The Man Behind the Badge (5 page)

She let her arms swing with each step as she sucked in another lungful of warm, morning air and savoured the clean sharp tang of eucalyptus oil.

Each exhalation seemed to clear away more of the fog of sadness and anxiety that had plagued her for the last six months. The betrayal of her fiancé and unceasing disapproval of her father seemed distant, unimportant things in this magical place beneath the gum trees. Even the worries about her sister eased.

In their stead, a marvellous sense of freedom. And a confirmation that she’d made the right decision by coming here to do the locum for Liz. The kilometres between the small country town and her family down in the city helped her to see how suffocating and unhealthy her relationships with them had become.

Ultimately, she would do what she could to heal the rifts with them. But for now she was content with her plans. After she’d finished in Dustin, she was moving on. Remote area medicine. On her weekends off, she’d already done some of the courses that would stand her in good stead, help her to qualify for a position. She was waiting on one final enrolment. With luck she’d pick up a place earlier if there was a cancellation.

No going back to the city. Dustin was the stepping stone to the rest of her life.

She was doing what was right for her, not what was expected.

The simplicity of being in this rural valley was like a balm to her spirit. The steep, treed hillsides of the natural basin, towering gum-leaf canopies, water gurgling over large rocks in the river that curved around the edge of the large flat floor. It was beautiful. Nature’s sounds and smells.

Breathe. Enjoy the moment. For today, she was here. In this place. In this particular moment.

It was all good.

Her eyes caught sight of the tents behind her car and her new-found calm abruptly evaporated.

All was good…
except
for the local police sergeant.

When she’d arrived that morning, Jack had proudly shown her the tent he’d set up for her. Another well-prepared person was camping very close. Obviously, a competitor because there was a horse float and a makeshift corral of electric tape. She’d put her bag in on the camp stretcher. Then, and only then, had Jack casually mentioned the tent next to hers belonged to Tom Jamieson.

A wave of chaotic heat swept up from her toes as she remembered the moment.

How was she supposed to avoid the man when she was practically sleeping with him? Sure, they were separated by thin layers of waterproof nylon.

And a few feet of air.

Hardly any sort of barrier at all. She’d hear him when he moved in his tent, in his sleeping bag.

She swallowed.

He’d hear her.

She’d wanted to demand that Jack dismantle her tent and set it up somewhere else. Preferably on the other side of the river, the other side of the basin.

The other side of Australia! A small snicker of laughter escaped her.

She’d even mumbled some stilted half-sentences about moving but Jack had looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. Little did he know how close he was to being right.

She was powerless to control her physical reaction when Tom Jamieson was near her. The tiny shivers that spiralled out of her stomach to every part of her body, clogging her throat, cramping the function of her lungs. Sending her heart into tachycardia. But she could make damned sure he never guessed the struggle she was having.

Cool.

Calm.

Collected.

Her watchwords for dealing with Tom Jamieson.

A loud equine snort jerked her out of her mental pep talk.

A sudden prickle of awareness shivered across her skin. With a feeling of inevitability, she stopped and turned. At eye level was a black mane on a gleaming brown horse. But more disturbing, a pair of lean moleskin-covered legs astride the large creature. A man’s hand held leather reins in a relaxed grip, a second hand rested on the thigh nearest to her, long masculine fingers splayed across taut navy fabric.

She’d been thinking about Tom and now here he was as though she’d conjured him up.

She looked up into his smiling face and her heart did a slow somersault before quivering behind her sternum like a jelly. At this rate she’d need to call the paramedics for defibrillation. Everything about this moment would be imprinted on her memory. The curve of his lips, the creak of the saddle, a pleasant animal mustiness from the sun-warmed horse.

Damn.

She was a city girl. Sales at big department stores made her pulse careen out of control. Not moments filled with these earthy scents and sights and sounds.

Nature had an evil sense of humour.

‘A
RE
you following me, Sergeant?’

‘Tom.’

‘Are you following me…Sergeant
Tom
?’

He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling attractively. Her traitorous heart gave a quick leap. She set her lips, ruthlessly suppressing the smile that wanted to form. If she wasn’t careful, he’d think she was bantering with him, encouraging him. The last thing she needed.

