With Every Breath: Bindarra Creek A Town Reborn, #5

By Lauren K. McKellar

Infantryman Jeremy Forster needs his final medical clearance to return to the frontline. But when he meets country girl Amie Stone he wants to fight not just for his country, but her heart as well.

Amie doesn't need a knight in shining armour, but she can't stay away from the man who helps her forget the darkness in her past. Perhaps she can be the one to help him heal—even if he doesn't want to be saved.

Can they move on from their pasts and form a life together?  Or will secrets and lies destroy their chance at forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lauren K. McKellar
• Release date: Nov 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393257974

Book preview

Prologue

She was a beacon in a storm.

Her back was ramrod straight. Her chin rose, proud, defiant as she looked him in the eye.

The war stormed on around them. Men cried in agony; other men fell. Blood stained the palms of his hands, never able to be washed clean.

Bullets rained from the sky like hail, violent, relentless, cruel. The wind made a cocktail from the dust, whipping it up into a mixture so potent, so lethal that his vision blurred.

And through it all, she was there. The lighthouse.

His lighthouse.

Begging him to take that next breath.

One

The thwack, thud, thwack of the wheel against the road could only mean one thing—a flat.

And it was just a tyre. It was just a piece of rubber that helped propel her small car forward toward Bindarra Creek through the patchwork fields basking under the late spring sun.

But on that day, it was everything.

Amie pulled over to the side of the road and wrapped her hands around the wheel. Heat burned the back of her eyes, tiny pinpricks of fire that blurred her vision.

She hadn’t cried since it happened. Not through the paperwork, the announcement, the phone call with the police. Not through the endless interviews that followed, one after the other after the other. Not as she packed her life up into that small bag to take back to her hometown, her tail between her legs. Not even at the funeral.

But right then, right there, the flat tyre seemed like the one thing she couldn’t handle. The hurdle she couldn’t leap. The final nail in a coffin that by all rights, she’d seen laid to rest just hours before.

Sobs shuddered through her body. She clutched the leather of the steering wheel for dear life as the chaos of the past week finally caught up with her, a swell of emotion running deep through her body. She cried, and seconds became minutes that stretched into the gaping maw of her hurt, the ache that ate away at her soul like a hungry beast, feasting on her insecurities and sadness.

She cried for everything she had done, and everything she hadn’t been able to do. She cried for the what if, the possibility, the waste.

She cried for tomorrow. For every single tomorrow that would come, and for every yesterday that had been, and her eyes ached from tears, her throat ached from sobs, and her heart ached from life.

And then, as suddenly as she had started, she stopped. She wiped away those tears with a crumpled tissue she found in the glovebox. She stashed it in the bottom of her handbag before heaving a deep breath in and a deep breath out. In and out. In and out.

Just breathe, she whispered to herself. Breathe.

And she did.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much she ached, she had to keep breathing.

Heat laid siege to her skin as she opened the door. She glanced up at the sun burning high in the sky—oh, she hadn’t missed that sun. The vampire sun that sucked life from the land, that drained the rivers dry and shrivelled leaves to a dehydrated crisp. Of course, the sun still shone in Armidale, but there it seemed an accessory to the seasons. Here, only twenty clicks from Bindarra Creek, it was a main event.

Dust sprinkled the tops of her black suede shoes as she walked around the car, eyeing the offending tyre that levelled out with the ground like a scoop of melted ice cream.

She opened the boot and raised her chin, proud. She could do this. Amie Stone could fix anything.

The low rumble of an approaching car reached her as she grabbed the handle of her suitcase and pulled. The damn thing was heavy. As soon as it tipped over the lip of her car boot it clunked to the ground, landing right on her toes.

Shoot! Pain turned her toes to fire. Amie jerked her foot away.

She glanced over her shoulder as the approaching car slowed to a crawl and then stopped behind hers. A white four-by-four. She scanned the long road that stretched into the distance, but no other sign of life was in sight. Ugh. Just her luck.

The engine rumbled into nothing and the door opened. Two brown boots stomped against the ground.

A figure emerged from the car and she shielded her eyes with her hand, squinting against the merciless sun as the finer details of this man came into focus.

He was tall. Broad shoulders, toned physique.

