Chapter 20
Day Seven
The chirp of Haley’s text is the best sound I’ve heard all day. I plunge towards the coffee table where my phone has sat, silent, brooding like me. With every hour that’s passed, my worry has escalated. I’m like an anxious parent who’s let their kid take out the family car for the first time.
Part of me feels guilt at my fear. Haley’s a capable woman, not a silly teen, and doubting her ability seems disloyal to her and to the belief I have in her. But my feelings for this woman, and how important she is to me, ride roughshod over that.
My eyes race across the message.
UNTOUCHABLE GIRL: Be there around 5. Hope the girls are behaving.
I glance at the sideboard where Haley’s treasured Christmas clock, a gift from her parents, ticks off the minutes. The little alpine town in miniature glows warmly in the deepening dusk. Lights have flickered on in the tiny cottages, and the realistic-looking flame of an old-fashioned gas street lamp has sprung to life. It’s been agony listening and watching the jaunty nutcracker figure—a more Christmassy alternative to a cuckoo—stride out every quarter hour, marking her absence with the blare of his cornet. The hands show ten past the hour. Four more outings for the little soldier and she’ll be here.
Forty minutes later, I hear the grumble of the automatic door. This is the best sound I’ve heard today. I leave the dogs where they are, frolicking in the back yard, their happy place despite the cold. With their knitted Christmas jumpers, neither seems to notice the wintery chill. I feel this need to meet Haley at the door by myself. Just me, without their welcome dance to distract us.
I hover in the hallway, as the thunk of a car door and the beep of a remote echo from the garage, then pace a little, trying to walk off the jangling emotions clashing in my brain. My chest is tight with relief—she’s home, and that’s the main thing—but I also harbour a simmering irrational anger at the risk she took. It’s not the possibility of the fine a cop would have slapped on her—a few hundred pounds wouldn’t be great, but it’s not the end of the world. I’d pay it for her in a heartbeat.
Nor is it the prospect of a pissed off Ollie if she’d damaged the car. He’d be as forgiving as I am where Haley’s concerned. These siblings have a closeness I’ve not experienced. He adores her and she can do no wrong in his eyes.
It’s my protectiveness towards her that has caused worry and anger to battle it out in my head all day, preventing me from concentrating on anything. I abandoned the book even though I wanted to reassure myself the villain in the story still might actually get the girl. I should have read through all the contract paperwork again, but my brain was zinging in all directions—and anyway, what more could I find that Rachel couldn’t?
For five hours I’ve languished here, my gut tied in knots, sick with fear of her being harmed, conjuring up dire scenarios. I visualised some idiot pulling out in front of her, cutting her off, and her, lacking experience, unable to brake in time and avoid a collision. Or someone running a red—they do it all the time—ploughing into her, the airbags blooming around her like oversized flower petals. Even in a slow speed crash, people can get badly hurt—some die. The cocoon of the Porsche’s leather sports seats, tested on a racetrack, should protect her, but in a freak accident they might not.
Now I know I can relegate all of these worries to fiction, the product of my overactive imagination. I should relax, but I’m still coiled tight. Hearing the click of small booted heels, I can’t help myself; I fling the door wide.
Haley stands on the top step, hand poised in mid-air. Her pale face and the little furrow of tension between her brows trigger my concern. Wary wide green eyes meet mine, but her kissable rosebud mouth curves upwards in a small smile; there’s no hint of anything amiss. Worry has no place here anymore. She’s here, and she’s safe. My little wavering flame of anger sputters and dies, too. How could I ever be properly angry at Haley ?
Relief takes over and on impulse, I scoop her into my arms, wrap her so tight, reassuring myself she’s whole and undamaged. No, I shouldn’t be doing this, but I am. And fuck it, I’m not damn sorry. I tense a little, pausing to put out tentative feelers of sensation, checking she’s OK with this, not repelled by the gesture.
