In Your Arms: A Small Town Love Story (Safe Haven Book 1) (6 page)

She lifted her head a tiny bit, her eyebrows straining up so that she could get a quick and, hopefully unnoticed, view of Adam. And, yep, he was watching her. His mouth parted and she ducked her head and quickly looked away. Her heart hammered in her chest and that weird prickling started up in her veins, the crook of her arms, the back of her neck. Without too much effort she could still feel his hand gripping her wrist. She whisked the oil and vinegar with renewed force.

“And at the risk of stating the obvious, I think you’ll find you’re now blushing.”

“Sally, stop it. I’m not blushing,” Marlo whispered. She glanced around quickly. “Somebody will hear you.”

Her friend was giving her that skeptical, over the top of her glasses look. “So the pink is some sort of reflection off the tomatoes in the salad? You got the hots for the new boy, Marlo Croft?” She punctuated the question with an eyebrow wiggle. Sally had engaged her inner terrier. She wouldn’t let go until she had the answer she wanted.

“He’s not the new boy…am I really pink? I don’t have the hots for him—maybe the warms. Is that possible?”

Sally laughed. “
Warms
…give me a break. A ‘warm’ phase doesn’t exist. How it works is cold to hot, instant attraction.”

“No, really, I’m not like that. He’s just visiting. I don’t even know how long he’s going to be here.”

Sally jabbed a finger at her. “You, girl, are totally like that. Except you’re playing it cool. That’s good. Keep that up.”

Marlo poured the dressing into a small jug. “Sal, I’m not playing anything. I don’t know how to do that. There’s nothing going on.”

“If you say so.” Sally looked over at Adam again. “He’s rather divine, though. Those eyes! Jeez, I’d tread water in those deep blue pools any day.”

“I’d drown. I can’t swim,” Marlo admitted.

“Poor guy doesn’t have a chance. The single women in town are drawing lots for him.”

Marlo’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. Lottie at the Cake Whole Café made cupcakes in his honor, decorated with the New Zealand flag…except she got it a bit wrong and added an extra star and made it the Australian flag. That’s like putting stars and stripes all over a maple leaf. Apparently Adam was very gracious and pretended not to notice, but Ricky Tonkin came in and announced her error to a full shop. Honestly, that kid’s only eight and he knows way too much for comfort.”

“So do you! How do you find this stuff out? Have you been hanging out in town?”

“I don’t need to go to town. The clinic waiting room has been buzzing like a hive with a new queen.”

“Wow, I’ve been missing out.”

“Oh, not according to the word around town.”

“Oh, God, no.”

“Oh, God, yes. But don’t worry. Cleo at the Well Bun Cake Stop says she can outdo you and the Cake Whole. She’s been on the Internet and found a heavily guarded recipe for a very special cookie they eat in New Zealand.”

Marlo snorted. “So heavily guarded it’s on the Internet?”

“Precisely. And she knows that when she makes them for Adam he will have eyes only for her. They’re called Anzus cookies or Anzac biscuits or something. Apparently Kiwis call cookies ‘biscuits.’ Or so Cleo says.”

Marlo laughed. “Cleo’s old enough to be Adam’s mother.”

“Well—” Sally waggled her finger, “—Cleo says a boy that far away from home always welcomes a little mothering.” She lifted her glass and traced the ring of condensation it left on the counter top. “What a shame he’s married.”

“Married?” Marlo blew out a breath.
Married. Wow, I didn’t see that coming.

“What? Hadn’t you noticed?”

“No, no I hadn’t. What was I supposed to notice, anyway?”

“Ring finger, left hand, gold band. A dead giveaway.”

She hadn’t seen a wedding ring. But why would she? You can’t see what you’re not looking for, and she wasn’t looking for a relationship. They were simply thrown together because of work. Maybe they had been a bit flirty, but that would stop. Immediately.

“Who’s married?”

“Oh, hi, Lulah.”

Lulah waited. “Like I asked…” She picked a piece of tomato from the salad.

Marlo stilled Lulah’s hand. “No picking.”

She shifted her hand and grabbed another piece. “Still waiting.”

“Adam’s married.”

Lulah swallowed. “Oh, weird. I never noticed a wedding ring or anything. Did he tell you?”

