Page 11 of Outback Secrets

Chapter Four

As Liam poured Henri’s drink, he glanced towards the dining room and couldn’t hide his frown. He didn’t like everyone in town but the people she was here with were some of the best around. Like him, most of them had experienced some kind of hardship or heartache and it had shaped them into people who gave a damn about others. He knew much more about each of them than they did about him, but that wasn’t because they didn’t care or weren’t interested.

He slid her whiskey across the bar and watched as she downed half of it in one go. ‘Want to talk about it?’

She shook her head—‘It’s nothing really’—and took another sip of her drink.

‘I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Liam,’ he said, offering her his hand.

‘I know.’ She stared at it a few long moments before reaching out and sliding her hand into his. ‘Henri.’

It was one of the most innocuous gestures there was, but it felt anything but innocuous. Just having her tiny hand in his did weird things to his insides. He held it a fraction too long, but she didn’t seem in any hurry to let go either. Then again, she was quite possibly halfway to half-cut and thus her reflexes might be delayed, so he withdrew his hand and tried to collect himself before anyone noticed and started jumping to conclusions.

‘Henri. Short for Henrietta?’

She made a face like she’d just tasted something nasty.

‘What’s wrong with Henrietta?’ he asked, amused.

‘What’s right with it? It’s too many syllables for starters and so bloody old-fashioned. Not to mention girly.’

‘And you’re not girly?’

She glared at him over the top of her glass. ‘Are all publicans as chatty as you?’

‘I don’t actually know any others, and most customers would say I’m not particularly chatty.’ Listening was more his gig. ‘But I guess some people just inspire more conversation than others.’

‘Is that so?’ This earned him a smile and, as sexy as Henri was when she was scowling, her smile made him feel as if his chest was full of fireworks. ‘How about we talk about you then?’

Once again, he glanced towards the dining room—talking about himself was his least favourite pastime and these days it was rare anyone even tried to get him to. Of course, there’d been a bit of interest when he first arrived in the town, but then there’d been a scandal about a group of farmers who’d had a swingers’ club in the seventies and attention switched to that as everyone tried to work out who was involved. There was always something happening in a small town, and it wasn’t long before Liam blended into the background. People didn’t come to the pub to learn about him, they came to socialise and have fun with their mates or to drown their sorrows alone, which often led to them talking about themselves.

Honestly, the things he’d heard. Some of the locals seemed to have confused him for a priest in confession. He knew who was having an affair with who, who took medication for depression and other ailments they didn’t want friends and family knowing about, who had gambling problems, who hated their job, who hated their boss, who wanted to sleep with their boss, who’d cheated on exams, who’d lied on resumes … The list of transgressions was endless. If Liam were a different kind of person, he’d be able to blackmail half the people in this town and a few beyond, but instead he tried to be a welcome ear when someone needed it and the rest of the time he kept his mouth shut.

‘Shouldn’t you be getting back to your friends?’ he said.

‘Who are you? The social police?’

Another gulp of her drink—she sure was putting them away fast, and he hoped she could handle her liquor. He took his duty to serve alcohol responsibly very seriously, but he got the feeling Henri wouldn’t take too kindly to being told to slow down.

‘Trust me,’ she went on, ‘there’s plenty of time to talk weddings, bunyips and babies. Right now, I could do with a few minutes’ reprieve. So tell me …’ She planted her elbows on the bar and leaned towards him. ‘Where are you from? That accent’s American, right?’

Her question surprised him. People rarely asked about his accent; sometimes he forgot he even had one. ‘Yeah. I’m from Colorado.’

‘Long way from home.’ She swished the ice around her glass. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time flying in Canada and travelled a bit in the US, but I’ve never been to Colorado. Mountains, right? Snow? Big lakes? Cutesy small towns that look good on postcards.’

He nodded. ‘That’s about right.’

She glanced into her glass and then back to him. ‘So, what brought you down under?’

‘My mom was Aussie.’

‘Really? Where was she from?’

Always reticent to talk about his family, he hesitated a moment, but something about Henri made him want to continue the conversation. ‘Her parents had a farm near Dubbo in New South Wales.’

‘I know that area well. How’d you end up in Bunyip Bay?’

‘Well … I’d always been curious about my Aussie roots. In my mid-twenties, I decided to take some time out and this was one of the places I visited. I fell in love and never left.’