Chapter Four

Shannon tossed her phone on the bench and ran into the bedroom. Dragging open the ill-fitting wardrobe door inch by inch she shuffled through her clothes, grabbed a suit appropriate for a job interview and threw it on her bed. She stopped, looking about blankly. There wasn’t time to shower, or do anything with her errant hair. She had to hurry. A man was waiting at Jase’s resort willing to interview her for a job. She couldn’t risk him leaving if she didn’t arrive quickly.

She was puffing by the time she slammed out the front door. Her stomach churned faster than a cake mixer on high speed. At her car before she realized she’d left her CV on the bedside table, she ran back inside, skinning her knuckles on the door frame as she whizzed past.

With the folder clasped in her left hand—least blood from her graze got onto the cover—she rushed back to the car and jumped in. She forced herself to take some calming breaths as she wrapped a clean handkerchief around her smarting knuckles. Hopefully the bleeding would stop before she arrived at the resort.

A couple more breaths and I’ll be okay. She clutched her arms across her stomach and tried to relax. Relax, just relax. I’ve been on job interviews before. She shivered. Yeah but nothing as vital as this one.

She’d checked out the resort, the library, the museum, and the bank hoping for work. She’d gone to the paua factory and all the shops in Riversleigh. Nothing. There had been no jobs.

Commuting to Invercargill wasn’t ideal. She doubted Thomas would agree to any care arrangements she might need for him before or after school.

Jase had been true to his word. He’d said he’d be in touch if he heard of anything. Could this be the chance I’ve been praying for?

Despite the chilly temperatures, Shannon rolled down the window as her old car chugged along the main street, across the river, and up to the resort car park.

Her gaze darted along the windows of the resort as she got out of the car, only just remembering to grab her CV. Is this prospective employer up there somewhere watching me?

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her head, displaying an oozing confidence. Only when she was tucked in beside a row of huge flax bushes did she straighten her skirt and jacket, and run her hand—whoops, she’d forgotten to undo the handkerchief—through her hair.

She huffed out a huge breath. The running red on her knuckles had eased. She risked shoving the blood-stained cloth into her pocket.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the large glass doors as they slid open, Shannon swallowed a groan. Her short hair stood on end, in every compass direction. Oh God! I resemble a scarecrow in a suit.

Why didn’t I take the few minutes to at least put some product in my hair to make it look like it was spiked on purpose? Instead she looked hideous. I can hope he wants someone to work in his cow shed or something. Somewhere where tidiness doesn’t count. Cows wouldn’t be bothered if I have uncontrollable hair, would they?

She didn’t actually know anything much about cows. The dairy industry hadn’t been the be-all-and-end-all of the New Zealand economy when she’d last lived in Southland. Most of the farms around had been sheep or crops. Not that she knew anything much about sheep or arable farming either. She did know it was too early for lambing, so he wasn’t a sheep farmer needing an extra hand during the busiest season of the year.

The rapidity of Shannon’s thoughts as she followed a trim receptionist across the foyer to a door marked “Conference Room One” ground to an abrupt halt as the door swung open and she stared at the dread-head from the other day. Heat streamed from somewhere down her body, up her neck, and into her face. It was the guy who’d been standing in her front garden—well not an actual garden, more a weed incubator—when she’d had yet another screaming match with Thomas. She could do nothing but stare.

He rose to his feet and patiently waited for her to operate her lower limbs and come into the room. He had to wait for some moments. The receptionist’s attempt to close the door forced Shannon’s legs to shift her forward.

“Hi.”

So he wasn’t into formal. A little sigh escaped. He definitely wasn’t dressed for formal. In fact his slacks and polo shirt, while classy, were decidedly casual, although a quality leather jacket hung on the back of his seat.

He was probably knocking forty and had an arresting face—not classically handsome like a billboard cutout or anything but strong, tanned, full of character. A bump on the bridge of his nose and a couple of little scars—one down the side of his mouth and the other slashed across one eyebrow—suggested he might have had his share of adventures.

But what man his age still wore his hair in dreads? Someone who cared nothing for other people’s opinions of them? If so, he probably didn’t care how she looked either.

