Kiwi Strong (New Zealand Ever After Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  “I don’t need Dettol,” he said. “I need a bit of soap and water. Stop it.”

  The dog, Xena, had been at his side all this time. Now, she whined, and Gray said, “See? Even the dog thinks you’re missing the point.”

  “I am not missing the point,” I said. “I’m triaging.”

  “Well, stop triaging, because I’m fine! Or I would be if you’d bloody listen.” He shoved the door shut and sank down onto the bench to take off his boots.

  I said, “I’m guessing those jeans weren’t ripped and muddy this morning, either. Why are you limping?”

  Matiu said, “I’ll get my bag.”

  Gray asked, as if I wasn’t even there, “Is that really a thing? Do doctors still carry those?”

  “Only ones who live with Olivia,” Matiu said. “My daughter. She’s five. Dettol required at a moment’s notice. Hi, by the way. Matiu Te Mana. I’d shake hands, but maybe not. Hang on.”

  He was out the door, and I breathed a sigh of relief that at least we’d have supplies and told Gray, “Come into my bedroom and take down your trousers.”

  “Excuse me?” he said. “We’ve only just met.”

  I sighed. “I want to check your knee.”

  “Daisy,” he said. “Listen to me. Listen closely. I am a rugby player. Well, I was. I’ve bashed my body every single day for most of my life. If it’s not dislocated or broken, it doesn’t hurt, and it doesn’t matter.”

  Florence Nightingale I was not, because now, I was crossing my arms and saying, “Excuse me? Who carried me out of the river? Did I make a fuss about that? No, I did not, even though I could have walked. I could easily have walked. But I recognized your need to care, or whatever, and I let you do it. Just like I need to care now.”

  Did he accept my gracious explanation? Of course not. “No,” he said, “I carried you because you needed carrying. You’d almost drowned. You were exhausted and hypothermic.” And then he ruined it by saying, “And because you’re you, and I’m me.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Because you’re the man.”

  “No,” he said, “because I’m the rugby player. You know how to do … medicine. Whatever. I know how to be hurt and keep going, and how to carry things. It’s not much, but it’s what I’ve got. What are you trying to do to me, woman? Here.” He offered his hand. “Open a vein. Just drain my life blood away, why don’t you.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed, and after a second, he grinned. And then he pulled me down into his lap, knocking me completely off balance, so I had to hold onto his shoulders, kissed my mouth in an almost-hard way that sent a jolt straight down my body, and murmured against my lips, “Pity bossy women seem to be my weakness. Also, I love adrenaline.” And kissed me again.

  I was so shocked, I couldn’t move. That had to be the reason. Or maybe not, because somehow, I had my hands in his hair and was asking, “Are you all right, though? Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” he said, and now, he was the one doing that smiling with his eyes. “But thanks for caring.”

  Fruitful said, “Daisy?”

  Oh. Gilead. I pushed off Gray’s lap and said, “I’m still treating you. So we’re clear.”

  “No worries,” he said. “I’m still expecting it.”

  Matiu came back inside carrying a sports bag, and my phone rang.

  Gray

  I hadn’t meant to do that.

  It had felt so good, though. I’d been exactly right. She was pick-up-able. And if she had her hands in your hair when you did it, when you were kissing her, when you were backing her up against the wall …

  She wasn’t a sparkler. That would be fireworks all the way.

  I had to stop thinking about it, because Matiu had come back into the house and was telling me, “Come sit in the kitchen where the light’s better, and I’ll check this out.”

  I did, trying to listen to Daisy’s half of her call. She’d taken it into the bedroom, but I could hear too much forced calm in her tone. If it was Gilead, I wanted to be the one talking. I had a pretty simple message for him. It centered around what I’d do to him if he turned up again. My palms were itching to grab the phone from her and do it. They were stinging a bit, because Matiu did have the Dettol out and was dabbing at them with about as much finesse as a team trainer—meaning not much at all—but they were itching, too.

  He looked up and said, “Daisy’d be more careful. She’s got a gentle touch. Pity you’ve got me instead. What happened?”

