The closer the five of them got to the production plant and the cluster of small buildings around it, the quieter the Ngata siblings got. Kyle pinned open the metal gate that kept the cattle from wandering near the buildings, studying Tui’s stiff posture and her thinned lips, a sharp slash across her face. She followed his brothers through and dismounted by the sturdy rail set up behind one of the buildings.
Dave continued with his running commentary on honey production—the abridged version, since even he could sense Sam and Tui’s unease.
“…and we’d finish off our part of the tour at the newly redecorated honey shop.”
Only one car was parked outside the converted three-car garage shop—his mum’s—and it sat on a wonky angle to the spray-painted white lines marking parking spaces. He exchanged a glance with Dave, who shrugged with a what can you do? expression.
The roller doors were raised, displaying the fresh coat of paint and the new display shelves Kyle’d ordered. His mum was bent beside one of the shelves, unpacking a box of beeswax cream she’d made a few days ago. Thankfully not burning the house down in the process.
Eric lounged in a fold-out deck chair close to the open doors, a haze of smoke swirling around his face from the cigarette trapped in the corner of his mouth.
Kyle’s gut clenched. He’d told Eric to make himself scarce this morning, figuring Sam and Tui would already be on edge coming into the lion’s den and being outnumbered by Griffins. The last thing they needed was Eric stirring it up.
“Well, well. Screw me sideways. You came after all.” Eric rose, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and grinding it under his boot before swaggering toward them. “Thought you might’ve chickened out.”
“Nah,” Sam said as the two men faced off. “Wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” He bared his teeth at Eric in a taut smile, managing to look down his nose at him at the same time. “Not much to see.”
Yep, Eric was stirring it up and likely just getting started. Kyle stepped around them. “Mum,” he called. “Come and meet our guests.”
Lost in her own world while arranging and rearranging bottles on the shelf, Netta startled at his raised voice. She straightened abruptly and half turned, grabbing onto the shelf edge when she swayed a little. Bottles rattled together. “Oops.”
“Guests,” Kyle heard Eric sneer, but at least he turned and jogged back to their mother, lending an arm to her and guiding her to the deck chair he’d vacated.
She sat, then looked at their group, her eyes narrowed behind her reading glasses.
“Oh. There you all are. Hang on, I can’t see a thing with these on.” She fumbled the frames off her nose, folded them, and made two attempts to tuck them into her shirt pocket—but it didn’t have a pocket. Finally, she gave up and just held them in her lap. Her gaze zipped over them, landing on Sam where it froze.
“You look just like your father when he was younger.” Her nose crinkled. “Got that same arrogant tilt to your chin, like we aren’t good enough for the likes of you.”
“Mum.” Dave shot a glance at Sam, who remained stone-faced. “Sam and Tui are here to discuss the tour. Remember we talked to you about it? How it could help rejuvenate some interest in the shop over summer.”
She waved him off. “’Course I remember. I was just making polite conversation. Goodness, you’re all business all the time.”
Somewhere behind Kyle came a feminine snort of amusement. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering what the odds were of Eric gracefully retreating and his mum moderating her brain-to-mouth tactlessness. Not good, was his professional opinion.
Netta’s gaze latched onto a point just beyond his left shoulder. “And you must be the daughter. Guess you finally grew out of that baby fat, eh, girl?”
Sweet baby Jesus. He heard Sam’s sharp inhale and Matt’s muttered four-letter word. Even Eric, who was lighting another cigarette, winced. But from Tui, nothing.
Beyond embarrassed, Kyle was momentarily struck mute, every muscle in his body going rigid in a conspiracy to prevent him turning to see the look on her face.
Then she made a small sound. An urrrp that caused him to have an unpleasant cat-puking flashback. He spun around in time to see her bend at the waist, one arm wrapped around her stomach as she vomited on the ground—narrowly missing Sam’s boots. Her brother’s quick reflexes in jumping sideways meant he avoided most of the fallout. Kyle’s reflexes were not quite as honed, thanks to his non-sportsperson genetics, but he lunged toward Tui, not away.
