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The less-than-subtle reminder she was one of his staff didn’t escape her. Romy straightened on the verandah of the house and stood back, her voice cool. ‘Thanks for your help today, Mr McLeish. I appreciate it.’
At the foot of the stairs, Clint watched her brows come together in a delicate frown. So, they were back to Mr McLeish and Ms Carvell. She was yet to say his name. He turned towards his ute.
It was probably his fault. He was uncomfortable entering her house to start with, but when his hands rested on her hips as she reversed out of the stair cupboard into him, they’d been almost exactly the same span as the wings of the raptor tattooed over her spine. Two sides of him had slammed together like Norse gods—the damaged, suspicious part that took it as some kind of cosmic reminder not to get too close, and the ravenous, ex-soldier part that thought the ink art was just about the sexiest thing he’d seen in three years and wanted to feel where it branded her skin. By the time he’d marshalled his emotions she was shooting daggers at him with those extraordinary eyes.
The woman might be surveillance professional but she was lousy at hiding her thoughts. He was trained to read people—his life had depended on it for years—but Romy Carvell was a particularly open book.
And right now the book had fallen open on page ‘get the hell out of here.’
Seeing young Leighton jogging along his track had been a kick in the guts, reminding him too much of another running boy, another time, and his protective instincts had come roaring to the fore. It was an elusive taste of something he’d accepted he was never going to experience. But dropping him home had been about more than taking a rare opportunity to feel like a father for five seconds. It was a chance to see Romy Carvell in her natural habitat.
He started the ute. Out of nowhere, he got the urge not to retreat to his treetop hideaway, where his books, his music, his forest awaited. He hadn’t so much as looked in on park operations in ten months and he hated the thought that Romy would be judging him by the standards she found there when she started work first thing Monday morning.
He opened his window when he was side on to her, and raised his hand in a reluctant farewell. ‘See you Monday, Romy.’
She plastered her hands to her hips and called after him. ‘I thought you didn’t get involved in operations?’
He wondered if she knew how sexy she looked standing slung like that on the verandah of his old family home. Possibly not or she wouldn’t be wasting it on him. She’d made it perfectly clear how little she thought of the military and, by association, him. It wasn’t really too different to how he felt. He pushed his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose and looked back out at her.
‘Usually,’ he called out, and then accelerated out the driveway.
She shrank in his rear-vision mirror until he turned the bend. When he hit the branch-off for home he kept driving. He had the rest of Saturday night and all of Sunday to play catch-up on what had been happening at WildSprings while he was AWOL from the business side of things.
Come Monday morning he wanted to have a full handle on his business.
It was probably overdue and only had a bit to do with the auburn-haired beauty now living in his parents’ cottage.
Probably.
Chapter Three (#ulink_36f46ac4-057a-5a70-ae80-0961e5f8917a)
THE gift shop wasn’t the only part of the wilderness retreat in Romy’s sights during her first week. People were obliging on her first days since a pretty young thing from the city was novelty enough without her walking around with an impressive high-tech satellite phone/GPS combo, a dark blue uniform reminiscent of the police force and taking notes wherever she went.
By day four, her new colleagues were wearying of her tight focus on their operations and her recommendations for change to improve security, but they found it easier simply to comply.
It wasn’t all wins. Justin refused point-blank to consider CCTV equipment for the admissions area, arguing that some of their guests appreciated the low-key and confidential approach WildSprings offered. And the local farmer Romy busted helping himself to avocados from one of the park’s many orchards voiced his outrage all round the district of having to supplement his pigs’ expensive tastes out of his own pocket. It was hardly drug busts and high-tech stakeouts but it was enormously satisfying nonetheless, because it was hers.
New job, new home, new start.
Today’s drama wasn’t too difficult. One of her random perimeter-fence checks had turned up a breach right at the back of the park near a series of deep, crystalline dams. No doubt locals sneaking in to snare the succulent crustaceans living on the dam floor, or kids cooling off in the cold, clean depths. Except kids wouldn’t have vehicles and there were definite tyre tracks coming in off a disused access road.
‘Hey, Simone,’ Romy greeted the admin assistant as she walked into Justin’s office a few doors down from the broom closet she called her own. ‘I’m heading out to do fence repair and I’ll be taking the last roll of straining wire. Would you mind restocking from Garretson’s?’
Simone glared up from her to-do pile and mumbled, ‘Sure. What’s one more boss giving me tasks?’
She kept her voice even. ‘Everything okay, Simone?’
‘No.’ The redhead glared at her, then puffed air through her cheeks, sighing. ‘It’s not your fault. I know you have a job to do. It’s just that my workload has trebled this week what with yourself starting and Mr McLeish suddenly reappearing.’ She gestured to the work stacked on her desk.
