Only We Know (19 page)

‘I don't reckon I've been here since I left the farm.' Sam's gaze was on the ripples in the water.

‘Charlie said your mum loved it. I can understand why.'

Sam looked down at her, his face serious. ‘This was her favourite place in the world.' His eyes softened. ‘Sometimes, she'd disappear from the house and we'd search for what seemed like hours and hours. And we'd always find her down here, with a rug and a book. I guess she got sick of a houseful of boys. Can't blame her really.' Sam chuckled. ‘Other times she used to drag us down here for picnics. Andy and I —'

Sam stopped.

Calla waited. Breathed deep. She gripped his arm tighter, snuggled her hand into the warmth and comfort of the space next to his chest. ‘Your brother?'

Sam nodded. ‘We'd throw our yabby nets into the dam, over there on the other side. Mum hated the bloody things so of course when we caught any we'd chase her all over the place, waving them in her face. It used to crack Dad up.'

She looked up to him. ‘What happened?'

He waited for a moment before speaking. ‘He was driving a tractor here on the farm and it rolled and crushed him. Almost twenty years ago.'

Calla's heart almost stopped beating. He'd lost a brother too. Really lost him.

‘He must have been so young.'

‘He'd just turned twenty.'

‘Do you think—' Calla held her tongue. Would her question push too far? It seemed almost too obvious a reason to her for Charlie's stubborn refusal to move. He'd lost a wife and a son there. Wouldn't that be more than enough to cement him in? Deep breath. ‘Have you ever thought … Have you ever wondered if that's the reason Charlie doesn't want to leave the farm?'

Sam didn't answer right away. ‘Maybe. It's the reason I left. Couldn't wait to get away from the place after that. Everything here was just too fucking sad.'

‘You were only a kid, right?'

‘Eighteen. It was the summer after I finished high school.'

‘How come you didn't stay and take over the farm, grow all the sheep?'

She felt him stiffen. ‘That was Andy's thing, not mine.'

Calla dropped her head on Sam's shoulder. She could feel his chest rising and falling with his breath. When he moved, they were face to face. He looked into her eyes.

He leant down, came in close. ‘I don't want to talk about all this sad shit.'

‘I understand if you—'

‘I don't want to talk about anything.' Sam's lips were a whisper away from hers and Calla arched her neck to meet them. His dark chocolate eyes were on her mouth. His breath was hot on her cheek. She tugged on his hand, a silent urging.

He paused. ‘I've been wanting to do this since you crashed into my car.' The crinkles in the corners of his eyes appeared once again and he grinned.

‘Oh really?'

Sam's cool lips grazed her left cheek before pulling back again. ‘Or maybe since you ran into me with your trolley at the supermarket.' He touched her right cheek with his mouth, lingering there a little longer now. Calla stepped into him, pressed her breasts against his chest until they were locked together down to their thighs. She stepped a foot in between his legs on the wet grass.

Sam nuzzled her curls, kissed the soft skin under her ear and then nibbled her earlobe.

Her belly — and lower — quivered. He traced more lines on her with his mouth. She reached for his forearms, gripped him through his jumper.

‘Actually, now that I think about it …' Sam's mouth was nearly on hers. She could almost swallow his hot breath. ‘… I've wanted to do this since I saw you on the boat.'

There was a buzzing in Calla's ears. She felt so limber that, if she were to let go of him, she was scared she would tumble backwards onto the grass.

She leant back and met his eyes. ‘You going to keep talking about it or are you going to shut up and kiss me?'

Calla reached up and grabbed Sam's neck, tugging him to her at the same time he crashed his lips into hers. His strong arms were around her waist, lifting her off her feet, and his kiss, oh, that kiss, did nothing to extinguish the burning inside her. His teasing lips were open and full of wanting her and she kissed him right back with everything she had, hard and desperate and aching for him. He tasted real and masculine and his three-day growth abraded her cheeks as his mouth searched hers. Their tongues danced, and then he was kissing her top lip, her bottom lip, invading her, stealing her breath. She clung to him like a limpet, weak-kneed, shaking, burning up and feverish. His hands roamed over her, cupped her arse, moved up her back, then weaved though her curls as he cradled her head. All she could feel was his strength. All she could hear was her breath and someone moaning. She figured it was her. And all she could taste were his lips, his desire.