She was straightening as he reached her, a hand pressed to her mouth, eyes wide and worriedly a little unfocused. He swore, the words only just leaving his lips as her eyes fluttered shut and she crumpled into him. Sam was already rebounding back toward Tui, barking out her name as Kyle caught her against his body. The warm weight of her swayed in his arms then went rigid with tension.
“Sorry. Just a bit light-headed.” She braced her hands on his hips and pushed her upper body away from his.
He felt the quivering of her thigh muscles jittering against his, the scrape of her fingernails as she hooked her fingers over his shorts’ waistband, hanging on for grim death.
“You okay, Tu?” Sam rubbed her back, his eyes scanning up and down his sister as if expecting to find a poisoned dart sticking out of her flesh.
“Get a chair for her—” Kyle ordered a moment before Eric skirted around him with another deck chair.
Cynically Kyle wondered how much altruism was in Eric’s action, and considering the distain he held for the Ngatas the thought crossed Kyle’s mind that maybe he planned to yank it out from beneath her.
Eric placed the chair behind her knees, then stepped out of the way while Kyle and Sam gently lowered Tui into the seat.
“She all right?” Eric asked as Sam crouched by her side and patted her hand.
Concern punched into Kyle’s gut. Her face had turned pale and blotchy, and she was shaking like a leaf. Dave jogged over to them with a bottle of water from the shop fridge. He handed it to Kyle, since Tui was still bent over, a dark curtain of hair covering her face.
“Stop crowding the girl.” His mother pushed Dave and Eric aside, crouched in front of Tui, and shoved a tissue into her hand. “Here, wipe your mouth.”
While Tui pressed the tissue to her lips, Netta laid a palm on her forehead, the way she used to do with them as kids. “Hot, but the sun’s warm today. Heatstroke?” she muttered, holding out her hand to Kyle. “Give me that.”
He passed her the water and she uncapped it.
“Have a sip,” she instructed Tui. “Swish it around, spit it out. Then take a few sips, see if you can keep it down.” She pressed the bottle into Tui’s hands, then turned a maternal glare on her sons. “She’s right now. Doesn’t need you lot staring at her. Dave, go and bring my car around. Kyle can take her home.”
Dave hurried into the shop to fetch car keys, Eric strolled off toward the main production shed, and Sam hovered—his expression set to suspicious as Netta lightly gripped Tui’s wrist to check her pulse. Their mum had done one year of nurse’s training before she’d fallen pregnant with him, and never let any of them forget it. She muttered something else under her breath then stood.
Tui swished, spat, and sipped again as ordered. The fact that she did so without arguing suggested she was feeling a lot worse than she looked.
“Did you eat breakfast this morning?” his mother asked.
Tui shook her head. “Wasn’t hungry.”
His mother clucked her tongue. “Big girl like you can’t afford to skip meals. You need fuel to avoid low blood sugars.”
“Right.” Tui grimaced after she’d taken another sip of water, then capped the bottle. “Three square meals a day, I hear you.”
She rose to her feet before Kyle and Sam could offer assistance, shooting Kyle a wary glance. “I’m fine. Really. It’s probably a stomach virus or something. I just want to go home and sleep it off.”
Dave did a three-point t
urn in the graveled parking lot and drove their mum’s little hatchback close to Tui’s chair. He buzzed down the window. “Want me to drop her off?”
“I’ll do it,” Kyle said.
Sam visibly bristled as he moved to his sister’s side. “No, you won’t—I’ll take her.”
“God.” Tui scrubbed the heel of her hand across her forehead. “I’m not a side of beef that has to be transported.” The glare she sent her brother was half-hearted at the most. “Kyle can take me home while you bring the horses. You know Richie’s temperamental, and if he’s agitated, Storm’ll act up.”
“Yeah. All right.” Sam sent Kyle a watching you, dickhead cool glance. “I’ll check on you after I’ve got the horses settled.” He slipped an arm around Tui’s waist and ordered her to lean on him while he helped her into the passenger seat.
Dave tossed Kyle the car keys and went to stand next to their mother.
