Stranded With Ella Page 3

  Ella backed out of the room and closed the door. Hana had enjoyed it here. Ella sensed that with every particle of her body. She blinked away the sheen of tears that collected in her eyes. Sorrow and sympathy pressed on her chest. How unfair for Hana to escape the dangers of Afghanistan only to die violently in peaceful New Zealand.

  Another doorway led to a lounge still decorated in seventies fashion. A weird mustard-yellow paper covered the walls, although the wear and tear wasn’t as bad in this room, which was probably why Dillon and Hana hadn’t redecorated this space yet. A huge television hung on one wall while a cozy green two-seater and two single matching green chairs were grouped for perfect viewing.

  A framed photo claimed her attention. A smiling, clean-shaven Dillon stood in a casual pose with a petite black-haired woman. Their arms were wrapped around each other, and they appeared relaxed and happy. She’d pictured Hana in her traditional garb, but she wore jeans and a bright red shirt. A beautiful couple.

  Ella sighed, envious of their happiness and obvious closeness. This was the reason she’d rejected the two marriage proposals she’d received. While she’d genuinely liked both men, they hadn’t made her pulse race. She hadn’t wondered about their backsides, ached to touch said buttocks.

  A gasp slipped from her, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. She was not thinking that way about Dillon Williams.

  Ella scurried from the room and found herself in the kitchen. Excellent. Here was something she could do to keep her mind off Dillon. The kitchen held an old pitted countertop and another homage to the seventies in the boxy red cabinets. The pantry was large and well-stocked. She discovered a caddy full of tea bags and a teapot sat near the sink. With the jug filled and on to boil—thank goodness, they still had power—she turned to the fridge. She opened it and discovered at least a dozen plastic containers of food. A loaf of bread. Plenty of milk. A tub of spreadable butter. Bacon. Score! She’d spotted a tray of eggs in the pantry during her search for tea.

  A rectangular-shaped wooden table sat at the far end of the spacious kitchen; Dillon must use this for eating his meals since she hadn’t spotted a dining room during her explorations. Ella got on with making a pot of tea, cooking the bacon and setting the table.

  Halfway through her first cup of tea, she lifted her head at a noise. “Are you ready for breakfast?” she called.

  Dillon appeared in the kitchen doorway, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. “You’ve cooked breakfast?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to eat now? How many eggs? Two or three?”

  “Two is fine. I’ll wash up.”

  “Do you take milk in your tea?”

  “Please.”

  He disappeared, and she shook her head, mostly to shake sense into her loopy brain. She was here because of necessity. This wasn’t a social call, a booty call or any other call. Dillon was being a good neighbor.

  The pipes clanked, the thumps echoing in the walls, and she bustled to the kitchen counter. She cracked three eggs into the hot pan and removed two heated plates from the oven. Dillon entered the kitchen as she placed the crispy bacon on the table. She popped four slices of bread in the toaster.

  “Here’s your tea,” she said, gesturing with her egg slice. “How do you want your eggs?”

  “Any way is fine.” He grabbed his tea and took a sip. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

  “You didn’t need to share your bed,” she retorted. “House. I mean, you didn’t need to let me stay at your house.”

  He grinned. “You should stop talking now.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, unable to meet his gaze. Talk about mortifying. She put her mouth in gear and it took off on her. With blazing cheeks, she placed a plate with two eggs in front of him. The toaster clunked, announcing its task done, and she was glad of the opportunity to retreat. A short respite. She delivered the toast then turned off the heat under the frying pan, placed her single egg on a plate and joined Dillon.

  “I rarely bother with breakfast.”

  “I’m starving.” Ella buttered a slice of toast and maneuvered her egg until it sat on top of the bread. “If I don’t get food and a cup of tea in the morning, I’m a bear.”

  “You enjoy food.”

  Ella paused, a piece of bacon hovering in front of her mouth. “Are you calling me fat, Dillon Williams?”

