Hope's Road Read online

  But Tammy was lost in the folds of a navy-blue King Gee workshirt. The smell of the man was sublime: all wood smoke and manly deodorant mixed with the scent of warm skin. The feel of his arms around her was making her nerve endings fizz like freshly opened lemonade. His hands travelled down past her elbows, his clutch fierce when steadying her but at the same time almost like a caress as he checked she was okay. The touch of his fingers dancing across her arms burned like a peppering of hot rocks.

  Then all the heat was gone, leaving her to think she’d imagined the way her body fit Travis Hunter’s like a second skin. He’d pushed her away, but not before she felt the warmth and hardness centred in the man’s groin. He obviously felt something too. She couldn’t see his face in minute detail due to the shadows of the night, but she could sense the steel in his glare. He stood for a moment and stared down at her in contemplation. But then he spun on his heels and stalked off, leaving her to gaze after him.

  Tendrils of unease ran through her body. Why did she feel so attracted to this bloke? Shon, even in his earlier charming years, hadn’t had this effect on her equilibrium. Never had she felt she would combust with heat at the slightest touch. With a wary eye, Tammy watched the man who was now entering the barn. She didn’t need any more problems or emotional upheaval in her life. It was complicated enough.

  The silence surrounding them as they wrestled some planks down from the rafters of the shed was as tense as twine on freshly baled hay. Tammy gladly moved away to an old workbench in a lean-to and riffled around to find some nails, hammer, tape and a saw. If she kept her head down maybe Travis Hunter would disappear in a puff of smoke. Pfftt! Then she wouldn’t have to deal with him again.

  But she couldn’t help but feel disgruntled when Travis headed off with his torch without a backwards glance to find a ladder. Like it didn’t really matter that he’d left her there by herself in the dark. She stalked outside into the moonlight, carting her tools, and stood and waited for the man to reappear. She’d have to help him wrangle the planks inside. At least there would be seven foot of timber between them this time.

  Travis reappeared with the ladder and picked up the end of the lining boards with his spare arm. They carried the planks to the offending room, shoved the bed to one side and nailed the extra boards up on the ceiling to cover the gaping holes, all in complete silence. Tammy darted a surprised look at the man as he hammered in nails with ferocity. Baltic pine wasn’t that hard.

  She searched around and found some fresh linen in an old wood box in the far corner of the room. The camphor nearly knocked her out, but she supposed it was better than the smell of possum shit. ‘We’d better make the bed up for the old bugger,’ said Tammy, in an effort to ease the tension. ‘He won’t be able to do it himself.’

  She and Trav made the bed, moving around, trying not to touch one another, not acknowledging this thing that seemed to be zinging between them. They kept the double mattress between them most of the time but the problem was when the man’s muscled, tanned hands smoothed the sheets, then the blankets, all Tammy could think of was those same hands on her waist, her arms, as he righted her fall outside. Caressing her body like she was his. All she could dream of was Trav’s broad shoulders, his strong and muscled body naked in that bed with her. Making love to her. Giving her that half-smile as he thrust into her. Her wet with desire. For him. Oh good Lord. She could almost feel –

  ‘I’m not sleeping in that bed!’ Joe’s yell from the kitchen interrupted her daydreaming.

  ‘Well, I know you don’t want to but where else are you going to sleep?’ Tammy called back, her voice surprisingly steady, as she pulled her mind out of the sheets and away from Travis Hunter. ‘I don’t see you fitting into that meat-safe cot.’

  ‘Ha, ha, ha. Very funny, girl. Don’t be impertinent!’

  Impertinent? He was saying she was impertinent? Tammy stifled a giggle and dared a look across at Trav.

  ‘Obviously, his good humour departed along with Cin’s skimpy sandals,’ Travis whispered.

  Tammy shoved a hand across her mouth, trying to stop herself from giggling more. She glanced at Travis again. He was doing the same. Their giggles erupted into chuckles. Then full-blown laughter. Trav threw the pillow he’d just covered at her, trying to get her to stop. She buried her face in it but still the laughter kept coming. Unbottled, unfettered, hysterical laughter that was just bubbling to the surface – the tension, the stress, the worry, the events of the past few weeks set to blow like a champagne cork.

