The Lawson Boys: Alex (14 page)

“You’d have to
be the first woman I know who isn’t interested in making a
fortune.” Leaning his hips back against the work table, Alex
studied her with interest.

“I’m
comfortable.” Lifting her chin, she waited for the inevitable ‘it’s
a waste of your talent’ speech.

It caught her
by surprise when Alex simply nodded.

“What?” she
asked with a touch of sarcasm. “No nagging?”

Lifting his
hands palm upwards in a universal sign of peace, he replied, “I’m
the last person to tell you not to do what you want.”

“You’re from a
business family.”

“So you expect
me to push.”

“Yes.”

Stepping away
from the table, Alex flashed her a sudden grin. “I’m the Army boy,
remember? I could have stayed with the family business and be
filthy rich, but I chose to tread my own path.” Drawing level with
her, he reached out unexpectedly and chucked her beneath the chin.
“Follow your own dreams, Harly, whatever they may be, however
exciting or comfortable. Live your own life how you wish, for it’s
all you ever really own.” He walked out into the hallway.

For several
minutes she stood in the silence of the sewing room, thinking about
what he’d said, his acceptance of her and her wishes, against the
well-meaning but very different views of her parents.

Looking around
the cluttered yet, to her, orderly room, she felt peace with
everything, every swath of material, the boxes and tables and
drawers, the sewing machines and overlocker, the working tools of a
dressmaker.

Yes, this was
her place. Her house. Her life and her choices.

Smiling, she
switched off the light and closed the door.

Going back into
the kitchen, she found Alex on the phone. Obviously it was working
again.

“I’m fine,
Becky,” he was saying as she entered. “I got here safely, don’t
fret.” There was silence on his end but she saw the amusement on
his face. “Yes Becky, I do owe you penance for taking off in the
storm, and that will be paid for in the form of washing your car
inside and out. And polishing it? Are you sure my sins were that
bad - oh, okay.”

Grinning, Harly
checked the pot of stew, giving it a quick stir before replacing
the lid.

“Coming home?”
Alex repeated. “I’m having dinner here, actually. Afterwards? Yes,
I’m coming back.”

Thunder boomed
overhead and the rain sounded harder on the roof. Harly looked at
Alex as he laughed into the phone again. Travel back to Paul’s in
the storm? In the dark? Not freakin’ likely. Acting on pure
instinct, she grabbed the phone off him and put it to her ear.
“Hey, Becky? It’s Harly. Listen, it’s thundering here and we need
to get off the phone, but don’t expect Alex back until morning if
the weather remains this bad, okay?”

“Thank God,”
Becky replied. “The man’s an idiot.”

“So I’ve told
him. Gotta go.”

“Wait!”

“Cripes, I’m
gonna get fried if I don’t hang up.”

“I just want to
know
where
he’s sleeping-”

There was a
muffled sound and then Paul came on. “You and Alex stay safe, and
ignore my wife and her dirty little mind. We’ll see Alex when we
see him. ‘Bye.”

Smiling, Harly
hung up the phone. No doubt Becky’s mind was working a mile a
minute and she’d be berating Paul for not digging for more
information.

Turning around,
she found Alex standing behind her, leaning against the bench on
one hip, his arms and ankles crossed and his gaze steady.

“I’m staying
here tonight, am I?” he asked quietly.

“You might be
idiot enough to drive around in this weather, but I’m not idiot
enough to allow it.” Folding her own arms, she arched an eyebrow at
him. “You’ll be sleeping in the guest room. Got a problem with
that?”

His gaze turned
searching. “Are you sure you’re okay with that, Harly?”

“I wouldn’t
offer if I wasn’t.”

“We’ve only
just met again. You trust me that much?”

She looked at
him, feeling the peace in the room, the comfort between them. It
was strange, she didn’t trust people easily, but with Alex she felt
totally safe. With Alex she had nothing to fear. Instinct, gut
feeling, her Guardian Angel telling her, she didn’t know, but she
knew the plain truth.

“Yeah,” she
replied. “I do.”

While his
sudden smile was unexpected, the softening of his eyes almost made
her knees weak. “Then I guess I’m on dish washing duty
tonight.”

