‘Just everything,’ she finished flatly. And his coming home. That was the worst. It took away her self-possession, her ability to cope.
Her gaze was drawn sideways. His return. Oh, Jarrod, she wanted to cry. Didn’t he sometimes remember those days, those passion-filled nights? Didn’t outrageously sensual thoughts torture him the way they did her?
She tore her eyes from him, from his tanned hands on the steering wheel, from the fine dark hair on his arms, from the bulge of firm muscle emerging from the short sleeves of his soot-stained shirt. She had to ignore the physical fascination, the erotic scent of him, the faint smell of smoke that still clung to him.
‘How’s Uncle Peter?’ she asked, her voice all but steady.
‘Not so good today. I’d been home at lunchtime to check on him; that’s how I came to hear the sirens.’ He sighed. ‘He had a bad night last night. I thought…’ He stopped and shrugged. ‘Perhaps if he were younger the doctors might attempt operating, but they say he’d never survive surgery.’
They turned onto the access road leading past the Graysons’ house just as the fire engine drove away. Georgia caught her breath. The front of the house looked surprisingly untouched but when Jarrod swung into the driveway the evidence of the fire could be seen in black scorch marks and peeling paint along the side past Georgia’s bedroom window.
Lockie and Andy walked around from the back of the house as they climbed from the car. Both men were soot-streaked and dishevelled and Lockie pulled a wry face at his sister as they stood surveying the damage.
‘Looks worse than it is, Georgia,’ he told her. ‘At least all our equipment is at the club so we didn’t have to worry about that.’
‘Just like you to think of your stuff first, Lockie.’ Andy gave him a shove. ‘I’m sure Georgia is more concerned about the refrigerator and stove, aren’t you, Georgia?’
‘And I suppose your concern about the fridge doesn’t have anything to do with food, does it, mate?’ Lockie remarked shrewdly. ‘At least they’re insured.’
‘You mean your gear isn’t?’ Jarrod frowned and Lockie gave him a sheepish look.
‘Some of it. What we could afford to insure.’
Jarrod shook his head but Georgia was barely listening to their conversation. The panes of glass in every window on this side of the house were broken and charcoal and smoke stains stretched along the weatherboard walls. She dreaded to think of the state that would confront her inside.
‘The other side and the front of the house are untouched,’ Jarrod said quietly. ‘It will mean quite an extensive rebuild at the back but it’s not irreparable.’
‘Did you phone Dad and tell him, Lockie?’ Georgia asked her brother, and he nodded.
‘While Jarrod was picking you up. And I rang the insurance company. The assessors are coming out tomorrow. They said we’d get priority, but that could mean anything or nothing.’
‘Is Dad coming home?’
‘No.’ Lockie shook his head. ‘He can’t do anything here yet anyway so he decided he may as well finish the job he’s working on. He reckons on two weeks at the most. By then the insurance company should have sorted the paperwork out and he can start the repairs here.’ Lockie sighed. ‘What a hell of a mess.’
‘At least we can make the place secure.’ Jarrod slapped him sympathetically on the back. ‘There’s some timber down by the back fence. We can board up the broken windows and the doorway between the kitchen and the rest of the house.’ He strode towards the stack of wood. ‘Come on, Lockie, let’s get started.’
Andy and Georgia went upstairs, and even though Georgia was prepared she was still taken aback at the sight that met their eyes in the bedrooms. The beds and carpets were sodden and the acrid smell of smoke hung in the air, clinging to the curtains and covers.
‘Where do we start?’ Georgia asked, wrinkling her nose as the carpet squelched beneath her feet.
‘Pile up the wet bedding, I guess,’ Andy suggested, ‘and drag the mattresses outside to dry.’
Georgia turned and tugged at a mattress.
‘Don’t go trying to lift that by yourself,’ Andy admonished. ‘You’ll do yourself an injury and ruin any chance of having little Georgias running around’
Georgia paused, her back to Andy, and she drew a steadying breath. A voice from the past rose to taunt her. Their family doctor’s deep tones: ‘She’s a lucky young lady. There was no damage done so there’s no reason why there can’t be little dark-haired poppets in time to come.’
