Blackpeak Vines Page 16

  ‘Let’s go home,’ he said.

  Fifteen minutes later, rain whipping the windshield as they descended into the cloud, she wondered how he could be so sure of where to find it. Not a good time to ask, she decided, looking over at him as he fought the wind for control. Then, suddenly, there was blackness below, then lights in the blackness — lights very close. Abruptly, Carr swung the chopper around. Shit, they were almost— Lizzie felt the adrenaline spike through her veins. Down. They were down. Good, solid grass beneath their skids. She stared at it thankfully. What was that in it — hail?

  Carr killed the rotors.

  Lizzie looked around. All she could see, apart from darkness and grass, was a lit-up shed. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘My place.’ He eased his helmet off. ‘I hope you don’t mind. It’s the best I can do tonight.’

  She looked at him. ‘I don’t mind. No complaints at all.’ She hung up her headset. ‘That was a hell of a scenic flight.’

  ‘You liked that? Shame you missed the trip up.’ Jumping out, he came around and opened her door.

  Lizzie took his hand and slid down onto the grass. ‘I should call Ella.’

  Carr nodded. ‘There’s a phone in the hangar.’

  Hearing her daughter’s sleepy voice, she felt a lump in her throat. ‘Darling. I woke you.’

  ‘Mum! Oh, thank God. Where are you? Are you safe?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Watching Carr put the helicopter away, Lizzie talked Ella into going back to sleep. ‘No, darling, I swear … it’s two in the morning. I don’t need you to come and get me now.’

  ‘All done?’ Carr asked, as she put the phone down.

  Lizzie nodded.

  He rolled the hangar door shut. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to call base?’

  ‘I radioed from the chopper. They’ve stood down the search party.’ Carr switched off the light as they walked out. Behind the hangar, the Hilux was waiting. Lizzie slipped into the seat beside him. ‘Is that all they said?’

  ‘That’s the edited version.’

  He backed the ute up and turned into the track. Lizzie shifted uncomfortably. Feeling around her seat, she removed a roll of baling twine and a pair of pliers. Ahead, the chimneys of the house loomed through the trees.

  Good God, she thought, as they pulled up the drive, the ute’s headlights sweeping over mullioned glass and old stone: it looked like Dracula’s lair. Bluebeard’s castle. She stared. There was even a turret. Under a slate portico, a lonely coach lamp glowed. As Carr switched the headlights off, the rest of the house disappeared back into darkness and cloud. Walking around to her side, he opened her door again. It was becoming rather a habit.

  Speechless, Lizzie got out and followed him into the house, trailing in his wake as he moved rapidly from one enormous room to the next, flicking on lights and pulling curtains. He came to a halt in the smallest room, a sort of — well, library, she supposed you’d have to call it. The panelled walls were lined with books and there was — yes! — the dusty head of a twelve-point stag hanging on the wall above the riverstone fireplace. Carr headed straight for the massive sideboard.

  ‘I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink.’ He turned to her. ‘Are you hungry?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Can I get you something? What do you need?’

  Lizzie smiled. ‘A shower, I think.’

  ‘We can manage that. This way.’

  She followed him down the hall. Oh, thank God, she thought, as he opened the door: he’d done up the bathroom. Or someone had.

  Carr looked at her. ‘I’ll find you something to put on.’

  Stepping in, Lizzie caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She was filthy. Her face, her clothes — her hair was full of beech litter, and all in all she looked as though she’d been, well, dragged through a tussock backwards. Several times.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, faintly. She should probably put a tarp down just to undress.

  Carr came back with a bathrobe and towels. ‘There are things in the cupboard. Help yourself to whatever you need.’ He hung the robe on the back of the door. ‘Leave your clothes outside, if you like — I’ll throw them in the machine.’ He closed the door.

  Looking at her clothes again, Lizzie rather feared for the machine’s safety. She stripped them off as carefully as she could. Standing under the showerhead’s very respectable flow, she closed her eyes and felt the hot water relax her to her bones. She looked around in vain for some shower gel. What the hell was that? It looked like saddle soap. Conscious that it must travel over Carr’s body every day, she ran the bar hesitantly over her skin. She had to admit it lathered well.

