crying again,’ the older one said.
‘She’ll be okay,’ Cam told him. ‘Now, let’s introduce ourselves. I’m Cam, and you are?’
‘Jared,’ the older one replied, then he nudged his brother. ‘Tell ‘im your name, stupid!’
Cam felt the sigh inside him this time. Okay, so it might be normal childish behaviour but the way the little fellow whispered his name, ‘Aaron’, Cam had to wonder if the culture of abuse had already been passed from father to son—to the elder son at least.
He’d been helping the kids to keep out of Jo’s way as she looked after their mother, but now, before getting into the car with the kids, he glanced around. The two women had disappeared.
Cam lifted the two suitcases they’d left behind into the rear compartment, and had shut the tailgate when they reappeared, Jo hustling Jackie down the path.
‘But he gets so angry if I leave a light on after I leave a room,’ Jackie was explaining, and Cam realised for the first time the hold abuse could have on a person. Here was a woman literally fleeing for her life and she’d gone back into the house to turn off a light to avoid the anger of the man she feared.
The man she was fleeing.
Cam held the door for Jackie, acknowledging Jo’s introduction before climbing in the back with the kids.
‘Cam’s come to work with me,’ Jo said, adding, ‘over the holidays,’ just late enough to give Cam a little hope that the job might turn into something more permanent.
Although if he continued to feel physical disturbances whenever he was around her, maybe the couple of months’ trial period would be more than enough.
And he hadn’t wanted anything permanent anyway.
Had he?
A slight disturbance beside him took his mind off his boss. Aaron’s body was shaking, the little boy in tears.
‘Sook!’ his brother said, but under his breath so his mother didn’t hear.
Aware it wasn’t his place to chastise the older boy, Cam settled his arm around the little fellow and drew him close.
He’d seen too many children cry, and that quivering little body spiked memories into his heart, hurting it so badly he had to take a deep breath and force his mind back to the present.
What he needed was a diversion.
‘Can you swim?’ he asked Aaron. ‘Do you go to the beach? I’m a surfer and I go there most mornings. Maybe one day, if your mum says its okay, I could take you out on my surfboard.’
‘Me too?’ Jared demanded, and Cam agreed he could take him as well.
‘As long as you’re a good boy and look after your little brother.’
He had been going to say ‘look after your mum’ but remembered just in time something else he’d read the previous evening. According to research children were mostly left alone in domestic abuse situations, unless they tried to protect the person suffering abuse—usually the mother.
‘I can swim real well,’ Jared told him, while young Aaron snuggled closer, warm against Cam’s side, and whispered that he, too, could swim.
Cam’s arm tightened around him, the feel of the small body pressed to his warming some of the cold places inside his body.
Inside his heart?
It was always the kids who suffered.
They’d reached the refuge, and Cam was pleased that the ‘treat’ lot were still out. It would give Lauren time to settle Jackie and the two boys into the vacant room.
‘Do we hang around?’ he asked Jo, aware now the activity had died down that he was starving. He glanced at his watch—nine o’clock—no wonder.
Jo saw the glance and as her own stomach was grumbling she knew what he was thinking.
‘We can go,’ she told him. ‘In fact, it’s best we do. Lauren will settle Jackie in before the others come home.’
She was uncertain what to say next—sure Cam wouldn’t have had time to do much shopping and not knowing how much food he could keep in his van. Fortunately he broke the silence.
‘Well, it’s too late to be cooking dinner,’ he told her, ‘and I’m fairly short of supplies in the van, so, is there somewhere good we can eat?’
His smile caused what were becoming customary disturbances inside her, and she was about to protest that she’d be fine—after all, he could find himself something to eat—when he spoke again.
‘Come on, what’s the absolute best place to eat in town?’
‘Surf club,’ she replied automatically, definitely not thinking things through. Things like eating at the surf club looking out at moonlight on the ocean, with a man to whom she didn’t want to be attracted.
‘Although it could be closed by now,’ she finished, but not quickly enough.
‘Closed by now?’ Cam echoed. ‘It’s only nine o’clock!’
He sounded so disbelieving Jo had to smile at him.
‘Country hours,’ she explained, then to escape, or perhaps to hide the smile that didn’t want to go away, she added, ‘I’ll just let Lauren know we’re going.’
She slipped away, relieved to be out of Cam’s presence, although she’d been pleased to have it earlier. And she was stuck with him for another hour or two, depending on how long it took to order, get served and eat a meal.
Stuck with him and the moon and the ocean …
Perhaps clouds had covered the sky while they’d been inside.
That wish wasn’t granted. As she pulled into the car park she had to acknowledge that it was a near perfect late November evening. The moon—yep, almost full—was shining down on the ocean. The clubhouse, tucked away from southerlies behind the headland, looked north across the bay and out to sea.
Unbelievably beautiful.
Picture-postcard perfect.
Romantic.
How could the sudden advent of one man into her life start her thinking of romance?
Was she so needy? Frustrated? Desperate for love?
Love?
Now, where had that word come from?
‘NOT much surf,’ Cam said, obviously checking out the waves while she was muddling around in her head with moonlight on water and other most unsuitable thoughts.
The irony of the situation made her smile. Totally unaware of the effect he was having on her, the man who was confusing her so badly was thinking surf.
She could do surf.
And thinking surf was miles better than thinking romance.
‘You should get a southerly swell coming up on the open beach south of the headland over the next few days,’ Jo told him, having automatically checked the weather report on the internet before she’d left the surgery.
‘You surf yourself?’ he asked, touching her on the arm as he asked the question, so she had to stop walking towards the clubhouse and turn to answer him.
‘Not any more,’ she said, then, before sadness could overwhelm her and spoil the magic of the beautiful evening, she added, ‘All the local kids surf almost from the time they can stand up on a surfboard, but it’s hardly the most sensible sport for someone with my colouring.’
She’d