It was Sunday. Two whole days since their kiss. But for the past two days that kiss was all Josie could think about. She’d completed her three days of prescribed bed rest, but she could tell Kent didn’t think her recovered enough for more kissing.
‘What about catering?’
His words momentarily dragged her away from thoughts of kissing. ‘Umm...’ What had she missed?
‘You could start up your own catering company.’
Oh, they were back to that. Still, it was better than nothing, she supposed. She’d expected him to bolt out of here as soon as he’d annihilated her at chess. As he had yesterday. As if afraid she’d try and kiss him again.
She wasn’t going to kiss him again until she’d recovered her full strength. She had no intention of letting a little cough get in her way next time.
‘I can’t go into catering.’ She’d already considered the idea and dismissed it.
‘Why not?’
‘Suzanna de Freits has the market cornered in Buchanan’s Point, not to mention the surrounding seaside villages of Crescent Beach and Diamond Head.’
‘Afraid of a little competition?’
She grinned at the rallying note in his voice. He obviously thought she needed a pep talk. ‘Her savouries are better than mine.’
‘I bet her chocolate cake doesn’t come close.’
Bless his heart. He actually looked as if he meant that. Thoughts of kissing rose up through her again. She shook her head. ‘Suzanna is a single mother of three school-age children.’ And a friend. ‘She works hard. I’m not poaching her customers.’
‘Not even to save your house...home?’
‘People are more important than bricks and mortar.’ Even when those bricks and mortar made up Geraldine’s Gardens. ‘I’d rather take on another dementia patient than do that.’ Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t nursing her father? Her stomach curdled at the thought all the same.
‘Don’t do that.’
She may not have any choice. Frustration shot through her. She should’ve spent the last two days searching for a solution to this particular problem rather than obsessing about kissing Kent.
‘Ooh, humungous huntsman.’ She shrank in her chair and pointed to the kitchen wall.
With an exaggerated sigh, Kent climbed to his feet, rolled up yesterday’s newspaper and advanced on the hapless spider. Josie scampered after him and snatched the paper out of his hands. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
He stared at her. ‘I’m going to squash it.’
Her eyes widened. ‘But you’re like a hundred million times bigger than it.’ She whacked him on the arm with the rolled-up newspaper. ‘It’s only a spider.’
‘You were the one that said—’
‘I didn’t say kill it!’ She whacked him again. ‘And just because I’m female doesn’t mean I run yelling and screaming from a spider.’
‘You do from dogs and goannas.’
‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.’ She glared at him. ‘Out of my way.’
Josie unrolled the newspaper, folded it in half then eased in under the spider’s legs—slowly, slowly—until the spider sat on the end of the newspaper. Without taking her eyes off it, she walked across the room and outside.
She was halfway between her cabin and the nearest stand of trees when the spider rose up on all of its eight legs and raced the length of the newspaper towards her. She dropped the newspaper with a squeal and jumped back.
Kent laughed so hard from his vantage point on the veranda he had to sit down. ‘I didn’t say I wanted it on me!’
She glared at him, but he only laughed harder. ‘I’ve found your new career, Josie.’
‘This should be good,’ she muttered, but her lips started to twitch.
‘Stand-up comedy.’
‘Oh, ha-ha, very funny.’ She rolled her eyes and collapsed onto the veranda beside him. Then glanced around warily. ‘Where did it go?’
‘Not scared of spiders, huh?’
She lifted her chin. ‘Not scared enough to kill them.’
He grinned down at her, shook his head, went to turn away then swung back and kissed her, hard. Once.
Her eyes glazed over. When they finally cleared she could see him already regretting the impulsive act.
‘Wow!’ She swore she’d keep it light if it was the last thing she did. ‘With that kind of positive reinforcement I’ll never be afraid of spiders again. Though,’ some imp made her add, ‘I’ll need another two or three sessions of that same therapy before I’m fully cured.’
His grin, when it came, was one of those long, slow, crooked ones that made her heart go boom. Desire slowly burned through her.
‘You’re impossible, you know that?’
She shrugged. ‘If stand-up comedy is my thing then I’d best get in some practice.’ But the stand-up comedy thing was just a joke. They both knew that. Her smile dipped as her original problem bore down on her again.
