Her eyes widened when he strode up. ‘Kent! What are you doing here? I mean...’ She glanced away then back again as if trying to moderate her surprise. ‘I didn’t think this was your thing.’
‘I’m all out of tomato chutney and honey,’ he muttered.
She smiled then, and it kicked him right in the gut. With a flourish, she waved her arm across the table. ‘Can I tempt you with any of our goodies?’
Our? He recognised Liz’s gramma pies and choko pickles, but he’d bet Josie had contributed the rest. ‘How long have you been stuck behind there?’
Her smile slipped. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m sure once the auction is over Bridget will be back and—’
‘You haven’t moved from there all morning, have you? You haven’t even had a chance to look around yet?’
‘There’s still plenty of time.’
‘Have you had lunch?’ he barked.
She started to laugh. ‘I’m being punished for skipping breakfast. Smell that,’ she ordered. She pulled in a big breath and he practically saw her start to salivate. ‘They’ve set up a sausage sizzle behind the church hall and all I can smell is frying onions. It’s pure torture.’
He could tell she was only joking, but a surge of anger shot through him. Bloody Bridget. ‘Where’s Liz?’
‘Sick.’
Sick of her sister, he’d bet.
Josie’s skin was pale and he could see it starting to turn pink in the sun. She’d erected a canopy to shelter the food, but not one for herself.
‘C’mon.’ He waved a hand, practically ordering her out from behind the trestle table.
‘I can’t leave.’
‘Why not? Everyone else has.’
‘But...but I told Bridget I’d man the fort and...then there’s the money tin and—’
‘Give it to me.’
‘But...’
He reached over and took it, placing it firmly in the middle of the table. ‘Now seems to me you’ve done your share. If Bridget wants the stall manned, she’ll come back when she sees it’s empty. Right then, see that weeping willow down by the river?’ He pointed and she nodded. ‘Grab us something,’ he nodded at the table, ‘and meet me down there.’
‘I can’t just take something.’
‘Why not? You cooked it.’
She drew herself up. ‘It’s for charity!’
He laughed at the outrage plastered across her face. Josie Peterson made him feel light years younger. He fished out a twenty-dollar note from his pocket, held it out for her to see then put it into the money tin.
Her jaw dropped. ‘That’s too much.’
‘It’s for charity, isn’t it?’
She stared then laughed, and it throbbed through him in all the places he shouldn’t be thinking about.
‘So, you’re pretty hungry, huh?’
‘Starved.’ And it’d take a whole lot more than sugar to satisfy his cravings.
‘The weeping willow?’
‘The weeping willow,’ he agreed.
With that he turned and headed straight across the field before he could pull Josie over the trestle table and kiss her.
* * *
When she reached the tree, Josie had to admit Kent had chosen a pretty spot for a picnic. The river slid by, silver and silent, meditative. It soothed the sore, bruised places inside her. She wondered if it did the same for Kent. Maybe that was why he chose to bury himself out here.
Settling on the grass beneath the tree, she welcomed the shade and the almost hypnotic sway of fronds in the breeze, and wondered about her unusual rescue. And her even more unusual rescuer.
Kent, carrying sausage sandwiches and cans of lemonade, appeared and Josie’s hunger momentarily overrode her other concerns. ‘Mmm.’ She closed her eyes and savoured her first bite. ‘This is fabulous.’ When she opened them again she found Kent staring at her strangely. She suddenly remembered her manners. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
The faded blue of his chambray shirt highlighted the brilliant blue of his eyes. The snug fit of his jeans highlighted the firmness of his thighs. The sudden shortness of Josie’s breath highlighted her heretofore unknown partiality for firm thigh muscles encased in faded denim.
‘I, umm...’ She dragged her gaze upwards. ‘Thank you for rescuing me...again.’ That seemed to be becoming a habit.
‘Not a problem.’
Oh, dear. She obviously had a partiality for firm lips and chiselled jaws too. She dragged her gaze to the river and tried to recreate the peace it had invoked in her only moments ago. She ate the rest of her sausage sandwich in silence.
Three ducks, small, brown and dappled, paddled by; bellbirds started up on the other bank. She pulled in a breath and her tension eased out of her, but her awareness for the man opposite didn’t.
