by Robyn Grady
‘Was he a good dad in other ways?’
‘When I was very young, I remember him kissing my forehead every night before I fell asleep. He’d tell me I was his special princess. Growing up, I had these two totally different ideas of him clashing around in my head. There was even a part of me that understood why my mother didn’t want to confront him over his extramarital affairs and possibly have him leave.’ Her guilty gaze shot across to him. ‘I’ve never admitted that to anyone.’
‘You wanted your father. I understand completely.’
A small smile touched her lips, her eyes.
‘He could be a whole lot of fun,’ she explained. ‘A charmer.’ She sent a wry look. ‘A little like you.’
‘Trust me.’ He tugged her closer. ‘He’s nothing like me.’
‘My great-aunt Leasie got caught up with a charmer once,’ she went on, matching her steps with his. ‘Harry Mercer. He made a living selling bogus life assurance in the sixties. She dropped him cold when she found out. He still writes to her from prison, but she never responds. Sometimes I think she’d like to, but she’s too smart to bend, even a little.’
‘Did your aunt ever marry?’
‘She’s happy alone.’ Roxy corrected herself. ‘That’s not entirely true. She collects budgerigars. Small. Friendly. Low maintenance.’
‘Unlike men.’
‘Unlike men like Harry.’
Or like her philandering father. Nate might try to manipulate a situation to get the best outcome for all concerned, but no one could ever accuse him of being disloyal. He might not want to rush down any aisle but when he married, it would be in every sense ‘for ever’. Why do something if you didn’t intend to do it properly?
As they entered the homestead’s yard through the dilapidated picket fence Nate lifted his nose to the air. ‘I smell bread baking.’
‘This is the bush. Bet it’s damper.’ Australia’s iconic soda bread traditionally baked over the coals of a fire.
Nate sniffed again. ‘And some kind of stew.’ He held his growling stomach. He hadn’t eaten since soggy sandwiches on the plane.
A distant curlew called—a hauntingly lonely sound, Nate thought—and to one side of the homestead’s steps, Mr Glenrowan tended a campfire. Suspended over the low-licking flames hung two Bedourie ovens—the Outback’s steel-modelled version of the cast-iron Dutch oven. One oven for the stew, Nate guessed. One for the damper.
Looking up, Mr Glenrowan grinned and pushed to his feet. ‘I wondered when you two would show up. Your friends’ve been back a while.’
Roxy’s cheeks went pink, and not from the sun. ‘Where are they now?’
‘Marla’s in helping the wife.’
‘And I’ve been collecting wood for the fire.’
Nate searched out that familiar second male voice. Greg was rounding the homestead’s corner, a bundle in his arms.
Mr Glenrowan nodded at Greg’s stash. ‘Good work. Set ‘em down there.’ He moved towards the steps. ‘I’ll go see what’s keeping those girls.’
Obviously eager to touch base with Marla, Roxy hurried after him. ‘I’ll go too.’
His expression wry, Greg stopped before his friend. ‘All cooled off now?’
Nate removed his hat and pulled on his shirt. ‘You should’ve come in for a swim.’
‘Haven’t you heard? Three’s a crowd.’
‘You’re forgetting Marla.’
‘No. Marla’s forgotten me.’ Greg set the wood down and stayed crouched beside the fire, watching the flames. ‘When you and Roxy got involved, she headed off. I followed. We took the pickup back here. Hell, we even talked.’
‘Greg, that’s great!’
‘About an uncle of hers who owned a property. She explained at length how he’d castrate young bulls. Apparently they’ll break through any paddock to get to a cow in heat. She even described the tool used.’ Greg visibly shuddered. ‘By the time I turned off that rickety old engine, I felt nauseous.’
Nate winced but pointed out, ‘She’s testing you.’
‘Tell my testicles that.’
Nate flicked a look at the verandah. ‘She’ll be out soon and you’ll have another chance. Just follow my lead. Loosen up.’
Greg stopped poking a stick at the flames to peer up. ‘What is it with you two anyway? I thought you weren’t interested in seeing Roxy again.’ One thick brow arched. ‘I’m guessing you saw plenty of each other in that creek.’