“No, Sally says he’s married.”

Lulah gave Sally a questioning look.

“Hello, wedding ring.” Sally was waving her left hand around again.

“Never saw it myself,” Lulah replied. “Is this food decorative or are we going to eat some time?”

“Lulah, you’re like a man. How do you stay so thin when all you seem to think about is food and all you do is eat? I think you’re harboring a tapeworm. I’ve got a remedy for that!”

She held her hands in front of her face. “Argh, Sally, stay away from me with your evil potions, witch. You’re an animal homeopath and I’m human.”

“The principles are the same—”

“No offense, Sally, but if I had a headache, I wouldn’t go to the vet. So you stick to squirting your potions into the mouths of animals and we can stay friends.”

Marlo broke in before Sally launched into one of her lectures. “Come on, let’s distribute the loaves and fishes to the starving hordes.”

M
arlo crossed
the courtyard with her plate of food. Everyone had gathered around the main table to eat. As she approached, Adam stood and pulled out the chair on his left side. She stole a quick look at his hand, fixing on the wedding band. The narrow plain one on his ring finger, that sat there in great, gold glory—an Olympian first prize for some other woman. How could she have missed it?

Jeff kept them laughing with funny tales from the vet clinic. Sally stole the occasional glance in Marlo’s direction, but years ago Marlo had perfected the smile that hid a thousand anxieties, all lip-action without the joy. She plastered it on her face and it was so convincing even Sally stopped checking up on her.

Adam bent toward her. “You’re very quiet. Are you okay?” Now his low voice and warm breath against her ear were improper.

She blocked him with her shoulder and leaned away. “Of course, I’m fine.” She pushed back her chair and stood, as she reached for his empty plate. “Would you like some more?”

“Thanks, I enjoyed it but I’ve eaten enough.”

J
eff spoke
. “I did a year in New Zealand on a veterinary exchange.”

“Really? Where were you based?” Adam asked.

“I was in the Waikato, in a rural practice.”

Adam shook his head. “I don’t believe it. The Waikato. That’s where our family farms are.”

“You’re kidding me. What’s the name of the farms? Maybe I visited at some time.”

“Guildford Dairy.”

“Wow, I did visit. What a small world! I was at Waikato Rural Animal Health with Jock Dale.”

“Jock is a great guy. He must be close to retiring now.”

“He’ll never retire. Such a brilliant mind. I learned so much from him. So, Guildford Dairy?” Jeff put down his beer. “You must be Adam Guildford.”

Adam’s eyes darkened, his face impassive. “That’s right.”

Jeff shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry. I heard what happened through the clinic. I’ve stayed in touch with some of them. It must have been terrible.”

M
arlo carried
a stack of empty plates and put them by the dishwasher. She walked to the other end of the kitchen where a large window framed a view out over a meadow. In the darkness there was little to see despite the moonlight. She bent at the waist, folding over to press both hands on the bench, to stretch. What a week. As if battling Justice’s defenses weren’t enough, now Vince was out there somewhere, fighting his own dark spirits. That first week he’d arrived at the Sanctuary, she had avoided him, unable to see past the emotionally bound and physically daunting man. Then she got the chance to see Calliope do her work on him, to watch Vince accept without question the offer from a dog to help him heal. That was the moment she recognized the special person he was and learned her own lesson about judging books by covers.

As she straightened and stretched again, she heard the even footfall and long stride of a man, across the kitchen. Damn
.

“Don’t get up. Keep stretching until you’re done.”

Adam.

“Big week, huh?”

Marlo stood. “It’s always a big week around here.”

“Yeah, I bet. Look, I’m bushed and you look pretty tired, too. I’m going to head back to the apartment. I’ll walk you back to the house, if you like.”

“I’m okay.”

“Sure you are, but it’s dark. We walked down together and I’m not keen on leaving you here to walk back alone.”

“Maybe I’m not ready to go.” Why was she being so defiant? She was more than ready to go.

“I think you are, but I’ll wait.”

Her eyes closed in a little mark of defeat. “You’re right; I’d like to get home.”

She walked this path several times each week, usually alone. Tonight they walked in silence but she could still feel him, feel an intimacy as if they were connected in some way. A little piece of her guard dropped when he was around, so that she didn’t have to keep such a vigilant watch on her surroundings.