‘When I look at all this,’ she motioned to the river, ‘I can see why you live out here. It’s beautiful.’
‘Yep.’ A pause. ‘You can’t imagine living out here yourself?’
‘No.’ And she couldn’t. Too much of it frightened her, even as she admired the starkness of its beauty.
‘A city girl at heart?’
She glanced at him sharply, but no scorn or censure marred the perfect blue of his eyes. ‘No, not a city girl.’ Though she could more easily imagine living in a city than at Eagle Reach. ‘I live in a sleepy little town on the coast about three hours north from here.’ Her whole frame lightened when she thought of it. ‘It’s beautiful. Especially at this time of year.’ When summer merged into autumn, the days still warm but the nights cool.
‘If it’s so pretty there, what are you doing here?’
Good question. Sadness and a thread of something harsher—anger?—trickled through her. She quashed it. ‘My father died. He’d suffered from dementia for a few years. I was his full-time carer. I needed to get away for a bit.’
But somewhere nice. Somewhere she could close her eyes and breathe more freely. Not somewhere that scared her half out of her wits in one instant then stole her breath with its beauty the next. And she hadn’t wanted to be shipped off for a whole month. A week would’ve done.
She gulped. She was an ungrateful wretch.
Kent reached out and covered her hand with his. ‘That must’ve been hard.’
She nodded, her throat thickening with unshed tears at the kindness reflected in the deep blue of his eyes. She could see he understood her grief.
Dear heavens above, of course he did!
She gazed back out at the river, determined not to cry, but as the warmth of his hand stole through her her heart started to pound. She glanced up at him and her mouth went dry. Did he feel it too?
As if in answer, his hand tightened over hers. Exhilaration sped through her when his eyes narrowed on her lips, then desire—hot and hard and relentless. Three feet separated them and she wanted that gap closed, fast. Needed it. She couldn’t remember craving a man’s touch so intently. She wanted to lose herself in him and not come up for air.
Gripped by forces greater than common sense, Josie swayed towards him, lips parted. Time freeze-framed and lost all meaning, except in the way it sharpened all her senses. Every single muscle ached to meld itself against him. Her fingers, her palm, hungered to caress the dark shading at his jaw. She wanted to breathe in his hot male scent, she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and slide her fingers through the crisp darkness of his hair.
Hunger flared in his eyes. Her own blood quickened in response. Then, with a tiny shake of his head, he removed his hand and sat back, his mouth a grim line as he stared out at the river. Disappointment flooded her, filling her mouth with the acrid taste of its bitterness.
Embarrassment quickly followed. ‘I, umm... Dessert?’
She seized the bag of goodies like a lifeline. ‘I didn’t know what you felt like so I grabbed a couple of pieces of caramel slice, half a dozen oatmeal biscuits and a slice each of lemon meringue pie and chocolate cake.’
As she named each item she pulled the appropriate paper plate out of the bag and lined them up between them. His twenty dollars deserved a whole lot more than this, but she couldn’t have carried anything else. ‘I mean, you could’ve had carrot cake or muffins,’ she babbled on, scrunching the plastic carrier bag into a tiny ball and squeezing it. ‘But if you’d prefer something else then I’m sure...’
He reached across and halted her movements. The rest of her words dried up in her throat. Her stupid pulse fluttered in her throat.
‘It wouldn’t have been a good idea.’
She knew he wasn’t talking about cake. He was talking about kissing her. She nodded, her throat tight. ‘I know.’
He drew back. ‘What do you want?’ He motioned to the plates.
She seized the oatmeal biscuits, more for something to do, than because she was hungry. Her hunger had fled.
Her hunger for food, that was.
Stop thinking about it!
She flung a glance over her shoulder, searching for something, anything, and her jaw dropped at the size of the crowd milling in the field behind her. ‘Where did they all come from?’
Kent glanced up then shrugged and stretched out on his side. ‘I’d heard the fête took off in the afternoon. The folk of Gloucester have caught wind of it in the last few years.’
She glanced at him and tried not to notice how the lean angles of his body stretched out like an invitation. ‘Why?’
