His lip curled. She was a mouse. She had mousy brown hair, mousy brown eyes and a mouse-thin body that looked as if it’d bow under the weight of an armload of firewood. Even her smile was all mousiness—timid and tentative. She aimed it at him now, but he refused to return it.
It trembled right off her lips. Guilt slugged him in the guts. He bit back an oath.
She rose and cast a fearful glance at the back of the house. ‘Do...do you have any other dogs?’
‘No.’ The memory of her scarred abdomen rushed on him again. His hands clenched to fists. When she’d lifted her shirt, shown him her scar, it wasn’t tenderness or desire that had surged through him. He had a feeling, though, that it was something closely related, something partway between the two, something he didn’t have a name for.
What he did know was he didn’t want Josephine Peterson here on his hill. She didn’t belong here. She was a townie, a city girl. For Pete’s sake, look at her fingernails. Long and perfectly painted in a shimmery pink. They were squared off at the tips with such uniformity he knew they had to be fake. This wasn’t fake-fingernail country.
It was roughing-it country.
He hadn’t seen anyone less likely to want to rough it than Josephine Peterson.
When he glanced at her again she tried another smile. ‘Do you have a wife?’
Her soft question slammed into him with more force than it had any right to. She needn’t look to him for that either!
He glanced into her hopeful face and despite his best intentions desire fired along his nerve-endings, quickening his blood, reminding him of everything he’d turned his back on. Now that she stood directly in front of him, rather than perched up in his clothes-line or on her knees with her face buried in Molly’s fur, he could see the gold flecks inside the melt-in-your-mouth chocolate of her iris. That didn’t look too mousy.
Get a grip! Whatever the colour of her eyes, it didn’t change the fact she wasn’t the kind of woman he went for. He’d been stuck up this hill too long. He liked tall, curvy blondes who were out for a good time and nothing more. Josephine Peterson wasn’t tall, curvy or blonde. And she looked too earnest for the kind of no-strings affairs he occasionally indulged in.
She continued to gaze at him hopefully. ‘No,’ he bit out. ‘I don’t have a wife.’ And he had no intention of landing himself with one either. The sooner this woman realised that the better.
Rather than light up with interest, with calculation, her face fell. Kent did a double take.
‘That’s a shame. It would’ve been nice to have a woman around to talk to.’
He’d have laughed out loud at his mistake only he’d lost his funny bone.
‘Is there anyone else here besides you?’
‘No.’ He snapped the word out. ‘I’ll get the key to your cabin.’
She blinked at his abruptness. ‘Which one is mine?’
‘They’re all empty.’ He strode around to the back of his house. She had to run to keep up with him. With a supreme effort he slowed his stride. ‘You can have your pick.’
‘I’ll take that one.’
She pointed to the nearest cabin and Kent found himself biting back another oath. Damn and blast. Why hadn’t he put her in the furthest one and been done with it? He disappeared inside, seized the key then strode back outside and thrust it at her.
‘Thank...thank you. Umm...’ She shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘Does the cabin have a phone?’
His lip curled. He despised city folk. They came here mouthing clichés proclaiming they wanted to get away from it all, get back to nature, but all hell broke loose when they discovered they had to do without their little luxuries. It made him sick.
Granted, though, Josephine Peterson looked as though she wanted to be at Eagle Reach about as much as he wanted her here. Her earlier words came back to him and a laugh scraped out of his throat. ‘This is the end of the earth, remember? What do you think?’
She eyed him warily. The gold in her eyes glittered. ‘I’m guessing that’s a no.’
‘You’re guessing right.’
She wouldn’t last a month. At this rate she’d be lucky to last two days. What on earth had possessed her to book a cabin for four whole weeks? The advertisement he’d placed in the local tourism rag made no false promises. It sure as hell wasn’t the kind of advert designed to attract the attention of the likes of her.
‘Look, Ms Peterson, this obviously isn’t your cup of tea. Why don’t you go on into Gloucester? It’s only half an hour further on. You’ll find accommodation more suited to your tastes there.’ Behind his back he crossed his fingers. ‘I’ll even return your deposit.’
‘Please, call me Josie.’
She paused as if waiting for him to return the favour and tell her to call him Kent, but he had no intention of making any friendly overtures. He wanted her out of here.
When he remained silent, she sighed. ‘I have to stay. My brothers organised all this as a treat.’
He recalled her rant whilst she’d clung to his clothes-line. Marty and Frank, wasn’t it? His eyes narrowed. ‘Are they practical jokers?’
‘Heavens, no.’ For a moment she looked as if she might laugh. It faded quickly. ‘Which is why I have to stay. I wouldn’t hurt their feelings for the world. And they would be hurt if they found out I’d stayed somewhere else.’