Andy gave no sign that he noticed her silence as they worked on together, laying out mattress and pillows on the lawn. They would have to get professional people to clean and dry them-and the carpets.
‘Andy! Georgia!’ Lockie called from the side of the house. ‘Can you come and help hand up the timber?’
‘Seems like us general dogsbodies are in great demand.’ Andy laughed, slipping an arm about Georgia as they walke around to where Jarrod and Lockie had built a scaffold out of trestles and planks.
‘Just pass up those bits.’ Lockie pointed from his position on one side of the window as he wielded a hammer in his other hand.
‘Lucky the window-panes are already broken,’ Andy murmured to Georgia, and despite herself she had to smile.
But the smile on her lips faltered and died when her eyes met Jarrod’s as he stood on the plank beside her brother. He was far too gorgeous, far too impossibly attractive, and she wanted to feel the security of his strong arms around her far too much. Then his eyes slid coldly, measuringly to where Andy’s hand still rested on Georgia’s shoulder.
‘Do you need both of us?’ she asked a little abruptly. ‘If not I can drive down to the Laundromat and make a start on the wet sheets and blankets.’
‘There’s no need to go to the Laundromat.’ Jarrod looked down on her from the scaffold. ‘We’ll take them over to my place later.’
‘But there’s stacks to wash and then dry and—’
‘No matter. Mrs Pringle can fix them up.’
Georgia glared up at him then. ‘We can’t do that. Your father’s housekeeper has enough to do without dumping all this extra work on her. I can easily take the van down to the Laundromat.’
Jarrod’s jaw tightened but he made no comment as he turned with obvious restraint to hammer a piece of timber over the window.
‘Can I have the keys, Lockie?’ she asked her brother.
‘Typical Georgia,’ he muttered. ‘Always independent.’
‘It’s not a matter of being independent, Lockie. I just feel it’s our responsibility, not Mrs Pringle’s. Now, can I have the keys, please?’
‘Won’t do you any good.’ Lockie shrugged. ‘The van’s out of petrol. Andy was going down to get some on his bike before the fire broke out.’
Georgia glowered at her brother, too angry for words, and before she could find any the sound of a car slithering to a halt on the gravel verge outside distracted her.
A car door slammed, then the engine revved as the car left, and Morgan walked around the side of the house to stop, mouth agape, as she saw the results of the fire.
‘What on earth happened?’ she got out, obviously shocked.
‘A fire this morning,’ Lockie told her.
‘It looks awful.’ Morgan silently inspected the back of the house and then rejoined them to gaze up at the broken windows. ‘Are our rooms all charred inside? And what about our clothes?’
‘Just wet,’ Georgia assured her.
‘But—’ She raised her arms and let them fall. ‘Where are we going to sleep tonight, then? Not in there, that’s for sure.’
‘Oh, no.’ Georgia was filled with dismay. ‘I hadn’t given that a thought. We won’t be able to sleep in our rooms.’
‘Not likely,’ Morgan put in sarcastically. ‘Gross!’
‘All taken care of,’ Lockie declared. ‘We worked it all out before you came home, Georgia. Andy and I can camp out here, keep an eye on things.’
‘And wha
t about us?’ Morgan demanded. ‘If you think I’m—’
‘You’re coming to stay up at my place.’ Jarrod’s voice came evenly from the scaffold above them. ‘You…’ He paused slightly before adding, ‘And Georgia.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘YOU’RE coming to stay up at my place.’ Georgia could still feel the rush of shocked reaction she’d experienced as Jarrod had announced they would be staying at his home until their fire-damaged house could be repaired.
And she hadn’t been able to extricate herself from the situation either. Both Lockie and Jarrod had pushed her protestations aside. To make it worse Morgan had then decided to bunk in with friends, so only Georgia had been forced to take advantage of Jarrod’s hospitality.
Georgia wasn’t alone in her dislike of the circumstances. Aunt Isabel, her lips thinned, was even less impressed with the idea of having her niece foisted upon her household. And for once Georgia felt that her aunt was well within her rights in complaining to Jarrod that, with his father being so ill, having visitors wasn’t exactly convenient.
