Only We Know (22 page)

Sam's words were much tougher than he'd meant them to be. There was nothing he could do about that. He knew women like Calla, who ran at the first sign of trouble. When things didn't go their way, they bolted instead of sticking; instead of understanding or reaching out and being patient. He'd been married to a woman like that. It was when the party stopped that he'd needed her the most. All she'd wanted was the good times. She didn't stick around for the pain and the hardships. Sam turned away from Calla, couldn't look at her. He was afraid if he met her eyes, he'd see Christina instead.

‘You don't know anything about me,' Calla said with steel in her voice.

‘I know more about your kind than you think.'

Calla snorted. ‘My “kind”?'

‘Yeah,' Sam said as he turned back to her. ‘Women like you don't like it when it gets hard. Well, guess what? Life gets hard. People get hurt. And you … Let's just say I don't plan on making the same mistake twice.'

Calla looked like she'd been slapped. Her bottom lip wobbled and she pushed the curls away from her face with a nervous flick. She narrowed her eyes at him and he prepared himself for the words he could see in her eyes.

‘Oh, Sam Hunter. I was so wrong about you. You are exactly like every other man I know. You're not kind at all. You're an arrogant arsehole.'

Sam felt his jaw tighten. His fingers clenched. ‘I'll take you to the boat in the morning if that's what you want. Since you can't find your way there by yourself.'

Calla gasped. ‘You may be able to read a map but you are absolutely fucking useless at reading people, you know that?'

Sam reached inside his pocket and threw her his car keys. She fumbled them and they fell to the ground.

‘I've lost my appetite. I'll walk back to the cabin. Drive back when you're fed.'

CHAPTER

27

Sam hiked down the cliff top and along the road to Calla's rented cabin.

He was glad she was going home. Her problems were none of his business, right? And, anyway, he had enough of his own family shit to keep him going for a good few years without being dragged into Calla's family dramas. So she was getting on the boat. Good luck to her and good riddance.

Did dealing with a woman have to be this hard? He hadn't had to get involved with Calla. So why the hell had he? Sam pushed his hands further into the pockets of his coat. He didn't need drama and he didn't need a woman who couldn't cope when things got tough.

He could walk away from a kiss like that, from a woman like that. No loss.

Would a night with her have been incredible? Hell yeah, but he'd been led astray by his dick in the past.

Would a night with her be worth all this aggravation? Fuck, no.

He had plenty to do without being Calla's Kangaroo Island tour guide. Once he'd dropped her off at the ferry in the morning, he could drive out to Roo's Rest and see his old man. And if Charlie didn't want to listen to him and move into the nursing home? Well, screw him too. If he didn't want to do what was best for his own health, for what was left of his family so Sam could stop worrying about him every damn second, that was his choice.

Screw them all. He could drive back to Adelaide with no guilt. His old man could fend for himself. He could die all alone if that's the way he really wanted it. He'd done everything possible during the past twelve months to get Charlie to change his mind and see sense, to grasp that he couldn't keep living at Roo's Rest with the state of his deteriorating physical health and his memory problems.

Sam had done everything he could.

So why was no one listening to him any more?

Why was it that the only time people did as they were told was when he was on the trucks, when he was in uniform? He was respected there. People obeyed his orders when he had a helmet on. And the authority and anonymity of that uniform meant he could remove himself from the personal and make it all about safety and life and death. In his job, it was clear cut: Do what I say because I know how to save your life. In his real life, however, things were going to hell. He'd been down this road before and had sworn he would never go back there.

Sam rounded the corner and walked up the sloping road to Calla's rented cabin, increasing his pace. His breath puffed clouds into the early evening air. Why didn't people just do what he wanted them to do? Why didn't Charlie understand that he was getting old? Why did Andy have to die and leave his younger brother this responsibility all on his own? Andy had always wanted to stay and be the farmer. Not Sam. He couldn't be forced into living Andy's life back then and he wasn't going to be pushed to do that now. This should have been Andy's job, looking after the old man and taking over Roo's Rest. Now it was all down to Sam to deal with their recalcitrant father and the property no one wanted. He was faced with not only Charlie's deterioration but also the knowledge that he would finally have to kill off Andy's dream.

