Her Knight in the Outback (6 page)

He held the helmet out again.

‘You'll slow the moment I ask?' she breathed.

‘Cross my heart.'

Yeah, not really selling it. Everyone knew what came after that line...

But it was only when she was about to lower her hand away from the helmet that she realised she'd even raised it. What was she going to do, live in fear of motorbikes for the rest of her life? No one was even sure what had caused her mother's accident—even Trav, after he'd come out of the coma, couldn't shed much light. Tragic accident. Could have happened to anyone. That was the final verdict.

‘You'll drive safely?'

Come on, Read, suck it up
.

Sincerity blazed in his solemn grey gaze. ‘I'll be a model of conservatism.'

How long had it been since she'd done something outside of the box? Or taken any kind of risk? She used to be edgy, back before life got so very serious and she took responsibility for Travis. And her risks had almost always paid off. That was part of the thrill.

Hadn't she once been known for that?

Here was a gorgeous man offering to wrap her around him for a little bit. And the price—a bit of reckless speed.

It had been years since she'd done something reckless. Maybe it would be good for her.

She took a deep breath and curled her fingers around the helmet's chin strap.

* * *

The KTM hit a breath-stealing speed in about the same time it took her to brave opening her eyes. The road whizzed below them in such a blur it was like riding on liquid mercury.

At least that was how it felt.

She immediately remembered the excitement of riding behind her mother, but her mother's bike had never purred like this one. And it had never glued itself to the road like the tyres on this one.

Maybe if it had, all their lives would have been very different now.

She pressed herself more fully into Marshall's hard back and practically punched her fingertips through his leather jacket from clenching it so hard.

‘Is this top speed?' she yelled forward to him.

His hair whipped around above her face as he shook his head and shouted back. ‘We're only doing seventy kilometres.'

‘Don't go any faster,' she called.

She hated the vulnerable note in her voice, but she hated more the thought of hitting the dirt at this kind of speed. In Travis's case it had been trees but she felt fairly certain that you didn't need trees to be pretty badly injured on a bike.

Marshall turned his face half back to her and smiled beneath his protective sunglasses, nodding once. She'd just have to trust those teeth.

The roads of the national park were long and straight and the bike sat atop them beautifully so, after a few tense minutes, Eve let her death grip on his jacket ease slightly and crept them back to rest on Marshall's hips instead. Still firm, but the blood was able to leach back into her knuckles.

For a death machine he handled it pretty well.

Ahead, the road bent around a monolithic chunk of rock and he eased off the gas to pass it carefully. The bike's lean felt extreme to her and her grasp on his leather jacket completely insufficient, so her fingers found their way under it and hooked onto the eyelets of his jeans.

A few paltry sweatshop stitches were the only thing between her and certain doom.

While the engine was eased, Marshall took the opportunity to call back to her, half turning, ‘Doing okay?'

Eyes front, mister!

‘Stop staring down,' he shouted. ‘Look around you.'

She let her eyes flutter upwards as he turned his attention back to the oncoming road. The entire park was bathed in the golden glow of afternoon light, the many different textures changing the way the light reflected and creating the golden equivalent of the ocean. So many different shades.

And—bonus—the speed didn't seem anywhere near as scary as staring down at the asphalt.

It was almost like being in the Bedford. Sans life-saving steel exoskeleton.

She didn't want to look like a complete wuss, and so Eve did her best to ease herself back from where her body had practically fused with his. The problem with that was as soon as he changed up gears, she brushed, breasts first, against his back. And then again.

And again, as he shifted up into fourth.

Okay, now he was just messing with her. She was having a difficult enough reaction to all that leather without adding to the crisis by torturing her own flesh. Leaning into him might be more intimate, but it felt far less gratuitous and so she snuggled forward again, widening her legs to fit more snugly around his. Probably not how a passenger was supposed to ride—the fact her bottom had left the pillion seat in favour of sharing his leathery saddle proved that—but that was how it was going to be for her first ever big boy's motorcycle experience.

And if he didn't like it he could pull over.

Minutes whizzed by and she grew captivated by the long stretches of tufted grass to her left, the parched, salt-crusted trees and coastal heath to her right and the limestone outcrops that practically glowed in the late-afternoon light. So much so that, when Marshall finally pulled them to a halt at a lookout point, she realised she'd forgotten all about the speed. Her pulse was up, her exposed skin was flushed pink and her breath was pleasantly choppy.

But she hadn't died.

And she wasn't ready for it to be over.

