The Geography of Happiness (Mackenzie Country)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Spencer

Once Terry realised that Bradley was, in fact, much older than he looked and a skilled ER specialist to boot, his hackles settled and the two men got along famously. Too famously, if you wanted my opinion, which apparently neither of them did as they chatted and laughed while Bradly worked.

That embarrassing fact aside, Shona had been right. Cleaned and sutured, the cut above Hannah’s eyebrow proved to be small and discreet. A minimal dressing covered the worst, although the black eye was going to be a doozy, just as I’d thought.

Completing another top-to-toe examination, Bradley announced he was happy enough for Hannah to be discharged, as long as it was to my place and not Miller Station, in case things went south. He also wanted her back at the clinic at ten thirty the next morning for a final check.

He handed Terry a list of instructions for Hannah’s concussion, which included waking her a few times during the night to check for confusion, nausea, and the like. If she deteriorated, she was to be taken straight back to the medical centre. She wasn’t to try and walk on her own until she felt better, but she could eat and drink what she liked unless she felt unwell.

Bradley added that he supposed me being a vet could be advantageous or at least a step up from no medical oversight at all, a joke that Terry and Hannah both found hilarious. I skewered them with a death glare, which only made them laugh harder, not that I cared. If me being mocked put a smile on that little girl’s face, I was all in.

Terry’s daughter had been a... surprise. At fourteen, Hannah had it all over my brothers at that age in terms of maturity. With a dry wit, her father’s stunning blue eyes, and a level of self-awareness and confidence that frankly astounded me, it was hard not to fall for her.

When Bradley was done, Terry placed a call to his parents and then Zach to bring them up to speed. Zach offered to take Terry and Hannah to the medical centre for their appointment with Bradley, but there was no way that was happening on my watch.

“Call him back and tell him I’ll do it,” I protested. “Afterward, I’ll take you back to the station.”

Terry looked up from pocketing his phone. “Don’t you have to work?”

I did. “Nothing that can’t be rejigged,” I countered, having no idea if it was true, but that was Sonja’s problem.

Terry stared at me for a moment. “Spencer, you don’t have to?—”

“I want to do it. Please.”

He chewed on his lower lip, clearly still troubled by my offer.

“Jesus Christ,” I huffed. “It’s a lift in my ute, not a damn marriage proposal.”

That made him laugh. “Okay, I tell you what. I told Zach I’ll call him in the morning to confirm. We can decide then, okay?”

I managed a begrudging, “Okay.” It would have to do.

Next, Terry called Judah, and after a brief summary, he handed the phone to Hannah. The two had a close relationship, that much was clear. Hannah’s entire demeanour lifted and sparkled as she chatted with Judah, and I felt weirdly envious—a feeling that only intensified once Hannah handed the phone back to her dad and I saw obvious affection and relief bloom in Terry’s expression as he spoke quietly with his friend.

I needed a slap up the back of my head because whatever the hell was going on with me needed to sort itself out pronto. I was going to Adelaide. I was shifting countries and shifting jobs. What I wasn’t doing was falling for a man and his daughter who I barely knew. Terry was a complicated man with a complicated life, which made it two complicateds too many.

Yeah right. That was a lie without a home because I wasn’t stupid.

Enough said.

The next call was to Amber and was notably cooler on Terry’s part. Hannah, on the other hand, smiled throughout—the connection with her mother clearly important to her.

While Hannah talked, Terry wore an expression that could’ve stripped paint from the walls, and Hannah was constantly glancing his way.

Oh boy. I took Terry by the arm and steered him into the hallway, ignoring his grumbling protest. “Maybe smile and not look like you’re plotting your ex’s murder while your daughter is watching, yeah?” I gently admonished.

His face paled. “Shit. Was it that obvious?”

“What do you think?” I raised my brows and Terry groaned and slumped against the wall.

I recognised a good sulk when I saw one and happily left him to it.

It was close to nine by the time we finally pulled into the driveway of my renovated bungalow, with its small but perfectly formed rose garden by the front door. The bushes drooped heavily after the day’s rain, the flowers bruised and sad, but they still made me smile. The garden had been there when I bought the place, and although I’d never looked after a rose in my life, for some reason I couldn’t bear to dig it up. Holden’s mother had taught me the gardening basics, and years later the tiny plot was one of my happy places. I made a mental note to have someone look after it while I was gone, a thought that made me feel oddly queasy.