His laughter faded and he leaned confidingly towards her. The fabric of his pale blue chambray shirt pulled at the shoulder, moulding to the muscle beneath. He rested a lean, tanned forearm on the front of the saddle, his hand dangling at eye level. She frowned, resisting the impulse to step back.

His eyes made a leisurely examination of her face and then he said, ‘Yes.’

She squinted at him, her mind scrambling to make sense of the word. The small silence snapped at her nerves. ‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, I am following you,’ he clarified.

‘Oh.’ Her voice came out as a feeble squeak. She cleared her throat. ‘Why?’

‘When I saw you heading away from the arena, I guessed you’d be going back to camp for a cuppa.’ His voice purred along her auditory pathways as she stared at the small satisfied smile curving his mouth. ‘I thought I’d join you.’

‘Don’t you have things to do? Official duties?’ She looked back towards the arena in the hope that a task might materialise for him. ‘Judging or something?’

‘Not right now.’ The warmth in his eyes made her pulse jump. ‘And, besides, I wanted to talk to you.’

She took a deep breath and recited her mantra again.

Cool.

Calm.

Collected. Was it too much to ask of her cavorting insides? Apparently, it was, because her heart kept chiselling at her ribcage.

‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ She managed to fix him with a steady look.

‘Anything and everything, Kayla.’ There it was again, that lingering verbal caress of her name. ‘I enjoy crossing swords with you. There’s a certain spice to it that I can’t seem to resist. You interest me. I want to know what makes you tick.’

‘You must be a very busy man if you’re this curious with everyone.’ She couldn’t prevent the tinge of asperity that had crept into her voice.

‘Ah, but I’m not this curious with just anyone.’ When he paused, she felt her stomach tighten in anticipation of what he’d say next. ‘Only the people I want to know better. Like you.’ He gave her a sly smile. ‘And members of the criminal fraternity, but that’s part of the job.’

A small bubble of laughter escaped catching her by surprise. ‘You’re a typical policeman, aren’t you?’

‘I am. Does that bother you?’ His gaze sharpened with predatory interest as he straightened in the saddle. The horse shifted restlessly beneath him but Tom didn’t take his eyes off hers.

She shrugged. ‘Why would it?’

‘Tsk. Never answer a question with a question. It’s one of those things that makes us typical policemen suspicious.’ His eyes narrowed and she wondered what he read in her face because when she didn’t say anything, he murmured, ‘Policing is a job, Kayla, not a personality trait.’

‘I know that.’ She felt oddly raw, unprepared to hear the questions she could see forming in his mind. Marshalling her thoughts, she said, ‘You said you wanted to talk to me?’

‘I do.’ He kicked his feet out of the stirrups and in the next instant he’d landed lightly on the ground beside her.

Impossibly close.

She took a small surreptitious step in retreat as he passed the reins over his mount’s head. Holding them loosely in one hand, he turned to face her and swept his arm towards the tents. ‘Shall we?’

So much for her escape. She turned and walked beside him. The sooner they got over to Liz and Jack, the sooner Tom’s company would be diluted. Surely the impact on her senses would diminish with others around.

But it wasn’t to be. When they arrived at the van, it was deserted.

‘How about getting the billy on while I put Ziggy away?’ He pointed to the neat cooking set up she’d seen earlier. ‘Milk’s in the esky. Mugs are on the rack. Sugar and teabags in the box.’

‘How prosaic,’ she murmured. ‘You don’t throw a scoop of loose tea into the billy with a handful of eucalyptus leaves?’

His lips twitched. ‘We can try that another day if you like. For today, teabags are easier. I take mine white with one.’

She nodded and crossed to where a blackened pot with a spout sat on a small portable gas cooker. A peek inside the billy revealed plenty of water so she lit the burner.

Everything was very orderly and in a short time she’d gathered the things she needed. With the water heating, she looked over to where Tom was working beside the float. He had the saddle off Ziggy and was brushing the glossy brown coat. The horse lowered his head and blew loudly through his nostrils. It sounded like a snort of contentment. The care Tom took with the big animal touched her.