‘A couple of the local specialities have started making names for themselves,’ he said, peeling plastic wrap from around the chocolate cake.
Her ears pricked up. ‘Like?’ She shuffled around on her knees to watch the crowd. Lots of people, lots of laughter—it loosened the knots inside her.
‘You mean besides tomato chutney and honey?’
She glanced at him then laughed. So, scowling-don’t-get-too-close-to-me Kent could crack a joke...and grin while he did it. She could grow to like this Kent. A lot. ‘So, I was on the money with my guess, huh?’
‘If you substitute the chutney for Liz’s choko pickles then yes.’
His smile crinkled the lines around his eyes. Her stomach flip-flopped.
‘They’re famous and with some cause. Nothing beats a silverside and choko pickle sandwich.’
She filed that for future reference.
‘Except maybe this!’ His eyes bugged as he chewed chocolate cake. ‘Jeez, Josie.’ He stared at her, half in admiration, half in consternation. ‘This is...’
‘Good?’
‘Better than good.’
‘I told you I made a better one from scratch.’
He chuckled at the smug toss of her head and her stomach flip-flopped more.
‘What else should I be on the look-out for?’
‘Chloe Isaac’s homemade soap. Popular opinion is divided between the granulated strawberry bar and the smooth lemon myrtle.’
‘Ooh, yum. I’m getting both.’ She pointed an accusing finger at him, but kept her eyes on the crowd. ‘That’s the sort of thing you should put in the cabins. People would love it.’ She sent him a sly glance. ‘What about the honey? Famous too?’
He polished off the rest of the cake with a grin. ‘I’ll introduce you to our local beekeeper, old Fraser Todd. He’ll sell you a pot of honey fresh from the hive with a piece of the honeycomb still in it. You’ll never taste anything like it,’ he promised.
Her mouth watered. She pushed the plate of biscuits towards him. She’d better save her appetite.
‘You think I need fattening up or something?’
‘You were the one who said you were hungry. You’ve still a slice of lemon meringue pie and a couple of pieces of caramel slice to go yet.’
‘I’ll save them for later.’ He nodded towards the stalls with their crowds clustered around them. ‘Besides, I’d have thought you’d be eager to get us out amongst them, fighting for all the goodies before they’re gone.’
She loved the way he said ‘us’; it meant he intended to hang around for a bit. Her blood did a funny little dance through her veins, which she tried to ignore. She lifted a hand that encompassed the scene before her. ‘I’m enjoying all this first.’
‘Enjoying what?’
‘Watching the people having fun, hearing them laugh. It’s what I meant when I told Marty and Frank I wanted a break.’
Kent stilled, mid-munch. Carefully, he chewed and swallowed the rest of his biscuit. ‘Don’t you want to be a part of it?’
‘Eventually.’ She didn’t take her eyes off the crowd, lapping it all up like a starving dog. ‘But I’m happy to savour it all first. Ooh, an artist is setting up.’
‘She’s one of our best-kept secrets.’
Kent collected up the uneaten goodies and placed them back in the bag, then, with his face gentle, offered Josie his hand. ‘C’mon, why don’t I show you the cream of the town’s offerings?’
Josie was more than happy to place her hand in Kent’s tanned, capable one and be pulled to her feet, more than ready to become one with the laughing, happy crowd.
CHAPTER SIX
‘Y
OU
SHOULD
BE
ashamed
of yourself,’ Josie chided a couple of hours later, collapsing at a picnic table.
‘Ashamed of myself?’
What the...? He’d made a sterling effort to play the sociable companion to Josie over the afternoon. What was more, he thought he’d succeeded.
Not that it’d been an effort. No effort at all. It had earned him more than one speculative glance from more than one local, though. Not that he cared. Their gossip couldn’t touch him and Josie would be gone in three weeks, so it couldn’t hurt her either.
Three weeks. And don’t you forget it, he warned himself. He eased his long legs beneath the table to sit opposite her when he had a feeling what he should be doing was getting to his feet and running in the opposite direction.
Fast.
