Ridden hard, p.4
Ridden Hard, page 4
part #2 of Train Wreck Series
“Feel better?” he asks.
I nod.
And he steps away and goes to the stove!!
“I’ll get you that stew. You haven’t eaten anything since lunchtime.”
I can’t believe this. One minute he’s kissing me like its everything, and then goes back to preparing dinner.
But then all week he’s ignored me, and all day he’s acted like the groom, friendly enough but just helping me with my horses.
Then he kisses me and immediately steps back!
What’s going on? This isn’t the Cole who threw pebbles at my bedroom window until I let him in on my last night two years ago. And then held me all night like he couldn’t bear to let me go.
But then that Cole wouldn’t have stopped calling me either.
I don’t know what’s happening.
Chapter 7
Cole
I SHOULDN’T HAVE kissed her. She’s the boss’s daughter, and I need this job. Milly stands there, looking puzzled. And even tear-stained and in clothes covered in blood, she looks flawless.
We’re not school kids having a holiday fling anymore. Besides, I’ve just killed one of her horses and maimed the other.
She goes back to her barstool looking baffled.
“What’s wrong, Cole?”
“Your father’s my boss and I really like my job.”
Milly frowns at that. “But Dad didn’t mind us being friends.”
“Yeah. But he never worked out quite how friendly we got.” It was Milly who’d kept us a secret from her father. I’m pretty sure she knew he wouldn’t like her going out with a part-time stable hand while she was at school. And he isn’t going to be any happier about it when he’s employing me full time, and I’m still just a stable hand.
“That’s ridiculous,” says Milly.
I shrug. I’m going to keep her at arm’s length this time. Despite that slip-up.
While the casserole is heating, and the toast cooking, I find plates and knives and forks. We eat the food and then Milly turns coffee down, so I make hot chocolate. By the time she’s finished the chocolate drink, she looks exhausted.
I get my phone out and check the time. After two. It still could be hours before Tom gets here.
I put the phone back in my pocket. “You should go to bed; I’ll stay here and watch TV until your dad arrives.” I start to stick the dishes in the dishwasher.
“You can’t be serious,” says Milly.
I give the side of my cheek a scratch. Does she mean about doing the dishes? Or her going to bed on her own?
Then she yawns. “Leave those. Mrs Bennett can clean them up.” So, it’s me doing the dishes she’s objecting to.
“I don’t like mess.”
“Okay.” She sounds too tired to argue. “When you’ve finished, find me upstairs. I’ll show you where you can sleep if you get tired.”
And it sounds like she accepts we’re not going back to where we were two years ago.
I finish loading the dishes, wipe down the bench, put everything from the picnic basket into the fridge, and go upstairs.
On the landing, I see Milly’s bedroom door is open. I’ve been in this room before. On her last night here two years ago, I threw some gravel from the drive at her window until she let me in. I hadn’t wanted her to go but hadn’t ever told her. I didn’t tell her that night either. We just made love desperately and silently and then slept curled up around each other until dawn.
Before it got light, I climbed out the window again and drove home, feeling like shit.
The light is on, and Milly’s on top of the bed still fully dressed, it looks like she’s only changed out of the bloodstained t-shirt.
“Hey, Milly. Where’s this guest room?”
She turns. “Can you stay here with me?” She’s upset again. My fault.
But that’s a good way to get myself sacked. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” Then she sighs. “Down the hall. Are you still going to watch TV?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll watch with you. I can’t sleep.”
I can understand her not wanting to be alone.
We go back downstairs to the television room. The TV covers the whole wall, and a leather couch the size of a king-size bed has a couple of throws on it. We can watch TV in comfort here.
Milly picks up the remote. “What do you want to watch?”
“Got Netflix?” I sit on the couch.
Milly nods then sits down and rests against me.
The TV roars to life. I put my arm around her and feel her fall asleep almost immediately. I should wake her up and tell her to get into bed properly, then go and find that guest bedroom. Instead, I stretch out and curl up around her.
I know I’m not keeping her at arm’s length like I’ve decided to, but she’s upset, and I’m responsible for it.
I fall asleep nearly as fast as she did.
And wake in the morning still curled around her. Someone has put a duvet over us. No duvet on us when we went to sleep. I can hear cups and plates on the benchtop. Somebody else is in the house and awake.
I push the duvet back. The only person who could have put it over Milly and me is Tom. He must have got home and found us here, and instead of waking us, he covered us with the duvet.
No idea what that means. I carefully move off the couch without waking Milly. My right arm is dead from her lying on it. The mark on her neck is still there, but she looks peaceful.
I find my boss in the kitchen making breakfast. I can smell the toast. Tom turns and gives a haggard smile; he’s had a long night dealing with the horses and the float.
He holds up the percolator. “Do you want coffee?”
“Yeah.” I sit on the barstool. “How’s Hunter?”
“Bruised and cut.”
“Nothing broken?”
Tom shakes his head. “It doesn’t look like it.” He looks as tired as Milly did last night. “There’s a deep cut on his gaskin about this long.” His hands are about shoulder-width apart.
So, one hell of a cut.
