Chapter 30
Opening the bedroom door and peeking out, Hana regretted not paying attention the night before when Logan walked her to her room. A long corridor stretched to the left and right on either side of her, flanked by doors. Hana hovered in the doorway, wondering whether to attempt to navigate her way downstairs or pull out her phone and text Logan. “I can’t do that,” she hissed at herself. “Embarrassing.” She rolled her eyes at the memory of the previous night’s drunkenness and cringed. The tablet she took to calm her nerves before leaving school hadn’t played well with alcohol. The eight-year-old stash in her bathroom at home needed flushing.
Hana took her bearings, noting the number eleven on her door. She let it close behind her but then couldn’t open it. Finding it locked, she had no choice but to venture onwards. Fixing her eyes on a vase of pink flowers at the other end of the corridor, Hana headed for it. It perched on an antique French table, which looked original and expensive. A long window with leaded glass cast prisms across the carpet and Hana saw a view of the mountain through the hand-blown panes.
Her socks padded along the corridor, passing door after door. Voices came from behind some of them and she shied away from knocking, imagining her first meeting with family members starting with, “Hi, I’m Hana and I’m lost.”
The rooms numbered past twenty and Hana swallowed at the dawning realisation. A hotel. The corridor ended in an elegant sweeping staircase and the pale, stripped bannister rail curved beneath her hand, carrying her downstairs.
On the ground floor, Hana found the lobby from the previous evening. The main doors stood wide open, the cool air kept at bay by inner glass doors. The desk she remembered contained an occupant. “Hello, can I help you?” The smart, uniformed girl’s face creased into a smile. A telephone rang at her elbow and Hana’s eyes strayed towards it.
“I’m looking for Mr Du Rose,” she said, feeling like a child.
“Oh.” The girl ignored the trilling phone. “Is something wrong? Can I help you?”
Hana shook her head and swallowed, embarrassment freezing her tongue. Her words came out jumbled. “I arrived with him last night. Where will I find him?”
To her credit, the girl’s smile didn’t falter. “Which Mr Du Rose?” she asked.
“The young one.” Hana’s cheeks flamed. Something in the girl’s eyes made her feel like a hooker.
She shrugged. “Which young one? There’s a few. Take your pick. If it’s the one I’m thinking, you won’t see him again.”
Hana stood on one leg, pressing the toes of one foot over the other. She stifled a muffled scream which originated from her chest and threatened to come out. “But we came in his car,” she said, her voice wobbling. “How will I get home?”
The receptionist rolled her eyes. “Dunno. I can call you a taxi. He usually leaves cash.” She fluttered her fingers around the desk. “Nothing here.”
Hana gulped and opened her mouth to speak, not trusting what might come out. Many thoughts powered through her brain. No shoes, no phone, locked out of her room.
“Hana?” Logan’s voice sent her heart racing into orbit. She didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him as he rested his hands on her shoulders and spun her around. His eyes widened at the sight of her distress. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Mr Du Rose.” Hana heard the receptionist gulp. “I didn’t realise you brought her. I thought she wanted a taxi.”
Logan’s eyes widened and his face darkened into a fearsome mask. “No.” His voice sounded laced with ice.
Hana closed her eyes and counted to ten, allowing Logan to hustle her away from the embarrassed girl. He led her along a corridor with a quarry-tiled floor and Hana stiffened her legs to halt her progress. Her socks slid under her and she wobbled. The question formed on Logan’s lips but Hana beat him to it. “She thinks I’m a tart!” she spat, her voice wavering. “What kind of people are you?”
“Did you ask for me?” Logan demanded. “By name?”
“I was getting to it,” Hana bit. “I didn’t know there were millions of you, all bringing women back to the middle of nowhere and then shipping them out by taxi the next morning.” She collected herself, pulling the band from her ponytail as a distraction and then trying to put it back with shaking hands. Logan took it from her and kept it, lifting her chin with his finger.
“Not millions.” His grey eyes looked sad. “Only two do that and they’re not here. I’m sorry. I came to fetch you but used the back stairs and missed you.”
Hana chewed her lip and regretted it as her tongue got a blast of berry lip-gloss. She breathed through pursed lips and waited for her heart to stop climbing through her chest wall. Logan stroked her cheek. “You okay?”
Hana shook her head and stared at the tiles. “I’m waiting to see the funny side.” Her voice sounded petulant.
Logan sighed and pulled her into his chest. “You won’t because there isn’t one. My brother’s a dick and so is Tama.”
Hana shrugged. “She thought I spent the night with Tama? That’s gross. My son’s older than him.”