  “Where did you get that from?” he demanded. “I never said the F-word. Lighten up, Ella Double-barrel Name.” He shunted the toast rack in her direction after taking a slice for himself. “Have more toast and tame that bear.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  He cupped his mug and sipped his tea, eyeing her over the top. “Your body weight is in proportion to your height. You appear healthy. That is what matters.”

  When she opened her mouth, he lifted his right hand in a stop motion.

  Button it, Ella. She wasn’t fat. She knew it, but she wasn’t skinny either. A touchy subject since the last guy she’d dated had dumped her for someone thinner after telling her she needed to diet. Luckily, the guy who had asked her out tonight had told her he couldn’t believe his friend’s idiocy. He’d scored an instant date acceptance, after that statement, which reminded her.

  “You said you have a satellite phone. I need to ring my boss and I want to cancel my date with Michael.”

  “Michael Downing?”

  “Have you met him?”

  “We attended school together and played rugby for the same team. How long have you been going out with Michael?”

  “This will be our first date. I dated Jamie Austin for a few months.”

  Dillon’s mug hovered, his blue eyes watchful. “He prefers his women thin.”

  “Yes.” Even though she aimed for casual, the word emerged crisp and clipped with a side of pissed.

  “Ah. Now I get it. Guy’s a dickhead, Ella. I’ll grab the phone as soon as we’re finished eating. Have you tried emailing? For some weird reason, an email will often get through when a phone call won’t.”

  Ella pulled out her phone and tapped an email out, explaining her dilemma. It sent the first time. “I don’t have Michael’s email.”

  Dillon ate his last bit of egg and set his knife and fork across the center of his plate. “I’ll grab the phone now. When the rain stops, I’ll check on the landslide.”

  “Can I come with you? Do you have a spade or a shovel? I had no tools otherwise I would’ve tried to dig out my car. Talk about creepy walking in the dark. A working car would’ve saved me from the bogeyman.”

  He rolled his eyes and chewed the last corner of his toast.

  “What? I’m a scaredy-cat.”

  Five minutes later, they did the dishes together and took care of the phone calls.

  “Your coat is soaked. It’s hanging in the laundry room,” Dillon said. “I have a selection of raincoats in there. Choose one to wear. It’s cold outside.”

  Ella grabbed a blue coat and rolled the sleeves before she donned the garment and zipped it against the winter chill.

  “You ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take a hat as well.” Dillon slapped a woolen beanie on top of her head before she could reply.

  “I resemble the roly-poly tire man.”

  “You’ll be dry and warm. That’s all that counts,” Dillon said firmly and led the way out the door.

  The drive to the spot where she’d left her car took five minutes. Dillon parked and cursed. Ella wanted to parrot his pithy oath, but buttoned her lips and stared at the carnage.

  At least half a dozen trees mixed in with the wall of sludgy dirt and tufts of grass. The mountainous pile of debris covered the road—an impossible obstacle to walkers and drivers. With the steep, scarred hill above and the turbulent creek below the road, the trip to Eketahuna would not happen today.

  “Where is my car?” Ella asked in a faint voice.

  “You’re bloody lucky you had the sense to walk to my place,” Dillon said, eyeing the bar
rier. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

  3 - Trapped

  Part of Dillon thought Ella might have exaggerated about the landslide. She hadn’t. Not one bit. In fact, she was lucky to have survived. With the amount of rain they’d had, not even the few remaining trees had held the ground in place.

  “I told Dad I’d ring with details. I’d thought we might walk out to get you home. That won’t happen. We’re trapped, at least until the rain stops and the creek level subsides. Don’t get too close in case the hill goes again. The big tree balancing there is a worry.”

  “My car is under that.”

  “Is it insured?”

  “Yes, but my car has vanished. What happens if the insurance company doesn’t believe me?”

  “Give Dad your details. We’ll get him to notify them and the cops to make things official. Don’t worry. They’ll find your car when they clear the road.”

