Chapter 8
Xavier
Frank's missing? What the hell?
Cassidy stormed away from me, racing up a dirt track that was barely wide enough for a car. Damn, she was fast. I jogged to catch up before I lost sight of her in the dark. "Hey, wait for me."
"Piss off."
"Charming."
"I'll give you charming," she muttered, swinging her arms so hard I half-expected her to clip herself in the face.
"What do you mean Frank's missing?"
She clamped her jaw, and the only sound was her cowboy boots pounding on the dirt.
"Cassidy, when did Frank go missing?"
She walked faster, if that was even possible. Her entire body radiated fury. Or maybe panic. It was hard to tell anything other than that she was mighty pissed at me.
I kept pace, amazed by how fast she walked in those boots.
I glanced around us. It was surprising just how far I could see in this moonlight. Not that there was anything out here, just knee-high grass that seemed to stretch to the horizon.
“Do you think we’ll see more kangaroos?”
“How the hell should I know?” She glared at me. “You should be more worried about the brown snakes.”
“Shit.” I scanned the dirt. “Really?”
"Yep. They're impossible to see against this dirt." She gestured vaguely at the ground. "And the scorpions."
I scanned the path ahead, suddenly hyperaware of every shadow. A long stick lay half in the grass. I grabbed it as I walked past.
Cassidy looked at me, all weird. "You gonna do your fencing trick against a snake?"
"Hopefully not." I held the stick out ahead of me anyway.
She sucked her lips into her mouth, fighting a smile.
"Go ahead. Laugh all you want."
A snort escaped her. Then another. Then she full-on giggled, and that angry tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
I couldn't help grinning. Even if I was the joke, at least she wasn't radiating pure rage anymore.
The outstation materialized gradually out of the darkness.
A low-slung structure that looked like someone had cobbled it together from corrugated iron and weathered timber.
Three enormous gum trees stood near it, their pale trunks ghostly in the dark.
The uneven verandah railings were made from tree branches, tied together with galvanized metal strips.
Over the roof, the windmill creaked as its blades turned slowly, the sound emphasizing just how isolated we were. The small water tank beside it had rust streaking down its sides, looking like old bloodstains in the moonlight.
Middle of nowhere didn't begin to cover it.
Cassidy yanked the door open without bothering with keys. Apparently, locks were optional out here.
"It's not your usual five-star accommodation," she said flatly, disappearing inside.
I ducked through the doorway after her. "You don't know what my usual accommodation is."
She whirled on me, eyes blazing. "That's correct because you don't answer a damn thing."
"That's not true. I told you why I wore my white sneakers." I lifted one foot. Red dirt was caked into every seam and surface. Even my laces. "Well, they used to be white."
Clenching her jaw, she stomped across the wooden floor to a door at the back and vanished through it. "Stay there." The door slammed behind her.
"Okay. Well. I'll just hang here then."
Moonlight streamed through grubby windows in each of the four walls.
The room was one open space, plus whatever was behind that door Cassidy had vanished behind.
Exposed beams overhead supported a tin roof with no insulation.
This place probably turned into an oven during the day.
A wonky wooden table sat in the middle with three mismatched chairs around it.
Along one wall was a timber bench with open shelving underneath, containing plates, pots and pans, and cans of what I hoped were food.
My stomach growled as if it, too, could see the cans. I hadn't eaten since the breakfast wrap I’d had at that truck stop at Winton this morning. Christ, was that only this morning?
I checked my watch. Eleven o'clock.
Felt like days ago.
Two metal-framed canvas bunks lined the other two walls, one on each side. The cottage was basic. Utilitarian. Not dissimilar to many of the disaster relief camps I'd stayed in over the years.
No overhead lights. No light switches anywhere I could see. No running water beyond whatever was in that tank outside.
And yet, there was something almost comforting about this shack’s simplicity.
This was going to be an interesting night. Especially if Cassidy was who I thought she might be.
The door banged open. "Toilet's free. It's a long drop.” She glared at me. “Know what that is?"
"Sure. I've used them plenty of times."
Her jaw dropped. "Yeah, right."
I shrugged. "You have me all wrong."
"I don't have you at all." She rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She strode to the kitchen bench.
I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. The long drop toilet didn't smell anywhere near as bad as some I'd been forced to use over the years. If anything, the only smell was something floral. Or fruity. Cassidy.