She’s tired. I can feel the weariness and perhaps relief as well. Her exam is over; she drove that beast of a car without incident; she’s home. Maybe this is why she doesn’t flinch. It’s been a hell of a week for her, too. That she’d accept comfort in a friendly hug isn’t unexpected after everything that’s happened. But this is not a friendly hug to me. I don’t want to accept a future where this is as good as it gets. I’m not sure how to get to that future, so for now I savour the present, the warmth and softness of her damping down my own anxieties, helping me forget why I’m here, and focus on just being here in this moment.
The scent of green apples and flowers tantalises my nose as I rest my head on her shoulder. Outside, the chill of a dark winter evening has settled on the world, but I close my eyes and inhale the fragrance of this spring child in my arms.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. Her warm breath penetrates the flannel of my shirt, like a kiss against my collarbone. “For ignoring you when I left. For ignoring your texts.”
“It’s OK,” I say. “I shouldn’t have pestered you like that. Not while you were in your exam.”
I feel the slightest stiffening of the compliant body in my arms. She lifts her head, tilting it up at me, and I see the wariness return to her gaze.
“About that.” Her throat pulses as she swallows. “I didn’t go.”
“You didn’t go?” I draw back, my brows flying upwards. There’s a tick in my jaw as I try to restrain my shock.
“There was someone I needed to see.”
“Someone you needed to see?”
Why the fuck am I parroting everything she says back at her as a question? She’s caught me off guard. I can’t imagine what was so important Haley would blow off her exam, not when I know how much this whole vet stuff means to her.
“Look,” she says, pulling away and shrugging off her coat. It’s a casual action, like there’s nothing out of the ordinary, but why the hell do I feel something bad is coming my way? “Go sit in the lounge and I’ll bring you a coffee,” she directs, as she hangs up her things. “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
“It’s me who should be making you coffee,” I protest. “After all, I’ve just been lounging around here all day.”
“Just lounging?” One dark brow tips upward.
“OK, lounging, worrying, and text bombing you because of it.”
“Yeah, I think twenty texts could be classed as bombing.” Her lips purse, and both brows dip, as if she’s about to growl at me like the parent of a naughty toddler. But, just as I can’t be mad at her, Haley seems to have difficulty scowling at me, and she relents, her mouth lifting in an amused smile. “It’s fine. You were probably right to be concerned, but I assure you the car is as perfect as when I left.” That’s good to know, but I’m more concerned that she’s as perfect as when she stepped out that door. “Just don’t tell Ollie, OK,” she adds, tapping her nose with a finger and tossing me a conspiratorial grin.
“No way,” I say. “He’d be pissed I didn’t fling myself in front of the car to stop you. ”
“An odd hood ornament?”
“Odd?” I adopt a hurt expression.
“Cute,” she offers. “Especially when you’re giving me those damn puppy dog eyes.” Her voice has the faintest touch of breathiness. She’s flirting with me. If she’s flirting, I’m flirting right back.
“Like this?” I exaggerate them more.
She tilts her head to the side, sweet dimples bracketing her lips as they curve into an amused smile at my expression.
“Works every time.” My mouth slants up in a sly grin. “Learned from Mularkey and Tully.”
“Yeah, where are they?” she frowns.
“Oh, shit. I need to let them in.” I turn to head down the hallway. “Locked them out. They’ve been in and out about ten times this afternoon. Camped around that big tree in the corner, scratching at the bottom. They seem to think there’s something up there. A squirrel maybe?”
“ Squirrels ,” she laughs. “Three of them. Smart ones. They come into the yard when they’re bored and mess with the dogs for entertainment. I worry they’ll get it wrong one day and become lunch, but they never seem to slip up. Drives the dogs crazy.”
“Them and me too,” I sigh, thinking of the afternoon spent tracking up and down the hallway in response to pleading paws scraping my knee and urgent whines. “Anyway, I figured you wouldn’t want their muddy feet leaping over you. I’ll go get them.”
I leave Haley in the kitchen. Grabbing up the now mud-smeared old towel I found in the laundry from where I left it on the hall floor, I head for the back door. The moment I open it, the dogs come barrelling towards me, tongues lolling happily, although casting reluctant glances back towards the tree.