  Forcing herself out of the shower at last, Lizzie wrapped herself in the copious folds of the man-sized robe. She sniffed the collar. It smelled a little of him — a clean, no-nonsense, masculine scent. Soap and shaving cream. The rough line-dried cotton still pressed to her face, she found her mind drifting to an image of Carr behind the shower glass, saddle-soaping that lean and muscular chest … Hurriedly putting it and the collar aside, she did the best she could with the contents of Carr’s bathroom cupboard, ran her fingers through her wet hair, and made her way back down the dimly lit hall.

  The door to the library was ajar. She could see the glow of firelight around it. Padding down the old Persian carpet towards it, unknown doors standing closed and shadowy to either side, Lizzie couldn’t help a smile at her own curiosity. What was behind them? Best not to know … She put her hand to the library door. It swung open with a satisfyingly gothic creak.

  Carr looked up as she walked in. He was sprawled in a deep-buttoned leather armchair beside the fire, a glass of scotch in his hand. He’d changed out of his flight overalls and was wearing a jumper and a pair of old jeans. Lizzie closed the door behind her. When she turned back, his eyes were still on her. Dropping his gaze, she moved to the fire and leaned against the mantel.

  ‘It’s quite a place you’ve got here,’ she said, nodding up at the stag on the wall.

  ‘Thank you.’ His mouth twitched. ‘I think.’

  Lizzie couldn’t resist. ‘Any door I shouldn’t open? I’d hate to disturb your ex-wives.’

  ‘You’re quite safe.’ In the light of the fire, the dark eyes sparkled. ‘Not a single ex-wife, I swear. Whole or partial.’

  ‘Really?’ She looked at him in surprise. ‘None?’

  ‘Not still on the property.’ He rose. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Thank you — brandy, if you’ve got it.’

  Lizzie watched him reach out a bottle of rather good cognac and pour.

  ‘But you were married?’ she persisted.

  ‘Yes.’ Walking back to the fire, he handed her the glass. ‘Once. She left about fifteen years ago.’

  She looked up at him. ‘And you haven’t had a woman here since?’

  Carr returned her gaze evenly. ‘I’m not sure I’d say that.’

  ‘To look after the place, I mean,’ Lizzie explained, hastily. ‘A housekeeper, or something.’

  ‘There’ve been girls here from time to time.’ He sipped his scotch. ‘They keep marrying the neighbours.’

  ‘What about children? Do you have kids?’

  ‘One. A boy a few years older than Ella. He left with his mother.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Carr shrugged. ‘I see him now and again.’ Draining his glass, he moved back to the sideboard.

  ‘So where does your son live now?’

  ‘Argentina.’

  Lizzie raised her eyebrows. ‘What’s he doing there?’

  ‘Waiting for me to retire.’ He poured himself another measure. ‘Or die.’ Looking into his glass, he smiled. ‘A couple of times tonight I thought he might get lucky.’

  Lizzie hung her head. ‘I’m so sorry … I never meant for anyone …’ Faltering to a halt, she made another attempt. ‘You shouldn’t have taken risks for me. You shouldn’t have had to …’

&
nbsp; ‘I didn’t have to.’

  She looked up to find him beside her.

  ‘And I’m not sorry.’ Gently, he removed the brandy glass from her hand and put it on the mantel. ‘It was worth it to see your face.’

  Lizzie watched his eyes soften into a smile.

  ‘It’s the first time you’ve ever looked pleased to see me.’

  Carr stroked her neck, sliding back the collar of her robe. Lizzie’s mind froze as his mouth brushed the skin of her shoulder. This had to be a bad idea. The … oh … the worst idea … Carr slipped the robe from her shoulders. One hand bit briefly into her naked shoulder blade as the other took her by the belt and, pulling her hips hard against him, worked the knot free. Feeling the muscles of his arms move under her hands she realised how much she’d ached to touch them.

  ‘Let me look at you.’

  Lizzie could feel herself shaking as he held her back, his fingers twisting in her wet hair, raising her face to his. He kissed her mouth.