Terry waited in the front seat while I let Gabby do a slow limping circuit of the water-logged front lawn on a long lead until she found a suitable place to pee. We’d picked her up from the clinic on the way past so Hannah would have her at her side whenever she woke, and the two were reunited amidst many tears on Hannah’s part.

When Gabby was done, Terry woke a sleeping Hannah from the back seat and lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, and he headed up the wet path toward the house. Gabby and I followed with the rest of Hannah’s gear, but when they reached the steps and the security light flashed on, Terry turned and shot me an incredulous look. “You grow roses?”

I lifted my chin defensively. “Every man needs a hobby.”

He chuckled. “Maybe so, but I’d never have guessed yours was roses.”

I unlocked the front door and pushed it open, leaning close to whisper in his ear. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Terry O’Connor.”

He pulled back, locking eyes, the difference in our heights forcing him to look up, those weary pools of blue drawing me in. I wanted to tip his chin up with my fingers and press my lips to his. I wanted to taste him... again.

His gaze roamed my face. “Maybe so, but I’m learning.” His attention dipped to my lips for just a second before shooting back up to my eyes, his gaze heated under the bright security light.

Hannah shifted in his arms. “Are we at Spencer’s now?” she asked sleepily, her face pressed into Terry’s neck.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Terry answered, his eyes still locked on mine. “We’ve just arrived.” He stepped into the house and I followed.

“Straight through the lounge and down the hallway on the far side. First door on the right is Hannah’s. Yours is the next one along,” I instructed.

“Thanks.” Terry carried Hannah toward the spare room and Gabby followed.

I dropped Hannah’s gear on the couch and grabbed a couple of spare blankets from the linen cupboard before I joined them in Hannah’s room. I pulled back the covers on Hannah’s bed and rustled her up a softer pillow from my own room, adding a clean T-shirt she could use to sleep in. Then I left Terry to get Hannah changed and settled while I organised a bed for Gabby on the floor, along with a large glass of water and a bucket, just in case.

That done, I left them to it and headed for the kitchen.

I was proud of my small home. I’d employed a decorator with a much better eye than me to make sure it looked good, and a cleaner to keep it immaculate even though I rarely entertained or had overnight guests. Matt had been surprised when he’d first seen the finished look, saying he’d expected something more masculine. But I hadn’t wanted big-screen televisions, dark wood, and oversized leather couches.

Instead, the décor was a simple colour block of warm cream and dark grey, the stark contrast softened by caramel-coloured oak furniture, a champagne carpet that your toes could get lost in, and cream gauzy curtains along with mountains of cushions. It was my haven, and I loved it. And I especially loved the fact that the house sat on a large section with plenty of room for me to garden when I got the time. Along with the rose garden out front, I’d planted an orchard of fruit trees out the back, not all of which had survived the extreme local weather.

When I reached the kitchen, the first thing I did was head for the pantry. I doubted Terry had eaten anything at the medical centre, so that meant he’d had nothing since the sandwich at Lane Station. He had to be starving.

Zach might’ve thought my cooking was pretty basic, but that was because he’d never eaten my food. No one had. He had no idea that I’d raised my three brothers and had a pretty decent set of skills to draw on, but the late hour called for an easy comfort belly filler, not a gourmet meal, and in fifteen minutes I had a plate of decadent cheese toasted sandwiches ready to go.

Terry wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later while I was still cleaning up, his bright blue eyes suspiciously shiny against all that delicious pale skin.

I turned and put my back to the sink. “How is she?”

His weighty sigh could’ve sunk a ship, and he looked like the slightest breath of wind would knock him to the ground. “Well, she aced all the concussion questions and now she’s out like a light.”

“That’s good,” I answered, grabbing a couple of glasses from the cupboard next to the cooktop and putting them on the island. “She needs to sleep. How are you ?”

He shrugged. “Okay. Tired. She knows not to get up on her own,” he said, sliding his phone onto the countertop. “She’ll call if she needs me.”

I took him by the shoulders and steered him to a barstool at the island. “Right, then no more talking until you’ve eaten something.”

He took one look at the plate piled high with toasted sandwich halves and gave another monumental sigh. “Spencer, it’s good of you, but I don’t know that I can?—”

“Shut up and eat.” I pointed the chef’s knife I was scrubbing toward the plate. “I want at least two halves gone before another word comes out of your mouth.”

He answered with a crooked grin. “Or else?”

I joined him at the breakfast bar and grabbed one of the sandwiches for myself. “You don’t want to know. Now eat.” I put my hand over my heart and batted my lashes. “I made them especially.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fuck me. All right. Fine. And your pout sucks, by the way.” He took a sandwich and waved it in front of me. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic. And I’ll have you know my pout is celebrated throughout the Mackenzie.”

