Shiloh (Wishes #6)

  “Well, this is it,” he finally announced, smashing his cane against the bottom step. “Home sweet home.”

  I studied the ramshackle cabin. The only thing that seemed to be holding the small timber structure together was the peeling paint, and when I straightened up, I realised the whole place was on a lean.

  “Is it safe?” I asked incredulously.

  “Do you have another option?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Exactly.” Using his cane to steady himself, Leroy threw his head back and guffawed again.

  “Do I need to sign a lease or something?”

  “No,” he replied, composing himself in an instant. “The rules are simple. Pay your rent or you’re out. No parties or you’re out. No fighting or you’re out.”

  “An unlikely scenario,” I interrupted.

  Leroy pointed his cane at me and grinned. “Welcome to the cardboard village, Aussie.”

  ***

  Within ten minutes of being in the shack, I vowed to find myself somewhere else to live. I was all for integrating with the locals – it was necessary – but even I had limits.

  The last tenant must’ve really been in a hurry when he took off. From what I could tell, he’d left empty handed. I had no idea what to do with his personal effects, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to store some strange bloke’s belongings.

  In the only kitchen drawer that actually opened, I found a roll of garbage bags. I wasn’t completely ruthless in my spring-cleaning, electing only to bag up his clothes. Considering the only possessions I had were wardrobe related, pots and pans would probably come in handy.

  I dumped the bags on the veranda, flopped down on the beanbag and quickly fell asleep.

  Compatriot

  MITCHELL

  I’m not exactly a monk. I’ve brought girls home before, but I’d never arrived home to find one already there waiting for me.

  I had no idea who the woman sleeping in my house was, but I was curious to find out.

  “Hey, Goldilocks.” I nudged the beanbag with my foot. “What’s the matter with the bed? Mattress too hard?”

  She jumped to her feet quicker than I thought possible. “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “I’m Mitchell. I live here,” I replied, bemused. “Who are you?”

  Whoever she was, she was a long way from home. Hearing an accent that matched my own was nothing short of awesome.

  “I’m Shiloh. I just moved in,” she replied. “Leroy said you’d done a runner.”

  “I’ve been gone for three hours.” I almost laughed at the absurdity. “I was at the beach.”

  I didn’t get the chance to ask her any more questions. The front door flew open and the landlord from hell appeared. Completely ignoring me, he spoke only to Shiloh. “Settled in okay?”

  “Not really,” she grumbled, frowning at me as if I was the enemy. “We have a problem with the sleeping arrangements.”

  Leroy maniacally laughed like only Leroy could. “You’ll work it out,” he told her.

  Shiloh took a big step toward him. “How? He still lives here.”

  “You told her I’d done a bunk?” I asked angrily. “Seriously, Leroy?”

  He pointed his wooden cane at me. “You piss me off,” he grumbled.

  “I’ve been pissing you off for seven years,” I reminded him, “but I always pay my rent.”

  Leroy turned and hobbled back to the door. “And now I’ve found you a roommate. You’re compatriots – it’s a perfect arrangement.”

  The wiry old tyrant had pulled off an outrageous stunt, and the only place on earth he could get away with it was Kaimte. Arguing the point was hopeless. As soon as he was clear of the doorway, I slammed it shut.

  “What now?” asked Shiloh.

  I barely glanced at her as I passed. “We’re roomies, I guess.”

  I was of the relaxed opinion that we would co-exist and just make do until she could make other arrangements. Shiloh wasn’t quite so laid back. If anything, she looked close to detonating.

  “You don’t even know me,” she snapped. “I might be a serial killer.”

  I turned back. “Are you?”

  She took a long time to answer, which made me smile. “No,” she finally replied. “I’m reasonably harmless.”

  “Good. So am I.”

  The brunette powder keg followed me into the bedroom. “As soon as I can find something else, I’ll leave,” she offered.

  “Okay.”

  “My company offers employee housing,” she added. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  I knew of only one company that worked those kinds of deals. “You work at the mine?”

  She nodded. “I start Monday.”

  I was surprised, and a little disappointed. I’d never been a fan of the work Jorge Creek Mining carried out. Ripping apart the countryside to dig up diamonds seemed awfully destructive, but what would I know? I was just a beach bum publican.

  I pulled open the top drawer of my dresser. “I’m sure you’ll love whooping it up with the fat cats on the hill.”

  The hill was more than metaphorical. A row of identical company-owned houses overlooked the beach that the cardboard village stood on. By western standards they were modest, but in Kaimte, they were considered palatial.

  “I’m sure I won’t,” she replied.

  I didn’t care either way. At that point, all I was interested in was finding a shirt to wear. The top drawer was empty. All of the drawers were empty. There could only be one culprit.

  “Where are my clothes?” I demanded.

  Shiloh pointed to the front door. “I bagged them up and put them on the veranda,” she explained. “I thought you’d moved out.”

  She wisely moved aside as I stormed past and threw open the front door. As expected, there were no bags on the deck. “Just perfect.”

  “They’re gone?” she asked, eyes wide.

  “Of course they’re freaking gone!” I ranted. “We’re in a third world country, Shiloh. People are poor and hungry. How long do you think a discarded bag of clothes is going to sit unattended?”

