The House On Burra Burra Lane (2 page)

Dr Granger cleared his throat.

‘I missed breakfast,’ she told him, getting the subject off sex.

‘I see.’ He licked his top lip. ‘Well, there’s some colour in your face now.’

That might be the heat of him from beneath his navy shirt. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘I don’t scare easily.’ He cocked an eyebrow, grinned. ‘This happens to me all the time.’

‘I bet.’ She smothered a laugh as a vision of the townswomen came to the fore, all fainting in front of him so he could catch them in his bull-grip arms.

‘Actually,’ he said, looking at something over her shoulder, ‘you are a bit of a surprise.’

‘Oh believe me, so are you.’

He darted his gaze back to hers.

‘I mean … you don’t look like a doctor.’

‘That’s because I’m a vet.’

Such serious reflection, agreeable disarray and calm strength of mind. Did he have any idea how appealing the mixture was? ‘Don’t vets have white coats?’

He paused, narrowed his eyes.

‘A white coat would make you the perfect specimen for a woman’s romantic inclinations.’

‘Is that so?’

A friend had once tried to get her hitched up with an intern. Then Oliver had come on the scene and put an end to that. But her ex-fiancé’s manipulative behaviour wasn’t something she wanted to think about whilst so close to Dr Granger’s contemplative blue gaze.

‘Where was I?’ she asked.

‘Your romantic inclinations towards me.’

She laughed, shrugged from his hold. ‘I meant other women’s. They probably dream about you in your white coat, you know.’ If not, he could count on one for tonight. ‘It’s that attraction to authority thing, I think.’

His smile curved like the bend in the river at the back of her property, slow and certain.

‘I’m not sure where our conversation is going, Miss Walker, but I think you’re feeling better.’

Sammy stepped back. He didn’t want to laugh, apparently. Okay. Horrible when people pushed a person into something they didn’t want to do. ‘I do feel better. I can take huge breaths and stay upright.’ She heaved one in to prove it.

He nodded, and turned. He picked up a pen at the counter along the wall and wrote something in a file. ‘Your feline friend is fine,’ he said. ‘He’s doing what cats do. You, however, ought to see a real doctor.’

‘No need. I’m getting up earlier and working harder than ever before, that’s all. And I just … oh, I don’t know … ’ He probably had a big, rumbling laugh. A real man’s laugh. ‘It’s this country air,’ she said, a grin sneaking up on her mouth. ‘There’s so much of it.’

Ethan hesitated, unsure if he should let his laugh loose or not. Was she goading him? She’d been trying to prise the smile from him; he’d caught onto that, although at a snail’s pace.

‘You must think I’m a fruit loop,’ she said, and laughed as she swung a mass of rich brown hair over her shoulders. The colour matched the freckles sprinkled on her cheekbones. A couple danced on her nose too, or maybe it was just dust.

‘Well,’ he said with a spontaneity that seemed to have caught a ride with his smile. ‘You’re a very attractive fruit loop.’

Her eyes widened.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I was …’ He rolled his hand. ‘You know, playing along.’ He picked up the paperwork and slid it into a manila folder.
Find some sense, man.

She clasped her hands together. ‘I didn’t mean to be impolite. And I hope you don’t think I was flirting. I wouldn’t do that. I’m new in town.’

Didn’t he know it. She had a ruffled but natural flair about her, elegance even, regardless of the work clothes. Her T-shirt was the colour of apricots, with the word
FRESH
splashed across the front. The shirt sat a little skewed on her torso and he was trying his damndest not to concentrate on the curves beneath the letters R and H.

There was something mischievous about the tilt of her chin. Stubborn too perhaps, and no matter how long it had been, he was pretty sure he still recognised flirting. But he wasn’t going to ask her out, however tempting. She lived here, for the moment anyway. He hadn’t placed a bet although there was a wager in town on how long she’d stay, but she wouldn’t know about that. He wasn’t going to get close enough to tell her.
Ethan Granger didn’t go down romantic tracks that wound close to home
. He’d had to remind himself of this every few seconds since she’d launched at him over the pig, and in particular when she’d been practically in his arms.

He glanced down at his jeans.
What was wrong with him?
Dr Granger hadn’t been down
romantic
tracks in years.

He brushed some dirt off his thigh. He hadn’t had time to clean up after leaving a broodmare at the Smyth farm, when he’d been called back to the surgery for Ruby and a strange conversation about his white coat.