“Yeah, right.” He shot me a cheeky look. “I bet you were a bossy pain-in-the-neck older brother just like mine.”

My heart missed a beat. I was.

The second he realised what he’d said, Terry’s smile dissolved and he reached for my hand. “That was a stupid fucking thing to say and I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s fine.” I grabbed a handful of serviettes from the dispenser on the island and shoved a few his way. “Besides, it’s the truth.”

“It’s not the truth at all,” he said flatly. “The truth is that you loved your brothers, and you did the best you could in difficult circumstances to be the parent they needed. You should never have been put in that position, but you were, and parents are bossy. It’s part of the deal. It’s written into the contract.”

I couldn’t fight the smile that spread over my face. “Oh, is that right?”

“Hell yeah, it is.” Terry flashed those blue eyes at me. “Right there under the clause that says no daughter can have a boyfriend until she’s over twenty-two.”

That made me laugh. “I’d pay good money to see you try and enforce that one with Hannah.” I nodded to the toasted sandwich still in his hand. “Now eat before it gets cold.” I pushed off my stool and wandered over to the fridge. “You wanna beer?”

He shook his head. “I need to stay sober to watch her and in case we have to take her back to the clinic.”

“I was planning on a zero-alcohol hazy IPA, if that suits?”

His expression brightened. “Then yes, thanks.”

I popped the cap on one and placed it in front of him. “Pace yourself.”

He snorted, then squinted at the label just to be sure of the percentage before taking a long swallow and releasing a satisfied burp when he was done. “Damn, that tastes good.”

“Glad you like it.” I retook my seat on the stool. “Now eat. You need some fuel inside you. I don’t like how pale you are.” I reached for another of the half sandwiches and took a bite, waiting for Terry to do the same. Instead, he kept toying with the one in his hand, until I finally had to ask, “Is there something wrong with it?”

Terry’s gaze jerked up to meet mine. “What was that?”

I pointed my sandwich at his. “Is there something wrong with your toastie? You don’t eat cheese? Bacon? Bread? I can make you something else.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine.” He studied the sandwich again and sighed. “This is going to sound silly, but I was just trying to remember the last time anyone other than my mother cooked something because they were worried about me. I’m not used to it, I suppose.”

Oh. My turn to squirm. “What about Judah?”

Terry’s smile was brief. “Yeah, of course, but I meant in this kind of situation. After a bad day with Hannah. It’s not his fault. Mostly I never tell him. He’s got enough to worry about without me offloading all my shit as well.”

I thought about the bottled-up man who sat in front of me. Hannah’s champion. If I had to guess two things about Terry, one would be that he hated putting anyone out, and the second would be that he tended to carry responsibility for the whole world on his shoulders. There was more than a touch of martyr in his personality.

I swallowed the mouthful of sandwich I was chewing and caught his eye. “I think you’re far too nice to everyone except yourself. You don’t want to worry people or have them know just how hard it is for you at times, because then you might have to admit it to yourself as well. You don’t want pity. You don’t want to be beholden to anyone , including your friends. I heard you on the phone tonight with Judah. You played everything down. You didn’t tell him just how shaken you really were. Feel free to stop me anytime.”

He snorted and slipped his hand free. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

I smiled. “You want me to tell you what I think your biggest mistake is?”

Terry shot me a look. “Can I stop you?”

“Absolutely.”

He studied me for a moment, then said, “Go on.”

“You don’t give your friends enough credit, and if I were them, I’d be pissed that you don’t let them be there for you at your worst, like you are for them. Hardly makes for a level playing field, does it?” It was a risky challenge, but I figured I might be the only one who could do it. After all, I was the guy Terry would be leaving behind.

He sighed but didn’t look away. “You’re an asshole. But even if most of what you say is true—” He dropped his sandwich back on the plate. “Okay, all of it. Before you set to polishing your holier-than-thou crown, let’s not forget whose friends don’t even know he raised his own brothers—” He raised an accusing eyebrow at me. “—or even where he was brought up as a kid.”

And yeah, okay, ouch . I threw up my hands. “Guilty as charged. So, just like you, I know a thing or two about putting on a brave face, burying my shit, and just getting on with things, and look where it got me.” I spread my hands. “I’m forty-two, single, and terrified of relationships. I have no close friends other than Matt, and even he doesn’t know as much about my parents as you do. And I’m slowly, or not so slowly, fucking my way through the entire eligible population of the South Island like my life depended on it.”

