Du Rose Vendetta

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

RarangaHana peered at her phone screen and winced. Logan had seemed preoccupied lately. She’d hatched a plan to distract him in the bedroom by taking more control. He checked the credit card every month and she hadn’t wanted him to notice the book title she’d purchased. It meant going to elaborate lengths to send herself a gift card and then download the book. Hana stroked her finger over the screen and jumped as the view changed to a chaste black-and-white image of a couple kissing. “Who knew?” she whispered, fascinated by the graphic description. “Five different sorts of kissing and I have to do all this other stuff at the same time.” She shrugged, thinking of Logan’s lips over hers. The thought sent a coil of desire spinning through her gut. He kissed her with enough skill to turn her into a shivering wreck. She wanted to be able to do the same. Hana increased the font size and scratched her cheek. Her nose almost touched the screen. “Put his legs where?” she breathed, skimming the instructions. Her eyes widened. “Oh my!”

“What are you chuntering about?” The museum curator sounded brusque and Hana jumped and dropped her phone onto the table. A quick sleight of hand sent the screen dark. “Get on with that basket. We’ve got just over a week left until the mid-summer fair. We’re meant to be showcasing Māori skills, not making ourselves look like imbeciles.” He jerked a head towards the mess of wilting flax leaves sprawled on the table and Hana pouted. She picked up the weaving with reluctance and released the clothes peg to pick up where she’d stopped. Her clumsiness betrayed her as a length of flax burst free from her grasp. Unfurling like a green sea creature, its soft pointed end almost speared Will’s eye. He let out a sigh of exasperation and glared at her poor workmanship. “I’ve no legs, Hana,” he snapped, shifting his wheelchair backwards. “And you wanna take my eyeballs too?”

“Sorry!” Hana huffed. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of Logan’s lithe legs and the position which the book said she should master to please him in the bedroom. She gathered the flax into her lap and began again, creasing its hardy skin along fresh lines and spreading green sap onto her knuckles. “This isn’t easy,” she grumbled.

“Finished.” Phoenix slapped a perfectly formed rose onto the pile growing in the centre of the table. “Can I go now, please Mama? I don’t want to do this all weekend. Sunday’s almost over and I still want to play.”

Hana stared at the neat green stem and the way the petals formed around a delicate central eye. She sighed and her leaf pinged free again. “Well, that’s just unfair. How do you know how to do this? You’re six.”

“Papa showed me.” Phoenix waggled a dark eyebrow and looked at Hana’s pile with pity. “Just after my third birthday.”

Will snorted and Hana shot him a look filled with barb. She jerked her head towards the other two children sitting at the table, their fingers flying as they created woven masterpieces. “Go,” she sighed. “But stick together and don’t speak to strangers.”

Wiremu Du Rose tied off his last loose end and dropped the kete basket onto the pile. At eight-years-old, he already bore the characteristic Du Rose looks. Stunning grey eyes glittered from an olive face and high cheekbones. He nodded to the other two. “Come on,” he said. “Nonie Leslie promised us a pie. They’re leaving for their mini-break after dinner.”

“Mini-break. Phoenix snorted and enjoyed the taste of the words on her tongue. Mini-break.”

“Wash yer hands!” Will raised his voice. “Horoia ō Ringaringa! Wash your hands unless you want diarrhoea until Christmas.”

Phoenix scrambled down from her chair with a giggle, nudging her brother’s slender arm. His green-eyed gaze met Hana’s across the table top, the harsh wooden edge bisecting an elfin face and shock of auburn hair. She gave him a smile. “Pie.” She mouthed the action of eating to accompany the signed word and he blinked. Pointing at Wiri and Phoenix, she communicated he should stay with them and wash his hands first. Mac Du Rose lifted his chin and Hana watched his lips purse into a thin line. He c****d his head and a slender pink finger pointed to her. “Wiri,” she repeated and the older boy touched his shoulder.

Mac placed his finished rose on the table with exaggerated care. Wiri helped him from the chair and waited while the child ran around to Hana’s side and lifted his face for a kiss. “Stay with Wiri,” she told him and he read her lips and nodded. The slam of the heavy museum doors and the sound of running feet heralded their escape from enforced drudgery and Hana sighed. She yearned to go with them and sample her mother-in-law’s homemade pie. Thoughts of the New Zealand staple of steak and oozing cheese made her mouth water. Will nudged her elbow with his bony arm and jerked his head toward her sorry looking leaf.

