Burnt by Karly Lane

here?’
    â€˜I’m about to head down to my physio appointment and thought I’d better report in, you know, so you don’t go calling my boss and getting me in trouble,’ he said with a straight face.
    â€˜Well it’s nice to see there’s at least one person who can put the fear of god into you still,’ she muttered dryly.
    â€˜Yeah, there’s one or two who can still do that.’
    A buzzer went off behind her and automatically Rebecca turned to check the bed number. ‘I have to go. I’m glad you’ve decided to keep up with your rehab, though. Now I won’t have to drive out there and harass you any more.’
    â€˜I think Dad was counting on it. He’s never gone out and bought me special biscuits for afternoon tea.’
    Rebecca’s forehead crinkled. ‘Then maybe you should use this time to get to know him again.’
    She saw a guarded expression creep back into his eyes as he straightened and moved away from the desk. ‘I’ll see you around, Bec.’
    Rebecca gave a slight nod, and watched his broad back as it disappeared down the long corridor. He held himself upright and stiff, a combination of pain and training and, she suspected, more than a hint of irritation.
    Seb and his father had never had a close relationship. Having watched them butt heads when Seb was a hot-headed teenager, Rebecca realised now that she’d never really understood the dynamics of their relationship. Time seemed to have mellowed them both and she hoped that Seb would be able to let down his guard long enough for his father to see the man his son had grown into. Maybe they could try to mend a few of those fences that continued to hold them both back.
    The sound of the buzzer once more claimed her attention and she hurried to answer the call. For now, Sebastian Taylor would have to sort out his own problems; it was nothing to do with her. He’d made that perfectly clear eighteen years ago.

Chapter 7
    Seb walked into the co-op feed store to buy some pesticides to spray the Parramatta grass that was running the risk of taking over the once lush paddocks. If it was left any longer, he’d have no hope of getting it back under control. He’d put the trip off as long as he could – preferring not to be in town at all if he could help it – but his father hadn’t seemed keen on heading into town either, so it was up to him.
    The street hadn’t changed since the early twentieth century, preserved thanks to a lot of hard work from the local community and historical society. Bowraville was reclaiming its heritage and really did look like you’d stepped back in time. Seb noticed the new shops that had opened in the main street, and the renovated pubs that were cashing in on the yuppie factor, drawing weekend tourists in with coffee shops and restaurants offering a blend of good wholesome pub food and urban ‘fusion’ cooking. It appeared they were succeeding in snagging a trendier clientele to the area, helped by the renovation of the theatre and the regular movies and plays that were performed there.
    As he paid for the drums of chemicals, he felt someone watching him. He glanced up to survey his surroundings, more out of reflex than actual caution, and spotted a guy across the store watching him with a sullen glare. Heading out to the car, Seb was careful to keep a well-trained eye on the man back in the feed store, casually observing him in his peripheral vision, his body automatically loosening into a deceptively relaxed stance, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice if required.
    In the window’s reflection, he saw the stranger fall into step behind him and his irritation raised a notch. What was this bloke’s problem? His shoulder was killing him today, he’d hardly slept the night before, and this was pretty much the icing on the cake. Turning quickly, he surprised the man, who looked to be in his mid