Terry laughed and shook his head. “Can’t argue with you there.”

“And one more thing.” I eyeballed him. “They were my brothers I looked after, not my kids. Useless or not, I still had my parents to fall back on... kind of. I could’ve decided not to step up.”

“Well, that’s bullshit,” Terry scoffed. “You’d never have abandoned those kids.”

I held his gaze. “You don’t know that.”

He never wavered. “Yes, I do.” His gaze drilled into mine. “But point taken. And can we please, please stop this now? I really don’t have the energy to onboard any more life lessons, blistering accurate or not.”

“Shit. Of course. I’m sorry. This is me shutting up.” I zipped my lips and Terry offered a wry smile that said he didn’t believe me for a second. “Now eat,” I said, proving the lie.

He snorted and jabbed a finger at me. “Two seconds. Has to be a record of some kind.”

My cheeks blew hot. “Shut up.” I reached for another half sandwich and watched Terry return to the one he’d previously chosen.

The first bite went down slowly, but then he looked up with a wide grin and grease running down his chin. “Okay, so I admit these are pretty fucking awesome.” He polished off the remainder in record time and then two more halves before coming up for air.

He really was too cute for words.

“Zach’s full of shit saying you can’t cook,” Terry mumbled around a mouthful of his fourth sandwich, and I chuckled.

“ Finally , someone who can see through all those pretty country-boy looks,” I joked. “The man might be gorgeous but he’s a handful of mouthy opinions at the best of times, and I don’t envy Luke.”

Terry swallowed the lump of toastie he’d been chewing and narrowed his gaze. “So, what’s really going on then? Because you most definitely can cook. There’s more than cheese and bacon in these. There’s some fancy stinky, soft cheese thingy and some spicy shit as well, plus a relish of some description and aioli, right?”

“Not bad,” I told him. “You have a decent palate.”

“Don’t get cute with me,” he said shortly, making me want to kiss his pissy little smile. “I want answers.”

“All right.” I leaned toward him over the island and he reciprocated, his blue eyes full of amusement and so damn close I could almost hear the flutter of those gorgeous long lashes. I wanted to know what they felt like on my cheek... or the inside of my thigh, or a million other places I shouldn’t be thinking about.

“The reason Zach thinks I can’t cook , ” I began, my voice rough with want, “is because I never do, at least not for that lot. Matt knows I have some skills from our university days spent flatting together, but the others have zero idea I’m not a klutz in the kitchen, and I plan to keep it that way.” I leaned back to keep my composure more than anything else, and Terry followed suit, his cheeks warm, his pupils half-blown.

He’s feeling it too.

A crease formed in Terry’s brow. “But why?”

I shrugged. “For one, I hardly live a life of dinner parties and cookouts. I don’t have time. My hours are long, and then there’s the call-outs. When I do get invited somewhere, I generally grab my contribution from the supermarket—garlic bread, cheese and crackers, stuff like that. If people find out I can actually cook, God knows what clever shit I might be expected to bring. Not to mention since my invites are mostly to Miller Station, who in their right mind would want to compete against Gil? The man’s middle name is Michelin. And then they might expect me to—horror of horrors—host something here in return.” I gave a dramatic shudder and Terry almost choked on a mouthful of sandwich, which resulted in a spray of toast crumbs over the breakfast bar... and me.

“Oh god.” His eyes flew wide. “I am so sorry.” He jumped off his stool, caught the remains of the sandwiches with his elbow, and sent the whole lot, plate and all, flying to the floor. The plate shattered and sandwiches skittered merrily across the tiles.

“Fuck! What is wrong with me?” Terry began scooping broken china into his hands.

“It’s fine.” I slid from the stool and tried to take his arm, but he batted me away. “Terry, it’s fine. I can clean it up later. It’s just a plate. Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I worry.” He stood with his hands full of broken china and scanned the kitchen. “This is your home .” I opened up the cupboard under the sink where the bin was kept and he disposed of it.

Then he caught sight of my jersey and blanched. “Jesus Christ.” He started brushing the crumbs from the front but then saw the floor and reached for a dishcloth. “This is so embarrassing. I swear, I’m not usually like this.”

“Terry,” I repeated softly, sensing something was definitely off. “Come on, mate. Just leave it.”

His gaze shot to mine, electric with anger, and my heart pumped in my chest. “I will not just leave it ,” he hissed, sounding almost frantic. “I made the fucking mess. I’ll clean it up.”