I deal with their muddy paws one dog at a time. I dab at Tully’s first, the easier to clean with her shorter, more club-like feet. Once done, I open the door a crack, letting her through and then close it immediately to stop Mularkey plunging after her with her filthy brown paws. It’s like drafting cattle, something I know how to do well, and the second dog eyes me, frustrated.
“Look, you, if you want to be first, you need to stop doing this to yourself.”
I gently lift each of her wide paws, wiping at the webbed feet with hooked claws, perfect for gripping snow like her sled dog ancestors. Also perfect for gathering mud. She sighs and stands more patiently than she’d prefer and lets me clean them. Once finished, I open the door and Mularkey blasts through the narrow gap like a rocket, a blaze of red in her jumper with its pattern of dancing Santas. It’s freezing out here; maybe snow tonight. I shiver a little and seek the warmth of the house.
Passing Haley’s room, there’s the creak of the door and she appears, hair a little wispy and dishevelled. She’s changed out of her day clothes and donned pyjamas. They seem to be her favourite thing to wear. I swear she’d go to work in them if she could. Damn it, if I was her boss, I’d let her.
There’s something about the intoxicating mixture of child-like innocence and very adult allure that turns me on when I see Haley in pyjamas. Maybe it’s the way the tops reveal the slight movement of bare unbound breasts beneath, freed of a bra. I’d love nothing better than to slip my hand inside, work my way over the soft skin of her stomach, cup each one, and reverently pay homage to the peaks of those nipples that even the wildly-patterned fabric—a riot of puppies in Christmas hats—can’t obscure .
The plain red pyjama bottoms hug her neat curves, leaving no doubt there’s all woman underneath, begging my hands to cup that beautiful arse, press her body against my blossoming erection and grind myself against it. Fuck, I’ve had a near permanent hard-on since I walked in the door of this house.
I pause to let her go ahead of me. It’s not only the gentleman in me. This way I can watch the sway of her hips as she pads along the wooden floorboards, footsteps muffled by bright red slippers with reindeer faces on the toes. And she can’t see the hunger in my gaze, the look of a man desperate and starving, with the thing to sate his need there in front of him, but still beyond the reach of his hand.
Two mugs of coffee wait on the kitchen counter; mine strong and dark, hers milky-sweet and spicy. Even our drink choices scream to the world how opposite we are. Cup in hand, Haley heads to the lounge, choosing a place on the sofa I’ve claimed as my own, which I interpret as permission to sit beside her.
I sip at the coffee, warming my cold hands on the mug, the burning bitter liquid a welcome hit of caffeine to wake me up for this conversation. I have no idea what Haley has to say, but I have a suspicion I’m not going to like it.
“I didn’t go to my exam today, because there was something more important I had to do.” I grit my teeth, wanting to tell her showing the world her ability is incredibly important; and surely any qualification is another step towards her becoming what she should be—a fully-fledged vet, not the nurse assisting at their side. As if reading my thoughts, she adds, “And that’s fine. My tutor confirmed they’ll give me a grade based on my coursework because I was sick on the day of the exam.” She looks up at me from under dark lashes, lips pressed together, a little pink of shame colouring her cheeks. “Yeah, I lied,” she admits. “But sometimes lying is necessary.”
“So, where did you go?” I probe gently.
“Sarratt. It’s near Watford.”
I feel like I’ve heard that name before, but I’m too shocked by the fact she drove the Porsche all that way. On the motorways as well, for god sakes. I shudder as images of her journey spring to mind. In the low yellow sports car, buried in traffic; impatient cars whizzing by and brutish trucks thundering past almost grazing smaller vehicles.
“Haley—” I chide.
“Don’t start,” she says, holding up a hand. Her eyes close in frustration, and she bites at her lip. “Please.”
The rebuke freezes in my throat. My words on this subject are unwanted and unnecessary. If I’m going to have any future with Haley, I need to squash down my overwhelming need to protect her. Let her see I have faith in her to make decisions and to take action without the shadow of all my worry and what ifs. It’s not going to be easy, but I take the first step and swallow down the words my instincts are screaming at me to say.
