Real Men Don't Break Hearts(37)

“Oh, uh, good.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to do in the kitchen. You can see yourself out.”

Her stomach dropped as she stared after his stiff, retreating back. She almost wished he’d snarled or yelled at her. Oh, God, how had it all gone so wrong?

Rubbing the goose bumps on her upper arms, she cast around for her handbag, desperate to escape. The bag was on an armchair near the bookshelf. As she scooped it up, she couldn’t help noticing a couple of new items on the shelf. A framed photograph of a handsome man and a birthday card. She realized the photo was of Robbie. And the birthday card…was that Nate’s? Surely it wasn’t his birthday today?

She gulped, and it felt as though she’d swallowed a knife. Wouldn’t Nate have told her if it was his birthday today? Maybe not. It was quite possible that the meal he’d prepared tonight had been his way of celebrating.

A mortified groan escaped her lips. From the kitchen she could hear the clash and clank of pots, but no way could she go in there. If today was his birthday, then she’d comprehensively ruined it, and the best thing she could do for him was get the hell out of there.

Hooking her bag over her shoulder, she fled like a thief into the night.

…

Well, that went down like a lead balloon. For the first time in his life he’d offered his heart on a platter to a woman, and she’d skewered it, set it on fire, and stomped all over it. Okay, he hadn’t actually come out with the L word, an overused term that people tossed around without discrimination, but she couldn’t have mistaken his intentions. Hell, he’d all but gone down on bended knee and begged her to accept him, and it still wasn’t good enough. Damn it all! He was never going to put himself in that position again. No woman was worth it.

With a disgusted snort, Nate scraped the remains of the baked snapper into the garbage bin. To his bleeding senses the stench of fish was nauseating. He’d have to take another shower, wash it all off him, including the scent of Ally’s perfume. He’d scrub himself raw if he had to… Whatever it took to rid himself of her.

Damn woman. What idiot part of his brain had thought opening up to her would be a good thing? He should have ignored that weak, needy side of him and just concentrated on the sex. Now the sex was gone, and all he had left was a hell of an awkward business relationship. Shit. He balled up the dishcloth and hurled it into the sink.

Returning to the living room, the first thing he saw was the birthday card sitting beside Robbie’s picture. It had arrived this morning from one of his Sydney friends. Caitlin always remembered his birthday. He was thirty today, the same age Robbie had been when he’d died. A year ago this milestone had loomed heavily in his mind, and it was when he’d realized he wanted to make fundamental changes to his life. So he had, and in the last few weeks he’d thought he made good progress. But now, after managing to scare off the only woman he’d ever cared about, he felt more lost than ever.

He flipped open the card. Hope you have a wonderful day, Caitlin had written inside. Yeah, he’d had a goddamn brilliant day.



“Mr. Hardy?”

Nate started and swore a blue streak. He turned off his chainsaw before swinging round to find Oscar standing a few meters behind him. “Never creep up on a guy wielding a chainsaw. You could cause a nasty accident.”

“Sorry,” the teenager mumbled. “I yelled a few times, but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

Nate snapped out his earplugs and wiped the back of his forearm across his sweltering brow. Sweat drenched his body, and his muscles were aching. For more than two hours he’d been cutting down a dead tree. He’d been up since dawn, had gone for a long run and then labored around the house and garden all day, trying to keep busy so he wouldn’t think about last night. It hadn’t worked. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t staunch the memory of Ally rushing from the house. She’d run like she’d suddenly discovered he carried the plague. The love plague. Shit.

“Mr. Hardy? What do you want me to do today?”

Blinking, he realized the boy was still standing in front of him, waiting for his orders. “My truck needs a wash,” he said. “And a wax. Make sure you get all the mud out of the wheels.”

“Sure.” Oscar gave an unenthusiastic nod and shuffled off.

Nate returned his attention to his dead tree. The old gum tree would take a lot of hacking to get out, but he’d do it. Just like he would eventually manage to work Ally out of his system. It was like catching a virus. Bad while it lasted, but once it was gone he’d have antibodies built up against it, and he wouldn’t fall ill again.