Logan gave a sharp inhale. “She probably pitched for Michael. He’s a year older than me.”
“Great. So not you then?”
Logan snuffed into her hair. “No, Hana. I’ve never brought a woman here for the night. That’s why she didn’t put you with me.” He raised his hand to silence her next objection. “Not because I’m too young for you.”
“I shouldn’t be here.” Hana struggled out of his embrace and put distance between them. Logan’s face clouded.
“Well you are. And I’m not driving you back yet, so come and get breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.” She dug her heels in, feeling the cold tiles through her socks.
Logan rounded her up like a sheep dog, going behind and edging her forward. “I am,” he said. “And if you don’t eat, you’ll regret it later.” He nudged her along the corridor and she stared through doors as they passed. “This is the service corridor,” he said, driving her forwards with his hands on her shoulders. “Lounge, dining room, ballroom. We use this corridor but guests access them from the other side, in that hallway with the glass roof. See.” He pointed his index finger and interested, Hana followed his direction and nodded.
She moved with exaggerated slowness, feasting her eyes as she passed. A stylish lounge contained sofas and a coffee table. Magazines lay in a fan shape on the polished wooden surface. An expensive TV hogged the corner, opposite glass doors which took up a whole wall. They passed a dining room with multiple round tables set for a meal and other rooms with closed doors and numbers on the polished wood. Logan halted outside an open door to Hana’s left and an original ballroom opened out before her. Magnificent parquet flooring made her want to dance and windows flanked both sides of the room. It jutted far beyond the bounds of the main building with a stage set up at the very end. “The first Du Rose built this room for his wife,” Logan said. “She loved to dance. He modelled it on the one at Versailles, but on a smaller scale.” He shrugged and Hana glanced up at him, seeing a smile in his eyes. “I rode my skateboard through here one winter and my mother chased me with a switch. She said she’d whoop my ass so bad I wouldn’t sit down for a week. It marked all the floors and I spent my holiday sanding and varnishing it.” He sighed as the memory washed over him.
“How old were you?” Hana’s hair brushed his chin.
“Ten.” The clang of steel sounded in his voice and it changed, becoming rougher. “When I still thought the world was a good place.”
Hana’s brow narrowed and she felt sadness descend over them like a cloak. She pointed to a courtyard outside, surrounded by imposing walls and windows. Flanked by paving stones, a stunning fountain of a naked woman with her arms above her head graced its geometric centre. The woman held a bird in her palms, its beauty diverting her stony-eyed attention. “That’s stunning.”
Logan nodded. “It’s my grandmother. Her husband carved it for her before he went to
war.”
“What’s the bird?”
“It’s a tūī.” Logan clutched her tighter and Hana looked up at him.
“You said that different to how I’ve heard it spoken before.”
Logan smiled at her perception. “They say it wrong. The word they say and spell is tui, which is a binding or a string. They miss the accents off.” He jerked his head towards the fountain. “That bird embraces both meanings. It’s a bird of wisdom and foresight in my family, but it also represents a binding of us to our past. Our heritage and the lessons of our forefathers are in us and we in them.” It sounded so reverent and honest, Hana craved that strong family bond. She gritted her jaw at all thoughts of family and forced herself not to remember.
“Oh crap!”
Hana jumped at the sudden clatter and Logan strode into the room. His father shot from a cupboard, nursing his hand and swearing. He froze at the sight of his audience and sucked a blood soaked finger. “Don’t tell the wife?” he appealed, his expression hopeless.
“Tell her what?” Hana replied, her question genuine. That he swore or went into the cupboard? Which was the greater crime?
“What are you doing?” Logan poked his head into the cupboard and his voice echoed. “Why are you messing with these tables again?”
“They keep falling over.” Alfred sucked his finger and peered into the dark interior. Hana stood in the entrance to the ballroom, feeling forgotten.
Logan disappeared inside and Hana heard him complaining. “That’s because you don’t clip them into the stand. I’ve shown you how to do it. Look.” Hana saw Alfred lean forward, his head and shoulders disappearing into the cupboard. “I designed this thing and made it myself. It works. It’s moron friendly.”
Alfred pulled his head out and rolled his eyes at Hana. She smiled in response. “Come on,” he said to her. “Let’s get you some breakfast before my son tries to kill you.”
Hana’s jaw dropped and she floundered as the old man took her arm and led her into the corridor. He pushed her through a heavy fire door disguised in wood effect and she found herself in an industrial kitchen. Miriam dodged a girl carrying a heavy saucepan and waved. Then she spotted the way her husband sucked on his fingers. “Alfred, what have you done?”