“Sure,” I nod. “Sorry.”
“I went to see Loreena. And Tommy,” she adds with the ghost of a smile. My mouth falls open, a whirl of questions circling in my stunned brain. Only one reaches my mouth.
“How is she?”
Haley’s mouth tips up at the corners. “That’s the first thing she asked about you.”
Of course she would. Loreena and I formed a strange bond there in that godforsaken place on that fucking useless show, the only good thing to come out of the whole sorry saga. Except for holing up here with Haley for twelve days.
“And?” My last sight of Loreena was on the TV screen last night, upset and angry, but in reality, that was days ago. I’m hoping time with her beloved Tommy has taken the edge off all those emotions, just as being here with Haley has damped down my rage, leaving me with a simmering need for justice, or better still, vengeance.
“She’s doing OK. Tired. Down but not out.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. You know she’s pretty special to me.” I’m not afraid to own it. Loreena deserves my loyalty. She’s certainly shown it to me.
“Yeah,” Haley says, her voice gentle, green eyes on mine, serious but soft. “I can see why now. She’s a special person.”
My heart leaps at her words. Somehow, Haley recognising this, that her feelings for another person—beyond Ollie—should mirror mine, gives me hope we’re not so different after all. Underneath, the people we care for and the things we value are the same. Hope maybe our lives could intertwine, we could become a ‘we’, flares inside me. I nod, swallowing down the surge of emotion, yet feeling a little reckless.
“So, what did my two favourite women talk about for a whole afternoon?”
A smile twitches at the corners of her mouth. There’s an unreadable expression in her eyes. I’m getting dangerously close to spilling all. Every tiny detail of my unrequited adoration of her. Tossing it out there and waiting to see what happens. But I’m still scared, because to do that risks her tossing it back at me, unwanted.
“You, of course. Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?” she teases .
“Of course,” I say. “You know that old Carly Simon song, ‘You’re So Vain’? That’s me.”
“I don’t,” she frowns. “But it sounds perfect. Your theme song, maybe?” A grin splits her face. The banter has taken the edge off my tension, and perhaps hers too.
“Yeah, I’ll own it.”
“Well vain or not, Loreena has been worried about you. More so after last night.”
Bile rises in my throat as I do the numbers. How many people tune into Wild For The Win ? How many of them believed the poisonous picture of me woven through out-takes and innuendo? What was a battle to expose the show’s endorsement of a barbaric practice has now become personal.
“So, has Tommy got his heavies out looking for me? Sent them to rough me up—or worse?” I know Loreena’s husband is protective of her. He sounds the sort of guy who might well act against someone he thought had wronged her.
“No, Tommy’s always going to believe Loreena. He knows exactly what did and didn’t happen in Scotland. It’s OK.” I relax at her reassurance. At least the most important people know the truth. “But they did have someone looking for you. That guy lurking around your apartment the other day—would you believe he opened the door at their house? I nearly fainted.”
“Shit, so he was staking out the apartment.” I immediately tense again at the mention of the mystery man.
“It’s fine, Christian. Loreena asked him to. She was hoping to get word to you. Let you know Tommy’s been working on the legal side.” I’m relieved at Haley’s assurance there was nothing sinister in his presence. It’s been worrying me for days .
We talk for an hour, the only interruptions me feeding lumps of wood to keep the fire crackling and Haley topping up coffee. I’m reassured Loreena is fine. She’s not the tough bitch the world would choose to see, but she does have a strong core, the heart of a fighter, and she’s drawing on it now. Meanwhile, Tommy has thrown weight and money at legal opinions and things are moving.
Tomorrow morning, Haley and Rachel will meet with Tommy and the Bunt’s lawyer. They’ll plot strategy and then set up a meeting with the production company. Knowing I’ll be sitting here, powerless, unable to be part of it, frustrates me. But I need to keep my eye on the prize and hand over my future to others. And when one of those others is Haley Templeton, there’s a strange sense of calm.