She'd been struck by lightning.

When she finally pulled her mouth from his so she didn't hyperventilate, Sam loosened his grip, brought his hands to her cheeks and angled her head up so she could look him right in the eyes. She couldn't break his gaze, and stared right back at him until he smiled. She sighed and smiled too. And then they laughed. Laughed so loud the sound of their voices floated across the water and came back to them with a happy echo.

‘Oh boy,' she managed, with another laugh on her lips. She stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers, and then teased them through his dark, wild hair.

‘Why the fuck did I wait so long to do that, Red?' Sam's voice was gruff and breathless and it shot straight to Calla's groin, which was on the edge of a meltdown as it was.

Before she could answer his question, they were kissing again, his lips on hers, his tongue roaming her mouth, sending her reeling somewhere between
This is such a bad idea
and
How am I going to ever live without his kiss?

That plan Calla had to simplify her life? To swear off men for a while? She was just going to have to rip it up into a million shreds of paper and make a collage out of it.

There was no going back from a kiss like that.

She willed her legs to keep her upright as they walked back to the car.

Sam gripped the steering wheel tighter and used every bit of self-control he had to keep his eyes out front on the endless white line and not on Calla. His knuckles were white from the exercise. If he gave in to what he really wanted to do, he'd pull the car over to the side of the road and drag her into the back seat.

This was nuts. Him and the glass-half-empty redhead sitting next to him? The one he'd pegged as a chicken, who had just challenged him to shut up and kiss her, a throaty demand that'd shot straight to his dick?

He took a quick glance at her legs and saw fidgeting hands. She was pulling at a cuticle, then teasing it with her teeth. Which made him think about what
he
wanted to do to those lips. Damn it. Who the hell was she? This cautious woman he'd rescued had thrown her arms around him and kissed him like the apocalypse was about to strike. She'd tasted good. She'd smelt good. Her hair felt soft and his fingers twitched at the memory of it between his fingers. And it had been over almost as quickly as it had begun.

They were on their way back to Penneshaw to the pub to talk to his cousin and grab dinner and, later, back to her holiday cabin. Once Charlie had given them the clue about Ben, Sam knew they were one step closer. So, after setting him up with food and some TV news, they'd said their goodbyes and driven away from Roo's Rest.

When they'd returned to the house from the dam, Charlie had looked at his son with a raised eyebrow and a knowing grin. Sam was relieved Calla hadn't seen it. He didn't want her to feel embarrassed in front of his dad, and who knew what the hell he might say in front of her? He'd probably assume things about the two of them that weren't true. Not that she had any reason to be embarrassed about anything. And Sam wasn't married — any more — taken or otherwise spoken for. They were two single adults. Free to do whatever they wanted without being hung up about consequences or what other people thought. He didn't have time for guilt, and he had no reason to feel it, with her or anyone else.

Shit. He'd assumed she wasn't married, taken or otherwise spoken for, but he'd never asked. Until that afternoon, he'd never had a reason to. Her phone calls home were to her sister, not a man. Or at least that's the way it had seemed. He glanced at her hands. She wore rings on both fingers, but they looked like costume jewellery rather than anything official.

Maybe Charlie had the whole thing sussed. Sam could have sworn he had been laughing to himself as they'd driven away. He'd looked in the rear-view mirror to see his dad standing on the veranda, slapping his thigh. Did he know what he'd been doing when he suggested Sam show Calla the dam? Had Sam been outmanoeuvred by an old man with dementia? Shit. He'd been played.

They were halfway back to Penneshaw before Sam realised they'd barely said a word to each other. He turned down the music and reached over to rest a hand on her thigh. She looked at his fingers. And that move became a caress and then he left his hand there, feeling her muscles move and quiver underneath his touch as the car jostled on the road.

‘Red.'

‘Yes?'