She was alone on the highway …

But it would be fine. It was broad daylight.

Amie stood tall. Confidence was her weapon and she wielded it like a soldier.

She rolled her shoulders back and greeted him with a smile. Can I help you? she asked, friendly, but not too friendly. Polite, but self-assured.

"You looked like you might need some help, the man said, gesturing to her car with arms that had been kissed by sunshine. I see you’ve got a flat."

I do, but I can handle it, she replied.

I didn’t say you couldn’t. Appreciation lit his eyes, the colour of warm coffee. But many hands make light work, right?

I’ve heard too many cooks spoil the broth.

Maybe you’ve been speaking to the wrong chefs. An irrepressible smile lit his face, and Amie’s lips twitched in response.

Maybe. Or maybe I’m just incredibly capable. She gestured to the long stretch of highway narrowing in the distance. Feel free to keep going. Just because a woman is stopped on the side of the road doesn’t mean you have to play the knight.

Hey! That’s a bit unfair now, he countered, his eyes sparkling. I’d stop for a man as well.

And if he refused your help?

I’d still check he was okay. He nodded, sure. "And before you ask, I’ve also assisted men and women lifting heavy things, and I’d help a person of either sex cross the street."

Do you rescue kitties out of trees too? she asked, a hint of mirth teasing her tone.

No. He smiled, and that smile—it was like the sun, shooting light into her soul. Kitten saving is serious business. Better leave that to the professionals.

She laughed, and it felt good to laugh. Like it had been too long since she last had. Touché. I’m sorry for doubting your intentions.

Ah, don’t worry about it. He cocked his head to the side. You know, not everyone knows how to change a flat.

It was just something I wanted to learn. She shrugged. My dad taught me when I asked, right after I got my license. That felt like an age ago now.

You must have made him proud.

She tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear. I guess.

Sure you would have. It’s every father’s dream to have a daughter who’s capable. Independent.

Surreptitiously, she glanced at his hand—weather worn and large. No ring on his finger. Do you have any children?

Me? He glanced behind him, as if she might have been speaking to someone else, then turned back. No. No kids. You?

No. And why had she asked anyway? Best she move the conversation back to safer ground. Did your father teach you how to change a tyre?

My mum did, actually. He grinned. Women can change tyres too, you know.

Stop. She laughed, shaking her head. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed.

I’ll forgive you just this once. He winked, then turned to the highway in front of them. Headed for Bindarra Creek?

She nodded despite herself. Yes. You?

The same.

That was strange. She hadn’t seen him around before, and with her frequent visits home, she’d know if there was a new man in town. Especially one who looked like this. Bindarra was no stranger to handsome men, and the small-town rumour mill was still in good working order, with gossip ground out regularly.

Are you a local? he asked.

Yes. Well, kind of. I grew up there, but now I live in Armidale. She pressed her eyes closed for a moment, still dry from all those tears.

Are you sure you’re okay? he asked, stepping closer still. She opened her mouth to reply, but he kept on speaking. Not just with the tyre. You seem like … He pursed his lips, as if he had to stop the words he wanted to say from spilling out unbidden.

He didn’t need to finish the line. Amie could only imagine what a mess she must look. Her eyes would be puffy, her mascara all over her cheeks.

Memories of the morning came rushing back to haunt her.

I’m fine, she said, her voice level. Just a bit of dust in my eyes.

Those caramel eyes studied her, considering. Hate it when that happens, he finally said, slowly, as if he could see right through her but wouldn’t call that bluff. Just a sec.

Just a sec?

But before she could question him, he’d moved back toward his four-by-four.

Amie lifted the spare from the boot and rolled it next to the car, then grabbed the leather pouch of tools. Having a weapon, like one of the hard metal objects in this kit, was smart. He was, after all, a strange man. They were on a quiet stretch of road.

But even as she thought it, her grip on the jack loosened. He didn’t seem like someone out to hurt her. Those eyes were too warm, that smile too kind. His wasn’t the face of a killer.

She glanced over her shoulder. He’d moved out of his car and stood on the side of the road, pouring water from a flask onto a blue and grey handkerchief. What the devil was he up to?

He screwed the lid back onto the flask and closed the distance between them, holding out the sodden piece of material. Don’t worry; it’s clean.

