“But I don’t want to.” Hana complained like a child after they tacked the horses. “You ride her; you promised.”
“I did not!” Bobby retorted.
“I bet you can mount her fine,” Hana said. “You’re lying because you don’t want her either.” Sacha turned her furry, dappled face towards Hana and her eyes looked sad. Hana ignored her. “Go on, try,” she begged the stock man.
Bobby took the reins in his left hand and readied himself to mount the dappled-white mare. Sacha tossed her mane and stepped sideways as he lifted his foot towards the stirrup. He exhaled crossly and repeated the movement with the same result. Bobby tried again and again, looking like he was in a hopping competition and going nowhere fast. “See!” he spat crossly, giving up.
The mare’s eyes developed a white rim around her dark brown iris, the blue wall eye on her left already threatening. Bobby leapt out of the way as Sacha turned her backside towards him, ripping the reins from his fingers and raising a back leg to kick him. He jumped out of the way and approached the mare’s head, gingerly taking up the reins again as the veins in his neck stood out through his skin. “Get your backside on this mare or I’m leaving you here!” he snapped.
Bobby threw Hana into the saddle with gusto, getting bitten on the bum for trying to tighten the girth.
“You think you’re the boss,” Hana grumbled to the horse. “I don’t understand why Logan loves you, you’re a bitch.”
Sacha tossed her magnificent mane and trotted towards the track home. Hana tried not to look at the kauri tree in the corner of the section where her husband’s and baby’s afterbirth were buried, tying them permanently to the whenua, the land. Her name would never deserve an inscription on the sacred, tapu tree, with a carved picture to denote her lineage. She was a marital interloper, a Du Rose by proxy.
The downward journey was quicker than the upward, the horses imagining Jack pouring feed into their buckets. They jogged steadily downward and Hana settled on Logan’s horse, feeling safe enough.
They arrived in the stable yard around midday, making a spectacle for a group of Japanese tourists who captured Hana’s ungainly descent on huge cameras around their tiny necks. Sacha showed off, stomping and whirling for her audience and Hana swore as she lifted the bridle off the large head and the horse winked at her. “Did you see that?” she asked Jack and he peered at her lips while Hana repeated it and then shrugged. Jack made Hana shower and groom the mare, enjoying watching her love-hate-relationship with the beast. “But you let Bobby go!” Hana complained and Jack rolled his eyes and ignored her, jabbing his head towards the hose pipe.
As she picked up the huge dinner plate hooves, Sacha rubbed her forehead up and down Hana’s bottom, causing her to pitch forwards, grumbling. “Damn horse!” she complained. Jack watched her from the corner of his eye and enjoyed Hana’s display of pique.
The Japanese tourists went on a short trek of their own, cameras bouncing around their necks and threatening to garrotte them if they got up any serious speed. Jack got Digger’s feed ready in a yellow bucket, pointing out Sacha’s diet on a blackboard in the feed room for Hana to mix. “A scoop of this and a pinch of that. Far out!” Hana whined, “It’s like baking a chuffing cake! She’s better fed than me.”
Sacha ground her shod front feet noisily along the concrete until her rider appeared with a pink bucket. Hana had chaffage in her hair and over her fleece top. The huge wooden bin was nearly empty, making the tiny crumbs in the bottom hard to reach for someone small and slender. Hana balanced herself on the wooden edge using her stomach muscles, but overreached and fell in face first. She stood on her hands with her legs in the air considering adding vomit to the bin before managing to crawl her way out backwards. Miriam’s hat remained at the bottom, unreachable.
Sacha gobbled her grains with greedy enthusiasm and Jack handed Hana’s hat over, tears visible in his rheumy eyes. “You stood and watched me struggle, didn’t you?” she raged and he pretended he didn’t know what she was saying, snorting as he walked away.
When he released her from her duties, Hana stomped back to the mud room, kicking off Liza’s boots and leaving the hat on its peg. She brushed her clothes outside the back door, coughing at the chaff dust which blew around her face.
Phoenix slept in her pram in the family dining and Hana stared at it in surprise. “You found my car keys?” she said, relieved. “I realised you might need the pram when I was half way up the mountain.”
Leslie pushed the pram with her foot and continued reading her women’s magazine, despite the chaos next door. The Japanese visitors who opted not to ride expected a picnic lunch for their coach trip to Rangiriri Pa – an old fortified Māori redoubt on the way back to Hamilton. “I’d quite like to go there,” Hana commented. “I’ve never been.”
