Ringer (11 page)

Merve slammed off the
beer tap, casting him a dark look. “Just go.”

Ringer nodded a silent
thanks to Merve before he grabbed my hand, and without a word, led me through
the stunned, silent crowd. Passing a wide-eyed Jenny and Ruby, Ringer pushed
through the bar door out into the night. He led a straight, determined line
down the street; I fought to keep up with his long strides.

“Ringer, wait a sec.”

It was like my words
were falling on deaf ears, as he dragged me along as if I weighed nothing.

“Ringer, STOP.” I
yanked my arm from his hold, finally pulling him up. He stared back at me,
confused.

“Where are you going?”
I fought to catch my breath, resting my hands on my kneecaps.

“To wait for the
fucking courtesy bus,” he snapped.

I looked up at him for
a long moment, before losing it in a fit of giggles.

His scowl deepened.
“What?”

I straightened with a
sigh as my laughter finally tapered off and reached into my bag, pulling out a
set of car keys that I jangled with glee.

“Ta-da!”

Chapter Nineteen

RINGER

When it came to
Miranda Henry everything was a bloody argument.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?”
I asked for the tenth time. It was the one thing we had debated about all the
way up the main street towards the car. We calculated the height and weight
ratio, the alcoholic content of our beers, the lack thereof of her barroom
brawling, and with all the evidence thoroughly laid out before us—yeah, I was
screwed. Miranda was driving, a small victory on her behalf, yet nevertheless
bloody infuriating. Especially seeing the twinkle in her eyes and the defiant
lift of her chin as she swung the car keys around her finger when she headed
towards the driver’s side. In that moment, I had cursed myself for not leaving
her behind at the pub, and then my eyes dropped to the confident sway of her
hips … by this point I had completely forgotten my name. I blinked, shaking my
head and looking away; yeah, I was totally buzzed all right—good thing she was
driving.

I sighed, opening the passenger door of
Bluey’s Land Cruiser, momentarily pausing at the thought of what Bluey might do
to me if he found me in this situation. Alone, in his car, with Miranda. I slid
uneasily into my seat, my attention snapping to the open driver’s door, where
Miranda was climbing into the cabin. She settled in, adjusting her seat a
little, a shimmering glow from the streetlight above the car highlighting her
blonde, tousled locks. She slid the key into the ignition and twisted the
engine into life; a smile ghosted across her lips as if she was immensely
pleased by the sound. My guess was that driving the Mazda had been like living
on a wing and a prayer. As if sensing my roving eyes, she paused mid-reach for
her seat belt, all the smugness of her fired-up engine melted away, which kind
of made me annoyed because I quite liked the look of it; it suited her, much
more than the quizzical look she gave me.

“What?” A line crinkled between her brows
as she followed through and clicked her belt into place.

I set my eyes forward and settled into my
seat. “No … nothing.”

For fuck’s sake! Get it together, Ringo.

***

“Come on, chop-chop!” Miranda smiled
broadly, as she tooted the horn for added effect.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

My molasses-black stare bore straight
ahead, fixated on the car’s headlights illuminating the first of the many
property gates. A cluster of flickering bugs danced in the beams of light; I
sat there for a long moment.

No wonder she wanted to drive.

I slowly tore my eyes from the gate and set
my deadpanned expression on her as I clicked the latch of the handle and opened
the door. Light flooded the interior, exposing me to the wicked grin Miranda
had spread from ear to ear.

“Try not to run me over this time,” I bit
out.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, you have four
more gates to open,” she quipped.

As I neared the gate, turning my back to
the car, Miranda pumped the accelerator causing the car to roar like a lion and
me to flinch and spin around. As the rev died down, all I could hear was the
maniacal laughter coming from the interior of the car.

Oh yeah, such a fucking comedian.

I tried to reign in some of my dignity by
making fast work of the chain and pushing the gate open, standing aside as the
car slowly moved through.

I would have thought by the last gate her
enthusiasm might have died, but as we jolted to a stop, she appeared more amped
than ever as she turned to me, her brow cocked.

“Well, what do you know, this is where we
first met,” she said, all traces of her humour barely contained.

