Page 38 of Secrets of Riverside

With her hands slipping into her pockets, Millie fell into step beside him. ‘Thanks for a great day, Jarrah.’

Unexpected warmth flowed through him. ‘My pleasure, Mills, but it’s not over yet.’

They wandered up the gentle rise towards the homestead. Gratitude for this wonderful woman flooded his lonely, locked-up heart. It was as if she held the key and, little by little, she was turning it clockwise. He’d kept his guard up for so long; this was foreign, and invigorating, and downright scary. Should he let her in? Could he? Heck, he hardly knew anything about her. And she sure as hell knew nothing about him. And there was a reason for that. He had to remember the horrible path that had led him here, to Riverside Acres, and hold on tightly to the future he’d worked so painstakingly to have.

CHAPTER

12

Her legs folded up beneath her, Millie rested her head back and enjoyed the stillness of night from the camp chair she’d gratefully accepted from Jarrah and parked out the front of her motel room. The scent of fresh paint still lingered inside, not strong enough to bring on a headache, but enough to make her only want to be in there when she slept. The pitch-black sky sparkled with hundreds upon thousands of stars, but she pulled her gaze from the wonder of it and towards the soft glow of the homestead just up the rise. It had been four whole days since she and Jarrah had shared that incredible moment in the dam, and yet she couldn’t shake the intensity of the feelings she’d carried in her heart ever since. If anything, her sentiments were only growing stronger, and she didn’t know what to do with such overwhelming emotions. She’d tried to ignore them, avoid them, make light of them, heck, she’d even tried to boss them away, but try as she might, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had fallen for Jarrah King. Which was why she was avoiding spending any time with him outside of work, at all costs. Because, if she didn’t, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to contain herself a second time round. And the same went for him too, she suspected. They’d both almost crossed the line, and she didn’t want to step that dangerously close again. Her job depended on her willpower.

But may the good lord help her. Because she was going to need all the help she could get to keep her hands off him. Jarrah was so prodigiously masculine, in every single way, and yet there was a gentleness to him that made her want to collapse against him, so he could hold her and make everything right in her mixed-up, muddled-up world. Every single time she gazed into his eyes, she felt that peculiar tug of recognition, the very one that had hooked and heated her while she was wrapped around him as the icy coolness of the dam thankfully kept her from being careless. It was as if they’d known each other before, in another lifetime perhaps. It felt idiotic, silly, way too crazy for her rational way of thinking. But the sense of familiarity was there, swirling with the other myriad of emotions he evoked, especially whenever he was near her. How could she feel him so deeply, as if he was inside of her, a part of her, when she’d only known him for a matter of weeks? And what was she going to do if she discovered he had something to do with her family’s deaths? She almost wanted to give up the hope of learning the truth right now, so she didn’t find out such heart-crushing information.

With all these crazy feelings bubbling at the surface of her consciousness, she didn’t know if she had the self-control necessary to maintain a platonic friendship, if put in an intimate situation with him again. Tommy would have a field day if he got wind of her feelings. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow Jarrah’s mean nephew to get a hint of just how much she liked his uncle. Her trek here would end up a disaster. She hoped something revealed itself to her soon, because she wasn’t sure how much longer she could wait for whatever it was the conniving author of her letter was insinuating.

Suffocated by her roiling thoughts, she huffed and rubbed her weary eyes. At the very least, she’d be getting her Jimny back the next day, and about time after almost two weeks of patiently waiting. Then, if she chose to, or if the burning need arose, she could hit the road and head back to Sydney so she could get on with her mediocre life. Not that the big smoke appealed to her in the slightest. The only things she looked forward to were hugging Ebony, when she eventually arrived home from her trip overseas, and cuddling Felix when he decided to drop in for an impromptu visit. The little things were what needed to matter. Otherwise, she might never go back there.

Yawning, she glanced at her watch. It was nearing seven pm. With a five am start on the agenda for the next day, it was time for her to make something to eat, have a shower, and then hit the sack. Stirring from where he’d been crashed out on a blanket that she’d put down for him, Scruff hauled himself to his feet, and with his tail swishing casually from side to side, followed her into the studio-style motel room. Hearing his claws pitter-pattering closely behind her made her heart nice and warm. She loved animals and the unconditional love they gave. It was often way better than any human.

Squatting down, she looked into his kind eyes. ‘You’re an old soul, aren’t you, boy?’ she said gently. ‘You know I adore you so very much, right?’

Scruff’s tail slapped the floor as she straightened and made a beeline for the fridge. Scrounging through, she jiggled on the spot when she spotted the two steaks she’d taken out of the freezer a few days earlier. Along with some oven chips and a fried egg, they would make an absolutely divine dinner.

