One Heartbeat - K T Bowes - E-Book

One Heartbeat E-Book

K T Bowes

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  • Herausgeber: K T Bowes
  • Kategorie: Krimi
  • Sprache: Englisch
  • Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
Beschreibung

One chance. One life. One Heartbeat away from eternity.

A face from the past disturbs Hana’s second chance at love, pitching her backwards as her old life bleeds into the new. She's forced to deal with buried hurts and learn that forgiveness is a two part process.

When a body is discovered at the school boarding house, the Du Roses are dragged into a dangerous intrigue. And who is the mysterious man who Hana meets under cover of darkness? He remembers her as a younger woman and makes her feel alive again. What will it take for Logan to finally begin telling her the truth and will it be too late?

Nobody could have foreseen the dreadful outcome of a harmless day out. The lives of the little Du Rose family is forever changed. And Hana discovers how close One Heartbeat is to eternity.

A quote from the novel. "Nothing in the world scared Logan Du Rose but one tiny detail - the things which made his life worth living were the ones he had no earthly way of keeping."

If you like small town mysteries with heart and soul, then you’ll love the Du Roses.

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One Heartbeat

K T Bowes

Copyright K T Bowes © 2013

Published by Hakarimata Press

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

Would you like to be part of it?

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

The Du Rose Prophecy

Other books by this author:

About the Author

Last Chance

Copyright Notice

Disclaimer

Would you like to be part of it?

I’m a believer in ‘try before you buy.’

There’s nothing worse than forking out your hard earned cash on a doozy and regretting it.

I don’t want stinky reviews.

I want you to love my work and feel like you got value for money.

All the novels below are free series starters.

If you’d like to be part of that, then click the link below.

I will take care of your email address and won’t be sharing it or spamming you.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

You can unsubscribe at any time.

I promise not to send Rohan Andreyev after you...maybe.

Intrigued?

JOIN me on my writing journey and meet a scary Russian and a breath taking Māori.

I assure you they’re all up to no good.

Yes please, I’d love my free novels

Acknowledgements

For Andy, my technical guru and kindest critic.

Chapter 1

A crowd gathered in a fast-food restaurant on Greenwood Street in Hamilton, loud, hungry and covered in slick brown mud. The staff looked unhappy, descended upon without notice by the group of twenty.

“Amazing win!” a thick-set man beamed, slapping the back of a spindly blonde male who almost fell over. “I love this team. We might win the staff and old boys’ league.”

The blonde man grimaced and moved away from another debilitating slap to the back. His tracksuit pants dripped mud onto the tiled floor. “That hurt,” he grumbled to the dumpy man standing next to him. “Pete, did you see him sit on my head during the game?”

“Shut up or he’ll do it again just for the hell of it.” Pete gave the thick-set man the side eye. “He isn’t safe outside the chemistry lab. A Bunsen burner is the only thing he should be allowed to play with.”

“And even then only under supervision.” They smirked with a sense of shared conspiracy and Pete stepped up to the counter to take his turn. He shot a glance over his shoulder and scanned the queue. Then he leaned forward and whispered his order.

“What, sorry?” The teenage boy behind the counter leaned closer. “Was that a supersize burger or normal?”

A shriek sounded from behind Pete and his eyes rolled heavenward. “Damn it!” he cursed.

“Peter North!” a woman yelled, jumping the queue to slap the top of his head. “Have you forgotten our diet?” She ordered him a chicken salad with a fruit bag and he came away from the counter with a frown on his face.

“I ran around for ninety minutes, Henrietta,” he whined. “I’ve burnt the calories in advance.”

She shook her blonde curls and put her arm around Pete’s shoulder. Chunky fingers ruffled his sandy hair and disturbed the parting at the back of his head. “Let’s sit and share your fruit bag,” she soothed, dragging him away from the promise of a cheeseburger.

The team gathered at one long table where they continued their excited conversation. The players resembled swamp creatures and the unpleasant brand of orange soil on their clothes and skin carried a rank smell. Other customers wrinkled their noses and moved away. Pete sniffed an armpit. “Do I stink, Henri?” he demanded, forcing his armpit into her face. “They need to look at the drainage on our home pitch.”

“You smell of rose petals, my love,” Henrietta lied. She turned her face aside and pushed a finger underneath her nose.

“It used to be a flax swamp.” The chemistry teacher sat next to Pete and gave him a back slap which made him choke on a grape. “Our school is the oldest in the city and started when the first settlers came from the garrison. This rain isn’t helping though. The water table is too high. I’m sorry they called the game off before full time. It’s a good job we got ahead enough for the other team to concede the win.”

“I’m not sorry the referee called it off,” Pete grumbled. He lifted a piece of apple to his lips and the chemistry teacher jabbed his elbow, sending the fruit skittering across the table. Pete wrinkled his nose and looked at Henrietta for help.

“Here come the Du Roses.” Her attention remained fixed on the sliding doors and her blue irises sparkled. “Hana looks soaked to the bone.” She stood up and waved to the woman dashing through the doors and her hip banged into Pete’s shoulder. Another grape left his fingers and rolled away. “We’re over here, Hana!” she yelled, deafening everyone in close range.

Hana Du Rose’s auburn hair reached her waist and flickered under the harsh strip lights. Thin and elegant despite the waterproof jacket burying her under layers of warmth, she waved in return. Her eyes sparkled with enough green to contain a hint of emerald. The baby girl in her arms looked dry, observing the lights and bustle with interest. Her Māori genes dictated a healthy olive skin, but some ancient European influence gifted her unusual grey eyes which glittered and shone as she studied her surroundings.

Henrietta hollered, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Get your food and come over!”

Hana smiled as the whole restaurant winced at her companion’s volume. “Okay,” she mouthed. “Logan’s just parking the car.”

Appearing through the sliding doors came a giant of a man of six foot three or four. He carried an authoritative presence which caused several other customers to stop eating their burgers and stare. Ruggedly handsome with dark hair and features, his impressive physique betrayed a man not afraid of physical labour. His Māori heritage translated into confidence and satisfaction; his mana grounding him in an ethereal reassurance. He shook his dark head and rain droplets scattered around him in an arc. The baby laughed, her rosebud lips parting to show tiny front teeth. Logan Du Rose wore the same soccer strip as the others. Black shorts with a black-and-white striped shirt displayed the letters of his team, ‘WPSB Staff and Old Boys.’ A round red insignia graced the front left while the back of his shirt read ‘Du Rose’ and a number four.

