Falling for the Rebel Heir

Blake Ally

She flattened her skirt back to a less frivolous position. ‘So who’s the guy?’ she asked.

Hud lifted his gaze from the fluttering movement of her pale hands to her magnificent eyes. He raised an eyebrow.

‘Whose quotes you steal?’ she continued. ‘The guy with whom you used to work?’

‘Ah. His name was Grant, a sound guy who works for Voyager Channel films.’

‘His name…was Grant?’ she asked, her voice suddenly softer, slower, winding itself around him like one of Aunt Fay’s warm cashmere throw rugs.

‘It still is Grant, actually. Will be for many long years, I hope. He’s fine. He’s just a million miles away and I’m here, in the middle of backwoods Victoria, only it feels like he’s gone when really that honour goes to me.’

When Hud stopped talking, his heart raced as if he’d climbed a mountain, when really all he’d done was tell this strange girl more than he’d told anyone about what he was really feeling. More than he’d told his boss. Or the doctors in London. Or the editor who’d thrown money at him to ‘tell his tale’. Or any of the friends and colleagues who’d asked how he was every time they’d picked up the phone, which was more and more rare with every passing day.

‘So do we have a deal?’ he asked, knowing the time had come to bring this little rendezvous to a close. ‘Your typing fingers for my pool?’

‘Sure,’ she said, her voice still soft, still making him feel as though she had somehow wrapped him in cotton wool.

This time she held out her hand to seal the deal. He stepped forward and took it, entering her personal space, that intangible area that contained a person’s spent energy, and touched her for the very first time.

Her hand was small. Soft. Warm. Enveloped so wholly in his, it made him feel strong. Big. Commanding. It was a feeling he didn’t realise until that moment had been lost somewhere over the past months. A feeling he wanted back. He wanted more. He needed more.

After a few seconds of simply holding hands, her stormy eyes darted to his. Blinking fast. Locking. Connecting. A current seemed to flow from her hand to his. Or maybe it was the other way around.

And in that moment he saw that she felt it too. This strange compulsion pulling them together. He saw in her eyes a deep-seated desire to hold on to him and not let go.

He understood his own reasoning completely. He was a man on the verge of drowning—in violent memories, in red tape, in commiserations where he was used to commendations. And she was a bright light. Sparky, warm, flitting just out of reach.

What a woman like her saw in a broken man in need of a shave, he had no idea. He had nothing to offer her bar his pool. He consoled himself with the knowledge that she seemed switched on. She’d figure it out soon enough.

He loosened his grip and let her go. She stretched out her fingers before clasping her hands behind her back.

‘So when do we start?’ she asked.

I’m afraid we already have, he thought. But all he said was, ‘Tomorrow’s fine with me. Unless you’re busy.’

But she merely nodded. ‘Mornings are always best for me. Projects tend to slide into my inbox around midday. So nine okay with you?’

‘Sounds as good a time as any.’

She gave him a short wave and turned away, taking all that lovely vibrant energy with her.

‘So why do you need this pool of mine so badly you’re willing to give up your precious time for me?’ he asked, not yet ready to see her go.

‘Training for the Olympics,’ she threw back.

‘Then you’d better not forget your bathers,’ he said.

She waved over her shoulder. ‘Not for all the world.’

‘Feel free to come through the front door next time.’

Her head turned, only slightly, but enough for him to see her smile. It was only half the wattage of the one from earlier but still his chest constricted in response.

‘We haven’t known one another all that long, Hud, but I think you already know me better than that.’

The way his name sounded on her tongue made it feel as if they’d known one another a thousand years, though it was the first time he’d ever heard it. And suddenly he realised he had no idea what her name was.

‘Who are you?’ he called out, knowing his interest went far beyond just knowing her name.

She turned to walk backwards, not in the least fearful that she’d walk into a tree. Perhaps she was a wood sprite, after all.

‘The name’s Kendall York,’ she said. ‘The first.’ The half smile kicking up at one corner created a rosy cheek and a hollow cheekbone. Her bone structure was unbelievable. Photographable.

And, as she began to disappear back into the early morning shadows of the pine forest she seemed to know so well, she shot him one last smile and with it one last statement. ‘If you’d simply asked nicely I would have helped type up your story for nothing, you know. I’m that kind of girl.’

The smile hit dead centre of his chest. Burrowing, melting, until it was too late to get a handle on it and pull it out. He said, ‘And if you’d said no I still would have let you use my pool. I’m that kind of guy.’

Her steps faltered. Only slightly but enough for him to take a step forward, as though he’d be able to catch her if she fell, even though by now she was a good ten metres away.

‘See you tomorrow, Hud,’ was all she said.

‘Looking forward to it, Kendall.’

And with that she picked up her pace and she and her heavy boots and hippy clothes walked away.

Hud watched her until she was no more than a sweet memory which he would happily allow to slide unbidden into his mind any time that day or night.

At a couple of minutes before nine the next morning Kendall stood at the Claudel edge of the pine forest.

A large hemp bag containing her laptop, the notebook she never went anywhere without and a red tartan pencil case she’d had since primary school weighed heavy on her shoulder. The plastic bag carrying her bathers and towel felt lighter than air.