Kent nudged her shoulder. ‘Earth to Josie.’
She shook herself. ‘What are you up to for the next hour or so?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
She leaned back and raised an eyebrow. ‘You know, that question just begs for a suggestive comeback.’ She took pity on him when he dragged a hand down his face. ‘I feel like making chocolate cake.’
She went to jump up but his hand on her arm stopped her. ‘You’re supposed to be taking it easy.’
‘Don’t worry.’ She shot him a cheeky grin. ‘You’ll be the one doing all the hard work.’
* * *
Kent didn’t know how Josie managed it, but she made baking a cake fun. He’d tried to tell himself he’d only hung around to prevent her from overdoing it, but that was a lie. He’d stayed because he couldn’t stay away. In fact, if he could’ve eased her suffering and his own worry, Josie’s illness was probably the highlight of the last year.
He cut that thought off, angry with himself. But then Josie smiled and the tightness inside him eased. He enjoyed watching her deft hands measuring out ingredients. He enjoyed her teasing his ineptness with a wooden spoon. He enjoyed watching the colour bloom back into her cheeks.
Josie popped the cake in the oven then swiped a finger along the inside rim of the mixing bowl, gathering as much cake mix as she could, then popped the finger in her mouth and closed her eyes in bliss. He enjoyed that too.
‘Yum.’ As if aware of his gaze she opened her eyes and held out the wooden spoon for him. ‘Go on,’ she urged when he hesitated. ‘I bet you and Becky fought over the wooden spoon when you were kids and your mum baked a cake.’
He jerked back, waiting for acid to fill his stomach at the mention of his family. It didn’t come, so he reached for the spoon. ‘She wasn’t much of a one for baking cakes. Soup was her thing.’ Big, rich pots of simmering goodness. In winter he’d rush home from school, his mouth watering with the knowledge of what awaited him when he got there.
He hadn’t thought of that in a long time.
‘Soup.’ Josie stared at him in mock indignation. ‘Your mum cooked the most scrumptious homemade soup ever, and don’t tell me she didn’t because I can tell from the expression on your face that she did. Yet you had the gall to feed me tinned stuff?’
He grinned, but he wished he had cooked her up a big pot of soup. ‘To be honest, I didn’t think you’d much notice...or care.’
‘To be honest,’ she leaned in close as if confiding a secret, ‘you’d be right.’
He wanted to kiss her again, so he retreated to the table and set about licking the spoon clean. Josie had made this cabin the cosiest darn place on this side of the mountain. On second thoughts, probably the cosiest place on the whole mountain. He’d never set foot inside Smiley McDonald’s house, but he’d bet Mrs Smiley McDonald didn’t have the same knack Josie did. The knack of creating a home from nothing.
It’d started him thinking too. He could make improvements to all these cabins. The way Josie had done. And up at the house too. His mind fizzed with new possibilities.
Maybe she should go into interior decorating. He wondered if a person needed qualifications or whether they—
He jerked in his seat as the solution to Josie’s problem slapped him on the head. ‘How many bedrooms did you say you had at Geraldine’s Gardens?’
‘Eight.’ She didn’t turn from washing the dishes.
‘And how many living areas?’
She tossed a glance over her shoulder then shrugged and went back to the dishes. ‘There’s the formal and informal lounge rooms, the family room, the sunroom, the breakfast room and the library. Oh, and there’s a ballroom.’
How big was this place? ‘Josie,’ he tried to keep his tone measured, tried to keep the excitement out of his voice, ‘why don’t you turn Geraldine’s Gardens into a bed and breakfast?’
She dropped the bowl she was washing and swung to face him. Soapsuds dripped to her bare toes. Her mouth formed a perfect O and Kent found himself wanting to kiss it.
Again.
Josie couldn’t contain her excitement. She raced over to the table, plonked herself down and gripped his hands. ‘Do you really think I could do that?’
‘Sure you could.’
He squeezed her hands before gently detaching them and leaning back to survey her. She wanted to wriggle beneath his scrutiny, but she didn’t. She stared back, held her breath and hoped he liked what he saw.
‘I mean, look at what you’ve done with this place.’
