Outback Secrets by Rachael Johns

Chapter Thirty

Liam and Henri were lying in bed, feeling pretty damn fine about life, when his phone beeped with a text message.

‘Who’d be messaging you at this time of the morning?’ she murmured, her voice mellow with sleepiness and satisfaction.

He pulled her even closer and held her tightly. ‘No idea.’

And right now, he didn’t really care if it was Elvis Presley risen from the dead because he didn’t want to move a muscle.

‘Stella!’ They both realised a few seconds later.

‘Maybe it’s Adam or one of the ambos,’ Henri wondered.

Both of them now curious, Liam got out of bed and bent to pick up the jeans he’d discarded off the floor. When he pulled the phone from his pocket, he saw a message from Karen.

Thought you might like to know …

‘She’s had the baby,’ he said, speaking as he read. ‘A little girl. Mandy delivered it in the ambulance only five minutes after they left.’

Henri sat up. ‘Oh my God. Are they okay?’

‘Apparently.’ Goosebumps spread across his skin as he finished reading the message. ‘She says Stella was amazing and the little girl plump and rosy. They’re settled in Geraldton now and Karen and Mandy are on their way back.’

He glanced up and saw that Henri was wearing a grin as big as his felt.

‘I can’t believe a baby was almost born in your pub!’

‘I told you things were never dull around here.’ If the ambos hadn’t arrived when they did, Stella and Adam’s new daughter would have been born downstairs tonight. There’d been a lot of exciting times over the last ten years, but this? This took the cake.

‘Bet you never thought that would happen.’

‘She wouldn’t have been the first baby born here.’

‘Oh?’ Henri’s eyes widened and Liam gestured to Sheila who’d snuck up onto the bed. ‘She’s had two litters downstairs. Both very smooth deliveries thankfully, and gorgeous healthy pups.’

Henri laughed. ‘First human baby then. Anyway, I feel like this deserves a celebratory drink or something? I know it’s late—or rather early—but I’m not sure I can sleep just yet.’

‘I know what you mean.’ He could actually feel the adrenaline pumping.

‘We should toast the baby,’ she suggested.

‘I’ve got a better idea. You wait there.’

Liam tugged on his jeans and headed downstairs, tapping out a message to Karen as he went.

Well done, superstars. Drinks and dinner on me next time you and Mandy want a night out.

He switched on the light as he went into the pub kitchen, crossed over to the industrial-sized fridge and took out a dish with half an apple pie.

One plate or two? he wondered as he grabbed a knife to cut the pie. These were the types of decisions you deliberated over at midnight when something out of the ordinary had happened and you’d broken all your own rules. Not only did he rarely have sex in his own apartment, he certainly never suggested food and conversation afterwards.

In the end, he went with one plate, two spoons and a hell of a lot of ice-cream.

A few minutes later when he re-entered the bedroom, he saw that Sheila had quickly taken his spot on the bed.

‘Shove over, girl.’ The dog moved down a fraction.

‘Is that what I think it is?’ Henri asked, eying the plate in much the same way she’d been looking at him not long ago.

Liam had thought he was spent but her expression had his desire springing to life again. So much for scratching the itch; if anything, it felt like it was getting worse.

Summoning self-control, he climbed back into bed beside her, presented the plate and let the pie speak for itself.

She picked up one of the spoons. ‘I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, but I make exceptions for apple pie.’

He watched and waited, his breath bated, but the noise she made a few seconds after she slipped the spoon between her lips exceeded his expectations. It sounded like a damn orgasm.

‘Oh. My. God,’ she moaned as she came down from the first mouthful and stabbed her spoon aggressively into the pie for another.

Liam grinned. Every muscle in his body clenched. Watching her eat pie had to be one of the most erotic things he’d ever seen. It made him want to go downstairs right now and bake a dozen more pies and then feed them to her, one by one.

He reached for the other spoon, in dire need of something to occupy his hands and mouth, but Henri tapped him away like he was a pesky mosquito.

‘I hope you don’t plan on sharing this.’ She held the plate up against her bare chest, drawing his eyes to her breasts.

‘Well, I am pretty hungry,’ he said, dipping his head and taking one tight nipple into his mouth.

‘Oh God, Liam.’ She tried to push his head away. ‘I don’t think I can stand apple pie and you at the same time. I’ll explode.’

‘Then you’d better put on some clothes.’

She laughed. ‘Pass me my shirt then.’

He looked around for her T-shirt but, unable to find it, offered his instead.

‘Thanks,’ she said, barely putting down the pie as she pulled on the top.

Although surprised he’d lost out to his pie, he couldn’t be disappointed at the sight of her in his shirt, which was equally as arousing as the sight of her scoffing his pie.

After another mouthful and another tormenting moan, she scooped up another spoonful, but this time offered it to him.