He stared at fingers which oozed blood along his wrist as though surprised they belonged to him. “Oh,” he said with feigned innocence. “I’m not sure.”
Hana stayed quiet, but looked at Logan for help as he entered the room behind them. “Sit down here, babe,” he said, his grey eyes smiling. He sat next to her at the enormous bleached wooden table and reached for a clean mug from the centre. “Here you go.” He poured tea and gave it to her, brushing her fingers in the handover.
Miriam reached into a first aid cupboard on the wall and produced a battered box, setting about her husband’s cut with wipes and plasters. “Bloody men bleeding in this house!” she complained.
Logan jerked his head in her direction and looked at her with an unreadable expression. Alfred shook his head at her. “Hush, wahine.”
Miriam dressed the cut and then seized Alfred’s head in both hands, kissing him on the forehead. “Stupid old man,” she whispered.
Hana drank her tea and stared at the stainless steel appliances, feeling intrusive. She twitched in her nervousness and without looking up, Logan used his free hand to cover hers on the bleached wood, his warmth smoothing and massaging her fretful fingers. He infused her with calm and contentment and she accepted it, drinking tea and eating the toast he fetched for her. Staff milled around the kitchen, creating an atmosphere of busyness and chaos. They shot sidelong glances in her direction and Hana figured they all assumed she’d come for the night and would depart in a taxi of shame. She worked hard to ignore them, even when they whispered and jerked their heads in her direction.
Tension marched back into her soul and took up residence with Logan’s unexpected question. “You’re okay to trek a few kilometres aren’t you?”
“Pardon.” Her face told him she didn’t understand. “Is that Martian for a walk?” Her look of disgust raised a smile on his face.
“Kinda. Don’t you like exercise?”
Hana winced. “I like tennis.” She shrugged. “And I like watching programmes about tennis.”
Logan shook his head. “No tennis. And no TV.” He got to his feet and took her hand. “Come outside and we’ll get you kitted out.”
Alfred patted Hana on the shoulder with his good hand, the other swathed in plasters and clamped around a large mug of tea. Then he unnerved Hana further by wagging his finger at his son and lifting his eyebrows. Hana dragged her feet at the onslaught of impending doom and wondered if she could fake sick for the day.
Logan took her along the corridor past the ballroom and kept walking until they reached a small room at the end. He opened a door with a keypad and stepped inside. Hana’s socks slid to a halt on the dirty floor, smelling the scent of worn leather and horse. Shelves lined the walls, covered with riding boots, wax coats and hats. A work-table housed a dirty cloth, an open tub of saddle soap and a strap of some kind beneath a metal punch. The room seemed dark with only one long vertical window, but the door opened to outside. Logan grabbed a cowboy hat from a high shelf and stuffed it onto his head, sifting around the other shelves for a smaller one. “Borrow this,” he said. “Ma won’t mind.” He pushed the leather jillaroo onto her head and Hana closed her eyes in disbelief.
She stared down at her socks and drew in a sigh of relief. Logan stopped at the door and looked back at her. “Sorry, no boots,” Hana said, trying to sound sorry, but not really.
“Pick a pair from there.” Logan pointed to a shelf behind her and Hana’s heart sank.
“Don’t they belong to people?” she asked, curling up her lip.
Logan shrugged. “They’re not here, are they?” He dragged a pair of black jodhpur boots from a bottom shelf. “These are Liza’s. They should fit.”
Hana prayed they wouldn’t, but God put his fingers in his ears and sang ‘la la la.’
“Cool,” Logan exclaimed with satisfaction as Hana’s feet slid into them. “They’re my sister’s.”
“Won’t she mind?” Hana asked, casting around for a rescuer. “I would.”
“Yeah, but she won’t know.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Can I ring her and make sure?” Hana asked and Logan grinned.
“No. But full marks for trying.”
Logan wore his trademark cowboy boots. Black for work and brown for other times. He looked like he fitted and defeated, Hana followed him into the courtyard, waiting while he shut the door behind them. “It’s a long time since I rode,” she ventured, feeling she might spectacularly fail this terrible test of acceptance. “I was eighteen.” She tugged on his hand. Logan snagged her with an arm around her shoulder and Hana panicked inside. Eighteen and pregnant and she didn’t know it.
“Will you dump me if I fall off?” she hissed under her breath.
