Jax’s fingers bright with the corporal’s blood closing the youngster’s dull eyes.

  As though Jax hovered above that real death and loss, his throat closed around a hard lump of emotion. He glared at the screen and his jaw ached as he clamped his teeth together, locking in a warning cry that threatened to burst from his mouth.

  Around him, applause rose and shouts of “Well done” and “Terrific scene” rippled through an audience. Air squeezed back into his aching lungs as sight returned. The marquee, a group of actors dressed in assorted camo gear—all pretence. His gaze fell on a bottle of beer in his white-knuckled grip. Beads of condensation ran down the neck and over his fingers. A new drop formed, slid down the neck, and swelled as it subsumed others in its wake before running over his heated skin.

  “That bodes well for the rest of the series. What do you think?” Willa’s voice cut into the echo of his memory.

  Willa. Please, God, she never knows this darkness for real.

  “Jax?”

  Hating every moment of the scene, he swigged from the bottle, playing for time as he attempted to work out an acceptable answer.

  Laurie leaned forward, disrupting his view of Willa. Again. “See how good it was. Jax is speechless.”

  He grasped at the comment like a drowning man. “Yeah, I’m speechless.”

  Willa stood and looked down at him. A frown creased her brow and Jax registered a flash of hurt before her blue eyes turned glacial.

  “I know you think what we do isn’t important but there’s no need to be sarcastic.”

  “I wasn’t being—”

  “Thanks for the offer but I’ll hitch a ride home with Laurie.” Willa turned her back and crossed the tent before he could tell her sarcasm was the last thing on his mind.

 
Laurie touched his arm as he watched Willa join the group of actors playing her unit. “Uh, you might want to work on your tone of voice, Hun. Willa might come across as confident and tough but she’s a bit sensitive about this project. It’s important to her, being in her home town and all.”

  Dragging his gaze back to Laurie, Jax realised they had the corner to themselves.

  The assistant finished her wine and settled back on her seat. “Tell me what action you’ve seen, Jax. I’m certain your—experience—doesn’t come from a gym.”

  Remnants of Willa’s performance held Jax in thrall.

  As though she understood the pain of losing a comrade, Willa had resurrected the hell of his last sortie with one anguished look.

  The only person he’d talk to—if he were the type to talk—would be the army psychiatrist. Not Willa, and certainly not this stranger with her barely contained excitement. She didn’t want to hear the truth. No one liked reality.

  “Excuse me, Laurie. I’ve got to go.” He left his half-drunk beer on the mess table on his way out, striding like he used to before he was shot.

  Fuelled by a strange mixture of anger and a need to escape, he was halfway to the parking area when pain sliced through his thigh. He pulled up short and leaned against a tree. Sucking in a harsh breath, he embraced the pain. It chased away the memories Willa’s performance had brought to the surface.

  Willa.

  Patterns of light and shadow shifted around his feet as elongated leaves stirred in the breeze. The impact of her performance began to fade. She was damned good, so believable in her emotions that she’d dragged him back where he never wanted to go again. But in spite of his reaction to what he’d seen on screen, it wasn’t real.

  Art imitating life.

  Tense thigh muscles eased as his fingers pressed hard. Gritting his teeth, Jax pushed off the tree trunk and hobbled to his mother’s ute.

  Tomorrow he’d phone the public relations department and tell Pertwee to find himself another expert.

  Chapter Six

  “I’ve poured a glass of wine for you, darling. Come and tell us about your day’s shooting.” Willa’s mother tapped on the bathroom door again. “Willa?”

  “Thanks, Mum. I’ll be right out.” Willa pulled on her bathrobe and wound a towel around her freshly washed hair. Wine and a family chinwag were the last things she felt like. As fit as she was, enervating heat and dust had made the regular day’s shoot more tiring than a full day on a studio set.

  Then there was Jax.

  Why had she expected his attitude to change? If she’d had any hope of that, his body language and dismissive Yeah, I’m speechless reaction this evening had squashed it. Like a reprise of their last night together, his arrogant certainty that her work was nothing more than playing was unchanged.

  You’ll waste your life with this acting stuff, Willa, but I want to make mine count. Come with me.

  Your dream isn’t mine, Jax. What about my dream?

  Dreams are for people who can’t deal with reality. If you want to really live, meet me in the usual place at five, tomorrow morning. If you’re not there—I’ll know I’m not enough for you.

  Ten years later the last words he’d flung at her before he roared out of her life on his motorbike still had the power to hurt. She remembered arriving at the bus stop, out of breath and ready to throw her dreams away and run off with him.

  Shivering in the early morning, listening for the rumble of his motorbike as she watched the empty street. Her father driving up, stopping the car and pushing open the passenger door, waiting as she slumped in the front seat and sobbed her heart out.

  The ten-year anniversary of their break up was as good a time as any to close the lid on her first love and move on.

  Shaking her head, she tightened her belt. Jax was history. She didn’t owe him another thought. But she hadn’t been home in almost twelve months.