‘Why thank you.’ He leaned towards her and closed his mouth around the offering, enjoying the act of being fed by Henri even more than the taste of the dessert.

‘You’re right. Macca is a king. This pie deserves to win prizes. This pastry …’ She sighed. ‘I finally know what the expression “melt in your mouth” means.’

‘Actually, I made this.’

She snapped her gaze from the bowl to his face. ‘You made this?’

He nodded, feeling his chest swell ridiculously.

‘Wow. I knew you were pretty good with your hands already, but this … you are a king. Where did you learn to cook like this?’

‘In my dad’s kitchen,’ he said.

‘Your father baked as well as ran two successful supermarkets?’

‘Yeah. Baking was his stress relief.’ Liam swallowed. He was so used to not talking about his parents. ‘When we were little, he and Mom used to take turns being home with us while the other one was working. Whenever we were with him and we were fighting or just doing whatever annoying things kids do, he’d sit us both up on the kitchen counter and make us cook until we forgot the problem. I always knew when Dad had a bad day because he’d bake late at night when we were all in bed. I remember when I was a teenager and constantly hungry, I actually used to hope he’d have a shit day so that the next afternoon there’d be something delicious to eat when we came home from school. As I got older, baking became my outlet as well. My friends used to tease me about it, but they never complained when they were eating.’

Henri smiled as she put the now empty bowl down on his bedside table. ‘I’m impressed. My dad barely knew how to make scrambled eggs. Did yours do all the cooking in your house?’

‘No. He mostly did sweet stuff—pies, cheesecakes, he even made his own donuts—and Mom did what she called the boring but necessary cooking. She made the best spaghetti I’ve ever tasted. Even better than Macca’s.’

‘Wow. Must have been good. What was she like?’

‘My mom?’

Henri nodded.

A lump swelled in his throat. ‘Well, Macca would say she was mad as a cut snake. She had two settings—asleep or on speed. Don’t think I ever saw her sitting down when she was awake. She wasn’t houseproud at all because she always said there were better things to do with her time than tidying, except in the bathroom. Mom reckoned the bathroom was the one place she got to properly relax—she didn’t really spend money on much, but her one indulgence was expensive bath sheets. Heaven forbid if any of us used one of her soft, fluffy ones. We’d always know when she was having her me-time, because she’d sing so loudly in the bath.’

Henri laughed. ‘Nothing wrong with singing in the bath, or the shower.’

‘True, but Mom used to sing all the damn time. Songs from really cheesy musicals, like Oklahoma and Singin’ in the Rain. There was usually a different one each week and it drove Lacey and me crazy because she’d sing wherever we were. Like on the sidelines at one of our hockey games.’

‘Was she any good?’ Henri asked.

‘Yes, actually, but it was still mortifying. Not that Mom worried about that. Nothing embarrassed her; in fact I think she thrived on it. You should have heard some of the conversations she had with me.’

‘Well, go on.’ Henri poked him. ‘You can’t say something like that and not tell me. What kind of conversations?’

‘Probably the most memorable one is the day she told me all about female pleasure.’

‘What?’

He grinned. ‘I was like, fourteen or something. Lacey had heard someone talking about masturbation at school and asked Mom what it was. Thinking I knew everything about everything, I decided to take it upon myself to explain. I told her it was something only guys do, and Mom stepped in and told me I couldn’t be more wrong. Then she proceeded to explain, drawing diagrams and all, how females got pleasure during sex and that they could self-pleasure just as well, if not better than men. She said women don’t need men, despite what society wants them to believe, but a good man was worth his weight in gold, and if I wanted to be a good man, I should remember one thing: Ladies always come first.’

By the time he finished Henri was laughing so much she was actually crying.

‘Oh my God! My brothers would have died if Mum ever tried to talk to any of them about stuff like that.’

‘Well, my mom had no embarrassment filter.’

‘I reckon I’d have liked her,’ Henri said, wiping her eyes with the bottom of his shirt.

Mom would have liked Henri too. They were similar in a lot of ways—both independent and passionate, and they shared a similar dry sense of humour. Sometimes when Henri said something, it took Liam a moment to realise she wasn’t being serious.

‘What about Lacey?’ Henri said. ‘What was she like?’

And although Liam had already shared more than he ever had with anyone since leaving America, somehow, he found himself talking openly about his family. And actually enjoying it. He shared memories with Henri he rarely even allowed himself to think about because they hurt too damn much.

He told her about how his parents were one of the most in love couples he’d ever met, and yet couldn’t go five minutes without bickering about something. He told her about the family board-game nights they’d had every Wednesday and how even though he and his sister moaned and groaned about it, they’d secretly loved them just as much as their parents. He told her about pets they’d had, vacations they’d been on, the over-the-top birthday parties his mom had thrown.

