Love or Money (6 page)

‘Mmm,' Erin murmured, wishing some way would open for her to escape the growing awkwardness.

‘Fireweed.' Hamish stooped to pull out a leafy stalk topped with a yellow flower. ‘Another one.' He pushed aside a shrub and plucked another weed from beside the path. ‘Give that weed an inch and it takes a mile. We'll have to get the Landcare team back one of these Saturdays soon, or the place will be a mess. Oh, do we have your permission, Ms Landowner?'

‘Of course. Could I help? I don't know much about weeds, but —'

‘Wonderful. We'll teach you all you need to know. Hey! Dwayne. Come back to Daddy.' The toddler had wandered away. He turned and hurried back to his father, clutching a handful of nuts he'd collected. ‘Look, Daddy. Nuts. I wanna eat them.'

‘No, mate. Make you sick.' Hamish held out his hand for the nuts, threw them into the scrub, then hoisted his son onto his shoulders. The little boy beamed down at her, then wrapped his arms round his father's neck. In that moment, Erin sensed the simple, elemental love between father and son.

‘You'll be wanting to get Dwayne home to his Mummy,' Erin said, giving them an excuse to leave.

‘Er…no. But we'll head on anyway. We want you to enjoy your walk.' He stepped past, brushing her hand with his fingers. ‘Bye.'

Her skin tingled with the touch. He'd meant nothing — it was just a country way of saying have a nice day. But his eyes, all through their brief exchange, had burned. Every time the two of them met, those eyes behaved with a will of their own. They were sending a message. But what? The man had a partner and a child. He was off limits, she told herself yet again.

‘Bye bye, Erin.' She looked up to see the little boy waving from his father's shoulders.

‘Bye, Dwayne,' she said, surprised the child had remembered her name. And for no reason, she felt happy.

Erin walked on alone. Over the last twenty-four hours, every time she needed space to think, Hamish Bourke kept invading it. He was the opposite of Todd — tall and rangy compared to Todd's watermelon shape. He was folksy where Todd was urbane, relaxed where Todd was driven. Once more, she knew she'd done the right thing to break with Todd. Why did she need to keep — Thud-thud! Thud-thud! The sound was loud, close. A kangaroo burst onto the track, looked full into her face as it stood stock-still, quizzical. A movement flicked Erin's eyes to the kangaroo's pouch. A joey peeped out. She could have sworn they smiled at her — both mother and baby. Then, with a healthy bound, the mother kangaroo hopped away into the scrub.

But the friendly animals had opened a mind picture. Good. Anything to shove Hamish Bourke aside. For the past week, Erin had felt edgy — needy for a new book idea. For days, she'd asked herself what kids really wanted in their stories. What made a classic? She thought of Pinocchio, Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland. Maybe kids wanted magic — the possibility that things could happen that were not part of the world they knew, their parents wrapping new rules around them each day. New versions of don't-go-there, that's-not-nice, don't-touch-that. Growing up was about learning the rules. Kids liked to play at breaking those rules — dressing up, playing house, believing in fairies and monsters.

Well then, a book that broke rules, perhaps with an Australian flavour. Maybe with a kangaroo, like the one that had just hopped into her mind. So, a kangaroo called Katy that could hop somewhere magical - into the past? With, of course, a little girl in her pouch, called Katytoo. The pair could hop into Cinderella Land, or meet up with Little Red Riding Hood. They'd get along fine with the Three Bears, of course. The Three Little Pigs, even. As soon as she returned to the cottage, she'd draw a smiley kangaroo and a little girl with pigtails, peeping out from its pouch.

The world of the kangaroo and the little girl hijacked Erin's entire afternoon. Deciding against another Golden Dragon night, she sprinted to the local general store before it closed and bought some survival basics: fruit, vegetables, cereal, milk, coffee, eggs, bread, a few cans of this and that. She threw together a quick salmon salad for dinner, then hopped back into Katyland until she fell into bed around midnight.

Her game plan had worked. She'd forgotten about Hamish Bourke for nearly a whole day and, as a bonus, created the beginnings of a bundle of new stories. Then, in the small hours, like an uninvited guest turning up as a person was heading out the door, Hamish Bourke slipped back into her dreams.