Carrying everything over to the sink, she looked to Scruff. ‘How about you and me have ourselves a cook-up?’ She giggled at the tip of his head. ‘Actually, I reckon you’d prefer your steak blue. Right?’

Taking it out of the plastic bag, she held it up for him to see. ‘Would you like it now, buddy?’ Spinning in circles, he almost twirled out of his fur with excitement. ‘I thought as much.’ Plonking it onto a side plate, she placed it down on the floor. Scruff eagerly waited for her to tell him to eat it. ‘Go on, tuck in, buddy.’

By the time she turned around to grab a frypan for hers, his piece was long gone. Sated, Scruff settled himself at the corner of the room by the door, as if protecting her, while she made her dinner. Half an hour later, she was sitting at her little two-seater dining table, dunking her last oven chip into the soft gooey yolk of her egg, when a rotten stench smacked her in the face.

‘Oh my god, Scruff, was that you?’ She leapt to her feet. ‘Far out, boy, what in the heck have you been eating?’ Turning the ceiling fan to full blast, she dared only little breaths until a good minute had passed.

After dumping her dishes into the sink to soak – she’d wash them up tomorrow – she made her way into her ensuite bathroom. Growing sleepier by the minute, she kept her shower short. She wanted to take advantage of her unusually lethargic mind and climb beneath the covers before she started overthinking everything again. Bundled up in her robe, she padded back into the bedroom, only to find Scruffball curled up on the end of her bed.

‘Oi, you, scallywag, what are you doing up there?’

Scruff languorously lifted his head and opened one eye.

‘Okay, all right, you can stay.’ She grabbed her mobile from the bedside table. ‘I’ll just let Jarrah know where you are, so he doesn’t worry.’

Not wanting to succumb to Jarrah’s husky voice, she wrote a quick text message. Scruff is with me, I’ll let him sleep over because he’s comfortable and he’s too adorable to boot outside. Pausing to re-read it, she pressed send. Less than a minute later, a reply dinged.

My boy is a charmer. He certainly has you wrapped around his paw. Thanks for letting me know where he is. Sweet dreams, Mills.

Refraining from writing anything else, she forcibly placed her phone back on the bedside table. Settling beneath the covers, with one leg out and one leg in – her form of temperature control – she nestled her head into her pillow. After fidgeting for a few seconds, Scruff placed his chin on her leg and was sound asleep in seconds.

‘Night, buddy,’ she whispered, before turning off the lamp and drifting into sleep almost as quickly as Scruffball had.

***

Swearing beneath his breath, Jarrah jammed his phone into his back pocket. The call from Vincent had been startling and deeply disturbing – the reality of what Tommy had gone and done was really sinking in. Carlo Martino was up to his old tricks, using Tommy’s age and naïvety about the underworld, and likely his eagerness to please his grandfather, to his advantage. The news that he’d delivered a letter to the address of the girl Amelia Price had grown up with angered and baffled him. What in the hell was his meddling father up to, and what did he expect to get by contacting Ebony Strathmore? Did Amelia live with her best friend? Had the envelope been for her and not Ebony? Or both of them? Surely there wasn’t any more revenge Carlo could wreak on the man he’d had killed fifteen years ago, by Joey’s hand. Hadn’t Amelia endured enough, losing her family in such a horrific way? And the confirmation from Vincent, that Tommy hadn’t a clue about what was in the envelope, or who he was transporting it to, only thickened the plot. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that money would have been involved. Likely a good chunk of it, and the fact that money talked in Tommy’s world saddened him. He truly believed he’d taught him otherwise. Like grandfather, like father, like son. History repeating.

As his footsteps pounded up the walkway of the roadhouse, thunder exploded overhead and a crack of iridescent lightning shot across the foreboding sky. Just like the cantankerous weather, there was another kind of storm brewing, and it was going to discharge under his roof at some point. He was certain of it. Falling out with Tommy was the last thing he wanted, but he wasn’t going to allow criminal activity, or criminals, to call Riverside Acres home. Thank Christ he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Ken Buller since telling him to rack off. That was a plus. But he was going to have to pick the timing of the battle with Tommy wisely.

So, with an achingly heavy heart, he strode purposefully across the verandah and into the roadhouse just as the sky opened and heavy raindrops drummed deafeningly against the tin roof. Rubbing the bridge of his nose in a bid to make his throbbing headache ease, he tried to shake off the prickly sensation. He wasn’t in the mood for dramas today. Or any day. But Tommy had returned home from staying at Jasmine’s the night before – at the very least his nephew had been up-front about that – and drama always seemed to find a way to follow Tommy home.

‘Hey, Tommy, how goes it?’ he called out as jovially as he could as he traipsed past the side door that led to the commercial kitchen.

But there was no response.

---