  Dillon noticed Ella trembling while shock had stripped the color from her cheeks. Without considering, he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her against his chest. “It will be all right.”

  “But I can’t stay here indefinitely.”

  “Not even with my superior backside to ogle?”

  “You won’t let me forget that, will you?”

  “Nope.” He approved of her regained color, so he continued his teasing. “You wait until I tell Josh and Summer.”

  “Your brother and sister?”

  He nodded. “Josh will hoot and dispute the fact while Summer will tell me Nikolai has a superior butt. My brother-in-law is in the army too, although he’s in training these days rather than on active duty.”

  “Your family is close. I miss that. I miss my parents.”

  “What happened?”

  “They were in a motor vehicle accident. A head-on crash during a violent storm. They both died at the scene.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ella shook off her sorrow. “I’m not alone. I have lots of friends. A family of my choosing.”

  “True,” Dillon agreed. “My army buddies are my second family.”

  Dillon explored the ground by the creek and noted exit points. While a vehicle couldn’t pass, a person walking might once the level of the creek returned to normal. He retraced his footsteps.

  “What will we do now?”

  “We’ll make more phone calls and sit tight.”

  “I’m not good at sitting still,” Ella said.

  “I can always set you to work.” Dillon thought she’d protest, but instead, she brightened.

  “Perfect. I have my e-reader, but I’ve almost finished this month’s read for the book club.”

  “What is your book this month?” Curiosity prompted him to ask.

  “A romance. We take turns choosing books.” Her cheeks turned pink, increasing his interest.

  “Should I be checking out this book along with the one about body language? I have an app on my phone for reading.”

  “I doubt you require any sex tips,” she said, her prim tone making him want to smile.

  “You know nothing of my experience or techniques.” His lips quivered, but his beard covered the evidence.

  “We are changing the subject,” she stated. “Are you renovating each room of your house? I noticed you’ve stripped some of the kitchen wallpaper. Are you painting or papering once the surface is prepared? I’m excellent at both.”

  “I have paint. It won’t take me much longer to finish. It will rain again, so that’s the perfect job to keep us busy.”

  “I could make scones for lunch. You have the ingredients.”

  Dillon opened the vehicle door for her. “I do?”

  “Yep, I was nosy this morning. I explored your kitchen. Actually, most of your house.”

  A laugh escaped him as he shut the door and rounded the hood. He climbed behind the wheel. “Are you always this honest?”

  “I try to be. I loathe liars and try not to commit the crime myself.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What about you?”

  Dillon paused. “I tell the truth when it counts, but sometimes my job involves subterfuge.” He left it at that, long-formed habits keeping him succinct yet away from telling details. Ella surprised him by not pushing, and he realized he enjoyed her company—even if she did believe in ghosts. In fact, speaking with a neutral person about everyday stuff was helping to still his inner turmoil.

  “Do you think the farmer who owns this land could’ve saved it if he’d left more trees?”

  Dillon flicked his gaze over the mountain of wet dirt and plants. “John Donovan owns this land. He didn’t clear the trees. I’d say his father or grandfather did the damage. Probably both. Farming methods have changed, ideas shifting over the generations. When the first settlers came to the area, they cleared native bush to make pastures for their sheep and cattle. Some of the steeper land is better left in a natural state.”

  “You have paddocks.”

  “We do, but I’m raising alpacas that can handle the hilly country.”

  “I noticed you’ve planted trees.”

  “To attract more birds.” His throat closed and he concentrated on driving. It hurt to talk about Hana and the ever-present guilt charged through his mind. A diversion required. “What do you do apart from the book club?”

  “I work at Pukaha Mt. Bruce. I adore my job. It’s why I moved to Eketahuna. Each day is different and I get to work with the birds. I meet lots of people.”

  “What is your favorite part?”

  “Hmmm.” Ella tapped her fingers on her knee and pursed her lips.

  She was kinda cute, and he found himself curious to learn more.