He climbed into the driver’s seat. Tui had her head tipped back against the headrest with her eyes closed, one hand lightly resting on her stomach over the seat belt Sam had fastened for her. His gut twisted into a knot as a rush of tender concern swept through him, every bit as dangerous as the rush of need that had taken control of him as he’d kissed her at Griff’s house.
As if he wore his emotions on his sleeve—God, he hoped not—Sam once again gave him the evil eye before slamming the door shut.
Kyle drove as if he were ferrying a dozen trays of untethered eggs—fast, but very, very carefully. He came to a halt in front of the Ngatas’ driveway gate and Tui cracked open an eye.
“Why’re we stopping?” Her other eye opened and she answered her own question. “Ah. It’s locked.”
“Care to hop out and open it?” he asked mildly. “Or do you trust me enough now to give me the combination?”
She rolled her head sideways on the headrest. “Haven’t decided if I trust you, but since I’ve already made a fool of myself once today, it’s seven-three-nine-two. Leave it open for Sam.”
Kyle got out, propped the gate open, and drove through, following her instructions up to a small cottage. By the time he’d gotten out of the car and around to open her door, Tui had already climbed out of the vehicle.
“I’m fine,” she said again, waving him off as she hip-checked the door closed. “Almost a hundred percent.”
“Tui—” But her long legs had already carried her halfway to the cottage.
He strode after her, waiting a few steps back as she unlocked the door and went inside. Hesitating on the doorstep, he watched as she hung her keys on a hook and dragged her phone out of a pocket, tossing it onto a nearby coffee table. She turned in the open plan kitchen-dining-living room, offering him a bland smile.
“Thanks for the ride. Appreciate it.”
And…they were back to polite strangers again. Or so she’d like him to believe. But the crackle of awareness that collected between them like static electricity couldn’t be ignored. He crossed to the coffee table and scooped up her phone.
“Hey!”
He tapped her contacts button. “You won the race. You earned this.” He typed in his name, email address, and mobile number, saved it, and set the phone down again.
She folded her arms and shot out a belligerent hip. “If you think you’re getting a booty call tonight, you’re out of luck. I don’t want your number.”
“And you accuse me of being cocky? You’re in no fit shape for a booty call.” He sucked in his cheeks to swallow the grin making his muscles twitch.
God, but she was the most contrary, complicated, irritating, and incredible woman he’d met in a long time. A long, long time.
Snorting out a huff of disdain, Tui gave him a wide berth and returned to the front door, which he’d closed after himself. With a pointed glance, she opened it again. He got the message, loud and clear—but it didn’t deter him at all. Pausing on his way to the door, he slid a hand around her neck, dipping down to place a light kiss on her forehead.
“You don’t want it, but maybe you need it,” he murmured against her soft skin. “Call me if there’s anything you…need.”
She jerked away from him, her hip bumping the open door so the knob cracked against the wall like a starter gun. “A sandwich and a nap is all I need. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.”
He loped out to his mother’s car and squeezed behind the wheel, a glance back at the cottage revealing Tui had already shut the front door.
Figured. Out of sight, out of mind. He started the car and drove back down the hill. Maybe it worked for her, but would it work for him?
Chapter 11
Tui had taken one small bite of her Vegemite on toast—no Griffin’s Honey for her, thank you very much—when a car pulled up outside the cottage. Her heart did a jump kick as she hauled herself off the couch and rushed to the window. Had Kyle seen through her tough-girl act of not wanting his company and come back?
Nope. She bit back a groan as she recognized Sam’s long-time best mate and Bounty Bay’s ER doctor, Owen Bennett, hopping out of his car, medical bag in hand. She’d known Owen half her life—as a teenager he’d boarded with them for a few years until he finished high school—and he acted just like another annoying big brother.
She flung open the cottage door. “Since when do you make house calls, O?”
“Since Sam called me in a panic and ordered me to get my butt up here.” Owen strode up the path, raising an eyebrow at her when she refused to budge out of the doorway.
