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CHAPTER TWO
NIGHTS were the worst for Jude. During the day, he could keep his thoughts under control and he wouldn’t allow himself to worry. At night, however, the shadowy fears returned to haunt him, jumping out to snare him when he was almost asleep, or sneaking by the back door, sliding into his dreams.
Tonight, he came awake, shaking and drenched in a cold sweat, and he sat up quickly, hating the fact that waking brought very little comfort. His real life was almost as frightening as his dreams. His increasingly frequent headaches pointed to something serious, especially as lately his vision had begun to blur at the edges.
Alone at night, with no distractions, he found it so much harder to stop himself from worrying. This damn problem was dominating his life right now—even though he tried to hide it as best he could. All his life he’d viewed any illness as weakness—a bad habit he’d no doubt learned from his father, who’d never had any sympathy for their childhood illnesses. Measles, flu, grazed knees … his dad had always made his irritation very apparent.
Once, when Jude was about ten, he’d broken his leg playing football.
‘This will be a test of your manhood,’ his father had said. ‘Nobody likes a whinger.’
It was a message Jude had taken to heart.
Now, he noted the time—three-thirty a.m.—which wasn’t too bad. He’d already had several hours’ sleep, and he only had to manage for a few more hours before it would be daylight again.
Rolling over, he closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, but in the perfect stillness he heard noises coming from down the hall.
Soft sounds of crying.
From Emily’s room.
Any lingering thoughts about his own problems vanished. Jude sat up, listening intently through the darkness. Emily’s sobs were muffled, no doubt by her pillow, but, even so, the crying went on and on in an uncontrollable outpouring of misery.
The sounds were like hammer blows to Jude’s conscience. He knew damn well that if Alex were here Emily wouldn’t be crying like this. He’d promised Alex he’d keep an eye on her.
His feet hit the floor and he was halfway across the room before his head caught up with his chivalrous impulses.
OK. What, exactly, was he planning to do? Go to Emily? Offer her a shoulder to cry on?
Brilliant. If she’d broken her heart over a good-for-nothing boyfriend, she was hardly going to welcome another lusty bloke offering to hold her in his arms.
Sinking back onto the edge of his bed, Jude remembered the way she’d looked at dinner as she’d talked about her unhappy track record with men. She’d seemed so fragile, with shadows beneath her eyes and a trembling droop to her soft pink mouth. It was hard to believe she was the same tough cookie who managed an entire district’s bank accounts.
Obviously, the louse of a boyfriend had struck a cruel blow, and she’d come here to recuperate. To be consoled by Alex.
Alex would have known how to help her. Alex would have listened and encouraged her to talk and he would have known, instinctively, what she needed. Whereas Jude felt utterly helpless and totally inadequate. To make matters worse, he’d more or less accepted her offer to leave, which was tantamount to booting her out of the door.
How lousy was that after he’d promised to look out for her?
At last the crying settled down, but Jude couldn’t get back to sleep. He was in the kitchen quite early, brewing coffee, when Emily came into the room. In her nightgown.
Far out. He almost dropped the coffee pot. What was she thinking?
Her nightdress wasn’t deliberately provocative or see-through, but the frothy concoction of cream and lace frills hinted at her nakedness underneath. And, with her red-gold hair tumbling about her pale shoulders, she looked like an old-fashioned princess, a young Elizabeth the First. An appealing but tired princess who’d spent a troubled and anguished night.
Jude tried his best not to stare at the delightful hints of her breasts and bottom. He wondered if Emily assumed he was immune—gay, like Alex. He knew he should probably explain that this wasn’t the case, but he wasn’t sure how he could introduce the subject without tying himself in knots and embarrassing them both.
Instead, he tried to cover his reaction with an attempt at cheerfulness. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked brightly. ‘In the mood for pancakes? Or bacon and eggs?’
To his surprise, Emily made a shooing gesture. ‘Don’t worry about breakfast. I can look after it. You need to start your writing.’
‘What are you? A slave-driver?’ He smiled to indicate this was an attempt at humour.
Emily merely blinked. ‘I thought you wrote madly all day and didn’t bother about meals.’