  “It’s difficult to say. The native eels are amazing, and I help with the kiwis sometimes, but working in the shop is fun because I meet travelers from all over the world.”

  “Why do you dye your hair pink?”

  Ella laughed, and the musical sound soothed his tight chest and pushed away the lingering guilt that came from recalling Hana’s senseless death.

  “Some weeks my hair is blue or turquoise or whatever color I favor on the day. My mother always encouraged me to express myself, and this is one way I chose. Don’t you like it?” She pursed her lips, her gaze on him. “It can’t be that weighty a decision. A simple yes or no will suffice.”

  Dillon started, realizing he’d taken his eyes off to road to stare at her lips. Luckily, he’d been driving slowly to suit the conditions. He focused on his driving, but his mind kept drifting. Some people might find her mouth too big, but her plump, pink lips gave a man ideas. “I thought it was weird at first, but it’s grown on me.” How he got out the words without choking, he had no idea. His dick stirred, and he was glad of his coat. He gripped the steering wheel and sought another topic. “Do you enjoy living in Eketahuna? My sister couldn’t wait to escape and spread her wings.”

  “Some people might say rural towns are dying in New Zealand, but there is a real sense of community here. People are friendly and watch out for each other. I like that. I do a lot of handicrafts in my spare time, go to watch the local rugby team. There are galas and other fund-raising activities.”

  In other words, she was a woman his mother would approve of and love to have as a daughter-in-law. “How did my mother react when you rang her looking for me?”

  “She was helpful.”

  “In a matchmaking way?”

  “Um, yes. But I told her I have a date with Michael.”

  Dillon suppressed a scowl. He knew his mother and the way her mind worked. Now that Summer was married with a son, their mother had ample time to concentrate on him and Josh.

  Dillon pulled up in front of the gate at the foot of his driveway.

  “I’ll get the gate.” Ella was out of his vehicle before he could argue.

  He grinned as she splashed through the puddles and yanked on the gate, a blob of layered clothing. During her first visit, she’d worn her coat, the wind whipping her dress to s
howcase her shapely legs. Curiosity had him craving another peek.

  Hell! What the heck was he doing? She was dating Michael and he was returning to Afghanistan. Besides, she wasn’t his type. He preferred petite dark-haired women. Women more like Hana even though he and his wife had never been more than just friends. In time, he’d hoped their friendship might deepen to a real marriage, but the home invaders had ripped that opportunity from them.

  Ella made waving motions. Bloody hell. And now he was zoning out when he needed to concentrate. He drove through and waited while Ella shut the gate.

  “Were you daydreaming?” she demanded as she climbed back into his vehicle.

  “No.”

  Her quizzical expression would’ve prompted most people to spill. Not him. “You want a cup of tea before we start stripping wallpaper? That’s if you still want to help.”

  “Sure.” She glanced at her watch then at him in clear surprise. “Eleven o’clock.”

  “It took a while to check out the road.”

  “The time flew.”

  “You were busy stressing over your car,” he said lightly. The truth—her paleness and blank stare had concerned him. The exercise had prodded her awake and out of her introspection.

  “I’m hungry. I’ll make the scones straight away.”

  Dillon hid his smile and refrained from mentioning her enjoyment of food. Let no one say he didn’t learn from his mistakes. “As long as you don’t impede my paper stripping.”

  “Never,” she said in a husky voice. “When are you going to fix the potholes in your driveway?”

  “It’s on the list. No point doing anything in this weather.”

  She nodded. “Makes sense. How many alpacas do you have?”

  “Six at present. I’m working on improving the fencing before I increase my flock. I’ll wait until I retire though. Dad has to look after them whenever I’m away, and he has enough to do on his farm.”

  “You could hire someone.”

  “I tried that, but my employee walked off the job after three weeks. It’s difficult finding the right person and keeping an eye on them when I’m half a world away is impossible. Dad still had to come and check, so he told me he’d put it on his list.”