The Flyer (20 page)

Inside the surprisingly large home, gleaming wood furniture reflected the sunlight that poured through spotless windows framed with lace sheers. Family portraits filled almost every available inch of wall space, while fine china was displayed proudly on a cherry-wood sideboard behind a dining table for eight.

The rich wooden floors sparkled, except where they were covered with intricate Persian rugs. It seemed as if each piece of furniture, every frame or knickknack, and a myriad of fabrics and textures had been made for this space. Not a single item was out of place.

By the time Helen followed Emily into a comfortable kitchen at the rear of the house, she was overcome with the intense love that emanated from every surface. The people who lived here cared for one another, and their love transcended the emotional plane to land with resounding clarity on anything tangible it came into contact with. It made very little sense, and Helen’s analytical mind balked at the sentiment. Logic told her this was a house like any other. A house very much like the one in which she’d grown up. But her heart argued, claiming this home was a far cry to anything she had ever known.

She must be losing her mind. After so many years fighting for even a shred of comfort from anyone, then finally determining that she was simply unlovable, it hurt—caused actual physical pain—to see such love up close. Especially since she’d apparently succeeded in her bid that Paul cease his attempts to woo her.

She choked back a silent moan. Clearing her throat, she commented, “This is an amazing house, Mrs. Winters. I haven’t seen anything quite like it since I arrived.” Simple, normal conversation. She could do that. She didn’t need to share in the love here. She didn’t need love at all. Not after trying so hard and failing so miserably.

“Call me Emily, please. I suspect we’ll be very good friends while you’re here. As for the house, Dale’s mother hailed from England, and her husband had this house built for her special. He brought all of the building materials, the workmen, and the plans from London. Thank goodness, too. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know where to put all of the ankle-biters.”

“You have other children?”

“Heavens, yes.” She rubbed her protruding belly. “This little guy is number six. We have Joel, the eldest. He’s named after Dale’s brother, who died in the Great War. He’s nearly eight, now. And then Maribelle and Margaret, the twins, are six. Justin is three, and Kennedy, she’s another girl, is just eighteen months. You’ll meet her later this morning. She’s napping at the moment. The others are around here somewhere, scaring up a little trouble, no doubt.”

“I’ll look forward to meeting all of them. Though I don’t know how well they’ll like me after I’m finished with them.”

“Paul said you would be giving us all injections.”

“You spoke to Paul?” Helen hid a cringe at the anxious tone of her voice. Enough tongues were wagging about the two of them in Port Hedland. The last thing she needed was to spread the rumors to Marble Bar because she couldn’t keep her feelings to herself.

But the fact remained—since they’d held vigil with little Marla McIntyre three days ago, she had seen next to nothing of the handsome flyer. Despite her conscious efforts not to, she missed him.

Thankfully, if Emily suspected anything, she kept her thoughts hidden. “He visits us at least once each week. He built a fueling station behind our shearing barn about three years ago. This way, he can fly even farther into the bush if he needs to.” Emily managed to collapse into a chair at the end of the table, her belly causing her more problems than she was apparently willing to admit. “He stopped by a couple of days ago and let us know you’d be coming for a visit.”

Joining her new friend at the table, Helen schooled her features into as blasé an attitude as she could. “Why would he need to fly so far?”

“To bring mail and supplies to the outlying areas. He’s flown as far as Alice Springs on more than one occasion. He and his flying machine are a true blessing in this neck of the woods.”

“I suppose he’s quite the hero.” Where was he now? He and Dale hadn’t followed them inside. Was he avoiding her, too? She scanned the foyer through the open kitchen door, but the two men were nowhere to be seen.

“Would you like a glass of lemonade?” Emily began to rise, but Helen immediately gestured for her to stay seated.

“I can get it for you.” She found a pitcher of lemonade in the icebox and a moment later found the cupboard that held the glasses. “This looks delicious. If I never have another cup of tea, it will be too soon.”

“I know what you mean. I was lucky. When I arrived,

I was the only one here. Well, me and my maid. We Americanized the house pretty quickly.”

“And I have yet to regain control,” Dale quipped as he and Paul entered through the rear door.

Paul leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on Emily’s cheek. She stroked his cheek, patting him gently before he stood. “Are you keeping out of trouble? No more croc wrestling?”

Paul didn’t answer. Instead, he fastened his gaze directly on Helen, his eyes full of challenge and unspoken promises. Helen’s hand, still holding the nearly full pitcher of lemonade, began to shake. She immediately rested the pitcher on the counter, her heart beating wildly. How could she be expected to function when he looked at her like that? Like he could see straight through her to the wall on the other side while seeing everything she was, everything she wanted, at the same time. It was … unnerving.

“Are you all right, dear?” Emily asked, struggling to rise from the too-small chair. “Is something wrong?”

“What? No, no, I’m fine. Really. Stay where you are.”

“I’ll help you,” Paul interjected.

He reached her before she could refuse. Standing so closely that his body heat warmed her, he pulled two more glasses from the cupboard. Powerful. Every move he made came from what seemed like barely checked fury. Not anger. Fury like a storm or a wild animal—so natural that one couldn’t possibly blame him for being what he was.

Even his scent was pure and basic, like rain.

She lifted the pitcher again, but her hands still refused to obey her commands.

She’d managed to keep the unwanted longing at bay for days now. At least when she was awake. The dreams of intimate touches and sensual abandon had made torment of her sleep. But during the day, she had avoided him. When they’d boarded his plane this morning, she had done so without his help. In fact, they’d barely spoken. The flight had been far less exciting than their last one. He simply flew them to their destination without the sightseeing he’d treated her to before.

