Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
First on the agenda this morning, after a breakfast of cornflakes, was to shower: check. Dress in god-awful flannel: check. Grab the keys and drive to the station before it was time to open the shop.
With a nervous hop in his step, he headed outside. The garage door rumbled open and he sidled past shelves of tools and assorted stuff toward Carl’s Jeep. A Jeep that was not only unlocked, but also had its back window fully open. Carl clearly trusted this ol’ town. He’d better remind Carl not to be quite so carefree with his own ride.
He settled himself into the driver’s seat, inserted the key, and did a double take toward the passenger seat.
In a jiffy, five-seconds tops, he was out of the car, out of the garage and jumping up and down shuddering all over. Holy shit. He’d seen spiders before, but none—repeat none—in his life had been the size of his hand. Bigger. The size of . . . of Owen’s hand. Splayed.
He pressed the buzzer, shutting the garage door, and shivered again. “Right. You can have the car.”
Wind tunnelled through dark-leafed trees, and heavy clouds rumbled in from the horizon. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Nice enough morning to walk. It was only, like, two kilometres. No sweat.
Nope, no sweat at all. Though, it was hard to tell with the sudden rain that pounded over him. It soaked through all his clothes, the wet material chafing his thighs as his shoes squelched with every step along a bush rimmed, pavement-less road.
Still. Definitely beat Uber-ing a huntsman.
Headlights flashed in his peripheral vision and Jason momentarily stumbled in the gutter. He grinned toward the vague outline of Owen beckoning with his fingers—difficult to see, what with the rain—as an ordinary-looking navy car pulled up alongside him. He thanked his lucky stars and opened the passenger door. He wasn’t exactly in the best shape to sit in a dry car, but . . .
One jump, and he was inside.
Owen shook his head in mystified amusement, snatching his perfectly pressed, lint-free blazer out from under Jason’s descending backside just in time and laying it across the back seat. He looked every bit as Jason expected he would in uniform. Smart, professional, a little bit intimidating. Very respectable, everything in place. A dark tie the colour of the blazer lay neatly over a navy shirt with matching epaulettes, embroidered with three gold chevrons. The crest on the arm read Tasmania Police. It added to his . . . air. An air of calm authority. He’d shaved too, the scent of his aftershave mingling with all the rain Jason had brought in.
Jason caught a flash of dark eyes on him and shuffled himself forward in the seat. “Drenched. Sorry about that.”
Owen raised an eyebrow and returned those deep orbs to the road. “Whoever would have imagined Carl hoofing it to town?”
Shit. He was raising suspicions already. He’d better channel his inner . . . farm. No way the real Carl would freak out over eight hairy legs. “There’s a, ah, little problem with the Jeep.”
“And your first thought is to walk in a storm rather than call a mate for a ride? Or ask your neighbour?” Owen glanced pointedly at him.
Jason laughed nervously and patted Owen’s shoulder. “Have I said thanks for pulling over?”
“It would be a first.”
Right. Speeding tickets. “To be fair, the other times you pulled over, you were in a patrol car, and I wasn’t exactly at the other end of your generosity.”
Owen huffed a laugh and made a left into town. The main street. If he recalled the layout correctly, the station would be tucked away on the next left at the roundabout.
The car paused at a pedestrian crossing to let a woman in a red trench coat, hood up, walk across. Despite the rain, she twisted and gave Owen a friendly wave, and then smiled brightly.
Jason’s heart rammed in his chest and he clutched at his seat. Her dark hair, her sharp nose, the shape of her eyebrows . . .
The veil of rain could not mask the resemblance.
Cousin Cora.
His birth mother.
Owen pulled up outside the station, jolting to a stop that had Jason’s belt tightening across his chest. It certainly snapped him out of wherever seeing his mother for the first time had sent him. Strange, excited, hiccupy feelings. God, his palms were sweating. He was due to meet her around ten tomorrow morning, according to Carl. What would he say? What did he want to know?
How could he find out without giving himself away?
Jason looked over to the driver’s side. Owen was sitting back in his seat, studying him carefully.
A shiver scuttled through him at the intense scrutiny. He stopped wiping his palms on his thighs and laughed nervously as he fiddled with the belt. “Let’s pay those fines.”