The colour green surrounded the property. Green hills soared above it, covered with lush green grass. Green trees acted as the backdrop and the green bush-line added texture. The montage of hues and variations conspired to produce a picture book scene. Hana dawdled, fighting for control over the butterflies in her stomach. Logan strode off ahead, leaving her to follow. Hana rested a hand on her chest as she stood in the centre of a four-sided stable yard, wishing she’d accepted the hooker-taxi an hour ago. She’d be home by now.
Logan disappeared from view, but Hana heard him banging around in a room to the right. He appeared bearing a saddle over his left forearm, a bridle dangling from his fingers. Hana galvanised herself and followed him to a half door where a grey and black spotted Appaloosa peered over the top. Logan clicked at the horse to move back as he dumped the saddle over the ridge of the door and laid the bridle on top. The huge horse moved back a few steps, huffing and puffing at the saddle as though making sure it was the right one. Hana walked towards the hug
e beast, breathing in its musky scent as muscle memory returned. She loved riding. She’d missed it.
Hana smelled that sweet, perfumed aroma of horseflesh and it brought back happy memories of her life before she messed it up. Logan groomed the horse, running the plastic currycomb over its body and dislodging mud and clumps of hair. The animal flicked its ears back and forth with the rhythm of the brush, but edged closer to inspect Hana. She admired the proud head and the ears pointed forward as she leaned in towards the whiskery grey nose. The head lifted and reached out to sniff at her face, scenting her with tiny breaths before making up its mind. One long breath and the nose sank onto her shoulder, leaning hard and lazily against her while enjoying the ecstasy of Logan’s vigorous brushing.
Hana reached up, stroking the hairy cheek with long downward movements. “You’re pretty gorgeous,” she crooned, liking the animal’s kind face but hoping she got something nearer to ground level. The horse breathed out in long puffs and Hana felt the damp air on the side of her face.
“Can you tack up?” Logan stood and Hana saw his eyes watching her from beneath the shadow of his hat brim.
“No.” She faked complete innocence and saw his smile spread across his face.
“You’re such a liar,” he replied.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Hana feigned ignorance and moved out of his way while he retrieved the saddle and bridle.
“What’s he called?” She made herself sound disinterested.
“You know that much then?” Logan answered with a smile. Hana watched his lips move and fought the urge to kiss them.
“Yes,” she replied with confidence. “He looks like a male, all adoration and puppy-dog eyes.” She smirked and watched Logan as he settled the saddle on the pointed withers, laughing at her.
“Like that, is it?” he asked. He pulled up the girth and the horse stretched his long neck round to look at him, the furry lips twitching in threat. “Yeah, don’t bother,” Logan told him. He tucked the straps into the cross ties and glanced at Hana again. She leaned against the door and the horse rubbed the front of his broad forehead against her shoulder, satisfying an itch on that hard-to-reach place and covering Hana’s hoodie in grey hair.
“His name’s Digger.” Logan’s voice sounded casual. Hana nodded, scratching the knotty poll and rubbing the inside edges of his ears. The horse snuffed and sprayed her again with damp, snorted air.
The animal made Hana feel mellow and contented. Logan moved him back and fitted the bridle. Digger took the bit, clamping and champing on the metal as he got used to it in his mouth. Hana resurrected the names of bridle parts from memory in her head: throat lash, cheek piece, brow band, snaffle. “Why did you stop riding?” Logan asked.
“Who says I ever did?” Hana lied, determined not to play her aces at once.
Logan smirked and said nothing. Once he’d tacked Digger, he retrieved a hoof pick from his back jeans pocket and made sure the mount’s feet were clean. The horse’s unshod hooves looked smooth and neatly rasped. Hana watched Logan’s backside as he worked. His shirt rode up and she fought the urge to touch his tanned skin. The veins of his forearms stood out as he supported the weight of the dinner plate hooves, flicking out muck and loose grit with his pick. Digger picked his feet up one at a time in response to Logan’s tap on his leg, his brown eyes sleepy in their sockets.
Logan laid the reins over the pommel of the saddle and closed the door on Digger. He walked across the stable yard to a door opposite, peering into the darkness inside. The face of a beautiful white horse popped over the door in response. “Good girl. You missed me?” Logan spoke with gentleness, running his fingers over the tan bridle. “Did Jack get you ready?” he asked and the horse nodded her magnificent head. “Awesome,” Logan said. “That’ll save time.”
Logan turned to Hana and held out his arm, encouraging her closer. “This is Sacha. I’ve had her for four years now. She’s home bred here in the mountains and I broke her in myself.” Casting about him, he said, “I wanted you to meet Jack.” The white horse pushed her muzzle into his face and he kissed the end of it. “Where’s Jack, baby?” he crooned and the mare whinnied, a low, deep sound.
