6
Darana
“Darana, dear, don’t just stand there with that sour look on your face,” my Aunt Elizabeth calls out to me from the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. “They’re settling in. Besides, that major-general aura of yours isn’t exactly going to make the scientists feel welcome.”
“That’s because I don’t want them to feel welcome.”
I sigh and turn toward her, resting one hand on the railing of the main house. The smell of grilled meat and spices wafting from the kitchen is absolutely delicious, but my stomach is so knotted up I couldn’t fit a pin in there, no matter how much Joyce has cooked.
“It’s not about throwing them a welcome party, Auntie. It’s a matter of survival,” I counter, adjusting my hat. “Those three strangers have spent the whole day and a good part of the night digging around on our property.”
That’s not exactly how it went, but exaggerating is my thing.
“And to top it all off, they finished setting up their stuff while making a hell of a racket,” I add.
“I’ve already made enough of a concession by letting them work until the wee hours—I’m not going to roll out the red carpet for them on top of that.
You know full well how the horses get when there’s noise at night. ”
My aunt walks over slowly, places an affectionate hand on my shoulder, and gives me a gentle squeeze. She’s trying to calm me down.
“I know exactly how stubborn you get when something throws a wrench into your plans, sweetheart. But organizing this dinner on the porch with the whole crew was necessary to keep tempers in check so no one starts throwing things at each other tomorrow. Camila loves this place too; she knows it like the back of her hand, and I assure you she didn’t come here to sabotage you.
Come on, make an effort and smile a little. ”
Before I can fire off one of my usual retorts, my aunt turns around and heads back inside to help Joyce bring out the giant trays of meatloaf.
I shake my head, completely resigned. Control.
That’s the only thing I need to keep tonight.
Control, a cool head, and a mile’s worth of distance.
Because if I let this damn dinner turn into something else…
I’ll lose what I’ve worked hardest to build here: my authority.
The front porch is packed. The long, rustic wooden tables are already filled with mugs of ice-cold beer and the elbows of several Birdsong Hills workers. The hubbub of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of cutlery mingle with the constant buzz of the night insects in the hills.
And at the far end of the table, there they are. The intruders.
You can tell from a mile away that they’re not from around here and that they’re more out of place than an octopus in a garage.
Ethan and Kira are whispering to each other.
My guys are watching them out of the corners of their eyes, with that typical distrust country folk have toward outsiders.
Even Ricky, who’s sitting in the middle of the table devouring his meal, is keeping a close eye on them like a true hawk.
That’s how I like it—he knows who he works for.
But the one who’s really getting on my nerves is that damn Camila Bennet. She’s sitting right at the end of the bench, the fingers of her right hand drumming frantically against the wood.
I take a deep breath and puff out my chest. I’m not going to let this rattle me in the least, so I grab a nice cold beer from the cooler, take a swig, and let the coolness calm me down. This is my moment. This is my turf. And here, we play by my damn rules.
“All right, listen up for a moment, guys,” I say, letting my gaze sweep across the table without focusing on anyone in particular.
“I want to make one thing clear for the next few days. The scientists staying in the cabins are here on orders from the Institute of Meteorology; they didn’t come here for a paid vacation in the countryside.
So I don’t want to see a single loose cable in the horses’ paths, and—above all—I won’t tolerate the slightest delay on the tourist trails. Do we understand each other?”
“Got it, boss!” Ricky blurts out with his mouth half full, followed by a chorus of nods from the others.
That was the response I was expecting.
“Perfect,” I add, quickly looking away before this turns into a clash of titans. “Enjoy your dinner, everyone. You can go back to eating.”
I stand in a corner of the porch and lean my back against the railing. Everything is under control. Or so I’d like to believe. Until Joyce decides to make an appearance with her usual subtlety.
“Well, well, my sweet Cami!” she exclaims at the top of her lungs, carrying a steaming tray that smells heavenly.
I close my eyes for a second and clench my teeth. May the earth swallow me up and spit me out on the other side of Australia, please.
