It had gone four when a white utility truck appeared on the rise and rattled its way across the grid. Billie stopped sweeping and watched as the ute pulled up beside the house and Kincaid got out. He was clean, his hair was almost tidy and he was wearing a collared shirt, but she’d seen him down-dirty and magnificent and the memory was a hard one to displace.
So the man had clean clothes on. The man looked halfway civilized. There was nothing the least bit civilized about the heat that stirred within her as Adam Kincaid’s cool green gaze met hers.
Blue dog barked in greeting from the back of the ute, his tail wagging furiously, and then the dog leapt from the ute and streaked towards Cal for a reunion worthy of the golden age of cinema.
‘He’s a good dog,’ Cal said to Kincaid by way of greeting.
‘Yeah.’ Kincaid eyed the dog darkly and Billie stifled a grin. She had a feeling that
his
idea of a good dog would have known better than to turn into a complete goof ball around her son.
‘We gave him cereal for breakfast,’ said Cal. ‘With milk and sugar otherwise it tastes like cardboard. We’ve got some dog food now, just in case. We got the working dog mix – we figured he’s a working dog.’
‘He is,’ said Kincaid, and both boy and man stood there in awkward silence.
‘Thanks for letting us stay on here until we find somewhere else,’ said Billie and offered up her sunniest smile. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘It’s only a temporary arrangement.’
‘Thanks anyway,’ she said, and found herself on the receiving end of a long, measuring stare.
‘You don’t look like you manage a pub,’ he said abruptly.
‘You don’t look like a farmer.’ Indeed, he had the kind of smouldering good looks favoured by advertisers promoting expensive motorbikes or Cognac. Or sex.
It would be a rare woman whose thoughts didn’t turn to sex when they looked at Adam Kincaid.
‘What do you do when your customers get rowdy?’ he asked next.
‘I use tact.’
Kincaid looked sceptical. ‘What about when a customer hits on you? More tact?’
‘I can be very tactful when I need to be. Persuasive too.’ Billie hadn’t worked the late shift at the Royal for the past ten years without learning a thing or two about handling customers, be they rowdy, amorous, or just plain mean. ‘Just so you know.’
‘Was that a warning?’
‘Just so you know.’
‘I’m stubborn,’ he said. ‘That was a warning.’
‘I’ll keep it in mind. What can I do for you, Kincaid?’ Billie didn’t think he’d come for the banter; for all that he’d taken to it well enough.
‘There are a few things you need to know about living out here.’
‘You mean rules and regulations?’
‘I mean the electricity supply’s unpredictable. You need to know what to do when it cuts out.’
‘Oh.’ Now she felt petty. ‘Right.’
‘Wouldn’t hurt the boy to know it too.’
‘Cal,’ she said.
Adam Kincaid just looked at her.
Right.
He showed them the fuse box round the side, opening it up and brushing the worst of the cobwebs from the corners. ‘Cut out switch,’ he said pointing to it. ‘If it’s off check your fuses.’ He showed them how to do that, dug a handful of fuses from his jeans pocket and put them in the box.
‘Usually, though, the power goes out because there’s a problem with the lines. You’ll need a torch. A big one.’
‘Check.’
‘Have you met the blue-tongued lizard who lives beneath the back steps yet?’
‘Ah, no.’ She didn’t particularly want to but he showed them the hole that the lizard apparently lived down and after that he showed her the ladder beside the water tank and the notched stick used to measure the water level.
‘You’ve got over three quarters of a tank in there at the moment.’
‘So what does that mean in terms of water use?’ asked Billie. They seemed to have lost Cal and Blue back at the lizard step.
‘It means you won’t have to worry about running out during the very short time you’ll be here. If you have any problems, the homestead is at the northern end of the valley behind that windbreak of pines. If I’m not around, old Jim Casey is your next nearest neighbour. He lives about ten kilometres back towards town.’
‘I’ll make a point of introducing myself.’
‘Does your phone work?’ he asked next.
‘Not so far.’
‘Try it up by the cattlegrid. You can sometimes get a signal up there on a good day. There’s a landline at the homestead. If I'm not there, just walk in and use it. The door won’t be locked.’
‘That really won’t be necessary,’ said Billie.
‘One day it might be. And take it easy on the road into town. It’s dangerous.’
The man had a protective streak a mile wide. Or maybe it was just that he was country and she wasn’t. ‘Is there anything else?’