  ‘Are you laughing at me, girl?’ Joe yelled, really pissed off.

  ‘Me?’ called back Tammy. ‘No, I’m not laughing!’ But she found she couldn’t help herself until Trav strode around the bed and pushed her onto the big, soft mattress. He held her down, covered her with his strong and hard body, placed his hand over her mouth as tears poured from her eyes and laughter rumbled uncontrollably through her chest. She bit at his hand, and shook her head to dislodge it. Caught the look on his features and stopped. He stared down at her like he was doing battle with himself. His face had sobered, his eyes turning dark with hunger as they drank her in. Desire chased laughter away.

  His soft lips came down sure and straight on hers, which were by now rising to meet him, all hilarity swept away by the look in his eyes, the feel of his body, the strength and sureness of his intent. Oh God, it was really happening.

  Their lips met just as Joe’s voice exploded from the kitchen. ‘I tell you. I’m not being told what to do by you pair of fucking morons! Here, boy, help me up! I’m going in there to give the pair of them the what-for!’ The sounds of a scraping chair being moved out of the way followed, along with deep grunts of pain as the old man struggled to his feet.

  And still Trav kissed her. Long and deep. Tasting, exploring, claiming. His warm lips moved softly and she was lost. In the moment. In the kiss. In Travis Hunter.

  Then he was gone. Again. Cold air was all that caressed her body. Tammy wasted precious moments lying there wondering what had just happened.

  ‘What are you doing lying on my fucking bed?’

  Tammy sat up, hoping her cheeks weren’t as hot as they felt. ‘Just testing it out for you. See . . .’ She gave the mattress a couple of bounces. ‘The springs are still good and I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable.’ Then she got off the bed quickly, refusing to look at the silent man on the far side of the room.

  ‘Harrumph! I’ll sleep in me swag. Like I usually do.’

  ‘You can’t get down there and you won’t be able to get up,’ Trav said from the shadows.

  ‘I’ll fucking well give it my best shot!’

  ‘It’s the bed or the nursing home,’ said Tammy ten minutes later, after she’d watched Joe try to lower himself to the camp stretcher at least a half dozen times.

  ‘And that’d give you great pleasure, wouldn’t it?’ snarled the old man, out of breath. He tried again, and again, but eventually gave up, exhausted.

  Tammy watched in silence until he stopped, then held the door open to allow him to clump back into the kitchen where Travis was helping Billy dry the dishes.

  ‘So the bed it is, McCauley?’ Travis’s tone was wry.

  ‘Harrumph!’ The old man stomped his walking frame towards the front room.

  ‘Happy little camper,’ said Trav, shooting a glance around at the others in the kitchen. When he reached Tammy she watched as his eyes paused and seemed to take in her whole body in one gulp. And her mind shot back to the scene on the bed, the look in his eyes, the reluctant hunger, that kiss. Tammy could feel the heat start to rise from her crotch.

  Across the kitchen, Travis’s Adam’s apple quivered in his throat as he swallowed. ‘Right then. We’ll get Joe into bed and then be off. C’mon, Billy.’

  ‘But, Dad, we haven’t put the stuff aw –’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Tammy quickly. ‘I’ll put it away, Billy.
Off you go.’ Anything to get this man out of the kitchen, the house. And the rate Travis Hunter moved through the door after Joe, she guessed he was feeling exactly the same.

  It had been five days since her uncle had arrived home to McCauley’s Hill and he’d been one difficult patient.

  ‘I’m not fucking eating that stuff!’ yelled an indignant Joe, pointing to the offending food, now sitting in a nearby dog bowl. ‘Look! Even old Digger won’t touch it and he eats anything!’

  Tammy wondered if Travis was experiencing the same kind of behaviour. But she couldn’t ask him because she hadn’t seen him in five days. Or, more accurately, one hundred and eighteen hours and forty minutes. Not that she was counting. Somehow they’d managed to instinctively avoid each other. Travis came first thing in the morning to make sure Joe was up and about and then at night to see the old man into bed, leaving her to do the lunchtime and before-afternoon-milking run. Nothing had been verbally organised, it was just the way it had worked out.