  “He broke into her place. I caught him at it.”

  “Surprised he could’ve got the better of you,” Matiu said.

  “Cheers,” I said. “Rub it in, why don’t you.”

  He laughed.

  This was brilliant. Not only had I not saved the day, but the brother-surrogate now thought I’d lost my step, too.

  A rush of feet on the stairs, and a freckled face peered over the railing at me. I recognized that look. Awe. Not about me, not really. About the dream.

  “Hi, mate,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “Hamish Cantwell,” he said shyly, coming the rest of the way down the stairs. “Are you really an All Black?”

  “I was,” I said, as Matiu transferred his attentions to my arms. “I was a Highlander as well, though. I’m thinking you may be a supporter.”

  A little black-and-white dog with a feathery tail had come down with him and was frisking around Xena, play-bowing and rising onto his hind legs like he was hoping for a wrestling match. Xena looked at him with tolerant bemusement, as if she couldn’t fathom ever being that undignified, then dropped to the floor at my feet, laid her head on her paws, and sighed.

  “The Highlanders are my very favorite,” the boy said. “Because they always wave to the crowd and things, like they’re saying thank you for coming to see them, and two of them are gingers like me, but nobody teases them. They’re good at rugby, but they’re nice. Buddy has a Highlanders collar besides his All Blacks one, too. Matiu and I have season tickets, so we can always go, except when they play somewhere else, and I have a jersey and a bobble hat and a flag and everything.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “What position do you play yourself?”

  He looked down the same way the girls did, then looked up again and said, “Midfielder?”

  “Really?” I said. “Me too. Or I did once. I’m a builder now.”

  “Matiu said so,” Hamish said. “Except that I think you must always feel most like a rugby player, because being an All Black is special.”

  “Yeh, mate,” I said. “It is. But other things are special, too. Being a builder’s pretty good.”

  “I guess,” Hamish said, sounding so doubtful, I had to smile.

  “Would you like to meet a few of the boys, next season?” I asked. “The fellas on the team?”

  Hamish got very, very still, and then he nodded and whispered, “Yes, please.” Then his eyes lit up, and he said, “And could my grandad Alistair meet them too? He likes the Highlanders the most of all, except sometimes he yells at the coach, but he wouldn’t yell if he met him in real life, I don’t think. Even though he sometimes yells anyway, so maybe if they didn’t win, it wouldn’t be as good for him to come.”

  I was laughing. I said, “I think I could arrange that. Get you a photo or two, if you like. And you could bring your Grandad along, but only if they manage the win, of course.”

  Matiu said, “You realize that you’re interfering with my unbiased opinion,” but he was smiling.

  “You could meet them too, maybe, Matiu,” Hamish said. “And Mum, too, even though she doesn’t like it as much as us. That’s because she’s pregnant,” he explained to me, “and you have to leave and go to the toilet all the time when you’re pregnant, which is heaps of work, because there’s a queue. Also, the seats aren’t comfortable, because you’re fatter.”

  All right. I laughed. The pretty, very pregnant redhead who’d been on the couch came into the kitchen holding a toddler by the hand, another ginger w
ith auburn curls and big green eyes, and said, “I resemble that remark. I’m Poppy, by the way. I’m going to get some plates out, because if we don’t get our skates on, that pizza’s going to meet nobody’s standard. Especially after you were so heroic, because—ouch. That’s got to sting.”

  I said, “Nah. Didn’t you hear me telling Daisy how tough I am? Trying not to cry, aren’t I. Preserving the image.”

  Matiu said, “Oh, I think the image is safe. I remember you as a player. You made a doctor wince. How’s the head these days?”

  “Not bad,” I said, but when Matiu looked up from his task and gave me that “Don’t-bullshit-the-trainer” stare, I added, “I get the odd migraine now and then.”

  “He does,” Fruitful said. She was on the couch again, and I twisted to look at her, suddenly remembering how she’d stepped back when I’d … well, yelled a bit.