“You’re soaked.” Hana reached up and wiped the water from his brow. Her English accent differed from the cacophony of New Zealand vowel sounds. “Pity Larry didn’t turn up to open the changing rooms. You all needed a good shower.”

“Yep. Dunno where he is.” Logan turned a hundred-watt smile on Hana. He leaned closer to her and pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Shall I just order drinks? I don’t want to eat fast food.” His hand strayed to pat his muscular stomach and he wrinkled his nose.

“Good idea.” Hana left him to order at the counter and drifted across to sit with the raucous crowd.

“Hana, did you see my goal?” a young man shouted from next to Pete.

She smothered a laugh and nodded. “Yes Tama, it looked spectacular. I didn’t know you’d been practicing scoring with your bum!”

Everyone on the table laughed and spoke at once.

“Did you see Pete’s goal?” cried Henrietta, patting him on the head with a meaty hand and dunking his face into his salad.

“That was an own goal!” Tama jeered and Pete pinked with embarrassment, muttering into his lettuce leaves.

Henrietta bridled in her boyfriend’s defence. “Well, really!” she huffed. “My Pete only covered for the groundsman not showing up. Don’t be so ungrateful!”

Murmuring began as the team conceded their muted thanks to Pete for standing in as a defender. Curiosity surrounded the mystery of Larry Collins’ absence. “He might have forgotten,” someone suggested.

“Or had too much wacky baccy last night,” Pete snorted.

Tama kicked him under the table and shot a nervous look at Logan as he put the cups of fizzy drink on the table next to Hana. “Shut up, Pete!” he hissed. “Uncle Logan hates drugs.”

“Maybe he’s somewhere on the school grounds measuring the height of the grass and yelling at everyone to get off it!” shouted a huge man with a streak of orange mud across the bridge of his nose. He performed a superb impression of the groundsman, standing up and yelling in his best Larry Collins voice, “Get off that bloody crease!”

“Drama teachers,” Logan whispered in Hana’s ear. She clamped her teeth over her lower lip and smirked.

The gathered crowd laughed and moved on to other topics. Tama rose and stole the baby from Hana, cuddling her into his broad chest. She smiled up at him and made a gurgling noise. “Come on Phoenix, let’s have some fun away from the rents.” He returned to his seat and ate one-handed, feeding her ice-cream sundae in secret and snorting at the dreadful face she made against the coldness. Despite the faces, she waved her little arms and opened her mouth for more. Hana gave a sigh and leaned sideways against her husband, her fingers reaching out and twirling the wedding band on his finger.

“Did you enjoy your secret deodorant shower, Logan Du Rose?” She smiled up at him, scenting the strong maleness hidden beneath the haze of spray.

He shrugged and his gaze flicked to her lips and back to her eyes. He released a frustrated sigh. “No. The truck stinks now, so don’t hurry your drink.” His eyes flickered shut as he pressed his lips over hers. He released a groan. “Having Tama living on the sofa is killing me.” His lips traced a line along her jaw and he sighed into her hair. “He’s like a human contraceptive.”

Hana laughed and her fingers coasted across the tattoo peeking from his sleeve. It ended above his elbow with italic script swirling through it like a lace fringe. Mud stained his face and neck, but he smelled good.

“Sorry we’re late.” A man with Indian heritage slotted himself onto the bench opposite and faced Hana. “Hey, Mum.” He turned to help a tousled haired boy lift a laden tray onto the table. The child seized a packet of fries and plonked himself on Logan’s knee without invitation. He swung lime green soccer boots back and forth under the table.

Logan nodded to his stepson. “Bodie.” He turned his attention to the child in his lap. “You don’t want to eat that crap, Jas,” he said. He winced at the grease coating the boy’s fingers.

“It’s tasty.” Jas dangled a bunch of fries in front of Logan’s face and grinned when he jerked backwards. “You played great, Poppa Logan.” He reached up and kissed the underside of Logan’s rough chin. He wrinkled his nose at the feel of stubble. “Daddy didn’t play so good though.” He looked sideways at his father. Small fingers stuffed another handful of chips between his lips despite the limited space. “You’re not s’posed to let goals in Dad.”

Hana leaned across to run a hand through her son’s dark hair. “But Jas, he kept heaps out. He only let one in!” She gave Bodie a conspiratorial smile.

“Yeah, thanks Mum. I’m glad someone appreciated my efforts.” He eyed his wrapped burger. “This won’t help my game much though.”

Hana looked along the table, shaking her head as she saw Tama still feeding ice-cream to her baby. “Stop it,” she mouthed, seeing him bite his lip and carry on. With a cross exhale, Hana excused herself from the table, heading to the toilets near the back of the restaurant.

“Wait for me, Hanny!” Jas hopped off Logan’s knee and followed, grappling at his crotch and sliding on his tiny boot sprigs. She waited at the door and held her hand out. “I don’t need it,” Jas reassured her, though he didn’t let go of the front of his shorts.

“You obviously do,” Hana retorted. She pushed the door open and gave a shake of her head as the child opened his mouth to protest. “No, I’m not going in the men’s toilets. It’s this or nothing, mate.”

Logan sipped soda through a straw and stared around the restaurant. He missed nothing, his watchfulness a lifelong habit born of necessity. As Hana and Jas disappeared through the toilet door, a couple in their late-seventies arrived. They ordered at the counter before sitting nearby. The woman limped and the man carried the tray containing coffees and a muffin each.

“Tourists,” Bodie said, nodding towards them. He moved with Hana’s slender grace, but shared his features with her late husband.

“Yeah.” Logan observed them with interest. “Poor buggers. Do you think their travel agent forgot to tell them autumn is wet and winter is cold?”

Bodie rolled his eyes. “Probably. Everyone in the northern hemisphere assumes New Zealand is hot all year around.”

“Where do you think they’re from?” Logan slipped his straw between his lips and took another sip of his drink.

“Policeman’s intuition,” Bodie said with a smug grin. “Their clothes look European. Not expensive, but different.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “I can see that. I wanted specifics.”

Bodie snorted. “No idea, mate.” He blinked. “Why, what do you think?”

“English.” Logan jerked his head upwards. He pointed his straw towards the woman’s coat. She’d taken it off and let it fall backwards over the chair while she leaned forward to sip her coffee. Her hand shook. “Look at the tag in the back of her coat. Marks and Spencer. That’s an English brand.”