Fabulous.
She smiled then. He recognised the effort behind it, and its simple courage did strange things to his insides. He wanted to resist it. Instinct warned him against befriending this woman.
‘Is Gloucester where I’ll find the nearest phone? It’s just...I’m not getting a signal on my mobile.’
Which was one of the reasons he loved this hill.
‘And I’d really like to check on my neighbour, Mrs Pengilly.’
For a mouse she could sure make him feel like a heel. ‘There’s a phone in there.’ He hitched his head in the direction of the house.
Josie’s face lit up. ‘May I...?’
‘It’s in the kitchen.’
She raced inside as if afraid he’d take his offer back. He collapsed onto the top step, shoulders sagging, and tried not to overhear her conversation, tried not to hear how she assured whoever answered the phone that the Gloucester Valley was beautiful, that the view from her cabin was glorious, that her cabin was wonderful.
He leapt up and started to pace. Two out of three wasn’t bad. The Gloucester Valley was beautiful, and her view was glorious. He had a feeling she’d give up both for the wonderful cabin.
He blinked when she reappeared moments later. He’d expected her to be on the phone for hours. It was what women did, wasn’t it?
She tripped down the back steps. ‘Thank you, I...’ She made as if to clasp his arm then stepped back as though she’d thought better of it. ‘Thank you.’
His pulse quickened. ‘How’s your Mrs Pengilly?’
He couldn’t believe he’d asked. Maybe it was time he had a holiday.
A smile lit her face. ‘Her son Jacob came down from Brisbane and he says she’s going to be OK. Apparently she has late-onset diabetes.’
‘Once they’ve stabilised her blood sugar and organised her medication she’ll be fine.’ The words rolled out of him with an ease that was disconcerting.
‘Yes.’ The gold of her eyes glittered with curiosity. ‘You sound like you know all about it.’
‘I do.’ But he wasn’t volunteering any more information. He’d already given enough away. He reached across and plucked the key from her fingers. ‘Let’s get you settled.’
* * *
To Josie, Kent’s words sounded more like ‘Let’s get you out of my hair’. Nope, not a friendly bone in his body.
He did have a nice body, though—broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, athletic. And he wasn’t all bad. He had let her use his phone. And he’d asked after Mrs Pengilly.
She trotted to keep up with him. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and noted the uncompromising line of his mouth. Maybe he was just out of practice. Living here all on his own, he wouldn’t get much chance at personable conversation. Anyhow, she was determined to give him the benefit of the doubt because the alternative was too bleak for words—stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a man who wouldn’t give her the time of day.
No. No. She bit back a rising tide of panic. Beneath his gruffness Kent had a kind heart.
On what proof are you basing such an assumption? a disbelieving voice at the back of her head demanded.
She swallowed. He’d asked after an old lady. And... And he had a dog.
Not much though, is it? the same voice pointed out with maddening logic.
No, she guessed not. The panic rose through her again. ‘Did you nurse Molly back to health?’
‘Yes.’
One uncompromising word, but it lifted the weight settling across her shoulders. See? He did have a kind heart. For dogs.
It was a start.
Kent leapt up onto the tiny veranda that fronted the cabin and pushed the key into the door. Josie started after him then swallowed. The cabins all looked really tiny. She’d hoped...
The door swung open and she gulped back a surge of disappointment. When Marty and Frank had said ‘cabin’ she’d thought... Well, she hadn’t expected five-star luxury or anything, but she had hoped for three-star comfort.
She was landed with one-star basic. And that was being charitable.
Kent’s shoulders stiffened as if he sensed her judgement and resented it. ‘It has everything you need.’ He pointed. ‘The sofa pulls out into a bed.’
Uh-huh. She took a tentative step into the room and glanced around. Where were the flowers? The bowl of fruit? The welcoming bottle of bubbly? There wasn’t a single rug on the floor or print on the wall. No colourful throw on the sofa either. In fact, there wasn’t a throw full stop, grey or otherwise.
Admittedly, everything looked clean, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. By the light of the single overhead bulb—no light shade—the table and two chairs gleamed dully. Would it really have been such an effort to toss over a tablecloth and tie on chair pads?
‘The kitchen is fully equipped.’
It was. It had an oven and hotplates, a toaster and kettle. But it didn’t have any complimentary sachets of tea or coffee. It didn’t have a dishwasher. She hadn’t wanted the world, but—
An awful thought struck her. ‘Is there a bathroom?’
Without a word, Kent strode forward and opened a door she hadn’t noticed in the far wall. She wasn’t sure she wanted to look.