The room also had an old clawfoot bath. I'd seen a few in my life, but none as small as this, and none with rust like this creeping around the base.
Only one tap fed the bath, and I doubted it supplied hot water.
After I finished, I lowered the toilet seat and stepped back into the main room, shutting the door behind me.
Cassidy had lit a kerosene lantern and set it on the table, casting a warm glow across the paneled walls.
"So, what is this place?" I asked, moving toward her.
She tugged a large glass bottle from the bottom shelf and grabbed a plastic bucket from beside the wall. She glanced at me like I'd sworn at her, then strode out the door.
"Need help?" I called after her.
"Fuck off."
"Okay. I'll take that as a no then."
Despite the smudged windowpane, I still caught her flipping me the bird as she walked past. Then she disappeared from view.
I strolled to the counter and squatted down next to the tins. Some had labels: Baked Beans, Tomato Soup, Spaghetti. But most had nothing. I pulled out a bare one and read the use-by date printed on the bottom.
Whatever was in that can had expired two years ago.
The door banged open, and Cassidy returned, carrying the glass bottle now full of water and the bucket sloshing at her side.
"Let me get that," I said, stepping toward her.
"I've got it." She angled away from me, setting both on the bench with a thud that suggested I should back off.
"Right. Of course you do."
She shot me a look that could have curdled milk.
Cassidy moved through the space like she'd stayed here a hundred times before. She filled a glass with the water she'd brought in and gulped down half of it in one go. She didn't offer me one, and I didn't ask.
She opened the only cupboard in the place and pulled out chunky plastic bags that looked vacuum-sealed. "Here." She tossed one at me.
It hit me square in the chest, and I caught it before it dropped.
Following her lead, I opened the seal and pulled out a woolen blanket that smelled surprisingly good, like eucalyptus and soap. She tossed hers onto a bunk. I put mine on the other one.
She turned with a crooked grin. "We are not bunk buddies."
I raised my hands. "Wouldn't dream of it. Not sure I'll need a blanket though. It's hot in here."
"The wind changes in about two hours, howls in through the gaps up there." She nodded toward the roof. "I'd take that blanket if I were you, unless you want your balls frozen off."
I cupped my groin. "Right. Thanks for the tip."
She pulled off her hat and tousled her bangs so they fell onto her forehead.
Her long braids were messy, falling onto her shoulders like they were framing her face.
I got the impression Cassidy was trying damn hard to make herself look plain.
But there was absolutely nothing plain about her. She was gorgeous.
She returned to the bench, and I admired how well those jeans fit her sexy butt as she bent over and plucked a baked beans can from the shelf.
"Phew,” I said, stepping toward her. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to grab that expired one."
Frowning, she bent over again, put the bean can back, and fished out the unlabeled one. "This one?"
"Yeah. I wouldn't eat that if I were you."
"Well, you're not me."
I moved closer, leaning against the wall beside the bench. "You don't have to eat expired food just to prove a point."
"I don't need to prove anything to you." She found a pot and a camping stove that ran on a small gas canister. She lit the stove, opened the can, and tipped the contents into the pot. Beans. They actually looked fine.
"What would you like me to do?" I asked.
"Answer my question." She glared at me.
"You haven't answered mine about Frank being missing either."
"Yeah, well. I'm not saying anything until you tell me why you want to see him."
But I wasn't ready to tell her yet. I needed to know how she was connected to Frank first. Her answer could change everything.
When the beans were hot, she tipped the contents into a bowl, grabbed a spoon, and sat at the table.
Figuring I wasn't included in dinner, I pulled out a chair and sat opposite her.
"You're probably used to places like the Ritz," she said without looking at me. She scooped up the beans and blew on them before eating.
I could have corrected her and told her I'd slept in far worse places than this. But her tone was defensive and loaded with challenge, making me want to push back.
"You forgot about the satin sheets I’m used to sleeping in, too," I said dryly.
She snorted. "Of course. How could I forget?"
"And the room service that definitely doesn’t serve expired beans."
"The horror." She finally glanced at me, and amusement nearly danced in her eyes. Nearly.
My stomach rumbled loud enough that she glanced at me. "Hungry?"
"I'll live."
"Pity." She huffed.
"You know, for someone so ..." I paused, searching for the right word.
"Difficult? Hostile?"