Sam didn't want Roo's Rest.

He stopped walking, looked out over Hog Bay in the twilight. The lights in the distant ocean were from the ferry, the last boat of the night. People were leaving the island and going back to their real lives. He wished like hell he was on that fucking boat.

Back in the real world, things were simple. People listened to him.

That's when the realisation hit him like a slow burn. In his world, he'd never done much listening to anybody else. He hadn't listened when Christina had complained about their marriage. He hadn't listened when Charlie had tried to talk to him about Roo's Rest. The slow burn lit up like a flame. He hadn't ever stopped caring; but when caring hurt too much, he'd shut himself down. By blocking out all the disappointment, the pain, and the hurt in his life, he'd blocked out the voices of the people who'd loved him.

And he'd accused Calla of giving up on her brother. Pot, meet kettle.

She was right. He was an arrogant arsehole.

Had he even tried to understand the reason for her determination to go home? Had he asked her what had really happened to shatter her family? Had he tried to find out if there was fear under all that stubbornness?

Hell, he didn't care. It was none of his business.

The beautiful, scared redhead.

Like hell it wasn't.

Two beers later, Ben refused to serve Calla another one. ‘If you are serious about driving away in Sam's vehicle, you are stopping at three. And you're going to finish that burger before you go.'

Calla rested her chin in her palm and plonked her elbow on to the bar. ‘Ben, I'm fine to drive, really. I just need to sit here a while longer.'

Ben narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Hiding from Sam, right?'

‘Well, no. Actually, yes.'

‘Lovers' tiff?' Ben winked at her.

She couldn't be angry at him. He was now unofficially related to her, as was Sam, she supposed. Ugh.

‘We're not lovers.' Calla paused, hiccupped. Definitely not lovers. About to be almost lovers but now definitely never lovers. How could she be with someone who'd said such cutting and cruel things, someone who was so plain wrong about her? He claimed to understand her but he didn't know a thing about her, about her family, or her broken heart.

You don't stick at anything, do you?
His words stung just as much in her head as they had when they came out of his mouth.

He was so wrong. How long had she hung around hoping Josh would leave his wife? Two years. Two whole fucking years. That's what she wanted to tell Sam.
Take that. Two goddamn years I waited for someone who didn't want me. I forgave him everything and I hoped, every day, that he would come to his senses. And you think I don't stick. I stick like glue, baby. Take that and your pop psychology and shove them where the sun don't shine.

Ben leant over the bar towards her. ‘I'm surprised Sam hasn't made a move on you. You're beautiful. You drink beer. And you're single, I take it?'

Calla looked down at her ring finger. The Claddagh ring she wore had been her mother's. ‘Not married,' she sighed. ‘Never want to be.'

‘Never?'

‘When you've seen a bad one up close, you never want it for yourself. Believe me.'

Ben shrugged. ‘That's too bad.'

‘Why is that bad?' Calla felt defensive all of a sudden. ‘You think every woman has to get married to be complete? You think that's all we aim for, to trap guys and get rings on our fingers?'

Ben looked from side to side. ‘Chill, Calla. I'm married. It's nice, that's all I meant.'

‘Well, you're lucky.' She wagged a finger at him. ‘And you'd better not cheat on your wife, whoever she is.'

Ben laughed. ‘Susie and, no, I don't plan to.'

Calla leant an elbow on the bar. ‘Yeah, that's what they all say. Can I get another beer?'

‘No.'

Calla pushed her glasses up her nose and tried to focus on Ben's face. He was still a little blurry. ‘Tell me about your cousin.'

‘What do you want to know?'

‘You know, the normal stuff.'

‘Let me think. He was a gun footballer. A ruckman. Captain of the Under Eighteens when we were at school. Shat all over any other player on the island. We hung out a lot when we were younger, but he's been gone a long time. Has he told you about Andy?' Ben's face darkened.