“Sam’s being a mother hen. There’s nothing wrong with me. I just needed to eat—see?” She showed him her toast. “Nom, nom, nom. I’m all good again.”
“I’m sorry, which one of us went to medical school and is qualified to make that assessment?”
“All those years at med school and yet your bedside manner still sucks.”
He grinned, then narrowed his eyes. “That may be. But I’ve a thermometer in my bag that can be inserted in more than one orifice, depending on a patient’s behavior.”
“I see marrying Gracie hasn’t removed that stick from a certain orifice of yours,” she said tartly, but stepped aside to let him enter.
If Sam had asked him to check on her, she’d never hear the end of it unless Owen gave her a clean bill of health. So she’d tolerate him checking her temperature, taking her blood pressure, and lecturing her on not skipping meals.
“Sit,” he told her, setting his bag down on the coffee table and unzipping it.
Tui sat and continued to nibble on her toast, her nose crinkling at the Vegemite spread, which for some reason tasted a little…odd. Had she checked the use-by date on the label?
She tried to remember as Owen put an electronic thermometer to her ear, making a doctorish hum in the back of his throat as he read the digital numbers. She set the cold slice of toast back on the plate so he could entrap her bicep in his portable blood pressure gadget. Another doctorish hum at the results.
“Sam said you skipped breakfast?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“That’s not like you to skip a meal, especially breakfast.” Owen slotted his bits and pieces back into the cavernous bag, then stood hands on hips, examining her like a bug on a slide.
She slumped back into the couch and poked her tongue out at him. “Are you calling me greedy? The man who used to put away a solid six-pack of Ma’s pancakes without blinking?”
He said nothing.
“I wasn’t hungry. And maybe a little anxious about the ride onto Griffin land,” she admitted.
“Anxiousness and hunger don’t really explain all your symptoms. You say you weren’t hungry—were you feeling a little off color this morning?”
“A little. Kind of queasy. But as I said, nerves.”
Owen continued to watch her for a couple of silent beats, his thoughtful gaze skimming the length of her, suddenly unnerving.
“What?” she demanded. “Spit it out—do you suspect a brain tumor or something?”
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His mouth twisted, then returned to a contemplative flatline. “Not a brain tumor. Possibly a urinary tract infection. I’ll check in a second.” He cocked his head. “Just out of interest, though, when was your last period?”
A flare of warmth washed over her skin, spreading up her cheeks like sunburn. “Owen! Bloody hell. You’re not my doctor.”
“You planning a visit to your GP this afternoon? No?” He shrugged in response to her slitted eyes and tightly folded arms. “Thought not. I’m not squeamish about this sort of thing.”
“Well, I am.” But the question had her backtracking memories over the last couple of weeks, a pit forming in her stomach. He couldn’t be suggesting…could he? Cold prickles started creeping up her spine. “It’s been a stressful few weeks with Ma and Dad, and oh, wait a sec.” She scrunched up her forehead. “Not sure of the exact date, but yeah, probably a couple of weeks ago.” Arching an eyebrow at him, she said, “Next inappropriate question?”
“A normal period?” he persisted. “Or lighter than usual?”
“Oh. My. God. Are you seriously suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
She would’ve leaped off the couch and indignantly swatted him one if her stomach hadn’t given an unpleasant little lurch. If she hadn’t begun to worry about the same outcome.
“Only one way to find out.” Owen dug into his black bag and withdrew a plastic specimen jar. “Pee-in-the-cup time.”
She didn’t move toward his outstretched hand. Moving would indicate the possibility he could be right. “Hell no.” She wriggled deeper into the couch, tightly crossing her legs. “It’s a stomach bug.”
“When was the last time you had a normal period, Tui?” Owen perched on the edge of the coffee table opposite her. “Think.”
She did—glaring at the empty jar which he was tapping against his kneecap.
“About two weeks before Raro. I remember being grateful I wouldn’t have to worry about it on vacation.”
“And in Raro…” This time spots of pink appeared on Owen’s cheeks. “Did you meet someone there?”
Tame Your Heart: A Small Town Romance (Bounty Bay Book 6) Page 13