Helpless to resist while he had his back to her, she ran her eyes over his frame. The muscles in his broad shoulders rippled and bunched with each long, powerful sweep of his arm. His light shirt followed the contours of his torso as it tapered to his trim waist and narrow hips.

After a few moments, he turned aside to put the brush in a carrier nearby and bent to pick up Ziggy’s nearest front foot. The horse turned its head to rest its muzzle on Tom’s lumbar region. There was a sweetness and trust in the gesture that brought an unexpected lump to her throat. As Tom worked his way around to each foot, she realised that Ziggy was obligingly lifting each foot for attention. Man and horse were obviously a well-established partnership.

When Tom had finished, he straightened, ran a hand over the horse’s haunches then walked across to the corral. Ziggy ambled after him and Kayla realised the animal wasn’t tethered. Tom unhitched a section of tape. The horse walked over to a pile of hay on the ground and took a mouthful. After a detour to check the bucket, Tom let himself out of the makeshift yard and turned towards her. His long legs began eating up the short distance between them.

She swallowed and snapped her attention to the cooker in front of her where steam was now rising out of the narrow spout. Glad to have something to do with her hands, she picked up the pot and poured hot water over the teabags she had ready.

In her peripheral vision, she saw Tom open a couple of folding chairs as she added a splash of milk to both brews.

With the teaspoon poised over the sugar, she asked, ‘Heaped or flat?’

‘Heaped.’

‘Need sweetening?’ She stirred the liquid.

‘Some might say so.’ He gave her a lopsided grin then leaned down to pick up the drink. ‘Thanks. Grab a seat.’

She lifted her own mug and moved to join him. They relaxed into the chairs and the silence between them stretched. To her surprise, it was undemanding, almost comfortable. Sounds around them filled the void. Ziggy’s steady munching, the clip-clop of hooves as a competitor trotted past, lowing of cattle. An empty stock truck clattered through the grounds to the other side of the arena.

‘I saw you arrive this morning,’ Tom said.

‘Did you?’ She blew on her steaming drink and took a small sip.

‘Of course. I’m a policeman. We notice things.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Thank goodness he hadn’t been at the tents to see her reaction to the camping arrangements. She hated to think what conclusions he might have drawn from her appalled expression.

‘What do you think of the camp draft?’

She sent him a sideways glance under her lashes and, tongue firmly in cheek, she said, ‘As far as I can see, it’s a glorified excuse to chase around after a cow.’

‘Bite your tongue.’ He laughed and the sound rolled over her deliciously. ‘It’s not a cow. It’s called a
beast
.’

‘So I’ve been told.’

‘And we don’t
chase around
after it, we
control
it.’

‘Mmm, control. I understand.’ She nodded. ‘So camp drafting is a sport for men who like to control things?’

‘Hardly,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Half a ton of beef on the hoof can be a tad stroppy.’ He took a sip of tea. ‘As for being in control—who doesn’t like things to go their way?’

‘True. Very true.’ She looked down at the scuffed toes on her boots and contemplated that she was enjoying being here with him, just talking. Her system had started to settle. Her heart no longer thrummed in the desperate, unsustainable beat that felt like it would break out of her ribcage. Now it was a more pleasant, alive feeling. A hum of vitality and energy. Perhaps she’d been tackling the issue of Tom Jamieson all wrong. Maybe she needed to stop avoiding him and see
more
of him instead. Desensitise herself with small doses often.

She turned the option over in her mind, examining it for flaws.

‘For instance,’ he said breaking into her thoughts, ‘I’d like to understand why you react to me the way you do.’

Her stomach dipped as she eyed him warily. So much for enjoying the conversation. She had a feeling he was about to prod her back out of her complacent thoughts.

When she didn’t say anything he tilted his head to one side and contemplated her. ‘At first, I wondered if it was because you didn’t like me.’ He didn’t sound annoyed, just…meditative.

‘Did you?’ She took another quick sip to moisten her suddenly parched mouth.

He swirled his mug and stared into it as though an answer might be hidden in the hot tea. ‘But then I decided that couldn’t be the case.’

‘You—you did?’ She was unwillingly curious.