“Youse go and get cleaned up,” Leslie said, eyeing the shroud of dust coating Hana. The old woman seemed nervous as though forcing herself to relax. An odd atmosphere occupied the kitchen and dining room and Hana stared at Leslie without understanding.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked.
Leslie shook her head. “No, miss. Get clean for lunch; everything’s good here.” Hana’s baby looked porked, breathing heavily like her stomach might pop.
“What do you do to her?” Hana asked, staring at her child. “You realise she’ll break the scales at the next baby weigh-in.”
Leslie nodded and waved her away and Hana left the room, still feeling as though something was amiss.
She crashed into her room with a huge sigh, falling through the door with exhaustion after a disturbed night and an uncustomary ride. The reason for the nervous women downstairs lay on the king sized bed in his jeans with the telly playing. His motorbike jacket and helmet were on the floor in the corner. He already had the remote in his hand as though about to change channels but flicked the whole thing off instead.
Logan’s black hair was glossy from the shower, the damp fringe flicking into his eyes. His torso and feet were bare, the muscles in his biceps ticking as he flexed his hands and turned to fix grey eyes on his wife.
The confidence and resolve Hana found on the mountain top trickled into her stomach, giving her a pain as it passed her belly button. She stood in the doorway as Logan unwound himself from the bed and planted his feet on the floor, saying nothing. A moment of pure panic drove Hana into stupidity and she turned and ran. Her feet skidded on the rimu floorboards in her socks but Logan’s bare feet and longer legs caught her before she got very far. He wordlessly snatched her up in his strong arms and carried her wriggling body back to the bedroom, opening the door with his hip. “I’ll scream,” Hana threatened through gritted teeth as he laid her on the bed, chaff falling from every crinkle and crease in her clothing.
“Go on then,” he said smiling, his sparkling grey eyes daring her to. “They know I’m good and that will just confirm it!”
Hana pushed at Logan’s muscular chest, not sure why she fought anymore. His eyes flicked over her borrowed riding clothes and deft fingers separated her checked blouse from the cream coloured jodhpurs with ease. “I missed you, wahine,” he whispered, growing frustrated with the buttons of the blouse and pinging them off with a single rip. Logan spread the blouse open, his touch producing electric sensations across Hana’s skin. She stopped fighting and swallowed all protest, her green eyes studying her husband with the same apprehension as the women downstairs. On home turf he was invigorated and formidable, a commander of a Māori army and Hana felt her belly flutter at his mastery of her.
His lips felt soft over hers, trembling as Logan pressed into Hana’s mouth and ran his tongue over hers. Unable to stop the heat of excitement she gave in, just like she always did.
Logan smelled good, his cheeks and chin smooth from a recent shave and his kisses were tender and insistent. Hana tasted aftershave and inwardly cursed her complete lack of willpower, as her husband stripped her naked and set to work, reminding her why they were so good together.
“Did my horse get any chaff?” Logan asked later as he brushed dust and grains from the bed with a dustpan and brush from under the sink. “Or did you just roll in it and tease her?”
“How do you know I rode your horse?” Hana asked, pulling a face which showed her open disdain for the stroppy mare.
Logan snorted and pursed his lips. “I went to see her and Jack said she’d gone out with you and Flick. He can’t ride her; she only carries Du Roses. That’s the way I trained her and that’s the way she’ll stay.” He walked to the bin in the corner to empty the dustpan but Hana plunged into another volley of sneezing.
“Don’t put it in there.” She grabbed it from him and carried it onto the balcony, watching with satisfaction as chaff flew away on the breeze. Logan smirked as he heard her shout apologies to the knot of Japanese tourists just getting onto their bus, being showered in natural grain.
“How does she know?” Hana asked as she closed the sliding door. Logan looked at her in confusion, his brain already onto the next thing. “The horse,” Hana repeated. “How does she know whether you’re a Du Rose or not?”
Logan bit his lip and looked sexy, masking a smile as he pulled his tee shirt over his head. “I don’t know,” he replied. “She just does. I broke her in after I came back from England to stay and she’s bucked everyone else off her whole life.”
Hana gulped and shook her head. “So she thinks I’m a Du Rose? Is it because I wore Liza’s clothes?”
