Free The Goodbye Ride by Lily Malone

excuses before. He’d heard them first-hand the night he’d
tracked Jayden Parker to that flea-pit rental on the west side of Gambier and
broken the kid’s elbow with a baseball bat.
    “I didn’t mean it, man. I was tripping off
my fucking dial. I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry, okay?”
    When he wasn’t the one brandishing the
weapon, Parker crumpled faster than a paper bag, tears mixed with the snot
clogging his face.
    Owen twisted the cold water tap further to
the right and dunked his head beneath the spray.
    He’d got about as far out of Mount Gambier
as it was possible to get on account of Jayden Parker last year, and he was in
no real hurry to do it again. Right now, spending time in the Adelaide Hills
seemed like a pretty damn good idea.
    Spending time with Liv.

Chapter
7
    When the radio buzzed at six-thirty Sunday
morning Liv was already awake, trying to determine whether her ride with
Owen—that scorching kiss—had been real or a dream. Finally, she rolled to the
side, batted at the sleep button and, when she couldn’t delay the moment any
longer, opened her eyes.
    Riding leathers darkened the only chair in
the room and at the sight of them, a sweet little thrill sailed through her
ribs. Real.
    She dressed with a smile on her face.
    The camellias had dropped more petals on
the kitchen bench and Liv herded them into a dustpan and tapped them into the
bin. After a cup of tea and two slices of toast with marmalade, she tackled the
cup and plate slopes of Dish Mountain. An hour later, she shut and locked the
front door behind her.
    Clear skies had held during the night. The
air felt washed clean, the sky a bright foaming blue, and a layer of frost
sprinkled the garden like icing sugar. Even the radio Gods were in on the
winter wonderland gig—U2’s song A Beautiful Day burst from the speakers
and Liv sang as she drove out Old Balhannah Road, drumming the steering wheel
with her thumbs.
    Three days she’d known Owen. Three of the
most exciting days in her life.
    As she turned into the driveway, she wished
she dared ask Owen whether he intended to stay around. But sometimes, not
knowing an answer was better than hearing an answer you didn’t want.
    That’s philosophical for you, Liv.
    Owen was waiting near the shed, absently
rubbing the head and ears of the Border Collie on his boot. Lucky dog. The other dog chased her tail in the long grass off to the side.
    “Morning, Lovely,” he called, as she
switched off the engine then emerged from the car.
    “Hi.” It was almost a whisper, so clogged
did that single syllable feel in her throat. She tried it again, louder. “Hi.”
    Owen jiggled his canine companion from his
toe and met Liv halfway across the space, planting a fast, but fierce kiss on
her mouth before he lifted his head and his eyes swept her up and down. “You
look just as hot in denim.”
    Her hand closed around the smooth muscle of
his bicep and the part of her brain coherent enough for thought registered that
once again he wore a tee-shirt on a five-degree morning.
    “Cool it, you guys! You’ll put me off my
Weet-bix.”
    Liv’s head snapped toward the house where
Mark limped out of the front door. A small, beaming woman with a face of happy
wrinkles followed close behind.
    “Come and meet my aunt,” Owen said, looping
his arm around Liv’s shoulders, covering her in his blanket of sunshine.
     
    ****
     
    A woman’s strangled scream of pain cut
across the hypnotic snip of secateurs and a horror movie of severed fingers,
stitches and hospitals, flashed through Liv’s head.
    “What?”
    From out to her right, Owen echoed her
call: “What’s happened, Aunt M?”
    Two rows over from Liv, Owen’s aunt stood
bent double, wringing her hands. “I’ve been stung by a bee.”
    Compared to a severed thumb, that didn’t
sound so bad.
    “You what?” Owen demanded, louder this
time.
    “It’s a bee. It’s a bloody bee,” she
wailed. “I’m allergic, Owen. I swell up like a balloon.