Chapter 4
Ethan let out a breath and shifted back behind the barn as Chelsea disappeared around the side of the house, pleased that righteous indignation had replaced her grief. A moment later her car engine started, and she drove away.
His heart thudded an uncomfortable beat he refused to acknowledge.
She was the last person he’d expected when he’d heard the car pull up. Thank goodness he’d taken a drink break from where he’d been pruning the oleander hedge behind the barn, otherwise she would have caught him.
Ethan rubbed his chest and slipped back into the barn to process the new situation.
He’d almost called out to her when she’d first arrived, seeing only a glamorous stranger with perfectly put up brown hair, a slimline skirt which hugged her hips and a lacy top that was both modest and kind of sexy.
But then she’d noticed the garden, and the way her hand had flown to her mouth was such a Chelsea gesture that the jolt of recognition had made him temporarily immobile.
Damned if she didn’t look as beautiful as she always had, though so much more sophisticated than the teenager he’d known.
So much more out of his league.
When his brain kicked into motion again, he’d followed as she wandered the grounds, knowing the path she would take, but making sure he kept out of sight.
He felt her emotions from her gestures; a clench of her hands, the gentle brush of a leaf, the way she’d hugged herself when she’d seen the banana passionfruit vine was gone.
She’d spent a long time staring at Cupid’s garden. Had she been thinking about their time together?
His heart twisted. If she had, it wouldn’t be with fond memories. He’d broken her heart.
He should go.
Now, while he had the chance.
No good would come of speaking to Chelsea McGinnis again. Especially when she’d clearly made something of herself.
She was probably married with a bunch of kids.
But as his head listed all the reasons he needed to move, his feet refused to listen.
She would be back, of that he was certain.
He’d been building up a head of steam this morning while he’d fought the oleander hedges back into shape, thinking about what he would say to Sabine when he found her number. But then he’d overheard Chelsea’s side of the phone call.
Chelsea and her mother hadn’t intended to neglect Lilydale Cottage. He couldn’t be angry at them.
Darren was another story, and someone he might visit later if he could get the address.
He walked back to where he’d been gardening, gathered his equipment and returned it to the shed, but he still couldn’t bring himself to leave.
Lilydale was the only good part of his childhood.
He couldn’t see it turned into units.
Though he had no right, he wanted to speak to Chelsea, ask her if there was anything he could do to help, find out whether she intended to sell Lilydale to a property developer.
Find out whether he could afford to buy it.
A stupid idea. He wouldn’t be able to maintain the property while he worked with Special Forces.
He wouldn’t have enough time. But that knowledge hadn’t stopped him reviewing his finances last night.
Maybe he could pay someone dependable to maintain it and when he finally got out, he’d have somewhere to live.
Foolish dreams.
Ethan scanned the barn. He’d already packed his things into his car, ready in case someone discovered him and asked him to leave. He could be gone in less than a minute.
He jangled his keys in his pocket.
Leave already.
Closing his eyes, he sighed. He’d done everything to forget about Chelsea, but one glimpse of her had brought all the memories back to him.
The first time he’d met her was when she’d arrived to spend the summer holidays with her aunt.
He’d known she was coming, because Aunt Maggie had talked of nothing else for weeks.
It was her great niece’s first visit since they’d moved to Sydney two years before, right before Ethan had moved to Honeybrook.
Ethan had heard Chelsea’s joyful laugh from across the garden.
He’d been weeding around the pond and he’d looked up as she ran down the path to the banana passionfruit vine, wearing a summer dress, her brown hair flowing out behind her.
So beautiful. He’d ducked down so she wouldn’t catch sight of him, not wanting someone so lovely to catch him in his grubby work clothes.
Kind of like he’d done today.
He’d avoided her for the first couple of days, but she’d caught him unawares on her third.
He’d been pruning the oleanders like today and she’d run around the corner, heading for the hen house, when she’d spotted him.
Though he’d braced himself for derision, she’d smiled a little shyly and said, “You must be Ethan. I’m Chelsea. Nice to meet you.”
He’d grunted a response or something equally mortifying, and she’d continued to the hen house.
A Casanova he wasn’t.
The fact he’d been surprised she’d been nice to him was proof of how low his expectations were. But it also encouraged his fantasies about one day having an actual conversation with her.