“Bring Digger,” Logan told Hana and she baulked at the instruction. He unlatched Sacha’s door and she thrust herself through the gap, eager to get going.
Hana faltered, hearing the sound of clattering buckets and the hiss of feed being poured. She turned back to Digger’s stable in time to see him pawing at the ground with impatience, using his front hoof to scrape down the stable door. “Ok, now I get it,” Hana said. “You dig holes.” With shaking hands, she unlatched the stable door and pulled his reins over his ears.
An old man appeared from the stable opposite, barring the door by using his foot to swing the catch across, bolting it at the top in the same fluid movement. He walked towards Hana, his wizened face screwed into an unreadable expression. Bowed and bent like a weathered tree, he snatched the reins from Hana, shoving the door open wide. He almost caught her with its edge and she jumped quickly out of the way. The horse followed him, hooves scraping and clattering against the concrete surface. Digger looked even bigger than Hana realised. He towered above the old man and way above Hana’s head, jogging on the spot in his eagerness. Hana gulped.
Logan towed his horse behind him, jerking his head towards a dilapidated kauri table at the back of the stable yard. “Mount up on the table,” he called over his shoulder to Hana. “It’s easier.”
“I’m not riding this horse am I?” Hana’s voice held a note of panic as she did the maths.
“You can ride this one if you want,” Logan offered, pointing a finger at the white head. One brown eye and one blue wall-eye glinted and threatened from either side of a forehead dappled with grey. “But I’m not sure if she’d deliberately scare you. She’s got a reputation as a bitch.”
Hana’s palms sweated as the old man led the enormous beast towards the wooden picnic table. She wiped them on her jeans and fought the uncomfortable terror burgeoning in the pit of her stomach. Logan’s horse waited while he stepped up and seated himself in the saddle, his long legs clearing the cantle without difficulty. Hana glanced at the tan stock saddle on Digger’s back. Beautifully embroidered patterns were stitched into its leather and it held buckles and hooks for towing cattle or other horses. The pommel looked a winged affair protruding from either side. “I’ve never ridden Western,” she squeaked, her anxiety communicating hidden fear to the horses. Digger twitched and danced and Sacha’s eyes flashed mischief.
“You’ll be fine.” Logan sounded confident. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Hana stared at Sacha’s rolling eyes as Logan sat astride her with ease. The sound of teeth on metal jarred her nerves and she wanted to back out. The taxi sounded amazing. He’d dump her, probably seconds after his horse did.
The old man beckoned to Hana with exaggerated movements and her moment of doom grew closer. As she passed Logan, he leaned down and spoke to her, his voice low. “His name’s Jack and he lip reads.”
For a second, Hana felt confusion add to her panic, realising with a flash of inspiration Logan meant the man, not the horse. Jack positioned Digger next to the table and looked around for the quaking rider, indicating again with his arm for Hana.
She dragged her feet and approached the deaf man. He jabbed a finger at the makeshift block. With a tiny groan of protest, Hana obeyed, clambering onto the tabletop on her hands and knees. The horse seemed smaller when she stood up, until she looked at the ground. Dust spun away from the fidgeting hooves below. Her face paled and Hana felt her blood launch into her feet and away from her brain. Jack slapped her calf and looked impatient and Hana panicked. Reaching into the annals of her memory for the sign language she shared with her mother, she signed, “I’m frightened.”
Jack’s face changed. His jaw dropped open and he regarded her with interest. Not a single tooth graced his mouth but the wizened face might once have been
handsome. He nodded and reached for her leg. Expecting another slap, Hana stepped back, but he shook his head and lifted the reins in gnarled fingers. He touched his chest with his right hand and then the side of his head, nodding. “I know.”
Hana relaxed and he jabbed a finger towards the saddle and the prancing horse. He didn’t sign again but his muffled grunt encouraged her to trust him. Logan watched with interest, his grey eyes shadowed beneath his hat but his expression attentive. She swallowed and looked at Jack for help. Years since Hana last mounted a horse, she suffered a momentary mind blank. Jack pointed at the stirrup and grabbed at her left ankle, almost pitching her off the table. It began to look safer mounting the damn horse. Hana shoved her boot in the stirrup and launched herself with an undignified grunt as Jack rushed around the other side and grabbed hold of the opposite stirrup leather, stabilising the saddle. It seemed easier than she remembered.