He pushed the front tail of his shirt further into his jeans. ‘I apologise for being a bit untidy. I assure you I’m definitely a vet, but I’m a carpenter too. Furniture when I get the chance, but I also fix people’s porches, verandas and the like.’

‘I’ve got a terrible porch, it’s falling to bits,’ she said with immediate interest.

‘I know.’
Keep mind in tune and gaze off FRESH.

‘How do you know that?’

A knot tied itself in his stomach. ‘The house has been empty for a long time.’

‘That’s why I bought it. It was cheap.’

He lifted the cat box by its plastic handle and motioned she accompany him into the small reception area.

Ruby snuffled at the floor, her bulbous white body quivering in her harness as she found something interesting to sniff at.

Dog pee, Ethan thought, nodding at Mrs Johnson, who had Ruby’s lead linked in her fingers. ‘I’ll only be a moment, Mrs Johnson.’

Mrs J had her tweed-trousered legs crossed at the ankle, her silky headscarf tied tight beneath her chin, and her neighbourhood-watch gaze on the newcomer.

‘Take your time, Ethan. Nice to see you two getting acquainted. What’s the cat’s name, Miss Walker?’

‘Duke. He’s a wanderer so I named him after John Wayne, the cowboy.’

‘I understand,’ Mrs J said, rattling Ruby’s lead, the tinkling bell on the harness telling the pig to come back to Mummy’s side. ‘I don’t have a cat but I like a cowboy sort of man. Someone big and strong, a little wild, a little hot.’

Ethan led a surprised Miss Walker towards the door, practically hearing her thoughts, figuring out what Mrs J had meant by the analogy of wandering cat and wild, hot man, as though it was some country-speak code for the lonely in town who ought to get together.

‘How does she know my name?’ she whispered.

He leaned closer. ‘Small town.’

‘Of course. I keep forgetting. It feels colossal right now.’ She stopped and looked up at him. ‘Do you take on building work for anyone, or just friends?’

‘Well, normally … ’ He concentrated on the freckles on her nose, three of them. ‘I don’t have a lot of free time.’

‘Would you take a look at my porch? I can’t find a builder closer than a hundred kilometres away and I’m sure they’re trying to charge extra because of the fuel costs. I thought I’d give it a go myself but I don’t know where to start. I’ve got a pickaxe though.’

She was slight, not frail, but he couldn’t envisage her hefting a nail gun over her shoulder as she dragged stumps, joists and wooden decking behind her.

He gripped the cat box hard. ‘How about three o’clock tomorrow afternoon?’

‘Really?’ A velvet sparkle lit her eyes. ‘You’ll take a look?’

What was he doing?
She lived a five minute drive from where he was standing, in a house he dreaded. ‘Well, I’ll … a look. We’ll see … ’

‘Thank you, Dr Granger, thank you.’ She held her hand out.

He switched Duke’s box to his left hand. ‘Ethan,’ he said, trying not to squash the bones in her hand. ‘You can forget the doctor part. I won’t be bringing my … you know … my white coat.’ He smiled, hoping it covered his awkwardness.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said. ‘And about collapsing on you too. I’ve never come close to fainting before.’

He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to see Mrs J’s internal antenna pop up. It all but crackled as she tuned in.

‘It was no trouble catching you. Just take things easy for the rest of the day.’

‘Samantha Walker,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I’m called Sammy.’

He nodded. He had no idea what he’d call her except one hell of a shock.

The pig oinked.

He glanced over his shoulder. ‘I’ll be right with you, Mrs Johnson.’

‘No rush, Ethan.’ Mrs J waved him back to what he was doing.

Ethan turned to Miss Walker.

‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ he said, looking into her eyes.

‘Really?’

Doe eyes; too soft, too engaging. There should be clarity in this somewhere. He’d been shocked into a simple case of unexpected desire that she’d started when … well, he wasn’t sure how this had begun. To hell with it.
Get with it, for once
. He caught her fingers in his before they slipped from his hand. ‘Miss Walker, are we going to do anything about this … attraction?’

He waited.

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘Are we sure?’

She pulled her hand from his. ‘I really didn’t mean to—’

‘I thought I’d ask the question, since we’ve both admitted … attraction.’

‘I was joking.’