  ‘I’m not eating it,’ the old man said again, crossing his arms for emphasis. Tammy peered at the contents of the dish. A couple of very thin slices of grey meat, one lonely boiled potato and peas. Lots of peas. All floating in a brown broth that she supposed, at a stretch, could be called gravy.

  She tried to inject a bit of enthusiasm into her voice. ‘Surely they delivered more meals? Susan said they would bring enough food for a week.’

  Joe pointed towards the kitchen. ‘Go look. Tell me what you see.’ He folded his arms and turned back to his kingdom, lips in an angry sulky line.

  She kicked off her Redbacks and walked inside, clocking the bedroom on the right as she went. Try as she might she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Travis. What was it that drew her to him? He was so different to her. There was something about the man that made her think of circles and ovals rather than squares and rigid lines. A man who moved with the environment, the seasons, never on a set path. Wild. Dangerous.

  She, on the other hand, was a perfectionist. A neat, tidy, worrying, perfectionist – someone who liked neat edges. Someone who had goals and targets to meet. Milk figures to aspire to; pastures to perfect. Her day was set out like a Rubik’s Cube in precise boxes. Well ordered. Careful.

  He was like pepper to her salt. No, that wasn’t it. A wire to her strainer post? That wasn’t it either; he’d be going through her then. She could feel her face flush with heat at the thought of that. Oh hell, face it, McCauley, he was just hot. Really, really hot.

  Tammy let out a sigh that would have rivalled an asthmatic’s wheeze. She needed to focus.

  ‘What did you say, girl?’ came from outside. ‘It’s not my fuckin’ fault those stupid people can’t cook! They should’ve taken lessons from my Nellie. Now, there was a woman who could make a man drool.’

  Tammy glanced at Nellie and Joe’s wedding photo on the wall.

  ‘She could cook a bread and butter puddin’ that would make your insides just sit up and beg for a second helping,’ yelled Joe.

  A bit like Travis Hunter’s kisses, thought Tammy as she stared at the bed again. She’d sure like another serve of them. Those soft lips, the strength of the man as he loomed above her, the feel of his body on hers, moving against her, loving her.

  ‘And her Sunday roasts were something else . . .’ came floating through the door on the breeze.

  Crap! What the hell was she in here for again? Meals: that was it. Maybe it was easier to cook for him herself? Surely he’d put up with that, just like he’d put up with something else she’d found out about. Joe had let it slip Travis had been dropping off venison to him every now and then, since way before the accident. She could well imagine that little meeting, each man silently staring the other down. It would be like granite meeting iron.

  She wondered if the meat drop-off was more about checking on the old man than the extra tucker. It had made her see another facet of Travis Hunter. Almost against his will, he seemed to want to care and protect the vulnerable, although why he didn’t see his own son in that light confounded her.

  Tammy forced her mind back to the job at hand, resolutely moving towards the kitchen and its freezer. She already had enough turmoil in her life. She needed to put all feelings and thoughts of Travis in the same sort of cold storage as the food. He . . . it . . . whatever had happened between them was never going to happen again. She needed to make sure of that.

  Chapter 22

  Trav was in trouble. The clock was inching its way towards six-thirty and he couldn’t find a shirt to wear. To make matters worse Billy was watching him with a mystified look on his face as he rushed from ironing board to cupboard. ‘Well, what do you think?’ He stood there in his Wrangler jeans and a paisley brown and green swirled shirt. Something that had looked fine ten or so years earlier.

  Billy was frowning.

  ‘What?’ Trav peered down. ‘It’s the shirt, isn’t it?’ It was ridiculous.

  Billy nodded, hesitantly at first, then really hard.

  ‘Right.’ Trav ripped off the offending article and threw it at the bin. He strode back to the closed corner of the old shack, which took the dubious title of ‘the main bedroom’, and retrieved another shirt of pale green with RM Williams picked out in blue thread. ‘It’ll have to be this one then, that’s all I own.’ Trav cursed himself for not thinking ahead. If he’d had time between working, looking after Billy and helping Joe, he might have headed into town and shouted himself some new clothes. Actually tried to impress Cin.

  Who was he kidding? It wasn’t Cin who Trav wanted to impress. It was the other one. The one who was all woman in her buttoned-down shirt and tight RM Williams jeans. The one with the firm body who only ever showed a hint of cleavage, but who had a voice sexy enough to get his heart pounding and his blood pressure well and truly up.

