successes, learned from her failures, and she didn’t need a man to lean on emotionally. She didn’t need Mark.
She rested her aching head against the high fence and breathed deeply. With some peace and quiet, she’d sort the mess in her brain into its proper place. She had to find Gil Gillespie, ask him about the accident. Do what she could to help Paul and Chloe arrange Jim’s funeral. Then return to her apartment in Sydney and her work.
First things first. ‘Can you give me a lift back to the pub?’ she asked Mark. ‘I need to change. And maybe find some coffee.’
‘Of course,’ he agreed instantly, but underneath the courtesy she heard the rasp of fatigue. Exhaustion carved fine lines in his face, his skin drawn beneath his natural tan. All the signs of a man who hadn’t slept much recently.
‘Have you eaten?’ A simple topic to deal with. Practical, logical, nothing to do with emotion. ‘You could probably still get breakfast at the pub.’
‘I could do with some breakfast,’ he admitted. ‘But I have to speak with Steve first. I’ll come up to the pub after I’ve seen him.’
She collected the food and bowls while he put the dogs in the back of the uteand fastened their leads. She paused for a moment to watch the firm but easy way he handled them – remembering him with the first dog he’d been given sole responsibility for, to train from a pup. ‘Your old Sammy – I suppose he’s long gone, now?’
‘Sammy?’ He shut the tailgate but she caught his wistful smile as he went to the driver’s door. ‘Yes. He made it to sixteen, but he died just before I was elected to parliament. I haven’t had the time since then to give to a dog.’
But he would take on Jim’s dogs, if Paul couldn’t. The fact that he’d remembered them, seen to their needs despite everything else happening, spoke volumes.
When they arrived back in town they saw four more police vehicles parked outside the Russells’ house, and a young constable blocking the street, directing them around to the hotel via the main road. Mark parked in the shaded side street beside the pub, ensuring the dogs in the tray of the ute were protected from the sun and filling a plastic container with water for them.
‘Are you sure you’re okay, Jenn?’ he asked as she turned to go inside. ‘I’d be happier if you were assessed properly, in case of concussion.’
‘I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘I promise, if I get a bad headache or start feeling woozy I’ll let someone know.’
He didn’t like it, judging by his frown, but he didn’t argue. ‘I should be back in an hour,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll take you to collect your car.’
Inside, the breakfast buffet was still laid out in the bistro, the only guestsa couple of young tourists so absorbed in each other they scarcely glanced up when she entered. They must have been in room three. Scandinavian, by the sound of their accents and blond looks. Young and in love and travelling the world, and as oblivious as the dogs to the violence and murder outside. They didn’t notice her blood-stained T-shirt.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit her nostrils and almost, but not quite, overpowered the smell of blood and antiseptic clinging to her skin and clothes. The thought of food didn’t tempt her, but the caffeine craving kicked in and she longed for some kind of normality and comfort. Just as soon as she’d cleaned up.
In the solitude of her room her composure wavered, but she caught the beginnings of self-pitying thoughts and stopped them. She would
not
let Mick, a miserable failure of a man, determine her emotional state. No way in hell. Now the initial shock of their confrontation had passed she’d square her shoulders, ignore the bastard, and get on with achieving her objectives.
In the bathroom, she dragged the bloodied T-shirt over her head and dumped it in the bin. A quick wash, a fresh T-shirt and assertive thinking restored her sense of self and purpose,
She rested her aching head against the high fence and breathed deeply. With some peace and quiet, she’d sort the mess in her brain into its proper place. She had to find Gil Gillespie, ask him about the accident. Do what she could to help Paul and Chloe arrange Jim’s funeral. Then return to her apartment in Sydney and her work.
First things first. ‘Can you give me a lift back to the pub?’ she asked Mark. ‘I need to change. And maybe find some coffee.’
‘Of course,’ he agreed instantly, but underneath the courtesy she heard the rasp of fatigue. Exhaustion carved fine lines in his face, his skin drawn beneath his natural tan. All the signs of a man who hadn’t slept much recently.
‘Have you eaten?’ A simple topic to deal with. Practical, logical, nothing to do with emotion. ‘You could probably still get breakfast at the pub.’
‘I could do with some breakfast,’ he admitted. ‘But I have to speak with Steve first. I’ll come up to the pub after I’ve seen him.’
She collected the food and bowls while he put the dogs in the back of the uteand fastened their leads. She paused for a moment to watch the firm but easy way he handled them – remembering him with the first dog he’d been given sole responsibility for, to train from a pup. ‘Your old Sammy – I suppose he’s long gone, now?’
‘Sammy?’ He shut the tailgate but she caught his wistful smile as he went to the driver’s door. ‘Yes. He made it to sixteen, but he died just before I was elected to parliament. I haven’t had the time since then to give to a dog.’
But he would take on Jim’s dogs, if Paul couldn’t. The fact that he’d remembered them, seen to their needs despite everything else happening, spoke volumes.
When they arrived back in town they saw four more police vehicles parked outside the Russells’ house, and a young constable blocking the street, directing them around to the hotel via the main road. Mark parked in the shaded side street beside the pub, ensuring the dogs in the tray of the ute were protected from the sun and filling a plastic container with water for them.
‘Are you sure you’re okay, Jenn?’ he asked as she turned to go inside. ‘I’d be happier if you were assessed properly, in case of concussion.’
‘I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘I promise, if I get a bad headache or start feeling woozy I’ll let someone know.’
He didn’t like it, judging by his frown, but he didn’t argue. ‘I should be back in an hour,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll take you to collect your car.’
Inside, the breakfast buffet was still laid out in the bistro, the only guestsa couple of young tourists so absorbed in each other they scarcely glanced up when she entered. They must have been in room three. Scandinavian, by the sound of their accents and blond looks. Young and in love and travelling the world, and as oblivious as the dogs to the violence and murder outside. They didn’t notice her blood-stained T-shirt.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit her nostrils and almost, but not quite, overpowered the smell of blood and antiseptic clinging to her skin and clothes. The thought of food didn’t tempt her, but the caffeine craving kicked in and she longed for some kind of normality and comfort. Just as soon as she’d cleaned up.
In the solitude of her room her composure wavered, but she caught the beginnings of self-pitying thoughts and stopped them. She would
not
let Mick, a miserable failure of a man, determine her emotional state. No way in hell. Now the initial shock of their confrontation had passed she’d square her shoulders, ignore the bastard, and get on with achieving her objectives.
In the bathroom, she dragged the bloodied T-shirt over her head and dumped it in the bin. A quick wash, a fresh T-shirt and assertive thinking restored her sense of self and purpose,
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