After that engagement party where he and Roxy had obviously hit it off, Nate had only ever mentioned that he hadn’t wanted to see her again. That she seemed highly strung and didn’t want to see him again either. He guessed Roxy had told Marla a similar story to suit. No use bringing up kisses and curses. Greg would only laugh and harder than Roxy had. So now Nate told his friend the truth—or a good portion of it.
‘Me and Roxy together, here … well, it’s an act.’
‘An act for what?’
‘To show Marla that people deserve a second chance.’
‘What I saw happening in that creek between you two was no act.’
‘We were mucking around. Hell, I’m a man, she’s a woman—’
‘And if water hadn’t been involved, the flames would’ve been hotter than these.’ He tossed the stick into glowing ashes. ‘A crowbar couldn’t have pried you two apart.’
‘Which only goes to show. If Roxy and I can move forward, imagine how easy it’d be if you got close to Marla for a few minutes.’
Thinking that through, Greg scratched his temple and gradually found his feet. ‘Maybe, if I had the right mood, the right opportunity.’
‘Roxy and I can help with the first. Then it’s up to you.’ That screen door squeaked open, slapped shut. He sent Greg a private wink. ‘Follow my lead.’
Carrying a bowl of salad, Roxy headed down the stairs. Next came Mr Glenrowan with plates. His wife and Marla followed with napkins, condiments and cutlery.
Mr Glenrowan saw to the damper and laid the bread in the centre of a wobbly outdoor table. ‘Butter’s there if you want it.’
Nate pulled a piece off the incredibly fresh, steamy loaf and sank his teeth in. Lord, he was famished. But then he remembered Roxy, his manners and the plan. Setting down the bread, he dusted his hands and asked, ‘Can I cut you a slice?’
She nodded. ‘With a dollop of butter on the side.’
After Nate was finished, Greg came forward, sliced off two pieces and brought one to Marla.
‘No butter,’ he said. ‘Right?’
Marla’s eyes widened as if she were taken aback or alarmed by his civility, but then she accepted the plate, even offered a small smile.
Seeing to the second pot, Mr Glenrowan lifted the lid and stirred the contents until a hearty aroma drifted into Nate’s lungs and taste buds began to water.
‘On a guest’s first night,’ Mr Glenrowan said, slipping the pot’s handle off its rod with the help of a folded tea towel, ‘we always eat under the stars.’ He surveyed the sky, which had succumbed to a far-reaching dusk, then put the pot on the table. ‘Grab some stew and go pull up a log.’
He indicated three log-cum-benches positioned in a U around the fire. After filling their plates with beef and bean stew, Nate and Roxy took the log nearest the homestead. Greg sat on the second of three. Marla took the third.
Roxy set a spoonful of stew to her mouth then, wincing, pulled it quickly away. ‘It’s hot.’
‘Let some steam escape.’ Nate took her spoon and wound the utensil back and forth through the stew for a moment or two. Then he lifted a spoonful and asked, ‘Mind if I test it?’
Amused, Roxy shrugged. ‘Sure. Go ahead.’
Nate set the spoon to his upper lip, smiled and handed it over. ‘Should be fine now.’
He wouldn’t offer to cool just anyone’s dinner but in truth he was only repeating what he’d done many times for the younger kids growing up. Still, it occurred to him now that Greg was eyeing Marla’s plate, maybe wondering if her
stew was too hot. But she wasn’t giving him a chance to help if it was. Dunking her damper, she sopped up stew juice before taking a big, ‘I’m fine without you’ bite.
Obviously feeling the ripple of unease, Roxy started a conversation. ‘Nate and I were talking about bunyips.’
Chuckling, Mr Glenrowan made himself comfortable on Greg’s log. ‘Noisy beasts.’
Marla swallowed and slanted her head. ‘You believe in monsters?’
‘Out here,’ Mrs Glenrowan said, sitting herself alongside Marla, ‘you get to believe in all kinds of things.’
Mr Glenrowan stirred his stew. ‘It’s actually owls that nest near creeks that make those terrible screeching noises—like a woman’s scream.’
Marla lowered her damper slice. ‘Are they nesting at the moment?’
‘You hear ‘em from time to time.’
When Greg crossed to the table to grab a napkin, Mr Glenrowan crooked his finger at his wife and she moved to sit alongside him. More than willing to play musical logs, Greg didn’t waste time. He sat down an arm’s length away from Marla.
