Misplaced Hands: 4 (Foreign Affairs) Read online

  Yet now, sitting with his back pressed against the ancient ghost gum tree opposite Amy’s cottage, the thinnest sliver of a new moon hanging high in the midnight sky above him, peace was far from his mind or soul.

  Rage simmered through his blood. Rage and worry.

  Marc had dropped him off at the head of the track leading to Amy’s a few hours ago. He’d told the younger man not to do anything stupid if he found McNamara. He knew Marc was just as angry with the wanker, but Marc was less volatile than Keith. If Marc found Big Mac, there’d be little bloodshed. If Keith found him…

  He flexed and coiled his right fist, keeping his stare on the front left window of the cottage. His right hand had never truly recovered from the beating he’d given the bloke hassling Amy years ago. Torn tendons and five hairline fractures in the metacarpal bones meant his right hand was weaker than it should be. Weak enough for him to lose his grip every time he rode a rodeo bull. Weak enough for it to ache on cold, wet nights.

  Not weak enough to beat the shit out of Big Mac, however. Keith would suffer the pain gladly if the man had hurt Harper.

  He watched the faint shadow of the American woman he was rapidly falling in love with move around the living area. The gauzy curtains Amy had hung on the windows prevented him from seeing her clearly, but that was okay. All he wanted to do was make sure she was alone. Safe.

  Marc had checked in with him once in the time he’d been on guard, letting him know McNamara’s truck and the communal ute were still in the hired hands’ shed. That meant Big Mac was likely somewhere on Farpoint, and that meant Keith wasn’t going anywhere.

  Not until McNamara made an appearance.

  He didn’t think the bloke would come back to Harper, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

  Not with Harper’s safety. Not with her happiness.

  Letting out a slow, silent breath, he adjusted his hat and massaged his right hand.

  He’d never felt so bloody helpless. He knew she was scared and upset, but he didn’t have a clue what to do about it. He was just a stockman. He could round up a hundred-head mob of cattle alone, without any help from anyone apart from his dog, but when it came to something like this, he was running blind. The primitive instincts in him called for blood and pain, but that wouldn’t help take away Harper’s fear. He had seen it in her eyes, before she’d refused to look at either him or Marc after Big Mac fled the cottage. That fear was deep-seated and absolute. The best he could offer her was his arms and his strength, and Harper had refused both.

  Around him, noises of the night played softly on the air. Crickets, distant dingo calls, birds unsettled by nocturnal predators, most likely wild boar or abandoned house cats gone feral.

  The familiar soundtrack of his nighttime study.

  It didn’t calm him.

  He doubted he’d feel calm for a long time. Even if Big Mac turned up in the next minute, there was still the issue of what would happen when Harper went back to the States. There was no denying it. He didn’t want her to go. He wanted to spend more time with her. He wanted—

  The sound of a sob jolted him to his feet. His heart beat fast, his stare locked on the cottage but a few yards away.

  Was that Harper crying?

  He frowned, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Sound traveled differently at night, the clean emptiness of the air magnifying the faintest noise. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks with—

  Another sob, this one louder.

  Without a thought, he destroyed the space between the tree and the front door.

  His hand had just wrapped around the doorknob when he heard Harper say, “Marc and Keith are wonderful. But I screwed things up with them. And then Ronnie…”

  Her voice faded away. Keith froze, his throat thick, his breath trapped in his constricting chest.

  Who was she talking to? Her brother? Would she tell him what McNamara had done?

  Should he be invading her privacy this way?

  “How’s Andrew?”

  The question was asked on a voice cut with forced calm. Keith didn’t need to open the door to know Harper was chewing her bottom lip. But fuck, he wanted to open the door. Open it, go to her, hold her.

  There was a pause, probably Harper listening to whoever was on the other end of the call. Then, “I miss him.”

  Another pause followed Harper’s barely audible words. Keith swallowed, every muscle in his body tense.