Bodie’s lips parted and his brow furrowed. “Oh.” He swallowed. “You’re good, man. You’d make a good cop if you weren’t so dodgy.” He smirked at Logan and the other man ignored his veiled insult.

He concentrated on the elderly couple, perplexed by something. A familiarity in the man’s movements made him doubt himself. Thin and distinguished looking, the man sat as though the crowded restaurant didn’t faze him. His calm contained a hidden authority which Logan recognised as one leader to another. His grey hair ran to white in a gentle, even way, cropped and neat above bifocal glasses.

“Do you know him?” Bodie asked. He reached across and snagged one of Jas’ chicken nuggets. “You look like you do.”

Logan shook his head and paused. “No. But yes. The man seems familiar.” The sense of déjà vu rippled through him like a warning bell.

Bodie shrugged and helped himself to more of Jas’ abandoned food. “They look harmless enough.”

Logan nodded and went back to his drink, shuttering his eyelashes so he could watch the woman without detection. She looked delicate boned and seemed more uptight, jerky movements betraying her anxiety. She’d pulled her greying hair into a severe bun and she flapped and fidgeted while her companion perused the free newspaper.

“Hana’s a long time.” He shot the comment sideways, reluctant to remove his attention from the couple. “I might send Henrietta in after her.”

“She’s got Jas with her,” Bodie replied. He rolled his eyes. “He’s fascinated with the hand dryer. The motor blew up at the one in the cinema when I let him go in alone.”

“Then don’t let him go in alone.” A darkness infused Logan’s grey irises and he risked a sideways glance in Bodie’s direction. “You need to rein him in, man. He’s getting unmanageable.”

Bodie shrugged. “I can’t. Amy won’t let me.” He grinned as sauce dribbled off his chin.

Logan shook his head. “Don’t leave it too late. He’s a good kid, but he needs boundaries.” He turned away, his gaze flicking towards the elderly couple and then the toilet door. Hana’s absence sent a prickle of unease up his spine and he pushed his drink away.

In the toilet, Hana struggled with Jas. “Everyone’s waiting, mate. We need to go,” she argued.

“But it’s eaten Action Man’s hair!” he wailed. “He just wanted to see inside and it’s stolen his hair!”

Hana poked her hand in the dryer and it activated itself, the powerful mechanism devouring the rest of the black mop. “It’s sucked it into the filter,” she said. “It won’t come back out.” She tried to fit her finger into the drain hole and failed.

“He doesn’t like being bald!” Jas wailed and Hana fought her growing irritation.

“Then you shouldn’t have stuck his face inside the dryer,” she replied. It took a mammoth effort to keep her tone even. “Look,” she hunkered down next to him, “why don’t we get help? The staff might know how to get the filter out. I’m sure Daddy can speak to them.”

Jas allowed Hana to lead him into the restaurant. She kept hold of his hand, noting how he pushed his Action Man inside his coat. Pale plastic legs protruded from a naked bottom but his bald head remained hidden. “Now?” Jas pleaded. “Can Daddy get it back now? He can arrest them if they won’t help, can’t he?”

Hana saw Logan’s face light up with the special smile he kept only for her. She rolled her eyes and tried not to betray her inner annoyance as the grumbling child trailed after her. She stopped so fast, Jas ran up her heels and Action Man escaped his coat and skittered across the tiles. Jas yanked his hand free and went after him.

The sight hit her like a physical blow, taking her breath away so she froze on the spot. The colour drained from her face and her body refused to obey the simple instruction to run. Her legs trembled beneath her as the realisation struck her like a vehicle collision. Logan moved in her peripheral vision, rising from the bench and picking his way towards her. But he wasn’t the only one.

The male tourist rose from his chair, his eyelashes fluttering over vibrant blue eyes. He lifted his glasses up and sat them on his head. He peered at her and Hana shook her head. “No,” she gasped. “No.” Her brain did mental somersaults as it tried to offer reassurance. She’d spent a lifetime imagining the moment only to discover it would never happen. Her mouth opened and closed as though she gulped for air and her gaze flicked towards the doorway as a family entered and brought in a breeze from outside. Hana craved the fresh air like a healing balm, promising herself if she could just get outside she’d be okay.

“No, Daddy! Ask them now!” Jas protested. Action Man’s backside mooned to the restaurant as oblivious, Jas covered the bald head with his fingers.

“Mum?” Bodie ignored him, rising and watching Logan’s journey through the scattered seating. “What’s wrong?”

The tourist struggled with the extra chairs near his table, his face ashen and unreadable.

Hana’s lips moved as she murmured to herself. “This isn’t happening, Hana. Get a grip. It’s a coincidence.”

Logan reached her. “Hana, babe, what’s wrong?” The anxiety in his eyes hiked her panic and words failed her. She gripped his hand to reassure herself. The bizarre hallucination would end if she could just hold on to him. “Hana?” He looked down at their joined fingers, seeing her knuckles showing white through the skin. The tourist kept coming, picking his route with determination as a new spring entered his step.

Hana’s eyes widened, imploring Logan for help. His other hand closed over her shoulder and he squeezed life into her frozen bones. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. She’d gone before he could catch her, fleeing the restaurant with her jacket billowing out behind her. She put her hands over her ears and focussed on the doors sliding open and closed before her, picking up enough speed to make it through the narrow gap. They hissed closed behind her and she dodged moving vehicles, drawing an angry horn blast in her wake. She became the broken teenager of almost three decades ago and shame washed over her. Panic made her abandon her baby and guilt mingled with terror. But she couldn’t go back. Fear pinned her to the gritty floor of the car park.

Logan found her crouched next to their truck with her face in her hands. Rain fell on her head in sheets and soaked her hair. “What’s wrong, babe. Tell me?” he begged.

Hana opened her mouth and then closed it, knowing she sounded crazy. He’d never believe she had just looked into the face of her dead father.

Chapter 2

Hana tasted the fresh winter air, gasping as though denied oxygen. She felt the sour taste of vomit in her mouth, but the feeble retches wrought nothing. She muttered to herself and fought the knot in her throat. Shame joined misery as Hana remembered Phoenix and she turned, ready to brave anything to retrieve her child. Anything. Even her father’s doppelgänger.

