Chapter Eight
CHAPTER
8
I don’t want to talk to the Viking in the room where I sat in my highchair, but if I take him onto the verandah, people might recognise him and they’ll stare. After Erik and Astrid tell the Viking they’ll wait for him by the car, he follows me into the workshop.
Uncommon. Unusual. I’m not exactly sure what they represent, but I’ve heard worse. I adjust my sling and lean against a bench.
‘I want to do this,’ I tell the Viking.
‘If I pull out, Erik won’t take you.’
‘I care about the environment like you and Grandpa. If you take me on, I’ll do what I’m told.’
After considering my words for five long seconds, he walks to the workbench in the centre of the room. He holds up the end of a rein, held tightly in a clamp. ‘You stitch by hand?’
‘Some clients prefer that.’
Holding two strands of thread between his fingers, he follows the waxy strings to the needles attached to the ends.
‘This can be done with one hand?’
‘Sitting, I can use both.’
In a few long strides, he’s standing in front of me. ‘Show me your arm.’
When, keeping my arm bent at the elbow, I ease it from the sling, his thumb hovers over the purplish stains on the inside of my wrist. We’re not touching, but my breath hitches. My heart thumps. He indicates the top of my arm.
‘The bruising is from here.’
I pull my arm closer to my torso. Too quickly. ‘Oh!’ When I bite my lip, his gaze shoots to my mouth.
‘The humerus?’
‘Can we change the subject?’
‘You don’t want to touch me. This is also a problem.’
He was scrupulously careful when he sliced open my clothes with his knife, and when he put his hands on my collarbone to feel for the bump. He turned away as Erik and Astrid looked me up and down. I didn’t shake his hand. I wouldn’t hand him the jug.
‘I could touch you if I had to.’
‘Prove it.’
When I place my left hand on his chest, his heart beats under my palm. His body is hard and warm. ‘What about this?’
When he puts a hand over mine, anchoring it, my heart thuds. ‘My first name. Say it.’
‘Kit.’ I emphasise the ‘t’ like he does. ‘Kit.’
He frowns into my eyes. ‘Withdraw your submission.’
My hand is still on his chest. If I step back, would that be a retreat? He’d know about warcraft and strategy. I don’t. ‘No.’
He’s frowning again, but it’s a different frown. Not angry or frustrated but …
I want to put my other hand on his chest. I’d open the fingers of that hand too. I’d lean into him and—
He steps back.
***
‘He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no either,’ I tell Grandpa across the room.
Wearing pyjamas and leaning back in his chair, Grandpa rubs his hands together. ‘What did I say, Mary Mackenzie? Sounds like you’ve got Kit Thorsen interested.’
Keith Urban, sitting obediently behind the door out of sight, takes a leftover potato from my hand. ‘It’s not certain.’
‘You weren’t keen on the snow bloke at the start.’ Grandpa sips from a small glass of beer. ‘What did you think of him this time around? I don’t want you working with someone who doesn’t respect you as he should.’
He’s competent. He’s arrogant and judgemental. Why the somersaulting heart, the compulsion to lay my hands on his chest?
‘I can manage him.’
‘Your dad would be proud to have the snow bloke after his film. In the weeks before he passed away, Sam had all his containers out, sorting what was there.’ Grandpa taps his fingers on the arms of his chair before coughing and reaching for his glass. When he coughs again, he knocks the glass sideways.
‘Grandpa!’ I race to the bathroom, fill a cup with water and hold it to his mouth in between coughs. He sips, splutters and sips again. One hand pressed hard to his chest, he wheezes a succession of breaths. ‘Should I get the nurse?’
‘With Frances on duty?’ He shakes his head, wheezes a laugh. ‘We can’t risk it with Keith Urban riding shotgun.’
‘Not to mention the beer.’
‘I only got two sips.’
I bite hard on my lip as I mop up the puddle on the windowsill and swipe at the stain that darkens the curtain. ‘Have you talked to your doctor yet? I don’t think you’re eating or drinking enough.’
He clears his throat, wipes at the drips on his shirt. ‘What are you up to tomorrow?’
‘Don’t change the subject.’
He smiles bravely. ‘I can help you to answer any follow-up questions the snow bloke might have.’
‘And I’ll have a word to your doctor.’
‘In the meantime, how about you tell me what’s going on with the dragons? You got more work on the film set or not?’
‘Two full days with the head of wardrobe. Simon will pick me up on Monday morning.’