Five

The spare room
was as old-fashioned as the rest of the house, with a few touches
of modern that didn’t detract from the homely, comfortable
atmosphere.

Lying in the
big bed, snug and warm between fleecy sheets and a thick doona,
Alex stroked Chuckie who laid in the curve of his arm beneath the
warm bed clothes. Obviously Chuckie trusted him as much as
Harly.

Harly.

She was
sleeping in the room across the hall. Gazing at the closed door to
the room he occupied, Alex could almost imagine her in her bed,
dressed in a warm winter nightie, her hair hanging over one
shoulder in a thick plait. He knew exactly what she wore because
he’d glimpsed her going to the bathroom while he was supposedly
getting ready for bed. Not having shut the door properly, he saw
her through the crack.

She’d cast one
slightly nervous glance at his door before disappearing into her
own room, shutting the door and enclosing Pepper, Buffy and Sunny
in there with her. By that time Chuckie had been firmly ensconced
under Alex’s bed covers and had no inclination to budge.

The fleecy
sheets were warm against his bare skin. Sleeping in his boxers was
something Alex did all the time, finding pyjamas restrictive. The
odd time in summer, back in his room at his parent’s house, he’d
slept in the nude. He wouldn’t be game to sleep in the nude in
summer here, though, a man had his manners. Actually, if it had
been summer, he’d be back at Paul’s house, lying in the single bed
and thinking about…

Harly.

Yeah, Harly.
For some reason she was in the back of his mind almost all the time
now. First the memory of her face had been thought of with anger,
but now it was different. The thought of Harly made him -

Restless, he
rolled onto his side.

Chuckie merely
shifted, turned and snugged his back against Alex’s before going
back to sleep.

Closing his
eyes, Alex tried to will himself to sleep but it wasn’t long before
he was staring into the darkness again.

The rain
continued to teem down outside, the wind picking up, and he was
glad that he’d braved the storm to check on Harly. Regardless of
how foolish it had been to go out in the wind and rain, even
travelling slowly so he could see his way on the roads, he’d needed
to know she was all right. The phones having gone out hadn’t done
anything for his peace of mind, and Becky pleading with him not to
go in the storm hadn’t deterred him at all. Paul hadn’t said
anything, just looked at him sort of…well, Paul-like, a mixture of
humour, disbelief and knowledge.

The thought
that Harly was out here all alone in a bad storm with no one able
to check on her safety had worried him. Yes, it had worried him, no
skirting around that issue. As the light rain had steadily turned
heavier, his niggling concern had turned to worry until finally he
could stand it no longer and he’d borrowed Paul’s rain coat and hit
the road in the trusty Jeep.

The relief he’d
felt on seeing Harly’s house with the light on in one window and
then her surprised face was undeniable, as was the little tendril
of relief that spiralled through him when she invited him to
dinner. In fact, he’d felt warmth go right through him when she’d
ordered him to stay, refusing to allow him to go back out into the
storm. That concern for his safety had…well, it was girly to say
it, but he could admit it to himself…it had made his insides turn a
little…mushy.

Thank God Marty
would never know that, he’d have rolled around screeching with
laughter until Alex would have been forced to punch him.

To be truthful,
he hadn’t wanted to leave and it had nothing to do with the storm.
The plain fact was he liked being in Harly’s’ company, which was
downright strange considering the history between them, the long
years of no contact, and the emotional upheaval the first night
they’d met.

Now here they
were having dinner together and spending time laughing and talking,
and then quietly watching TV in comfortable silence until Harly
finally made a move to go to bed.

Yeah, that was
the plain truth. Alex liked being in Harly’s company. There was
something about her, and it was more than just being a pretty woman
with a sense of humour. She brought a sense of peace to him, a
soothing caress on his mental -
shit
.
Do not go there.
It’s nothing to do with it. It’s over. Gone. Finished. Forget
it.
Closing his eyes, he forced the memory back.

It didn’t work
and finally, unable to sleep, he flicked on the little lamp by the
bedside, got out of the warm bed and padded out into the hallway
and down to the lounge. Earlier he’d noticed a big book case along
the back wall and he was sure Harly wouldn’t mind if he got a book
to read.