Pleased with the progress, Nate kept the conversation going. ‘Bet there’s some good ghost stories around these parts.’
‘All manner of ‘em,’ Mr Glenrowan said.
‘What’s your favourite?’ Roxy asked at the same time Nate caught Greg’s eye and, in demonstration, sidled a little closer to her. At that moment, Marla dropped her spoon. Greg snatched it up mid-air and edged closer as he handed it back.
‘We could tell them about that woman fifty years ago,’ Mrs Glenrowan said, looking around the circle while the fire leapt and crackled. ‘The daughter of a general on holiday out here from America got hopelessly lost in the bush. The general and his wife spent days searching. They finally found her by a creek.’
‘That creek?’ Roxy asked.
‘Yes, but a ways upstream from here.’
Marla sat, riveted. ‘Was she … alive?’
‘She was breathing but wringing wet and stuck in a trancelike state. She kept saying the water spirit had saved her. She described a handsome man with skin dark as ebony, transparent teeth and eyes like glowing coals set way back in his skull. Every night after that, the girl wandered down to the water to wait for his return.’
In the dancing firelight, Marla’s eyes grew wider. ‘A ghost.’
‘And her lover,’ Mrs Glenrowan said. ‘Nine months on, she had a baby. Same complexion as hers but the eyes.’ As Mrs Glenrowan leaned forward Marla shrank towards Greg. ‘The eyes were unusually bright. The same colour as the sun at midday when the sky is filled with wind and dust.’
When Marla shivered, Greg stepped in. ‘Can I get you a wrap?’
Marla blinked over and found a weak smile. ‘I love ghost stories but.’
‘They give you bad dreams,’ Greg finished for her a second before a screech echoed through the shadows and Marla jumped, landing even closer to Greg.
‘It’s an owl,’ Mr Glenrowan said, balancing his plate on his lap while he pulled damper apart and, a knowing smile on her lips, his wife kept eating.
Nate sat back. What an intriguing couple.
‘How did you two meet?’ he asked.
Mrs Glenrowan—’My sister dated his brother.’
Roxy—’Did you have a double wedding?’
Nate threw in, ‘Roxy designs wedding gowns,’ then spotted Marla’s gaze sliding Greg’s way. She was thinking about wearing that gown. Thinking about the man she loved being so close. Close enough to forgive.
Mrs Glenrowan lowered her plate. ‘Sadly those two didn’t marry. They had an argument. A misunderstanding, really. She went off in a huff.’
‘And they never made up.’ Nate exhaled. For this exercise’s sake, he’d hoped for a happy ending.
‘Ended up she got hitched to a widower with six kids,’ said Mr Glenrowan.
His wife added, ‘My sister couldn’t have children.’
‘So it turned out for the best?’ Marla asked.
‘My brother never married. Still pines for her to this day.’ Mr Glenrowan held his wife’s hand, brought her fingers to his lips and murmured, ‘I’ve always been the lucky one.’
‘Not that we haven’t had disagreements,’ Mrs G pointed out.
‘But you always forgive me.’
The older pair peered into each other’s eyes for a long moment before Mrs Glenrowan brought herself back and let slip a coy laugh. ‘Suppose I ought to see to the dishes.’
Marla stood. ‘I’ll do that.’
Greg stood too. ‘I’ll help.’
While Marla seemed to hold her breath, Nate also pushed to his feet. ‘Roxy and I’ll tidy up out here.’
Marla’s focus went to Mrs Glenrowan, who was dabbing her napkin against a corner of her husband’s mouth before lightly kissing the spot. Marla’s lips swung to one side, her brow creased, then she finally nodded. She took Greg’s plate first, then, collecting everyone else’s in turn, moved inside.
Greg collected the damper and said to Nate, ‘See you all later.’
Nate crossed mental fingers.
Hopefully much later.
The Glenrowans went for a long walk, leaving just Roxy and Nate to talk in hushed tones about the progress Greg and Marla seemed to have made this evening. For the first time since agreeing to this plot, Roxy felt truly optimistic. Maybe Nate’s plan would work after all.