She reached across the bar and patted his hand reassuringly. ‘I know what happened to Andy.'

‘After that, well … things were never the same up at Roo's Rest. Uncle Charlie and Auntie Jean didn't leave the farm for months. Sam had just finished high school and he had to take over the place. It was lambing time and they were as busy as hell. He got old overnight, I reckon, after that. They were hurting. We all were. Everyone loved Andy. And then Sam left to go to Adelaide.'

Calla remembered what Sam had said; that farming the place had been Andy's dream, not his. Sam was clearly convinced it had been Charlie's dream too, that one of his sons would take Roo's Rest.

‘That's a sad story,' Calla said, and an ache in her chest moved in and didn't budge. Even though he was currently an arrogant arsehole, she could still be sad for him. Damn him.

‘Really bloody sad. It hit everyone, you know.'

‘That's not surprising.'

‘Sam left and stayed away a long time and that was hard on Uncle Charlie. Sam's ex-wife hated the island. Used to hassle him about coming over.'

Calla hesitated, picked at the beer coaster. It was none of her business. She didn't want to know. ‘Sam was married?'

‘Yeah. She was a city girl with a big career, all high heels and business suits.' Ben looked glum. ‘She didn't like the island much.'

Calla kicked her work boots against the barstool. Maybe that's how Sam liked his women, sky-high heels and perfect hair and power suits. She looked down at her faded jeans. His walking away from her made perfect sense. He was obviously used to corporate women who made decisions without even blinking, not prevaricating, failed artists.

‘How could she not like the island?' Calla asked.

‘It's just that, she found the whole place a little sleepy. The main street of Penneshaw wasn't quite her style, know what I mean?'

Calla tried to process this information, even though she didn't care any more. She really didn't want to know what had happened to Sam and his ex-wife. Had no interest at all in such prurient gossip.

‘So Sam's divorced,' she said in a whisper, almost to herself. No wonder, if he'd treated his wife the way he'd just treated her.

Ben shrugged. ‘Poor bastard had a bad run. She left him when he got banged up in a fire. He had to sit behind a desk for two years pushing paper clips around. And then the divorce on top of that? It was pretty hard.'

Calla swallowed. She picked up what was left of her burger and wolfed it down. Then she fished Sam's car keys out of her pocket.

CHAPTER

28

Calla sat in the driver's seat of Sam's four-wheel drive, her breath fogging up the front windows, and dropped her head on the steering wheel. Her left hand rested on the stick shift, the way Sam's did, but she hadn't started the car. Her inability to drive a manual stuck in her throat like a swallowed lozenge. She'd never learnt, had never wanted to. And now she was stranded.

She'd have to leave the car parked outside the pub and somehow find her way back to the cabin on foot. On an unfamiliar island, in the dark. And with absolutely no sense of direction.

To top it all off, it had started to rain. Calla watched as the spitting became a shower and then a torrential downpour. It bounced on the bonnet and the roof of Sam's car in a deafening percussion.

She pondered her two choices: she could sleep in the car or she could call Sam.

She stared at her phone, listening to the rain. Embarrassingly, she'd had to go back inside the pub and ask Ben to text her Sam's number. They'd had no reason to swap that kind of personal information, since they'd been together almost the whole time she'd been on the island. And now his name and number where blinking back at her in the dark.

Her head was fuzzy from the beers. She felt stupid and stranded and sad.

She didn't want to be this helpless, especially around a firefighter with a hero complex. She had loads of skills, really she did. Put her in a classroom with stinky tweeny boys and chatterbox girls and she could get them painting in two minutes. Give her a blank canvas and she could create an image out of her imagination.

Give her a handsome man who clearly wanted to have sex with her and she could bugger that up in even less time.

Calla pressed the screen and it started ringing.

‘Sam Hunter.' He answered before the second ring. Her shiver was probably the cold, not her nerves.

‘It's Calla. Calla Maloney,' she said.