Well, yes, he had given that impression last night, hadn’t he? Truth was, he’d been writing since four a.m., and his hunger pangs had steadily mounted. For hours now he’d been fantasising about the breakfast ingredients they’d bought last night.
About to grab a frying pan, he saw, again, the red-rimmed despair in Emily’s eyes, lingering traces of her midnight tears. She would probably find cheery chatter at breakfast painful. Perhaps the kindest thing he could offer was to stay clear and hide behind his work.
‘I’ll head off then,’ he said quickly. ‘But, before I go, I’ve been thinking about your plan to leave. You know there’s no need.’
He couldn’t quite believe he’d said that. The words had jumped out of nowhere.
Emily looked surprised, too. Her eyes widened and Jude almost back-pedalled. His life over the next week would be so much easier without her here.
‘Are you sure, Jude?’
‘Of course. You’re Alex’s cousin, and he wants to make his home welcome to you. You’ve more right to be here than I have.’
Her blue eyes sparkled with a suspicious sheen. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
Jude was quite sure he hadn’t been half as kind as Alex had hoped. He cleared his throat. ‘And if you need to talk …’
To his dismay, Emily flushed brightly.
‘I don’t mean to pry,’ he added awkwardly. ‘I’m not Alex, but if there’s any way I can help …’
‘That’s sweet of you, Jude, but I couldn’t dump my problems onto you.’
He shrugged, unsure what to say. Counselling was so not his forte.
Then Emily gave a helpless flap of her hands. ‘Oh, heck. Perhaps I should tell you what happened. Just to clear the air.’
He waited, leaning against the door jamb, trying to look as if he had all the time in the world.
‘I’ve been seeing a geologist for over a year,’ she said quietly but steadily. ‘His name’s Michael and he came to Wandabilla regularly as part of his work. Exploratory prospecting—that sort of thing. And—’ she gave a hopeless little shrug ‘—he was charming and sexy and I fell in love …’
On the word love her voice cracked and she took another deep breath while her gaze was fixed on the jug of yellow daffodils on the kitchen counter.
‘This week, Michael and I were supposed to go away on holiday together. I’d taken my annual leave. Everything was planned.’
Again Emily paused, paying serious attention to the daffodils. ‘We were due to fly to Fiji, but on the night before our flight, a friend sent me a link to a Facebook page. Actually, it was a link to Michael’s wife’s Facebook page.’
Suddenly, her mouth twisted out of shape.
Jude’s throat tightened. ‘You’re absolutely sure it was him?’ he asked, keeping any hint of reproach from his voice.
Emily nodded. ‘Michael admitted it. He could hardly deny it when the photo was there on the screen. There he was with his lovely wife and two beautiful children. They live in South Australia and his name’s not even Michael. It’s Mark.’
Jude’s hands fisted, itching to land a punch on the rat’s nose.
‘So that’s my sad little story.’ Emily’s lips tilted in a travesty of a smile. ‘But please don’t worry. I’m OK. Heartbreak’s not fatal. I’ll get over it.’
‘But you must stay here as long as you need to,’ Jude said. ‘Try not to take any notice of me. Just treat this place as your own.’
‘Well, if you’re sure … thanks.’
He raised his coffee mug in a salute, and managed to smile. ‘I’ll be off to the salt mines, but I might sneak back later to make some toast.’
‘Oh, I can make toast for you.’ Suddenly she was eager, as if to make amends. ‘What would you like on it? Marmalade? A slice of bacon?’
‘Ah—bacon would be great. Thank you.’
‘Actually,’ she said with a hopeful look, ‘I make a great bacon sandwich.’
‘Sounds terrific.’
As Jude retreated to his room, he told himself that keeping his distance from Emily was, truly, his wisest option. She needed privacy to get over her heartache, and he had plenty of reasons to keep to himself.
Reasons he preferred not to think about now. But the appointment at the hospital was looming towards him like headlights on a speeding freight train. Every time he thought about the tests and the possible outcome, he was flooded by a rush of anxiety.
Shaking those thoughts aside, he opened his work in progress, and he prayed that his muse would be friendly, letting him escape into a world of fantasy.