She was conscious of their breathing, the matching cadence of their step, and his closeness even though they kept several feet apart. When they reached Adam’s car she barely paused. “Good night, Adam.” She continued walking as she spoke.

He caught hold of her sleeve. “Wait. Marlo. You and I…me, it’s complicated, okay?”

“It always is.” She took a deep breath, struggling to control her voice. She needed to get away from him, the dark, and that voice. That gorgeous, kind, wrap-me-in-warmth voice.

As if reading her mind he stepped toward her, into her space. He took her hand, delaying her departure, and bent to gently kiss her on her forehead. “Don’t judge me yet,” he whispered, allowing her to pull her hand from his grasp.

As she did, her fingers brushed across his wedding band. “I have to go.” Turning for the house she dismissed the lesson she’d learned earlier in the evening. His gold ring was the cover to a book she wouldn’t be opening.

6

A
fter a short drive
, Adam let himself into the apartment he was renting. The room had classic short-term rental décor, comfortable but not homely enough to make you want to stick around and have your mates over. The entire complex had this theme that was all brown-bear-and-wilderness but was situated too far out of the woods, and too close to the harbor, to pull it off.

The apartment was completely devoid of anything personal. On the walls hung the usual repro artwork giving the place the ambience of a home-furnishings catalog. In his younger days he wouldn’t have noticed, but having made a home with a woman he loved, the stark and impersonal nature of the apartment disappointed him each time he entered. Thank God this was a temporary arrangement.

He poured himself a nightcap and stepped out into the warm night air onto the balcony overlooking the abandoned pool area. He looked at the pool, then at the whisky he’d poured. Setting the glass down, Adam returned inside, changed into a swimsuit and headed for the pool. He was edgy and could remove the sharpness through alcohol or a swim.

Their home became a house after Emma’s death. The memory of her didn’t haunt the place. He never caught a glimpse of her, nor the sound of her laughter, or her scent; instead the house was simply bleak and empty.

At first he had reached to the bottle for a bit of clichéd comfort. After a few mornings of stellar headaches and churning nausea, his liver joined in to confirm what his brain was trying to tell him—self-medicating with alcohol wasn’t going to achieve anything more than a major hangover. The only way to emerge from his hell was to keep in peak physical and emotional condition.

Physically pushing himself had helped in the start. Hurt that was tangible—the screaming muscles and fire in the lungs—that was something you could fight and take down. He began taking long runs out the back of the farm, but it wasn’t enough. The terrain soon became too smooth, too easy.

He had headed into the bush, the wilderness, using rutted animal tracks, following streams and climbing high ridges. And he ran until the numbness went away and the raw hurt began. Ran until his bare legs and arms bled, torn by shrubby manuka bush and tātaramoa barbs, until, now physically broken, the tears that came covered every type of pain he knew. He mightn’t know why Vince had a need to ‘go bush’ but he certainly understood what he got from it.

On the days he had better control of his emotions, he would swim. Long ocean swims battling the sloppy sea chop or the rolling ocean swell. Battling the bad thoughts devouring his mind that were fueled by the merging of loss and guilt.

He had to be so sure of himself on the swimming days. Sure that sheer will would beat down his torment—the
if-only
replay that looped through his head. He needed the confidence that he would carry on, so he took the memory of Emma with him. In his mind, he positioned her off his left shoulder in the place she always swam when they did that together, so that when he lifted his head for a breath he could see she was okay. If she needed help he was in the right place to protect her, and they’d tackle the sea the way they had when she’d been alive.

Protect her. How pitiful, this conjuring up of Emma, this attempt to give himself an opportunity to save her. But he needed her phantom image, because in his soul he understood all it would take was a big suck in, a big breath of water instead of air and the pain would end.

Now he stood at the side of the pool, edgy, little jags of emotion awakened and firing through his body. He hauled in some focus and dived. Once he surfaced he started to swim, mentally working through a checklist of his form. He planned to be in the water about an hour, so he started concentrating on his stroke, making each one matter while at the same time maintaining a slow, strong rhythm. Next he found and centered on his kick and finally he shifted to his breathing. Once he had established a comfortable cadence, he could let his mind go free.

Tonight, swimming was his meditation.