  Her shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” I held my arms wide. “My entire wardrobe now consists of a pair of shorts.”

  Desert K-Mart

  SHILOH

  Under different circumstances, his one-piece wardrobe would’ve been perfect. Mitchell was ridiculously good looking – a poster child for tanned and built surfer boys.

  Vanity clearly wasn’t a demon of his. His sun-bleached hair was short but messy, and the scruff on his face was days away from being reclassified as a beard. He stood a foot in front of me, waiting for me to speak. If he wanted a stronger apology, he was out of luck. I was too focused on staring at him.

  “I’ll go shopping,” I eventually offered. “I’ll replace everything.”

  He let out a hard laugh. “Where?” he asked. “Desert K-Mart?”

  That snide comment was an unwelcome reminder that the big picture was depressing. In the past week I’d learned more about diamond classification, customs regulations and personal information about Jorge Creek employees than I’d ever hoped to, but no one had prepared me for life in Kaimte.

  So far, I wasn’t a fan.

  The wooden floor creaked in pain as Mitchell strode off to the bathroom. So far, my compatriot wasn’t a fan of me either.

  I used the time he took in the shower to really check the place out. The picture grew bleaker by the second. I’m all for living simply, but Mitchell’s shack brought new meaning to the word.

  With the exception of the phone charging on the floor, nothing was modern or in good repair. The living room furniture consisted of two beanbags – one of which was held together by strips of duct tape. There might not have been a clothing shop in town, but there had to be a hardware store. A crack in the front window had also been repaired with tape, and the fridge door was held closed by a piece of rope.

  The floor creaked and I turned aro
und in time to see Mitchell cross from the bathroom to the bedroom – as naked as the day he was born.

  He didn’t close the door because there wasn’t one. Out of politeness, I should’ve turned away, but didn’t.

  And my new roommate didn’t care one bit.

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s impolite to stare?” he asked.

  “Neanderthal,” I muttered under my breath.

  Mitchell continued mussing his hair with the towel he should’ve been using to cover himself with. “What’s a bloke to do, Shiloh?” he asked. “You gave away my clothes.”

  “So you’re just going to parade around naked from now on?”

  Finally, he wrapped the towel around his waist, grinning at me like he’d just won something. “No,” he replied. “I’m going to go next door and beg my neighbour for donations.”

  I bit my lip to stop myself replying. I had no right to be snarky with him. As good as he looked naked, it wasn’t a practical long term arrangement.

  Feisty New Friend

  MITCHELL

  Melito and Vincent had been my neighbours since I first arrived. We were good mates, which is fortunate considering our houses are separated by less than fifteen feet of beach sand.

  Despite the fact they were the most senior residents, they were the party animals of the cardboard village. I wasn’t exactly sure how old they were – all I knew was that I’d attended Vincent’s fiftieth birthday party three times in the past year.

  Greek national holidays were another cause for celebration. In what seemed like weekly events, the whole neighbourhood was summoned to the beach to party to partake in festivities. It was impossible to believe that one country could have that many holidays, but no one ever questioned it. Once the ouzo and homemade Greek pastries made an appearance, no one really questioned anything.

  Vincent opened the door when I knocked, but it was Melito who rushed to speak. “I have your clothes, my friend.” He pointed to a pile of rubbish bags stacked neatly on the floor. “The girl tossed them out.”

  The sleek Greeks were the equivalent of the bush telegraph. Nothing got past them, least of all a pretty new face.

  “Who is she?” asked Vincent.

  I began rifling through my bags. “Her name is Shiloh,” I replied. “She works at the mine.”

  “Doing what?” quizzed Melito.

  “I’m not sure.” I hadn’t thought to ask. She didn’t strike me as being a girly girl, but I couldn’t picture her driving a dump truck full of ore either.

  “Well, we’ll find out tomorrow night,” assured Vincent. “At the party.”

  The groan that escaped me was involuntary. “What’s the occasion this time?”

  “It’s a welcome-to-the-neighbourhood bonfire.” He grinned. “For your feisty new friend.”

  I dragged on a pair of jeans and threw on a shirt. “Can I leave these here for a while?” I asked, pointing at the bags.

  Nodding, Melito frowned. “But why?”

  “Because I’m an arsehole,” I replied. “And I have a feisty new friend.”

  Crown and Pav

  SHILOH

  About four percent of people are accomplished liars and can do it very well. Mitchell isn’t one of them. He tried hard to sell me the story that his neighbours had lent him clothes, but I didn’t buy it for a second.

  “So they’re exactly the same size as you?” I asked looking him up and down. “That shirt’s a perfect fit.”

  Mitchell grabbed his keys off a hook near the door. “At least now I have something to wear to work,” he grumbled.

  The beanbag crunched beneath me as I scrambled to my feet. “You’re leaving?”

  “How else am I going to keep you in the lap of luxury, Shiloh?” He threw his arms wide. “A man’s got to work.”

  My eyes darted around the derelict room. “I appreciate the effort.”

  “Give me your phone,” he demanded, palm outstretched.

