Читать книгу Paws And Proposals - Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 27

December 27th

IT TOOK all of the next day for zoo management to sign off on the plan and get them what they needed for the dig. A hacksaw blade for the den material, a trowel, a metre and a half of large PVC pipe cut into segments, and some buckets to ferry the excavated earth. It seriously felt like something out of The Great Escape.

Or Hogan’s Heroes. Depending on how it ended.

They hadn’t been able to start until just before midnight to make sure the dogs were well asleep, and now Gabe tapped a thirty-second warning on her left ankle.

Ingrid quickly shored up the bit of tunnel she was working on with PVC pipe and then tucked her head down as he pulled on her feet and drew her and her bucket of dirt and tools swiftly out of the half-tunnel, back through the den and into the monitoring room. She slid to her feet in the circle of his arms.

He dropped them—extra quickly—then resecured the hatch cover. She did her best to stand gracefully. But several hours flat on your face in a burrow for one had a way of cramping your muscles into position. She winced as her aching arms dragged her protective mask off. It had been white once.

‘You need to rest. It’s dawn.’

‘I’m fine.’ He wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t about to confess how tired and sore she was. ‘How far do you think I got?’

‘Two feet, maybe?’

She lifted gritty eyes and blew her dishevelled hair from her face. ‘Two feet?’

‘It’s a good tunnel, though. You missed your calling.’

‘Don’t patronise me, Gabe.’ Her tolerance for that had run out about three minutes into the hard dig.

‘Here.’

He passed her a damp cloth and she pressed it gratefully to her dusty face.

‘This was your idea,’ he pointed out helpfully. She dropped the cloth and glared at him. He backed off, both hands in the air. ‘You were just starting to relax around me, too.’

Her hands stilled. And here she’d thought she was doing such a good job of hiding her discomfort around him. ‘I’ll be fine. I just need a minute to breathe.’ She arched her aching back and rotated her shoulders.

Suddenly two warm hands were on them, pushing her towards a chair. ‘Sit, Ingrid.’

Before she could do more than suck in an objection, Gabe’s strong fingers kneaded the muscles that were so close to cramping up, and the sheer bliss stopped her protest before it could take form on her lips.

The sound that came out of her throat belonged in one of the zoo’s exhibits.

‘Good?’ he asked, though strangely his voice sounded as tight as her shoulders.

Her first attempt at speech was more of a gurgle. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Amazing. Thank you.’

‘Might as well make myself useful,’ he muttered.

She cracked a single eye open. ‘Are you always this bad with waiting?’

‘I’m always bad with being redundant.’

Her head lolled back and then forward on her shoulders as he rubbed. ‘As soon as the tunnel’s dug I’ll be the spare wheel.’

‘It’s frustrating, not being able to help.’

She opened her eyes fully, looked up to where he towered over her and spoke to the underside of his angular jaw. ‘You’re being serious?’

‘Deadly.’

‘Is it because I’m a woman?’

He dropped his chin until he was looking straight down on her. Funny how she’d never realised before how possible it was to laugh without a hint of smile or eye-crinkle. Or how very much his next answer mattered.

His gaze held hers. ‘No, it is not.’

End of conversation. A polite person would take the hint. ‘Then what is it?’ she pushed. ‘Why the burning need to—?’

Achieve.

As she almost said the word a lightbulb of awareness flickered into life above her head. ‘Your family.’

‘A Marque does not sit idle.’

Empathy washed through her. What kind of screwy life lesson was that to impose on a kid? ‘You’re not being idle. It’s a practical necessity. I fit and you don’t.’

He grunted.

Wow. ‘Gabe, you just worked right through Christmas Day and you’re into your twenty-second hour awake. Voluntarily.’

His hands resumed their heavenly squeeze-and-release on the back of her neck but he didn’t speak.

Ingrid let the silence settle for minutes and focussed on the liquidating knots in her muscles. Her whole upper half tingled.

‘Is that why you’re such an over-achiever?’ she finally asked. ‘Because everyone in your family is, too?’

‘Work ethic is a valuable commodity in my family.’

‘How many of them are working over Christmas, do you think?’

His smile was reluctant. ‘My brothers are probably on call.’

Ugh. Of course they were. ‘Lord save me from principled men!’

His eyes dropped her way again and narrowed just slightly. ‘You don’t count integrity as a virtue in a man?’

She did. Right up there with compassion and honour. But she wasn’t about to enumerate the reasons she’d first been drawn to Gabe with Gabe. ‘It’s a fine line between virtue and flaw.’

His hands stopped dead on her shoulders. His lips twisted for the first time. ‘Why am I not surprised that you’d find a way to turn an asset into a liability?’

She frowned and coiled around to get a better look at his face. It effectively ended the heavenly massage. Probably not a moment too soon. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

The tension in his voice returned immediately, but he didn’t shy away from her question. Valour? Another Marque trait?

‘You can be a little judgemental, Ingrid. I can’t be the first person to tell you that.’

Uh … yes, actually. The unfairness of that bit hard. ‘How have I judged you?’

‘Other than just now? For striving to achieve …?’

‘That’s not judgement, Gabe. It’s empathy. I just think you should give yourself a break and let yourself be less than perfect now and again.’

‘I get a lot of satisfaction out of doing something well.’

‘Me too, but—’ She shook away the confusion. ‘Don’t change the subject. How have I judged you when we’ve barely spoken in a year?’

He didn’t answer, just lifted both eyebrows as if she’d just made his point for him.

She pushed out of the chair and spun on him. ‘That wasn’t judgement. It was—’ It was anger. Just as unattractive, but a reality. ‘It was thirteen months ago.’