Hana ran into Logan’s broad chest, hearing him grunt. Phoenix giggled and made a grab for Hana’s curly red hair. Tama righted her as she swayed with the impact. “I didn’t finish my burger,” he grumbled. “Where’s the fire?”

“Hana?” Logan’s grey eyes filled with suspicion and unanswered questions. Hana opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She had no words to describe what happened or how she felt about it. Instead, she took her baby and mopped at the dribble of ice-cream sick on her chin.

“When she gets diarrhoea, you’re changing her nappies,” she bit, accompanying her threat with a glare at Tama.

“What did I do?” he groaned. The men watched Hana stomp around the car, her wellies making a rubbery, clumping sound on the concrete. Her eyes darted to the sliding doors of the restaurant and then back to Logan.

“Get in!” she hissed, her body language oozing discomfort. She grappled with the door handle and her eyes radiated pure panic as she found it locked. Logan pressed the key fob and the lock sprung open. Hana bolted inside, taking the baby with her. She pressed the switch to lock her door and inserted Phoenix into her seat from inside the car.

Logan gave Tama a nudge and sent him round to the passenger side. Seconds passed as they both climbed in and settled. Hana let out a sigh of frustration. “I want to go, now, please,” she begged, urgency making her sound petulant as she struggled with the straps of the car seat.

“Maybe you’ve got diarrhoea,” Tama commented. He turned to face her, his lips widening in a grin. Seeing her frightened expression, he turned around and raised an eyebrow at Logan. He opened his mouth to speak and Logan gave a shallow shake of his head.

Hana dabbed sick from the baby’s chin and complained to herself. She kept glancing through the side windows and her eyes widened as Logan drove past the restaurant’s front doors to get to the road behind. He fumbled with his seatbelt as the elderly male tourist emerged and hobbled towards the car park on wavering legs.

The old man’s face looked pale and ghostlike as he raked the parked cars with wide, blinking eyes. The woman emerged after him, putting her hand to her mouth before wrenching on his arm. She pointed at the departing Honda as Logan joined the main traffic flow. He watched in the rear-view mirror as the old man bent double, his shoulders heaving. A passing customer leaned towards him in concern, her head nodding as she asked if he needed help.

At the traffic lights, Logan turned to view Hana and her appearance made him swallow a ball of fear with an audible gulp. The stiffness of her body looked painful and her teeth worried at her lower lip until it bled. He reached behind and offered his hand, gratified when shaking fingers took it and squeezed. “It’s okay, Hana,” he soothed. “Lots of people have panic attacks; it’s nothing to worry about.”

Tama opened his mouth and Logan wasn’t quick enough to still his tactless observation. “You don’t.”

“How would you know?” Logan growled and Tama pressed himself back into his seat. The traffic crawled onto Greenwood Street and passed the restaurant. Graffiti on the front wall invited him to do something explicit with himself. Logan spotted the tourists as the cars ahead stilled again. The man sat on a low wall by the play area and the woman hovered around him like a bumble bee. Logan took in the old man’s military bearing but as he pressed the gas pedal and rolled the truck forward, he recognised something unexpected blossoming in the rheumy eyes. It took his breath away. Hope.

Something from Hana’s past had come back to bite her and she hadn’t anticipated its arrival. The man’s physique gave Logan a clue, but it raised more questions than it answered. Hana told him her parents died decades ago. Logan frowned, wondering why she’d lie. Another glance at the devastation on her pretty face reassured him she didn’t. He saw her trying to collect herself, her fingers patting the baby’s chest in a gentle, frantic movement. The old man’s appearance had traumatised her and she looked like she wanted to run. Logan stroked his fingers over her knee and her body temperature felt cold to the touch.

Hana closed her eyes and drowned in her silent agony. Her lips moved over words without a sound. “He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.” The visions she’d buried moved through her mind, her father and brother slinging her Indian boyfriend onto the street for getting her pregnant. Logan’s hand felt hot against her knee, thawing a section of the ice which ran through her veins. She saw her father’s face in her mind, older, sadder, bent double by life and circumstance. She’d needed his help and instead he’d thrown insults and punches. The words returned to torture her, the sting not dulled by time but as fresh as the day he’d spoken them. Slut. Whore. Disgusting.

Hana squeezed her eyes closed and a tear tumbled free and crashed onto the rise of her cheek before plunging onto her coat. The waterproof material repelled it and Hana watched through her eyelashes as it pooled in her lap, joined by another and then another. She forced her wringing hands around her, hugging her stomach to keep them still. What did he want? Why was he here? Hana acknowledged the bitterest blow of all in that split second as she recognised him. Because she’d looked for her mother out of habit and not found her. She couldn’t find her. Not ever. Jude McIntyre died months after the fight which detonated her family. Hana’s brother banned her from the funeral and she didn’t get to say goodbye. They took even that from her in their final punishment for her one catastrophic mistake.

Hana leaned forward and heaved out a long breath. The seatbelt cut into her neck and she held onto the pain and let it disperse the numbness. When it didn’t feel enough, she clamped the fingers of her right hand over the scar on her left wrist and squeezed. A searing pain shot up her arm and into her shoulder. She relaxed and leaned into it. “I’m alive,” her mind told her. “I’m alive.”

Logan made the turn onto a side street and cut back onto the main road in front of the restaurant car park. The traffic crawled towards a busy intersection and Logan watched the elderly couple walk towards their vehicle. The woman talked with animation, holding onto the man’s arm though his shoulders slumped like someone who’d been kicked in the head. Their smart white sedan looked like a rental and Logan glanced in the mirror again at Hana. He saw her wipe her eyes on her sleeve and pursed his lips. His quick brain memorised the registration number of the car. The woman opened the passenger door and Logan saw the Hertz logo in the corner of the windscreen. Possibilities flew through his mind. He needed to solve the mystery without upsetting Hana further. His fingers tapped a beat on the steering wheel as he planned.

The Hakarimata Ranges came into view and Hana’s silence felt eerie as though she waited for a hatchet to fall on her head. She smothered the occasional sniff and stared at her knees. Logan withdrew his hand before the city limits, but he doubted she noticed.

“Are you back at the school boarding house on Monday?” Tama asked, his question jarring in the silence.

