Grace Under Fire, page 10
“I’m not interested in a partnership.” Grace made the blanket statement.
“You made that clear today.” Rochelle gave a tinkling laugh. “But you want to grow your business. I’d like to help.”
“Not on my time.” Ryan got the pissed-off vibes loud and clear. Dollar signs flashed before Rochelle’s eyes whenever two people had their heads together. Ka-ching!
Grace buying out her parents was now public information, and she was unlikely to have sworn her broker to silence. He recalled seeing Rochelle with the man, sharing an intimate meal here, shortly after he’d returned home. Rochelle wanted a piece of any action, and her new-found interest in Ryan was explained.
“I’m sorry your mother’s health has precipitated this.” Rochelle continued to smile. “I’ll let you finish your meal.”
“Good night,” Grace said.
Rochelle waved a farewell. Ryan waited until she was out of earshot. “Smooth.”
“That’s the gossamer fabrics and regular visits to the beauty salon,” Grace muttered.
The waiter brought coffees.
“Thank you.”
“Another example of your open mind?” Ryan drained his wineglass and set it down with a snap. “She could increase your business.”
“Only if I’m prepared to be a wind-up doll on call when she wants me to perform,” she said tartly, tapping her neat unvarnished fingernails on the table for a few moments.
“She’s very competitive. Probably ruffled her feathers to see you talking to me. She likes to keep a finger in every pie going.” From his observation, she cooked up at least half the deals.
“We could be on a date.”
Ryan couldn’t contain his grin. “It’s an open secret that you’re barely on nodding acquaintance with me.”
“People should have better things to talk about.” Grace looked adorably haughty.
“People should.” He nodded in sober agreement.
“Don’t patronise me, Ryan.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He studied her over his coffee. “What are you going to do about her?”
“I’ve said I’m not interested, so nothing at this stage.”
“She’s a barracuda,” he said. Rochelle didn’t take rejection well.
“Is that a warning?” Grace met his gaze, a question in her eyes.
“Call it friendly advice. My offer’s genuine.” Ryan enjoyed having her sit across the table from him, sharing her thoughts and fears. Wanting her to confide in him was a dangerous and unexpected development. He didn’t do binding ties. “I’ll meet top-market price, I’ll continue the move to organic status, and I’ll make sure the land I buy remains an operating dairy farm.”
She searched his face, as if it held the answer to some puzzle she needed to unravel. He had no answers, not to the sort of questions a woman like Grace asked. He’d let Danny down, hadn’t been able to answer his cry for help.
Ryan signalled for the bill and waved away her offer to pay half. “I’m wooing you, Grace. And you blush delightfully. But I was referring to our business deal.”
“No deal.”
“Then we’ll focus on the buzz.” His mouth curved.
“We haven’t discussed my business proposition for you,” she protested.
“Next time. I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I’m unlikely to get lost.” She collected her coat from the coat rack at the entrance.
“Let me.” He took it from her, holding it while she shrugged herself into it. It carried her scent. Acting on the urge to turn her into his arms probably wasn’t a good idea at this stage. He rested his hands on her shoulders a fraction longer than politeness needed before reaching around her to open the door. Another tickle from her teasing fragrance, and he gripped the handle more firmly.
“Really, there’s no need.” She turned up her coat collar and pushed her hands into her pockets.
“Humour me.” He fell into step beside her when she headed down the block.
She took a left turn and then another halfway down that block, leading into a short, poorly lit laneway.
“You’re kidding, aren’t you—?” He didn’t get a chance to finish. Headlights flashed to high beam, and a car roared out of the darkness. Ryan dragged Grace against him and swivelled to push her against the wall, covering her body with his. The wind from the speeding car slammed into him, and he pressed her head into his chest. The car took a sharp right, wheels squealing as it made the turn. “Are you okay?” He eased back, one hand on the wall near her head.
“Stupid kids,” she muttered.
“Would kids do something like that?” He stared after the car. “They could have hit us.”
“Playing chicken.”
He scanned the buildings around them. “Any CCTV here?”
“These aren’t the mean streets of New York,” she mocked.
“Still.” Her perfume filled Ryan’s senses. It was dark, she was close, and with the adrenalin easing out of his body, he needed to step away while he still could, but his feet refused to move.
“Thanks for shifting me out of the way.” She stroked his jaw with fingers shaped by years of hard work, yet her touch was tender.
“No trouble.” Ryan’s fingers encircled her wrist.
She leaned in to brush her lips across his. “I now know what it’s like to lose a younger sibling. They leave a hole that can’t be filled. At Danny’s funeral I was mostly consumed by my loss. I’m sorry for yours.”
Ryan stared into her eyes. Her few simple words broke through barriers that had stood solid for years. She offered understanding and comfort, and the isolation balloon he’d sealed himself in burst. He wrapped her close with one arm, exulting in the snug fit of her against his body. Tipping up her chin, he covered her mouth with his and lost himself in her. Arousal was instant and powerful. In his arms her dips and curves became womanly handholds to keep her close. She tasted of heaven, with a dash of the coffee she’d ordered to finish the meal. Before he was ready, her free hand pushed against his chest. He eased back, aware of where they were.