A sad sigh escaped her lips. Shannon had resorted to chopping her own hair when Thomas was about eight. The pressures of parenting—habitually single parenting—as well as holding down a fulltime job hadn’t allowed much time for personal grooming.

“Hi.” She managed the single word through dry lips as she sank into the seat he indicated.

Relieved when he sank onto an adjacent chair and stopped looming over her—being tall herself she wasn’t accustomed to men hovering twenty centimeters over her—Shannon unsuccessfully tried to relax.

“I’m not sure if you remember me—Luke Prescott. I think I was a couple of years ahead of you at school, in Johnny’s class.” She barely suppressed the wince as his hand tightened around her grazed knuckles but she was sure he noticed. She quickly hid her hand on her knee, under her other one.

Luke Prescott, Luke Prescott? Her mind was a blank for moments as she tried to put a face to the vague memory swimming around in the fog of her brain. Suddenly her eyes bulged. Luke Prescott! Of course, she remembered him now.

“Weren’t you the idi…”—she stopped to substitute another word—“the guy who one night tried swinging off the bridge and ended up being rushed to Kew Hospital in the ambulance?”

Luke threw back his head and burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, my first bridge swing. Man, that was a long time ago.”

The words and his expression told her all she needed to know. Her lips tightened as every muscle in her body tensed. He was an adrenaline junkie.

Any hope she’d had for a positive outcome this morning disappeared. She didn’t want near another adrenaline junkie, not now, not ever. She didn’t want to work for him even if he did offer her a job. She’d put up with enough reckless behavior to last her a lifetime.

“I do remember the carry-on about that night. We were lined up in assembly next day and warned of the dangers of such stupidity.”

Luke laughed again. “I guess I managed to miss that, although I remember Mum and Dad weren’t too happy with me.”

“With good cause, I’d suggest.”

As soon as the words popped out of her mouth, Shannon grimaced. Her opinions weren’t relevant to the conversation. They best be kept deep inside her, although Luke’s smile suggested he wasn’t taking offense.

Words rushed from Shannon. “I remember Lindsay better, he was in my class.” The youngest of the Prescott boys had been quiet and stable. Shannon remembered having a little crush on him for a while. He’d been nothing like his two brothers who’d been real hellions as they were growing up.

“He lives in Dunedin now. He’s an accountant, married with four kids.”

Luke’s tone mocked. He doesn’t relish such a lifestyle for himself then.

“I heard about Gordon, I’m so sorry.”

Luke turned his head aside, attempting to hide his expression with the few dreads that fell from over his shoulder. “Yeah, so am I.”

Shannon frowned at his harsh tone, delivered not from pain or loss, she suspected, but something else entirely.

An awkward silence developed. Shannon wasn’t sure whether she should break it or not. Instead she wriggled in her seat. Her movement dragged him away from wherever he’d been…back into the room with her.

“Jase tells me you might need a job?”

Shannon bit her lip, her need for work warring with her need to distance herself from any recklessness. Desperation forced her to nod her head and reluctantly hold out the folder containing her CV.

He placed it on the table beside him, not opening it. Instead his long fingers ran across the cover while he appeared deep in thought. “Do you know anything about business?”

Shannon frowned at the loose question. How am I supposed to reply to that? What about business? When he looked across she allowed her eyebrows to rise, but her lips remained firmly closed. She wasn’t responding without a better idea of what she was responding to.

Luke jumped to his feet and stalked across the room. “Jase’s wife just told me I need a business plan and I have no idea how to set about getting one.” He swung around to face her. “Do you know? Could you draw up some sort of business plan for me?”

She nearly laughed as the air rushed out of her. This big, strong adrenaline junkie needed regular, normal help—nothing dangerous, nothing reckless, nothing leading him to killing himself or others. Just ordinary business assistance.

Shannon smothered the excitement gathering in her stomach. It was too soon to get excited, or hopeful. Don’t start dreaming of a better life for us yet. Her fingers clenched. Even the twinge of discomfort from her grazed knuckles couldn’t dampen her rising anticipation.

“Perhaps if you read my CV?” she suggested.

He wandered back to the table, flipping open her folder and flicking through the pages so quickly she doubted he read anything.