But what’s it for?

For your face.

My face? She felt like one of her students, unable to grasp what secret language the teacher was trying to communicate.

A small smile tilted his lips. The dust …

Oh.

Thank you, she said. Slowly, she reached for the handkerchief, lowered the jack to the ground.

The material was warm, as if he’d orchestrated this whole thing. As if he’d planned to be the knight in shining armour and offer a not-too-cold, not-too-hot, Goldilocks-style face washer to the first woman he came across in need.

She lifted it to her cheek, gently dabbed under her eyes, and the smell wrapped around her. The sultry scent of a faded cologne, the fresh, clean notes of fabric softener, and a hint of something else—something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. There was something strangely intimate about it.

She swiped the damp material over her cheeks, around her nose, then took one last moment to press the corner of the handkerchief over her eyes. Just for a second, she closed them, and Lord, that felt good.

Then the moment was over.

She pulled the material away, shook it out. Smudged streaks of black ran rampant across the fabric. I’m sorry, she said. I’ve ruined your hankie.

It was my favourite. Handed down to me through the generations.

Her mouth rounded into an O. He had a favourite hankie? And she’d ruined it?

Relax. I was kidding. He shook his head, still smiling. Did the man ever stop smiling? I like it better this way.

You do, huh? she asked, this time stealing a little of his happiness for her own. I’ll wash it and return it. It’s the least I can do.

You don’t have to do that. He shrugged, gestured to the long stretch of road either side of them. I’m only in town for a few nights. We probably won’t see each other again.

Probably not, Amie said lightly. Bindarra was a small town, but she wasn’t planning on enjoying a coffee at the Cyprus Café or stopping in at the bowling club for a drink. The engagement party was the only social event on her radar. Aside from that, this was to be a trip of solitude. The less people she saw, the better.

She held out her palm, offering the handsome stranger the sodden ball of material. Do you want it back?

You keep it. He closed her hand over the handkerchief. The pads of his fingers were rough, warm, and did they linger just a little, or was that her imagination?

It was the latter, she decided, as he withdrew his hand. Definitely the latter.

If you’re sure you don’t want a hand, I’ll let you get to it. He nodded to the tyre once more.

I’m sure, she said. But thank you. For the offer, and the handkerchief. And for somehow, chasing away the darkness that had shadowed her mind for the past week. For helping her forget, even if just for a moment.

No worries. He held her gaze for a beat more, and she wondered if he was going to continue to speak. If he’d suggest they meet again. If he’d ask about her plans for the coming days, or offer his number, or even ask for her name.

But he didn’t say a word.

And given they were strangers, just two people who happened to be in the same place at the same time, it was probably for the best.

Goodbye, he finally said.

Bye, she echoed.

He turned to head back to his car, and Amie breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. He was handsome, but he was still a stranger. Looks could be deceiving, and she’d spent plenty of time warning the students she counselled at school about the dangers of these kinds of situations—she’d seen Wolf Creek, thank you very much, and she wasn’t about to become another statistic.

Yet as he walked away, her heart tugged a little too. Another time, another place—he might have been the kind of man she could form a relationship with. The kind of man she’d be interested in, if women like her had time for interests and wants and needs and desires.

But that wasn’t why she was in Bindarra Creek.

She was here to attend the party then give Eleanor a hand, clearing a few paddocks and repairing some fences. She was here to physically labour, to work her body and hope that with each bead of sweat that eked out of her, a bead of pain went with it.

Tyres crunched over the gravel as the car pulled back onto the road. No. There would be no running into the arms of handsome strangers for Amie.

Not when she was too busy running away.

Two

A nd this is where you’ll be sleeping. Damien gestured to the dark wooden walls of the spare bedroom. Nothing fancy, but you’d be used to that, eh?

Of course. Jeremy clapped his brother on the shoulder. I’d be happy sleeping under the stars if it came to it.

Thought as much. Damien gave him a tight-lipped smile. Did you do that much? When you were …

He didn’t finish the sentence; he didn’t have to. We had tents.

Right. Damien nodded, and that awkward silence that had webbed the air between them since Jeremy’s arrival only seemed to thicken. Just like in the movies, hey?

Just like in the movies. Jeremy nodded, but he stood a little straighter, his