Chapter 8 #2
"I was going to say cantankerous. You're actually pretty impressive out here."
She froze mid-chew, her eyes widening slightly. Then she swallowed and looked away. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Try to butter me up." But her voice had lost some of its edge. She ate a few more spoonfuls in silence.
Something scurried across the roof, and the tin rattled and pinged.
I jolted back, scanning the tin roof. "What the hell is that?"
She burst out laughing, and for a moment, all that hostility dissolved into genuine amusement. "Calm down, it's just a rat."
"Just a rat?" My heart hammered. "That thing sounds massive."
"They're big out here." She grinned, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "Bush rats. Probably the size of a small cat."
The scratching grew louder, followed by the sounds of a carcass being dragged across the corrugated iron. Heavy. Deliberate.
I stared at the ceiling like I could see through it. "Are you sure it's not trying to break in?"
"It's looking for food scraps, not you." She wiped her eyes, still laughing. "You should see your face."
The noise intensified. Whatever was up there wasn't just scurrying anymore. I could hear claws scraping across the tin. "I don't think that's a rat."
Her laughter faded. "Have you even seen one?"
"Of course." I kept my eyes on the ceiling.
"Really." She rolled her eyes and ate more beans.
"Actually." I ran my hand over the timber table, wiping away dust. "For the record, I have slept in rougher lodgings than this."
"Sure you have." She ate another mouthful of beans.
"I've done volunteer work in Africa and Thailand. I slept in shacks that make this look like the Ritz."
She turned to face me properly. That got her attention. "Volunteer work."
"Yes. I developed a smart modular power system called GridSnap. It's solar-powered and stackable, providing portable batteries for off-grid communities and disaster zones."
She stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then something shifted. Surprise, maybe. Or reassessment. Like she'd had me filed under one category and now wasn't sure where I belonged.
I shrugged. "I spend as much time as I can implementing them in villages that have never had reliable electricity before."
The air between us felt suddenly charged, and I wasn't sure why. Or maybe I was sure and didn't want to acknowledge it. She studied me with sharp intelligence, or grudging interest, making my chest tighten in a way that was both uncomfortable and too damn compelling.
"Maybe I could arrange to have some GridSnap units installed out here. All they need is the sun to operate."
She squinted at me as if she was trying to decide if I was telling the truth or just full of shit.
Cassidy was nothing like any woman I'd ever met before. All rough edges. Fiercely loyal. Practical and unapologetic. No polish, no pretense. Just a raw, genuine woman dressed in denim and boots.
And I had no idea what to say next, so I didn't say anything. I just waited.
But she was damned stubborn, and the silence became awkward.
"How do they taste?" I asked, nodding toward the nearly empty bowl.
"Nothing wrong with them. A lot of perfectly good food gets thrown out because of worthless expiry dates. Especially canned food."
I nodded. "Food wastage is a major problem."
She scraped the last of the beans from the bowl. "Bet you've never eaten expired food in your life."
"You'd lose that bet."
She lowered her gaze to the bowl. "Help yourself to a can."
"I'm okay. I'll have a water, though. If I may?"
She nodded.
I felt her watching me as I walked to the bench. The weight of her gaze was almost physical, like she was trying to figure me out, or waiting for me to slip up and confirm whatever opinion she'd already formed.
I filled a glass and drank. The water was cool with a slight metallic tang from the tank. I'd tasted worse.
Cassidy scraped her chair back, and when I turned, she was carrying her empty bowl toward me.
"Want me to wash up?" I asked.
She cocked her head. "You can give up all that bullshit."
"What bullshit?" I frowned.
"Offering to wash up and shit. Being nice."
"But I'm always nice."
"Nice people answer basic questions." She dumped her bowl into the bucket of water and started scrubbing with more aggression than necessary.
I poured another glass of water. "Want a top-up?"
She nodded, jaw clenched, like just accepting the offer was a battle she was losing.
I filled her glass. She scrubbed harder, tension radiating off her like a heatwave.
Once her dishes were clean, she set them aside and strode out the front door with the bucket, dumping the water over the verandah railing. Then she disappeared around the side of the building again.
I put away her bowl and spoon. When she returned, the expression on her face was a baffling mix of frustration and wariness. She carried a fresh bucket of water straight to the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
"What did I do wrong this time?" I called through the door.
