the cell. “It was mostly just mumbling. And some snoring. And you did mention someone named Nessa.”
“Vanessa,” he murmured, scanning her features again. She wasn’t wearing a bit of makeup, yet she looked as if she’d just stepped out of the pages of one of those fashion magazines Vanessa always had on hand. She had that fresh-scrubbed, innocent, girl-next-door look about her. Natural. Clean. He wondered if she smelled as good as she looked.
Since returning home, there hadn’t been a single woman who’d piqued his interest—until now. Though she could be anywhere between sixteen and thirty, Brody reckoned if she was younger than eighteen, she wouldn’t be sitting in a jail cell. It was probably safe to lust after her.
“You definitely said Nessa,” she insisted. “I remember. I thought it was an odd name.”
“It’s short for Vanessa. She’s a model and that’s what they call her.” Nessa was so famous, she didn’t need a last name, kind of like Madonna or Sting.
“She’s your girlfriend?”
“Yes.” He drew a sharp breath, then cleared his throat. “No. Ex-girlfriend.”
“Sorry,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories.”
“No bad memories,” Brody replied, noting the hint of defensiveness in his voice. What the hell did he care what this woman thought of him—or the girls he’d dated? He swung his legs off the edge of the bed, then raked his hands through his hair. “I know why I’m here. What are you doing in a cell?”
“Just a small misunderstanding,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Angus doesn’t lock people up for small misunderstandings,” Brody countered, pushing to his feet. “Especially not women.” He crossed to stand in front of her, wrapping his fingers around the bars just above hers. “What did you do?”
“Dine and dash,” she said.
“What?”
Her eyes dropped and a pretty blush stained her cheeks. “I—I skipped out on my bill at the diner down the street. And a few other meals in a few other towns. I guess my life of crime finally caught up with me. The owner called the cops and I’m in here until I find a way to work it off.”
He pressed his forehead into the bars, hoping the cool iron would soothe the ache in his head. “Why don’t you just pay for what you ate?”
“I would have, but I didn’t have any cash. I left an IOU. And I said I’d come back and pay as soon as I found work. I guess that wasn’t good enough.”
Brody let his hands slide down until he was touching her, if only to prove that she was real and that he wasn’t dreaming. “What happened to all your money?” he asked, fixing his attention on her face as he ran his fingers over hers. It seemed natural to touch her, even though she was a complete stranger. Oddly, she didn’t seem to mind.
Her breath caught and then she sighed. “It’s all gone. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m not a dishonest person. I was just really, really hungry.”
She had the most beautiful mouth he’d ever seen, her lips soft and full…perfect for—He fought the urge to pull her closer and take a quick taste, just to see if she’d be…different. “What’s your name?”
“Payton,” she murmured.
“Payton,” he repeated, leaning back to take in details of her body. “Is that your last name or your first?”
“Payton Harwell,” she said.
“And you’re American?”
“I am.”
“And you’re in jail,” he said, stating the obvious.
She laughed softly and nodded as she glanced around. “It appears I am. At least for a while. Angus told me as soon as he finds a way for me to work off my debt, he’ll let me out. I told him I could wash dishes at the diner, but the owner doesn’t want me back there. I guess jobs are in short supply around here.”
Brody’s gaze drifted back to her face—he was oddly fascinated by her features. Had he seen her at a party or in a nightclub in Fremantle, he probably wouldn’t have given her a second glance. But given time to appreciate her attributes, he couldn’t seem to find a single flaw worth mentioning.
“Quinn!”
Brody glanced over his shoulder and watched as Angus strolled in, his freshly pressed uniform already rumpled after just a few hours of work. “Are you sober yet?”
“You didn’t have to lock me up,” Brody said, letting go of the bars.
“Brody Quinn, you started a brawl, you broke a mirror and you threw a bleedin’ drink in my face, after insulting my taste in music. You didn’t give me a choice.” Angus braced his hands on his hips. “There’ll be a fine. I figure a couple hundred should do it. And you’re gonna have to pay for Buddy’s mirror.” Angus scratched his chin. “And I want a promise you’re gonna behave yourself from now on and respect the law. Your brother’s here, so pay the fine and you can go.”
“Teague is here?” Brody asked.
“No, Callum is waiting. He’s not so chuffed he had to make a trip into town.”
“I could have driven myself home,” Brody said.
“Your buddy Billy tried to take your keys last night. That’s what started the fight. He flushed the keys, so Callum brought your spare.” Angus reached down and unlocked the cell. “Next time you kick up a stink, I’m holding you for a week. That’s a promise.”
Brody turned back and looked at Payton. “You can let her out. I’ll pay her fine, too.”
“First you have to settle up with Miss Shelly over at the coffeeshop and then you have to find this young lady a job. Then, I’ll let you pay her fine. Until you do all that, she’s gonna be a guest for a bit longer.”
“It’s all right,” Payton said in a cheerful voice. “I’m okay here. I’ve got a nice place to sleep and regular meals.”
Brody frowned as he shook his head. It just didn’t feel right leaving her locked up, even if she did want to stay. “Suit yourself,” he said, rubbing at the ache in his head.
Payton gave him a little wave, but it didn’t ease his qualms. Who was she? And what had brought her to Bilbarra? There were a lot of questions running through his mind without any reasonable answers.
He walked with Angus through the front office toward the door. “Let her out, Angus,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll fix any mess she’s made.”
“I think she wants to stay for a while. I’m not sure she has anywhere else to go. I figure, I’ll find her a job and at least she’ll eat.” He cleared his throat. “Besides, she doesn’t complain about my music. She actually likes Elvis. Smart girl.”
When they reached the front porch of the police station, Brody found his eldest brother, Callum, sitting in an old wooden chair, his feet propped up on the porch railing, his felt stockman’s hat pulled low over his eyes.
Brody sat down next to him, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Go ahead. Get it over with. Chuck a spaz and we’ll call it a day.”
Callum shoved his hat back and glanced at his little brother. “Jaysus, Brody, this is the third time this month. You keep this up, you might as well live here and save yourself the trouble driving the two hours into town every weekend. At least I wouldn’t worry about how you’re getting home.”
“It won’t happen again,” Brody mumbled.
“I can’t spare the time. And petrol doesn’t come cheap. And it’s not like I don’t have enough on my mind with this whole land mess boiling up again.”
Callum