Logan nodded. “Yeah. It’s better than it was. Less night duties now someone else pulls their weight. We don’t stay on site during my free weekends because they can’t resist calling me to sort out some disaster. We’ll drive back on Sunday night or Monday morning before school.” He watched Hana in the rear-view mirror again. She took a deep, fortifying breath and ran a hand over her face. “When do you go back to college?” Logan made the turn towards the Waipa Bridge and missed his nephew’s look of misery. “I’m proud of how well you’re doing.”

Tama had inherited the Du Rose good looks and the ego to match, but his colour faded as the blanched look overtook his handsome Māori features. “Next week,” he answered. Logan nodded. Keen to change the subject, Tama turned to look at Hana. Concern lined his forehead. “You okay, Ma?” Hana nodded, the motion shallow and non-committal. Tama turned around again, worry etched into his face. His instincts screamed of impending disaster and he dreaded it. “You sure?” He risked the challenge as the metal security gates at the bottom of the steep driveway rolled aside. He turned his body so he could get eye contact with her, saddened by the way she moved her head to avoid his gaze.

“Stop asking me, please.” Hana shook her head from side to side, her voice sounding wooden and laden with doom.

Tama reached his long, muscular arm around the seat behind him and took her hand in his. Her fingers felt freezing against his skin. She’d given him more love in the last six months than he’d ever known and her pain drove a stake through his heart. He narrowed his eyes and sought to make it better. “I love you, Ma,” he whispered. “Please be okay.”

Tama felt Logan’s sideways glance and stiffened, sensing mistrust cross the centre of the vehicle. Logan said nothing but Tama removed his hand and sat round, seeing his uncle’s gritted jaw press through his cheek. As Logan made a tight turn on the incline, Tama saw his own name inscribed into his uncle’s bicep. Nestled next to Phoenix in a cursive script, it offered a flush of pleasure but also warning. Someone loved him. He couldn’t afford another screw up.

Tama peered behind him and caught Hana’s attention, receiving a tentative smile through eyes filled with tears and a face which wobbled beneath his scrutiny. He felt an irrational anger for whoever caused her anguish, balling his fists in childish loyalty.

Logan halted the truck at the top of the driveway and Culver’s Cottage loomed before them. It overlooked the mighty Waikato River at its convergence with the clay filled Waipa, restored to its former 1900s magnificence. Behind it soared native bush, the green hues rising to meet the angry grey sky with confidence.

Hana forced herself from the vehicle and sighed as she breathed fresh air. Rain pattered again and she watched Tama as he lifted Phoenix in her car seat and covered her with his jacket. “Ugh!” he grunted at the sugary vomit scent rising from her clothes.

“You can sort her out when she wakes up with a belly-ache,” Logan muttered. His scarred fingers unlocked the front door and pressed buttons to deactivate the burglar alarm.

“Whatever,” Tama grunted. “You love pacing the floor with your precious daughter. She’s the only one who smiles at you when you’re in a bad mood.”

Hana kicked off her boots and stalked to the master bedroom, throwing herself face down on the four poster bed. She snuggled into the clean duvet, feeling the lead weight of grief in her breast. Questions without answers piled into the forefront of her mind. Should she have stayed? Would he listen to twenty-eight years of anger and regret? Hana pressed her face into the pillow until she couldn’t breathe. The old Robert McIntyre listened to nobody, least of all his daughter. She allowed herself to gulp a breath and sighed it out. He’d stood metres away from his own flesh and blood and didn’t realise. The baby he rejected sat nearby and his great grandson made a fuss about a doll’s lost hair right under his nose. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. “You missed it all,” she whispered to the empty room. “Life and death and I did it without you.”

Hana curled into a tight ball and pressed the images away. Her mother’s silent tears played on a loop in her mind and she blamed herself. She should have gone back and explained. Her deaf mother had jumped in fright as the McIntyre men launched themselves at Vik. Hana meant to write to her but didn’t, assuming her father would destroy the letter. The next contact with her family came in the form of Judith’s funeral notice with a handwritten note. “Don’t come. We don’t want you there.”

A fleeting image of her perfect older brother with his perfect wife and perfect children drifted across her inner vision. Hana shuddered and pulled the pillow over her head. Losing her mother hit her again like peas removed from the freezer, as fresh as the day an unkind hand froze them in time. She forced herself not to cry, pressing her fingers over the scar on her wrist to distract her ragged thoughts. They sought to suck her further into the abyss and she doubted she possessed the energy to climb the ladder back up. She heard Logan put Phoenix into her cot, his footsteps treading along the hallway to the kitchen. Then she heard the gentle strum of his guitar, soothing strains crossing the house as he waited for the kettle to boil. She recognised the tune, an old Māori song he often played. She imagined him standing in the kitchen with his foot on the seat of a chair, balancing the guitar across his thigh as he played left handed. The song made her feel grounded. Logan sang of Pokarekare Ana and her lover’s yearning for reunion. “E hine e hoki mai ra. Ka mate ahau I te aroha e.” He repeated the lyrics in English and Hana listened to his gentle baritone. “Oh, girl return to me, I could die of love for you.”

Hana slipped off the bed and her jacket rustled. She chose her place beside Logan, not her bigoted father whose homage to forgiveness and grace proved nothing more than lip service.

“Nga iwi e! Nga iwi e!” Logan changed the song to one he said Reuben taught him as a boy. “All you people! All you people!” He sang many other songs but avoided those invoking strong memories of his father and his mother’s deceit. Hana reached the kitchen door as he finished. She lingered there, watching her husband’s long fingers stroking the strings. His brow furrowed and his mind strayed as he created a bridge of music before launching into anything else.

“Did you know Poppa Reuben could play?” Tama stood at the sink and pressed bread into the hole in his face, eating on the run as though his security might disappear without warning.

Logan nodded. “Yep. Get a plate and sit down.”

“I didn’t know you could play. You sound like him.” Tama grabbed a clean plate from the draining board and added two more slices to the one in his hand. Plain bread, no butter. As though he didn’t have time for niceties. He spoke with his mouth full. “He sang that song.”

“Yeah, he gave me this guitar.” Logan hefted the instrument against his thigh, but his fingers didn’t still their strumming.

“For real? Where did you hide it all these years?”

“Alfred hid it in the storeroom next to the kitchen. Ma took me to Reuben for lessons as a kid. I thought he was my guitar teacher.” Logan’s jaw flexed against the bitter truth and Tama’s face creased in disgust.

“That’s sick!”