“No, Hana!” Logan’s eyes bore into her face, reading her sense of inadequacy; the small fish in a massive pond, drowning. “You are a Du Rose and she knows it.”
Hana shook her head and her expression was sceptical. “Whatever,” she muttered. She’d insulted the mare from one end of the property to the other and the horse couldn’t even tell a real Du Rose from a...whatever Hana was.
Logan’s brow furrowed. “I’m not letting you go, Hana, so get used to it. You’ve belonged to me since I was fourteen so you were a Du Rose even before you knew it. Stop doubting yourself, wahine. You’re mine.”
Hana felt her heart pounding in her breast and a sense of violation eking across her flesh. Somehow Logan understood the root of her problem as though he possessed a secret route into her psyche. Her fear emerged as anger. “I could have been killed!” she exploded.
Logan’s smile made her feel foolish instead. “Na, babe. I’m never that rough with you. I know just how you like it.” He enfolded her in his arms and planted a sensuous kiss on her neck and Hana heard the moan escape her lips, feeling like the biggest pushover in the North Island.
They went downstairs to reclaim Phoenix and release Leslie, but he old woman was reluctant to hand her back. “Youse two have more time,” she insisted. “I love having this little moko.” Logan looked at the housekeeper oddly as she used the word for ‘grandchild’ and Leslie relinquished the baby and disappeared up to her apartment with more speed than Hana credited her with.
“Don’t you like Leslie?” Hana asked, as she fed her daughter at the dining room table.
Logan shrugged. “We’ve never liked each other,” he replied.
“Why?” Hana asked, watching Logan’s eyes darken. Her heart sank. “Don’t bother, Logan,” she said spitefully. “It seems I’m only a Du Rose when it suits you.” She ignored his awkward protests and fell silent. Phoenix produced another horrendous nappy half way through her feed and Hana made Logan deal with her. He was gone a long time.
Hana sat at the table enjoying a cup of tea and listening to the steady clatter of metal food trays and crockery in the industrial kitchen next door. It felt nice to be still for a little while. The women called to one another as they set up for afternoon tea and loaded trays for the restaurant dining room.
Logan returned with a happier baby and handed Phoenix over. “Leslie’s been introducing her to boil-ups!” he exclaimed, disappearing to the outside bins with the reeking nappy.
“What’s a boil-up?” Hana asked when he returned and Logan shrugged.
“It’s everything boiled up.”
It sounded logical but without details left the Englishwoman no wiser. Hana fed her baby for a while longer, silent as her brain worked. Logan paced the room, examining the builders’ work in opening up the dining room and forming the archway to the kitchen. Logan scrutinised the cornice and skirting boards, nodding with approval. Hana shook her head, wondering how she ever passed muster in his perfectionist world or if he examined and picked at her faults when she was sleeping. She sighed and Phoenix popped out from her tee shirt and grinned. Hana smiled back and tickled the soles of her baby’s feet. Phoenix laughed. “Use it or lose it, baby,” Hana whispered and her daughter raised an eyebrow in an uncoordinated movement.
“S’up?” Logan asked, pulling out the chair next to Hana and plonking himself on it as though it was a horse. He needed a haircut and his fringe was permanently in his eyes, shuddering with the motion of his eyelashes. His striking looks melted Hana’s resolve and she forced herself to look away.
“Nothing.”
Logan waited with infinite patience, his grey eyes calm and peaceful like a smooth sea, hiding the danger beneath which could suck Hana in and crush her without mercy. The scar under his right eye looked messy but added to his sex appeal.
“The thing with Amanda,” Hana began, as the silence addled her nerves. Her eyes flicked to Logan’s face, seeking denial but getting none. “I don’t know how to deal with stuff like that. I feel so threatened but you’re gorgeous and other women like you.” Hana swallowed, feeling an uncomfortable constriction in her chest as her pulse rate increased. “If I stay married to you, I have to relive the Caroline nightmare over and over again but with different women. Caroline’s determination to get you back was traumatic and she made my life a living hell. I don’t know how to cope because of Vik’s affair. I freeze and do nothing because it doesn’t matter what I do, I still lose. With Vik I believed I was the last one to know but was I? Did I see it happening like with Amanda and just ignore it?” Hana ran her free hand over her eyes. “I know I can’t live like that; it messes with my head too much.”