Her mind flooded with memories of being a small child trying to mount a big pony, hopping around on one foot while the pony fidgeted and tried to run off. Jack yanked on her other leg, encouraging her to put her foot into the stirrup. “They’re too long,” Hana tried to say, but he shook his head and patted the stirrup leather with no intention of changing it. His face held determination and an element of do-as-you’re-bloody-told-woman. He made strange sounds in his throat which reminded her of her mother.
Jack stepped back and waved them away with a dismissive shake of his head. But as Hana watched, he jabbed his index finger across his lips in an action she recognised. It confused her and she stared at him. His face dropped into a blank expression and turned away.
Rapid footsteps slapped on concrete, moving from the hotel courtyard and into the stables. The horses started, the jangle of tack adding to the confusion as Miriam puffed across the concrete. “Wear a hat, you foolish tāne!” she exclaimed. “I keep telling you!”
Logan pointed to his Jackaroo. “What’s this, Ma?”
Miriam clucked and slapped his calf, pointing towards Hana. “What about your guest?” She rested her hands on her hips in victory. “That won’t protect her head!”
Logan looked across at Hana and irritation flickered in his eyes. “She’s not gonna fall off, so it doesn’t matter. Stop winding her up.”
“Ignore him.” Miriam indicated Logan with a jerk of her head. “He’s an idiot. They all say he’ll break his neck one day on that bloody hōiho. He’ll lay on the mountain waiting for help, but everyone will just enjoy the break from his perfectionism.” She glared across at her son, but her expression softened at the last moment. She leaned close to Hana and stared up into her face. Digger turned his head and sniffed the back of Miriam’s blouse, leaving a line of whiskery slobber. “This is important to him. He’ll take good care of you.”
Hana nodded and gulped, fear reaching out to touch the other woman’s psyche. Miriam patted her knee. “Don’t be scared. There’s nothing to fear.” The words left a leaden quality in the air as Miriam walked back to the house, stopping on the way to communicate with Jack. He looked pleased and pointed to his mouth, nodding with a grin. He dropped his bucket and followed her like a puppy.
“What did she say to you?” Logan sounded concerned.
Hana shrugged, unable to read the expression in his grey eyes. “Nothing, just not to be scared.”
Logan nodded and lost the crease in his brow. Growing restless, Digger wheeled around in a circle and Hana tightened her reins. He shuddered to a halt on the hard surface and backed up, almost unseating her. Logan trotted over, grasping the reins and lifting them in the air above the horse’s neck. Digger ceased his prancing. “Relax,” ordered Logan. “Hold the reins in your weakest hand and if you want to stop, lift them up.” Hana did as he asked. “This is a stock horse.” He pointed to the bridle. “We muster on him, so if you pull on the reins and put your legs on, he’ll cut backwards.”
Hana looked horrified. Wide green eyes shone from a porcelain complexion and Logan leaned across and touched her shoulder with a reassuring hand. “You’re doing fine. I’ll tell you stuff as we go along. Don’t worry.”
Embarrassment washed over her, making her temper flare in response. “Your grandfather just threw me up here,” she protested. “He could’ve told me that.”
Logan floundered and his lower jaw dropped. His reply sounded acerbic in the silent yard. “My grandfather died before I came along. And Jack’s deaf and mute.”
“He could’ve signed!” Hana bit. “And he called you son.”
Logan shook his head and wheeled away from her, aiming for the open end of the yard. He turned alongside a gate into a lush paddock and waited. Digger clattered after him and Hana struggled to relax and seat herself in the unfamiliar saddle. Her stirrups felt way too long. If the horse got up any speed, she knew she’d fall.
Logan watched her expression as she approached, his confidence failing. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking crestfallen. “You really don’t want to do this?”
“My stirrups are too long,” Hana complained, keeping the whine from her voice. “I can’t relax because it doesn’t feel right.”
“Okay.” Logan caught up her reins and steadied Digger, indicating with a pointed finger at her leg, “Shorten them. We ride long because your leg stretches as you ride further. Up here, the stockmen ride all day. Change them for now and maybe lengthen them later when you feel more confident.”
Hana struggled, pulling the leather out to clip the buckle higher and then wrestling it back into its holder. Logan waited until she finished and then leaned down to test her girth. He jostled the horses together. “Put your leg forward and I’ll tighten this.” He sounded disappointed. Hana levered her leg over the flap and Logan tightened the girth straps. The thought of disappointing him frightened her more than falling off. She regretted making him pander to her fears, watching his face for further signs of exasperation. Sacha’s girth hung slack beneath her belly, more like a teenager’s belt than a safety device.
