Only We Know by Victoria Purman

Giving me a lift back here and … and everything else you’ve done. But I’m sure your father wants to see you and I can handle things from here.’
    Sam glanced at her and seemed to get just the slightest bit taller. ‘Calla, it’s been no trouble.’
    â€˜I know. It’s what you do for a living and you’re really good at it. Looking after people, I mean. But the thing is …’ She felt slightly more comfortable making this confession to the ocean than to him, so she turned away from his gaze. ‘My car is a wreck and it looks like I’ll have to go home. I figure I’ll get the bus or the boat or whatever back to Adelaide.’
    Sam turned to her. The look in his eyes suggested he was trying to figure out if she was serious or not. ‘You’ll go home, just like that.’
    She nodded.
    â€˜Didn’t you come to KI for a reason? Don’t you want to find your brother?’
    That had been the idea. She was closer than she’d ever been to putting her family back together, but the events of the past twenty-four hours had started her wondering whether maybe it was best to forget her whole crazy plan. She was suddenly feeling a little fragile about it. And having all her senses assaulted by Sam’s kindness and caring hadn’t helped her either. ‘Things happen, Sam. Plans change. I’ll have to come back another time. In another car.’
    He rested a hand on her shoulder. She felt his strength through the layers of blanket she was enveloped in. It took a whole lot of effort to look up. He was close. His chocolate eyes were soft and kind of lovely. His lips were slightly parted and, when he spoke, his voice dropped low and deep. ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. Let’s just get it checked out, hey?’

CHAPTER
    14
    Sam attempted to slam the bonnet shut but it bounced back up with a disobedient crunch. Calla’s car had been towed to the garage in the main street of Penneshaw, and it looked sad and sorry. He’d tried starting it but it wouldn’t turn over. A cursory glance under the bonnet — he was no mechanic but he’d tinkered every now and then — revealed the damage to the engine. He was going to have bad news for her without even consulting the experts.
    â€˜Sorry, Calla. The radiator’s leaking and there is a tow-bar-shaped dent in the front of your car. That front panel there is pushed against the right tyre: you can’t drive it anywhere.’
    She sighed, crossed her arms and looked like she trying not to cry. ‘I kind of figured that, but thanks anyway for the second opinion.’
    Man. He didn’t want to be talking about the damn car. He wanted to put his arms around Calla and tell her everything was going to be all right. He pulled himself up and pushed that stupid idea to the back of his mind. ‘Your insurance company will probably write it off. You are insured, right?’
    Calla nodded, looked up to the sky and sighed. ‘For what that’s worth.’ She kicked a tyre and then turned to rest her bum against the car.
    In front of them, a rented tourist mini-van, the kind with graffiti and spray-painted pictures all over it, pulled in by the petrol pumps and two young people stepped out, laughing. One headed into the small shop attached to the service station while the other filled the van with petrol.
    â€˜Maybe I can get a lift with the hippies,’ she said in a small, defeated voice.
    Sam was taken aback by her change in tone. In the short time he’d known her, he’d heard her snarly, teasing and even questioning, but he hadn’t heard this. It threw him. He was used to seeing sadness, grief, shock. He walked through fire scenes with blinkers on. Attended car accidents and walked past fatally and traumatically injured people almost every day. So why did the look of defeat on Calla’s face hit him square in the gut? Her reaction was about more