He couldn’t. When Josie had made her remarkable declaration about what she really wanted from her holiday—her eyes hungry on the crowd, those peculiarly restful hands of hers folded against her knees and a tendril of weeping willow playing across her shoulder and catching in her hair—he’d gained a sudden insight into all she’d given up when she’d taken on the role of carer to her father.
She didn’t need a holiday stuck halfway up a mountain. She needed people, she needed to feel connected again. She needed images of life and laughter to help mitigate the recent images of sickness and death. He understood that. And he cursed her brothers for not seeing it.
He couldn’t help that she was stuck halfway up a mountain, but he had taken it upon himself to make sure she enjoyed the fête today. And that no one, including that witch Bridget Anderson, took advantage of her generosity. Now here she was, telling him he should be ashamed of himself? So much for gratitude.
‘Why?’ he demanded, irked more than he wanted to admit.
She spread her arms wide and he found himself wanting to walk straight into them. He scowled. ‘What?’
‘Look at the wealth of all this local produce.’
He reckoned she’d bought just about every example of it too. That made him grin. Her delight in the smallest of things had touched him. ‘And?’
‘With all this available at your fingertips, how could you possibly make such a sorry job on those cabins?’
‘Sorry job!’ His jaw dropped. He jabbed the air between them with a finger. ‘I know Eagle Reach isn’t exactly the Ritz, but—’
Her snort cut him short. ‘You can say that again.’
‘Look, you’re not my usual grade of clientele.’
She leaned forward. ‘I know you keep saying the cabins attract the tough, rugged outdoor types, but really...’ She leaned back, arms outspread again.
He wished she’d stop doing that. ‘What?’ He lifted a hand. ‘What?’ The cabins were perfectly...adequate.
‘Would it really be such an effort to make them a little more inviting?’
She had to be joking, right?
‘Even rough, rugged outdoor types like something nice to come home to after all that hiking and fishing or whatever it is rough, rugged outdoor types do.’
‘So...so you want me to put strawberry-scented soap in the bathrooms,’ he spluttered, ‘and...and frangipani-scented candles in the living rooms?’ It’d make him a laughing stock.
‘Maybe not the strawberry soap,’ she allowed. ‘That might not be a big hit with your tough types, but what about the mint and eucalyptus soap, huh? It’d add a bit of local colour and wouldn’t threaten anyone’s masculinity. What’s wrong with that? It’s a nice touch.’
She folded her arms and glared at him. He folded his arms and glared back.
‘A couple of Mrs Gower’s rag rugs wouldn’t go astray either.’
Rugs!
‘Not to mention a painting or two.’
OK, so the cabins were bare. He’d admit that much.
‘And I know you’re not a fruit and flowers kind of guy—’
It was his turn to snort. ‘You can say that again.’
‘But,’ she persisted, ‘a jar of Mr Todd’s honey and Liz’s choko pickles would be a friendly gesture. To the town as well as the guests.’
He wished he could ignore the way the gold flecks in her eyes flashed when she got all fired up, or the way her pretty little chin pointed at him, angling her lips in a way that made his mouth water.
Not good. He shouldn’t be thinking about kissing her. He clenched his hands beneath the table to stop from reaching out and grabbing that pretty little chin in his fingers and slanting his lips over hers. Heck, that’d get the gossips’ tongues wagging.
‘You know what?’
‘What?’ The word growled out of him from between teeth that were likewise clenched. Fortunately, or unfortunately, his gruffness didn’t so much as make her blink any more.
‘I think you’re afraid of making those cabins too home-like.’
He jerked back.
‘I think you’re afraid to make any place too much like home.’
Something started to thud painfully in his chest. He tried to throw her words off, but found he couldn’t. ‘All this because I like simple and plain?’ he snapped.
Not so much as a blink. ‘Either that or you’re afraid of making them so nice that you’ll have to share your mountain with all of the repeat business you’d get.’
The thudding eased to an ache at her teasing.
‘You could be on to something, lass. Our Kent here doesn’t like to share his solitude.’
Kent jumped up, pleasure lighting through him at the sight of Clancy Whitehall’s dancing dark eyes and thatch of white hair. He helped the elderly man to a seat. ‘Clancy, this is Josie Peterson. She’s staying at Eagle Reach for a few weeks.’
