12 Days At Silver Bells House (2 page)

And now she'd ditched her bloody car.

Welcome to the country
.

She gathered her breath in gulps, hoping she wasn't going to pass out — something else that had never happened before — and considered her options. It was after six o'clock and although she had her mobile phone, who would she call? Sammy and her husband Ethan, the local vet, were away, taking the opportunity for a long-delayed honeymoon, and their house on Burra Burra Lane was locked up. They were building a new veterinary surgery and stables on the lower paddock which for some reason meant the water and power to their house had to be shut down for a week. She couldn't even call Sammy and ask who to ask for help. For one thing, Kate was a super-powered businesswoman who never asked for assistance with anything, unless it was to fire short sharp orders to her team at Sassy Sensations. For another — Sammy and Ethan Granger would currently be thirty-thousand feet high, flying north-west to the Kimberley in Western Australia.

But Kate hadn't called her business Singleton's
Sassy
Sensations for nothing. She'd bought country equipment in Canberra before driving down here. She had torches and firelighters. She had matches and a lighter. She had rope. What she'd need the rope for only God knew, but it was a pretty black and yellow weave, so she'd plopped it onto the counter of Hillsides & Waysides mountaineering shop along with the rest of her gear. She had more than Chardonnay too, she had Wellington boots. The pretty kind, with blue rosebuds and although she hadn't wanted to get them covered in mud, she supposed that was their original purpose and she'd have to buckle up and ride that beast.

Except all that equipment was in the boot. A two-metre walk through gluggy mud without her rosebud wellies.

She undid her seatbelt and twisted to the back seat to check her tortoiseshell leather carry-on bag, packed neatly and tidily with the full seven kilograms cabin allowance. She might not know how to deal with parrots but she knew how to pack. Except she hadn't packed her flat pumps. They were in the boot, in her larger suitcase, alongside the Chardonnay and the wellies.

With a sigh and a reminder that she was now in a courageous and countrified state of mind, she opened the door and stared down at the glop. Dark brown muddy mire, along with the turf her car had torn up after it collided with the gate. She'd ruined someone's paddock.

Another sound punctured the air. Not parrots. Kate lifted herself from the seat until she stood on the edge of the opened door frame. She held onto the top of the car and looked over the roof and over the gate and the stone wall to the road. Thank God she hadn't crashed into the wall. She concentrated on the sound.

A truck? A bus? Too mechanically rickety-sounding. Too loud. Not chugging fast enough. The sound was heavy and metallic, and vibrating on the road.

The top of a yellow cab came into view, rumbling down All Seasons Road. A crane or a digger or something. With a workman!

‘Hello,' she called, waving madly at the workman driving the huge yellow digger. It slowed, and Kate sighed in relief. He'd seen her — or perhaps he'd seen the broken gate which was now shattered over the road and the muddy paddock. She flinched as the digger-excavator steamrollered parts of the broken gate and then came to a shuddering stop.

The workman opened the cab door. ‘Are you alright?' he called, getting out and jumping off the conveyer-belt tread.

Kate knew all there was to know about designer style and this guy had none of the style she was used to. But he did possess muscles. Beefy ones that matched his height and his work boots. Kate ran an expert eye over him, deciding he was a 48-inch chest, a 36-inch inside leg and a size thirteen shoe. About six foot three, all up.

What did people
eat
in the country?

Kate waved. ‘I'm fine,' she called back. ‘But I'm stuck. Can't get out.'

He stopped at the stone wall and looked down at the ground around her vehicle. ‘From where I'm standing it looks like you can walk out of there.'

From where he was standing he obviously couldn't see the
mud
. She offered him her most pleasant smile. Perhaps it was his gate and his mud and he didn't like his paddock ripped to furrowed shreds by her hire car.

She pointed to the gate. ‘I'm so sorry about your gate. I'll pay for a new one.'

‘Isn't my gate. It's part of the property on Burra Burra Lane.'

‘Sammy and Ethan. Yes — my friends.' Sammy wouldn't mind a bit of damage to one little gate. They didn't keep sheep or anything that would wander out of the paddock.