‘You got someone back in Adelaide? Or anywhere else for that matter?'

Her eyes were wide, her lips parted on a thought. Those eyes, those magnificent green eyes, shone at him.

‘No.' When she shook her head, her curls danced.

‘Good.'

Sam returned his gaze to the road.

‘Well … what about you?'

‘No.'

When Calla laid her hand on top of his, so soft and warm, he knew exactly what he was going to do when they got back to the cabin. And it had nothing to do with cooking dinner. He wanted her. That kiss was just the entrée. And he was desperate for main course and dessert.

CHAPTER

23

‘Sam.'

Ben's booming voice rang out like a foghorn when Sam and Calla walked into the pub. Sam lifted his chin in hello and looked back to Calla, waited for her to catch up with him. When she did, he placed a gentle hand on the small of her back to guide her over to Ben and the big bar. Sam tried not to notice the enquiring look in his cousin's eyes, at the appearance of a beautiful woman and specifically at her appearance with him.

‘Twice in three days, mate. You looking for a job or something?'

‘Why, Benny? You need a hand running the place? Getting a bit old for this caper?'

Ben guffawed and slapped a hand on the bar. ‘I'm younger than you, old man.'

Sam shook his cousin's hand. ‘So, how about a free beer?'

‘Only if you tell me all about your lady friend.' Ben leant over, shooting Calla a huge wink. ‘Champagne on the house for you if you tell me your name.'

‘It's Calla,' Sam said. There was an edge to his voice and he didn't care if Ben heard it.

‘And I'll take beer instead of champagne, if you don't mind.' Calla held out a hand. ‘I'm Calla Maloney. Nice to meet you.'

‘Ben. Sam's cousin. I come from the handsome side of the family.'

‘I can tell.' Sam heard the tease in Calla's voice and he took a step closer to her. Just enough for Ben to get the message. Which was:
In your dreams, pal.

‘Calla ran into me on Hog Bay Road the day of the accident. Totalled her car. I've been stuck with her ever since.'

Ben grabbed a couple of cold glasses and filled them. ‘Shit, that was a bad one. The cops reckon the two poor bastards on the motorbike were French tourists. Sometimes they forget they've got to drive on the opposite side of the road Down Under and … bloody hell. Still, woulda been quick. Worse ways to go.'

Calla's fingers tightened like a vice on his wrist. He knew what it was about. He'd conveniently hidden the truth of the accident from her. Why upset her any more than she'd already been? He felt her fingernails digging into his skin. While it would have been incredibly hot if they were being dragged down his back in a slow trail, right now they were making him uneasy about the conversation they were undoubtedly about to have.

‘I heard you were there, Sam. That you helped out.'

Sam shook it off. ‘Not much I could do. It was a bad one.'

Calla released her grip and stepped away from him. He should change the subject. ‘Listen, Ben, can you take a break for five minutes? There's something we need to ask you.'

Ben checked his watch. ‘Sure, grab one of the tables over by the front window and I'll be with you in half a sec.'

Sam reached out to take both beers but Calla had scooped up her own. They walked over to the front window. He was finding it hard to take in the ocean views what with the pair of furious green eyes staring like lasers at the back of his head. He pulled out a chair and sat. Calla did the same, deliberately opposite him. She put her glass on the table and turned her steely gaze to him.

He leant back against his chair, crossed his arms.

‘Were you going to tell me about the accident?' she asked quietly.

Sam rubbed his jaw. Took in the view for a moment and then turned back to her.

‘No, I wasn't.'

Calla considered his words. She lifted her beer and drank half of it in a series of long gulps.

Man, he was in love.

‘Why weren't you going to tell me?'

He felt a tightness in his jaw. ‘Why would you want to know?'

‘Because … damn you,' Calla whispered across the table, ‘do you think I couldn't handle knowing the truth? I'm not some precious flower, you know. I can look after myself. I have for a long time and I don't need you, Mr Professional Hero Firefighter, to come over all macho and shield me from life.'

Sam got the feeling this was about something more than the accident. Calla had dropped her eyes to the table and sat staring at the wet rings left there from the beer.