  Her luminous big brown eyes had stared up at him in his dreams for the last fortnight. And who could ever forget that kiss? That beautiful, soft, deep kiss that went on forever and ever. Until it was interrupted by a belligerent old man.

  ‘Dad. I think that’s good.’

  Trav hit the earth with a thud. His son was standing in front of him. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s good. The shirt, I mean.’ Billy seemed to struggle for a minute before rushing on, ‘You look great. Ms Greenaway will love it.’

  Ms Greenaway? His date for tonight. ‘Fuck!’ he muttered, immediately feeling resentful about the dance all over again.

  The boy flinched and that kicked Trav in the gut. He couldn’t get it right. Guilt was like an open maw of shame that clamoured to take hold of anything that was good between him and his son. The child was turning away, his shoulders slumped. Just like Trav used to do when he was a child, when he’d buggered up with his dad. Same look. Same slouch. Same defeated stance. ‘Thanks,’ he said quickly to Billy’s back. The boy half turned. ‘Didn’t mean to sound cranky, I’m just a bit . . . like . . . ummm . . .’

  ‘Nervous?’ offered Billy, daringly.

  ‘Yep. Nervous.’ Trav said, reaching out a hand. He touched the boy’s head, instinct guiding him. The red hair was soft, so soft, and spiralling like a curly retriever’s. Trav quickly took away his hand and shoved it into his pocket. As he walked towards the door, he missed the look of wonder on his son’s face.

  Old Joe was in fine form. He’d have no fucking babysitters tonight. They’d all be partying in town at the dance and he, Joe McCauley, would finally have the hill and his whole kingdom to himself. At last. Well, except for the boy. Joe was figuring he shouldn’t be too much trouble. He might even get to sleep on the old camp bed, seeing there’d be no busy-bodying bastards to look in on him. And the boy could sleep in the bed. There, even Nellie couldn’t disagree with that one. She’d love it, finally a child in the house, warm and snug and safe in her bed at long last.

  The woman had been having a bit to say lately. All in his mind, of cou
rse. He wasn’t far enough off his rocker to think she was really there. But still – that night when he’d arrived home from hospital and slept in their bed, the first time since she’d died – he’d felt her. Nellie’s soft body had rolled into his back like she was shoring up his rear defences, just like she always did before she fell asleep.

  And he could have sworn he’d smelled her the next morning in the early hours, just before dawn. Roses. Lavender and roses. An interesting mix, which on Nellie spoke of comfort and safekeeping. Home was what the old woman was to Joe. Mae Rouget had been all class and fun, but Nellie had been steadfast strength and love. He missed her something terrible.

  ‘I’ve brought Billy.’ Hunter was on his verandah. Joe hadn’t even heard him pull up.

  The old man quickly pulled his grumpy face on. ‘Right. Well. C’mon over here, boy, give us a look at you.’

  Billy shuffled across the verandah boards, clutching a small rolled canvas swag. On his back was a pack filled with stuff, and he had what looked suspiciously like a worn-out teddy peeking out from under his arm. Joe chose to ignore the bear. ‘Stow your swag and pack in the kitchen and come back out. Bring a chair with you.’

  ‘I’ll be going then,’ said Travis, his eyes following the boy through the door. He looked back at Joe. ‘Thanks for this.’ He stopped a beat then added, ‘I think.’ The dog trapper’s grin was rueful.

  ‘You’re welcome. Now go. I can see Gibson’s car’s going down the girl’s drive.’ His smile was sly. ‘Happy hunting, Travis.’

  Tammy was looking for her shoes when the doorbell rang. She hadn’t heard the car as she was buried in the wardrobe trying to find the scrappy things that the shoe-shop woman had assured her were sandals. More like fine strings of leather hanging off a three-inch heel – and they’d cost a fortune. A bit like the peacock blue and green dress she had on.

  She’d fallen in love with it, although it wasn’t as demure as she was used to. Thinking of sexy Cin and the wolfish Joanne, though, she’d gone beyond her comfort zone and bought the damnable scrap of floating layers of chiffon. When the saleswoman assured her it covered all that it needed to, she hadn’t realised just how little it actually did.