The words came naturally, and Henri listened, smiling and laughing in all the right places, only occasionally making comments herself.

‘Your parents sound like very special people,’ she said, squeezing his hand.

‘They were.’

‘I reckon they’d be super proud of what you’ve done here in the Bay.’

‘Not much to running a country pub,’ he scoffed.

‘But this place is so much more than just a country pub to the people of Bunyip Bay—The Palace is the hub of the community. And I can see how much you care about everyone too. You didn’t call the cops on Jaxon and Brad. Sexy Rexy told me how if it wasn’t for you, he probably wouldn’t even be alive right now. And I bet he’s not the only one. As you say, you listen to people when they need an ear. You make time for everyone, from Heidi right through to Dolce. This town is so damn lucky to have you.’

‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about Max,’ he said, embarrassed enough to want to change the subject. ‘You were about to tell me about him when Stella went into labour.’

Henri shrugged. ‘He’s honestly no one.’

‘Then why are you so reluctant to talk about him?’

She sighed. ‘How about we make a deal? I’ll tell you about Max, if you tell me about Katie.’

Ice skated down Liam’s spine, and he sat up straighter. He’d never told anyone in Australia about Katie.

‘How do you know about her?’ he asked, failing dismally to sound nonchalant. Was Henri some kind of mind-reader?

‘When I was looking through your bookshelves trying to find something to read, I spotted your Baby-Sitters Club books, took a look inside and saw the inscription.’

‘Okay,’ he conceded, only because he found himself desperate to know about Max. ‘I’ll tell you, but only if you tell the Max story first.’

‘Fine.’ She exhaled loudly, blowing her fringe out of her face. ‘I met Max when I was flying in the NT. His family own a massive station not far from Katherine. We had a whirlwind romance. I was smitten and he proposed after four weeks of us being together, so I thought he was too. Two years we did the long-distance thing. I always did the mustering season with his family, but the rest of the year I followed the work. Although I visited whenever I could, it was never for long, and sometimes months went by when we didn’t see each other except on Skype. We were going to get married on the station—all my family and friends were travelling up—and then two weeks before our wedding, the night before I was due up there, his sister called me in tears.’

Liam’s heart skipped a beat as he imagined where this was heading. Lots of accidents happened on farms, and stations in the outback were a long way from medical assistance. ‘Did he die?’

‘No.’ Her nostrils flared. ‘Although after I found out what he’d done, he was lucky I didn’t dismember him. Apparently, he’d been sleeping with their casual workers, sometimes even tourists who came to stay on the station. Keri, his sister, didn’t know how many women there’d been for sure, but it was definitely not just a one-off.’

‘Bastard! Did you confront him?’

‘Damn straight I did.’ Henri reached out and ran a hand over Sheila’s fur. ‘He didn’t deny it and I wouldn’t say he apologised either. He thought I was overreacting cancelling the wedding. He said I was lucky to have him because not many blokes would put up with a Mrs who worked away from home most of the year, that no red-blooded male could go such long stretches without sex. I should have accepted that he had needs that had to be fulfilled when I wasn’t around.’

Liam realised his fists were clenched, his nails digging into his palms. ‘Hadn’t he heard of his right hand?’

She snorted. ‘Apparently not. Although that would probably have required too much work on his part.’

‘If he was so desperate to get laid, how often did he visit you?’ Max should have been travelling to the ends of the earth to see her, not the other way around.

‘Once or twice. In hindsight, it’s easy to see I was the one making most of the effort.’

‘It sounds like you’re better off without him.’

‘Oh I am. Hundred per cent. I’m just thankful I found out before we tied the knot.’

‘How long ago was this?’

She took a moment as if calculating in her head. ‘Just over six years.’

‘And have there been any other serious relationships since?’

‘Nope. Turns out Max was right. Most men do want a partner who’s around on a daily basis.’

Henri sounded resigned to this, but it didn’t seem fair that she had to choose between love and a career. What man had to make such a sacrifice? Liam bet most of her male colleagues had girlfriends or wives faithfully waiting for them at home. And surely there was a guy somewhere who’d see that Henri was a woman worth waiting for too.

Not him, of course. But someone.

‘Anyway,’ she angled herself a little on the pillows so that she was looking directly at him, ‘enough of my sorry story. Tell me about Katie. Why did she give you Baby-Sitters Club books? Forgive me if I’m being judgemental, but I can’t imagine they were the types of books you chose to read?’

Suddenly he wished he’d brought whiskey upstairs when he got the apple pie. ‘You ever do anything when you were a kid to get a guy to notice you?’

‘When I was a kid?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Less than two weeks ago I made up a crazy scheme about needing a fake boyfriend to get a guy to notice me.’

He laughed—if he didn’t know Eileen Brady, he’d suddenly be worried.

