The Wattle Seed Inn, page 18
Ilse stared. Her hand clutched the pendant at her neck.
No. The tall, dark man who stood alongside Gabrielle couldn’t be …
She shook her head, anxiety clawing up her throat as she fought against the memory.
That couldn’t be him. He had been just a boy, such a sweet boy.
Then a teenager, cheeky and gregarious, the only one who had never grown away from her.
Then a dashing young man who still made time for her, even when her softness and patience had been whittled away by age and aches.
She teetered at the head of the stairs, snatching desperately at the bannister rail. Time whirled in a kaleidoscope, past meeting present. And, her recollection suddenly perfect, she knew …
No! It wasn’t possible. Dry sobs of terror spasmed her chest, the convulsions choking her, robbing her of oxygen.
Except, that didn’t matter. Because she was already … No!
The blackness crowded in and she thrust out a hand, but she was plummeting, knowing there would never be an impact: instead she would spiral endlessly in the void of despair.
Because she knew.
She remembered it all.
Including the surge of betrayal and grief that had literally ripped her heart apart.
21
Hayden
Entering wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. After all, his memories had never belonged inside the hotel. He hadn’t even been in there since his uncle sold it more than a decade ago. His shoulders eased, and he rolled his neck to release the tension.
‘Wow, cool place,’ Sharna murmured as she scooted past them into a room on the left.
Trigger took a few steps ahead, snuffling his interest. Then he stopped and looked back, waiting for permission. ‘Is it okay for him to come through?’ Hayden asked Gabrielle.
‘Sure,’ she said. Her words were easy enough, but he felt her lean into him as the dog brushed past. That dog was worth his weight in gold.
‘Trigg. Here.’ He snapped his fingers. The dog instantly came and sat on the floor, gazing up expectantly. ‘If you want to make friends with him, I promise you he won’t bite,’ he assured Gabrielle. Why was it suddenly important that Gabrielle accept his constant companion?
Gabrielle’s even white teeth worried at her lip. ‘I … want to,’ she said hesitantly. ‘And I know I’m being stupid, but …’
‘Everyone’s scared of something.’ He tried to make the words sound generalised, a throwaway placation, but he knew the truth better than anyone. He put his hand down and Trigger thrust his rubbery nose against it. ‘Do you want to try?’
Gabrielle nodded, but fear darkened her eyes.
He took her trembling hand and guided it towards Trigger’s head. She flinched, her fingers instinctively grasping at his. Their upper arms brushed, and he felt the tension vibrate through her taut frame. ‘It’s okay,’ he murmured.
But perhaps the words weren’t so much for her, as to calm himself. While the nerves that stiffened Gabrielle’s body and shortened her breath came from fear, his own reacted to something entirely different. A wave of longing and desire. Emotions that were as far from being okay as was possible.
Safely encased in his grip, Gabrielle stretched one finger towards the dog. As though he recognised her uncertainty, Trigger nosed it gently, rather than give her his usual over-enthusiastic head butt.
Gabrielle’s hair brushed against Hayden’s sleeve as she leaned forward and he had to force back the urge to touch, to discover whether it was as silky as it appeared.
She twisted to look back at him, delight dancing across her face as she rubbed a finger on Trigger’s velvety muzzle. The spill of her hair slid like satin across the back of his hand, the sensation everything he could have imagined.
‘Here,’ he said gruffly, trying to find control. ‘Rub the furrow between his eyes. That’s his favourite spot.’
‘How funny,’ she murmured.
‘Why’s that?’
She straightened. Trigger stretched towards her, understandably eager for more of her caress. ‘When we were kids, Mum used to soothe us by stroking our foreheads. Much like that.’
‘My Nan did that too. Must be some old-school trick.’ He realised with a start that it was the first time he’d mentioned Nan since … ‘Anyway, let’s get on with this assessment, shall we?’
‘Sure.’ Gabrielle straightened, but made no move to pull her right hand from his, using her left to gesture at the stairs. ‘Justin has some good ideas for upstairs, he’s already measuring … stuff.’ A faint flush mounted her high cheekbones beneath her golden tan.