“Get a fresh one,” he ordered. “Start again.”

Hana groaned and rested her forehead on the table. “I can’t do it!” she protested. “You’re a rubbish teacher.”

Will’s throaty laugh rumbled through the cavernous room. “White girls!” he breathed, intending it as a veiled insult. But his gnarled hand rubbed Hana’s slumped shoulders in contradiction of his gruff exterior. “Make me a coffee and I’ll let you off for today.” He returned to the complicated weave on the table, removing pegs from the base of his basket. His wheelchair tyres squeaked against the floorboards.

Hana rose and escaped to the thin office behind the museum. The kettle heated while she sank into a swivel chair to wait. The issue with Libby wasn’t settled in her heart but her options were limited. She could fling the usual Christianese at her and walk away, but that wasn’t helpful. She liked Libby as a friend but disliked her life choices. Hana sighed, knowing she wanted to maintain the friendship, but hoping she could ignore Libby’s love life. “Maybe it won’t get raised again,” she whispered. “Perhaps I can forget and just go back to how it was before.”

Will’s unexpected appearance in the doorway made her jump. “Yer man did a good job in here, didn’t he?” he asked, navigating his chair through the widened doorway.

Hana nodded. “You’d never know this whole area used to be a bedroom, bathroom and sitting area.” She tapped the workbench with her hand. “I think Logan’s grandfather used this suite when he became ill.”

Will shook his head. “You know he did, Hana. Stop fluffing. What’s wrong?”

Hana poked her bottom lip out and sighed. “Nothing,” she lied, though her body language said otherwise.

Will turned his chair to fit beneath the work bench and gave her a sideways glance. “As you wish, kōtiro,” he whispered. “As you wish.”

Hana hauled herself into a standing position and gathered mugs and spoons for their drinks. Her hand shook as she poured steaming water onto instant coffee granules. “It’s Mac,” she said, defying the tears which pricked behind her eyelids. “He still can’t hear. The surgery didn’t work.”

Will’s wizened face held sympathy and he took the strong black coffee without comment, setting it before him on the bench. A gentle finger nudged aside a pile of aged family documents extracted from the cavernous attic. “We need to stop eating and drinking in here,” he said with a sigh. “Accidents happen.”

Hana sank into her chair and took a sip of her coffee, wincing at the sudden burn to her lips. “Don’t worry. It’ll be me who ruins something.”

“Oh dear.” Will waggled bushy eyebrows flecked with grey and white. “We are miserable today.”

“How can you say that, after what I just told you?” Hana’s shoulders slumped further as her mind sought to shrink her until she grew small enough to hide from her problems. “My son can’t hear or speak. The surgeon made me so many promises and I believed him. I let him take my child and cut his head open and for what?” The anger in her heart burned worse than the coffee on her tongue, rising and threatening to engulf her if she let it. “The surgeon is my brother’s partner, so he’s practically family. It’s like I’m criticising his work, so it’s personal. But it’s my son’s life we’ve messed around with. For nothing.”

“What does Logan say?”

“Nothing!” Hana spat. “He just coasts along on his glorious Du Rose cloud of greatness and leaves me to worry about the children.”

Will snorted. “Glorious Du Rose cloud of greatness. Can I add that to the list of family quotes?”

“Only if you want your wheelchair tyres popping,” Hana growled. “Don’t you dare!”

“I’m sorry, Hana.” Will’s hand trembled as he sipped his drink and she regretted heaping her burdens on his head.

“It’s okay,” she sighed. Jerking her head toward the pile of documents he’d moved aside, she forced herself to brighten. “What are you working on now?”

Will reached out tender fingers and patted the yellowed papers. “Letters belonging to Miriam Du Rose.”

“Logan’s mother? Are they from Reuben?” Hana couldn’t help herself and leaned forwards as though desperate to catch each tentative word.

Will shook his head. “No. From her mother. Recipes and advice, but interesting. Her birth certificate needs digitising if you have time later. Then I can store the original in the safe.”

Hana blew out a breath which ruffled her fringe. “Don’t tell me. Her parents were itinerant sheep shearers called Mr and Mrs Smith from Invercargill and Miriam grew up thinking her name was Du Rose.”