When the fire died and it became obvious their friends wouldn’t be rejoining them, Roxy let Nate take her hand to lead her inside. As they moved up those worn wooden steps a clutch of nerves jumped in Roxy’s stomach. She still glowed after their mind-blowing romp in the creek. She couldn’t deny she looked forward to enjoying something similar behind closed doors tonight.
But with Greg and Marla’s relationship so damaged, she also felt guilty. Hopefully those two had stuck it out during kitchen duties and were on their way to working something longer-term out. So why not enjoy a little more of what Nate had to offer? Roxy thought as they entered the house, which smelled of old wool and fresh billy tea. It wasn’t as if this tryst would go on indefinitely, for more reasons than one. Although she did wonder how, and when, it would fold. Not until after that anniversary party … if she accepted his invitation. And, frankly, she was curious. Their Glenrowan hosts seemed completely devoted to one another. How would Nate’s besotted parents compare?
How would his family welcome her? Careful to be quiet and not disturb, they padded down a long high-ceilinged hallway walled in faded blue tongue-and-groove. At the hallway’s end, they turned left and found their luggage waiting outside two separate bedroom doorways. Nate stuck his nose in one room, the other, then collected both cases and entered the first.
‘This room looks like ours.’
Secretly liking the way he took charge, Roxy flicked on the light and crossed to the centre of the room. The bed was big and covered in clean comforters and pillows. An old-fashioned cedar dresser sat bumped up against the far wall. Flimsy curtains floated on the opened window’s refreshing evening breeze.
She inhaled and sighed. ‘It smells like rose petals in here.’
Nate flicked on a lamp, thumbed off the main light then joined her. As his hot palms curved over her hips she tipped closer, enough for their lips to almost touch. But when his head angled and his grip tightened, she wove her mouth away from his.
‘You’re being presumptuous.’
A knuckle on her chin turned her gaze back to his. ‘Given all that talk about ghosts, I thought you could use some company tonight.’
‘I’m not the nail-biting type, remember?’
Irresistibly close, his lazy grin spread. ‘Then maybe you should humour me.’
Helpless to resist, she fanned her palms up beneath his shirt, over his flat stomach and relished the way his glittering blue eyes drifted shut. ‘What would this humouring involve?’
‘I should think lots of petting.’
Petting. ‘That’s an interesting term.’
‘Interspersed with plenty of kissing.’
Holding his jaw with both hands, she brought her mouth to his and kissed him slow and deep and long. Finally she drew away.
‘Like that?’ she asked.
He growled and pulled her back. ‘Just like that.’
He kissed her even more thoroughly, ironing his palms over her hips, pressing her against him so there could be no misunderstanding about how much he wanted her. Running her fingers up his front, she began unbuttoning his shirt, but not nearly fast enough. He flicked open one button but she held his hand to stop him.
‘Hey, cowboy, this is my job.’
His voice was a husky rasp. ‘Just thought I’d help.’
She pretended to think it over.
‘Well, okay.’
He grabbed the front tails and tore the shirt off over his head. ‘There. Done.’
The shorts came off, her dress. Then he threw her over his shoulder and strode to the bed with her yelp of surprise echoing through the room. When he dropped her on the airy mattress and, one knee on the bed, hovered above her, Roxy’s every cell flashed hot. With his bright eyes unusually dark, he lowered down. His arm curled possessively around her head then, as a distant curlew cried through the night, he kissed her with more hunger and need than she’d ever dreamed could be possible.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A MASCULINE groan rumbling from beneath the daisy-print covers dragged Roxy from her dreams.
Blinking open her eyes, she smiled at the morning sunshine filling the large room, then smiled all the more as memories of that incredible ‘night before’ tumbled through her mind. Turning her head, she assessed the rounded shape that spanned the length of the cosy double bed, the handsome face cradled deep in the feather-down pillow. She had to bite her lip to contain the sigh. She’d actually done it … got over her angst and had sex with Nate Sparks, and in several highly orgasmic ways.
The time spent at that creek yesterday afternoon was something for the textbook. Her blood smouldered to even think of the way Nate had used his hands, his voice. His tongue. And then, last night, when they’d made love again, the fireworks had exploded higher. Brighter. She couldn’t believe that two people coming together could feel so much like … magic.