All through the night, Erin struggled through nightmarish dramas. Hamish and her on a yacht that was taking in water — he laughing it off, she bailing in panic with an old bucket full of holes. Hamish climbing a high cliff of crumbling rock while she stood on a beach below dodging falling stones. She begging him to come down, he smiling as he headed on up, higher and higher…

After the long night, Erin woke to a quiet, cloudy morning, relieved to escape her nightmares. She'd hop right back into Katyland. It had worked the day before. Maybe it would work again.

It was dark before she stopped to think about dinner. Her chocolate-fuelled afternoon had delivered the two Katies to their first happy ending, but her body, from stiff neck to groaning back, begged for exercise. She flopped into the faded blue-and-white-striped canvas of the ancient veranda deckchair. The sound of the waves against the cliffs tinkled like whispering music in the night air. The salty smell of the spray was downright seductive. Okay, a swim. In her real life back in Sydney, she swam at the local council pool at least once a week.

Luna Bay offered a much better opportunity. She loved the beach, knew it well. The soft sigh of the breakers told her that tonight's surf would be gentle, safe. Not that she wouldn't feel a frisson or two as she swam in the dark. But that was a plus. She'd drive there now, before common sense took over. There'd be towels in the bottom of the bathroom cabinet. She searched for a costume, regretting she hadn't had the foresight to throw one into her overnight bag. Nothing. Well then, it would have to be undies. It was after nine on Monday night. Luna Bay would be dead to the world, or glued to the late night TV movie. No problem.

She parked in the lot near the surf club. There were no other cars there, proof that no addicted boardrider would be out in the surf. She walked in the dark to the sand. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, she stripped to her undies, dropped her clothes in a pile high up on the beach, and draped her towel over them. The sounds and smells of the surf enveloped her. The night air wrapped her in its shawl of warm darkness, coaxing her down towards the water.

What the hell? She knew from the skinny dipping days of her childhood that swimming in the altogether gave you a special feeling — a sort of ecstasy. The beach was deserted. She could be on a desert island in the middle of the Pacific. She stepped out of her undies and tossed them onto the pile. She was a water sprite, stranded on land, desperate to return to her element. Maybe there was a children's story tucked away in there.

Loving the top-to-toe caress of the breeze on her skin, she sprinted to the water and dived in. The sea was warm, welcoming. The surf was the gentlest she remembered — half-metre waves at most. She lay on her back, letting the wavelets break over her, enjoying her sensuality. The waning moon peeped above the horizon. By midnight it would be overhead. For maybe half an hour, she spoiled herself in the warm surf, a love-hungry woman back in the arms of a long-absent lover.

As she rolled over and swam a few lazy strokes towards the shore, a movement caught her eye. Fifty metres to the north, a man stepped out of the water carrying a surfboard. Halfway up the beach, he dropped his board and sat. Curses! She floated, motionless, sculling gently with her hands, treading water. Any movement would catch his attention. Minutes passed. The man sat as still as a statue. He must be in deep meditation. Maybe he was a surf junkie, meditating, drinking in the same magical chemistry she'd tasted. She thought of swimming up the beach to get away from him. Not much point. He'd parked himself pretty close to her clothes. She needed those clothes. Her car keys were in her shorts pocket. The man sat, motionless. What on earth could she do?

‘Excuse me.' She waved, then sank back in the water up to her chin. The man looked up, scanned the beach, and lapsed back into his space. ‘Excuse me,' she called again, louder. This time the man spotted her in the pale light of the half-moon. He waved, then stood and walked towards her as she backstroked away from the beach.

‘Need help?' he called. There was a tinge of urgency in his voice — Hamish Bourke's voice.

‘No. I just need…my clothes.' She pointed, glad the moon was hidden behind a cloud for the moment.

‘Hey. Isn't that Erin Spenser?'

‘Um — yes. Sorry.'

She waited while he took in the situation. He laughed quietly. ‘I'll take a little walk,' he said. She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Give you time to get decent.'

‘Thanks.' She watched him retreat down the beach. When he was a hundred metres away, she dashed through waist-deep water towards the pile of clothes. Ouch! Her shin hacked against a submerged log. She picked herself up and limped on. Her leg was cut and bleeding, stinging as the salt water washed over it. She made it up the beach and slipped into her clothes. In seconds she was what Hamish would call decent. She towelled her hair, her legs, then wrapped the towel round her waist. A couple of minutes later, Hamish returned to the spot where his surfboard lay in the sand.

