you’re freezing. I should get
you inside in front of the fire.” Owen had to shout to make himself heard.
“I’m f-f-fine.” In front of a fire was the
last place she wanted to be, yet, here she was, all rugged up against the
cold—Owen without a scrap of sensible clothing—and hers was the body shivering.
He took two steps towards her, laid his
hands on her shoulders, and gently hauled her back into his chest.
There was a part of her that wanted to
struggle, or perhaps, thought she should struggle, because Owen already
had a girl. Those beautiful arms weren’t Liv’s to enjoy. Yet all she wanted was
to lay her head back into the strength of his chest and stay there forever. It
wasn’t right.
Not right, yet so perfect.
Owen’s heartbeat hammered her shoulder
blade. Gradually, her shakes stopped and beneath the deafening crash of hail,
her other senses found space to wake.
Springy dark hair covered Owen’s forearms
and she laid her hands over his wrists. That same electricity she’d felt that
morning zapped her palm but this time she didn’t snatch her hand away. Closing
her eyes, she traced the line of tendons beneath his skin and in the darkness
it was as if she was blind and he was braille.
She smelled fuel, chicken pellets and
wheat. The mix was good. Owen smelled better. His scent was rain-washed leaves,
sweet earth and honest sweat.
Liv burrowed into the curve of his jaw. The
movement dislodged the beanie and it fell to the concrete floor at her feet.
Her hair fanned loose about her face.
Owen rubbed his cheek at her temple—his
skin rain-slick—and she felt rather than heard him suck a ragged breath as they
touched.
Abruptly, the hail lessened.
Liv opened her eyes to the shed—to shelves
and bags of stockfeed, tools and farm machinery. She saw the Ducati, silent and
gleaming. Also not hers. Not yet.
“Liv–” Owen began huskily.
“Owen, we can’t…
“Owen?” A voice shouted across the yard.
His body stiffened.
Hers did too.
“ Owen! ”
“In here, Mark,” Owen shouted.
“Phone call, mate. It’s your girlfriend.”
“Who?” Owen yelled, sounding confused.
“It’s Vanessa.”
Vanessa. The name twisted sluggishly in Liv’s mind.
“Dickhead,” Owen muttered under his breath.
“I have to take this call. Come inside with me. Get warm. I’ll make you coffee
and then you can tell me what it is you think we can’t do.”
Liv ducked to pick up her hat and managed
what she hoped was a nod. “Let me put this stuff in the car.”
“Okay.” Owen turned and ran through the
puddles. He leapt up the steps, kicked off his boots and the screen door
slammed behind him.
So Owen’s mystery girl had a name.
Vanessa.
What would this Vanessa think if she
knew her boyfriend was about to kiss another girl?
Liv didn’t want to know.
She stepped to the shelf, picked up the
tools and clutched them to her chest, ignoring the damp patch that spread
there—a cold stain of pain.
Dumping the equipment in the boot, she
climbed into the Hyundai and put it in reverse. Already the hail stones on the
gravel were melting but there was enough ice under the tyres to make driving
treacherous. Navigating the entrance road took all her skill, but even then,
she kept stealing glances in her rearview mirror. All she saw was smoke being
hurled from the chimney by the wind and two Border Collie dogs watching her
car’s retreat.
Chapter
6
By nine o’clock that night, Liv was
seriously considering cracking the new bottle of her mother’s cooking sherry
and getting drunk in the company of Graham Norton and an all-girl dance troupe
that looked like lip-syncing Oscars’ statuettes .
Ping. Pong .
Liv craned her neck to check the digital
clock on the microwave. The last time someone knocked on the door this late it
was a driver wanting to know if they owned the cat he’d just squashed.
Adjusting the volume on Graham Norton, she
kicked the granny rug from her knees. The porch light shone
you inside in front of the fire.” Owen had to shout to make himself heard.
“I’m f-f-fine.” In front of a fire was the
last place she wanted to be, yet, here she was, all rugged up against the
cold—Owen without a scrap of sensible clothing—and hers was the body shivering.
He took two steps towards her, laid his
hands on her shoulders, and gently hauled her back into his chest.
There was a part of her that wanted to
struggle, or perhaps, thought she should struggle, because Owen already
had a girl. Those beautiful arms weren’t Liv’s to enjoy. Yet all she wanted was
to lay her head back into the strength of his chest and stay there forever. It
wasn’t right.
Not right, yet so perfect.
Owen’s heartbeat hammered her shoulder
blade. Gradually, her shakes stopped and beneath the deafening crash of hail,
her other senses found space to wake.
Springy dark hair covered Owen’s forearms
and she laid her hands over his wrists. That same electricity she’d felt that
morning zapped her palm but this time she didn’t snatch her hand away. Closing
her eyes, she traced the line of tendons beneath his skin and in the darkness
it was as if she was blind and he was braille.
She smelled fuel, chicken pellets and
wheat. The mix was good. Owen smelled better. His scent was rain-washed leaves,
sweet earth and honest sweat.
Liv burrowed into the curve of his jaw. The
movement dislodged the beanie and it fell to the concrete floor at her feet.
Her hair fanned loose about her face.
Owen rubbed his cheek at her temple—his
skin rain-slick—and she felt rather than heard him suck a ragged breath as they
touched.
Abruptly, the hail lessened.
Liv opened her eyes to the shed—to shelves
and bags of stockfeed, tools and farm machinery. She saw the Ducati, silent and
gleaming. Also not hers. Not yet.
“Liv–” Owen began huskily.
“Owen, we can’t…
“Owen?” A voice shouted across the yard.
His body stiffened.
Hers did too.
“ Owen! ”
“In here, Mark,” Owen shouted.
“Phone call, mate. It’s your girlfriend.”
“Who?” Owen yelled, sounding confused.
“It’s Vanessa.”
Vanessa. The name twisted sluggishly in Liv’s mind.
“Dickhead,” Owen muttered under his breath.
“I have to take this call. Come inside with me. Get warm. I’ll make you coffee
and then you can tell me what it is you think we can’t do.”
Liv ducked to pick up her hat and managed
what she hoped was a nod. “Let me put this stuff in the car.”
“Okay.” Owen turned and ran through the
puddles. He leapt up the steps, kicked off his boots and the screen door
slammed behind him.
So Owen’s mystery girl had a name.
Vanessa.
What would this Vanessa think if she
knew her boyfriend was about to kiss another girl?
Liv didn’t want to know.
She stepped to the shelf, picked up the
tools and clutched them to her chest, ignoring the damp patch that spread
there—a cold stain of pain.
Dumping the equipment in the boot, she
climbed into the Hyundai and put it in reverse. Already the hail stones on the
gravel were melting but there was enough ice under the tyres to make driving
treacherous. Navigating the entrance road took all her skill, but even then,
she kept stealing glances in her rearview mirror. All she saw was smoke being
hurled from the chimney by the wind and two Border Collie dogs watching her
car’s retreat.
Chapter
6
By nine o’clock that night, Liv was
seriously considering cracking the new bottle of her mother’s cooking sherry
and getting drunk in the company of Graham Norton and an all-girl dance troupe
that looked like lip-syncing Oscars’ statuettes .
Ping. Pong .
Liv craned her neck to check the digital
clock on the microwave. The last time someone knocked on the door this late it
was a driver wanting to know if they owned the cat he’d just squashed.
Adjusting the volume on Graham Norton, she
kicked the granny rug from her knees. The porch light shone
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