She ordered her legs forward, glanced through the door and released the breath she held. There was a flushable toilet. And a shower.
But no bathtub.
So much for the aromatherapy candles and scented bath oils she’d packed.
‘What do you think?’
Josie gaped at him. The question seemed so out of character she found herself blurting out her first impression without restraint. ‘It’s awful.’
He stiffened as if she’d slapped him.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, but it’s a dog kennel.’ In fact, she bet Molly’s quarters surpassed this. ‘It’s... Do all the cabins have the same colour scheme?’
The pulse at the base of his jaw jerked. ‘What’s wrong with the colour scheme?’
‘It’s grey!’ Couldn’t he see that? Did he seriously think grey made for a homely, inspiring atmosphere? A holiday atmosphere?
He folded his arms. His eyes glittered. ‘All the cabins are identical.’
So she was stuck with it, then.
‘Look, I know this probably isn’t up to your usual standard,’ he unfolded his arms, ‘but I only promised basic accommodation and—’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Tiredness surged through her. Was this all Marty and Frank thought she was worth? She gulped back the lump in her throat.
‘Like you said, it has everything I need.’ The greyness settled behind her eyelids.
CHAPTER TWO
K
ENT
STRODE
OFF
into the lengthening shadows of the afternoon, his back stiff, his jaw clenched. For once he didn’t notice the purple-green goldness of the approaching sunset. He skidded to a halt, spun around and slapped a hand to his thigh. ‘C’mon, Moll.’
Molly pricked her ears forward, thumped her tail against the rough-hewn boards of the cabin’s veranda, but she didn’t move from her post by Josie’s door.
Oh, great. Just great.
‘See if I care,’ he muttered, stalking back off. Solitude was his preferred state of affairs. Josie Peterson was welcome to his dog for all the good it would do her. Molly wouldn’t say boo to a fly.
Birds of a feather...
Up on the ridge a kookaburra started its boisterous cry and in the next moment the hills were ringing with answering laughter. Kent ground to a halt. He swung back in frustration, hands on hips.
These cabins weren’t meant for the likes of her. They were meant for men like him. And for men who lived in cities and hungered to get away occasionally, even if only for a long weekend. Men who wanted to leave the stench of car exhaust fumes and smog and crowds and endless traffic behind. Men who wanted nothing more than to see the sky above their heads, breathe fresh air into their lungs, and feel grass rather than concrete beneath their feet. Men happy to live on toast and tea and beer for three days.
Josie didn’t want that. She’d want spa baths and waterbeds. She’d want seafood platters and racks of lamb and soft, woody chardonnays.
And he didn’t blame her. If she’d just lost her father she probably deserved some pampering, a treat, not this rugged emptiness. Her brothers had to be certifiable idiots.
He kicked at a stone. He couldn’t give her spa baths and seafood platters.
A vivid image of mousy Josie Peterson lying back in a bubble-filled spa rose up through him and his skin went tight. She didn’t look too mousy in that fantasy.
He scratched a hand through his hair. Idiot. The kookaburras continued to laugh. Their derision itched through him. He surveyed the cabin, hands on hips. Not a sign of movement. His earlier vision gave way to one of her lying face down on the sofa, sobbing. He took a step towards the cabin.
He ground to a halt.
He didn’t do crying women. Not any more.
A month. A whole month.
His gaze flicked to her car. He wasn’t a blasted porter either, but that didn’t stop him from stalking over to it and removing two suitcases and a box of groceries. Or from stalking back to the house, grabbing a bottle of chardonnay and shoving it in an ice bucket and adding that to the items piled up by her front door.
He bent down and scratched Molly’s ears. ‘Keep an eye on her, girl.’ That would have to do. Common decency demanded he check on her in the morning, then his neighbourly duty was done.
* * *
If she hadn’t already had a crying jag when perched in the clothes-line, Josie would’ve had one now. But she decided one a day was enough.
A whole month. She was stuck out here for a whole month. On her own.
She tried to repress a shudder. She tried to force herself to smile as she glanced around the interior of the cabin again. She’d read somewhere that if you smiled it actually helped lift your spirits.
Ha! Not working.
She scrubbed her hands down her face. Oh, well, she supposed if nothing else she at least had plenty of time to sort out what she was going to do with the rest of her life. And that was the point of this holiday after all.
Things inside her cringed and burned. She wrapped her arms around her waist. She wasn’t qualified to do anything other than look after sick people. And she didn’t want to do that any more.
Familiar doubts and worries crowded in on her. She pushed them away. Later. She’d deal with them later.