The words did not flow.
Not the right words, at any rate. Jude’s morning commenced poorly and came to a grinding halt when Emily, still in her nightdress, appeared at his door with a tray.
‘Breakfast,’ she said softly, as if she were afraid to interrupt a genius at work.
The tray held the promised bacon sandwich, which smelled amazing, as well as a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and another pot of coffee.
‘My ministering angel,’ he told her and she gave a self-conscious laugh.
‘Hardly.’
‘Well, in that get-up, you look like some kind of angel.’
She blushed and looked upset and Jude immediately wished he could take the words back. Too late, she was already whirling away and he found himself watching her retreating heels, flashing pink beneath the frilled hem of her nightdress.
He didn’t see her again for the rest of the day. Which was, he decided, a very good thing.
Naturally he was grateful that he’d been left in peace. Except … the afternoon’s writing fared as badly as the morning’s. Ideas wouldn’t come. Words evaded Jude and when he emerged from his room at the end of the day, he felt particularly irritable and sluggish. And mad with himself for wasting precious hours.
Usually, when he felt like this, he went for a long, brisk walk to shake out the cobwebs. This evening, however, he was distracted by enticing aromas wafting from the kitchen.
Following his nose, he discovered Emily wrapped in one of Alex’s gaudy aprons, and looking especially fetching with her bright hair pinned up in a loose knot from which fiery tendrils escaped.
‘That smells amazing.’
She turned to him and she was a bit pink and flushed, but much happier than she’d been when she’d left his office this morning. In fact, she sent him a bright-eyed smile. ‘It’s coq au vin. I hope you like it.’
‘I’m sure I’ll love it, but I don’t expect you to cook for me, Emily.’
‘I don’t mind. I like cooking, and it’s my way of repaying you for last night’s dinner.’ She shot him a quick enquiring glance. ‘Or were you planning to go out?’
It occurred to Jude that he should have called one of his mates and planned an evening out. Surely that was a wiser plan than spending another night at home with this far too attractive girl.
However, he found himself saying, ‘I don’t have any plans.’ And he helped himself to a glass of iced water from the fridge. ‘That dinner smells sensational.’
‘So speaks a self-confessed pushover when it comes to food.’
‘Sprung,’ he admitted with a rueful smile.
Emily smiled, too, and he thought he could stare at her smile for ever …
‘I’ve tried to keep quiet,’ she said. ‘Have you had a productive day?’
‘Not very.’
For a moment she looked worried, but then her eyes widened with unmistakable excitement. ‘I bought one of your novels this afternoon. It’s called Thorn in the Flesh and I’ve started reading it. It’s fabulous, Jude. Totally gripping. I’m hooked, and it’s exactly what I needed to stop me from dwelling … on … everything.’
‘I’m glad it hit the spot.’
To his surprise, she folded her arms and leant a shapely hip against a kitchen cupboard with the air of someone settling in for a discussion. ‘Morgan, the heroine, is really tough,’ she said. ‘Mentally tough. And I like the way she guards her heart.’ Emily rolled her eyes. ‘I should be more like her.’
Jude shrugged. ‘Perhaps you’re too hard on yourself. Fictional characters are always larger than life.’
‘That’s true, I guess.’
‘I could never live up to my hero’s standards.’
She nodded. ‘Raff’s a very cool customer, isn’t he?’
‘Of course.’
Of course … Jude thought. His heroes had always been very cool and very tough, ever since he’d first created them for the stories he told to his little sister, Charlotte. At the age of eight he’d been trying to drown out the nightly ordeal of their parents’ rowdy arguments.
These days, with new enemies, Jude wished it was as easy to escape from reality.
Emily had turned to the stove and was adjusting the flame beneath the fragrantly simmering pot. ‘Have you heard from Alex?’ she asked casually.
‘Not today.’
‘Do you miss him?’ She gave the pot a stir.
Finishing his iced water, Jude shrugged. ‘Not especially. He’ll only be away for three weeks or so.’
Then he saw the way Emily was watching him, her blue eyes soft and round with obvious sympathy, and he realised with a slam of dismay that she’d decided he was Alex’s lover.