He lifted his eyes to focus on her; intelligence gleamed in his piercing look. He nodded slowly. ‘I realised you don’t know me well enough to dislike me.’

‘Oh.’ Not a question, but definitely something that required an answer of some sort. She fingered the handle of her mug as she debated what to say. After a moment, she slid a look at him. ‘Does that mean if I get to know you, it will be okay to dislike you then?’

He grinned his appreciation at the way she’d evaded a direct comment. ‘No, that’s not what I mean at all.
When
, not
if
, you get to know me, I’m sure you’ll be charmed by my wit and sparkling personality.’

‘And your modesty. Don’t forget that.’ Her biggest problem was that with his humorous approach he
was
charming her.

‘You bet. Faint hearts and fair ladies.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Would you agree you’re an open-minded person, Kayla? The sort who judges people on their merits?’

‘I try to be.’ But she knew she hadn’t been fair with him. She had a feeling he was about to call her on it.

‘Then why have you been giving me the cold shoulder?’

‘
Trying
to give you the cold shoulder,’ she corrected, with a rueful smile. ‘I’ve been spectacularly unsuccessful.’

His lips twitched but other than that she could see he was waiting for an answer. She sighed. She’d give him one, but it wasn’t a good one.

‘It seemed the best way of handling you.’

‘Why?’ he asked softly.

‘It’s the way I deal with the unknown. I keep it at a distance.’

‘I’ve seen you meeting Jack and Liz’s other friends for the first time. No sign of frost then. Only when I’m around.’

So it hadn’t been her imagination. He had watched her at the social events. She rolled the body of her mug between her hands. His perception was unsettling. ‘That’s what I mean.
You
are the unknown. You’re not my…type.’

‘What type am I?’

Sexy, dangerous, masculine, threatening? Overwhelming? Larger than life? Much more man than she could handle?
Impossible words and phrases paraded through her mind. She couldn’t say any of them. ‘Large. Dominant. In the police force.’

‘That’s the third time you’ve brought up my job. Interesting. You don’t seem the sort who’d have run foul of the law to build up that sort of prejudice.’ She waited for him to draw the inevitable conclusion. ‘So maybe your experience is a more personal one.’

Her hands were suddenly clammy against the stainless steel of the mug. She tried to think of something to change the subject.

‘Someone you went out with?’

‘Yes,’ she said reluctantly.

‘Close?’

She tightened her fingers around the mug. ‘We were engaged.’

‘Past tense.’ After a moment he added, ‘But perhaps not very past tense.’

‘No, not very.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly, and tears prickled at the backs of her eyes. She’d thought she was all cried out over Keith. She
was
all cried out—it was Tom’s sympathy that was undoing her.

‘Don’t be.’ Her voice was husky with the choky feeling in her throat. ‘It was for the best.’

‘How long before you came up here?’

‘A couple of months.’

‘Rough?’

‘Yes, it was at the time.’

‘Tell me his name. I have connections. I’ll have him busted to constable.’

She laughed despite herself, grateful to him for lightening the moment so her incipient tears could recede. ‘Tempting, but not a good idea. Besides…I think his connections are better.’

‘Really?’

‘Mmm.’ She pursed her mouth then told him the rest. ‘He was marrying his boss’s daughter.’

‘His boss’s daughter?’ He sounded thoughtful. ‘Using my superior powers of deduction, I’ll take a stab and say your father’s in the police force.’

‘Impressive, Sherlock.’

‘I think I can do better. Morgan? That wouldn’t be Assistant Commissioner Christopher Morgan, would it?’

‘It would.’

She held her breath, waiting for his reaction. Would he be overawed by her father’s rank, the way Keith had? Would he see her as a way to fast-track his career?

Tom was silent for a long moment and then he laughed—a genuine sound. ‘Yeah, I guess his connections are better. Still, he must have blotted his copybook with your father when you broke it off.’

‘Not really.’ The support from such an unlikely source pierced straight to her heart. The truth was, far from Tom’s assumption, her father thought she was a feather-brained female by breaking it off with his rising star. Now Tom, a man she hardly knew, was standing in her corner. No questions asked.