‘A pleasure. Clancy Whitehall.’ He introduced himself before Kent had a chance. His dark eyes danced across Josie’s face as he shook her hand. ‘I have the dubious distinction of being Martin’s Gully’s oldest resident.’
Josie broke into one of those grins that hit Kent square in the gut. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Whitehall.’
‘Call me Clancy, please. Mr Whitehall was my father.’
Josie laughed, her eyes darting to Kent’s to share her delight. Kent could’ve groaned out loud when Clancy followed the movement. The old man was as sharp as all get out and Kent didn’t like the speculation suddenly rife in the older man’s eyes. Or the smile that curved his lips.
‘Have you lived in Martin’s Gully all your life, Clancy?’
‘Aye, lass.’
‘I bet you’ve some stories you could tell.’
Kent could see Josie would love to hear each and every one of them.
‘That I could.’ Clancy’s gaze darted from Josie to Kent and back again. ‘How are you finding the hospitality at Eagle Reach?’
Josie’s lips twitched and her eyes met Kent’s again. ‘Improving.’
Great. Wonderful. He knew exactly what Clancy would make of that.
As expected, Clancy raised a telling eyebrow and Kent found himself leaping to his feet. He didn’t care what the gossips like Bridget Anderson thought, but he did care what Clancy thought. And he wanted Clancy to unthink it right now.
‘Kent?’
Josie’s breathy whisper brought him back. ‘It’s time I was going.’ He pulled the brim of his hat down low on his forehead. ‘I want to check on Liz before I head back.’
‘I hear she’s poorly. Give her my love.’
Kent nodded then strode off, though he didn’t know whose gaze burned through him the hotter—Clancy’s or Josie’s.
* * *
Josie pulled her gaze from Kent’s rigid, rapidly retreating back and smiled at Clancy.
Clancy’s eyes were knowing. He nodded after Kent. ‘He’s a good lad.’
Good? Lad? More like maddening man. Not that that did justice to the clamour Kent created inside her either, but she nodded all the same. Kent obviously looked out for Clancy and she had to give him credit for that. In fact, it was right neighbourly of him. ‘He saved me from a day of servitude behind one of the stalls.’ That was right neighbourly too.
Clancy chuckled. ‘Bridget Anderson got her claws into you, did she? She’s a managing kind of woman, that one. Likes to run things. She should’ve gone into politics.’
Josie laughed at the idea, but it was perfect. She wondered if Clancy could come up with a vocation as appropriate for her?
‘How are you enjoying your holiday at Eagle Reach?’
Her hesitation betrayed her. ‘I... It’s a bit lonely.’ She shrugged. ‘I mean, it is beautiful—the bush, the river, and I’ve never seen night skies quite like it.’ She didn’t want Clancy thinking she didn’t appreciate it. ‘I just... I don’t think I’m cut out for so much solitude.’
‘Aye.’ Clancy nodded. ‘Neither is Kent.’
She sat back so fast she nearly fell off her seat. ‘Are you serious?’
His eyes twinkled for a moment then they sobered. ‘Aye, lass.’
‘But...’ She floundered with the idea. ‘He’s so rugged and strong and...hard. He doesn’t look as if it bothers him at all.’ She frowned. ‘In fact, he seems jealous of it, doesn’t want anything encroaching on it.’ Especially her.
‘Ahh...’
But Clancy didn’t add anything and Josie refused to pry. The older man’s eyes did watch her closely though, speculation rife in their depths, and she suddenly realised why Kent had left so abruptly. It made her want to laugh. Then it didn’t.
Clancy was the one person she’d met in Martin’s Gully who cared about Kent. Their mutual respect, their friendship, had been evident from the first moment. She reached across the table and touched the older man’s hand. ‘I’m only here for three more weeks. Kent thinks I’m a lame duck. Believe me, he’ll be glad to see the back of me.’
Clancy chuckled. ‘That’s what he wants you to think.’ He patted her hand. ‘Now, why don’t you come visit an old man next time you’re in town?’
‘I’d love to.’
‘That’s my place there.’
He nodded to a neat weatherboard house across the road and Josie beamed. The next three weeks were starting to look brighter and brighter.