I kept quiet, watching as he ran the dishcloth under water, squeezed every single drop from it, and then headed for the breakfast bar.

“You gave us a bed for the night, Spencer,” he ranted. “You put yourself out. You’ve looked after me... us ... and you’ve been a friend.” He scrubbed endless circles on the already spotless breakfast bar. “Bradley wouldn’t have let Hannah leave if it wasn’t for you offering us somewhere close by to stay.” He paused in his frantic endeavours, his shoulders slumping. “Jesus, Spencer, what am I even doing down here? Hannah’s not ready for any of this.” There was a crumbling brittleness to his words, like he was being held together by a rapidly thinning thread. Then he drew breath and started up with the cloth once again.

“Terry, stop.” I made my way over and covered his hand with mine. “Please.” I pried the cloth free of his fingers and set it aside. “Enough, yeah, or I’m going to have to get a new granite top.”

He glanced sideways but there was no humour in his eyes. He leaned over the island and put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Will you stop saying that?” I ran a hand up and down his spine, the heat of his skin searing my palm through the thin material. Then, figuring I had nothing to lose, I asked, “Is this really all about Hannah’s fall?”

Terry chuckled mirthlessly and pushed himself upright, his expression so lost it almost broke my heart. “No. But I think we both know that.”

I tucked a stray lock of dirty blond hair behind his pretty ears, aching to do a lot more. Like pull him into my arms and tell him it would all work out, but I doubted that would be welcomed. “It’s been a hell of a day and you’re tired. It’s not the time to make any decisions. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

The lines on his face smoothed and his shoulders relaxed. “You’re right.”

“Something you should get used to.”

He grinned. “Says you.”

I tucked another lock of hair into place and Terry’s gaze followed my every move. I cupped his cheek, and those blue eyes darkened on mine. “It will all still be there in the morning,” I said, stroking the coarse evening stubble coating his jawline. “You may as well get some rest.”

He turned a little, squaring our bodies, his gaze burning into mine. “That’s good advice,” he answered with a husky edge that stirred my unruly cock, but he didn’t move.

“Yeah, I’m full of good advice.” I watched his eyes dip to my mouth, his lips parting to reveal the tip of his pink tongue, and damn, I wanted this man. I threaded my fingers through his hair on the side of his head and he shivered, his breathing shallow, his head tilting back just enough to let me know he was right there with me, feeling everything I was.

I leaned in but didn’t kiss him, stopping just far enough away to let him know it was there if he wanted it. After the day he’d had, this needed to be Terry’s call.

He barely hesitated, closing the remaining distance between us in a second. He slid his lips over mine—tentative at first—tasting, reacquainting, teasing even, his eyes open, fixed on mine, his pupils huge.

Then he groaned, and my entire body responded to the hunger in that sound like I’d been waiting for it my whole life. Nothing mattered. Everything disappeared. The room, the house, the problems burdening both our hearts. It all disappeared, everything narrowed and focused on that one sound, that one pair of warm lips, those slender arms sliding around my waist, the feel of his heart thundering in his chest alongside mine.

“Jesus, what you do to me.” I pushed him back against the pantry door and spread my feet a little to level our height. And just like that, he opened for me, and an explosion of taste burst over my tongue—salty cheese, beer, the coffee we’d had in the clinic while the paperwork was being done, and something sweet I couldn’t name, which only added to the intense pleasure.

I tugged his shirt free of his jeans so I could slide my hands around the hot skin of his waist and then up his back, my fingertips tracing every bump and groove along his spine before following the smooth contours of his shoulders that bore just a light dusting of hair.

Terry gasped, yanking me closer and plunging his tongue deep into my mouth. “Oh, god.” He breathed the words against my lips, then leaned back to look at me, desperate, breathless, and so fucking hot, his stormy eyes dark and needy and... uncertain.

Shit. I stilled my hands and drew a breath, and he did the same. Then he cradled my face and pulled my head down to place a kiss on my forehead.

“I, ah—” He hesitated and I heard all the cogs spinning in his brain, stirring havoc. All the warning bells, all the shoulds and shouldn’ts and what-ifs. I heard every one because they were the same ones screaming in mine. He looked me in the eye. “I should check on Hannah, and... ah... it’s late... like you said. And we’re both tired. Neither of us is thinking straight.”

I wanted to argue but instead I simply nodded.

He kissed my forehead again. “Thank you... for everything. Good night.”

And then he was gone, and I slumped against the pantry door and cursed my idiotic brain for daring to imagine in a million years that kissing and wanting Terry would ever end in any other way.