With a sigh, she collapsed onto the sofa. Then groaned. It was as rock-hard as Kent Black. That didn’t bode well. She twisted against it, trying to get comfortable. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to work out Kent didn’t want her here. As far as she could see, he didn’t have an ounce of sympathy in that big, broad body of his for weakness of any kind.
She had to admit it was a nice, broad body though, with scrummy shoulders. If a girl disregarded that scowl she could get all sorts of ideas in her head and—
No, she couldn’t! Besides, Josie could never disregard that scowl. Kent didn’t think she belonged out here and he was one hundred per cent right.
A whole month.
‘Stop it!’
Her voice echoed eerily in the cabin, reminding her how alone she was. She suppressed another shudder. She was just tired, that was all, and sitting around wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to help. A shower, that was what she needed. That’d pep her up. Then she’d unpack the car and make a cup of tea. Things always looked better over a cup of tea.
The shower did help. She emerged into the main room of the cabin, vigorously drying her hair. Then froze.
Something was on her veranda!
There it was again. A scuffling, creaking, snorting noise right outside her front door. She hadn’t locked it!
Josie’s mouth went dry. She held the towel to her face. Oh, please. Whatever was out there she prayed it didn’t have an opposable thumb, that it couldn’t reach out and open door handles.
And that it didn’t have the kind of bulk that barged through flimsy wooden doors.
Just clap your hands and say boo!
Kent’s earlier advice almost made her laugh out loud. Not funny ha-ha, but losing it big-time ha-ha. She retreated to the bathroom door. She doubted she could manage much of a boo at the moment.
‘Kent?’ Maybe he was out there. Maybe he’d come back for... She couldn’t think of any conceivable reason why he’d come back. He hadn’t been able to get away fast enough, horrible, unfriendly man.
She’d give anything for it to be him out there now, though.
‘Mr Black?’
A low whine answered her, followed by scratching at her door and a bark.
‘Molly.’ With her heart hammering in her throat, Josie stumbled forward, wrenched the door open and dropped to her knees to hug the dog. ‘You scared me half out of my wits,’ she scolded. Molly licked her face in response.
Thank heavens Kent hadn’t been here to witness her panic. He’d have laughed his head off then curled his lip in scorn. She’d have died on the spot.
She glanced out into the darkness and gulped. Night had fallen in full force. She couldn’t remember a night so dark. Not a single streetlight pierced the blackness. Her cabin faced away from Kent’s house, so not a single house light penetrated it either. The moon hadn’t risen yet, but a multitude of stars arced across the sky in a display that hitched the breath in her throat.
She should’ve unpacked her car whilst it was light. She didn’t fancy stumbling around in the dark. Dragging her eyes from the glory of the night sky, she turned and found her suitcases lined up neatly on the end of her veranda. Her jaw dropped. Kent had unpacked her car for her?
That was nice. Friendly. In fact—she struggled to her feet—it was almost...sweet?
No, you couldn’t describe Kent as sweet.
She reached for the nearest bag then stilled. She adjusted her reach to the right and picked up an ice bucket, complete with a bottle of wine.
She blinked madly and hugged it to her chest. Now, that was friendly.
And sweet. Most definitely sweet.
* * *
Josie groaned and pulled a pillow over her head in an effort to drown out the cacophony of noise. Molly whined and scratched to be let out. She’d spent the night sleeping on the end of the sofa bed, and Josie had welcomed the company. Molly’s presence had made her feel less alone. Last night she’d needed that.
Now she needed sleep.
Molly whined again. Groaning, Josie reached for her watch. Six o’clock! She crawled out of bed and opened the door. Kookaburras laughed as if the sight of her filled them with hilarity and, overhead, white cockatoos screeched, three crows adding their raucous caws. And that wasn’t counting all the other cheeps and peeps and twitters she didn’t recognise in the general riot. Magpies started warbling in a nearby gum tree. For heaven’s sake, what was this place—a bird sanctuary?
Flashes of red and green passed directly in front of her to settle in a row of nearby grevillias, twittering happily as they supped on red-flowered nectar. Rosellas. Ooh. She loved rosellas.
Racing back inside, she clicked on the kettle, pulled on her jeans, threw on a shirt then dashed back out to her veranda with a steaming mug of coffee to watch as the world woke up around her.
OK. So maybe Eagle Reach was at the end of the earth, but she couldn’t deny its beauty. To her left, the row of grevillias, still covered in rosellas, merged into a forest of gums and banksias. To her right, the five other cabins stretched away down the slope. Directly in front of her the hill fell away in gentle folds, the grassy slopes golden in the early-morning sunlight, dazzled with dew.