Perusing the
books, he found a mixture of genres. Romance, horror, true ghost
stories, history, thrillers and cosy mysteries. Picking out The
Shining by Stephen King, he decided it was just what he needed.
Relaxing, no. Diverting, yes.

Returning to
bed, he settled under the covers and leaned back against the
pillows. Chuckie hadn’t shifted, he noticed with amusement, and he
gave the mound under the cover an affectionate pat before opening
the book.

The hours
passed but the reading did the trick and finally he was struggling
to keep his eyes open. Dog-earring the corner automatically, he
closed the book, laid it on the bedside table, snuggled under the
covers and fell asleep.

Slowly, the
dream came upon him. Sand, the desert. Camouflage uniforms of
Australian soldiers, walking the roads, travelling in the army
vehicles along the dusty roads of Afghanistan. Getting the letter,
the feeling of doom, the face of his commanding officer, the doom,
Mark, so much sadness, so much unfairness, Mark, the denial. The
letter.

The denial.

The shock.

Mark
.

The letter.

The denial.

Mark
.

The commanding
officer’s face.

The letter. The
letter.
Letter
.
No no no-

“
No!
” He
jolted upright in bed, his cheeks wet with tears, hands trembling
as he fumbled for the lamp.

Gasping for
air, he thrust one hand through his hair, bending his knee to rest
his elbow upon it as he tried to grapple between the here and now,
and the dream. The past.

The damned
past.

Tears still
blurred his vision, the overwhelming sadness tightening his
throat.

“Alex?”

“I-I’m okay,”
he managed. “Just a - a dream. Go back to bed, Cindy.”

“Cindy?” The
bed dipped as his sister sat beside him. “I’m Harly, Alex.” A soft
hand touched his arm. “You’re not home. You’re at my place. It’s
Harly.”

“Harly?” Slowly
he swam up from the clinging dredges of the nightmare to see
her.

It was indeed
Harly sitting beside him, her plait over one shoulder and eyes soft
with both sleep and concern.

Reaching out,
she cupped his cheek, her concern growing as her thumb brushed
across a tear. “Alex? What’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” He
swiped one hand across his cheek, accidentally knocking her hand
aside. Instantly, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do
that.”

“I know.” Her
hand dropped to his shoulder, warm against his skin. “Talk to me,
Alex. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”
Gruffly, he cleared his throat, grief still holding him close in
the dark hours of the night. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stayed
here, I-”

“Don’t be
silly. You had a bad dream. It’s okay, we all get them.”

“Not many men
cry.” He laughed almost bitterly, embarrassment creeping through
him.
Way to show her how manly you are, Lawson
.

“Who’s
Mark?”

He froze.
“What?”

“Mark. You were
calling out his name.”

The lump in his
throat felt huge. He couldn’t even speak around it, all he could do
was swallow hard.

Harly’s eyes
were as gentle as her voice. “You can tell me, Alex. Sometimes it’s
good to talk about things.”

“I…”

She sat there,
her expression so caring. She was so…so safe.

In one movement
Alex swept her into his arms, holding her close and burying his
face in her neck, taking deep, shuddering breaths, inhaling deeply,
grounding himself in her scent and texture, all warmth and
softness.

Without a
seconds hesitation Harly’s arm went around his back, her other hand
lifting to tunnel into his hair, delivering soothing strokes to his
head as though he was a child. “It’s okay, Alex. Talk to me. Who is
Mark?”

The grief
overwhelmed him, pouring out, and then the words came tumbling over
each other, spilling out as fast as his grief did, finally released
from a wall he’d built five months before and cemented with
determination. It all crumbled and fell apart as he found himself
in the safe haven of Harly’s arms.

“Mark was my
best friend. He was killed in a fire-fight. His wife had just had a
baby.” And then Alex cried.

The months of
pent up emotion, grief and shock released in tears. As he cried
silently, Harly held him close, stroking his hair and just being
there, holding him, allowing him to cry on her shoulder.

He didn’t know
when he stopped, just that gradually he grew calmer, inhaling
Harly’s warm scent, slowly coming back to awareness. But even then
he was loath to let her go. Closing his eyes, he rested his chin on
her shoulder, relaxing under her soothing hand strokes.