Damn, he really had to let go of her hand. He had no excuse not to. ‘Are the stairs sound?’ he said, trying to mute the hopeful note in his voice. If they were white-anted, he would be justified in holding her hand as a safety measure.
‘They’re cool, man. Not so much as a squeak.’ Juz boomed from somewhere out of sight above them.
‘Great,’ Hayden muttered.
Gabrielle slid her hand from his but gave him a quick, shy smile. ‘I admit, I need a lot of input into this project. I was just explaining to Justin that I plan to convert this into a guesthouse, but beyond knowing that it needs a coat of paint and new carpets, I’m kind of lost, especially on the structural stuff.’
‘Altering the structure will depend on how many rooms you want to end up with,’ he said as they mounted the stairs. ‘And on your council approvals.’ Although the carpet was frayed on the edges and worn through in patches in the centre of the treads, Justin was right: there wasn’t so much as a squeak.
‘Well, that’s what I’m trying to work out. There are currently ten rooms upstairs, and two main areas downstairs. Plus a galley kitchen, the foyer, and a newer wing with a more modern kitchen and wet areas, which are in pretty good nick. But there are approved plans to enlarge some of the bedrooms, which will make the accommodation more luxurious. Set it apart from places like The Overland. Not that there’s anything wrong with the pub,’ she added quickly, and he realised that she was anxious not to upset him with a misplaced word. Which proved what a prick he’d been. But it also proved that she actually cared what he thought—surely that could only be good?
Hand clenched on the bannister, he paused. Of course it wasn’t good: he had to remember, he couldn’t take this further than few loaded glances, a stolen touch of her hand or her hair.
Gabrielle smiled at him, her expression tentative and uncertain and … hopeful? Sudden anticipation surged in his chest. Christ, he wasn’t a complete idiot, he could still read a woman’s interest. Perhaps he could risk taking things just a little further. Because he sure as hell wanted to get to know this woman better. What harm could there be in a bit of making out, if that’s what she wanted? He could pull the pin before things got too heavy. Before she discovered what lay beneath his clothes.
Maybe a taste of her soft lips would be enough.
The tightness of the new skin across his shoulder and chest tugged like a leash. Would a kiss be enough to get him through the lifetime of monk-like denial that stretched before him?
More like enough to drive him mad.
He tried to focus on her plans. ‘How many bathrooms?’
‘Only two upstairs.’ She gave that nose wrinkle again.
Jesus. It was hard to force out words without croaking. ‘Might make it tough to have more than a couple of bedrooms up here.’
‘I know. But I do have some thoughts about that.’ They turned to the right at the top of the stairs and Gabrielle pushed down the lever-style brass handle on a solid timber door.
Two walls were mustard, the third burgundy. Inexplicably, the fourth, framing the window, was wallpapered in large splashes and drips of colours. ‘Guess there’s a Jackson Pollock autograph scrawled somewhere in here, huh?’ Hayden murmured as he stepped into the room.
‘You should have seen it when the curtains were still up.’ Gabrielle’s eyes sparkled, as though the art reference were a shared joke. He sure owed his mum one for indoctrinating him with that stuff. ‘They were masterpieces in their own right.’
‘Shame I missed it.’ He crossed over to the window.
‘I think they’re in the dumpster. You could retrieve them if you really wanted.’
He barely heard her. His gut clenched. The room overlooked the courtyard at the back of the hotel.
Facing the wattle-tree–bordered outbuildings.
Loss seared through him, hotter than the tongues of fire that had stolen his flesh. He gripped the windowsill, his fingers denting timber as he fought for control.
Gabrielle moved to stand beside him. ‘See those buildings?’
Of course he bloody saw them.
‘I was thinking of converting them into accommodation to make up the shortfall if I enlarge the upstairs rooms. One of them looks as though it was used as a retreat or study or something.’
‘The castle,’ Hayden grated out, his heart threatening to tear from his throat. Her castle.