“Yeah, it was the day I got my first
concussion, such happy memories.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well you
ripped a piece of my car off so I guess we’re even.”

We would never be even, never.

“You mean you didn’t find it when you went
snooping in my room?”

Miranda’s eyes widened oh so slightly, but
her demeanour didn’t falter. “Pfft, I don’t know where you put it,” she said,
avoiding the accusation. “But I can definitely suggest where you
could
put it.” She smiled sweetly.

I raised my brows. “Well, that’s not the
most subtle of suggestions.”

“Ringer.”

“Miranda?”

“Open the bloody gate.”

***

Had I have known what the lift back to
Moira involved, parking on the outskirts of the property and trekking across
paddocks at midnight, I would have taken my chances with the courtesy bus.

Snaring my good Levis on the barbed wire
fence, I swore under my breath, lifting my knee up to the moonlight to inspect
the damage.

Son of a bitch. Second pair of ripped
jeans courtesy of Miss Henry. Shit.

I blew out another sigh as I continued to
navigate my way through the dark.

“Oh, stop being such a girl, we’re almost
there, see?” Miranda pointed before her, where a faint glow lit in the
distance.

I tried to contain my relief and my breath
as I hunched over; Christ, I was unfit, I thought, as I reached for my
cigarette pack. Miranda went to move on and paused mid-step, her attention
snapping at the sound of my lighter.

“What are you doing?”

I took a deep glorious inhale. “Baking a
cake, what does it look like I’m doing?”

“Well, don’t.”

I couldn’t see her face clearly but I
didn’t need to, I could imagine the scowl of disapproval; I had seen it a
thousand times before from the anti-smoking movement.

Her barked order made me enjoy the next
inhale even more, as I deliberately blew smoke in her direction, and she
stepped away swiping the smoke away dramatically.

“Arsehole.” She coughed.

“Relax, I think the surrounding open
elements can take my tiny cigarette,” I said, studying the lit cylinder.

“Yeah? And one drunken flick and you could
start a fire.”

“A fire?” I scoffed, looking around. “Set
what on fire? Unless dust is flammable, I think you’ll be safe,
sweetheart.
”
I stepped past her, making my way towards the distant glow, whistling a little
ditty and ignoring the eyes I felt burning into the back of my skull.

By the time we made it to the last barrier,
another wire fence, I reached out to help Miranda over, but instead earned a
violent handbag to the chest.

Oomph.

“Hold this.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

“Ugh, stop calling me that.” Miranda
climbed over the fence with ease; you could take the girl out of Ballan, but
you couldn’t take Ballan out of the girl. I smiled, watching the much brighter
light of the homestead glow around her. Her messy hair and dusty jeans were a
far cry from European chic, and more like a farm girl that you would want to
take a roll in the hay with. Visions of Miranda Henry laid stretched out on a
bale of hay suddenly entered my thoughts and I quickly tore my gaze from her.

Yeah, this night couldn’t end soon
enough.

I hooked the bag over my shoulder and
climbed over the fence with extra care not to rip my jeans farther or injure
myself in rather tender regions. I sighed with relief when I had two feet both
firmly on the ground.

“Be quiet, just in case anyone’s around,”
she whispered, before taking off with a brisk walk towards civilisation,
leaving me behind with a rather fetching handbag over my shoulder. I slowly
etched my way to follow her tracks, shaking my head in disbelief.

If only the boys at home could see me
now
.

Chapter Twenty

Miranda

I tentatively
crept along the infuriatingly noisy verandah of the shearers’ hut.

Wincing as a pained groan sounded
underfoot, I came to an abrupt halt, causing Ringer to slam into my back.

“For fuck’s sake, Miranda, what are you
doing?” Ringer all but yelled.

“Shhh,” I motioned to him, annoyed.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, if no one can hear
your shit-box Mazda chugging in the night, no one will hear us tiptoe to our
rooms,” Ringer said, side stepping around me and making his way to his room.

“Hey, wait,” I said, reaching out for the
strap of my bag from his shoulder before he disappeared with another of my
belongings into the abyss of his room.