She blinked at its brightness, the freshness. Moist earth and sun-warmed grasses and the faint tang of eucalyptus scented the air. She gulped it in greedily.
In the distance the River Gloucester, lined with river gums and weeping willows, wound its way along the base of the hill to disappear behind a neighbouring slope. Josie knew that if she followed the river she would eventually come to the little township of Martin’s Gully, and then, further along, the larger township of Gloucester itself.
As one, the rosellas lifted from the bushes and took flight and, just like that, Josie found herself alone again. She swallowed. What would she find to do all day? Especially in light of the resolution she’d made last night.
She chafed her hands. She’d think of something. She’d stay at Eagle Reach for the whole day if it killed her. She would not drive into either Martin’s Gully or Gloucester. Kent Black would expect her to do exactly that. And for some reason she found herself wanting to smash his expectations.
She found herself aching for just an ounce of his strength too.
By eight o’clock Josie wondered again at the sense of such a resolution. She’d breakfasted, tidied the cabin and now...
Nothing.
She made another coffee and sat back out on the veranda. She checked her watch. Five past eight. Even if she went to bed disgustingly early she still had at least twelve hours to kill. Her shoulders started to sag and her spine lost its early-morning buoyancy, the greyness of grief descending over her again.
She shouldn’t have come here. It was too soon for a holiday. Any holiday. She’d buried her father a fortnight ago. She should be at home. She should be with her friends, her family. Maybe, right at this very minute, she could be forging closer bonds with Marty and Frank. Surely that was more important than—
‘Good morning!’
Josie jumped out of her skin. Coffee sloshed over the side of her cup and onto her feet. Kent Black. Her heart hammered, though she told herself it was the effect of her fright. Not the fact that his big, broad body looked superb in a pair of faded jeans and a navy T-shirt that fitted him in a way that highlighted bulging arm muscles.
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.’
He didn’t look the least bit sorry. And if he didn’t mean to startle people he shouldn’t bark out good-mornings like a sergeant major springing a surprise inspection.
‘Not a problem.’ She tried to smile. ‘Good morning.’
He didn’t step any closer, he didn’t come and sit with her on the veranda. She quelled her disappointment and tried to tell herself she didn’t care.
‘How’d you sleep?’ The words scraped out of a throat that sounded rusty with disuse.
‘Like a top,’ she lied. She decided she’d been rude enough about the amenities—or lack of amenities—last night. She couldn’t start back in on him today. Yesterday at least she could plead the excuse of tiredness. ‘I’m sorry about my lack of enthusiasm last night. It had been a long day and, like you said, the cabin is perfectly adequate.’
He blinked. His eyes narrowed. Up close she could see they were the most startling shade of blue, almost navy. Still, it didn’t mean she wanted them practically dissecting her.
‘How was the wine?’
A smile spread through her. He could look as unfriendly and unapproachable as he liked, but actions spoke louder than words. Last night, over her first glass of wine, she’d decided Kent Black had a kind heart. He’d just forgotten how to show it, that was all. ‘The wine was lovely.’
Really lovely. So lovely she’d drunk half the bottle before she’d realised it. Once she had, she’d hastily shoved the rest of the bottle in the tiny bar fridge. Quaffing copious quantities of wine when she was stuck out here all on her own might not be the wisest of ideas.
‘It was a really thoughtful gesture. Thank you, Mr Black.’ She waited for him to tell her to call him Kent. She bit back a sigh when he didn’t.
He touched the brim of his hat in what she took to be a kind of farewell salute and panic spiked through her. She didn’t want to be left all alone again. Not yet.
Molly nudged Josie’s arm with her nose, forcing her to lift it so she could sidle in close. ‘I, umm... Molly is a lovely dog. Really lovely. I was wrong about her too.’ Ugh, she should be ashamed of such inane babble. ‘I... She spent the night with me.’
He spun back, hands on hips. ‘I noticed.’
Oh, dear. She should’ve let him leave. Her fingers curled into Molly’s fur. She didn’t want to give Molly up. ‘I... Do you want me to shoo her home in future?’
‘She’s all yours.’
Relief chugged through her and she swore his eyes softened. Then he turned away again and she knew she must’ve imagined it. ‘Are any of the other cabins booked over the next few weeks?’ She crossed her fingers.
His impatience, when he turned back, made her want to cringe.
‘No.’
The single syllable rang a death knell through her last forlorn hope. All alone. For a month. ‘Then...what do people do out here?’
‘Do?’ One eyebrow lifted. ‘Nothing. That’s the point.’
Dread fizzed through her. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Surely he’d like a cup of tea. Kind hearts and cups of tea went together and—