Shelter from the Storm by Penelope Janu

Author:Penelope Janu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mira
Published: 2022-11-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

30

If Hugo’s hold was too tight. If he tugged too hard. If my heart wasn’t jumping about like a jack-in-the-box …

I’d make him let me go.

But as it is …

‘Are you marching?’

‘What?’ he snaps.

‘A regular and deliberate measured tread. That’s marching.’

‘Do you want to come into the house?’

‘I should’ve been back at the farm twenty minutes ago.’

He doesn’t release me until we reach the four-wheel drive. ‘Wait here. I’ve got something for you.’

I touch his arm. ‘I’m sorry about before.’

‘Lisa and me.’ He unlocks his jaw. ‘I wouldn’t lie about something like that.’

‘No.’

‘She’s been here once before. After we dropped off gear, I showed her through the house.’

‘I wasn’t expecting them.’

He nods stiffly. ‘I won’t be long.’

After stomping up the verandah steps, Hugo turns on the lights, illuminating the house in a soft golden glow.

I pull out my phone and text Greta. Leaving Hugo’s now.

His footsteps are loud on the floorboards. Silence. Footsteps again. I’m sitting sideways in the seat, my eyes on the open front door, when he appears. After taking the steps two at a time, he closes the distance between us.

He puts a large paper bag with sturdy rope handles on my lap. ‘Here.’

‘What is it?’

When he rests a foot on the running board, lifts my boot and examines it, my long thick laces dangle on his knee.

‘Where did you get these?’

‘They’re navy boots. Reinforced toes.’

He indicates the bag. ‘Wear these instead.’

‘But I already—’

‘They’re riding boots.’

‘Oh.’ I pull the box, shiny green with a gold-leaf logo, from the bag. ‘I’ll pay you back.’

‘They’re a gift.’

The boots are a well-known brand. Expensive. Brown leather with elastic sides. I turn the box and check the size. ‘Did Greta brief you?’

‘I can exchange them.’

‘I’ll try them on now.’ One of my laces is already half undone so it’s easy to untie—the second lace takes longer. I remove both boots, throwing them into the well in front of the passenger seat. ‘Why don’t you like the boots I have?’

He holds up one of the new boots. ‘These have smooth soles. No laces.’

‘When I fell from Jackpot …’ I clear my throat, ‘I wore sneakers.’

He gives me the boot. ‘It wasn’t anything you did.’

‘Or Jackpot or Andy or Angela did.’ Head down, I pull on the left boot. When he hands me the right, our hands touch. Warmth, sudden and sweet, flows though my veins. Avoiding his gaze, I pull on the boot and, stretching my legs to one side of him, point my toes. ‘They fit.’

He stands back. ‘Go for a walk.’

Jumping to the ground, I salute. ‘Yes, sir.’

I keep to the weeds that push through the gravel, worried about marking the boots. The leather shines softly. Unmarked. Perfect.

Like Hugo and I once were.

Like we could be again?

I pull up short, grasp the verandah post near the stairs.

A perfect number is a positive integer that’s equal to the sum of its proper divisors. Six is a perfect number, because it can be divided by one, two and three. God created everything in six days.

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