  “No!” she suddenly burst out. “No, please don’t tell him I called or that I’m crying. He’ll flip out. I don’t want to cause him any more worry. I’ve hurt him enough.”

  The pain and anguish in her statement cut through Keith like a razor. He ground his teeth. He should step off the porch. Go back to the tree. He had no right listening to this.

  He released the doorknob.

  And froze again when he heard Harper say, “I don’t want to come home.”

  His heart slammed into overdrive. Joy shot through him, selfish and overwhelming, despite the rage and contempt he still felt. She wanted to stay on Farpoint.

  That’s not what she said. She just doesn’t want to go back to Chicago. Very big difference, mate.

  His gut knotted. He bunched his fist, staring at the doorknob.

  A scoff sounded through the door, choked with grief. “I thought I’d kicked the demons of my past to the curb.” Harper’s voice was more strained than ever. More broken. It tore at Keith’s heart. “These past few days have been perfect, some of the best of my life. I got blindsided today and now I’m struggling to find my way back.”

  Another pause, long enough for Keith to replay Harper’s words. Demons? What demons of her past?

  “One day,” Harper continued, and once again the urge to open the door and take her in his arms surged through him. She sounded so lost, so sad. “I’ll tell you about why I came to live with Andrew and my dad when I was a kid. For now, let’s just leave it at my stepdad wasn’t a very nice person.”

  Stepdad.

  The utter torment in Harper’s voice at the word “stepdad” cut Keith to the bone.

  Cold fury squeezed his chest. Images filled his mind, nightmarish in their suggestion. A faceless man towering over a small girl, a petrified child…

  Keith killed the images before they could take root. Before they turned his anger against Ronald McNamara to a murderous rage. He took a step away from the door, and another, blood roaring in his ears.

  It wasn’t just Big Mac he wanted to beat to a bloody pulp now, but a man he’d never met. A man he knew little about except he wasn’t a “nice person”.

  More words came from inside, indistinct. Muffled. He heard “…to tell you. I need to…” and then they were gone, the sound of creaking floorboards telling Keith that Harper had walked away, possibly to the bedroom.

  He swallowed, his stare fixed on the door. The wood around the lock was splintered, more of the bolt visible than should be.

  If he kicked the door in again, if he stormed into the room—if only to take Harper in his arms so he could tell her she was safe, that he’d never let anyone hurt her again, no matter who they were—would she scream?

  She would. And rightly so. Go back to the tree, Munroe. Let her be for the night. Tomorrow, when the sun is high and you know where Big Mac is, then you can hold her. Then you can tell her how much you’re beginning to care for her. Do it now, when she’s scared, when she’s vulnerable, and you’re a selfish prick.

  Letting out a choppy breath, he moved back to the tree. Dawn was but five hours away.

  He could wait that long. For Harper, he was beginning to suspect he could wait forever.

  An hour later, Marc joined him. “Big Mac’s in Cobar,” he said as he settled his elbows on his bent knees, his voice almost a murmur. “Just got a call from Esmee, the barkeeper at the Great Western. Said he came in a couple of hours ago, sweaty, covered in dust with blood still oozing from his nose. She said it looked like he ran all the way there after picking a fight with a s
emitrailer. He’s apparently pissed as a fart already.” Marc grunted. “At least we know where he is now. What are the odds of him coming back tonight?”

  Keith scowled. “Pretty slim. Reckon he’ll crash out in Mulga Place Park. It won’t be the first time.”

  “So, we heading home? Or staying put until sunup?”

  The chuckle that left Keith was humorless. “Staying put.”

  Marc’s answering laugh was equally dry. “Yeah, figured so.”

  Silence stretched between them. Keith chewed on everything he’d overheard Harper say, his mind trying to fill in the blanks.

  It was impossible. Just as impractical as it was to remove the haunting, terrible images of a man he didn’t know standing over a little girl whose face was distorted in pain and fear.