She knew her grin must be ridiculously wide. Kent had the kind of rugged good looks that could make her pulse perform a tango, but it was more than that. He possessed a kindness, a generosity, and, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, it always seemed to find a way to the surface.
She knew now what Clancy meant. Kent didn’t suit this solitude any more than she did. Burying himself out here like this was a crime.
And none of your business, a voice intoned inside her.
Pooh. What did she care about that? She’d poke her nose in where it wasn’t wanted if she thought it’d do any good. But it wouldn’t. Kent wouldn’t listen to her. He’d scowl and become a stranger and be glad to see the back of her.
‘If you can manage all this here,’ he continued, ‘how much more could you achieve at Geraldine’s Gardens?’
Excitement shifted through her.
‘I bet there are plenty of local handicrafts in Buchanan’s Point you could feature.’
She could theme the rooms. And she could get in tourist brochures for areas of local interest. Maybe even arrange the odd tour or two to the near by vineyards or the recreated colonial town less than an hour away.
‘And you could showcase local produce.’
Ooh, yes. Suzanna made the most fabulous preserved fruit, and someone from the women’s institute would be happy to provide her with pickles and jam.
Kent leaned forward. ‘More to the point, you’re great with people, Josie. You’d make a wonderful hostess.’
She found herself starting to choke up...then she sat back, her shoulders sagging. ‘There are hundreds of little seaside towns all along the coast of New South Wales identical to Buchanan’s Point. Not to mention the larger centres that offer nightlife and restaurants and attractions galore. How on earth do I compete with them? What can I offer except a stay in a lovely house?’
‘You need a selling point.’ Kent drummed his fingers against the table. ‘How much did you hate the nursing aspects of looking after your father?’
She gazed at him blankly.
‘I mean the bathing and feeding, making sure he took his medication et cetera?’
‘Oh, I didn’t mind that at all.’ It was the watching him die that she’d hated.
‘Then why don’t you tailor your b & b for invalids and their carers? There’s a rapidly expanding aged population in this country. There’s a market out there, Josie, just waiting to be tapped into. Your qualifications are an added bonus, especially if you can offer the carers a couple of hours’ free time for themselves each day.’
Her jaw dropped. There’d been days when she’d have killed for a couple of hours off. Not for anything special, just a haircut or to browse in the local library, or even just to sit over a cup of coffee she hadn’t made herself. It would’ve helped. Marty and Frank had always been too busy to sit with their father much. And she wouldn’t have dreamed of asking anyone else except in an emergency.
‘Have you any savings?’
‘Some. Why?’
‘Because you’ll need something to tide you over until the money starts coming in.’
Good point. She did a quick calculation in her head. If she was frugal she’d have enough for a few months.
‘Advertising will be your major expense.’
Oops, she hadn’t factored that in. She wondered if the bank would give her a loan.
‘Let me invest in the project, Josie.’
Her jaw dropped.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not being altruistic.’ His grin said otherwise. ‘I have plenty of money stashed away, and I have a feeling I’ll be seeing quite a return on that money.’
Did he really have that much faith in her? The blue of his eyes held such an earnest appeal Josie almost said yes. She dragged her eyes from his and forced herself to think the idea through.
Her heart sank. She tried to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. ‘No,’ she croaked.
He sat back as if she’d struck him. ‘Why not?’
Because he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in any kind of personal commitment. If he invested in her project he’d be hovering in the background of her life for heaven only knew how long, kissing her then running away. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself from building larger-scale fantasies around him.
She’d never move on.
She stared at the rugged, lean lines of his face and her mouth went dry. Some time over the last three weeks she’d gone and done the stupidest thing in the world. She’d fallen in love with Kent Black.
When? While he nursed her through the worst of her fever? Or earlier...when he rescued her from the goanna, perhaps, or the first time they’d played chess? Maybe it was the day of the church fête, or the time she’d caught him skinny-dipping down at the river or—
Enough already!
He’d never love her back. Panic pounded through her. She was afraid of dogs and goannas and ticks and spiders. She was even a bit afraid of Bridget Anderson. He could never love a woman who was like that.
Numbness settled over the surface of her skin. Even if by some miracle he grew fond of her, she could never live out here with him in all his isolation. It went against everything she was.