“Thank you,” I say, rising to toss more wood on the hungry fire. The moment I’m on my feet, I’m also aware of the gnawing in my gut. “I’m starving.” I barely ate today, stressing about Haley. But, now I know she’s safe, my neglected stomach screams for attention. “How about you? There’s leftover veggie bake from Wednesday night. I can heat some up,” I offer. If I was any sort of friend, I would have got my arse into the kitchen earlier and made something decent for her to come home to. Although that bake was pretty good. Serving it up for a second night isn’t a bad alternative.
“I’m fine,” she says. “The Bunts fed me continuously from the time I arrived. Tommy’s a good cook.”
I nod. “Yeah, I hear that. Loreena swears she’d have married him for his cooking alone.”
“I’d marry a man for the brownie he served up. Damn, it was good,” she sighs, eyes dreamy at the memory. I’m thinking it might be time to expand my own repertoire to baked goods. “But you go ahead.”
Without hesitation, I head for the kitchen, grab the dish from the refrigerator, and sling it into the microwave. Haley follows, perching at the countertop on a high stool. Two minutes and it’s done. I don’t bother to plate it, simply place the hot dish on a trivet and dig straight in. I’m shovelling greedy forkfuls into my mouth when Haley slides open the cutlery drawer and grabs her own fork. She aims enthusiastic jabs at one side of the dish.
“Hey,” I say, fending off her fork with a thrust of my own. She giggles and parries. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”
“I wasn’t, but it smells so good. Please, just this little corner here,” she begs.
“OK,” I say, feigning a frown, as I carve a boundary line into the eggy yellow surface. “That and no more.”
She chips away within her own territory, smiles, and scoops a piece into her mouth. I watch it slide between her lips and she smacks them together with a lazy “Mmm.”
It’s so fucking sensual. God, I can’t help but stiffen as I think of parting those lips with my tongue, tasting her. Sharing a house with Haley is both bliss and the most exquisite torture. I dive back into the safety of conversation, asking her about the book she gave me. Even that doesn’t completely dim down my arousal as, with a sly grin, she asks what chapter I’m at. I’m forced to reveal, yes, I have indeed got to the steamy stuff.
She helps me with the dishes, filling me in on more of the details of Rachel’s plan. The two of them meet with Tommy and his lawyer at ten am. After that, they’ll reach out to the production company and try to scare them into a meeting over the weekend. By the time Monday comes around, if all goes well, we’ll have some sort of agreement.
“Thank you,” I sigh, heading for the lounge, after dinner coffees in my hands, while she follows, balancing a little stack of Christmas cookies on a plate. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this whole mess.”
“It’s OK.” She tips her head. “It’s not as if I haven’t got a vested interest in this. I mean, the whole snare issue is important. But there’s still a chance the dog rescue might get something out of it. And Loreena’s charity, as well. Even if it’s only publicity. Animals get caught up in family violence too.” She frowns. “Did you know lots of women won’t leave an abusive situation because they fear leaving their pets behind?”
I shake my head. I didn’t know, but I believe it. I’m not the only one who would take a risk to save my animals. But that’s next level, risking your body, your life even, to protect your pets from harm.
“That’s terrible. What a choice to have to make.”
“Loreena and I have some ideas about that. Ways we could support women to get away and take their animals with them. When all this is over, we’ll talk some more.”
“You two covered a lot of ground.”
“Yeah,” she says, eyes falling away from mine as her small hand twists at the fabric of her top, twining and untwining the stretchy band at her waist. “We did.”
“It’s no surprise,” I say, softly. “Same big hearts.”
She grabs at the snow globe on the table, and leans forward, elbows on knees, rolling it in her hands like one of those stress balls. A flurry of white fills the glass. In the silence, from her lips drawn tight, and her eyes fixated on the dancing flames in the hearth, I sense there’s a storm inside her too. I wait, and eventually her words come.
“There’s something else we talked about.”