“Yep.” Logan struck a bung note and the guitar reverberated as he leaned it against the wall. Hana ground her teeth, the jarring sound deliberate. He turned towards the kettle and yanked a mug from the cupboard above.

Hana picked her moment to intervene as Tama’s lips parted with another ill-advised comment. “Sorry about before.” She clasped her arms around Logan’s waist from behind and held on, anchoring herself in this life and not the one long since passed. He relaxed and ran his long fingers over hers, feeling the dead coldness of her skin.

“I’m making you a drink, babe,” he replied, dumping a tea bag into the mug and lifting the kettle.

Hana shook her head against his back. “I thought I’d walk over to see Maihi,” she replied. “Phoenix will sleep for a while.” Logan turned on the spot and hauled her into his chest. Hana sniffed his shirt, calmed by the summer sweet meadow scent of him; hay, horses and sunshine. “I’ll take my phone. Text me if you need me to come back earlier.”

Logan nodded, knowing he couldn’t rush her. Pressing and cajoling forced her to run. Instead, he smiled and kissed the top of her head, infusing her with his love.

Hana wrinkled her nose at Tama, disturbed by the way he gobbled the bread. “Sorry you lost your burger.”

He shrugged in reply. “Nah, the fat’s bad for me, anyway.” He waved a floppy slice of bread and waggled his eyebrows. “Uncle Logan can pump more weight than me. Need to beat him somehow.”

Hana nodded, assuming they’d train together in the room next to the garage where Logan kept his exercise equipment. “You might as well work out before you get a shower. I’ll see you later.”

Hana closed the front door and chased her wellies around the porch. The heaviness in her heart matched the greyness of the day and the oppressive clouds. With a sigh, she stepped off the porch and skirted the house. Her jacket flapped in the cold breeze and she pulled her hood up to cover her hair. The rain eased as she climbed the fence into the paddock and began her long uphill climb.

Chapter 3

“What’s going on?” Tama brushed crumbs from the downy hair coating his chin. His fingers lingered with pride over the first flush of a beard.

Logan raised a finger and shook his head. “Wait!” he hissed. He watched from the long kitchen window as Hana walked around the side of the house and climbed the fence into the paddock. Then he turned and leaned his neat backside against the sink.

“Wanna train for a while?” Tama licked his index finger and picked up the crumbs from his plate. “I didn’t want to admit to Hana that I’m on the kid weights.”

“Go for your life.” Logan sounded distracted. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Oh.” Tama slouched in disappointment. “Stuff without me?”

Logan gave himself a visible shake and wiped an olive-skinned hand across the back of his mouth. “Did you not see the state of my wife?”

“Yes, but what can we do to change it? She went to pieces in a public place. You said it was a panic attack. I gave her a hug.”

Logan sighed. “It wasn’t a panic attack, Tama. She saw someone she didn’t expect and it knocked her sideways.”

“Who?” Tama spoke with his head inside the pantry and a bread wrapper rustled. He popped his face out. “Who did she see?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he replayed the scene in his mind. “That old tourist. He’s someone she knows. He’d already got my attention because he seemed familiar. I need to find out who he is.”

“Who do you think he is?” Tama stuck his head in the fridge and the plate tipped. He held the slice of bread in place with his thumb. “Can I have jam on this?”

“I think it’s her father.”

“What?” Tama banged his head on the fridge door and let go of the bread. It slipped onto the tiles and he bounced forward to retrieve it. “Three second rule,” he said, blowing at it and sending crumbs fluttering to the floor. “Oops.”

“Yeah.” Logan ground his teeth. “Oops.”

“What are you gonna do?” Tama’s eyes sparked with interest and he sat down at the table. The plate clanked against the wood. “You could take a hit out on him. You still know people.” He shrugged. “Didn’t look much like she wanted him here.”

“No, I can’t take a hit out on him.” Exasperation leaked into Logan’s words. “It’s too late for Reuben to answer my questions, but maybe there’s still time for Hana.”

Tama gasped. “You can’t bring him here. She’ll go mental.”

“Maybe not,” Logan mused. “But it’s worth the risk.” He pulled his phone from the charger plugged in near the kettle and dialled. His eyes glazed over as the call connected and he bit down on his tongue.

“No man, no way!” Bodie spat the words. “I can’t check registration plates without good cause. There are laws to protect innocent members of the public.” He put a stress on the word, ‘innocent.’

“It’s important,” Logan replied. “And please don’t mention it to Hana.” He figured if she wanted Bodie to know he’d sat within spitting distance of his grandfather, she’d have told him herself.

“Sorry and all that,” Bodie said. He sounded smug and not at all apologetic. “But I’ve passed my next lot of exams and I’ve made the list for a vacancy. I won’t get promoted for flouting the rules, so find another way. You nearly got me fired last year and I can’t risk it again.”

“Okay,” Logan replied, sounding disappointed.

“What was wrong with Mum?” Bodie demanded and he invented an excuse.

“She forgot something important. We needed to leave.”

“Cool, is that all you wanted?” Pique crept into Bodie’s voice.

“Yep. Thanks.” Logan killed the call with a wince. “Dick!” he whispered as the screen went black.

Tama screwed up his face. “Can you believe Hana gave birth to that guy? Just seeing his smug grin makes me want to slap him into next week.”

Logan groaned. “Well, don’t. If I can’t then neither can you.”

Tama finished the bread and pulled the fabric of his soccer strip up to his nose. “I stink,” he announced. “Bummer about the changing rooms being locked. Can I have first shower?”

“Yep.” Logan nodded and Tama left the room. He abandoned the plate on the table surrounded in a sea of crumbs. Logan went through the motions of clearing up after him, his brain enjoying the mindless activity while he ran through alternate scenarios. He could still see Hana through the window, her slender frame growing smaller the higher she climbed. Reaching the top of the property, she turned left and disappeared into the gully. His heart ached for her. The idea came as he knew it would and a slow smile drifted across his lips. “That should work,” he breathed. “Good one, Du Rose. Follow the money.”

Chapter 4

Hana made the twenty-minute walk next door in good time and only fell twice in the thick mud. The morning’s rain had widened the gully, but she scrambled across without missing her footing. She knew the way but stopped to examine the hidden markers she and Maihi planted the year before as an escape route. The cloth strips looked stained and tatty, blending into the rustic fence as though part of it. Hana wiped her filthy hands on the grass and wrinkled her nose, hoping it was mud and not cow dung.