But Jarrod firmly overrode his stepmother as well, saying that his father’s rooms were on the other side of the large house and that Peter wouldn’t even be aware they had a guest. However, Uncle Peter’s nurse, an open, chatty woman, had told her patient about the fire and he insisted on the entire Grayson family moving in with him until their house was habitable again, only settling when he was told that Georgia was ensconced under his roof.
Georgia soon took to slipping in to see him each morning and evening before and after work, and he was quite obviously delighted to see her.
At least, she’d told herself as she’d dressed to go to work that first morning, she would see little of Jarrod. He left for the office much earlier than she did and she could avoid him in the evening. So she’d risen and dressed, visited her uncle, and walked unwarily through to the large, old-fashioned dining room. Jarrod had been sitting unconcernedly reading the newspaper, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
‘Good morning.’
Georgia’s voice had failed her and she’d nodded an acknowledgement of his greeting.
Alone with him in the dining room, his hair still darkly damp from his shower, the tantalising scent of his musky aftershave lotion overshadowing the aroma of freshly made coffee, it was far too close, too intimate.
Fortunately the housekeeper had entered the room at that moment, for Georgia’s throat had closed at her wayward thoughts-thoughts of Jarrod and their being together for ever, every morning. And at night.
Jarrod’s eyes had rested on her as the housekeeper had tuttutted when Georgia refused all but tea and toast. Then she’d returned to the kitchen and Georgia and Jarrod had been alone again.
‘I thought you would have already left for the office,’ Georgia ventured into the thick silence, hoping her tone was more natural than it sounded in her ears. She slid a glance at him. Had his lips tightened momentarily before he replied?
‘Not today. I’ll give you a lift to the bookshop.’
Georgia paused with her teacup halfway to her mouth. ‘You don’t have to do that. It’s out of your way.’
‘Only by ten minutes or so.’
‘At least twenty minutes,’ she contradicted.
His eyes held hers for long, breath-stealing seconds before he shrugged. ‘Ten. Twenty. Who’s counting?’
Georgia had gone to protest but something in the jut of his square jaw, in the hard blue chips glittering in his eyes had held her silent, and she’d finished her toast, forcing each bite down with sips of tea.
For the next two mornings-yesterday and today-he had breakfasted with her, dropping her at work and then continuing on to his office. Only tight self-control prevented Georgia from groaning out loud when she thought of Jodie’s teasing innuendoes about what she referred to as Georgia’s ‘hunky chauffeur’.
And now tonight, the first night that she’d worked a late shift, he’d been there at the bookshop to collect her, and Georgia could only pray that the repairs to their house would be completed in double-quick time. A tense sort of silence engulfed them as they drove along the dark road, past the damaged Grayson house and on to Jarrod’s.
Every light in the house seemed to be burning. Jarrod swung the station wagon around the curve of the driveway, the headlights illuminating the sleek lines of the family doctor’s Mercedes.
Georgia sat forward in her seat. ‘Oh, no. Your father, Jarrod,’ she breathed as he drew to a halt, and they both stumbled from the car.
Jarrod took the front steps two at a time and Georgia hurried to follow him. Isabel must have heard their arrival because she met them in the hallway.
‘Your father took another bad turn,’ she told Jarrod bluntly.
‘When?’
‘About two hours ago.’
‘Two hours?’ Jarrod repeated through his clenched teeth. ‘Why didn’t you get in touch with me? You knew I was at the office.’
‘There didn’t seem to be any point. There was nothing you could have done,’ Isabel replied evenly.
‘Only been here.’ Jarrod moved towards the door.
‘The doctor’s with him, Jarrod. He’s in a coma. He won’t recognise you.’
Jarrod left them without commenting.
‘How bad is it?’ Georgia asked her aunt, marvelling at the older woman’s self-possession.
Isabel shrugged. ‘A matter of time.’
‘Oh, no. Aunt Isabel, I’m sorry.’ Georgia moved towards her aunt, only to stop as Isabel drew herself up, the small movement conveying to Georgia that she didn’t want or need any sympathy or support. ‘Poor Uncle Peter,’ Georgia murmured. ‘May I go in to see him?’