  I said, “Not as many as I used to, fortunately. You look very pretty, Fruitful. New hair. New clothes. Different. Looks good.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Matiu smeared antibiotic ointment on my arms and started taping gauze down over the worst of the scrapes. He said, “You’ll need a plaster on this spot on your hand, keep it from getting infected. I can offer you …” He pulled out a ziplock bag. “Marvel superheroes or some blond Disney princess.”

  “Elsa,” Hamish said. “I know,” he explained to me, “because Olivia watches it over and over. And then she sings the song. All the time.”

  “Shh,” Matiu said with a grin, “or she’ll be doing it now.” He told me, “Olivia’s under the misapprehension that she’s been hiding her light under a bushel thus far, and must now express herself. It can be a noisy house.” He fastened a plaster onto my palm. “You get Thor. Very heroic. Very manly.”

  I was aware of Fruitful, still in her chair, still saying nothing. I said, “Wait a second, will you? Fruitful’s wondering about Gilead, and I need to explain.” I needed to be sitting beside her for that, though. Beside her and Daisy. Where was Daisy?

  I was thinking it, and then Daisy was in the room, her face composed, her expression shut down. She asked, “How’re you going with that, Matiu? Want me to take over?”

  “Nah,” he said, bundling up the squares of kitchen towel he’d used to collect the many squares of gauze with which he’d been cleaning me up and chucking them in the rubbish, then putting the cap on the Dettol and going to wash his hands. “That should do him. You can check his knee, though.”

  Daisy said, “May I talk to you, Gray? The rest of you should eat. Sorry it got late. Uh … need help finding things, Poppy?”

  “No worries,” Poppy said. “We’re all good. Do what you need to do. Hamish, go tell Obedience and Olivia that it’s time for pizza, so please wash hands.”

  I told Daisy, “Hang on. Don’t you think Fruitful should hear this as well?”

  “Oh.” I could see it hadn’t even occurred to her. “Yes. Obviously.”

  Fruitful said, “Obedience needs to hear, too.”

  Obedience came down the stairs in time for that. Her hair was cut shorter as well, and she, like Fruitful, was wearing trousers. “Hear what?” she asked.

  “Right,” Daisy said. “Well …” She lifted her hands and let them fall again. “I guess we’ll just … eat pizza and talk, then.”

  “Good,” I said. “Because I need to know what your phone call was about, and then we need to make a plan.”

  30

  Puzzle Pieces

  Daisy

  I said, “Excuse me?” again. I felt like I’d been saying it ever since I’d met Gray. He was kind, yes. He also seemed to think he was responsible for the entire world. To say I wasn’t used to that would be an understatement.

  He’d also kissed me. Twice. While I’d been in his lap. And it hadn’t been the way he’d kiss his sister.

  And I hadn’t frozen, even though he’d grabbed me.

  Why not?

  Just now, though, Fruitful was looking anxious, and anyway, there was too much to do. Gray found books and cushions for kid-boosting on chairs, and Matiu and Poppy got the kids set up with pizza at the table, after which Poppy sighed and said, “I’m volunteering for child duty. Heroically. Only because Matiu’s probably more use in this situation, advice-wise. And because nobody has to feel bad about telling Matiu anything, because he’s already heard and seen it all and can’t be shocked, and he knows heaps more about the law than I do, too. But Matiu, please don’t forget anything, because I have to know.”

  Matiu said, “And after all that—I don’t have to be part of this if you don’t want me to, Fruitful. And Daisy. Your choice.”

  Fruitful looked at me, and I said, “Your choice, love.”

  “He can listen,” Fruitful said. “I mean, I don’t know how things work Outside, and you all do. Plus you’re men, so maybe you know how men think. How to get a man to leave you alone.”

  Gray said, “I know how I want to do it. But come on. Let’s sit down and eat.”

  We sat around the couch and got stuck into the pizzas. The girls were tentative at first. Eating pizza on the couch with your fingers, on a plate you held in your lap, was yet another brand-new revelation, but either they were hungry, they liked pizza, or they wanted to go along with the group, because they ate. No extravagant wine this time, unfortunately, because I had to work tonight. Pity. I could’ve used a little liquid courage. I said, “That was my landlord. He was confused about the window I’d broken.”