He felt Gabrielle look up at him, the movement accompanied by a faint waft of gardenia, although he’d not placed the perfume before. One of Nan’s favourite flowers.
‘Oh, of course, if you know the history of this place, you’d know what it was,’ she said.
He forced air in through his nose, out through his mouth. Tried to tear his eyes away from the outbuildings, look beyond the courtyard to the wetlands. ‘Even at mates’ rates, those buildings would be too expensive to do up. They don’t have any plumbing, and the electrics will be basic.’ And the castle shouldn’t be touched. It should be preserved, exactly as it was when …
Gabrielle leaned against his left shoulder to look out of the window. He recoiled at the contact, but it wasn’t because of the pain. ‘I figured they wouldn’t be self-contained,’ she said. ‘More a detached bedroom, with the facilities indoors in the kitchen wing. In any case, the cost isn’t an issue. And you don’t have to do me a special deal. I appreciate that you’re willing to make time to take on the work.’
Was that her way of saying she wanted nothing from him? Or at least, nothing beyond his labour.
He seized on his disappointment, using irritation to disguise a far more dangerous emotion. ‘Clearly, you’re not country. Out here, money is always an issue. But we can’t be bought. We help out, take on jobs because it’s the right thing to do. Not because someone throws cash at us.’
A frown creased her forehead at his tone. ‘That’s not what I meant. Just that I don’t want to undervalue your labour.’ Gabrielle moved away from him, pointing towards the doorway in the mustard wall, as though she could see beyond the room directly opposite. ‘But I was also thinking that if it’s not feasible to get those buildings up to scratch, I’ll get my broker to find out who owns the cottages and that funny shop on the riverfront. They’d be perfect for self-contained accommodation.’
His skin prickled at her assumption. ‘They may not be for sale.’
She tilted her head disbelievingly. ‘Everything has a price.’
‘Perhaps you can’t afford it.’
She laughed softly, as though the notion were absurd. ‘Oh, I can.’
He scowled. ‘You’ll find it hard to fit in here if you believe everything’s for sale.’
‘Lynn seems to do all right. I hear she owns half the town.’
‘She does. But you won’t hear it from her.’
He heard her gasp behind him as he strode across the room.
‘Wow, what did I say to deserve that?’
As though his anger required more room to pass, he slammed back the door, letting it shiver on its hinges. Was it just his bruised ego that provoked his temper? He couldn’t pin it on Gabrielle’s plan to renovate the outbuildings; she had been willing to give that one up without a fight. Although maybe that was what truly irritated him; like her fleeting interest in him, there was no passion in her decision. No necessity, no drive. She planned to destroy his memories to fill her grasping desire to have what she wanted in that instant. He snarled without bothering to turn back to her, ‘Not everything has a purely monetary value.’
‘I don’t think I said that it has?’ She sounded uncertain.
‘That’s exactly what you said. “Everything has a price.”’
‘And it does. But I didn’t say that was its only worth.’
‘You inferred that.’ Certain things had immeasurable value, for the memories they held, the love and pain they evoked. But grief robbed him of the words to explain any of that.
‘Hayden, I’m sorry.’ Gabrielle had stopped behind him and, a product of Nan’s wooden-spoon enforcement of manners, he turned reluctantly to face her. Her hands were on her hips, her expression fierce. ‘That’s certainly not what I meant. I was only thinking that this whole place is decrepit. If I buy the properties, I can renovate the entire town. Create something from scratch, a tourist destination.’
She emphasised destination in the pretentious manner corporate millennials used and—to hell with Nan’s rules—his anger erupted. ‘Doesn’t it occur to you that maybe this was more than a destination? That it was someone’s home, their life? That you can’t just flounce in here, splashing cash around and making history vanish?’
Fuck. He was out of line. But seeing the castle had woken the anguish and the guilt and it ballooned inside him, dark and evil and painful. He had to get the hell out of there, away from Gabrielle’s wounded expression, before he made things worse.
‘Wheaty?’ Sharna stood at the top of the stairs. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Gotta get outside.’ He shouldered past her, thundered down the steps and shoved open the back door. Pulled up short as the courtyard caged him.
