Chapter 21
Cassidy
Emotions churned through me the way they always did when I thought about Mom. I never knew whether to hate her or fear for her. I just hoped she'd had a damn good reason for leaving.
I met Xavier's gaze. "My mother vanished when I was fourteen."
Xavier tilted his head, and his expression showed that he genuinely cared. "Do you know why?"
I stared at the warped wooden floor, then out toward the paddock where the sun had started its descent toward the horizon. The light had turned golden, softening the harsh edges of the burned landscape.
"She just disappeared. Didn't even leave a note. Frank told us she ran off." I let out a breath. "But Frank tells whatever version of the truth suits him."
"And you've had no contact from her since?"
"Nothing." I pushed to my feet before the weight of my secrets could settle too deeply. "Come on. Help me get the fire going again. It'll be dark soon. Grab the ax and a handful of that cash."
At the fire pit, I picked through the remnants of our earlier fire, salvaging the unburned pieces. Xavier returned with the ax and a fistful of bills, and crouching beside me, he scrunched up the money and shoved it among the kindling with the same careful precision he brought to everything.
I watched his hands work, remembering the way they'd felt when our fingers had interlaced earlier.
It should have felt wrong, but it hadn't. It had felt so damn right, it scared the hell out of me.
Xavier took the ax to the remaining timber railings, slamming it clean through the weathered wood.
As he reduced them to smaller pieces and tossed them toward me, I arranged the kindling.
Working together, we rebuilt the fire, and the rhythm of doing something normal steadied me, keeping me focused on practicalities rather than the mountain of confusion crashing through my mind.
Once the kindling was ready, I struck the match and watched the flames light up that damn money like it was nothing more than old newspaper.
When the fire was burning strongly, we dragged the chairs closer to the warmth and sat side by side. The space between us was narrower than I'd planned. Our knees almost touched.
I could've shifted away. Should have.
I didn't.
"So your mom just vanished?" he said. The flickering flames cast Xavier's face in warm light, highlighting the line of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. I hated that I kept noticing how handsome he was.
"She left in the middle of the night. Some of her clothes were missing, but not much. She didn't take any of her jewelry, not even her wedding ring." I watched the flames dance, hypnotic and restless.
"Was there an investigation?"
"The police came out and asked questions. But there was no evidence of foul play. Just a woman who'd had enough of Outback life."
"But you don't believe that." He said it like he already knew the answer.
"Now that I know Frank was capable of watching that poor pilot die in the dirt," I said, the pieces slotting together in a way that made my stomach turn, "and capable of hiding that man's body in a cave for thirty years, I can't help but wonder if Mom saw what kind of monster he really was.
Maybe she feared for her life." The words tasted bitter.
"But that's worse, isn't it? Because then she knew exactly what she was leaving us kids with. What kind of mother does that?"
It was an impossible question to answer, and I didn't expect one.
When I finally looked at Xavier, I saw understanding in his eyes. Behind the fury and grief and everything Pamela had cost him, I saw the same bitter clarity that had settled in my own chest years ago.
Different mothers. Different betrayals. Same wounds that would never fully heal.
The sun sank lower, painting the sky in shades of burnt orange and deep pink.
As darkness crept in, stars began to emerge.
First, a few scattered pinpricks, then hundreds, then thousands in nature's grand reveal.
They spread across the sky like scattered diamonds, so thick and bright I could see Opal Ridge far in the distance.
Xavier leaned back in his chair, his gaze lifting upward. "Christ. You never see stars like this in New York."
"Light pollution's non-existent out here. It's one of the perks of living in the middle of nowhere."
"It's incredible." His voice held genuine awe. "When I'm climbing, and I look up at a night sky like this, it's the only time I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Like I'm finally seeing something real." He pointed toward a cluster of stars. "There's Orion's Belt."
I followed his gesture and nodded. "Yeah.
And that bright one there is Sirius." Stargazing always reminded me of Mom, back when things had been good, when we'd lie on the grass at night, and she'd point out the constellations, making up stories about each one.
The memory still stung. "What do you mean by climbing? "
"I’ve climbed a few mountains." He smiled, still gazing at the sky. "Started about five years ago. I needed to do something that I could own, I guess. Something that had nothing to do with boardrooms or Hawthorne Global or callous company takeovers."