I grabbed without thinking how securely he
had hold of it, pulling him up short and causing it to catapult upwards and
spill its contents onto the decking.

“Shit!” I cried, kneeling on the verandah,
working to save things from rolling off the edge, my search made easier as a
strip of light illuminated the mess. Ringer had turned the light to his room
on; he leant in the doorway looking rather amused.

“Bloody hell, no wonder that thing was so
heavy.”

“Oh yeah, sure, don’t help, will you?” I
snapped, scooping up some wayward coinage.

I heard a sigh of resignation before he
knelt within my eye line. He picked up a lipstick and a key chain. I saw him
mostly in my peripheral vision, but I also saw him pause, pick something up,
and move to slowly stand.

My eyes narrowed in question as I moved to
stand before him, wondering what he held in his hand that had him so entranced.

Oh. My. God!

In movies, when something flies out of a
bag when a girl bumps into a tall, dark stranger, it usually leaves him
standing—mortified—holding a tampon, or birth control or something to that
effect. But worse than any nightmare situation in a make-believe scenario was
Ringer, standing before me with his brows raised in surprise, as he held a long
strip of condoms in his hand.

“Had a big night planned, did you?” The
corner of his mouth lifted into a cheeky, crooked grin, and all of a sudden I
wanted to make my way to the dam and drown myself.

I snatched them from his hand. “You will
never know.”

“More’s the pity.” His heated gaze ticked
over my face.

“Ha! Not with a thousand condoms,” I
scoffed, storming to my door.

“Well, you certainly have enough there if
you change your mind,” he said, smugly leaning out of his door. “If you feel
like practising some safe sex, you know where to find me.” He winked.

I tried to juggle my bag and its contents
in my hands, while I furiously worked to open the door, finally managing it
with some rather ineloquent stumbling. I slammed the door without a backwards
glance.

I wanted to die.

***

I had remembered shoving them in my bag,
smiling to myself; after all, you never knew your luck in the big city. And
although I was absolutely certain that there would be no one within a
hundred-mile radius I would want to touch with a ten-foot pole, you could never
be too careful.

I cupped my face, mortified. I lay alone in
the dark, but I could feel my cheeks on fire.

Seriously, Miranda, couldn’t you have
maybe tore a square off instead of shoving the entire packet in?

The look on Ringer’s face flashed under my
lids every time I closed my eyes. It was a look of surprise and, more
disturbingly, heat. I hadn’t failed to notice the way he looked at me, as if he
could believe that what I had in my bag was a swag of condoms.

Pfft, and why wouldn’t I?

I was definitely no virgin, and, sure, it
may have been a long, long time since I had slept with anyone, but it didn’t
mean I didn’t think about it, didn’t desire it—of course I did. The part of me
who had shoved those condoms in my bag did so in case, by some small miracle, I
would find a tall, dark stranger to have a moonlight tryst with. Not that I had
ever had a one-night stand in my life, I wasn’t that kind of girl. I hadn’t
been that kind of girl to walk around naked either, but hey, what do you know?
It seemed that boredom in Ballan made you do strange things, things you would
never ordinarily do, like thinking about Ringer lying in the dark, in the next
room over. I tossed and turned in my twisted sheets. It was three a.m., and I
was wide awake with my strange thoughts, my crazy, insane thoughts that made my
stomach twist at the thrill of what ran through my mind.

I couldn’t sleep, I kicked at my blankets
with irritation; the feel of them grazing my oversensitive skin was too much to
bear. I swallowed deeply. It was all too much, far too much, as my mind raced
at a million miles an hour. I couldn’t, surely I couldn’t.

Could I?

It was about going to the one place, with
the one person who I was fairly certain would accommodate me. I needed to
unwind, to fall apart and lose myself to the bone-melting pleasure that I was
certain he could provide. I had seen the way he looked at me, I was no fool.
And sure, he despised me as much I did him. But this had nothing to do with
emotion or feelings, this was about letting go, about desire and what I wanted
right at that moment, what my body craved was for … release. And as I lay there
in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, restless with my wicked thoughts, I
knew that if I was looking for that much-needed release without the messy
emotional baggage that would be attached, then Ringer was the perfect one-night
stand. Although the thought of rejection did play on mind, I quickly dismissed
it.