  Barefooted, Willa padded along the wooden floor into the open plan lounge-dining area her parents had created during her most recent absence. “This area feels so big now, Mum. It was a great idea knocking down the wall between the rooms.” She accepted the glass of wine and curled up on one end of the soft caramel leather sofa. Also new since she’d last been home.

  Her mother looked around and shrugged. “We had the work done just after you left last year. I guess I’ve stopped seeing it. How was today’s shoot?”

  “Good. Brodie screened the rushes from the day’s filming. He’s got a wonderful eye for constructing a scene.”

  She sipped the wine, light, fresh, and fruity. Maybe a drink wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “Jax was there.”

  “On set? I thought he hated the idea of—what did he used to call it?”

  “Pretending to live. He still does.” Her father joined them, picking up a stubby from the drinks tray and settling into his favourite ancient recliner. A lump formed in her throat. Except that his hair was more grey than brown, he looked much as he had when she was four-years-old. Steady as a rock, his arms ready to wrap around her and protect her from the world.

  “I see Mum couldn’t convince you to give up that tatty old chair when you renovated.” She’d climbed onto her father’s knee when he came home at the end of the work day and shared her kindy paintings. No matter how tired he’d been, that had been their special time.

  “It’s good, solid workmanship. Why would I throw away a perfectly comfortable chair?” He tipped the stubby and took a swig. “So, what was Heathwood doing on set?”

  Her mellow memories evaporated at mention of Jax. “Believe me, it’s the last place he wants to be. The army, in its wisdom, has assigned him as our expert advisor.”

  “Humph. I suppose ten years active service qualifies him for something. How do you feel seeing him again, Princess?” He sat forward and rested both arms on his knees, clasping the bottle of beer between his legs. Tension thrummed through him and Willa was surprised to see his gaze narrowed on her. As though her answer mattered.

  “He argued with the director, loomed over the cameraman, and could barely offer a civil comment after we watched today’s takes. Why would I be happy he’s there?”

  Surely after today Brodie would see they didn’t need Jax. Or if expert advice were needed, maybe Corporal Preston would like the chance to add ‘working with Willa on location’ to his resume.

  “Sounds like you’re not on the same page.”

  “We’re not even reading from the same script, Dad.”

  “Are you happy now you didn’t go with him when he left the Isa ten years ago?”

  “Our lives have taken completely different paths. I don’t think we have much in common anymore.”

  With a sigh her father pulled up the old-fashioned side handle that raised his footrest. “Good to hear. I knew it was the right decision—”

  “If Jax had turned up that day, I would have left with him.”

  “But he didn’t. And you’ve become a successful and independent woman. I’m proud of you, Princess.”

  “Why do you think he didn’t? I mean, didn’t you say he the one who made the arrangements?” Her mother topped up her glass of wine and leaned across to do the same for Willa.

  She held her glass out.

  Her mother’s hand shook and a few drops fell on Willa’s bathrobe. “I don’t know. But he did me a big favour. If he hadn’t left me waiting by the highway with my backpack, I don’t know if I would have been so driven to prove myself as an actress.”

  “Making good is the best revenge, Princess.”

  But if her father was right, Jax had also done well. Achieving the rank of major in ten years said it all, according to the Army website she’d looked up. But then Jax had always had a talent for leading others.

  “Is there anyone, you know—special?” Each time Willa came home, her mother asked the same question. Each time, the wistful longing for grandchildren grew a little more pronounced.

  “No, Mum. How’s Auntie Maureen’s newest grand
son?”

  “Chubby cheeked and crawling. My sister just dotes on him.”

  “And I bet he’s all she talks about when you chat on the phone.”

  “That and when will we have the same pleasure. When I saw you arrive with Jax the other night I wondered—”

  “Nothing more than coincidence, Mum. Two ships that pass in the night. Jax and I are history.”

  Karma had something against her to have sent Jax back into her life. In vivid Technicolor Widescreen Sensurround action.

  Hours after her parents had retired for the night, she lay in bed tossing and turning. Jax was bossy, brash, and too big for his boots. He had occupied her thoughts all day and now he was commandeering her night.

  I’m speechless.

  Emotionally deficient, snide son-of-a—

  Willa punched her pillow.

  Who the hell did he think he was to pass judgment on her career? The rushes had been more than good and she’d thought—hoped—she might connect with Jax’s emotions. Not that she’d expected praise for doing her job to the best of her ability but she’d hoped to show him she understood and appreciated what he did. Her decision to take on this miniseries might even have been a subconscious tribute to the man she had once loved.

  I’m speechless.

  Stupidly, she cared what he thought. His derisive comment shouldn’t have hurt. But after ten years, Jax still had the power to hurt her.

  How was that possible? She’d chosen Hollywood, or it had chosen her.

  Only after he chose the army over me.

  Anger might burn away the lingering feelings she had for him. Absence would do the job more effectively.

  The sooner she took action, the sooner she could release both of them from further unpleasant daily encounters. She picked up Paddington Bear and curled up with her favourite childhood toy.

  “Tomorrow, when I see Brodie, I’m going to suggest we ask for a replacement for Jax. If anyone can sweet talk the establishment into exchanging a corporal for a major, Brodie can.”