Joking?
A shot of hurt punctured his chest. ‘Right … of course. So was I.’

He walked past her.

‘Not joking exactly,’ she said as she followed him outside.

‘No, really, it’s fine.’ He stood next to her ancient canary-yellow SUV.

She pulled keys from the back pocket of her track pants and beeped the remote.

Ethan slid the cat box into the back of the vehicle, closed the door, moved to the driver’s door and opened it for her.

She hesitated before getting in. ‘I’ve embarrassed us both. This is not the best time for me and I babbled on without thinking.’ She tilted her head. ‘I do that sometimes.’

She gave him a little smile but her gaze was filled with concern.

Ethan took a breath. She wasn’t the only one who’d messed up. It hadn’t been fair of him to make a play in the first place, knowing he wouldn’t take it far. Should have taken more note of that cautionary knot in his stomach. Thankfully he’d been dumped quickly, before idiocy completely took over.

‘We’ll start over,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow. Three o’clock.’ And they’d make it businesslike.

‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’ He pressed his lips to a tight smile.

She hooked her hip onto the seat, swivelled her legs in, and fired the engine. He closed the door for her and stepped back as she drove off.

What the hell had just happened?

‘Where’s your assistant vet?’

Ethan swung around to Mrs J. ‘Gone west. I’ve advertised for another. I don’t expect an influx of applicants in a hurry though.’

‘So you’re on your own again?’

He nodded. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t cope. Wasn’t as if he didn’t usually have to. Plenty of vets with big business on their minds operated within a hundred and twenty kilometre radius, which was fine by him. He had enough to keep him occupied and didn’t need much for contentment. His major investment outside of the surgery was his brand new cobalt-blue utility truck.

‘Got your bet placed?’ Mrs J lowered her voice as though the sheep in the field behind the surgery might spread the rumour before she did.

Ethan thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘I don’t usually bat the breeze, Mrs J.’

‘It’s not idle talk, Ethan. There’s a serious bet down. Haven’t figured out why it’s such a big deal though.’ She paused. ‘Been a long time since you set foot inside the gate on Burra Burra Lane, hasn’t it?’

That damned house. He should have kept it … or burnt it to the ground twelve years ago.

S
ammy stepped onto the bottom bar of the gate at the end of her driveway, hauled herself up, and settled her bottom on the smooth, pale grey rail. She pulled the hem of her T-shirt over her track pants, and tried to rock the gate with a thrust of her hips. It hardly moved. Stuck in dense clumps of grass, well rooted in the ditch. Perhaps the gate hadn’t been closed for years.

She looked up and inhaled the country. The scent of growth and earthy regeneration. Grass, scrubby patches of grevillea, gentle alyssum, scattered eucalypt leaves and fallen bark.

The sound of peace. Hushed but not silent. Humming with unseen activity.

She swept a hand through her hair and held it back from her face. The air had surely flown over a cold mountaintop and bumped into the sun to have such a freshly warmed tingle in it.

She ran her gaze up the driveway. Oliver would split a seam on his handmade business suit if he saw this. Her mother wouldn’t hold back the derogatory comments either. But they weren’t here. She didn’t even have to think about them.

She swung her legs. Everything around her was hers. The pleasure and the promise. This fantastic old gate with crossbars and rusty brackets—she slapped her hands on the rail. The mailbox across the ditch leaned at a drunken angle, but that was easy to fix. Quick-drying cement, probably. Dig a hole, straighten the post, hold the post until the cement dried.

She wrinkled her nose.
How long was quick?

A flock of birds rose to the sky, squawking and screeching. She jerked, braced on the gate with her hands and feet. The branches of the gnarled gum tree in the field across Burra Burra Lane shook and rattled as gang-gang cockatoos flew off.

She glanced at her watch. Almost three o’clock. ‘He might not come,’ she said aloud. Strange to speak and have no-one but the insects and the breeze listen. ‘Which is fine,’ she said to the sky. ‘Because I’m only sitting here to take a break.’

Couldn’t blame him if he didn’t turn up anyway. He’d been kind and easygoing until she’d made that stupid remark about his doctor’s coat.

‘Oh.’ She slapped the gate. Too much deliberating. Samantha talking, not Sammy. She’d let a silly moment go haywire, that’s all. She was bound to make a few mistakes; she’d only been here eleven days.