I would make it an offer he simply
couldn’t refuse.

***

I unbuttoned the oversized white shirt I
used as a nightgown, unbuttoning it down to my navel. I slid my knickers off
and a thrill shot through me as I felt the soft fabric against my bare skin; my
stomach twisted as I ran my hands over the shirt, smoothing out the lines. It
was my intention to have the fabric completely crinkled before the night was
out—if all went the way I wanted it to. I held a singular foil square in the
palm of my shaky hand.

What was I doing?

Before I gave myself the chance to answer,
I slid the condom in my shirt pocket.

“You know where to find me.”

Ringer’s taunting wink and the memory of
his words ran over and over in my mind as I crept by tippy-toe towards the
door, twisting the handle and opening it slowly, praying that no sound groaned
from the unoiled hinge. The screech was deafening in the night, but no more
than the creak of the decking underfoot as I froze mid-step, wincing at the
sound that seemed so painfully loud.

I listened for a long moment, wondering if
the noise I made stirred any movement in the room next door. Was Ringer asleep?
It was late enough. He had looked weary and tired before; what if I was the
last thing he wanted to see? Which was probably the exact case seeing as he was
never happy to see me. Still, maybe a half-naked body in his bed would wipe
away his fatigue. There was only one way to find out.

Sneaking along the verandah, I opened the
door to Ringer’s room slightly, choosing to slide myself in so the light of the
moon didn’t illuminate anything in the darkened room. I wanted to be a shadow,
a shadow he could discover in the darkness and it was dark. I was still able to
make out the silhouette of a body on the bed, the bed I was slowly creeping
towards. My heart was almost pounding out of my chest, my legs felt like jelly
as I stood at the end of the bed; I tried to keep my laboured breathing in
check. I stood there for the longest time.

What was I thinking? I had no idea what
I was even doing. Yeah, sure, Miranda, come into Ringer’s room, seduce him for
a quick thrill in order to release some pent-up tension. And how exactly are
you going to go about that, genius?

My mind was whirring at a hundred miles an
hour; oh God, I didn’t know, didn’t have a bloody clue of how I would actually
go about it. What if I woke him and scared him, he might lash out and punch me
in the face, or worse, tell me to get out. No! No an offer he couldn’t refuse,
remember? And just as the memory of my plan resurfaced inside my brain, a
devilish pinch pulled the corner of my mouth. As my inner alter ego came to the
surface, it was the same voice in my head that had given me the confidence to
walk out of the shower cubicle and grab my towel. I would listen to that voice,
she seemed to know what to do—she liked to live on the edge. I slowly sat on
the bed, making sure no part of me was touching him, until I reached out. My
hand felt the warmth of the blanket as it slid further up his thigh, slowly, teasingly
higher, my hand reaching the line of his hip and then across, skimming
tauntingly close to the most intimate part of him that caused him to stir in
his sleep. He probably thought he was having an amazing dream, a dream that was
about to come true as my hand brushed against him, causing him to stir in other
ways.

His body’s reaction only excited me,
encouraged me further, and just as I was about to slide my hand lower,
something froze me from my actions. Ringer’s hand snaked out and caught my
wrist in a vice-like grip. My stomach plummeted, and the horror on my face was
well and truly illuminated as he flicked the bedside lamp on, showing him my
flushed expression, the hunger in my eyes as I looked down at his mystified
expression. His eyes were not bleary from sleep, but narrowed in dark
questions, and his breaths were just as laboured as my own. I thought his stare
would burn a hole straight through my skull: unblinking, alarmed and truly
surprised. I was about to scurry away into the night, mortified, until
something happened. His eyes dipped lower, to where my unbuttoned shirt plunged
and parted, exposing my nakedness underneath, before flicking back up to me. He
swallowed deeply, and his need betrayed him. In that moment I never felt more
powerful; it was all I needed to make my next move. Either out the door to die
of embarrassment, or make my move right here, right now with Ringer. I chose
the latter.