“It needed twenty-five stitches. And it looks like something is damaged in his left foreleg. Twisted fetlock joint maybe. We’ll have to wait to see. There might be tendon or ligament injury. Alan thinks with care, it’ll all mend, but Hunter won’t be the horse he used to be.”
“That’s not good.” It looks like Milly’s father isn’t planning on commenting on the sleeping arrangements. “When will Hunter come home?”
Tom shrugs. “Tomorrow probably. I’ll go and pick him up.” He gets another mug out of the cupboard. “I guess Milly didn’t want to be alone.” So, he isn’t going to ignore the sleeping arrangements.
I sit up a bit straighter. “Yes, sir.”
“Relax, Cole. I could see what had happened. You were both so tired you would have fallen asleep the moment you sat down.”
Milly’s father pours the coffee. “I’m glad you’re still here. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
He hands over a mug.
“What?”
Tom cradles his own mug, elbows on the benchtop. “If what happened last night got out, it wouldn’t be good. I think we were lucky. I think the accident has gone under the radar. No one knows about it except you, me, Milly, Alan and Farr and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Yep, the wheels coming off the float and a couple of horses badly injured won’t look good when it happens to someone whose business is all about caring for other peoples’ animals.
“Can I trust you to keep quiet?” asks Tom.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
I have the coffee and toast. Milly still hasn’t appeared. Probably hiding in the TV room waiting for me to leave. As confused by that kiss, then me turning her down, and us falling asleep together as I am.
Everything about me is drawn to her, but my brain says, don’t go there again, you like your job, and last time she really got to you, then managed to move on within weeks without any problem.
Only a fool would let that happen twice.
“I’d better get home, need a shower and a change of clothes before I start work.”
Tom puts his mug and the plates in the dishwasher. “Take the rest of the day off, get some sleep. You can only have got a couple of hours last night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” The way I’m feeling, having the day off sounds good.
Then as I’m leaving, Tom says, “Cole, thanks for how you handled things yesterday and for looking after Milly. You did well.”
“Thanks.” Bloody hell, I crash the guy’s ute, kill a horse, injure another, then get caught sleeping with his daughter, and get thanked?
Wonders never cease.
I head off.
When I get home, I park in the drive, go to the back door, and the smell hits me in a wave, alcohol, sour smoke, old food, and stale bodies. The place stinks like a brewery.
Fuck.
“Dad, are you home?” No answer.
The kitchen has every pot we own stacked on the bench and most of the plates. Glasses and bottles everywhere. Must have been a party here, and it looks like it started early and ended late.
Why can’t the old man and his mates ever clean up after themselves?
Dad must have already left for work. Bloody typical he didn’t clean up first. I start stacking up the plates. How hard is it to stick a few dishes in the dishwasher and put the bottles out in the recycling?
Then I find the dishes from Saturday night still in the dishwasher.
Fuck. I’ll get this cleaned up, then have a shower and get some shuteye.
I unload the dishes, clear the bench of the used ones, put the dirty pots into the sink and run water on them. Wash them later. Need them to cook dinner anyway.
I go into the lounge to get an empty box to stick the bottles in. They wouldn’t have bothered to take the boxes out to the recycling either. The curtains in the lounge are still closed, and Dad is sprawled out on the couch, snoring.
Jesus. At least no half-naked woman under him this time. That’s a plus.
But he isn’t at work, either.
I give him a shake. “Wake up.”
“Leave me alone.” Dad tries to turn over.
The bastard can get up and give me a hand. I grab him by the shoulder and roll him onto the floor. I’ve had enough of living like this. “Wake up.”
The old man rolls up to sitting. “What did you do that for?” he slurs, still drunk.
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“Couldn’t be bothered.”
“How come?”
“Too drunk. Told the boss where to stick his job.” Again, and it looks like he’s planning on just staying here and going back to sleep.
I stand back, hands on hips and watch him roll onto his side, curl up into a ball and close his eyes. That means only my wages to live on. How often has this happened over the years? Why can’t I have responsible parents like the rest of the world?
I shake him again. “Get up, asshole. If you’re going to sleep all day, at least do it in your bedroom.”
Dad rolls onto his knees and then stands shakily.
“Don’t be mad, Coley.”
He limps to his room. Looks pathetic.
I could get angrier with him, could shout at him, but it never makes any difference. It always ends like this.
I puff out a breath, rough up my hair, then go into his bedroom, pull the bedcovers over him and shut the door. It’ll take a couple of hours to clean up. Then I’ll get some sleep, and when I wake, I’ll get dinner cooked, and try to get some food into the old bastard. By then, he might be awake and should be sober. There might be a chance of him looking for work tomorrow.
Chapter 8
Luke
I CHECK MY WATCH. Way after lunchtime and the plumber still hasn’t turned up. Another sheet of gib and then Isaac and I’ll have to stop working and wait. If Trevor had been here all morning, he’d have had all the pipes in for the new vanity and the shower, and we’d have been able to get all the gib up so the walls could be stopped tonight and then the tiler could have come in tomorrow.