Ah. Territory issues. ‘You look like a woman who could use a coffee break.’ She smiled. ‘Come on. I’ll fix you one.’
Simone grumbled as she emerged from behind the stack of files but followed willingly enough to the kitchenette. ‘I kid you not, Romy. I hadn’t seen Mr McLeish for a year before the day you came in for your interview. Then Monday morning I come in to a two-page to-do list.’
Romy poured two coffees. ‘A year? Seriously?’
Simone scooted up onto the kitchenette benchtop. ‘You wouldn’t know, because you’re new,’ she started in a conspiratorial tone, ‘but Clint McLeish is kind of a mystery man around here. No-one but Justin sees much of him at all.’
The last part she could believe. The man’s manner practically screamed, Leave me alone.
‘So now I have Justin and you giving me work and Mr McLeish lurking around in the shadows by day and riffling through the office overnight. It’s unsettling.’
Romy’s spider senses started tingling. He was working alone at night? What on?
‘I get that you’re new and all,’ the redhead grizzled onwards, taking a healthy swallow of instant coffee, ‘but we all have a first week and why he feels it’s necessary to pave your way particularly, I don’t know.’
Pave her way?
Simone moaned. ‘Sorry. That sounds bitchy. This isn’t really about you. I just wish if he was going to get so involved in someone’s workload he might spare a thought for mine.’ She took another swallow of coffee. ‘This is like therapy—I feel heaps better for venting.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Romy casually dropped in, going straight into investigation mode, ‘whose work is he doing?’
Simone blinked at her. ‘Yours. At least, some of it.’
‘What?’
‘He’s coming in at night, Romy. Working on park security. I thought you knew?’
‘How would I know?’
‘We assumed it was something you did. You know, in the city.’
‘Even in the city I’d stop short on spying on my employer,’ she said. Unless there was good reason. ‘No wonder people are keeping me at arms-length.’
Simone’s face dropped as she finally realised she’d said something wrong. ‘Oh. No. That’s not what I meant. We’re all just getting to know you…as best we can…’ she finished a bit pathetically.
Romy winced. ‘Have I come on a bit strong?’
‘Not strong. Just…’
Pushy? Nosey? Determined? She’d been called all three in her time.
‘God. Sorry.’ Simone slid off the bench. ‘I’m making a real mess of this. Quendanup is the country, you know? People like to get to know everything about you. And you’re a bit private, that’s all. People here are already sensitive to that because of Mr McLeish, so…’
Romy relaxed. This wasn’t the first time she’d had the criticism. There was one sure way to end gossip. Satisfy it. ‘What would you like to know about me?’
Simone stopped in the doorway. Chewed her lip. ‘I can ask?’
‘Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.’ Ha! She leaned on the counter and forced herself to relax. ‘Three questions.’
Simone slid her cup into the sink and clenched her hands in front of her, thinking fast. She spun back. ‘Why did you leave the city?’
Straight for the million-dollar question. There was no good answer for that one. Except the truth. ‘There was…someone…I wanted to get far away from. This seemed like a sufficient distance.’ Let them think she had left Leighton’s father. And it would be ‘them’; she had no doubt her private business would run through the park staff like a strain of gastro. ‘And I didn’t like some of the kids my son was hanging out with.’
Simone thought about that and then her eyes brightened. ‘Question two. How do you know Mr McLeish?’
Romy tilted her head. ‘What makes you think I do?’
Simone laughed. ‘He emerges from his forest for the first time in a year on the day you happen to be interviewing for a job. Then he hires you, having made not one single business decision since Justin arrived. Then he helps you move house…’
How did people know this stuff? Were the forest possums running a blog?
‘…and, finally, the pair of you have enough chemistry to start a bushfire. That doesn’t evolve overnight.’
Romy shook her head. ‘You saw us together for about twenty seconds after the interview, Simone.’
‘I could feel the tension in the room. The vibe between the two of you was the closest to action I’ve had in a while, let me tell you.’
‘The only tension you felt was irritation. He was ticked off because I embarrassed him about his store security. And he hired me for the same reason. Besides, if he hasn’t emerged for that long, where am I supposed to have met him?’
‘Oh, he comes out, just not amongst people here. Supposedly he heads up to the city a couple of times a year for…You know…’
She shook her head, bemused. ‘For?’
Simone’s mouth opened and then closed again and a blush stained her pretty features.
Romy stiffened immediately. ‘Let me see if I have this right. People here think I know Clint McLeish from the city where he sometimes goes to pick up.’
Simone flushed to her roots. ‘Um…’
‘And him hiring me unexpectedly is some kind of evidence the two of us are an item? Oh, that’s right, let’s not forget the explosive chemistry zinging around when we’re together. Can’t keep our hands off each other. I suppose he’s also the father of my child, yes?’
