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CHAPTER ELEVEN
AFTER THE SQUAD car had arrived, two cops had alighted, first stopping to talk to the kind passerby who’d stopped to help them and was now moving traffic on. The larger cop, a barrel-chested and bullnecked, shaded his eyes and peered in their direction as the man waved his arms around in explanation. The two cops began to pick their way across the grassy terrain toward the crash site, seeming to be in no hurry. The big cop had come over to greet him and Bindi, introducing himself as Senior Sergeant Johnson, from the Cairns District Police Headquarters, while the woman—much younger, with a long, blonde ponytail beneath her blue hat—went straight toward the wreck, and bent down to look in through the smashed windscreen and then standing on tiptoe to see inside the rear bed of the truck. Probably checking that there were no more casualties.
After the senior sergeant made sure neither of them needed immediate medical assistance, he’d asked who was driving. When Mack volunteered, the man’s sharp eyes had narrowed slightly as he asked him if he’d mind doing a preliminary drug and alcohol test.
Mack had agreed, of course. The cop was only doing his job, but his demeanor rankled. Then the senior sergeant had strolled over to stand next to the woman and appraise the mangled truck. As Mack watched, Johnson moved toward the missing wheel, gingerly prodding and poking at the axle. He’d lifted his gaze and seemed to be looking for something. After a quiet word with the female officer, he’d walked—in his extremely unhurried way—down the road, stopping at a black shape around three-hundred meters away. It took a few seconds for Mack to realize what it was. The missing wheel from his truck. Jesus, had they really come that far down the road?
Bindi’s story still preoccupied most of his conscience. Her raw admission that her brother had raped her—had committed incest—still left him stunned. And broken. How could she have been holding all that inside for so long?
Clearly, she blamed herself for the family breakdown. For the fact her parents divorced. It was one of the reasons she’d left New Zealand. But there was no time to dissect her woeful tale. Later, when they got back to Stormcloud, he meant to discuss it in more detail. If she let him.
He glanced over to where Bindi was still sitting on the red earth, leaning against the tree trunk. She was a mess, with dried blood caked on her face, combined with streaks of dirt. She looked like she’d been to hell and back. Which she had. But this car accident didn’t really compare to the hell she’d been through with her own family. He wondered at her strength. To survive such a thing as what her brother had done, and then move to a new country, completely alone and unaided. She was a miracle. It put his own sorry tale into perspective.
It also made him wonder fleetingly about their time together last night. Bindi had seemed totally unaffected by her treatment at the hands of her brother. She certainly hadn’t held back where the sex was concerned. He wished she’d told him beforehand. But then, if he’d known, would he have handled it any differently? She’d seemed perfectly willing to meet him kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke. Last night hadn’t been her first time, by any means. Bindi was skilled in the art of lovemaking, that much had been clear. So, he had to assume she wasn’t letting the rape affect her now. Or was she? Had she somehow locked it away in a box where it could no longer hurt her, hidden, but not dealt with? He was the master of ignoring pain and suffering. And he thought he recognized the same look in her eyes, as if she thought if she could ignore it long enough, it’d go away, eventually.
After the police had taken a quick statement from the helpful stranger, he’d been given leave to continue on his journey. Now, the female cop, Constable O’Hare, returned from the squad car, handed them both a bottle of water, and stood in the shade beside them.
“Thanks ma’am,” Mack said, and she looked at him in slight surprise.
“I’m not sure I’m old enough to be called, ma’am, but I’ll take it, anyway.” She nodded, her blue eyes sharp and shrewd, even as she smiled at him. Handing Bindi a clean handkerchief from somewhere deep in one of her pockets, she said, not unkindly, “You might want to give your face a bit of spit and polish.”
“Thanks.” Bindi took the proffered square of material and dampened it with a splash of water.
“Here, let me do it,” Mack said, hunkering down beside her. As gently as he could, he dabbed at the crusted blood, while she sat still and trusting, tipping her head up toward him, as innocent as a child, and he suddenly felt strangely responsible for her. Their gazes caught and he couldn’t look away. Her pupils dilated and a dusky-pink color spread up her neck as he considered her. Tiny little lines appeared around her mouth as she pursed it into a slowly curving grin. Why hadn’t he ever noticed those before? Her bottom lip was fuller than her top, and when she pouted like that, it formed a perfect Cupid’s bow. A faint dusting of freckles became visible across her nose as he wiped the dried blood away. Something else he hadn’t noticed in the heat of their passion last night. For one stupid second, he wanted to lean in and taste the soft skin beside her eyelid.
He moved closer and her eyes widened, then she said quietly, “My chest hurts. I think it was from the seatbelt when we rolled.”
