Three Amazing Things About You(56)

‘And if he falls, he’ll kill himself,’ said Tasha.

‘I definitely think I can get up there.’ Rory was facing the tree with his hands on his hips, visibly planning how to do it.

‘No,’ said Tasha. ‘Look at what happened last time.’ She turned to the old lady. ‘He was rock climbing and he dislocated his shoulder. His face was cut open by a rock. He’s only just recovered.’

High above them on a swaying branch, Blackie emitted a desperate wailing cry.

‘I used to climb trees all the time when I was a kid,’ said Rory.

‘Go on, lad, get yourself up there.’ The old woman’s tone was combative. ‘What are you, a man or a mouse?’

Oh for crying out loud, what kind of sweet little old lady was this? Offer to do her a favour and she starts goading you?

‘No ropes, no safety harness,’ Tasha reminded Rory. ‘If you fall, you fall.’

‘I won’t fall.’ He was pushing up the sleeves of his sweater now.

‘Let me run to the nearest house and use their phone.’ She gave it one last go, already aware that this was a lost cause, like trying to persuade a fox not to chase a chicken. Rory’s mind was made up. Basically, he couldn’t resist the challenge.

He turned to her and broke into a grin. ‘Hey, I’ll be fine.’

And that was it; the next moment he was leaping to reach the first branch, hauling himself up like a gymnast on the asymmetric bars. Tasha watched, her heart in her mouth, gripped with apprehension. Who knew how slippery the bark was? As if in answer, Rory briefly lost his grip before regaining it.

God, this was torture; she couldn’t watch.

Beside her, the erstwhile sweet little old lady bellowed, ‘Come on, stop buggering about and get on with it!’

Tasha felt sick. ‘He’ll break both his legs if he falls.’

‘Hmmph, well he’d better not drop Blackie, that’s all I can say. Or I’ll be the one who breaks his legs.’

It was like being greeted at the front door by Red Riding Hood’s grandmother, who was now revealing herself to be the wolf.

‘Mew,’ squeaked Blackie, beadily eyeing the goings-on from his terrifyingly high viewpoint.

Rory was climbing up and out now, grabbing at increasingly bendy branches. Tasha flinched as one of them made a cracking noise before he moved on to the next; she wanted to close her eyes but couldn’t bear to stop watching just in case it was her willpower alone keeping him up there. What if she looked away and he crashed to the ground?

Worst of all, she could see how he was relishing the challenge, loving every second of it. The greater the risk, the happier he was.

And yes, it was an attractive quality in a man, but it was also a petrifying one.

It’s me, though. It’s my fault for being like this. I’m going to have to get used to it.

Her mouth dry, Tasha watched as Rory continued to climb. He’d drawn level with the cat now, but the narrower branches were bending beneath his weight and Blackie was crouching just out of reach. He inched towards him, calling his name in a low, reassuring voice, and was summarily ignored.

Bloody animal.

At last he was close enough to scoop the cat into his left hand. Blackie let out an indignant yowl and attempted to lash out. Hanging on to him for dear life, clutching him to his chest, Rory somehow managed to make his way back to a stable fork in the branches and sit with his back to the trunk. Then, still murmuring words of comfort to the cat, he used his free hand to pull his sweater off over his head. The next moment, he’d wrapped it securely around Blackie, swaddling him like a baby so he could no longer lash out with his claws.

Then it was time for Tasha to hold her breath all over again while he climbed slowly back down the tree, this time clutching a less than amused gift-wrapped cat. When at last he reached the lowest branch, he leaned over to pass Blackie down to her. Tasha in turn handed him across to his owner.

The little old lady said with a touch of irritation, ‘You shouldn’t have done that thing with the jumper. My Blackie doesn’t like being wrapped up.’

Amused, Rory jumped down the last six feet to the ground. ‘I don’t like having my face ripped to shreds by razor-sharp claws.’

‘Oh Blackie, you naughty boy. Come on, let’s get you inside and give you a drink.’ Having unravelled him, the old woman thrust the sweater back at Rory. ‘There’s a couple of holes in it, but that’s your own fault for scaring him. Bye.’

She turned, crossed the garden and stomped back inside the cottage without another word.

Slam went the front door.

‘Not even a thank you,’ Tasha marvelled, filled with indignation. ‘Bet you’re glad you risked your life to help her out.’