Ever.

Half an hour later he’d reduced the tree to a neat stack of wood on the grass. All that remained was the stump, which he’d tackle another day. He went to check on Oscar and found him listlessly waxing the truck.

“Put some elbow into it,” Nate said. “Wax on, wax off. Just like the Karate Kid.”

The teenager gave him a W.T.F. look. “Why’d you get rid of the Maserati? That was a cool car.”

“I don’t need a sports car around here. I need a pickup truck.”

“I guess.” Oscar dabbed on some more wax. “S’pose a sports car would just get stolen for a joyride.”

Nate lifted his eyebrows. “I hope you don’t do that.”

Oscar stared down at his sneakers. “’Course not. My stepdad won’t let me out at night anymore, remember?”

Nate picked up a spare rag and started working on the wax streaks. “I know you don’t appreciate what your stepdad is doing for you, but one day you will.”

“Yeah, right.” The boy screwed up his freckled face. “I don’t want to upset my mum, but I’m moving out soon as I turn eighteen.”

Nate shot him a sharp look. “Why? Is it because of your stepdad?”

“No, it’s just this place. Boring Brain-dead Burronga, they should call it. Soon as I can, I’m moving to Sydney.”

Nate breathed out a sigh. “Mate, I know you won’t take my advice, but I’m going to give it anyway. I was just like you once. I couldn’t wait to shake the Burronga dust off my shoes and make my mark in the city. And I did. I made it to the top, and I had everything I wanted. At least, everything I thought I wanted. But that’s all changed. Now, what I want is right here in Burronga.” Abruptly he stopped, conscious once more of the yawning hollowness inside him. He’d never felt this bad in Sydney. Never felt this alone.

Oscar shrugged his thin shoulders. “I suppose that’s what happens when you get old.”

Nate straightened up and tossed his rag on the ground. “Hurry up with that waxing.” He walked back to his chainsaw. Why did he think he was qualified to give the teenager advice? He was thirty years old, and he still knew bugger-all about life.



Oscar had gone home, and Nate was sitting on the back porch, his weariness bone-deep, a beer cradled in his soiled hands, when he got a call from his lawyer, telling him the settlement had taken place and he was now the proud owner of a landmark building in Burronga.

Nate thanked his lawyer, rang off, and tossed aside his mobile phone with a heavy sigh. Finally he had discharged the debt Robbie had owed to Mr. Cummings, but he couldn’t muster any satisfaction in the fact. It was going to be damned difficult being Ally’s landlord. But he’d manage. He was a survivor, had been all his life, and he wasn’t about to fall to pieces over one woman. Even if she was everything he’d ever dreamed of.



The two policemen standing under his porch light brought back memories for Nate, and even though he was a law-abiding citizen nowadays, he couldn’t help his pulse’s small leap of alarm. Were they here to arrest him for vandalizing Colonel Clifton’s horse?

“Evening, officers.” He folded his arms across his shirt. “What can I do for you?” He didn’t recognize either of them. They were too young to have been on the force when he was raising Cain.

“Mr. Hardy?” The shorter one waited for him to acknowledge this before continuing. “You own the old post office in the middle of town, don’t you?”

Cold foreboding trickled down his spine. “I do. Is there a problem down there?”

“There’s been an accident. A car crashed through the store front.”

The policeman continued to talk, but Nate couldn’t hear him for the smashing of ice in his ears. Instinctively he gripped onto the door to steady himself. “Is anyone hurt?” he heard himself say in a hollow, unfamiliar voice.

“Just the two occupants in the car. Looks like a couple of teenagers hotwired a car and took it for a ride. They’ve been taken to the hospital.”

Strength started to flow back to his muscles, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw for himself. “I’ll get down there right away.”

He followed the police car back to town, cursing the officers for driving so slowly. By the time they pulled up outside the old post office his hair was slick with sweat and his chest felt like it would cave in at any second. He hurried toward the crowd of people gathered around the crash site, his gaze ricocheting from one person to the next. Damn it, why weren’t there more streetlights here?