to wash it
down.
“What?” I croaked.
“I’ll go,” said Dad getting up from his
stool, only to be quickly swatted back down with Mum’s tea towel.
“No, Steve, your breakfast will get cold.
Miranda, please duck out, I am putting more eggs on now,” she said to me in a
no-nonsense tone that always got my back up.
“All right, all right. I have to get some
clean clothes anyway,” I said, sliding off my stool.
“Where are your clothes?” Dad frowned as he
cut into his buttered bread.
I paused. “Um, I camped in the shearers’
huts last night.”
Both my parents looked at me now, their
eyes alarmed with speculation.
“In the second room,” I shouted. “On my
own.”
Unbelievable.
Dad squirmed in his seat. “Well just so
long as …”
“Oh yeah, Dad, as if I am going to bunk in
with Ringer,” I said, turning only to slam straight into the chest of the devil
himself, the devil and his taut, muscled chest, and damn him if he didn’t smell
amazing. Whatever cologne he was wearing was fresh and sharp, simple, yet very
masculine. I double blinked, snapping myself away from the effect it had over
me, as I clutched my shoulder, rubbing at the dull ache from having run into
him at full force.
“Whoa, look out!” He laughed, stepping
back.
I didn’t have much time to show my
annoyance as my eyes flicked down to his hands.
Oh dear God!
Ringer followed my eye line. “Oh yeah, you
must have left these …”
“Thank you!” I cut him off, snatching them
from his grasp.
I laughed nervously. “I must have left them on the verandah.” I tried not to
meet the judgmental stares of my parents, because I had known from the moment
the words left my mouth, they wouldn’t buy it for a second. Miranda Henry would
never leave her shoes outside … Period!
Chapter Eleven
Ringer
I admit it.
When it came to Miranda Henry, I had this
sick pleasure in pushing her buttons. Watching the cogs turn in her pretty
little head, seeing the rage that burned in her eyes, the incredulous gapes of
her mouth, and the thunderous steps she took as anger swirled inside of her.
Yeah, it was kinda hot.
I turned to meet the glacial stares of
Miranda’s parents in the kitchen; shit. It appeared I was also a dead man, and
inwardly cursed myself for watching Miranda storm across the driveway towards
the shearers’ huts with an air of amusement; I also realised that I had
probably watched her for far too long than was acceptable, especially with her
parents watching on. I may have got the last laugh, but she had left me in the
lion’s den, so to speak. Lucky I was a charming bastard when I wanted to be.
I smiled. “Something smells good in here,”
I said, as I casually approached the kitchen bench, taking a seat.
I could feel Steve Henry’s eyes boring into
my profile as he spoke to me. “Make sure you eat up, son, because you and I are
going to go for a little drive.”
Fuck! Ringer meet lion’s den.
***
I had thought that I may have been driven
out to a remote part of his property where Steve Henry had a shallow grave
waiting for me, the sentence had bore enough weight behind it for it to feel
like I was about to be murdered by an over-protective father. But in typical
Steve Henry style, he was upbeat and animated while we really did go for a
drive. And it wasn’t to an abandoned field; it was to his best mate, Bluey
Sheehan’s house, on the neighbouring property.
“If you need anything while we’re gone,
Bluey is your man,” Steve said.
We spent the afternoon in Bluey’s man cave,
a refrigerated, air-conditioned shed with mismatched seventies-style lounges, a
pool table, a dart board and a fridge full of cold beer.
He chucked a VB can towards me that I
caught close to my chest.
“It’s gotta be five o’clock somewhere in
the world, right?” he said with a devious wink.
Steve sighed. “Penny will kill me,” he
said, looking longingly down at the cold beer.
“Penny
down.
“What?” I croaked.
“I’ll go,” said Dad getting up from his
stool, only to be quickly swatted back down with Mum’s tea towel.
“No, Steve, your breakfast will get cold.
Miranda, please duck out, I am putting more eggs on now,” she said to me in a
no-nonsense tone that always got my back up.
“All right, all right. I have to get some
clean clothes anyway,” I said, sliding off my stool.
“Where are your clothes?” Dad frowned as he
cut into his buttered bread.
I paused. “Um, I camped in the shearers’
huts last night.”
Both my parents looked at me now, their
eyes alarmed with speculation.
“In the second room,” I shouted. “On my
own.”
Unbelievable.
Dad squirmed in his seat. “Well just so
long as …”
“Oh yeah, Dad, as if I am going to bunk in
with Ringer,” I said, turning only to slam straight into the chest of the devil
himself, the devil and his taut, muscled chest, and damn him if he didn’t smell
amazing. Whatever cologne he was wearing was fresh and sharp, simple, yet very
masculine. I double blinked, snapping myself away from the effect it had over
me, as I clutched my shoulder, rubbing at the dull ache from having run into
him at full force.
“Whoa, look out!” He laughed, stepping
back.
I didn’t have much time to show my
annoyance as my eyes flicked down to his hands.
Oh dear God!
Ringer followed my eye line. “Oh yeah, you
must have left these …”
“Thank you!” I cut him off, snatching them
from his grasp.
I laughed nervously. “I must have left them on the verandah.” I tried not to
meet the judgmental stares of my parents, because I had known from the moment
the words left my mouth, they wouldn’t buy it for a second. Miranda Henry would
never leave her shoes outside … Period!
Chapter Eleven
Ringer
I admit it.
When it came to Miranda Henry, I had this
sick pleasure in pushing her buttons. Watching the cogs turn in her pretty
little head, seeing the rage that burned in her eyes, the incredulous gapes of
her mouth, and the thunderous steps she took as anger swirled inside of her.
Yeah, it was kinda hot.
I turned to meet the glacial stares of
Miranda’s parents in the kitchen; shit. It appeared I was also a dead man, and
inwardly cursed myself for watching Miranda storm across the driveway towards
the shearers’ huts with an air of amusement; I also realised that I had
probably watched her for far too long than was acceptable, especially with her
parents watching on. I may have got the last laugh, but she had left me in the
lion’s den, so to speak. Lucky I was a charming bastard when I wanted to be.
I smiled. “Something smells good in here,”
I said, as I casually approached the kitchen bench, taking a seat.
I could feel Steve Henry’s eyes boring into
my profile as he spoke to me. “Make sure you eat up, son, because you and I are
going to go for a little drive.”
Fuck! Ringer meet lion’s den.
***
I had thought that I may have been driven
out to a remote part of his property where Steve Henry had a shallow grave
waiting for me, the sentence had bore enough weight behind it for it to feel
like I was about to be murdered by an over-protective father. But in typical
Steve Henry style, he was upbeat and animated while we really did go for a
drive. And it wasn’t to an abandoned field; it was to his best mate, Bluey
Sheehan’s house, on the neighbouring property.
“If you need anything while we’re gone,
Bluey is your man,” Steve said.
We spent the afternoon in Bluey’s man cave,
a refrigerated, air-conditioned shed with mismatched seventies-style lounges, a
pool table, a dart board and a fridge full of cold beer.
He chucked a VB can towards me that I
caught close to my chest.
“It’s gotta be five o’clock somewhere in
the world, right?” he said with a devious wink.
Steve sighed. “Penny will kill me,” he
said, looking longingly down at the cold beer.
“Penny
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