‘Well we met by moonlight, Erin,' he said. ‘We seem to be seeing a bit of each other lately. No pun intended.'

‘Yes. Sorry I disturbed your — meditation,' she said. ‘I'll be on my —
ouch
!' As she stepped towards her car, the pain had bitten hard.

‘What on earth —'

‘My shin.' She pointed. ‘There was a log in the water. I —'

‘Yeah. That's been there a while. You can see it at low tide. We should move it. I'll get the surf club guys to see to it.'

She took another step, squealed with pain.

‘Here. Wrap an arm round my shoulder.' He moved close, slid a wet arm round her waist. She did as she was told. They took a tentative step. She gasped with pain again. ‘Better carry you,' he said. ‘Excuse me while I…' He slid a hand round her bottom and heaved. She wrapped both arms round his neck. As he walked, she felt steel-hard shoulder muscles flexing under her hands. Boardriding must do that to a guy.

Hazily, she sensed her pain melting under a tidal wave of hormones. She was hugging a hunky half-naked man, skin to skin — a man she had to admit she'd liked from first glance. With every step, the raft of muscles across his chest rippled against her shoulders, her breast. She heard his breathing deepen as he walked, felt the sweat wet his warm skin. It was a long way to the car park. As they reached it, he eased her carefully to the ground, leaned her against her car.

‘Thank you sooo much,' she breathed. ‘I'd have…' The moon brightened as it cleared a cloud. She looked up into his face as his eyes locked onto hers. His lips were…too close. Neither of them moved. His warmth, his closeness melted her, melted her willpower. She stood on tiptoe and kissed those hovering lips. The kiss exploded into a shower of fireworks for both of them. She tightened her arms round his neck, gave her lips again. Never, in all the times she'd kissed a man, had she ever felt swept to such sublime heights. She felt his lips answer back, giving as good as they got — and more. His arms locked her tight. Then he broke the kiss, staying close as they leaned against the car, arms and legs still tangled.

‘That was…' his voice died to a croaking whisper as he eased away, still enfolding her in his arms. ‘Aaah — good. Too good.' He pulled his arms away. ‘You know I have a partner. This can't go anywhere.' His whisper faded to nothing.

‘No, it can't,' she heard herself say. ‘I — I'm…sorry.'

‘And you'd have a steady man in your life too?' Just as she struggled to come up with a truthful answer, he continued. ‘A very lucky man, I'd say.'

‘I — we just broke up. After six years. Way too-long years.'

She heard him sigh, draw breath. He took a step back.

‘Better get my board,' he said.

She watched, paralysed, as he headed down to the beach, disappearing into the dark. Her moist skin shivered where his warmth had crushed against her. Groping in her shorts pocket, she found her key and climbed into her car. For a second she sat, key in ignition, imagining his return. Her lips still tingled, firing rogue electric currents through her body. For that moment, only one thing on this earth mattered — to have him back in her arms, his lips on hers, his arms tight round her, his body hot, close — and that couldn't, mustn't happen. She must get away before he climbed back up to the car park, surfboard under arm. She turned the key before the wakening genie inside her could pop out and take over, and drove home in the moonlight, shivery with unsatisfied yearning. What might, could, lie ahead for her and Hamish Bourke?

Erin was pleasantly surprised at her leg's recovery. Marvellous what a dab of antiseptic and a bandage could do. Four days later, almost healed, and after winning daily battles against the urge to drop by his office, Erin listened to a message from Hamish on her cell phone.

‘Hi, Erin. This is Hamish. I told you that Lovers' Lookout needs a lot of work — the garden, the hillsides, whatever. Soon would be best — we always have to keep the weeds under control. So I've put you down for Saturday the thirteenth — two weekends away. Give me a call if that doesn't suit. Oh, and remember, it's the host's job to feed the gang — around twelve of us. That includes the morning coffee break, as well as lunch. Of course. Thanks, Erin. Look forward to catching up on the thirteenth. Bye.'

She put down the phone, drew a long breath. The past few days had given her some space to get over him. It was sad that the sound of his recorded voice sent tingles through her sensitive parts again. Next time they met, he'd be just one person in a crowd of happy helpers. Planning a menu for that big day would deliver a healthy distraction.