"Breathing," she yelled back.
Grinning, I stepped back to my bunk and sat. The canvas creaked under my weight. At least we weren't sleeping on the floor.
As I heard her splashing water, I quickly dropped to the floor and checked under the bunks for snakes and scorpions, though I had absolutely no plan for what to do if I actually found any.
I glanced at the open front door. I needed to shut that, or I wouldn't get any sleep.
As I moved toward it, the rats raced across the roof like they were playing tag. It sounded like there were a hundred of them up there.
The bathroom door opened.
Cassidy stepped out wearing a plain red tank top and jeans. Her face was scrubbed clean, sun-kissed skin gleaming in the lantern light.
She tossed her plaid shirt onto her bunk and turned back toward me. The tank top clung to curves she'd done a damn good job of hiding. Her hair had been pulled from the braids, and the light brown waves cascading down her back were still damp at the ends.
"Get a good eyeful?" she said.
"Sorry." I snapped my gaze away, heat creeping up my neck.
Silence stretched between us until the rats raced across the roof again, louder this time.
I pointed at the ceiling. "I think those rats are having an orgy up there."
Cassidy tossed her head back and burst out laughing. The sound was rich and unguarded, her throat exposed in a graceful line. The movement made her breasts shift beneath that tight tank top, and I had to force myself to look at the ceiling instead.
Hot damn, she's incredible.
And I'm in trouble.
"You're a funny guy for a Yank."
"Oh. How many Yanks do you know?"
She waggled her finger. "Nah nah. I'm not telling you anything." She sat on her bunk, then pointed at the open bathroom door. "You can use the water in the bucket I used or get your own. Up to you."
"Thanks." I headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.
Trying to ignore my grumbling stomach, I washed my face, neck, and under my arms. Unlike Cassidy, I didn't have a spare shirt.
I didn't have any spare clothes at all. Everything I brought from America with me was either on my back or in that rental car I'd left at the Rusty Swagman.
Hopefully, that car was still there when I returned.
I relieved myself again and shut the toilet seat. I didn't want any creepy crawlies coming out of there while I slept.
When I opened the door, Cassidy had blown out the lamp, and the room was filled with silvery moonlight filtering through the grubby windows.
She was on her bunk, halfway through pulling off a cowboy boot.
I sat on mine, and as I started undoing the laces on my sneakers, the rats dashed from one end of the roof to the other. "You think those rats will be finished soon?"
"Not a chance. You were right, they’re not rats. They’re possums. And those things can root all night long." She grinned at me.
I smiled back.
Progress.
But then the silence stretched between us again, heavy with unanswered questions.
I needed to know how she was related to Frank, but now I truly dreaded the answer. But I couldn't put it off anymore.
I cleared my throat and turned toward her. "Cassidy. Are you Frank's daughter?" The words came out more abruptly than I'd intended.
She paused with her hands around the ankle of her boot and looked up at me, scowling. "None of your damn business."
"I need to know."
"Why?" She yanked her boot off and dropped it on the floor with a thud. "Is it so you can decide if you want to keep harassing me about him?"
"Cassidy—"
"No." She pointed at me, her jaw set. "You don't get to show up here and demand answers from me like you have some right to them."
"I do have a right," I said quietly.
"Really?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "And what right is that, exactly? The right of being a rich, entitled American who thinks?—"
"I'm here because I believe Frank Branson is my father."
The words dropped between us like a bomb.
Cassidy froze, her second boot halfway off. Her face went completely blank, then cycled through a rapid series of emotions I couldn't quite track—shock, disbelief, horror.
We sat there in the dim light, breath visible in the space between us. Even the possums stopped scampering across the roof, like they were waiting for her response.
"What the hell?" she blurted. Then she burst out laughing. "Fuck, you're funny."
I forced myself to hold her gaze, even though everything in me wanted to look away. I waited until she stopped laughing and met my gaze again.
"What a load of shit," she said, shaking her head, still grinning.
"It's true. I think Frank Branson is my father. And if he is, then I need to know who you are to him. Because if you're his daughter ..."
I couldn't finish the sentence.
If she were his daughter, then she would be my sister.
And that complicated absolutely everything.