Another person who thought she was capable of a bit of internal espionage. But she was loath to get Simone in trouble, not after the hard time she’d already given her.
She hedged. ‘Is it true or not?’
Dark lashes clumped by water droplets blinked down over vibrant green eyes. No wonder the townspeople had such a romantic view of him; between the face and the intrigue, he was mysterious and handsome enough to be flashing on feminine radars across the south-west.
Her own was going ballistic right now.
‘It’s true I’m working at night,’ he said.
‘And…?’
‘And it’s true I’m looking at some aspects of our security—’ Romy turned to stalk off. A strong, wet hand wrapped around her elbow and drew her back. ‘But relax. I’m not doing you any special favours. Why would I? I hardly know you.’
Oh.
He might as well have slapped her across the face with a wet reality fish. Romy groaned inwardly and called herself all manners of idiot. She’d allowed her own complexes to totally feed off Simone’s skewed view of what was going on in the office after dark. He was right. Why would he help her out?
‘Why do you care, anyway?’ He lifted a towel from the tray of his ute and patted his face and neck dry. That was when she saw the tattoo, beautifully positioned on his left bicep. A sword surrounded by a garland of snakes.
‘Because I’m more than capable of doing any part of this job. I don’t need backup.’ Before he could open his mouth, she barrelled on. ‘So whatever you’re working on it might be smart to keep me in the loop so we’re not double-handling.’
He slung the towel over his shoulder. ‘It doesn’t matter—I’m nearly done, anyhow.’ Dismissed. His imperious tone got right up her nose. Reminded her of another man. An older man.
‘Going back into hiding for another twelve months?’ She could have bitten her tongue off the moment the bitchy comment slipped out.
He shook his head. ‘Are you always this unpleasant?’ His words were as cool as the water evaporating off his skin. They just begged to be challenged.
She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t buy this whole brooding, damaged act, you know. I’m sure it does great things for your reputation in town but it’s been a couple of years—don’t you think it’s getting a little old?’
His eyes narrowed to slits. ‘So now you’re familiar with my past and all? That’s a bit like me saying your high-and-mighty act is getting tired.’
A needle stabbed through Romy’s chest. High and mighty? Why that hurt particularly, after everything she’d been called in life…Yet her voice was tight when she responded.
‘You’ll have to do better than that, McLeish. I’ve had every name under the sun thrown at me and survived it. I’m resistant to sticks and stones, too. Too many calluses.’
He blinked slowly and considered her. ‘By who?’
Whoa. How did they get here? She only wanted to call him on the extracurricular night-school activity. She backed off, fists clenched tight. ‘I have to get on with the fence. Excuse me.’
‘You were out here working?’
She pointed to the fence line silhouetted against the glare at the top of the hill and he followed her gaze sceptically. ‘Relax, McLeish. I’m not stalking you. Why would I? I hardly know you.’
His own words flung back at him, he smiled. ‘You know how to string a fence?’
The doubt in his voice got her blood racing. ‘You think you’re the only one who gets to be capable? What is it with you military types?’
His rebuttal was soft. ‘The question is, what is it with you and military types?’
She glared at him. ‘That is none of your beeswax.’
Good one, Romy, you sound all of twelve years old.
Ignoring the amused sparkle in his eye, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder and powered on up the hill, swishing at the flies the whole way.
‘Let me give you a hand with that.’ Clint appeared behind her and held out a pair of gloves.
Having assured herself with a quick glance that he was fully dressed now, Romy focused on the wire in her hands. ‘I don’t need help, thanks.’
‘I know you don’t, but I’d like to…’
She squinted into the open sincerity on his face and made to thank him. Then he went and ruined it.
‘…and I’m the boss, so what I say goes.’
She tightened a smile around the retort she was dying to spit and turned back to the torturous fence. She saw Clint flick a glance at her broken wire strainers on the ground and the arrangement she’d rigged up by proxy with a screwdriver twisted into the wire. Thanks to her angry yanking, the ratchet had broken at the crucial moment, leaving her to tighten four strands manually in century-plus heat. Every turn of the screwdriver pulled the wire that bit tighter but it was a hellish way to do it.
One strand had taken her twenty minutes.
‘Go ahead,’ she relented, standing carefully and letting him into her place.
He squatted at the fence line and spoke from under his Akubra hat, getting a feel for the wire. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
Romy hesitated. Something told her it wasn’t going to be about work. ‘Sure…’
He twisted, once, twice, and then he retested the wire. The strength in the contoured triceps emerging from the sleeves of his T-shirt was distracting. He gave it two more twists until he was satisfied, then he levered the screwdriver free and turned to look up at her.
‘Where’s Leighton’s father?’
She stared at him. She preferred the direct approach to Simone’s whispered speculation but she wasn’t entirely ready for the question, despite dreading it half her life. Every clever answer she’d ever imagined abandoned her.
‘I don’t know.’ That was as honest as she could be.
The beat-up Akubra tilted curiously and the flash of green was disconcerting. ‘Doesn’t he see his son?’
‘No.’ Again, short but true.
‘You don’t want to talk about it?’ He balanced on his haunches as though he could sit there all day.
Not with you. ‘I’m not used to talking about it.’
‘No-one’s ever wanted to know? I find that hard to believe.’
Romy kicked the dust at her feet. ‘Most people would think it was a rude question to actually verbalise.’
His