Pulling back a few inches, he shook his head, breaking the spell. He’d been about to kiss her, right in front of the female cop. What had he been thinking? “Yeah, mine too,” he admitted. “But I’d rather have bruised ribs than the alternative.” Then a sudden thought occurred to him that Bindi was hurt worse than she was letting on. “Dale will take us to the clinic in Dimbulah for a checkup, but if you think you need to go to hospital, I’ll get Constable O’Hare to call an—”
“I’m fine,” she spoke over the top of him. “It’s just bruising. And a few bruises never stopped me before.”
“As long as you’re sure you’re okay,” he added, not averting her gaze from his until she nodded again. He’d had more than his fair share of busted ribs and bruises over all parts of his body. But he rode bulls for a living, that was expected. She was a woman unused to that specific kind of torture, albeit a feisty, tenacious woman, but he felt for her, nonetheless. The words smart and sexy also came to mind.
He stared down at her. She didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve to be caught up in his personal troubles. Guilt roiled in his stomach when he thought she might’ve been badly injured, or worse, killed in the accident. He wasn’t sure he could’ve lived with that outcome. If he found out Clarissa had something to do with this, she’d better watch her back, because he was going to come for her. Bindi was an innocent bystander in this game of cat and mouse, and he was going to make damn sure she wasn’t hurt again.
“My turn to clean you up,” she said, taking the handkerchief from him and splashing more water on a clean corner. He settled himself cross-legged in the dirt and tipped his head back so she could reach his face.
“Do your worst,” he told her.
She ran the cloth along the edge of his jaw, then under the soft skin below his bottom lip, and her touch felt more like a caress. He narrowed his eyes and watched her as her chin came up and she stared at him with half-closed eyes. Smoky and warm. His heart vibrated in his chest. She seemed to be enjoying this just a little too much. Gently turning his head sideways, she stroked down the side of his temple, and he closed his eyes for a heartbeat, enjoying the sensation of her fingers on his face. They sprang open again, as she swayed forward, bringing her breasts into his eye line. Had she done that on purpose? His breathing grew shallow as his gaze rose from her perfect breasts up to her mouth, which was pursed in concentration as she dabbed at his face, and he mapped the perfect outline of her lips. Her mouth was driving him insane. Had been driving him insane all morning, if he admitted it. And he wanted to take it and claim it again, like he’d done last night. Images bombarded him as he remembered with vivid detail how she called out his name at the height of her climax and dug her fingernails into his back. He wanted that again. And again. If that female cop wasn’t standing right there, he might’ve tried taking her into his arms and kissing her until…
What was happening here?
Apparently, she had the ability to drive him so crazy with just one glance that he lost all logic and reason. He caught her fine-boned hand and ran his thumb gently over her delicate knuckles, stopping her ministrations. They’d shared one night of passion together, that was all. But this was getting too real, too fast. He was starting to care about her. And it needed to stop. Slowly, carefully, he put distance between them.
“Here comes the tow truck,” Constable O’Hare stated, and Bindi jumped, as if only now remembering the police office was right there. If the cop had noticed what was going on between them, she was good at keeping her face blank. Mack thought she was probably more focussed on what her boss was up to, as he continued to poke through the wreckage and write in his little notebook.
It was clear the chemistry between he and Bindi burned bright. Perhaps brighter than anything he’d felt for any woman before. But that wasn’t a good enough reason to lose all rational thought. He needed to be more careful around Bindi. He would make sure that she remained safe, of course. But this thing that was growing between them—something bordering on obsession, if he let it grow—needed to be shut down. He was into easy and safe, gratifying for both parties, while also being respectful and kind, but never getting stuck on one woman. That wasn’t who he was.
“That was quicker than I expected,” the cop added, frowning in the direction of the oncoming truck, and shading her eyes against the mid-morning glare. “I’ll have to take your statements and do the breath test after we’ve loaded the car, if you’re okay with that?”
Mack extricated himself the rest of the way out of Bindi’s grasp. “Fine. But we’re also going to report in to the station in Dimbulah, if you don’t mind.” He stood and squared his shoulders, looking down at the female officer. She might have shrewd eyes and a sharp mind, but she only just cleared five-foot. He wondered how she coped when she had to take down someone much bigger than her, like the guy Mutt, from last night.
“Senior Constable Nash King wants to talk to us,” he added. Dale had already confirmed they should talk to Nash, and Mack was happier knowing they had someone they could trust. After his fall at the rodeo and subsequent run-in with the cops in Missouri, who said he had no proof and refused to believe him, he’d developed a wariness of the law. And if this rollover turned out not to be an accident, then he wanted as many good people in his corner as he could get.
The officer narrowed her eyes at him, but merely said, “Nash, huh? Right’o then. Give him my regards when you see him.”
“Will do,” he replied.
