Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
CIARAN
Sawyer was going to kill him. Ciaran was sure of it.
Death by tortured suffering. Harrowed, prolonged, and excruciating.
Death by audacity.
That he would dare come into Ciaran’s store with his beanie pulled down so wisps of hair curled out at the edge, his cheeks flushed from the cold and his ice-blue eyes all lit up when he smiled.
And how dare Sawyer smell that good! How dare he have the audacity to waltz into Ciaran’s store, standing so close that his scent filled Ciaran’s mind, permeating his own clothes so he’d be sure to smell him all day.
How fucking dare he.
The way he looked at him. The way he smiled.
At least when Ciaran had spoken to him earlier that day, it was in the fresh air, the breeze cutting through his scent when it drifted toward him. And thank fuck he couldn’t smell his blood anymore. Ciaran wouldn’t have survived that again.
But then he had the further audacity to ask about the map and produce his own printed copy of a not-too-recent satellite image. “I went out this way,” he said, pointing to the bridge that no longer existed.
Ciaran’s hearts skipped a beat.
He fucking what?
“You went out there? By yourself?”
Just great.
Now he’d had the audacity to go driving out to the edge of town, through the forest where the river cut the town off from the rest of the state.
And he’d dared go by himself.
Of course he fucking did.
He really was determined to kill Ciaran. Death by this insufferable human—
“Well, yeah,” he said, oblivious to his own fragility. “I’m a one-man station. I’ll be doing everything by myself.”
“I could’ve gone with you,” Ciaran said, the words out before his brain could stop them. “Or someone could have. Fray, probably. Given he was just here doing nothing but annoying me.”
Sawyer laughed, and that, that right fucking there, was what was going to kill Ciaran the most.
The sound, the line of his throat, the way his mouth curled and his eyes danced.
“Well, thanks for the offer,” he said. “Gotta admit, the forest out there was kinda creepy.” Then he pointed out the two houses along that road. “Do you know what happened to these folks? They’re long gone now.”
“Ah, yeah.” Ciaran shrugged and pointed to the first house. “They moved when the bridge went. They had kids at the school in Strahan, so it made sense. Why was the forest creepy?”
Sawyer looked at him then, as if trying to gauge just how much he should say. “Felt like I was being watched. Thought it might be some kind of forest critter, but it was too quiet. Actually, it was far too quiet. No birds, even. Have you noticed that around here?”
“The birds?”
“Or lack thereof, yeah.”
Of course he had, but he pretended he hadn’t. He shrugged it off. “There might be a storm coming.”
Sawyer seemed appeased by that, as if he hadn’t considered it, then leaned over to get a closer look at the map on the wall. “Jeez, how old is that?”
“1832.”
“Holy shit.”
Ciaran almost smiled. “It’s an old mining map. They used to mine copper and tin here. There are shafts all through the forest, so you shouldn’t go wandering off by yourself.”
He hadn’t meant that to sound so accusatory, but Sawyer really should know better. Especially now that Ciaran was invested in his well-being.
His recklessness was just another reason why this stupid mate notion was such a bad idea.
That voice in the back of his mind was getting a little louder.
You don’t think it’s stupid.
You want him.
You want to take him and have him. You want to do obscene things to him—
Sawyer’s eyes met his. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t think of that.”
Jesus, his eyes are the perfect shade of ice-blue.
Maybe it’d be death by perfect eyes....
Ciaran shook his head, silently kicking himself, and tried to have one fucking successful conversation with Sawyer.
“They milled timber as well,” Ciaran added, pointing up the cove and into the river. “And there’s an old brick mill. Not much of it left, though. Just some ruins, really.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes fixating on the older map, then on his newer one.
“So those two houses are empty,” he said, tapping the piece of paper.
“And Mr Brown lives out on Huon Pine Gully Road. Are there any other houses? Folks who live in the mountains, maybe? You guys all live down here in the village, right? So who else is there in this town?”
Ciaran stared at him, wondering how best to answer. He did not like where this line of questioning was headed. “There are some folks who live in the mountains, up past Mr Brown. But they don’t come to town very often. Just for supplies and whatever.”
“Oh.” Sawyer seemed surprised by this. “I should probably go up and introduce myself.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Ciaran said quietly, trying to keep the warning out of his tone but not succeeding too well, if the tilt of Sawyer’s head was any gauge.
“There’s a reason they don’t come down too often,” he tried.
“Not the friendliest. They keep to themselves and don’t take too kindly to unwanted visitors. ”
Sawyer frowned at first, but then shrugged it off. “They’re not running a weed plantation in the national park, are they?”
Ciaran almost snorted. “Not likely. Though I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been up there.”
Whether he was mollified by that, didn’t believe it, or was now disinterested, Ciaran wasn’t sure. It was hard to tell.
Sawyer looked around the store. “So, antiques, huh?”
Was he making small talk? “Yes.”
“Been doing it long?”
“Long enough.”
Another slow nod. “And you dive shipwrecks?”
Ciaran wasn’t sure if this was still small talk or if they were entering interrogation territory. “Yes.”