  Barely aware how she’d got there — had she dissolved? — Lizzie found herself suddenly down on the floor on top of the bathrobe. Releasing her slightly, Carr ran his hand over her body, his strong fingers pressing into her skin, tracing a long line from the hollow of her throat, between her breasts, to the point of her hip.

  ‘I wanted to do this the first time I saw you,’ he said, looking into her eyes as his hand continued over her thigh. ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.’

  Lizzie, gasping, could find no words.

  ‘The first time you saw me,’ she reminded him later, lying on his enormous bed, ‘you wanted to shoot me.’

  ‘I wanted not to shoot you, if I recall.’ Carr kissed her throat. ‘You weren’t making it easy.’

  A patch of broken moonlight moved over the bed. Lizzie, looking up into his face, saw the muscle beside his mouth move. She kissed the spot, still not quite able to believe she had the right to. ‘You looked like you wanted to shoot me,’ she teased.

  ‘I wanted to stop you getting hurt.’ Wrapping the duvet around her shoulder, he held it there. ‘You—’ Carr stopped.

  ‘I what?’

  He hesitated. ‘You rush in.’

  ‘I rush in?’ she repeated, acidly.

  ‘You do.’ He traced the line of her breast. ‘Sometimes.’

  Lizzie, remembering the events of the day, stopped halfway up her high horse. ‘Sometimes things have to be done,’ she told him, in her mildest tone.

  ‘Sometimes they do,’ Carr agreed, his mouth twitching again.

  She raised her hand to touch his face. Carr caught it. Locating the other, he held both her wrists in one hand and brought them up slowly above her head.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Demonstrating the benefits of doing things slowly.’ He wrapped the cord of the bathrobe around her wrists. ‘I don’t trust you not to interfere.’

  Lizzie giggled. ‘Did you want to do this the first time you saw me as well?’

  ‘I gave it some thought.’

  Lizzie opened her eyes to grey morning light. Seeing Carr looking down at her, she averted her face. God, she must look awful. Surreptitiously, she pulled the duvet up to her chin.

  ‘I’ve made coffee,’ he said. He put a mug down on the table beside her. He was, she noticed, already dressed.

  ‘Thanks,’ she smiled, squirming under his gaze. Still clutching the duvet, she sat up.

  ‘Here.’ Carr handed her the robe she’d last seen on the bedroom floor, but which had somehow made its way back to the hook on the door. As Lizzie hesitated, he turned his back on her and strode across to the window.

  She pulled on the robe, blushing to discover its cord was still missing. Quickly, she peered under the duvet. There it was! Lizzie blushed again as she tied it around her waist. She tasted her coffee. It was good — she’d half expected instant.

  Carr turned around to face her. The expression in his eyes was guarded. ‘You probably want to get home.’

  Oh … ‘Yes,’ she said, brightly. Well, of course she did want to go home, but … ‘I’ll call Ella to come and pick me up.’

  ‘No. I’ll drive you.’

  Ouch. Boy, he really couldn’t wait to be rid of her. ‘Thank you.’ Lizzie sipped her coffee to hide her rising shame. Well, she’d said she wanted to feel twenty again. Now she did. She put her cup down. Suddenly she was finding it difficult to swallow. ‘Do you mind if I have a shower first?’

  Carr frowned. ‘Of course.’

  Lizzie got up.

  ‘Use my bathroom.’ He opened a door she’d presumed to be a wardrobe. ‘It’s just through here.’

  Ah, so none of that stuff downstairs had been his. She shook her head at herself. She really didn’t know anything about him. Except … well, the sorts of things that made it difficult to look him in the eye.

  To her surprise, Carr followed her through the door. ‘Lizzie …’

  She looked around the bathroom. At least the soap was the same. ‘What is this stuff?’ she asked him, picking it up.

  ‘The soap?’ He stared at her as though she was stupid. ‘It’s Pears.’

  Lizzie smiled. Of course it was. She put the bar back down again.

  ‘Look,’ he began, again, ‘Lizzie, I …’ He searched out her eyes in the mirror. ‘Are you okay?’