“I need to go.”
“Of course.” Ryan checked the laneway in both directions. “Where’s your van?”
“I’m using the farm Ute tonight.” She walked a farther ten metres into the dark.
Ryan followed her, then stood behind her while she unlocked the vehicle and slid in. With his arm on the top of the driver’s door, he leaned forward. “Don’t park here next time.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Close the door, Ryan.”
He did as she said and stepped back, waiting until she drove off before he wandered back up the lane. Maybe he shouldn’t have made the move, but she’d wanted the kiss. His gut told him she’d called a halt to going deeper in a public place. And because she was as stunned as him at what had happened. He couldn’t blame her. Zero to liftoff from a brush of the lips was a new experience for him. He itched to test whether that would happen a second time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When her alarm sounded for the morning milking, Grace groaned and rolled over. The second alarm she’d set up penetrated pillows, doona and was just out of reach of her outstretched hand. A private joke, Avicii’s Wake Me Up, didn’t seem so funny this morning. She downed coffee and stumbled outside, her mind tugging at her problem as her fingers might pull on a loose thread in a scarf. Her plans were unravelling as fast as she made them.
Mist hung in the air as she crossed the yard, dewing her sweater and limiting visibility to the home paddocks. She shivered as the isolation she normally welcomed enveloped her. The urge to pump heavy rock through the milk-shed loudspeakers to blast away dismal reality had her fingers poised above the player. The lead cow turned her head as if to say, “Don’t even think it,” and Grace settled for Mozart.
Seven weeks of prevarication from the broker and the bank had ended with their offer right on close of business yesterday. The positive vibes she’d sent into the universe had produced another slap down. She’d reworked her budget in her dreams, each calculation taking her further from the twenty-five percent deposit the bank stipulated. She hosed out the shed, took the time to check the calves had food and fresh water. The rhythm of work and music helped with her decision.
“Compromise isn’t defeat,” she murmured to a tardy cow. “A conversation isn’t a commitment.”
She opened the kitchen door, and Bluey passed her a coffee.
“The scones are still warm.” He gestured to a plate covered with a tea towel as he headed for the door. She wanted to weep at the kindness of a man who’d known her all her life, at the kindness of Ryan’s mother who’d started to bake for her because she was looking peaky.
She sank onto a chair. Her mind jumped from her list of chores for the day to the bank’s decision to Ryan’s offer, a never-ending loop draining her dwindling confidence. Swallowing half the coffee in a single mouthful, she lifted the edge of the tea towel and inhaled the warm, doughy smell. Then dropped it back in place as her stomach protested.
“Compromise isn’t defeat. A conversation isn’t a commitment,” she repeated, massaging her stomach in slow circles to ease the nausea.
Weeks ago, Ryan had said business and pleasure were separate. But that was before he’d kissed her in the alley, before he’d blown her expectations of what kissing him might be like into the stratosphere. Heaven didn’t begin to describe the toe-curling sensation of being in his arms. For seconds, she’d forgotten everything, caught in the rush of sensations his kiss created. Desire more than lust, a giving and sharing rather than a taking.
She’d draw courage from that and take a gamble she’d vowed never to take. She’d talk to Ryan about his offer. She’d be careful, promising nothing, asking questions, taking nothing at face value.
“Ryan, it’s Grace,” she began. His perky response was a reminder the lucky sod had robotic milking for his cows and hadn’t had to keep a four-a.m. appointment in the damp, Tolkien-like mist.
At dinner last week, she’d said no deal. Although that hadn’t stopped her from turning his offer over in her head, checking it from every angle to find the trap. She didn’t want to deal now. The bank’s email had narrowed her options to zero. Ella was right. Grace couldn’t afford not to explore Ryan’s offer. She’d interrogate every fair proposal to keep the farm.
“What land are you interested in?” she asked, then answered his avalanche of questions.
“I received it last night.” Grace had seen the email when she’d stopped work around eight. Unable to sleep after reading it, she’d refused to lie helpless in bed staring at the ceiling. Instead, she’d worked on her website, added to her list of shops that might stock her cheeses, and sent out exploratory emails. She’d woken stiff-necked, her head resting on her arms on the kitchen table and crawled into bed for the two hours remaining of her night.
“The bank settled on twenty-five percent upfront to approve the loan,” Grace admitted. The number still hurt, still had her breath catching and her heart hammering.
“Of course, I feel like bloody shit!” Sucking in some steadying breaths, she listened for the low of contented cows as they made their way back into the fields and ordered herself to focus on her goal. The plate of scones caught her eye. She couldn’t work if she didn’t eat. So, she’d eat. After she finished this call.
“Where?” She’d missed his instructions to the piece of land he was interested in.
She didn’t want to be beholden to him. Wouldn’t be beholden to him, but if he was throwing her a lifeline, she’d be insane to turn her back on it.
“Midday. Got it.” Grace walked to the window, her eyes straining through the mist as she repeated his directions. “The road in from the school bus drop-off.”