He dug in his pocket and handed her a folded up piece of paper. ‘The homestead phone number, my cell number, old Casey’s phone numbers. Keep them handy.’
‘Thank you.’ Billie could feel the tension in him, hostility even, and wondered what she had done to deserve it. ‘Would you like mine?’
More
tension in him now and Billie thought for a moment that he was going to say no. But then he nodded curtly and pulled his phone from his back pocket and keyed in the mobile number she gave him.
‘Anything else?’ she asked.
‘Keep an eye out for snakes. Walk away if you see one.’
‘You can probably take that as a given,’ she said.
‘Tell the boy.’
‘Cal.’
‘Yeah.’ But Cal’s name did not cross Adam Kincaid’s lips. He headed for the ute, whistling Blue up as he went and the dog came tearing around the house, leaping up into the tray with an ease and eagerness that made Billie smile. Cal looked crestfallen. Billie sent her son a warning glance. It’s not your dog, her glance said. Move on. She had similar looks for any number of situations. Mean drunk: move on. Junked-up brawler: move on.
But Cal no longer moved on as quickly as he once had. Just a matter of time before he stepped in and tried to protect
her
instead of the other way round.
Billie followed Adam to his ute and let him get in it and shut the door before stepping closer. The window was down. Billie didn’t have to lean down to look in.
‘You really don’t have to worry about us living out here, Kincaid. We’ll be fine.’
But Adam Kincaid just shook his head and when finally he looked at her the bleakness in his eyes clear took her breath away.
Not
her doing. Someone or something else had put that look there. ‘You don’t even have a phone that works.’
‘
You
do,’ she said quietly. ‘If we need to, we’ll use it. We’re smart, Cal and me. Tough. Gruff. We can look after ourselves. Always have.’
‘Nice try,’ he said.
‘Have a little faith,’ she countered.
‘I’m all out.’
‘You
are
stubborn.’
‘Count on it.’ The corners of Adam’s lips tilted upwards ever so slightly as he leaned forward and started the engine. ‘I’ll drop Blue up with you again later this evening. He’ll keep an eye on you.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do. You can’t stay here, Billie. I don’t care how capable you think you are; you need to find somewhere else to live. For lots of reasons, and they don’t necessarily have to be sensible ones. They just have to be mine.’
The first week passed quietly. Another began.
Billie Temple and her young son were model tenants. They kept to themselves, kept the cottage tidy and had yet to ask Adam for help with anything. He kept his own distance – made sure that if he had work to do in the paddocks near the cottage, that he did it when they weren’t there. He figured he was doing a fine job of avoiding them. Right up until the boy bailed him up when he came to shut their yard gate one morning.
‘Hey,’ said the boy.
‘Hey.’
‘Why are you shutting the gate?’
‘So that the cows can graze the hill.’ Adam regarded the boy quizzically. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’
‘It’s Saturday.’
Ah.
‘I was wondering,’ said the kid, ‘if I could fish in your creek.’
‘You fish?’
‘I’m just starting out. Arthur gave me a rod and Mr Casey gave me one of his spinner baits and showed me how to cast it.’
‘Casey from down the road?’ Hard to believe. Old Casey was eighty, crotchety, and even less partial to people than Adam.
Cal nodded. ‘He gave mum one too. For the darts competition.’
‘I’m impressed.’
‘I’ll be careful,’ said the boy earnestly. ‘I’ll watch for snakes, stay on the bank, put any fish I catch back, and try not to get too dirty.’
‘So, you’ve talked to your mother about it.’
The kid nodded. ‘She said yes, as long as it was okay with you.’
‘It’s okay with me.’ And after a pause, ‘Why would you put the fish back?’
‘Because they’re yours.’
‘Around here if you catch them, you keep them,’ he told the boy. ‘As many as you and your mother can eat on the day.’
‘You want me to keep some for you too?’
‘You’ve got to catch them first.’ Adam felt a smile tug at the side of his lips and deliberately looked away from the boy’s animated face, only to find that the scenery didn’t get any less disturbing in that direction either. Billie had joined them and today she wore a halter neck sundress of palest lemon that stopped just above her knees. She looked sunny and sweet and totally out of place beside him in his rough work clothes.
Beautiful, though.
‘Everything okay?’ she asked.