Will swallowed and considered his next words with exaggerated care. He took a sip of his coffee and wrinkled his nose. “You didn’t put sugar in this,” he complained.

Hana’s lips parted in surprise. The protest budded in her chest but didn’t make it free. Diabetes claimed Will’s legs and the warning look in his eyes made her love him more than she already did. Her husband stood in the doorway behind her and every nerve ending tingled from her heels to the tip of her nose. She didn’t need to turn around to know he stood watching her. Hana stilled and made her reply sound calm and collected. “I’ll scan it this afternoon if you don’t mind waiting. Is there anything else you need me to scan while I’m at it?”

“Not yet.” Will blew on his coffee. “I’ll make a pile in the tray, but this is more precious than the other stuff.” He raised an eyebrow and Hana performed a graceful turn on the office chair.

Logan leaned against the door frame with his muscular arms folded across his chest. Hana read the amused twinkle in his grey eyes and felt her cheeks heat, knowing he’d heard the insult to his mother’s parentage and decided not to challenge her. Guilt sent a nasty shiver through her chest and she almost wished he would rebuke her in front of Will as a punishment, but it wasn’t Logan’s style. “Would you like a coffee?” she asked, her voice wavering.

“No thanks.” His strong fingers gripped his cowboy hat and lifted it off his head. His brows furrowed as he stared at the scuffs in the dark leather. “Walk with me?” It emerged as more of an order than a request and Hana’s brow furrowed. She shot a look back at Will and rose, a naughty schoolgirl summoned to the headmaster’s office. Will’s throaty chuckle followed them across the museum and Hana fought the urge to run back and throw something semi-hard at his head.

They crossed the reception area under the scrutiny of the woman behind the desk. Guests milled in the foyer, picking up leaflets and putting them back in the wrong place. Logan stood out in his work clothes, tall, swarthy and worthy of a second glance. His boot heels clicked across the floorboards and Hana jogged to keep up with his long stride. Out in the sunshine he seated his hat back on his head.

“Where are we going?” she demanded. When he didn’t reply she reached out and caught his elbow. “Slow down! I know you heard what I said. I’m sorry. It was rude and tasteless. Just tell me I’m wrong and get it over with.”

Logan’s expression relaxed as he glanced at her fingers clasping his arm and then at her face. “You’re wrong,” he said. “Mama knew who her parents were.”

“Okay, then I apologise.” Hana swallowed at the blankness in Logan’s grey eyes. Impossible to read, he continued to punish her without raising his voice or showing his displeasure.

She blew out a breath and released him, turning on her heel and striding back toward the main house. Her mind ran through a list of quiet places she could hide to lick her wounds and smooth her ruffled feathers. “Oh, no you don’t!” Logan’s head butted her waist as Hana squeaked and rose into the air. Strong hands fixed around her thighs and she found herself facing the back of Logan’s shirt with a frightening image of the gravel driveway moving in and out of view.

“Stop!” A girlish giggle forced itself free and a woman dragging a suitcase towards the stairs stopped to watch. “Everyone’s looking!” Hana hissed.

Logan jerked his head upward in greeting to the woman and gave her a stunning smile. “Hi,” he said, amusement in his voice.

“Is that extra?” the woman joked, pausing a moment more before continuing her journey. Her case bumped up the steps with an unhealthy thud.

“Let me down,” Hana pleaded. “Everyone can see my butt.”

Logan let out a snort of laughter and slapped her upturned bottom encased in jeans. “And a great butt it is, babe.” The sound echoed off nearby buildings and Hana groaned. She wound her fingers into Logan’s shirt and tried to push herself backwards off his shoulder, wasting her efforts as he increased his grip.

“Please let me down,” she begged. “I said I’m sorry.”

“No, you’ll run away,” Logan bit back. “I’ve ridden twenty-five kilometres since the sun rose. Much as I love a good chase, I don’t have the energy.”

“I won’t,” Hana whined. “I promise.”

The second her feet touched the ground she bolted, dodging Logan’s outstretched arms and hearing his grunt of irritation behind her. She held her breath until his footsteps sounded against the gravel before acknowledging she wanted him to chase her. Skirting the stable yard, she dashed into the hay barn and sped away from the wide doors. Shadows engulfed her near the back as she tried to hide behind stacked bales. Panicked mice scuttled from underneath and Hana slid and tripped over spilled hay. Logan caught her half way across, snagging her around the waist and pulling her with him as he fell backwards onto the prickly mattress of stalks and dried grass. A morepork woke in the rafters and gave a worried hoot.