He touched the end of the pool and turned, his legs pushing off from the wall and propelling him well up the pool before he resumed his stroke.

For the first time in almost four years, there was that ripple of attraction toward a woman. The sort of attraction that skittered from physical to emotional and called out to his heart as it went by, asking if it would like to send a little piece along for the fairground ride.

The sort of attraction that grew into something that made you feel awestruck and sick on alternate heartbeats. The sort of attraction that would grow to a point where breathing became a secondary concern, because simply being with that person could sustain life.

Extreme heart sports. Wrap a bungee cord around the monster and hurl it off a bridge and it would bounce right back.

And there were already two reasons telling him he still had time to do the right thing and shut that reactor down. One being that little issue called Emma, and the other one being—oh, yeah—making the people you care about vulnerable
.

Because Marlo doesn’t need more shit in her life.

Idiot.

And wasn’t that the whole point of coming to the U.S.? To do a job, alone, therefore not put anyone in danger?

Double idiot.

Regardless of the shutdown, it now appeared Marlo would know his entire story by mid-morning the following day. She would hear it from somebody else when it should have been him who told her.

With the loss of Emma, Adam thought he’d found his limit, and for four years he’d taken utmost care to ensure he’d never again put himself anywhere near that boundary. Never again allow anyone to own that much influence in his life.

He had to shut this right down while it’s still easy.

One step back to the solid footing of the occasional tension-releasing one-night-stand was the right move. Sure, the gratification was a bit one-dimensional, physical and fleeting, but nobody got hurt, either. Sometimes solace really could be found in an anonymous warm body, for a few hours at least.

He continued to make lengths of the pool, trying to soothe his mind and tire his body so he could get a sound night’s sleep. But his mind wouldn’t still and in an instant he was back at the bathroom door, reaching for Marlo, taking her by the arms, gently steering her out of the way while every fiber in his body wanted to maneuver her directly into the shower with him.

Let go of the girl. If Marlo is damaged, she doesn’t need your baggage, too.

He touched the wall again and on the next turn forced himself to swim the entire length of the pool underwater. His lungs were near bursting as he reached the end. It hurt but this physical discomfort was tangible. Something he could put a finger on and control.

After swimming four more lengths, he turned and stayed underwater for the following two lengths, found the end for the second time and surfaced, gasping for air. That got her out of his head. Reaching for the edge of the pool, he hauled himself out and stood doubled over, hands on thighs, sucking great gulps of air while the water dripped from his body and puddled at his feet. He stayed that way until his deprived heart stopped its hammering protest against his chest wall.

A wolf whistle caught his attention. “Need some resuscitation, big boy?” Two women were sitting on their balcony, drinks in hand. “Come on up. We’ll bring you back to life.”

Their apartment was in semi-darkness one floor above an unlit area of the pool complex. He gave them a small wave and they beckoned eagerly.

The sirens’ lure—those devious creatures promised the sort of enchantment of which this night he had no desire. He rumpled his hair with his fingers, shaking out as much water as possible, and headed toward his apartment. That whisky won’t have gone anywhere.

M
arlo watched
Justice eat his breakfast. Since the work with Joker the other day—which proved his worthiness of the title, The Extractor—Justice had made some tremendous gains. He now stood properly and would eat his meals as Marlo watched. Yet he still wouldn’t take food from her hand. In fact, he remained quite fearful of hands and this was making his rehabilitation that much more challenging.

Out walking on a leash, he could be easily startled although he was better if he had a calm dog to take his cues from. Sudden hand movements sent him straight back to pancake mode. Despite his age, which they reckoned to be around two years, he was really an ungainly, uneducated puppy. Albeit a fearful one.

She would bring down Fala to check him out, once Adam was there to help. If that meeting went well, Justice could have a shot at spending the night up at the house.

J
ustice came
out of his kennel and trotted to the fence, his tail swinging gently in time with his gait. Adam crouched low to greet him. “Look at you, big brave guy. Have you been shaking off some of that stress?” The dog pressed up against the fence trying to get as close as possible to Adam. “You’re in luck today.” His fingers tracked along the old fighting scars that ran like an urban roadmap across the dog’s face. “Marlo’s bringing a very special lady to meet you.”