He grinned. “That’s kinda cool.”
Cool? “Uh, thanks.”
“What’s the oldest thing you’ve found?”
Ciaran was half tempted to shut this line of questioning down, but the excitement and genuine interest in Sawyer’s crystal-blue eyes combined with the way he smiled at him made Ciaran’s hearts beat in sync. “I found a Dutch haul once. From before Hartog’s time.”
He cocked his head in that curious way he had. “And that’s old...?”
“Well, it would prove the Dutch were off the southern waters of Tasmania before the 1600s, so, yes.”
“Holy shit.”
Ciaran smiled. “We know they were here of course, just not that far south. Historians don’t really want to talk about it, though.”
He nodded again. “Ah, can’t go bursting the British coloniser bubble, huh?”
That made Ciaran smile. “Something like that.”
“You didn’t find the books on a shipwreck, though,” he said, nodding to the books he was eyeing off earlier. “So you trade in other antiques as well?”
Ciaran didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed. “It’s smart to diversify one’s interests, don’t you think?”
Sawyer smirked at that, and Ciaran had to steel himself against the burning desire to reach out and run his thumb across that damn bottom lip.
“How deep does it get out there, anyway?” Sawyer asked. “You’d have to be pretty good at what you do, huh?”
Then with the worst possible timing ever, Fray opened the front door and walked in, trying not to grin. Clearly, he’d heard what Sawyer had just said.
“Oh, he’s good at everything he does,” Fray said, shit-eating grin now firmly in place. He put his hand to his chest. “Not that I know firsthand.”
Sawyer missed the innuendo. “Oh, you don’t dive with him?”
Fray’s grin widened. “Oh, you’re talking about diving. Well, yeah, he’s good at that too.”
Ciaran wanted to smack him with all eight arms. “Don’t you have anywhere else you have to be?”
“Nope.”
“Is Tobin back?” Ciaran added, glaring pointedly at him. “Shouldn’t you be helping him?”
“But then I’d miss this,” Fray said, highly amused. Then he laughed. “He’s not back yet.”
Ciaran was going to kill him.
Sawyer folded his map in half. “Well, I better go check on the cat. I’ve somehow become obligated to provide tuna to a tiny feline overlord I don’t own.”
Ciaran wanted to kill that cat too.
How did a damn cat get to spend more time with Sawyer than he did? And get to touch him. Sawyer picked the cat up, held him to his chest.
A fucking cat.
“Oh, Salem?” Fray asked. “He prefers fresh fish. That’s what Aurin tells me.”
“Is it Aurin’s cat?”
Fray shrugged. “Nope. He’s just the village cat. Comes and goes wherever he wants.”
Ciaran was beginning to really resent Fray for interrupting and infringing on what little time he alone with Sawyer.
“Fresh fish?” Sawyer asked. “Speaking of, where’s the best spot to throw a line in? Any luck off the pier?”
Fray’s grin became wicked. “Nah. Out of the bay and up the river.”
What the hell, Fray?
Thankfully Sawyer didn’t see the daggers Ciaran was eyeballing Fray with.
“Really best to go overnight, though,” Fray added, nodding wisely. “There’s a hut you can camp in.”
Ciaran was now seriously going to kill his best friend. What the actual fuck?
Sawyer looked between them. “A hut?”
“Yeah,” Fray added. “You’d be best to go with one of us, though.”
Ciaran had to swallow the hiss that threatened to escape him.
“Ciaran’s the expert,” Fray added, as if this was his entire plan all along. “He’ll take you.”
Sawyer’s gaze went to Ciaran’s, and he swore he saw a flash of surprise and excitement in his eyes. Maybe a dash of fear.... “Oh, I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Nonsense,” Fray said. “Tobin’s not back yet, so he can’t get any orders shipped off. He’s totally free.”
Yep. Ciaran was going to kill him.
Or maybe thank him. He wasn’t sure which yet.
Sawyer was still looking at Ciaran, waiting for some kind of answer. When Ciaran still hadn’t found the right thing to say, Sawyer’s face fell. “It’s fine,” he said. “I can go fishing anywhere along the bay. On the other side of the pier, perhaps. Away from the boats. Not that there’s many boats—”
“I’ll take you,” Ciaran said before he could lose the nerve or second-guess himself. Or let common sense prevail.
This is a bad, bad idea....
“Just let me make some calls,” he added, shaking his head at himself. “See when Tobin will be back.”
Sawyer’s eyebrows almost met his hairline. “Oh.”
Then so help Ciaran, Sawyer’s cheeks flushed pink. Ciaran had to grip the counter between them to stop himself from clearing the counter, wrapping Sawyer up in his arms, and kissing him.
Then, of course, to make it all so much worse, Sawyer smiled directly at him. Smiled for him. “Okay. Sounds good. Let me know when it suits. I’m good to go pretty much whenever.”
Ciaran stood there as Sawyer walked out, only exhaling when he was gone. His hearts were hammering—that damn smile, that god-fucking-damn smile—and Ciaran finally drew his eyes over to Fray.
Fray was grinning at him. “You are so fucking welcome.”