But if he doesn’t turn up in the next half hour that won’t happen.
I look over at Isaac still nailing off the sheet we’ve just put up.
“I’ll get Mum to check where Trevor’s got to and then go and get some lunch.” I take off my tool belt off, and pull out my phone. Mum can sit in the office and try and track down the disappeared plumber while I have something to eat.
Isaac nods and fishes another couple of gib nails out of his pocket. “I’ll finish up here and get the jug boiled.”
“Don’t worry about that. I can pick you up a coffee from the bakery.” I can’t stand instant and know Isaac feels the same way. “Do you want anything else?”
Isaac shakes his head. “No, packed a lunch.”
I hit the office number on my phone as I walk out to the van parked in the driveway. At least the Connells all headed off to work this morning, so we haven’t spent the day being watched.
“Hey, Mum,” I say as I climb into the van. “You know where Trevor is? He disconnected the water for us early this morning and then buggered off.”
“Do you need him now?” Mum’s voice comes through the speakers as the van starts.
“We will in about an hour. If he doesn’t get here soon, Isaac and I are going to come back to the factory. We’ve run out of things to do, and you’ll have to put off the gib stoppers.”
“Okay, I’ll get onto it.”
I break the connection. Mum’s good to work with. She just does things. If I’d rung Dad, I’d have got a rant about how useless Trevor is. When in fact he might have just got caught up at his last job and is on his way.
I put my phone in the space where cigarette ashes are supposed to go. Strange that vehicles still have ashtrays built into them.
Then drive to the Muffin Café and park. Luckily the bakery is just around the corner from where we’re working today. One of the advantages of working in town. Usually, I come here early morning before we head off to a job.
Just as I grab my phone, it rings. The office. I consider leaving the call until I’ve bought lunch. Missing plumbers can piss you off, and finding out why they’re missing, can make you even more pissed. The Muffin Café always puts me in a good mood.
I answer the call anyway.
“Yeah?”
“Luke, I’ve found Trevor,” says Mum’s voice.
“Is he on his way to our job?”
“Not for another hour, your father apparently said you wouldn’t need him until mid-afternoon, so he’s fitted in an extra job.”
Fuck. I avoid saying it. I’d just get a lecture about language. It looks like Isaac and I’ll be taking at least an hour for lunch now and won’t be getting back to the workshop until after five. Then we’ll have to unload.
Bloody old man. Could never just leave things the way I’ve arranged them. He always interferes like he knows better.
One good thing about this though, we’ll get paid overtime. Serve the old man right if the job runs over and loses money.
I shove the phone in my back pocket and wander inside the café.
The lunch rush is over, no customers and just Rose behind the counter. She looks up as I come through the door and her face lights up.
“Hi, Luke.” And the smile is not the friendly baker smile she uses when she’s serving other customers, but one she keeps especially for me. I really like that smile.
And the way she looks. Like a rose. All soft and curvy. And the way she smells. Like cookies. And she’s quiet and sweet. I’ve been buying lunch here for a while, now we’re friends.
You’re allowed friends when you’re engaged. Especially ones that push the problems aside and make you feel light. A little bit of flirting, a lot of talking and smiling doesn’t hurt anyone. I like the food in this café, I like the owner, and I need to eat.
I lean my elbows on the counter the way I always do, so I’m closer to Rose.
She does the same, the way she always does too. “Hello, you’re later than usual. I thought you weren’t coming in today.”
She smells great today. Like roses and icing sugar.
I really shouldn’t be here. “I’m working around the corner, so I didn’t have to pick up my lunch early.” Plus, Isaac was with me in the truck, and I don’t need an audience when I’m talking to her.
“It must be easier if you don’t have to travel to a job.”
“Yeah, it’s good.”
Rose ducks back under the counter. “I made this for you to try. It’s a new recipe.” She pushes a paper bag over to me. It leaves a slight trail of moisture on the counter.
“What is it?” I unfold the top and have a look. A pie, and it smells great.
“Steak and mushroom, with some oysters. Try it and tell me what you think.”
“It smells all right.” I fold up the top again. “Two coffees to go.”
“Two?”
“One for me and one for Isaac.”
“Did you bring your mug?” Rose starts making the coffees.
I always forget the bloody mug. “No left it at home.” Rose gave me the mug when I first started coming here. She owns a coffee place and disapproves of disposable cups! Talk about mixed messages.
Or maybe it’s a clever way of making more money. She keeps selling reusable mugs with her logo on. The mugs are bigger than the paper cups, and the customer gets more coffee, so they keep coming back.
Rose rolls her eyes and pulls out two more reusable mugs. She carefully decants the coffee into them, puts the tops on and pushes them over the counter so they sit beside the pie.
“Now you’ve got a spare one, and one for Isaac.” She leans on the counter again, all full bee-stung lips and bedroom eyes, then tips her head to one side.
I lean over the counter a little further and kiss her. “Thanks.” Just a peck on the lips. Not a real kiss. A friend kiss.
She smiles. “Do you want to come and have dinner with me tonight?” She’s never suggested anything like this before and sounds hesitant like I might refuse the invitation.