‘I can see why she—why
you
like this,' she puffed, lifting the visor on her helmet and leaning around him. ‘It's a great way to see the country.'

‘Are you comfortable?'

His innocuous words immediately reminded her of how close she was pressed against him—wrapped around him, really—and she immediately went to correct that.

‘Stay put,' he cautioned. ‘We're about to head back.'

She leaned with him as he turned the bike in a big arc on an old salt flat and then bumped back onto the tarmac. As if she'd been doing this forever. And, as he roared back up to speed, she realised how very much in the
now
she'd been. Just her, Marshall, the road, the wind and the national park.

No past. No future. No accidents. No inquests. No Travis.

And how nice that moment of psychological respite was.

The light was totally different heading back. Less golden. More orange. And fading fast. He accessed a fifth gear that he'd spared her on the first leg and even still, when he pulled back in near the bus, the sun was almost gone. She straightened cold-stiffened limbs and pulled off his helmet.

‘How was that?' he asked, way more interest in his eyes than a courtesy question. He kicked the stand into position and leaned the bike into the solid embrace of the earth.

‘Amazing.'

The word formed a tiny breath cloud in the cool evening air and it was only then she realised how cold she was. The sun's warmth sure departed fast in this part of the country.

He followed her back towards the bus. ‘You took a bit to loosen up.'

‘Considering how terrified I was, I don't think I did too badly.'

‘Not badly at all. I felt the moment when the fear left your body.'

The thought that she'd been pressed closely enough to him to be telegraphing any kind of emotion caused a rush of heat that she was very glad it was too dim for him to see. But he stepped ahead of her and opened the back of the Bedford and caught the last vestiges of her flush.

‘How are you feeling now about motorcycles?'

His body blocked the step up into the bus and so she had no choice but to brush past him as she pulled herself up.

‘It's still a death trap,' she said, looking back down at him. ‘But not entirely without redeeming qualities.'

Not unlike its owner, really.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I
WAS
THINKING
of steak and salad for dinner,' Eve said, returning from her little bedroom newly clad in a sweater to take the edge off the cool coastal night.

Lord, how domestic. And utterly foreign.

‘You don't need to cook for me, Eve. I ate up big at lunchtime in anticipation.'

‘I was there, remember? And while it certainly was big you probably burned it all off with that epic swim earlier.'

And Lord knew, between the lusting and the fearing for her life, she'd just burnt all hers off, too.

Preparing food felt natural; she'd been doing it for Travis for so many years. Moreover, it gave her something constructive and normal to do for thirty minutes, but Marshall wasn't so lucky. He hovered, hopelessly. After the comparative intimacy of the bike ride, it seemed ludicrous to be uncomfortable about sharing a simple meal. But he was, a little.

And so was she. A lot.

‘Here.' She slid him a bottle opener across the raw timber counter of the Bedford's compact little kitchen. ‘Make yourself useful.'

She nodded to a small cabinet above the built-in television and, when he opened it, his eyebrows lifted at the contents. ‘I thought you didn't drink?'

That rattled a chuckle from her tight chest.

‘Not in bars—' with men she didn't know, and given her familial history ‘—but I like to sample the local wines as I move around.'

She brought her solitary wineglass out from under the bench, then added a coffee mug next to it. The best she could do.

‘You take the glass,' she offered.

He took both, in fact, poured two generous servings of red and slid the wineglass back her way. ‘I guess you don't entertain much?'

‘Not really out here for the social life,' she said. But then she relented. ‘I did have a second glass once but I have no idea where it's gone. So it's the coffee mug or it's my toothbrush glass.'

And didn't that sound pathetic.

‘You're going to need another storage cupboard,' he murmured, bringing the mug back from his lips and licking the final drops off, much to her sudden fascination. ‘We're headed for serious wine country.'

‘Maybe I just need to drink faster.'

He chuckled and saluted her with the mug. ‘Amen to that.'

What was it about a communal glass of vino that instantly broke down the awkwardness barrier? He'd only had one sip and she'd had none, yet, so it wasn't the effects of the alcohol. Just something about popping a cork and swilling a good red around in your glass—or coffee mug—the great equaliser.

Maybe that was how her mother had begun. Social and pleasant. Until one day she woke up and it wasn't social any more. Or pleasant.

‘So tell me,' Eve started, continuing with her food prep, ‘did you have much competition for half a year in the bush checking on weather stations?'

He smiled and leaned across to relieve her of the chopping knife and vegetables from the fridge. ‘I did not.'

It was too easy to respond to that gentle smile. To let her curiosity have wings. To tease. ‘Can't imagine why not. Why did you accept it?'

