She seemed to wilt a bit after that. The gastro had knocked her, he thought, or maybe it was simply life that had knocked her. A crazy mother and a promise to the father she’d adored … She’d faced it alone since she was twelve.
He bullied her into toast and soup. She sat by the fire and gazed into the flames and he thought he shouldn’t have let her out today. She should have stayed home by the fire. He should have stayed home with her.
I don’t want to be protected …
What else was a man to do?
‘Go to bed,’ he said gently, and she cast him a look he couldn’t understand.
‘I like it by the fire.’
‘You’re exhausted.’
‘Yes, but—
‘But you don’t sleep?’
‘I slept last night.’
‘Gastro would make anyone sleep. Is that why you signed up for night duty?’ he asked. ‘To keep the demons at bay?’
‘I don’t have demons.’
‘I think … living with your mother must be nigh on impossible.’
‘Like having your wife die? And the fear of facing that sort of tragedy again?’
‘I’m not afraid.’
‘I think you are. Wasn’t that what today was all about?’ She rose, a little unsteady on her feet, and he jumped up fast to steady her. He took her shoulders and held on.
He could draw her closer.
He didn’t. He simply held.
A common bond—two nightmares?
It was enough to forge a friendship. This could be touching from mutual sympathy—but it felt much more than that.
The fire crackled in the grate, a sort of warning. That was a dumb thought, but right now anything was acting as a warning.
He should let her go.
He couldn’t.
‘Maybe you could curl up here and watch the flames while you go to sleep,’ he suggested, and the tension around them escalated. Maybe he could stay here, too. The flames … the warmth … this woman.
He knew how this woman could make him feel. She could drive out his demons.
He couldn’t make her safe. He knew she wouldn’t let him.
‘I will go to bed,’ she said, and somehow she managed to step back from him.
‘Count mopokes to go to sleep?’ he suggested, and she smiled.
‘Or frogs?’
‘You don’t have enough fingers and toes to count frogs.’
She chuckled and the desire to draw her close again was almost irresistible.
She stepped back fast, as if she felt it too.
‘Goodnight,’ she said.
He couldn’t help it. He touched her hand, a feather-like touch, nothing more, but in that touch fire flared. It was contact that burned.
She tucked her hand behind her back. ‘Luke … no.’
‘No,’ he said, and let his own hand fall.
They were pretend lovers. Nothing more.
‘Goodnight,’ she said again, gently, and she walked out of the door, closing it after her.
He stood staring at the closed door. Thinking, How much courage would it take?
Too much.
He wasn’t tired. He headed out again, around the paddocks, following the line of the creek. How many times had he followed this route since Hannah had died?
It was different tonight. He was here because of Lily.
She touched such a chord … A woman keeping a promise at all costs. A woman of honour and intelligence and skill and laughter.
But …
The moment he’d seen her on Glenfiddich’s back, he’d been hit with the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to protect her …
She’d guessed right. She’d known that his fear had been all about Hannah.
He looked over toward his uncle’s house, where a solitary light burned on the veranda.
His uncle had learned the same hard lessons. He was like Luke.
They didn’t do relationships. Not now. Not ever.
LILY woke without the joy of the day before.
She could hear Luke moving downstairs. She heard Tom calling, dogs barking in the distance, and those dratted kookaburras.
Her stomach was cramping again. She’d talked to the doctor at home about the cramps. Tension, he’d said. Avoid stress.
Stress was sharing a house with a guy who was drop-dead gorgeous. Stress was playing pretend lovers with Luke.
She shouldn’t have come. This was a stupid deception, designed to protect a reputation she didn’t have and to add another level to Luke’s armour, but by coming here a layer of her own armour had peeled away.
This farm … these horses …
Luke.
Okay, there was the problem. She was feeling what she had no right to be feeling.
He was feeling it too, she thought, but …
But she’d seen his panic when she’d been on Glenfiddich, and his reaction had scared her. He’d yelled at her through fear. Shadows of a dead wife.
She was being dumb, she thought. This was an overreaction.
It was an overreaction because she was scared.
Because she was falling for Luke?
Maybe falling for anyone would be scary.
Growing up in her mother’s dramatic shadow, she’d never thought of romance. Of falling in love. Drama, emotion were to be avoided at all costs. She knew the devastation they caused and it wasn’t something she wanted.
Her relationship with Charlie had been like a comfortable pair of old socks. They’d been friends at school, they’d fallen into dating and they’d kept dating until suddenly Charlie had woken up one morning and realised he was heading for marriage with the daughter of the town tramp. When he’d cut her adrift she’d been hurt and angry, but she hadn’t been heartbroken. Sometimes when she looked at romantic movies, seen friends marry, she’d felt like that part of her had simply not been formed. She’d been born without it.
Now… What she felt for Luke.
It was as if she knew him at some level she couldn’t possibly understand.
She knew Luke’s story—between Gladys and the Harbour night shift she knew more than she’d ever need to know—but this went deeper than that. She’d instinctively joined the dots. Last night she’d said his fear for her was all about his dead wife and she knew it was. A lonely child, a tragic marriage … A man who walked alone.
He made her feel …
She didn’t know how he made her feel. She felt … She felt …
She felt like she had cramps