But now, with a gentle touch Helen had never seen, in him or in anyone else, Paul rested his hand over hers. The touch burned. “You have to stop this, Helen,” he whispered.

Yanking her hand away, she forced herself to control the pitcher and pour a simple glass of lemonade. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“Please, leave me alone,” she gritted out through clenched teeth, hoping Dale and Emily, only a few short feet away, couldn’t hear. A quick glance around Paul’s wide shoulder confirmed her new friends were enamored with each other and paying no attention to Helen or Paul.

Paul looked over his shoulder, staring at them for a moment before returning his attention to her. How she wished he wouldn’t. Each time he pinned her with his mesmerizing gaze, she forgot who she wanted to be. She forgot her plans and her desires for a successful, respectable life. She forgot herself.

It wasn’t fair.

“I haven’t given up on you,” he stated flatly.

The tears that had been threatening since she entered the home of Dale and Emily Winters broke their bonds. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Unable to face anyone, she bolted out the rear door.

“You’re going to have to tell me what I’m doing in order for me to answer that particular question, aren’t you?” Paul shut the door of the barn behind him and followed Helen to the last stall. Jezebel, a large black Whaler, neighed a greeting while Sally, the buckskin mare, stamped one of her hooves. Helen looked almost as spooked as the horses, with her frightened eyes wide and her entire body poised for flight.

She brought out the protector in him. Unfortunately, he seemed to be the cause of her inexplicable fear most of the time.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? You can’t ask me not to care about you. That’s not bloody likely.”

“Can’t you understand that I didn’t come here for this?”

Frustrated, Paul ran a hand through his hair and blew a heavy breath. “Sweetie, you’re not making much sense. I don’t think you came to Australia to fall for the most dashing man in town, if that’s what you mean. But if the shoe fits, darling.”

“Do all Australians have your ego?” she snorted.

He wasn’t fooled. She tried to cover her discomfort with sarcasm, but the tremble in her voice gave her game away. She was as taken with him as he was with her. What he couldn’t understand was why she would fight it so strongly. It all came back to whatever had happened to her. To whatever the unknown man in her past had done, more specifically. “Try not to change the subject, love. What, exactly, am I doing that is so hurtful? Tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“You know very well what it is.”

“Pretend I’m stupid.”

She trembled slightly, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She folded her arms over her breasts before she finally spoke. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Sorry. Unless you tell me what the bloody hell is wrong, I can only do what I think is right. And what I think is right is convincing you that I’m not such a bad bloke.”

She stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “You can do so much better than me, Paul. Half the women in the territory would give their eyeteeth for a chance to spend the rest of their lives with you. What makes me so special?” The question was more of an accusation.

“You don’t know?” He took a step closer to her.

She took a step back. “No. I don’t.”

“To begin with, you’re bloody gorgeous. I’ve never seen hair precisely the color of yours before—like the river after a storm. And your eyes should be brown, but seldom are. When you’re angry, they’re nearly black. When you smile, they remind me of the cliffs over the Python Pool just before sunrise.” He inched closer. She inched away.

“I suppose the next thing about you that has me completely bewitched is the way you defend yourself when you think I’m getting too close. Your damnable independence makes me want to take you in my arms and never let you go. It’s the age-old chase—the hunter and the hunted. You bring out the savage in me, and the protector.” He closed the last of the space separating them. “Which brings me to another point. Blue once taught me that we have a responsibility to everything around us. My friend Joel once found a wounded baby ‘roo trapped in a fence. Her mother was dead, shot by some whanker who just left her where she fell. Blue told Joel that because he’d been the one the gods had sent to find the ‘roo, it was his responsibility to care of the joey until she could fend for herself. That’s true with people, as well. Somewhere along the line, someone left you tangled in your own fences. I suppose I just want to take care of you until you can fend for yourself.”

He risked touching her cheek. The soft skin burned his fingers, sending tremors of joy to the pit of his stomach and heating his blood to the point of near boiling. He wanted her more now than he had at any point in the past weeks.

“You’re wrong,” she whispered, her voice cracking on the lie. “I can take care of myself.”

“Which is it, love? You’re not good enough, or you can take care of yourself?”

“Both.”

“Damn it, Helen. Tell me what will make everything better. Don’t ask me to simply ignore the fact that you’ve woven yourself into my skin.”

She closed her eyes, and a single tear swelled over her thick, dark lashes. “I can’t.”

“There’s nothing you can’t tell me.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Are you a bushranger?”

“A what?”

“A horse thief? A highwayman? A bank robber?”

This brought a small grin, just enough to make her eyes sparkle behind her tears, but she didn’t speak her answer aloud.

“That’s good. I don’t think I could forgive something that horrible.” He touched her nose briefly, and she didn’t shudder. It was a start. “So, what is it then?”

“Worse.” The frown returned.

Whatever she’d done, or thought she’d done, couldn’t be as bad as all that. “You’re a murderess, then? You are the quintessential black widow, marrying exorbitantly wealthy men, then killing them off after a single night’s passion?” She still didn’t answer. “I suppose I’m safe, then, you see? I’m neither wealthy, nor have I proposed marriage. I’m just a poor flyer smitten by the town doc.”

“You shouldn’t be smitten, Paul. I’m trying to start my life over. I have goals I must see to fruition.”

“Says who?”

Her brows came together in a confused expression that made her look like a newborn pup confronted with her first bone. “Me. I say.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you’ve been putting on an act ever since you arrived. You act one way, yet everything about you says something entirely different.”