‘Travel the country, fully paid. What's not to love?'

‘Being away from your friends and family?'

Being away from your girlfriend.
She concentrated hard to keep her eyes from dropping to the bottom of the biceps dagger that peeked out from under his sleeve.

‘Not all families benefit from being in each other's faces,' he said, a little tightly.

She stopped and regarded him. ‘Speaking from experience?'

Grey eyes flicked to hers.

‘Maybe. Don't tell me,' he nudged. ‘You have the perfect parents.'

Oh...so far from the truth it was almost laughable. The steaks chuckled for her as she flipped them. ‘Parent singular. Dad.'

He regarded her closely. ‘You lost your mum?'

‘Final year of school.'

‘I'm sorry. New subject?'

‘No. It's a long time ago now. It's okay.'

‘Want to talk about it?'

Sometimes, desperately. Sometimes when she sat all alone in this little bus that felt so big she just wished she had someone sitting there with her that she could spill it all to. Someone to help her make sense of everything that had happened. Because she still barely understood it.

‘Not much to talk about. She was in an accident. Travis was lucky to survive it.'

His fathomless gaze grew deeper. Full of sympathy. ‘Car crash?'

Here it came...

‘Motorbike, actually.'

His eyes flared and he spun more fully towards her. ‘Why didn't you say, Eve?'

‘I'm saying now.'

‘Before I press-ganged you into taking a ride with me,' he gritted, leaning over the counter.

‘I could have said no. At any time. I'm not made of jelly.' Except when Marshall smiled at her a certain way. Then anyone would be forgiven for thinking so.

‘I never would have—'

‘It wasn't the bike's fault. It's good for me to remember that.'

He took a long, slow breath and Eve distracted herself poking the steaks.

‘A 250cc, you said. Not your usual family wagon.'

‘Oh, we had one of those, too. But she got her motorcycle licence not long after having Travis.' Like some kind of statement. ‘She rode it whenever she didn't have us with her.'

Which was often in those last five years.

‘I think it was her way of fighting suburbia,' she murmured.

Or reality, maybe.

‘But she had your brother with her that day?' Then, ‘Are you okay to talk about this?'

Surprisingly, she was. Maybe because Marshall was a fellow motorbike fanatic. It somehow felt okay for him to know.

‘Yeah—' she sighed ‘—she did. Trav loved her bike. He couldn't wait to get his bike permit. I think she was going to give him the Kawasaki. He'd started to learn.'

‘How old was he when it happened?'

‘Fourteen.'

‘Five years between you. That's a biggish gap.'

‘Thank God for it. Not sure I could have handled any of it if I'd been younger.'

It was hard enough as it was.

It was only when Marshall's voice murmured, soft and low, over her shoulder and he reached past her to turn off the gas to the steaks that she realised how long she'd been standing there mute. Her skin tingled at his closeness.

‘New subject?'

‘No. I'm happy to talk about my family. I just forget sometimes...'

‘Forget what?'

Sorrow washed through her. ‘That my family's different now. That it's just me and Dad.'

‘You say that like...'

Her eyes lifted. ‘That's the reality. If Trav is missing by force, then he's not coming back. And if he's missing by choice...'

Then he's not coming back
.

Either way, her already truncated family had shrunk by one more.

‘You really believe he could be out here somewhere, just...lying low?'

‘I have to believe that. That he's hurting. Confused. Off his meds. Maybe he doesn't think he'd be welcome back after leaving like he did. I want him to know we want him back no matter what.'

Marshall's head bobbed slowly. ‘No case to answer? For the distress he's caused?'

Her hand fell still on the spatula. For the longest time, the only sound came from the low-burn frying pan. But, eventually, her thoughts collected into something coherent.

‘I ask myself is there anything he could do that would make me not want to have him back with us and the answer is no. So giving him grief for what he did, or why he did it, or the manner in which he did it... It has no purpose. I just want him to walk back in that door and scuff the wall with his school bag and start demanding food. The
what
,
why
and
how
is just not relevant.'

Intelligent eyes glanced from her still fingers to her face. ‘It's relevant to you.'

‘But it's not important. In the scheme of things.'

Besides, she already had a fairly good idea of the
why
. Travis's escalating anxiety and depression seemed blazingly obvious in hindsight, even if she hadn't seen it at the time. Because she hadn't been paying attention. She'd been far too busy shrugging off her substitute mother apron.

Thinking about herself.