His eyes were now carefully blank. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it was the last time I spoke to you.’

‘What has that got to do with me being judgemental?’

His eyes darkened. Then he turned away and collected up her tools. ‘Forget it.’

‘No. You brought it up. I want to know.’ The little lightbulb flickered again. No … ‘You can’t possibly think I judged your—’ heat rushed up her neck ‘—performance?’

Gabe turned and gave her the look that had first turned her knees to water. The one he’d fired at her that night at the party. Half-sardonic, half-seductive.

Molten lava. It had exactly the same effect now. That night had been the most amazing of her life. And that fact only made what he’d done next hurt more.

‘I’m glad something met with your satisfaction, then,’ he purred, his accent heavy.

A sensual buzz tangled itself up amongst her confusion. She beat it away. ‘You didn’t exactly pound down my door the next day,’ she said, at a loss as to how else she’d offended him in their five-second relationship. ‘I’m pretty sure us being a one-off was mutual.’

It wasn’t as if he’d fought for her. Or even responded to her when she’d done the talking for both of them and declared their night together a mistake. He’d just nodded—once—and then left. All very manly and stoic, but not very helpful in getting things between them back on a work footing.

‘You’re sure about a lot of things, Ingrid.’

That sounded like a criticism, too. She threw her hands into the air. ‘Now who’s being judgemental? I think I have more reason to be upset than you do.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

Because you stole my job! But it sounded as pathetic as ever, and they had to keep their voices down, so she kept the words constrained way down deep.

‘Forget it,’ she gritted. ‘I’m going to wash my face and get a coffee. Will you watch the monitor for me?’ She was still technically rostered for a few hours and he must be exhausted. ‘You should get some sleep when I get back.’

Because the moment my shift is up, buddy, I’m out of here.

As soon as she was gone Gabe flopped down on the camp bed and made sure he had a good direct view of the CCTV feed. The canvas sling was as good as a mattress of clouds when you were as tired as he was. But as soon as she was back he would head to his car until morning.

He arched his neck. What in the name of all that was holy was he thinking—openly challenging Ingrid about the relationship that had fizzled before it began? That was the last thing he wanted to talk about, and she was the last one he wanted to talk about it with.

But done was done. He’d always had a fairly direct line from his heart to his mouth. It had used to drive his maman crazy. He’d worked hard as an adult to get a handle on it, but every sensory signal in his body had started short-circuiting the moment Ingrid began groaning in response to his touch—as if the chemicals in his synapses had turned to glue and the impulses that were supposed to make him step back … take his hands off her … keep his mouth shut … had just failed to get to their destination. and then the words had come leaping off his tongue with long-repressed glee.

He tucked his hands behind his head and shifted more comfortably. She hadn’t liked being reminded of the choice she’d made that night. The day after that night.

Or maybe he would have said anything to break through her carefully controlled exterior. To get a hint of the Ingrid he’d met that night when she was too relaxed—or too immersed—to remember to be appropriate.

Immersed in him. Exactly the way he’d been immersed in her.

They’d been at parties together before, but before he’d been perpetually surrounded by noise and clutter and people—women especially—and Ingrid had made a specialty of sitting away with an older group of staff. Talking. Laughing.

Watching.

As though she knew something he didn’t.

She’d been easy to ignore at first—and he’d had plenty of eager distraction—but as the weeks had worn on the hairs on his neck had started to respond to her silent gaze. He’d been able to feel without looking when her blue eyes swung his way. And if he’d caught her in a stare they’d cloud with confusion before she dropped her lashes to screen herself from him.

It had driven him insane.

It hadn’t been intentional. And it hadn’t been rudeness—she hadn’t ignored him if she’d found herself in a room with him. But she hadn’t sought him out. Not the way everyone else had.

It was as if she’d simply been tolerating his presence.

Just.

And then they’d found themselves in the same room at the same moment at that final party, and the crowds had parted like something biblical … and there she was. Nowhere to go but towards him, with no one to speak to but him.

Later, it had burned him to realise she probably would have slunk away if she’d had any choice, but at the time he’d thanked whatever angels looked over him for the opportunity, and he’d stepped up to her and started their first conversation.

Four hours later they’d been in each other’s arms at the gate that led to his car.

And he’d been the happiest he could remember being. Something had clicked inside him that night, and he’d not managed to unclick it since. A kind of … rightness. Almost as though Ingrid Rose had come into his life to show him how right felt. What was possible.

In life.

But not with her, apparently.

He shook his head to stay awake and to rattle the uncomfortable sensation loose. The last thing he wanted was for Ingrid to return and find him asleep on the job. Wouldn’t that just confirm for her everything she already suspected about his worth?

A woman like Ingrid set a high bar—personally and professionally. She might have made a concession that night because she’d thought he was just passing through, but she’d corrected it the moment he’d told her he was staying. Literally the moment.

Message received.

He’d done his best to push her rejection aside and focus on the opportunity the universe had provided. He’d get to stay in Australia—across the globe from the expectations of his easily disappointed family—to make his name in this job and make a difference to the conservation outcomes this zoo delivered.

Make the best of a bad situation, in other words.

Another Marque trait. He was the king of that one.

He’d taken a basic science degree and was turning it into something unique. Something he could be passionate about. Something that mattered. He’d worked multiple jobs and collectively they’d given him a breadth of experience he could never have gleaned from textbooks.

His parents might not be able to confess publicly what he did for a living, but what he did was making a difference. Slowly but surely.

Not bad for l’imbécile.