Runaway Wife

“Right. You stay here and soak up the healing sunlight. I’ll get the sandwiches and some coffee. Black or white?”

She considered sweetly. “Cappuccino, if they have it.”

“Look, you can have a cappuccino, a latte, a mini-cino, a Vienna, a short black, a long black—”

“Thank you. I get the message.” She smiled. It was the most incredible thing to be at peace with a man. For all his height and breadth of shoulder, the dark smoulder, he was surprisingly easy to warm to.

“Won’t be long.” He strode away, glimpsing the town sticky beak, Ruby Hall, peeking through the window of the general store.

He lifted a sardonic hand to wave, but instead of waving back she unsuctioned her nose from the glass.

Dr Sarah Dempsey had come a long way from when she was a girl helping her widowed mother run the store, he thought. After Sarah had left town, Ruby assisted Muriel part-time, inundating everyone who went into the store—which was just about the whole town—with suggestive little questions designed to translate in to hot gossip.

Ruby Hall, nosy parker, really should be stopped, he thought—not for the first time. What she didn’t know she made up.

He had attended Mrs Dempsey’s funeral—as had most of the town—and shortly after that Sarah had taken over at the hospital from its long-time resident Dr Joe Randall, who had died of cancer at Wunnamurra homestead, stronghold of the McQueen pioneering family, one of the most powerful landed families in the country.

Now Sarah was shortly to marry Kyall, the heir, as good a man as any woman was likely to get. If his new neighbour had Sarah Dempsey for a friend she had made the right connection.

They sat in rustic wooden chairs beside a bench in the shade of flowering orchid trees and a grove of ancient white gums. White gums flanked the curving banks of the creek, the iridescent green water eddying around small boulders that dotted the stream.

“The stream is the colour of your eyes,” he pointed out casually. “A sparkling green.”

What a voice he had! Deep, warm, sexy, with that interesting little cutting edge. He even had a slight foreign accent, or was she imagining it?

“It’s lovely here,” she said happily, incredibly comforted by his presence and the fête-like atmosphere of the town centre. “And to top it off these sandwiches are delicious. Fresh bread, lovely thick ham, just enough lettuce, whole-grain mustard. Perfect.” With a total stranger she felt safe.

“Don’t forget your cappuccino. It’s not terribly good, I’m afraid. I can do better.” He reached out a long arm to position it nearer her. “And there’s a couple of little cakes.”

“One each?”

“They’re for you. You seem a tad underweight.”

“No doubt because—” She stopped abruptly. She was being seduced by sun and water, the sweetly melancholy song of the magpies, the joyous shrieks of children, and most of all by this big, mesmerizing man who seemed familiar in the deep recesses of her mind.

“You weren’t having lots of fun?” He followed up with a question.

“No.” She felt a momentary chill as the past brushed up against her.

“What do you intend to do with yourself while you’re here?” he asked, his tone brisk.

“Do with myself?” Her voice was startled. “As a matter of fact I haven’t thought that far. It’s enough to be here.”

“You’ve got yourself in a state if you had to disappear.”

Her eyelashes quivered. “A breathing space. No more.”

“I see.” He exuded disbelief.

“Sarah has been marvellous to me. I’ve been staying with her until I find a place.”

“What? In the haunted house? Lucky old you!” His laugh rumbled deep in his chest.

“I’d only been in town ten seconds before I heard about it. But ghosts don’t frighten me as much as real people.”

He spun his head to stare at her, the dappled shade highlighting his broad, darkly tanned, handsome face. All he needed was a gold earring and he’d be perfect as a swash-buckling pirate. “Let’s get this straight. Your boyfriend was frightening you?”

It was evident he’d never considered for a moment she was married. Did she look so young and inexperienced when she had known such terrible turbulence? “Ye gods! I didn’t say that.”

“Ye gods?” he gently jeered. “Where did you dig that out? I haven’t heard that for years.”

“My father used to say it.” A sad expression came into her eyes. “He was killed in a car crash when I was eighteen. I adored him.”

He nodded, never very far from his own grief. “I miss my father terribly. We were very close.” He looked away to where a large flock of pink and grey galahs were busily picking over the grass seeds.

“He died?” she said gently.

“Also in a car.” He didn’t add that he had been murdered by terrorists Evan’s own lover had put in motion.

“Are you an only child?” She tried to picture him as a boy. Couldn’t. He was so adult. So big. So commanding—even in a short-sleeved blue cotton shirt and jeans, boots on his feet. He made her feel like a doll.

“Like you? Continue the inspection,” he invited dryly. “I’m used to being looked over.”

She blushed. “You mean by the women of the town?” She heard about this, and understood now she’d meet the high level of feminine interest.

“Women are always looking for a mate,” he said, a smile flitting around his handsome mouth.

“But you don’t need one.” He seemed enormously self-reliant.

He was silent a while. “Of course I need one. But I have to get my life back together before then.”

“Your experiences have affected you deeply?”

“Things I don’t want to talk about, Laura.” Killing fields. Unimaginable brutality.

“So I’ve learned a lot and yet nothing about you.”

“Same here. But you’re such a clever thing I’m surprised you can’t read my mind.”

“I’m doing my best. Do you like music?” she digressed. “Or do you merely pretend? No, you wouldn’t pretend, would you?”

“It’s never struck me to pretend about such a thing.”

“But about other things?”

“We’ve all got secrets, Laura. Some people have nightmares.”

Like me. Laura closed her eyes and knocked a hand to her breast.