  Well, that was just patronising. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. ‘Of course I’m okay,’ she said. ‘We’re both grown-ups. These things happen.’ She looked away again.

  Carr took a step back. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Of course.’

  Lizzie stood waiting for him to leave. He turned and walked out the door. When she came out of the bathroom, he’d gone. Her laundered clothes lay in a neat pile on the bed.

  Having dressed, she made her solitary way down the grand staircase she vaguely remembered being swept up last night. Now she wanted to go home. Every bit as much as he wanted her to. She found Carr sitting in the kitchen. He got to his feet as she walked in.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘No.’ Actually, she felt rather sick. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d just like to get home.’

  It was a long drive back to the vineyard. The space between them in the cramped cab of the ute felt about as relaxed as a NATO no-fly zone. Overly conscious of every small move of Carr’s hands, Lizzie stared out the side window. All around them, a thick grey blanket of cloud hung low on the hills. He’d been right: there would have been no flying out of the Opal Lakes today.

  As the road wound closer to home, she began to regain her perspective. Last night, she reminded herself, stealing a glance at Carr’s iron profile across the cab, this man had saved her life, washed her underwear and delivered some of the most — the most, she forced herself to admit — earth-shattering sex she’d ever had. And she was angry because …? Okay, so apparently it was all in a day’s work to him, but so what? That didn’t mean she should be complaining.

  The problem was … Furtively, Lizzie watched him change gear … The real problem was, she thought, feeling her colour rise again, well, if anything, it had been rather too good. Reduced, on several occasions, to a quivering wreck on the floor, she hadn’t just let her guard slip, she’d abandoned it completely. And now she felt — exposed. Which was hardly his fault.

  She owed him … well, all this, she realised, as the Hilux pulled into the vineyard. Ella. Her beautiful house, this beautiful land. The life she’d made here. She could have lost it all yesterday. Lizzie sat and stared at it for a second. Hang on, that was Luke’s car. What on earth was he doing here?

  Coming around the ute, Carr opened the door for her.

  ‘Thank you.’ Lizzie said. ‘You know, I could probably do that myself.’

  ‘You couldn’t.’ The dark eyes looked into hers. ‘The handle’s broken.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said again, softly, ‘for …’ She touched his arm. Instantly, last night’s current arced between them. From the look in his eyes, Carr could feel it, too. />
  ‘Lizzie …’

  An ache ran through her body as his hand encircled her upper arm.

  ‘Mum!’ Ella hurtled out of the house and across the lawn, dressing gown flying, her phone clutched in her hand. Stepping away from Carr, Lizzie opened her arms to her daughter.

  ‘Here’ — letting go of her at last, Ella thrust the phone at Lizzie — ‘talk to Richard. He’s been beside himself.’

  Richard? Lizzie stared at Ella. How did he even … She couldn’t talk to Richard, not right now … You swore, she reminded herself. The very next time. Remember the deal? No more excuses. Lizzie wiped a tear from Ella’s face with her free hand and looked quickly at Carr. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to take this.’

  Putting the phone to her ear, she walked away. ‘Thank you!’ she heard Ella gush, behind her. She glanced back in time to see Carr pat her daughter awkwardly as Ella threw her arms around him.

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  Ella hadn’t been back from Blackpeak Station very long before she began to regret her decision to go it alone. Even Charlotte’s company might have been better than watching the sky and the phone and checking the MetService forecast. More rain on the way. Winds rising to gale. Snow to eight hundred metres overnight. She shivered. They could be wrong, couldn’t they? Forecasters got it wrong all the time. They must do, or nobody would ever get stuck anywhere. She took another turn around the lounge.

  All it would take was an hour’s break in the cloud and Lizzie would be home. Ella sat down again. Her mother would be home. The alternative was … unimaginable. She stared at the phone on the sofa beside her. It rang.

  Ella seized the handset. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ella, it’s Carr.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s okay, nothing’s happened. Nothing so far.’

  So why the hell was he calling, then? Ella let out her breath in a long shudder.

  ‘I just wanted you to know,’ Carr said gently, ‘that we’ve got a team standing by at Glencairn and the chopper’s ready to go.’