Ethan shook his head and pushed away the thought. He wasn’t a lonely teen anymore. He had plenty of friends and confidence in himself.
Still, if he left now, Chelsea might not invite him back.
She had every right not to want to see him.
When had he become such a fool? All it would take was one phone call to the police and they’d turf him out, or arrest him for breaking and entering, and trespass.
As he unlocked his car, he heard an engine idling in the distance. Was Chelsea back already?
He moved to the barn door as the telltale squeak of the side gate opening was followed by the slam of a car door.
A moment later a black Porsche bumped along the road, heading towards the barn. Ethan shifted back, peering through the gap as the car drove past. The man inside wasn’t someone he recognised from his time living in the town, but maybe he was the elusive Darren.
He waited a moment until the car stopped and silence filled the air. Footsteps crunched, moving away from the barn, and Ethan widened the gap to peer out.
Tall guy, grey business suit with smooth lines showing he wasn’t carrying concealed, neat hair, polished shoes which probably cost a fortune. He held his phone up as if he was taking a photo and avoided all the thigh-high weeds with an expression of disdain on his face.
Definitely not the gardener.
No visible weapons, and the man didn’t move like someone who had training. In fact, the man was oblivious to his surroundings.
Who was he?
It clicked into place. The property developer. He’d probably driven in here because he hadn’t wanted to get his clothes dirty.
Perhaps Chelsea was in town to negotiate a deal with him. But then why would she want Darren’s number if it was all going to be bulldozed anyway?
More likely the guy was using the opportunity to plan what he would do with the land and didn’t realise she was around.
Another car engine and the businessman spun around, his muscles tight. Ethan shifted back, so he wasn’t spotted, but could still see.
This car didn’t drive past but instead stopped. Chelsea was back.
Ethan clenched his hands, waiting to see what the businessman would do.
The man glanced at the car and back towards the house. Yeah, Chelsea will hear you if you drive out. Ethan smiled at his conundrum, even though he shared it.
From here the front door of the house was visible as Chelsea lugged an enormous suitcase up the steps and stuck a key in the lock. She hip-bumped the section of the door that always stuck and went inside.
Ethan shook his head. Aunt Maggie still hadn’t fixed the door. She’d rarely shut it, preferring to keep the fly screen locked rather than the solid wooden door.
Chelsea’s bedroom was on this side of the house. Ethan imagined she would go there automatically rather than using Maggie’s bedroom.
The man was still prevaricating.
Ethan lifted his gaze to the balcony and sure enough, Chelsea came to the window, frowned and then struggled with the catch as she lifted it up. “Excuse me. Can I help you?”
The man glanced up and smiled. “Hello. You must be Sabine Longmeyer. I’m Johann Meuller.”
“Sabine is my mother. I’m Chelsea. What are you doing in my garden, Mr Meuller?” Her tone was more refined but brooked no nonsense.
Her garden. Ethan grinned.
“My apologies. I’ve been in discussions with your mother about buying this property.” He looked down a bit bashful. “I guess I was getting ahead of myself, but I do want to get started as soon as possible.”
Chelsea raised her eyebrows. “We haven’t agreed to sell yet.”
He winced. “I’m sorry. My last discussions with your father implied you would be selling.”
“My father?” Her tone was deadly.
Ethan winced. Chelsea rarely spoke about the man who had sired her. It was a particularly sore topic.
“Mr Longmeyer…”
“My stepfather,” Chelsea said. “And he has no say in whether we sell.”
Johann started to speak, and Chelsea waved him off. “Remove your car from my garden and then come to the front door. I won’t continue to yell at you like this.” She closed the window and disappeared.
Johann swore, staring death after her, his posture stiff. Ethan reevaluated his danger level. This man, when angry, could be a threat.
Ethan tensed, ready to act if necessary, but the man strode back to his car, and a moment later he backed it down the track and out of sight.
Ethan exhaled. Could he get closer without being spotted? Johann wasn’t a man used to being told no, and Ethan didn’t want him near Chelsea, particularly when he believed she was alone.
Hearing the gate squeak, Ethan crouch-ran over to the house. Chelsea wouldn’t spot him through the ground-floor windows if she was going to the front door. He moved along the wall, waiting until Johann climbed the front steps before he got into position at the corner.
“I must apologise again for my impertinence,” Johann said. “I didn’t realise you were here.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. Not much in the way of apology.