Jesus, why the hell had he thought escape lay in this direction? He was trapped, as surely as if he faced a wall of flame, the retreat behind him cut off, the advance—towards the castle—impossible.
Panic crushed his chest. His vision narrowed to a tunnel, bounded by darkness. He bent double, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath.
Sharna’s hand appeared, reaching for his. He knew she was speaking, but for long seconds he couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears.
‘Wheaty? Wheaty? Do you have something you can take?’
He tried to shake his head, but dizziness overwhelmed him.
‘Tay gave you something, didn’t she? Something to calm you down?’
Something to prove he was less than a man, that he couldn’t control himself. ‘Fuck Tay. She doesn’t know everything,’ he spat. Jesus, please don’t let Gabrielle be there, watching him fall to pieces.
‘Hayden.’ Gabrielle’s voice penetrated his panic, and he groaned. ‘Hayden, I’m going to need your help with the hotel. I don’t know whether I should pull out the carpet or get the painters in first. And do plumbers or electricians take precedence? I’ve got a ton of plans and sketches, but no idea what order I’m supposed to do things in.’
Her tone was smooth, soothing, as though they hadn’t argued.
‘Does the council approval I already have cover everything I need?’
Her questions forced him to concentrate.
‘And is there a way to get the pipework checked to make sure the place isn’t going to flood? I’ve been down into the cellar, and that definitely looks like it’s been water damaged at some stage.’
‘Floods, back in fifty-six,’ he managed.
‘So, not a leak? Do you think we can get the pipes tested, or is it just a case of seeing if something leaks? Or I guess, given the age of the place, waiting until it leaks.’
He could make out Sharna on her knees, her face white as she looked up at him, but Gabrielle was still out of sight, her voice unfailingly calm. His erratic pulse was gradually returning to normal, the nausea-inducing racing of his heart decelerating.
He straightened slowly, trying to force in deep breaths.
‘Wheaty?’ Sharna whispered. ‘Are you okay?’
‘He’s all right,’ Gabrielle answered, somehow knowing that questions about his condition, unlike questions that forced him to think beyond the panic, would spiral him down again. ‘Could you get some water, though, Sharna?’
‘Sure.’ Sharna’s boots slapped on the wet pavers as she raced towards the kitchen wing.
Hayden groaned again, but this time he forced himself to turn, blinking back the tears of weakness the attacks induced. ‘How … how did you know?’
‘Amelie. The sister I told you about?’ she said quietly. ‘She used to have panic attacks.’
Sharna dashed back, water spilling over the edges of the flowered teacup she carried. ‘Sorry, it’s all I could find.’ She thrust the china into his hand.
‘Fuck,’ he moaned as water slopped from the shaking cup. ‘Sharn, what I said about Tay … I didn’t mean it.’
‘I know,’ she said simply.
Hell, he wanted to find a rock to crawl under. Quickly, before his legs gave out.
‘The wind has dropped,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I’ve got a load of floor plans and vision boards, in the car. If you can find somewhere to spread them out, maybe you can go through them and see what’s going to be feasible and what’s a pipe dream.’
If she laid her plans on the saturated table beneath the big gum they would be ruined; but she was clearly giving him an excuse to sit without emasculating him. At least, no more than he’d already emasculated himself.
He wanted to argue, to insist they go and knock down a wall, or start ripping out the bathroom or something physical. Something to prove he was a man. But the fact was, he would have enough trouble making it over to the bench. Something to do with the after-effects of an adrenaline spike, Taylor had explained to him, but he didn’t give a damn. All he knew was it made him look weak.
22
Gabrielle
‘He’s trying to avoid me, you know.’
Gabrielle morosely pushed the piece of cake around her plate, although it was a bit of an act; she was definitely going to eat it. She had discovered that one of the two cafes in the main street, Ploughs and Pies, not only did awesome coffee but also had a stellar line of baked goods. Over the course of the past three weeks, she had steadily worked through the menu and was about to start over.