“I don’t hold too much with this sort of thing.” He shoved the folder aside and sat down opposite her. He slid his seat closer and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I see you’ve worked in offices. Could you draw up a credible business plan? I have an accountant in Canada who could lend some guidance, but…?”

Shannon’s mouth dried, her brain whizzed at the speed of sound.

“I need to show I’m serious about what I intend to do. According to Debra McEwan a business plan will do that for me.”

Her lips twitched at the frustration in his voice. However reluctant, it appeared he’d accepted the advice he’d been given by Jase’s wife.

She hadn’t met the high-flying Debra McEwan, but the whole town had been buzzing with the news of their hometown boy marrying such a dominant figure in New Zealand’s business world. That she would take the time to advise Luke suggested he might be onto something interesting. And his acceptance of that advice deserved an enormous bonus point in his favor in Shannon’s eyes. Eric hadn’t been open to advice from anyone, much less a woman.

“I guess that depends on what sort of business you’re considering and who you’re preparing the plan for. I would need to understand your goals and objectives, your products, intended customers, cash flow, the growth strategies you intend to use, marketing tactics.”

She leaned back, as he crowded her personal space. “There’s a lot involved with business planning, particularly with a business starting from scratch, which I assume is the case here?”

He nodded, relaxing back into his seat, a little smile playing around his lips. “This could be right up your alley, I hope, if your early interest in the outdoors remains?”

She gave a half-hearted shrug. Marriage to Eric had dulled her enthusiasm for the outdoor pursuits she’d studied at university. He’d always taken everything to the extreme. They could never go for a quiet walk in the bush, or kayak down a gentle river. There had to be risks and excitement and danger attached to everything.

“I’m going to build an adventure park on the back of our farm.” He gave a twisted grin. “Debra suggested without some business nous, I’d be building a playground for our family.”

Shannon’s heart slammed against her chest. Her mouth fell open for a second before she regained control of her jaw and jammed it shut.

Luke frowned. “What?”

Shannon shook her head, hardly believing what Luke had just said.

“Do you think I’m crazy or something?”

Shannon smiled at the belligerence in his voice and knew she had to share the reason for her reaction. “When I was a kid we lived next door to a family with a Down’s Syndrome son.”

Shannon’s voice softened as she allowed herself to remember the happy and fun-loving Gareth. Even though Riversleigh wasn’t a large town, she doubted Luke would have known Gareth existed, little alone remembered him. “He was such a great kid. We had a basketball hoop on our driveway, he loved playing donkey.”

She chuckled. “He’d beat me every time—I wouldn’t let him win—he’d just land those shots from anywhere. We’d go swimming together, too. He was keen to try new things…” Her throat tightened. “He died in a car accident when he was fourteen.”

Luke made no attempt to speak, but his gaze locked on her face, a face she knew was tinged with sadness.

“I recognized there were many other physical things he could have experienced, if they’d been available. That’s why I did an outdoor pursuits degree. I dreamed I’d set up a park for disabled kids one day.”

“What stopped you?”

Shannon gave a disheartened shrug. “There wasn’t too much interest in the idea, nor any philanthropists around at the time.”

“So you gave up?”

Nails dug into her palms. Her grazed knuckles protested at the sudden pressure they were subjected to. He didn’t need to know why she’d shelved this particular dream long ago—along with so many others.

“I’ll be getting onto it real soon. I’m just waiting for my next major lottery win,” she snapped. “I guess I must have squandered my last million or two.”

Instead of rising to her taunt, Luke sat silently tugging at one of his dreads, frowning thoughtfully across at her.

When she could tolerate the silence no longer, she clenched her eyes shut for a second and stood, guessing the interview was over. My big mouth. I’ve blown it.

Damn! She wanted to kick something, punch something. She needed a job, any job. Hadn’t she learned to keep her emotions locked away inside her? She’d had enough practice.

This guy wasn’t interested in her social conscience. She should have kept her mouth shut. But it had been such a shock to hear his plans. To hear someone else—

“I’m afraid my plans are about as far away from your ideas as they could possibly be, but if you’d be willing to take the job, it’s yours.”