"Wow." I tried to picture him on a mountainside and found the image fit better than the posh suits I’d imagined him wearing. It explained his strength, toned muscles, and the way he moved like a panther. "Where have you climbed?"
"The Alps, mostly. Some peaks in America and Chile.
I had plans for New Zealand, but ..." He let out a breath.
"Too much bullshit always got in the way.
The views from the top are incredible. When I'm up there, above everything, the sky gets so clear the Milky Way looks like a river of light. There's nothing like it."
I studied his profile in the firelight. Xavier impressed the hell out of me. I'd totally underestimated this fancy American. I'd done nothing remotely like climbing mountains. Hell, the farthest I'd been from Koolaroo was Winton, just over two hundred miles away. My world felt so damn small.
"I must say, you've surprised me, muffin. You're more than just a fancy talker in a designer suit."
"Back to muffin, huh?" A smile tugged at his mouth. "The suits were never my idea." The intensity in his expression made my breath catch. "Most of my life wasn't."
The firelight played across his features, and I realized how close we were sitting. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough that when he shifted, his knee brushed mine.
My stomach flipped.
I'd gotten so close to kissing him earlier, and that scared the hell out of me. If I crossed that line, it could change my life forever.
"We should eat something," I said, pushing to my feet before I did something stupid.
I headed for the stairs, putting distance between myself and the man who was messing with my mind in ways no one ever had.
"Please tell me it's not more baked beans," he called after me.
"It's definitely more baked beans," I said over my shoulder.
He laughed, and the sound was so unexpected that I nearly stumbled on the bottom step. Christ. What the hell’s wrong with me?
Inside, the glow from the night sky provided enough light to navigate.
I used the toilet, then turned on the bathroom tap.
The water smelled of rust; another reminder of why we used the bucket and tank water for drinking.
I splashed it on my face anyway, letting the cold shock some sense back into me.
What the hell am I doing? Remember who he is and what he could mean for your life—and your brothers.
I grabbed two cans from our stash and the other supplies, including a couple of dishcloths from the shelf. When I stepped back outside, Xavier was adding more wood to the fire, the flames casting his shadow long across the dirt.
I peeled open both cans. "You're out of luck, muffin. Both tins are baked beans."
"Who's in charge of stocking this place?" He dropped into his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Teenagers?"
Chuckling, I nestled the cans among the coals at the base of the fire. "Whoever's heading out this way. My guess is Kayden was here last. But it's not meant to be a culinary experience. It's emergency supplies to get you through a rough patch."
"I'm not complaining. I've had worse."
"Was that when you were volunteering in Africa?"
"Oh, you remember that, huh?"
I remember everything about you. Every touch. Every concerned glance. Every word.
Jesus, Cassidy. Stop it.
"No, actually. The worst meal I ever had cost a fortune at Le Bernardin in Manhattan.
Three Michelin stars, a waitlist months long.
They served me something called 'deconstructed bouillabaisse'.
" He pulled a face. "Basically, cold fish bits, scattered across a plate like a crime scene.
Cost three hundred dollars and tasted like the ocean on a bad day. "
"Eww. Sounds disgusting. Give me a plate of beans any day."
He chuckled. "That's what I like about you, Cassidy. No pretense. Just real and honest."
The comment hit me like a slap. I’d been living a lie for a bloody long time.
Forcing down that nightmare, I used two sticks to lever one of the hot tins from the coals. I wrapped a dish towel around it and passed it to him, then I retrieved the second can for myself.
We ate the beans straight from the tins, sharing the spoon between us. They were bland and lukewarm, but good enough.
"These ones are better," he said, frowning and smiling at the same time as he tried to read the blackened label. "Different from this morning."
"They're the ham beans."
"Ham? Huh. Never had them before." He took another spoonful. "Actually, they’re pretty good."
My heart did something stupid at his simple joy. This city bloke had a lot to learn if he thought he could be a Branson. But I had a feeling he'd adapt better than most.
Jesus. What am I thinking? There's no way he's a Branson.
At least I hoped he wasn't.