“Are you fed up of me?” she asked, her voice wavering.
Logan licked his lips and gave a slight shake of his head. “No. Just scared you might give up before we get going.”
Digger expelled his excess wind in a noisy fart and Logan stifled a grin. “That’s what he thinks,” he said, injecting humour into Hana’s fear. He pushed her leg back into position, his fingers comforting against her thigh. His touch lingered and Hana fought the urge to grab his hand and plead release from the disastrous equine excursion. Logan slapped Digger’s neck. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise,” he said with a smile. He leaned forward and kissed Hana’s lips, smelling of toothpaste and coffee. She reached for the front of his shirt to steady herself as the horse moved beneath her.
“If I break my neck, just leave me there,” she pleaded. “Forget I ever existed.”
Logan laughed, his warm breath mussing her fringe. “Yeah. Like I can do that, Hana.” He smiled and straightened her hat. “Suits you.” He turned and clicked to Sacha with his tongue. “Come on.”
He didn’t dismount to open the gate, unclipping it from in the saddle and using Sacha’s chest to open it. His horse seemed unconcerned by the clanging metal. Hana passed through the gap and waited for Logan to fasten it closed. The horses skipped on the spot, desperate to leave. Open paddock stretched ahead of them for acres uphill. Logan jogged ahead and Hana used the distance between them to practice stopping Digger by raising her reins in the air. He responded with ease, skidding to a halt every time. Hana’s confidence grew as she sensed the balance of control over the immense piece of horseflesh, reverting to her.
The saddle offered surprising comfort and Hana felt she might survive the journey. The wings on the pommel made rising to the trot impossible and she bounced like a rag doll as Digger jogged to catch up with Sacha. She discovered if she flexed her stomach muscles and relaxed her legs, she gained more control and settled at last.
Logan slowed as they approached another gate and Hana waited as they went thr
ough the same drill. The next paddock contained mares with foals at heel, all dapple white or black and grey like Digger. The curious foals bounced over to greet them, but their dams stamped and snorted at them to come away like school mums directing their offspring away from traffic. Logan moved across the paddock at a greater speed, accelerating into a lazy canter. Sacha seemed unperturbed, but Digger disliked his encounter with the females. The foals made him nervous and he skipped and pulled after Logan, forcing Hana to give him his head.
She sighed with relief as they reached another gate and Logan opened it. “Quick,” he instructed, jerking his head at the approaching foals. They got braver with curiosity, crowding around until Hana feared they might escape.
“It’s fine,” Logan reassured her. “They won’t leave their dams.” Hana watched as the force of maternalism over-rode the will of the foals. One mare designated bad cop by the others trotted over and nipped their hocks until they returned to the group. They sprang away from the gate, herded back to the middle of the paddock where they surged with excitement, bucking and kicking with joy over nothing.
Logan wheeled Sacha around and headed downhill, rounding the bottom of a steep slope. The imposing bush rose up before them, signifying the start of the mountain slopes. Once inside the trees, the temperature dropped as the native palms and canopy cut out the breeze and air currents. Sunshine shone through the deep shades of green in dappled bursts of patterned light. It was darker in the bush and Hana’s eyes struggled to adjust from the brightness outside. Digger plodded onwards, picking his way along the track and avoiding holes and stones without direction from his rider. Hana let him find his own path, figuring he knew the route better than her. She left her reins slack on his neck, not trusting herself to yank them by accident if he stumbled.
Logan looked back occasionally to check on her, pushing on at a brisk rate. When he skidded to a stop on a sharp downhill and called out, “Whoa!” Hana panicked. Digger scrabbled for purchase on the track and Hana grabbed the hardy wings on the pommel. Digger’s chin rested on the backside of Logan’s mare and Sacha twitched her feet in protest. Hana closed her eyes. With nowhere to back up, a kick from in front would pitch her off.
Logan pointed towards Sacha’s front feet and Hana’s eyes widened in horror at the gaping hole in front of them. It looked like a giant took a bite out of the earth. Hana looked behind her for a way to turn, seeing nothing but the slender, winding path downwards.
“Remember those rains a few weeks back?” Logan tilted his hat back on his head. “Something’s blocked the stream, so the water came through here instead.” He turned in his saddle to face Hana, greeted by her frightened green eyes.
“We need to turn around.” She searched his face, not wanting to hear his denial. She got it anyway.
“No,” he countered. “There’s not enough room. We’ll cross here. Leave your reins long and lean back. Hold onto the saddle if you can and trust the horse.”