‘Well, when I was about eleven, I got it in my head that if I pretended to like The Baby-Sitters Club, it would give me something to talk about with my neighbour who was super into them, and who I’d had a crush on since I knew there was a difference between boys and girls.’

‘Did it work?’

‘You saw the books, didn’t you? Katie and I became good friends—totally ruined my street cred with the boys but these are the sacrifices you have to make for love.’

It was Henri’s turn to laugh. ‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘I’m not buying that’s all there is to that story. You kept the books, which tells me Katie was more than a childhood crush. Did you guys ever get together?’

This was where he could lie, but that didn’t feel fair after she’d just ripped open her wound for him.

‘Yeah, we did. We were friends for years first—I read the whole damn series of books, even though they made me want to poke my eyes out. And then in high school, I got her an after-school job at the store. I can’t exactly pinpoint when we became a couple, we just kind of did.’

‘So you went to the prom together? Did your school yearbook say “couple most likely to get married” or something? All that American shit?’

‘Hey! It’s not shit. I’ll have you know we not only went to the prom, we were crowned prom king and queen.’ He still had the sash in the bottom of his wardrobe to prove it.

‘Do you have photos? I’d kill to see them.’

‘No,’ he lied.

‘So, how long were you guys together?’

‘Eight years. We did long-distance too, while we were at college, but we both came back to work in my family business.’

‘Oh my God.’ Henri’s smile faltered and she slapped a hand against her chest. ‘Katie didn’t die in the shooting too, did she?’

‘No. Nothing like that. She was at the Monument store when it happened as well.’

‘Thank goodness,’ she breathed, then reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘You know, you don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t want.’

‘It’s fine. There’s not much else to tell.’ He withdrew his hand and yanked it through his hair. ‘Long story short, Katie found someone else. She married him and I sold up the businesses and moved to the other side of the world. Happy ending for both of us.’

‘She found someone else after the shooting? She left you after you’d lost all your family?’

The incredulity in her voice had Sheila lifting her head to see what the fuss was about. He could tell Henri thought Katie was no better than Max.

‘It wasn’t her fault,’ he said, feeling defensive on the part of the woman who’d been the love of his life for almost a decade.

‘If you think that, you’re far more charitable than I am,’ Henri said, and then tried to stifle a yawn.

Liam reached for his phone to check the time. He couldn’t believe it was almost 3 am. What on earth had possessed him to spend half the night sitting in bed with a woman, eating apple pie and talking about his damn feelings?

That simply wasn’t something he did, yet here they were.

And he was the one who’d fetched the pie and opened the conversation about previous relationships. His chest cramped at the realisation.

‘Guess it’s time we call it a night. I need my beauty sleep.’ He tried for lighthearted as he slid down the bed to rest his head on the pillows.

What he really felt like doing was tearing back the sheet and going to sleep on the couch, but what kind of a dick would that make him?

Henri reached over to switch off the bedside lamp and then snuggled into him. ‘Goodnight,’ she whispered before placing a quick kiss on his bare chest.

The room went black, and the only noise was the distant waves coming in through the open window and his own heavy breathing as Liam lay there, unable to get to sleep.

‘You awake?’ Her question startled him about five minutes after they’d said goodnight.

He swallowed. ‘Yeah, why?’

Maybe she wanted to jump his bones one more time before dawn. And maybe he’d let her. It might help the tension currently pulsing through his veins.

‘I just remembered something I need to ask. Do you have any food allergies?’

‘Huh?’ That was the last thing he’d been expecting. ‘Why?’

‘Mum wants to make sure there’s nothing on the menu Christmas Day that could give anyone an anaphylactic shock. Ever since she accidentally—’

He pulled sharply away from her. ‘I’m not spending Christmas Day with your family.’

‘What? But that’s part of pretending to be in a relationship with me.’

‘I never agreed to that.’

‘My boyfriend would come to Christmas lunch—Mum would expect it. Isn’t the pub closed anyway? Do you have somewhere else to be?’

‘I draw the line at Christmas,’ he said, ignoring her question. ‘I’ve gone along with this farce in every other way, but I don’t do Christmas with anyone. And that’s not negotiable.’

‘Farce?’ Hurt flashed in Henri’s eyes. ‘I … What do you usually do Christmas Day?’

‘I drink.’ He’d told her almost every other damn thing about himself—she might as well know the ugly truth. ‘I drink until I get very, very drunk and then I drink some more until I pass out.’

‘But I’ve barely seen you drink at all.’

‘It’s better that way.’ Then before she could ask him why or try to convince him to change his mind just this once, he threw back the covers, stormed from the room and headed downstairs.

He made himself a whiskey and Coke—lighter on the latter—leaned against the bar and took a long, large gulp.

What had Henrietta Forward done to him?