Adam was nudged from behind and as he turned, Fala flung herself at him. “Hello, princess.” He rubbed her all over and she did her best to shower him with kisses.

“Come on, you two, you can do the smoochy stuff later.”

They were going to walk the leashed dogs down to the meadow. If all went well, they would release them to play. So far Justice hadn’t shown any aggression towards the other dogs. If anything, he was a little shy until he gained some confidence around them. Fala was old and a little vulnerable in the company of young boisterous dogs, but if Justice was going to have time up at the house, Marlo had to see first that they got along.

The greeting went well. The dogs met each other first through the fence. Justice showed a lot of interest but no sign of aggression. Fala showed equal interest but soon turned back to Adam for some more petting. “Right, let’s move to the next part of the plan.” Marlo leashed Justice and she instructed Adam to start walking Fala down to the meadow.

“What will you do if this doesn’t work, if Fala and Justice can’t get along?” The look she gave him seemed to say that not getting along wouldn’t be an option.

For the next half an hour Marlo worked with Justice, calling instructions for Adam until she was satisfied Justice and Fala could co-exist, some distance apart, in a meadow. It took her one step closer to the goal of having the dogs in the house together.

“That seemed to go well,” Adam suggested when they were back in Marlo’s office.

“I’m pleased,” Marlo agreed. “I’ll raise the stakes with the two of them tomorrow. It may look as if I’m taking this slowly, but I won’t put either dog at risk. You can help again in the morning if you have time.”

The idea of spending the morning with Marlo and the dogs was tempting. “I’d like to, but I can’t.”

“Sure, that’s fine.” He noticed that tightening to her mouth as she dismissed him a little too quickly. She had no resilience, instead diving straight into rejection. She needed to learn how to bounce. He had noticed before that she didn’t like to ask for help, and now that she had asked, he’d turned her down. Shit
.

“I have to go to Richmond in the morning. I’m meeting up with a veterinary forensic team who are going over the farm where Justice and the others were discovered. At the time of the raid they turned up some bodies of dogs in a pit. They’re searching the property now more thoroughly. I’ve been invited to observe the operation.”

“Ugh, I don’t think I could do that.”

She’d relaxed a bit. Not so much a bounce-back as a slow roll, but that was a start. “Well, I’m not looking forward to it, but I need to see how they’re going to put the prosecution together. It appears a lot of dogs were killed out there. This forensics team have gone over a few of these dog fighting setups now. Being out there with them gives me the opportunity to learn what to look for beyond dogs chained to oil drums.”

He kept watching her. She stood at the sink, washing her hands, circling and wringing her fingers as if she was biding time. “Why don’t you have dinner with me in town tonight?” he asked.

Her hands stilled under the running water. “I can’t.” She kept her back to him.

Out came that automatic negative response that kicked in if he complimented her or tried to help her. Now it seemed she called it up for duty if he asked her to dinner. On the surface it seemed she was backing him off but he’d felt the attraction between them. “You can’t or you won’t?”

Marlo closed off the tap with deliberation and shook the water from her hands. When she reached for the towel, he thought he saw the smallest tremor but as she faced him she appeared in total command. “Won’t.” Her mouth was firm.

“Why is that?” He might get that wall to crack.

She brushed aside a strand of hair. Her gaze was steady and determined and it dropped to his hands briefly when she answered. “You’re married. I don’t think dinner with you is appropriate.”

He followed her gaze to his hands. The wedding ring. Of course. He hadn’t got around to having his neck chain fixed, so he’d left the ring on his finger. And obviously Jeff’s knowledge of him and Emma hadn’t been shared with Marlo. The time had come to give up some information.

In any relationship you had that give and take of personal details. Some people spilled quickly, but with Marlo he saw an intense need to protect her feelings. What a delicate play, that seesaw rocking of sharing private thoughts. Each person tried to balance the tipped scales, so that no one person gave up too much, nor did the other hold too much back.

It looked as though he’d have to blink first
.
He kept his voice calm, level. “Yes, Marlo, I guess I am married, in a sense. My wife, Emma, was killed, and I don’t know when, or how, to become unmarried. I’ve spent the past four years since her death trying to haul myself out of something akin to limbo. Recently I’ve begun to feel a degree of success.”
Very recently.

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