I hereby declare myself Joyce Tanner’s public enemy, effective immediately.
The woman sweeps in like a whirlwind, heading straight for the end of the table after setting down the tray, and pushes past a couple of men to plant herself right in front of Camila with a huge smile.
“You’re as skinny as a rail, child of God,” she blurts out, serving her a slice of meatloaf that could feed a family of five.
“I made this for you with extra melted cheese, just the way you used to go crazy for it when you were a little girl running around here. And for dessert, I’ve got some homemade cookies saved for you, so don’t even think about telling me you’re too full, because I’ll make you swallow them whether you like it or not. ”
Camila blinks a couple of times, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink that makes her look damn pretty. Wait, did I just think that? Shit.
Luckily, Camila Bennet’s irritating voice snaps me back to reality.
“Really, Joyce, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” she says, giving her a smile. “I’m fine, really.”
“It’s no trouble at all, dear!” Joyce interjects, giving her an affectionate pat on the back.
“At Birdsong Hills, we don’t let anyone go hungry—especially not you, now that you’ve come home after so many years.
Just eat and shut up; swinging a mallet at the north fence until the wee hours of the night would work up anyone’s appetite. ”
Camila accepts the plate with a shy nod, her eyes fixed on her food. I look up at the sky. I’m not interested in any of this. I have no reason to care what this woman does.
Although I’m about to, because Maddie Strong—the manager of the horses and guided tours—sits down across the table, props herself up on one elbow, and devours Camila with her gaze.
Since when has this place turned into the Ranch of Temptations?
Camila, who either doesn’t seem to notice the danger or is pretending to be the most clueless woman in the world so as not to fan the flames, brings a hand to the brim of her hat and removes it with a slow, nonchalant motion.
She sets it aside on the table and shakes her head vigorously.
Her dark, shiny hair cascades over her shoulders, brimming with life.
And then, to top off the agony—my agony—she makes “the gesture.” She brings both hands to the nape of her neck, arching her back, before gathering her hair a moment later.
Holy shit. Whoever’s gotten inside my head to betray my killer instincts needs to get the hell out of here right now.
“Damn it, Bennet…” Maddie’s drawling voice breaks the silence on the porch. “If storm science always comes with views like that, I’m going to have to start looking up at the sky a lot more and stop staring at horses so much.”
The silence that falls over the table lasts barely half a second. Which feels like a fucking eternity.
At the exact moment Maddie blurts out her sweet remark, it occurs to me to take a sip of my beer.
The liquid sprays out of my mouth, and I’m hit by an absolutely Dantean coughing fit.
I double over, pounding my chest with my fist as I try to catch my breath and regain my dignity, but I look like an asthmatic dog.
“Are you okay, boss? Do you want me to get you a glass of water?” Ricky asks, looking at me from his seat.
I shake my head as best I can and raise a hand in the air to signal him not to move while I let out a couple more dry coughs.
When I finally manage to breathe normally and my throat stops burning, I lift my head and give Maddie Strong my best serial-killer glare. She, far from being scared or apologizing for crossing the line with the newcomer, simply gives me a smug, amused smile without a shred of remorse.
“Another one to add to the list of recent enemies.”
“Get your staff under control, for fuck’s sake, Darana,” I tell myself.
Although, if I’m honest with myself, the one I really need to control—and urgently—is myself.
Because I’ve been staring like an idiot, when the reality is that I hate Camila Bennet.
I hate her with all my soul for having the audacity to come back.
I hate her for showing up here and dredging up painful memories that have taken me years to bury.
I hate her for upsetting the damn balance of my property in a matter of hours. And yet…
Camila looks up from her plate. Our eyes meet across the porch, challenging each other. This time, I decide not to give an inch.
This is Birdsong Hills, and here I’m the one who calls the shots—the rules, the livestock, and the people.
Even if that means playing with fire, getting my fingers burned, and suspecting it’s already way too late to pretend the meteorologist’s presence isn’t tearing us apart at the seams.