  He didn’t tell Marc what he’d heard. His best mate would have acted on it straightaway, wanting to ease Harper’s pain. Marc Thompson may appear to the world a laid-back joker, but Keith knew how deep his emotions ran. When it came to heartache and loss, Thomo was a seasoned survivor. The senseless killing of his father had made him feel other people’s pain on a level Keith himself couldn’t. If Marc knew what Harper had shared with the unknown person on the phone, he would be by her side now whether she wanted him to be or not.

  Dawn broke the darkness a few hours later. Keith blinked at the blinding sliver of sun peaking above the eastern horizon, his eyes grainy and hot. A night without sleep wasn’t new to him or Marc. Both had done their share of watching over a cow experiencing difficulties delivering during birthing season.

  The difference was, this time there was no moment of joy, no moment of new life to end the dark hours.

  Just more confusion, more uncertainty.

  “Reckon we should be gone when Harper comes out?”

  Keith nodded at Marc’s muttered question. “Yeah. She may already know we’ve been here, but I’d rather not freak her out if she didn’t.”

  Pushing himself to his feet, he winced at the pain in his stiff knees and back. And then jumped when the rarely used mobile in his pocket shrilled into life.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, digging the thing out with desperate speed.

  Ramming the mobile to his ear, he rounded the trunk of the tree, putting it between himself and the cottage. “Munroe.”

  “Need you and Marc up at the homestead straightaway, Keith,” Hunter said, his tone allowing no argument.

  The click in Keith’s ear told him the boss had disconnected without waiting for a response. Added to the fact the man had used his and Marc’s names, not Thomo and Blue, and Keith knew the shit had hit the fan.

  Which shit, he didn’t know.

  “Who was that?”

  He shoved the phone into his pocket and gave Marc a steady look. “Hunter. He wants us at the main house now. Where’s the ute?”

  Marc threw a nod to the right. “At the gate at the start of the road. Didn’t want to wake Harper last night when I came back.”

  Keith nodded. “All right, let’s get going.”

  They began walking away, the rising sun casting the land around them in a golden glow. A heavy itch in the middle of Keith’s back made him want to turn around, to see if Harper was watching them go.

  He didn’t. If he did, and she was there, on the porch or even looking at them through the parted curtains, he’d never make it. He’d run back to her.

  When he pulled the ute to a halt outside the homestead, a jarring sense of déjà vu washed over him. “Feels like we were here only a few hours ago.”

  Hunter striding toward the ute stopped Marc from responding.

  The boss did not look happy.

  “Ah fuck, here we go,” Marc muttered, opening his door.

  “Care to tell me what’s going on, Keith?” Hunter stopped a few feet away, forcing Keith and Marc to close the distance between them. He stood motionless, his arms crossed, shoulders square, eyes flat. And angry.

  “You mean Big Mac?”

  Hunter dipped his head in a single nod. “I do. I got a call at five this morning from Sergeant Freeman, who found him passed out in Mulga Place park. I went to the cop shop and found him still damn near drunk, blood all over his face and shirt. Told me you tried to kill him.” He paused. “Among other things.”

  Keith’s chest constricted. “What other things?”

  “Something about you and Marc and Harper Shaw that’s none of my business. Sound right?”

  Keith swallowed. “It does.” Beside him, he heard Marc suck in a swift breath.

  Hunter’s expression didn’t change. “And did you hit him? Because he found out?”

  “I did.” Keith bunched his fists, refusing to blink. “And I will again if he goes near Harper. But not because he found out about us. Did he tell you he went around to the cottage yesterday?”

  “He told me you barged in and started beating him.”

  Keith ground his teeth. “Did he tell you he’d locked himself in there with her? That he had her trapped against the sofa, pinned with his body? I saw it through the window before kicking the door down. Where is he now?”

  Nothing showed on Hunter’s face. “He’s currently making his way back from Cobar on foot with a broken nose, five stitches in his lip and what may possibly be a fractured jaw.”

  Keith lifted his chin. “Good. Maybe I can finish the job when he gets here.”

  Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Is that really what you want to do?”

  “Fucking oath is it. And if you’re going to sack me then sack me. But if he goes near Harper again I will break his jaw.”