He saw the abject refusal in Hana’s face and squashed it. “Look, you’ll be fine. Just let the horse do the work. They bum slide all the time, just balance and let him go. I’ll go first.”
With that, he disappeared, plunging over the edge to the bottom. The drop looked sheer and an avalanche of earth followed him, catching in Sacha’s tail and covering her thighs with orange clay. Hana held her breath. Sacha used her front feet to balance, dropping her rear in a sitting position and using her back legs as a rudder. As soon as her front feet hit solid ground, she bounced upright. It took seconds. Hana’s stomach lurched into her mouth as she watched Logan and the mare pick their way up the other side, leaping and bouncing as they scrabbled through loose earth. The upward climb looked more terrifying than the down, Logan leaning forward to help Sacha gain grip. He looked solid in the saddle, his reins loose in his right hand and his hat square on his head. Hana knew she’d be unseated on the uphill, even if she survived the slalom down. “I’m not bloody doing that,” she said to the horse and he flicked his ears in response.
Picking her way between the edge of the precipice and a punga tree, Sacha’s legs took Logan to the top of the bank. He turned and faced Hana across the void with expectation in his face. His horse oozed exhilaration, tossing her head and dancing around as though wanting to do it again. Hana felt nauseous. She turned in her saddle to look back, contemplating the narrow track and the safety of the hotel. “I’m not bum sliding on a horse, not at my age,” she hissed. She closed her eyes and consigned herself to zimmer frames and liquidised food.
Logan saw her glance behind and a look of panic crossed his face. “Hana, no!” he shouted across the void and she heard impatience in his voice.
“Your mum promised you’d take care of me!” she yelled back, betrayal in her face expression.
“And I will!” he snapped. “If you let me.”
“This isn’t taking care of me!” she screamed, her voice breaking in terror. “I’m not doing it, not without a proper helmet!”
Despite the danger, Logan laughed. Mistake. He saw rage burst into Hana’s green eyes and watched her body turn in the saddle, her right heel pressing into Digger’s flank.
“Hana! Trust me!” he yelled. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he emitted a sharp whistle.
Hana lurched forward, grabbing the pommel as Digger obeyed the call. He dived headlong down the bank with sure-footed enthusiasm. Hana lost the reins and one of her stirrups, gripping onto the saddle with white fingers through a primeval need to survive. Down they plunged, slipping and sliding and lurching upwards without waiting at the bottom for her to recover. Hana lost all control, bobbing around in the saddle like a rag doll. She prayed the end might be painless and closed her eyes against the dirt and spray. Her hat tipped forward over her eyes and she held her breath, feeling the bunched equine muscles operating beneath her on autopilot. Cresting the bank to safety, she kept her eyes closed and still held on, not realising she’d survived.
“You can look now.” Logan peeled her white knuckled fingers from the pommel and Hana looked up, mistaking his smirk of relief for mirth. She raised her hand to slap his face and he caught her wrist in strong fingers. His eyes twinkled, infuriating her further. “That’s better,” he whispered, appraising her flashing green eyes and the high flush lining her cheekbones. “That’s what living feels like, Hana. Scaring yourself witless once in a while.”
She dragged her hand from his grip and pushed the hat back on her head. Her fingers shook as she dealt with escaped red curls full of clay and dead leaves. “I hate you!” she grumbled and he moved Sacha sideways until his boot rested against hers.
“No, you don’t,” he said with confidence. “We both know that.”
His words left her floored and she hated the lack of control it fostered. When he kissed her, she turned her face away and instead, he bit her neck. The horses scraped their hooves on the crumbling track and tack clanked beneath them. Hana’s green eyes flashed like emeralds but she looked away first.
Logan removed his hat with his left hand and wiped his brow using the hem of his shirt. The action exposed his brown stomach, defined muscle pressing through soft skin and a delicious line of black hair disappearing into his jeans. Flustered, Hana looked away.
Logan’s grey eyes sought her gaze and Hana felt powerless to stop the windows of her soul opening for him. Fear rendered her vulnerable and defenceless. Her stomach plunged as though she crested a roller coaster and exhilaration filled her blood. Logan raised his hand and stroked her cheek with his thumb, his other fingers fluttering against the side of her face. Hana forced herself to breathe and then looked down, breaking the connection in case she revealed more than she wanted.
“I haven’t told you yet today.” His voice sounded husky and soft.
Hana maintained the haughty expression, still angry and embarrassed. “Told me what?” she demanded.
“That you’re beautiful.” He smiled and his kiss felt gentle, their lips touching beneath the speckled canopy of disti
lled sunlight.