Maihi’s husband grazed steers on the back blocks of Hana’s land in return for meat every time they killed a beast. The bulk of the beef herd grazed the higher slopes and Hana edged around their paddock as brown eyes with designer lashes turned to follow her progress. Chewing mouths continued their circular action. A city girl at heart, she sighed with relief when she put a fence between her and the herd before starting the treacherous descent to Maihi’s welcoming cedar wood house. The last rays of the late sun dipped below the range, leaving greyness in its wake. Hana dreaded a nightmare stumble home in the dark and knew Logan would be worried if she left it too late. She’d seen the concern in his face and felt grateful to him for not pushing. The quizzical look in his eyes told her he’d guessed already. “I didn’t lie,” she pleaded aloud, startling a nearby falcon feeding on a rabbit carcass. “I thought my father died years ago.”

Maihi responded to the tentative knock on her back door with a hug and barrage of kisses. “Kōtiro,” she cried, her brown face crinkling in pleasure. The word meant girl in Māori, but to Hana, it meant daughter.

“Hello, Maihi,” Hana responded, kicking off her wellies on the porch. She allowed herself to be coddled and loved, fed tea and soup and given sympathy. The craving for maternal affection ate at a raw spot in her heart and the older woman kept it at bay with her ferocious love. Maihi warbled on with the latest news about her son’s family, chatting away as she buttered bread and pushed it towards Hana.

“Eat some kai,” she demanded. “You look real skinny.”

Hana ignored the comment, not wanting to admit what she saw on the bathroom scales. Her weight had plummeted since Phoenix’s birth and she hadn’t yet worked out why. The approaching black and white cat distracted her. “Tiger!” Hana exclaimed. She reached down to stroke his soft coat and he wrapped his body around her legs, pressing close and purring. “How are you doing, old man? I miss you.” He rubbed his head against her hand but the second she bent to pick him up, he fled. “Oh,” she said, her voice laced with pain. “He thinks I want to take him home.”

Maihi chuckled. “You do.”

“Yeah, I do,” Hana admitted. “It feels like we broke up.” She watched Maihi’s lavender female lick Tiger’s tattered ears and face with a rasping tongue.

“Eat!” Maihi insisted, jerking her head towards the plate in front of Hana. She obeyed, though anxiety made the food roil in her stomach afterwards.

The visit spared Hana fretting for a while and her panic receded to a distant ache. Until the older woman zapped her as usual. “So, my love,” Maihi said, plonking another cup of tea in front of Hana. “What’s eating you then? Tell me.” She peered at her over her glasses, her fingers deftly chopping kumara and taro and dropping it into a roasting tin.

“I saw my dead father this morning,” Hana said, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. “In one of the fast-food places on Greenwood Street.”

“A shock then?” Maihi said, not missing a beat.

Hana nodded. “I feel angry, frightened and disappointed.”

Maihi cocked her head and diced a carrot. “Disappointed in him?”

“No.” Hana pursed her lips. “In myself. He tried to talk and instead of saying the things I’ve spent twenty-six years bottling up, I ran.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no!” she groaned, “I forgot something important. Please could I use your land line for a moment?”

Maihi frowned at the randomness of Hana’s conversation with the manager of the restaurant. Hana rolled her eyes with embarrassment. “It’s probably a fire hazard,” she apologised. “Yes, it’s a piece of tufty black fabric. It’s meant to be hair. Hair. No, hair. No, not a person’s hair. A doll’s.” She sighed. “It’s Action Man’s hair and it fell off in the dryer. Somehow it got sucked into the vent at the bottom.” Laughter erupted through the handset and Hana jerked the phone away from her ear. When the voice resumed, it sounded strangled. Hana tipped her head and her unseeing gaze raked the blank ceiling as though searching for answers. “Ah, I see. Yes. Thanks.”

Hana climbed back onto her stool and watched Maihi’s wrinkled brown hands chop a carrot with surgical precision. “Apparently an angry Indian gentleman hauled a small boy kicking and screaming from the restaurant. A service repair man is trying to free the wig now. Bodie gave them Jas’ address and they’ve promised to post what’s left.”

“Will you get the bill?” Maihi worked hard to control the escaping smirk.

“He said there’d be no charge but insisted Jas didn’t stick Action Man’s head in the dryer again. Oh Maihi, don’t laugh!”

Maihi struggled to contain her snorts, contrary to Hana who could see no funny side. “What will you do?” Maihi asked, wiping the tears from her face with the hem of her apron.

“Write and thank them,” Hana mused. “Or make Jas do it. They only laughed a little.”

“No!” Maihi replied, her expression growing serious, “About your matua, your papa?”

“Oh, nothing.” Hana voice dropped. “I ran away from the only opportunity I’ll ever get to tell him how he made me feel. I went to him for help after I messed up and he discarded me like an imperfect blotch on his pristine landscape. There’s nothing I can do. He isn’t still sitting in the restaurant. I’ve missed my big moment.” Hana sighed and bit her lip. Her voice became soft. “He’d aged so much I hardly recognised him. I have to let it go; let him go.”

“Seems a shame.” Maihi’s chopping slowed. “All these years you thought he’d died. But he isn’t. You shouldn’t miss out on your chance to release all those emotions. They’ve stained your heart for too long.”

“I don’t have a stained heart!” Hana snapped. Her voice rose at the end. “I forgave him years ago. Dada held onto grudges and offences, not me. I dealt with it.”

“Dada? Is that what you call him?”

Hana gave a slow nod. “Mother was Irish and my father is Scottish. Yes. He liked me calling him that.”

“So how come you ran then?” Maihi asked. “If you dealt with it before your God, you’d have given your matua a hug and told him you were pleased to see him.”

Hana’s mouth opened but nothing emerged. She gaped and swallowed, speechless at Maihi’s accusation. Injustice made way for recrimination and Hana felt un-forgiveness and bitterness steal back into her heart. “I thought I forgave him,” she stammered.” She sulked in silence, isolating those emotions which surfaced with such force in the restaurant and turning them over in her mind’s eye, examining them for flaws. Maihi continued with her food preparation, humming the same song Logan played in the kitchen a few hours ago.

Hana jumped up in alarm, noticing the darkening sky and disappearing afternoon. “Oh gosh, it’s getting dark. I should go home.” Her eyes widened at the thought of making the bush walk alone.