* * *
Ryan pulled up on the dirt track behind her. She’d been leaning against the side of the Ute as he’d approached. With the valley as backdrop, and her womanly figure lounging negligently against the horsepower of the white work vehicle, she could have been posing for a motoring advertisement. Her short hair was tucked under her hat, her sunglasses hid her eyes, although at this distance, he couldn’t read her expression anyway. Couldn’t smell her either, but he knew her scent. Each time he got a sniff, he was aware of a new complexity.
Just being here marked a new step in their relationship. Did she know that, and was she prepared for the consequences?
She pushed herself off the vehicle as he pulled up and turned to face him. Her mouth curved in a welcoming smile. It cost her but slammed into him, making him want things he had no business wanting.
Walking towards her, Ryan saw the smile wobble, then right itself. He had a flashback to the first property he’d bought. A tiny, derelict house on a small square of land at the edge of a country town. A renovator’s delight according to the selling agent. He’d renovated it himself, using specialist trades when he needed to quote licence numbers for building clearance—electrician, plumber. He’d turned a nice profit. Not before a lot of sleepless nights and backbreaking days of looking over his shoulder to see if the bank had changed its mind and would foreclose, of skipping meals to make the next payment. His only investments had been time, sweat and money, and he’d been scared spitless. Grace was gambling all that and more. He bet she hadn’t slept much last night. She’d see having to sell any of her land as a failure. Her failure. Her courage grabbed him by the balls every bit as much as her work-toned body did.
She nodded when he reached her. “This place has lots of memories.”
“Waiting for the school bus.” He understood the desperation prompting her call. If small talk about their shared history was her way past gut-churning worry, he’d oblige. “Summer heat hazes drugging you into a semi-stupor, or icy winter winds sneaking under your collar and making your teeth chatter.” He coaxed a genuine smile from her.
“You’re forgetting the rain and the dust.”
“I ate my share of dust.” He fell into step beside her when she turned towards the river. “Good times.”
“Some. Every square inch of this paddock has memories for me,” she spoke carefully.
“Guess the bus doesn’t come down this road anymore?”
“The Wellness Centre is a child-free zone,” she mimicked Rochelle’s polished tones.
“Hard to guarantee tranquility with kids running around,” he observed. They continued for a few minutes in silence.
She stopped, opened her mouth, closed it again, then spoke as if the words were dragged out of her. ”Did you know this was Danny’s and my special place?”
Ryan raised a hand in denial as the words catapulted him back a decade.
“I figured that was why you picked it.” She searched his face.
He saw himself reflected in her glasses. Neither of them giving anything away. A powerful sense of loss swept through him. For his brother, for their lost innocence, for Grace having to give up land she loved. “I didn’t know.” He whipped his hands behind his back to stop himself from reaching for her—not to make a move on her, but to share simple comfort.
“We had a few spots,” she continued, some of the constraint leaving her voice. “His, mine. This was one we shared. We used to park our bikes in the old shed at the bus set-down. Some afternoons we’d skip chores, play hooky and come down here.”
“I remember when he didn’t get home in time to do his share of the chores.”
“You covered for him, just as Ella covered for me.”
Ryan scanned the surrounding area. “In my head, it was good land, clear access to water. It’s also a place to dream in.”
“He was a dreamer.”
“I don’t remember the poppies.” He stared across the field in the direction they’d been walking.
“There’ll be hundreds in coming weeks. I planted them for him. Not hardy natives, because he wasn’t.” Her voice softened. “The delicate red and white poppies of France. Red, the emblem of the war to end all wars and white to represent peace.”
“You understood him.” The grief had never left Ryan, nor the anger. Her tribute ambushed him.
“Your mother wanted to bury him in a traditional church graveyard as a statement that he had a right to a place in this community, but I can’t go there,” she replied quietly.
“This is right.” Ryan hadn’t understood his deep need to talk to someone who’d unconditionally loved Danny. Until she’d started speaking about Danny most times they met. Without demand, as if sharing memories was natural, a way of building a future by accepting the past. He hunkered down to touch a fragile bloom.
“Danny battled his demons,” she whispered. “In those last months, he was at war more often with himself than he was at peace.”
“Mum thought you were a good influence on him.” Ryan started to walk again, movement making the words flow more easily. “Did you know that?”
She grimaced. “She thought I was his girlfriend. I was his—‘girl’—friend. He loved me. He never fancied me.”
Her openness cracked the lock on his grief. “Did he talk to you about being gay?”
“Sometimes. We joked about me being his cover.” Stopping again, she turned her head to look at him. “If I think about it now, we didn’t have the maturity to articulate what was going on, but we both knew he shouldn’t need a cover, that he was normal.” She pulled off her hat. “More than normal. A funny, smart, generous individual.”
“I agree.” A picture of Danny’s cocky grin as Ryan waved him goodbye flashed into his mind.
“You accepted who he was,” she stated, as if she had no doubt.
“Yeah.” It felt good to find common ground with her, to finally heal the rift his behaviour at Danny’s funeral had created. “I knew it would be hard in the valley. The town has pockets of narrow-mindedness. We talked about him leaving when he finished high school.” Ryan had been watching, had begun to guess bullying at school was the biggest threat to Danny’s self-esteem. “Sooner if needed.”