  With a ragged sigh, the tension left Hunter’s body. “I’m not going to sack you, Blue. Fuck, you’re the best stockman on Farpoint next to my brother, and who the hell knows when he’s getting back.”

  “What about Big Mac?” Marc asked. “Do you believe us?”

  Hunter scowled. “I told Ronald at the cop shop I’m letting him go. Bullshit behavior isn’t accepted at Farpoint, and getting drunk in town and telling everyone in the pub he’s going to fuck the American teacher just to piss you two off is bullshit behavior. The pub owner called me; told me all about it. As did a few other people who were there last night. If I’d had my phone turned on during dinner, I would have gone over to the pub and shut him up myself. The fact he apparently called Ms. Shaw a slut numerous times didn’t help his cause either.”

  “You’re sacking him?” Keith couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

  “I am. He’s got until midday to get his stuff and be off Farpoint for good. In my opinion, he’d be smart to get off earlier. I can’t imagine anyone’s going to come to his rescue if you come face-to-face with him.”

  Keith’s pulse thumped like a sledgehammer in his throat. “If I do come face-to-face with—”

  Hunter shook his head. “Ronald’s a fuckwit, Keith. You’re not. Use your head, okay? No one would blame you, but that’s not going to stop the cops arresting you if you kill him.”

  Keith gave his boss a quick nod. He shot Marc a sideways glance. “What about…” He stopped, unable to ask the question.

  “Your sexual situation?” Hunter finished for him.

  Keith nodded again.

  “It’s not my business, nor anyone else’s for that matter. Don’t think Dylan will give a shit, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your work. Mum might be a bit…disapproving, but don’t worry ’bout her. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Fuck,” Marc burst out, the shock in his voice echoing the surprise Keith felt. “We didn’t think that you’d…y’know…”

  The side of Hunter’s mouth lifted. “Understand?” He snorted. “I may be your boss, Thomo, but I’m not an idiot. I know you can’t control who you fall in love with. And I’ve seen the way Harper looks at you both. Now get back to work, the pair of you. Oh, and Thomo? See that you keep Blue here away from the hands’ quarters until after midday, all right? For everyone’s sake.”

  “Sure, Boss.” Marc flicked Keith a smirk.
r />   Keith however, stood his ground. “What about McNamara? What he did to Harper yesterday?”

  Hunter’s expression grew serious. “Keith, you know you can’t take it upon yourself to deal with it. Do you know what he did before you kicked in the door?”

  Biting back a growl, Keith shook his head. “Not all of it. Only what I saw. And the fear in Harper’s eyes.”

  “Then I suggest you let Ronald leave Farpoint. If Harper wants to press charges against him, I’ll drive her into town myself. Perhaps the pair of you should go see her, actually, instead of getting to work. Take her somewhere quiet so she can make up her mind about what she wants to do. I’ll let Mum and Annie know they’re babysitting the class today. I know Annie will love the idea of looking after a roomful of children.”

  Keith couldn’t tell if Hunter was being sarcastic about Annie’s reaction or honest. He didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to Harper. Being with her. Taking away her fear, her pain. If she would let them.

  Worshipping her with their bodies, their love. For as long as possible.

  Before their days together ran out.

  Chapter Eight

  Harper returned the phone to its cradle, her heart racing, her mouth dry. Hunter Sullivan had called the cottage via the direct line between the homestead and Amy’s home and told her not to go to work today.

  Lips tingling, blood roaring in her ears, she shuffled to the closest chair and dropped into it. Only four days of teaching at Farpoint Creek and she’d been fired.

  No, that wasn’t right. Hunter hadn’t fired her, just told her not to go to work today. Told her Annie and Hazel would take the class.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Harper drove her nails into her palms.

  She should have told him. Should have told him what Ronnie had done, tried to do.

  Which was what? Scare you? Was he really going to do what you think he was? Or was it the little girl inside you, the one trapped by the actions of a sick man who should have known better, who terrorized you with fear?