  Gray looked up, his face alert. I said, “He went to the flat, and there was no broken window. I guess that was you, Gray.”

  “It was,” he said.

  “So he wondered,” I went on, “why my brother had rung to apologize for breaking it, and to make arrangements to pay for the damage. And he wondered more why my brother told him that women like me tended to be careless. He said he asked him, ‘Nurses? I hope not, mate, because I’ve got a bad ticker. That’s not a thought I want to take with me when the ambos are wheeling me into Emergency, with my heart shutting down and all. Students, now—students, I’ll grant you.’ And my brother said, ‘Not nurses so much. Women like Daisy. She doesn’t have the best track record, does she?’ And my landlord—Clive Forster, his name is—said, ‘What’s your name, then, mate?’ And the caller hung up. After which he went and checked the window, and then he rang me, because, he said, it was an odd thing for a brother to do. After which I explained to him that he was my ex, just trying to cause trouble, and, yes, I’d cracked the window—I had to say something, in case somebody else had noticed it was broken—but I’d had it replaced. And he didn’t say, of course, that next time I should ring him and he’d do it, because as you’ve seen, he’s not a prince among landlords. Though I’m feeling a bit kinder toward him now. I wish he hadn’t said the thing about nurses and Emergency, though.”

  Matiu said, “Ring Security before your shift tonight. Have them escort you to and from your car for now, until we get this sorted.”

  Gray said, “He must’ve seen something when he was in the flat. Paperwork. I interrupted him, but he must’ve had time to find that.”

  “The tenancy agreement was in a basket on my desk, I think,” I said, trying not to shiver. The thought of Gilead in my flat, his hands on my things … He was gone from my life. He was gone.

  Not anymore. Who else could it have been? Who else would’ve cared that much?

  “What else would he have found?” Gray said. “Pay records? Income tax?”

  “No,” I said. “Well, not as easily. I’ll have to check. How much did you look around, Gray?”

  “Not much at all,” he said. “No mess in the lounge, though. Somebody like that—I’d think he’d have scattered things around more. Made a mess.”

  Matiu nodded and said, “Yeh. It’s all about power with that kind of bloke.”

  “How do you know it was him?” I asked. “How could it be him?”

  Gray said, “Who else would call your landlord and try to ge
t that information? It’s him, or it’s somebody else from Mount Zion. It wasn’t your father. I saw your father, and besides, this bloke was about my age.”

  Fruitful said, “But how would he know? And he looks like … what Daisy said. Medium height, I guess. Not as tall as you, Gray, or as big. His shoulders, I mean. And his face is a bit … I don’t know. Not quite handsome. He has dark eyes and long black eyelashes that curl. His eyes make you think he’s romantic. But otherwise—he’s medium. So it could have been him, or it could have been somebody else, right? Even a … a burglar, maybe.”

  Gray said, “I don’t think so. I didn’t notice the lashes, but otherwise? Sounds like our bloke. Also, he was wearing brown trousers and a white shirt, and his hair wasn’t … modern. Cut a bit oddly.”

  “Oh,” Fruitful said, and sort of shrank into herself.

  Gray asked me, “Who knew your address?”

  “Dorian. But I thought of that. I rang him. He said, of course not. Of course he never would.”

  “Did you believe him?” Gray asked.

  “Of course,” I said. “He’s my twin.”

  We all looked at each other. Gray said slowly, “Only one way I can think of, then. If he was—or if Mount Zion was—tracking the girls somehow. But if he was doing that, he wouldn’t be going to your flat. He’d be coming here.”

  Gray

  Daisy said, “Wait.”

  She held up a hand like a traffic cop, her black brows drawn down in concentration, and stared into the distance. Her feet were up on the coffee table. They were small, high-arched, and finely made, and the nails were varnished in a pale blue, delicate as anything. Those feet were sexy as hell, and I lost my focus for a minute.

  She glanced at me and said, “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Distracted by your interesting toenails.”

  She said, “Oh. Well, have a look, I guess, because I’m getting them changed tomorrow afternoon, when we go to the salon. Never mind.”