Hana giggled as Logan wrestled her beneath him and pinned her arms. His biceps bulged through his shirt and hay dust stuck to the day-old beard covering his chin. His mocking grey eyes held her gaze as she wriggled against the scratchy mattress. “When are you gonna admit you lost?” His voice sounded tender and he traced a line along her cheek with his index finger. He tilted his body to pin her in place.

A lazy smile crossed Hana’s lips and she studied her husband with feigned coyness, tilting her head like a budding flower. “Who says I lost?” she whispered and saw the grin break out across Logan’s face.

He sighed and his gaze strayed to her mouth. “Well played,” he replied. His lips felt rough against hers and Hana smelled sun cream on his cheeks. He snagged her wrists as though afraid she might run again, but when she struggled, he released them. Hana wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight.

“I love you,” she breathed against his skin and felt him relax beneath her touch. Her eyes held a smile and Logan kissed her until his rough beard pinked the soft skin of her chin. Hana’s fingers strayed to his waistband and she pulled on the hem of his shirt until she felt soft flesh.

Something clattered in the stable yard, the sound bouncing off the surrounding ridge and returning as a muted echo. Logan shivered and caught Hana’s fingers. “We have thirty seconds before Rawhiti pushes that wheelbarrow in here,” he whispered.

“You could do it.” Hana giggled at the offended look he gave her and her chest shook with laughter. “Spoilsport,” she complained.

“You’re a bad girl.” Logan pushed himself backwards and sat up. He brushed hay and dust from his clothes.

“Na, you like me bad.” Hana glanced sideways and her lips turned down. “Where’s all the hay and the bags of silage? There’s usually more in here.”

“Hana, I need to talk to you.”

She wrinkled her nose and hauled herself up with less elegance than her husband. Strands of hay poked from her fringe and she retrieved the pieces, crumpling them in her fingers. “What’s wrong?”

Logan heaved out a breath and leaned his elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor between his boots. “The developers still want Reuben’s side of the mountain,” he said. “They’re happy to negotiate. My lawyer seems to think they’ll take the block near town and they’ve doubled their offer.”

Hana felt herself withdraw, her emotions thrown into turmoil. “I don’t know,” she stammered. “It’s your decision.”

“It’s our decision, Hana.” Logan’s gaze followed her as she stood to brush strands from her jeans. “We’re partners, remember?”

She jutted her hip out and angled her body in a silent expression of defiance. Her jaw worked in her cheek until it ached, the tender kisses forgotten against the backdrop of pain. “Don’t we need the paddocks for baling?” she snapped. She flapped her arm to encompass the barn. “This looks like we’re running short of hay and silage.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair and avoided the fire in Hana’s green eyes. “No. Everything is fine. We don’t need that land. But do we want to keep it, anyway?”

“Get rid of it.” Hana shook her head and her red hair cascaded around her shoulders. She put a hand up to it, her brow furrowing as she searched for her clip.

“Hana!” Logan sounded sharp. “We need to talk about this. It’s important to me. We don’t inherit the land from our ancestors, we borrow it from our descendants. I need to make a decision that Phoenix and Mac won’t hate me for later.”

“I want no part of this.” Hana backed away until the stacked bales prevented her safe passage. “It’s your land, not mine. JD was your grandfather and he left it to you.” She swallowed and felt the knot of anger forming in her chest. “When Mac’s older and he finds out that man tried to kill him and me, he won’t want it either.” Her voice caught in her throat. “Do what you want with it, but don’t involve me. Sell to the developers or fill it with land mines. I don’t care, Logan.”

Tears blinded her as she fled the barn, the memory of Jack’s calm indifference burned into her psyche. Her mind saw him lift the gun and point it at her new-born and she squeezed her eyes closed against the image. Guilt compounded her misery. Logan had sat on the discussion for days, afraid to broach it with her. She’d seen it in the sideways glances he gave her and the dark cloud hanging over their interactions. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just can’t.”

“Hana, come back.” Logan managed to throw his voice without shouting, perhaps sensing it would upset her less. Hana turned the corner, glancing back and seeing him standing in the doorway to the barn with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. She turned her face away and let the embittered ghost stay between them, just like it had for the past three years.