The unmistakable sound of a motorbike climbing Maihi’s steep driveway made the house rumble as reflected headlights bounced around the room. “It’s your tahu,” Maihi commented, drying her hands on her apron. “He’s come for you.”

Logan unfolded his tall frame from the motorbike and removed his helmet, running strong fingers through his messy fringe. Hana melted at his thoughtfulness, overridden by the realisation she’d have to ride pillion. “Oh, no!” she groaned. “Last time he took me on the bike, I melted my wellie-boot on the exhaust pipe.”

Maihi ignored her and let Logan into the kitchen, closing the door to keep in the heat. He stood on the mat in his cowboy boots and accepted her hug, trying not to clout her with the helmet in his hand. “Your carriage awaits, my lady.” He raised his eyebrows and she rose from the stool with obvious reluctance. “Come on,” Logan said with a smirk. “It can’t be worse than last time. Get a move on, wahine.”

Maihi cuddled her, fortifying her for the bracing cold and the ride down the breakneck driveway. Hana tried not to think about it too hard as she grappled around on the deck outside for her wellies. Maihi’s arm slipped around her shoulders, her mouth close to Hana’s ear. “Don’t you think it’s time you trusted your man?” she asked, raising an eyebrow flecked with grey. “You need to let go sometime, Hana Du Rose.” Maihi closed the back door with a wave over her shoulder.

Hana griped at her words, knowing she spoke of trust on more levels than just the bike ride home. She sighed, tensing as Logan settled her on the pillion behind him. He fired it up and Hana cringed as he handed her the spare helmet. It fitted better than last time and a scent of newness rose around her face. “Keep your feet here,” Logan mouthed over the sound of the engine. He leaned down to place her feet onto the rests, hoping to avoid a repeat of last time.

Logan’s neat bum looked good on the wide seat and Hana afforded herself a longer stare as he righted the machine. He kicked away the stand and brought it upright. As she felt the powerful surge of the engine, her confidence failed her and she snatched at the back of his leather jacket. “Use the handrail,” Logan called, his voice muffled inside the helmet and dulled by the powerful engine. When she shook her head so hard the helmet wobbled, he grappled for her hands and placed them over his chest. Hana gripped the leather of his jacket and clung on, reminding herself to breathe. The bike rolled forward and Logan kept his feet near the ground as it pitched and tossed over the rough driveway. Hana fought the urge to lean the opposite way to the turn, forcing herself to relax and follow the graceful movements of her husband’s body. She put all her trust in him as Maihi suggested, finding an eroticism about the release of pent up terror.

Hana began by shutting her eyes but opened them half way down the mountain. The stomach lurching seemed less of a fairground ride if she could see the road. The headlights picked out bush and trees as the bike descended. Hana concentrated on her posture, conscious of not slumping forward as a dead weight against Logan’s spine. At the bottom of the driveway, Logan checked the winding road and eased the bike left. He got up to speed before the first bend and Hana turned her face and leaned her head against his back. She snuggled in as close as the helmet allowed. The gear changes reverberated through the chassis and Hana felt the movement of Logan’s body as he depressed the clutch and swayed with the bike. An experienced rider, he accounted for the extra passenger and how it altered the bike’s handling. Hana felt trust blossoming in her gut and relaxed her fingers around Logan’s chest.

Logan took the full force of the air buffeting them as they rode towards home and Hana experienced a budding sense of exhilaration cutting through the fear. She saw the last bend before their driveway as they hurtled around it, feeling a stab of disappointment. But Logan blasted past and onto the open road, increasing speed along the straights and handling the sharp bends with precision. Hana felt a strange peace as though something blew from her soul that shouldn’t have been there. A tickle rose in her stomach as they sped forward and it bubbled up inside her helmet as a giggle. A yearning to go faster woke in the back of her brain, but she couldn’t communicate with Logan. She satisfied herself with the brilliant night sky above and the glint of starlight on the Waikato River to her right. The Milky Way spread out before her, the same view from Logan’s mountain where Phoenix burst into the world amidst leaves and dust. Hana grinned into her helmet, glad no one could witness her momentary lunacy.

They sped as far as Parker Road and Logan indicated left and made the turn, travelling the gravel road with care to avoid damaging his bike. At the small car park for the reserve he pulled in and parked, kicking the stand to support the bike. Only one other vehicle shared the space, a dark silhouette with a hunting dog’s crate open in the back. Logan switched off the engine and lifted his leg over the massive chassis, but when he removed his helmet Hana remained still. Logan released her chin strap with gentle fingers and lifted her helmet off, brushing her red curls away from her face. She smiled at him in the darkness, not wanting to spoil the moment with words.

Hana perched on the bike as Logan put his arms around her and pressed his lips over hers. It felt private and safe, just the two of them. No fathers intruded, jumping from the woodwork like crazy jack-in-the-boxes to destroy everything. Logan’s hand snaked beneath Hana’s jacket and his fingers pushed her shirt up. His kiss deepened, searching for something in her soul. His touch against her ribs made her shiver. “Here?” she whispered and felt his nod against her cheek.

Logan lifted her from the bike and led her metres away. He spread his leather jacket on the ground between crowded punga trees. The unexpected exhilaration of the bike ride left a blush of risk on Hana’s psyche and made her daring enough to undo Logan’s jeans and expose him to the night. He moaned in pleasure and the sound induced a flicker of recklessness in her stomach.

Logan’s kiss robbed her of air and his skin felt fiery to the touch. The cold licked at the fringes of Hana’s nakedness as she stripped, winter nipping at her soft flesh. Passion dulled her awareness of the night noises as she sank to the ground, but they crept back into her consciousness as the pleasure passed and sanity returned. The creases of the jacket dug into her left hip and she jumped and squealed as a red eyed possum took a short cut next to her foot. Logan laughed, his deep melodious tones spreading through the darkness as he kept Hana beneath him. He kissed her again, nipping at her lower lip. “I should get you home,” he whispered into her ear. “I left the boy taking care of our daughter. Anything could happen.”

Hana put her arms around his strong neck and wished she could stay in the moment. He hadn’t asked about her scene in the restaurant, but she owed him an explanation. Maihi was right. She needed to trust him. “That man,” she began. A gulp swallowed her words and she struggled to continue. “In the restaurant. He’s my father.”

Logan nodded. “I guessed.” He didn’t press, waiting while she wrangled her thoughts into order. He spun slow, sensuous circles against her ribs with his finger.