‘Why do you care, anyway?’ He lifted a towel from the tray of his ute and patted his face and neck dry. That was when she saw the tattoo, beautifully positioned on his left bicep. A sword surrounded by a garland of snakes.
‘Because I’m more than capable of doing any part of this job. I don’t need backup.’ Before he could open his mouth, she barrelled on. ‘So whatever you’re working on it might be smart to keep me in the loop so we’re not double-handling.’
He slung the towel over his shoulder. ‘It doesn’t matter—I’m nearly done, anyhow.’ Dismissed. His imperious tone got right up her nose. Reminded her of another man. An older man.
‘Going back into hiding for another twelve months?’ She could have bitten her tongue off the moment the bitchy comment slipped out.
He shook his head. ‘Are you always this unpleasant?’ His words were as cool as the water evaporating off his skin. They just begged to be challenged.
She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t buy this whole brooding, damaged act, you know. I’m sure it does great things for your reputation in town but it’s been a couple of years—don’t you think it’s getting a little old?’
His eyes narrowed to slits. ‘So now you’re familiar with my past and all? That’s a bit like me saying your high-and-mighty act is getting tired.’
A needle stabbed through Romy’s chest. High and mighty? Why that hurt particularly, after everything she’d been called in life…Yet her voice was tight when she responded.
‘You’ll have to do better than that, McLeish. I’ve had every name under the sun thrown at me and survived it. I’m resistant to sticks and stones, too. Too many calluses.’
He blinked slowly and considered her. ‘By who?’
Whoa. How did they get here? She only wanted to call him on the extracurricular night-school activity. She backed off, fists clenched tight. ‘I have to get on with the fence. Excuse me.’
‘You were out here working?’
She pointed to the fence line silhouetted against the glare at the top of the hill and he followed her gaze sceptically. ‘Relax, McLeish. I’m not stalking you. Why would I? I hardly know you.’
His own words flung back at him, he smiled. ‘You know how to string a fence?’
The doubt in his voice got her blood racing. ‘You think you’re the only one who gets to be capable? What is it with you military types?’
His rebuttal was soft. ‘The question is, what is it with you and military types?’
She glared at him. ‘That is none of your beeswax.’
Good one, Romy, you sound all of twelve years old.
Ignoring the amused sparkle in his eye, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder and powered on up the hill, swishing at the flies the whole way.
‘Let me give you a hand with that.’ Clint appeared behind her and held out a pair of gloves.
Having assured herself with a quick glance that he was fully dressed now, Romy focused on the wire in her hands. ‘I don’t need help, thanks.’
‘I know you don’t, but I’d like to…’
She squinted into the open sincerity on his face and made to thank him. Then he went and ruined it.
‘…and I’m the boss, so what I say goes.’
She tightened a smile around the retort she was dying to spit and turned back to the torturous fence. She saw Clint flick a glance at her broken wire strainers on the ground and the arrangement she’d rigged up by proxy with a screwdriver twisted into the wire. Thanks to her angry yanking, the ratchet had broken at the crucial moment, leaving her to tighten four strands manually in century-plus heat. Every turn of the screwdriver pulled the wire that bit tighter but it was a hellish way to do it.
One strand had taken her twenty minutes.
‘Go ahead,’ she relented, standing carefully and letting him into her place.
He squatted at the fence line and spoke from under his Akubra hat, getting a feel for the wire. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
Romy hesitated. Something told her it wasn’t going to be about work. ‘Sure…’
He twisted, once, twice, and then he retested the wire. The strength in the contoured triceps emerging from the sleeves of his T-shirt was distracting. He gave it two more twists until he was satisfied, then he levered the screwdriver free and turned to look up at her.
‘Where’s Leighton’s father?’
She stared at him. She preferred the direct approach to Simone’s whispered speculation but she wasn’t entirely ready for the question, despite dreading it half her life. Every clever answer she’d ever imagined abandoned her.
‘I don’t know.’ That was as honest as she could be.
The beat-up Akubra tilted curiously and the flash of green was disconcerting. ‘Doesn’t he see his son?’
‘No.’ Again, short but true.
‘You don’t want to talk about it?’ He balanced on his haunches as though he could sit there all day.
Not with you. ‘I’m not used to talking about it.’
‘No-one’s ever wanted to know? I find that hard to believe.’
Romy kicked the dust at her feet. ‘Most people would think it was a rude question to actually verbalise.’
His hat lifted slightly with his eyebrows. Was that a blush creeping up his throat? Her mouth curved at the realisation it simply hadn’t occurred to him not to ask. The hint of humanity made her more inclined to answer.
‘He and I…parted ways a long time ago,’ she said.
The understatement of all time. The spectre of the Colonel loomed. Whore. Worse.
Clint studied her, then spoke quietly. ‘Does he know he has a son?’
Bang, right on the money. Instincts like that would have been wasted anywhere other than a specialist role. Commandos, maybe? Or Tactical Assault. She struggled to keep her anger in check as old hurts oozed up.
‘I doubt he even knew he’d had sex,’ she muttered grimly.
Those sea-green eyes flicked away for the barest of moments, then locked onto hers again. ‘Right. Next topic?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, please.’
And just like that it was over. She’d shared her shame with someone. The absolute last someone she would have expected to be opening up to but he hadn’t sneered or even judged her. There was nothing but compassion in those twin depths.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ she risked.
‘Maybe.’
She perked up. ‘What branch of the military were you in?’
‘If I told you I’d have to kill you.’ His laugh was only half joking.
‘Seriously…’
He looked at her, his voice tighter than the wire he was straining. ‘Does it matter?’
She kept her gaze steady. ‘No. But I’m curious.’
‘Don’t be.’
A big part of her wanted to smack that hat right off his head. But she reined it in. ‘Hey, I’ve just stripped myself naked for you. The least you could do is drop one article.’
Those