‘Just talking fishing.’ Adam’s words were polite, he was certain of it. The rest of him was tense. He’d tried to rationalize away the effect she had on him by reminding himself that he’d had precious little to do with women since Caroline had died. He thought that might account for his awareness of her. It sounded reasonable.
Except that no one, not even Caroline, had ever made him burn like this. ‘I hear rumour of a darts competition at the pub with one of Casey’s spinner lures for bait.’
‘You heard correct.’ Billie smiled impishly.
‘How’d you manage that?’
‘Jim had a hankering for apple pie and I needed a prize for the competition so we made a deal.’
‘Must have been some pie.’
‘It was a lousy pie, Kincaid, for I’m a lousy cook, but a deal’s a deal. Never thought much of it at the time but that fishing lure is one wanted item.’
‘Casey’s spinner lures are famous around these parts. Hard to say when he last gave one away.’
‘Well, the comp starts this Thursday at seven. Maybe you should stop by and try your luck.’
Adam shrugged. ‘I don’t get into town much of an evening.’
‘What
do
you do of an evening?’
Toss, turn, take cold showers, and dream of brown-eyed beauties. ‘I usually bed down early.’
‘Really?’
There was no mistaking the awareness that pulsed between them, fierce and overwhelming. He didn’t want it. Didn’t want her awakening yearnings he couldn’t act on. Wouldn’t act on. And still his eyes met hers.
‘You should come in,’ she said finally. ‘It’ll be fun.’
Maude Thompson lived alone in a small brick house surrounded by an acre of truly stunning cottage garden. Widowed at nineteen – according to Roly – Maude had single-handedly managed her late husband’s sheep station until well into her sixties before selling up and retiring to town. She grew prize-winning roses, spent two mornings a week listening to primary school kids read, was a founding member of various town committees and didn’t want for money.
Asking her to bake pies for the pub was – in Roly’s opinion – a complete waste of time.
Being an optimist, Billie ignored him. But as Maude Thompson straightened from her weeding, her steel-grey hair in an immaculate bun at the nape of her neck and her faded blue eyes sharp and assessing, Billie began to suspect that Roly had been right.
‘So you want me to make pies,’ said Maude before Billie had uttered a single syllable.
Word traveled fast in this town.
‘I want somebody to make pies,’ said Billie, figuring the direct approach was best. ‘I heard yours were the best.’
‘You’ve got that right,’ said Maude. ‘I heard you were fussy about keeping the place clean. Not that anyone who frequents the place is likely to notice.’
Yes, the Northern Arms was spanking, sparkling clean and destined to remain that way if Billie had any say in the matter. Which, as luck would have it, she did. ‘I’m looking to bring in some new customers,’ she said. ‘And it’s likely their eyesight is good enough that they’ll notice.’
‘What sort of customers?’
‘Families. Couples. There could even be a kids club.’
‘Families, eh? Does Roly know about this?’
‘It’s a surprise.’
‘Gonna be a big one,’ said Maude dryly.
‘I don’t know if you’ve ever seen inside the kitchen at the pub but it’s well appointed,’ said Billie, going in for the sell. ‘Slow combustion stove, a commercial-sized gas oven and cook-tops; they’re old but they work. I’m looking for someone to come in for a couple of hours each afternoon to prepare the pies. No menus, no taking orders. Whoever’s working the bar that night slots the pies in the oven at six-thirty and sets them on the bar twenty minutes later. The trick being that unless those pies are something special they’ll sit there getting cold. I need a pie that can bring a man running from thirty paces.’
‘And Roly’s got no idea you’re planning to turn his old-boy’s drinking club into a family establishment,’ said Maude.
‘Not yet.’
Maude’s smile was pure enjoyment, her handshake strong and firm. ‘Girl, you’ve got yourself a deal.’
It was the thought of watching the inaugural darts competition with Casey’s spinner bait the prize that drew Adam into the pub on Thursday night. Nothing to do with seeing for himself how Roly’s new manager ran the place and what kind of changes she’d been making. Nothing at all to do with wanting to see her again.
Billie was doing the rounds for empties when he walked in and she looked businesslike and efficient in tailored black trousers and a crisp white shirt. Not that he’d been expecting a miniskirt, fishnets, and six-inch heels, no, but a man had his fantasies and that one had been particularly vivid. Adam watched as she made her way back to the bar and stacked the glasses directly into a washing rack, her movements smooth and unhurried. She glanced up as he reached the bar, the surprise in those tawny eyes giving way to warmth that sliced straight through him.