‘As I told Jarrod, he won’t even know you’re there.’ Isabel turned away and Georgia slowly continued down the hall towards her uncle’s suite.
Peter Maclean died the next morning without regaining consciousness and the funeral was arranged for the following Tuesday. With dry eyes Isabel took over most of the arrangements. Georgia was sure the older woman would break down under the strain. But she didn’t.
Jarrod also seemed to be coping extremely well with his father’s death, and the funeral service, which was held in the local church, filled the old brick building to a rarely known capacity. Peter had had many friends, some even journeying interstate to pay their last respects. Many stayed at the Maclean home and there was much coming and going, with Isabel presiding like a dowager queen.
Georgia’s father came down, returning to his job the next day. While he was home Geoff Grayson assessed the damage to their house and assured Georgia and Lockie he would have finished his contract in Caloundra within the week. Then he could turn his hand to repairing their own, fire-damaged house.
On the morning after the funeral-Wednesday, and Georgia’s rostered day off from the bookshop-she found Jarrod in his father’s study, going through Peter’s papers. Isabel had gone into town to have lunch with friends.
‘Do you need any help?’ she offered hesitantly as she hovered uncertainly in the doorway.
Jarrod shook his head. He looked tired and drawn now that it was all over and. Georgia could see that the ordeal of the past few days had taken its toll of him.
‘There’s not that much to do really. Everything’s in order, as the saying goes.’ He grimaced. ‘Peter’s known for some time how ill he was so he quite literally got his affairs sorted out, and that’s making things easier for me.’
He sighed exhaustedly and Georgia took a step into the room. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee? Mrs Pringle’s just made some.’
‘That would be great.’ He looked at the antique wall clock. ‘I can’t seem to remember when I last ate.’
‘I’ll just go and get it.’ Georgia went to the kitchen, poured his coffee, and added a plate of Mrs Pringle’s sandwiches to the tray before returning to the study.
‘Here you are.’ She set the tray on the desk and he took a mouthful of the coffee and murmured appre
ciatively.
‘I needed that. Thanks.’ He chose one of the sandwiches as Georgia went to leave him. ‘Georgia.’
She stopped and turned back to face him.
‘Don’t go.’
Her senses leapt at his husky tone. Or was she simply reading more into it than was really there-wishfully thinking?
‘Stay and talk a while.’ He motioned to the chair opposite the desk and Georgia slowly rejoined him, sitting quietly while he ate a couple of sandwiches and drained his coffee-cup.
Her hands fidgeted in her lap and she clasped them together to still their movements. Talk, he’d said. But what about? Surely he knew how difficult it was for them to discuss anything? At least, it was for her. Did he expect them to make light conversation? All very civilised. The weather, perhaps? What could she say?
You look tired. Let me soothe- For heaven’s sake, what was wrong with her? She must be a masochist.
‘Thanks for this, Georgia.’ Jarrod broke the silence, indicating the empty tray. ‘And for your help with everything the past few days.’
Georgia shrugged. ‘I didn’t really do much.’
‘Yes, you did. My father…’ he paused ‘…would have been pleased to know you were here.’
Georgia shifted uneasily in the chair. ‘The service was very nice, wasn’t it? Uncle Peter was well liked by everyone.’
‘Yes,’ Jarrod agreed flatly, and then leant back in his chair and sighed. ‘You know, I don’t think it’s hit me yet that he’s gone. Even being prepared for his death, as we all werewell, I still can’t quite believe it. He was so…’ He searched for the word. ‘He had such a strong personality. When I was growing up, that’s the one thing I remember about him-his strength of will.’
Jarrod stood up and paced over to the window.
‘My father said that the accident Uncle Peter had all those years ago would have had anyone else in a wheelchair but that Uncle Peter’s will-power got him walking again,’ Georgia said softly. ‘Dad said he was crushed under a falling crane. That must have been dreadful.’
‘Yes. He had phenomenal will-power. Everyone admired him for that and yet—’ Jarrod stopped, his back to her, and Georgia watched him hungrily.
Close Relations Page 15