She poked at the steak again and delicious juices ran from it and added to the noise in the pan. She lifted her wineglass with her free hand and emptied a bit into the pan. Then she took a generous swig and changed the subject.

‘So, who is Christine?'

No-man's-land the last time they spoke, but they weren't spending the night under the same roof then. They barely knew each other then.

We barely know each other now!
a tiny voice reminded her.

But they did. Maybe not a heap of details, but they knew each other's names and interests and purpose. She'd seen him half naked striding out of the surf, and she'd pressed up against him a grand total of two times now and had a different kind of glimpse at the kind of man he was under all the leather and facial hair. He struck her as...safe.

And sometimes safe was enough.

But right now
safe
didn't look entirely happy at her words. Though he still answered.

‘Was,' he clarified. ‘Christine was my girlfriend.'

Clang.
The pan hit the stovetop at his use of the past tense. There was the answer to a question she didn't know she'd been dying to ask. Unexpected butterflies took flight deep in her gut and she busied herself with a second go at moving the frying pan off the heat.

‘Recent?'

His strong lips pursed briefly as he considered answering. Or not answering. ‘Long time ago.'

Yeah, the ink didn't look new, come to think of it. Unlike the one she'd seen under his biceps.

Which meant he could still be someone else's hairy biker type. That she was having a quiet steak with. Under a gem-filled sky. Miles from anywhere. After a blood-thrilling and skin-tingling motorbike ride...

She shook the thoughts free. ‘Childhood sweetheart?'

Tension pumped off him. ‘Something like that.'

And suddenly she disliked Christine intensely. ‘I'm sorry.'

He shrugged. ‘Not your doing.'

She studied the tight lines at the corner of his mouth. The mouth she'd not been able to stop looking at since he'd shaved and revealed it. Tonight was no different. ‘So...there's no Christine now? I mean someone like Christine?'

His eyes found hers. ‘You asking if I'm single?'

‘Just making conversation. I figured not, since you were on a pilgrimage around the country.'

‘It's my job, Eve. Not everyone out here is on some kind of odyssey.'

That stung as much as the sea salt she'd accidentally rubbed in her eye earlier. Because of the judgment those words contained. And the truth. And because they came from him.

But he looked contrite the moment they fell off his lips.

‘You don't like talking about her, I take it?' she murmured.

He shook his head but it was no denial.

‘Fair enough.' Then she nodded at his arm. ‘You might want to get that altered though.'

The tension left his face and a couple of tiny smile lines peeked out the corners of his eyes. ‘I couldn't have picked someone with a shorter name, huh? Like Ann. Or Lucy.'

Yep. Christine sure was a long word to tattoo over.

‘It's pretty florid, too. A dagger?'

The smile turned into a laugh. ‘We were seventeen and in love. And I fancied myself for a bit of a tough guy. What can I say?'

Eve threw some dressing on the salad and gave it a quick toss.

‘She got a matching one I hope?'

‘Hers just said
Amore
. Multi-purpose.'

‘
Pfff.
Non-committal. That should have been your first warning.'

She added a steak to each of their plates.

‘With good reason, it turns out.'

‘Christine sucked?'

That earned her a chuckle. She loved the rich, warm sound because it came from so deep in his chest. ‘No, she didn't. Or I wouldn't have fallen for her.'

‘That's very charitable.'

He waved his coffee mug. ‘I'm a generous guy.'

‘So...I'm confused,' she started. ‘You don't want to talk about her, but you don't hold it against her?'

‘It's not really about Christine,' he hedged.

‘What isn't?' And then, when he didn't respond, ‘The awkward silence?'

‘How many people end up with their first love, really?'

She wouldn't know. She hadn't had time for love while she was busy raising her family. Or since. More's the pity.

‘So where did she end up?'

The look he gave her was enigmatic. But also appraising. And kind of stirring. ‘Not important.'

‘You're very complicated, Marshall Sullivan.'

His smile crept back. ‘Thank you.'

Eve leaned across the counter and lifted the hem of his sleeve with two fingers to have a good look at the design. Her fingertips brushed the smooth strength of his warm biceps and tingled where they travelled.

She cleared her throat. ‘Maybe you could change it to
pristine
, like the ocean? That way, you only have to rework the first two letters.'

Three creases formed across his brow as he looked down. ‘That could actually work...'

‘Or
Sistine
, like the chapel.'

‘Or
intestine
, like the pain I get from smelling that steak and not eating it.'

They loaded their plates up with fresh salad and both tucked in.

‘This is really good.'

‘That surprises you?'

‘I didn't pick you as a cook.'