Logan waited for her to stop wrangling and then stroked his fingers down her cheek. “You said if you stay married. Are you thinking of not staying married to me, Hana?” His grey eyes bore into her soul, searching and leaving a trace of white light over the delicate surface. “Hana, don’t you trust me?”
Hana thought about her answer, certain he would know if she lied. Logan seemed to understand her better than she did. She told him the truth, shaking her head with emphasis. “No, I don’t know if I can live with women throwing themselves at you. And no, I don’t trust you, Logan.”
He nodded, understanding and compassion pouring through his eyes. He inhaled and smiled sadly at his wife. “Then there’s nothing for it, is there?”
Hana’s pupils dilated in fear at her husband’s words. Was there no point continuing a marriage without trust? She wondered that herself often, not wanting to admit her worst fear. Worse than being widowed again was the nightmare of a partner’s infidelity and living through the aftermath. Her brow furrowed and she tipped her head like a little bird sensing danger. “What do you mean?” she asked bravely, wishing she’d lied her damn head off.
“I’ll have to earn your trust, won’t I?” Logan said, taking her free hand in his, kissing the gold band on her ring finger and effortlessly making it seem highly erotic. “I’ll show you how much I value our marriage, even if you never believe me. I personally prize honesty far above trust. Trust is earned, not given by right but honesty can be as hard to give and accept. I love your honesty, Hana. I’m satisfied with that for now.”
Hana nodded and focussed on the baby, not wanting to fall into Logan’s grey eyes without sealing over her vulnerability first. Logan took his index finger and pulled her head up, forcing her to allow him access to her soul. He smiled, mocking her bashfulness with a joke. “But I’m such a handsome devil there’ll be more Amandas. I guess we need to work out a plan for you to cope.”
Hana slapped Logan’s leg, swearing at him and clapping her hand across her mouth looking mortified. “You’re so bad for me!” she chastised. “But you’re right. What should I have done about Amanda?”
Logan grew serious. “I needed you to react like I would if another man chased you. I don’t leave you in any doubt I love you. I won’t tolerate anyone muscling in on our marriage.” Hana’s mind drifted to the image of Logan picking Amanda’s ex-husband up by the throat and splatting him against the window for standing too close to her. A guilty slice of her consciousness flicked to the tennis player’s kiss and she kept her eyes away from Logan.
“I knew what she was up to,” Logan continued. “I don’t understand why she’d mess with our marriage when her husband wrecked theirs with his affairs, but lonely people do desperate things. It was harmless, flirty, needy crap and nothing physical. I should have spelled it out, but I thought you could see her game; it was so obvious. She refused to leave that night, insisting she needed to see you and short of throwing her out, I put up with her. I couldn’t lay hands on her, Hana and I couldn’t leave without taking Phoe. When I walked to the bedroom she followed me and that’s all you saw; me trapped in the lounge with her because I daren’t go anywhere else in the house. I wanted you to defend me - us. You needed to tell her to back off, not run away and leave me with the problem. When you finally got mad, you got mad at me and I did nothing wrong. I want you to stand up for yourself. You always jump onto the back foot and assume you can’t compete, that you’re not good enough. It’s crap, Hana. I’ve told you I only ever wanted you but you don’t hear me. You build this I’m-not-good-enough-wall and shut me out.”
“Sorry,” Hana whispered. “I did it again, didn’t I? Just ran off without standing my ground.”
She looked wretched and Logan pulled her in close, whispering into her curls, “At least this time it wasn’t a plane ride, just a run up the highway home. But I wish you’d stop it. I never know whether to come after you or not.”
“I never know whether I want you to either,” she conceded and Logan laughed.
“Not much hope for me then is there?”
“Logan?”
“What?” his voice was soft and alluring.
“Am I meant to pick people up by the throat and splat them on windows?”
His laugh was low and melodious. “Na, babe. Your arms are way too spindly. I did that with good reason. I don’t need you to be like me; one bull in our china shop is enough. Speaking to Amanda is fine; cat fights are ugly and a real turn off.”
Logan jumped to his feet and held his hand out to Hana. “Come on, let’s raid the chiller while the women are in the restaurant.”
He emerged with the spoils of his mission and two spoons and carried the feast up to the bedroom. With Phoenix in the travel cot, they demolished the sherry trifle between them while the kitchen girls searched for it downstairs, blaming each other for misplacing it.