‘The Grangers aren't home,' he said.

‘I know. They're on their way to the Kimberley.'

‘So why are you here? You can't live up at the house. The water's turned off along with the electricity.'

‘Are you the man digging the ditch?' Sammy had said some guy was working up at the homestead, digging ditches for the cabling and plumbing for the new veterinary surgery.

‘I was today, probably will be tomorrow.'

A ditch-digging workman. What did he need the excavator for when he had shovelling shoulders so wide he probably had to buy his shirts from Bigger & Bigger Work Wear?

‘Do you work for them?' she asked.

He shook his head. ‘I work for myself. How'd you manage to crash through the gate?'

Kate fought the signs of frustration as he stood there, not moving, not rescuing. ‘I didn't
manage
it, it was an accident.'

‘How?'

‘A flock of parrots.'

He stared at her for a long time as though considering her answer and any response he might make to it. Or perhaps he hadn't heard her.

Kate had to admit a flock of parrots probably didn't usually give motorists cause for concern but she was in the
country
, for God's sake. There were parrots everywhere. ‘Parrots,' she said again, louder. ‘And now I'm stuck.'

‘Well, if you're not prepared to help yourself, there's only one way out.'

Kate looked around, searching for stepping stones or planks of wood to use as a bridge. ‘Which way?' she asked.

‘Over my shoulder.'

In a swift, heave-ho manner, he put one hand to the top of the stone wall and leapt over it. Mud splattered up his work boots and onto his khaki-trousered legs.

Oh, good heavens. He was enormous. She teetered on the door frame, and grabbed the roof of the car to steady herself.

‘You drive in those things?' he asked, pointing at her eggshell-coloured sling-back stilettos.

Kate nodded. ‘Automatic car,' she told him. ‘More difficult in a manual, but not impossible for the most tenacious of women.' Like herself. So let
that
be a lesson, Mr Bigger & Bigger. Try driving your digger in four-inch heels.

He shook his head and squelched towards her. ‘Madness.'

The man did a lot of muttering. But he was about to rescue her so Kate kept her mouth closed until she remembered she was alone. In a paddock. With a strange man.

‘Okay,' he said, holding his arms out and beckoning her with his fingers. ‘Come on.'

He wanted her to leap over his shoulder? Just like that? Without an introduction?

‘Wait.'

He dropped his arms to his sides and looked at her.

Kate looked at his face. She'd recognise barbed and ugly if she saw it in his gaze. She'd seen sly and snarky too and knew what signs to look for: dead eyes, lips curled in a tight, controlled smile and… Oh.

Hello
country.

Bigger & Bigger's eyes were a leather-brown colour and his gaze had a comfy look to it, as though nothing disturbed him, even if you were to throw yourself at him. He had one of those strong, square faces. The ideal shape to work with. Interesting to see a natural six o'clock shadow on his jaw too, instead of one that had been barbered into perfection. She made a mental note of this for when she next did a shoot for jeans and boxer shorts. Don't let the make-up guys add too much glamour. Keep it earthy. And try to get the male models to aim for a natural tan and not the sprayed-on kind. It worked on this guy. He was extremely handsome, for a ditch digger.

She held out her hand. ‘Kate Singleton. Nice to meet you. And you are?' Hopefully not some ruffian who looked like Superman but had the brain of a turkey.

‘Jamie Knight.' He took her hand and shook it.

Kate ignored the fact he hadn't wiped his shovel-sized hand first and withheld the need to wipe off the dried, dusty dirt now on hers.

She glanced over her shoulder and the roof of her car to his yellow excavator and saw
Knight Works
painted in bold white signage, although a bit mud-splashed.

‘My knight in khaki,' she said with a smile, and ran an eye down his torso, over his khaki-clad hips and down his legs. All that thrust and heave-ho would get her out of the mud. If she was nice to him.
Must remember to talk in country
mode
. ‘Golly galoshes but you look strong.'

He raised his brow and said nothing, but the comfy expression in his eyes turned a kind of wary-looking. No time to dither on that point in case he changed his mind and left her to the mud.