She didn’t know skin could turn so crimson. Romy slammed her mug on the sink in disbelief. ‘Oh, you are kidding me! For the record, Simone, my son’s father is not Clint McLeish. He and I had never met. We are not secret lovers. He’s not helping me do my work. And there is no chemistry—he doesn’t even like me particularly. Can I be any clearer?’
Her pitch had risen considerably and her chest heaved with anger. Simone backed away a step or two during her outburst but then stood her ground, silently assessing. Romy stared at her through steady, furious eyes.
‘I believe you. I’m sorry if I jumped to the wrong conclusion.’
Romy could only nod.
‘I wouldn’t want anyone saying something about you that’s not true.’ Serious blue eyes stared steadily at Romy. The irony was exquisite.
Simone chewed her lip. ‘But…he is working on security at night—it’s the only thing he’s touching. I’m not mistaken about that.’
Romy’s heart squeezed with familiar pain. He was doing her work for her. She’d clearly made a very bad first impression if he thought her so incapable. ‘Then I’ll take it up with him,’ she said tightly.
Simone nodded and turned for the door. At the last moment, she put her head back in the room. ‘And, Romy, the chemistry? I’m not mistaken about that either.’ She shrugged gently before turning out the door. ‘Sorry.’
Romy did a fantastic job of internalising her irritation that Clint was helping her out behind the scenes, taking her frustration out on the damaged fence line instead. So when she glanced down and saw his distinctive, battered ute pull up to one side of the deep, blue-green dam she was working near, she knew fate wanted her to say something.
And not just one thing.
Dumping the wire strainers and her heavy gloves onto the hard earth and tugging her broad-brim hat further down her head she marched down the slope in the direction of the dam. Flies buzzed around the perspiration on her face and throat and she shooed them away with angry flicks of her wrist, every one matching words she never, ever said in front of her son. But she said them now, and not quite under her breath.
How dared he patronise her by helping her out secretly? She was perfectly capable of doing the job she was hired for. This wasn’t the first time she’d started in a new field and she had every confidence in her ability to hit the ground running. But he didn’t obviously. To sneak in at night and prepare things for her, or order new equipment, or fix things before she had a chance to. It was galling!
Her furious feet moved her quickly but when she got down to the edge of the dam, Clint was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the horizon, glanced into the ute, turned and looked back the way she had come.
Silence.
‘McLeish!’ Her call was more of a cry to battle. It echoed across the empty clearing before being swallowed up in the thick trees leading away from it.
Still nothing. Damn him!
A splash behind her had her spinning around on the spot.
‘You rang?’ Clint bobbed in the dam like a buoy, dunking under briefly, then emerging, glistening, and pushing his hair from his face. Wet, his features were all perfect angles and sharp, sparkling edges. Strong arms brought him closer to the shallows. ‘What can I do for you, Ms Carvell?’
Romy fought to ignore the slow reveal as his feet found the dam floor. ‘You can stop holding my hand,’ she called out, her heart thumping.
He stopped drifting towards her and stood straighter in the water. ‘Explain that to me.’ His fingers came up to shield his gaze from the glare and sunlight bounced off the rivulets streaming down the hard planes of his chest.
She ignored that, too.
She swallowed to put some moisture back in her mouth. ‘You’re doing my job for me.’ She didn’t have to yell now he was only metres away from where she stood on the dam’s edge. He looked so infuriatingly confident standing there like some kind of aquatic god. While she was all sweaty and revolting.
Again.
That fired her up even more. ‘I’m perfectly capable of doing the job you’re paying me to do. I don’t need your help. I don’t want it.’
‘Who says I’m helping you?’ His legs carried him through the shallows and the dam seemed to drop away from him as he approached.
Her breath hitched as first broad pecs and then a ridged stomach emerged from the water, then it released on a whoosh when his feet found the ascent to shore and pushed a pair of dark board shorts, slung low on angular obliques, into view.
Not that she was looking.
‘You’re coming in at night and doing things before I can get to them.’ Deny it, she wanted to shout.
He dragged his feet onto the sand and stopped in front of her, dropping his arm from his eyes, suspicion live in the shadowed gaze. ‘How do you know what I’m doing at night?’
Great. Another person who thought she was capable of a bit of internal espionage. But she was loath to get Simone in trouble, not after the hard time she’d already given her.
She hedged. ‘Is it true or not?’
Dark lashes clumped by water droplets blinked down over vibrant green eyes. No wonder the townspeople had such a romantic view of him; between the face and the intrigue, he was mysterious and handsome enough to be flashing on feminine radars across the south-west.
Her own was going ballistic right now.
‘It’s true I’m working at night,’ he said.