  I handed it over without question. “If you need anything, call me,” he instructed, tapping his number onto my screen.

  We were not off to a good start, but at least he was being a good sport about it.

  “Don’t you want my number?” I asked.

  “No.” He handed my phone back. “Why would I need to call you?”

  Mitchell was half way out the door when I called out to him. “Where do you work?”

  He didn’t even slow his walk let alone turn around. “Get in the car and I’ll show you.”

  ***

  Mitchell’s jeep wasn’t a pleasant ride. As soon as he turned the key, exhaust fumes filled the car. His solution to the sudden gassing was to lean across and wind my window down. It made no difference. A hacking cough overtook me.

  “Toughen up, princess,” he taunted. “You’re in Africa now.”

  I was under no misconception whatsoever. I’d somehow wound up at the arse-end of the earth. Kaimte wasn’t lush jungle. The sub-Saharan terrain was harsh, dry and hot. The only redeeming feature was the ocean, which looked like a blue oasis against the desert backdrop.

  The jeep ground to a halt on a stretch of beach not too far from the cardboard village. I saw no hint of what Mitchell did for a living until we walked down the short steep trail and onto the open beach.

  “Welcome to the Crown and Pav,” he announced with reverence. “Impressive, right?”

  I wasn’t sure. All I could see was a rusted shipping container and a handful of weathered wooden picnic tables.

  “A tool shed?” I guessed.

  “Plenty of tools frequent this place,” he said, huffing out a sharp laugh. “But, no. Not a tool shed.”

  He kept me guessing until it became obvious. In a huge display of strength, he hoisted open the side of the container, propping open the makeshift awning with heavy steel poles. The Crown and Pav came to life.

  The polished wooden bar looked out of place against the rest of the rusted structure, and the meticulously organised shelves behind it were lined with bottles and glasses.

  “A pub,” I announced.

  Mitchell disappeared through a side door, returning a moment later with a barstool. “The best in town,” he boasted. “Mainly because it’s the only one in town.”

  The stool sank into the sand as I sat. “It’s popular then?”

  “You’ll see,” he hinted. “It all kicks off when the sun goes down.”

  It was never going to be Club Med, but after a few minor adjustments to the décor the Crown and Pav became the most inviting place I’d come across since leaving home. Mitchell set up bar stools, speared big umbrellas through the centre of each table, and, when the sun finally began to fade, lit up the leafless tree near the bar with the flick of a switch.

  We stood side by side, admiring the twinkling display.

  “Did you buy the fairy lights at Desert K-Mart?” I teased.

  “My sister sent them to me.” He briefly glanced at me. “She has a good eye for sparkly things.”

  New Talent

  MITCHELL

  Setting up for opening took less time than I expected. With half an hour to kill before things got rowdy, I offered to buy Shiloh a beer. For now, we were roommates. The least I could do was make an effort to get to know her.

  I headed through the side door and Shiloh took up residence at the bar. “What else do you serve?” she asked.

  “Anything you want.” I motioned toward the shelf behind me with an upward nod. “As long as it’s beer or whiskey.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she studied the bottles on display. “All those bottles are whiskey?”

  The bottles rattled as I plucked one from the centre. “Except this one. This one is a mystery.” The clear liquid sloshed around as I shook it. “It’s not labelled and no one is game enough to try it.”

  It was the first time I’d heard her laugh, and it sounded sweeter than I expected it would. She was looking a little less caustic too. The frown that had been permanently etched on her face all day was
gone. She was a very pretty girl – minus the mayhem.

  I cracked the lid off a bottle of beer and slid it toward her. “You don’t seem too happy to be here, Shiloh.”

  She took a sip before replying. “I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” she mumbled dejectedly. “I’ll have to.”

  Africa is not for sissies. Even on the best day, life here is hard. I couldn’t fathom why someone would pack up and move to Kaimte unless they were seeking adventure or a simpler way of life.

  “What brought you here?” I asked. “Did you lose a bet or something?”

  She shook her head. “No, I got a job transfer.”

  I still didn’t even know what she did at the mine and when I asked, her answer surprised me. Shiloh was a security officer, which shot down my theory that she was a sissy. Protecting Jorge Creek’s stash of diamonds had to be a pretty serious posting.

  “Sounds hardcore.”

  Her line of sight dropped to her beer and she began absently peeling the label. “Not really,” she replied. “It’s quite boring at times – just people watching – like a glorified store detective.”

  I dipped my head, chasing her eyes. “At desert K-Mart?”

  “Yes.” She softly laughed. “Exactly like that.”

  It didn’t take me long to realise that my initial impression of Shiloh was wrong. I had her pegged as a drama queen who’d unashamedly busted her way into my life and home without permission. It wasn’t an honest assessment. Leroy had been the driving force behind the drama that day. Shiloh was merely along for the ride.

  “You’ll settle in.” That probably wasn’t honest either, but it was the most encouragement I could offer.

  Shiloh set her beer down. “I’m just going to do my job and then I’m out of here,” she replied, straightening up on the stool. “Kaimte is temporary.”

  “I said the same thing years ago.” I grinned across at her, arms spread wide. “And yet here I am.”