* * *
Josie tried to slow her heart rate as she raised her hand and knocked on Kent’s back door. ‘Hi,’ she said when he appeared. She tried to grin but found her lips had gone as rubbery as her knees.
He eyed her for a moment. ‘Hi.’
No scowl, not even a frown, just a wary caution. Relief slugged through her. She hoped she’d seen the last of the prickly, unfriendly Kent. She much preferred the laughing, teasing one.
He glanced behind her. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Yes, of course; I...’
He’d forgotten. She wanted to stamp her feet. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to cry with irrational disappointment. She’d looked forward to this all day, and...and he’d forgotten.
She didn’t stamp her feet. She didn’t slap him. She didn’t cry. She kept right on trying to smile. ‘It’s Monday.’
His eyes narrowed and travelled over her face as if searching for signs of sunstroke. ‘That’s right,’ he said slowly, as if agreeing with a child.
Which didn’t help her eradicate those childish impulses. She pulled in a breath and counted to three. ‘You said you’d give me a chess lesson.’
He slapped a hand to his forehead and scowled. Josie took two steps back. ‘Don’t do that,’ she hollered, keeping a tight rein on feet that itched to stamp and hands that burned to slap.
His scowl deepened. ‘Do what?’
‘Look like that, turn back into Mr Hyde.’ Pride lifted her chin. ‘I know you’re not my nursemaid, I know you’re not even my friend, but we can at least be civil to each other and enjoy a game of chess, can’t we?’
‘Sure we can.’
‘We had a nice time yesterday.’
‘Yep.’
She wished he’d show a bit more enthusiasm.
He shuffled his feet. ‘So, no chocolate cake?’ He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
‘Umm, no.’ She’d hummed and hawed over that for ages. Then she’d remembered his reaction the last time she’d brought afternoon tea. ‘Didn’t you have enough of it yesterday?’
‘Not on your life.’
This time the smile made it all the way to his eyes and Josie found herself breathing easier. ‘Next Monday,’ she promised.
* * *
He should’ve found a way to get out of this.
Josie stood there in a pair of white cargo shorts and a jade-green tank-top and she looked better than chocolate cake. She looked better than anything he’d seen in a long, long time. He had the distinct feeling the less time he spent in her company, though, the better. She made him want things he’d forced himself to forget. But as he stared down into her half-hopeful, half-fearful face, he couldn’t turn her away. He’d promised.
‘Why don’t we sit out here?’ He nodded to the seating on his veranda. He didn’t want to sit in the kitchen, didn’t want her scent clogging up his senses and wafting through his house so the first thing he smelt when he woke in the morning was her.
With a shrug she took a seat, stared out at him from her gold-flecked eyes then crossed her legs. Jeez! She couldn’t be more than a hundred and sixty centimetres, tops, but she had legs that went on forever. He turned and stumbled back into the house, tossed a critical glance around the kitchen then scowled. The real reason he didn’t want her in here was so he didn’t have to hear any more about his lack of homeliness. That still stung.
‘Smile,’ she ordered when he reappeared with the chess set, dimpling herself.
He did his best to tutor his face into a bland mask. Yesterday he’d found it too easy to smile with Josie, too easy to laugh. It wasn’t a habit he intended to cultivate. Women like Josie were best protected from men like him.
Chess lesson. They’d concentrate on the chess lesson. ‘How well can you play?’ He sighed when she stared at him blankly. ‘How much do you know?’
‘I know how the pieces move.’
It was a starting point.
Forty minutes later, Kent came to the conclusion that Josie was a terrible chess player. She seemed to have a constitutional aversion to seizing her opponent’s pieces. Or, for that matter, giving up any of her own. He attacked. She retreated, trying to find a way to save every single pawn. She didn’t understand the concept of sacrificing a piece for the greater good. She didn’t have an attacking bone in her body.
Nice body, though.
Stop it. Focus on the chess. Don’t go noticing...other stuff.
Problem was, he’d spent the entire chess lesson noticing other stuff. Noticing how still her hands were between plays. How small and shapely they were. Noticing how she caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she attempted to decipher the complexities of the game. Noticing how her skin had started to take on a golden glow after a week of being out in the sun.