Kate pointed to the boot of her car. ‘I don't suppose you'd be able to rescue my Chardonnay too, would you?' If he had her slung over his hefty shoulder, she'd be secured and he'd be hands-free. ‘If I carry my carry-on bag and my shoes, you could probably carry my wine.'

He wiped his mouth with his big, dirty hand and looked off into the distance. ‘Why me?' he asked in a quiet tone, but by the look on his face Kate didn't think the question was directed at herself.

‘Pop the boot,' he said.

Kate did so, then took her shoes off. Holding them by their sling-backs she knelt on the driver's seat and reached over to the back seat for her carry-on. She placed the bag and the shoes on her seat so she could pick them up once she was…over his shoulder.

‘Ready,' she said, turning to him.

He took hold of her by the waist, lifted her off the seat, flung her over his shoulder and turned so his back was to the car.

‘Grab your gear,' he told her.

Okay, not quite ready. She tensed as she found her balance on his shoulder, and then stretched down. ‘Got them,' she said. And…
off we go
.

Heavens.

It was a little worrying having her backside to the sky and had she been armed with foresight, once she'd got off the plane from New York she would have changed out of her slimline dress into her track-pants. Scrap that thought. She would have remembered to
buy
track-pants. She hoped to God the grocer's in town stocked more than coffee, milk and pretzels.

The boot of her car slammed and Kate angled her head to check, as best she could around the broad back she was hanging against, that Jamie Knight had her wine. He did. He also had her big suitcase. Holy cowboy, what strength. What long arms. Twenty-three kilos of checked baggage, seven kilos of cabin bag,
ahem
kilos of Kate and…how much would twelve bottles of wine weigh?

His shoulder was broad enough for her midriff to settle on the width without sliding off but she couldn't hold on due to her hands being full of her tortoiseshell-leather bag and her favourite shoes. She jammed her elbows into his sides as a means of clinging on as he moved off. ‘Um…are you sure you can carry the wine
and
the suitcase?'

He didn't answer so Kate sucked it up and held onto her courage, her carry-on and her sling-backs. At least this way, she'd have her pyjamas and her Chardonnay for her first solo night in the country. Not the arrival she'd envisaged but life wasn't easy in the country. Sammy had told her that.

Once on the road, he let her down by swinging her around and levering her down his arm so her luggage and her shoes didn't fall. A He-Man with a capital H.

‘Thank you so much,' she said, slipping her feet into her shoes. ‘How are we going to get the car out?' She held her hand up in a placating manner, and added a smile. ‘Obviously I don't expect you to tow it with your excavator, you've done so much already — but do you know if there's a mechanic around?' Kate wasn't sure if roadside assistance operated this far into the Snowy Mountains. Perhaps they winched bogged hire cars out of distress with a helicopter.

‘Your car's here for the night. Can't use the excavator to tow it, and anyway, I'm on my way home.'

The night. One night. Not too bad then. He must know someone who could help her retrieve the vehicle. Probably a farmer with a tractor. At least she had her own tow rope. That might appease any farmer with a tendency to think city women drivers were more trouble than their feminine wiles were worth. And she doubted any of them would believe the parrot story.

‘I'll bring my ute down tomorrow morning and tow it out for you.'

Kate clapped her hands together. ‘Thank you so much.' Country manners. A woman didn't get this sort of assistance in the city. ‘So are you able to drop me off at Silver Bells House on your way home, or is it out of your way?' She glanced down All Seasons Road which led to nowhere she could see. ‘That's where I'm staying.' She'd got herself, her luggage and her wine safely saved but there was no way she'd be able to lug it all to wherever this house was. Up a hillside, Sammy had said. Take All Seasons Road as far as you can heading east until you come to the No Through Road sign, then take the winding track up to the house. Sammy had also said to make sure she arrived in daytime and it was now nearly dusk.

‘You're what?' he asked.

‘Sammy arranged for me to live in the holiday house. I think the key's under the mat — or something.'

‘She what?'

‘Silver Bells House,' she said, pronouncing each word carefully. Perhaps he'd gone deaf over the years from driving his excavator.

‘Right,' he said, studying her as though she were a puzzle where the pieces didn't fit.