This Time Forever (Australis Island)

by Darry Fraser

  Paul had chosen her establishment, a bed and breakfast, because of a solid recommendation from friends who visited the year before. He also took one of Meg and Martin’s tours into the wilderness and was having the time of his life.

  He’d sent the shirt as a token of his appreciation of her hospitality. For Martin he’d sent a souvenir hat. Poor Martin had noted the difference in gifts—even he knew who CK was.

  Tim, another short stay visitor, still called her from time to time, but his calls were now few and far between. He was a friend, long distance, and likely to remain so. She’d toyed with the idea of visiting him once, but it had come to nothing. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to that. Yet.

  There were others, but still nobody who had taken her fancy, nobody who might have remotely sparked her interest and who would leave her giddy with excitement.

  She hauled on her socks and riding boots. Besides, she was now nearly forty. Well, eighteen months off. Married, though thankfully—because of the state of the marriage—with no children and not likely to have them.

  This in itself didn’t bother her, she had never been interested but the sight of a young and healthy pregnant woman never ceased to upset her. She knew that unless each pregnant girl had used IVF, at some time that girl had, at least once, had sex, had made love.

  She sighed. The intimacy was all important, not just the sex. But how would she manage that now? How predatory had she become? Men could see it a mile away and yet could she stop? And could she allow the best years of her life to wither away in a sexual desert until the next forty years stretched behind her like some barren landscape?

  She shuddered involuntarily. The predatory thing would vanish, she was sure. And out there were men, the older ones who had suffered divorce or widowhood. They were men who were as fragile as she was, and just as frightened. They were no good to her either.

  Some greater promise propelled her. She would keep smiling, keep her heart open. There would be somebody.

  Something primal tugged her towards her destiny. She would not be without this precious gift which was her right. She would not go without. Not any more.

  Meg Donovan was back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “You know, when I think back to what you started with, this place is a phenomenal achievement.” Anne McGregor watched a tired Meg as she sipped coffee, freshly made and steaming in her cold hands.

  Meg smiled. Anne was her neighbor and her friend. “We couldn’t have done it without your help. It pays to have great landlords.”

  Anne returned her smile. “Don’t let that take away from all your own hard work. When you arrived you had no bookings, no money and very little else. What kept you going was the vision you had.”

  The rich aroma of espresso reminded Meg of how enhanced her sense of smell had become. She must make sure to notice everything around her, not let anything escape. She breathed it in. Roasted beans. Delicious.

  “And Martin’s hard work. He’s the one with the stamina for it. I get so beat up tired these days.”

  “Men do things differently,” Anne commented, lightly. “And I’m not surprised you get tired. All the bookwork, the people work, the training, not to mention the cooking and the all night entertainment. I’m not sure I could do what you do.”

  “It’s simply a matter of wanting to do it. It’s fun, the people are great and we enjoy what we do. But boy,” Meg dragged a hand across her brow. “I am really tired now.”

  “When does it slow up?”

  “End of next week.”

  “Not before time.”

  “And it won’t come soon enough, I can tell you. I’ll need more than a few days to re-invigorate my tired bones.”

  Anne looked at her friend across the table. “Not sleeping?”

  “No. Tried everything.” Meg avoided Anne’s intense gaze.

  “What will you do, Meg?” Anne asked softly.

  Meg inhaled and fell back on her chair. “Just carry on, I suppose. He refuses to believe there’s anything wrong.”

  “Anything wrong with him.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what about you?”

  Tears pricked Meg’s eyes and she blinked rapidly, her focus on the ceiling. “It’s gone too far now for me to retrieve any feelings for him. What was there before isn’t there now.” Her tears vanished. It was the truth, it was sad but she could face it. “I’m going to take a holiday, totally relax, do nothing but walk, read, eat and sleep. Perhaps my perspective will be different after I’ve had a break.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do. All my capital is in here now, everything that was left after Martin’s business crashed. I just can’t walk away and leave it, have him sell up. I’d have to start over.”

  “You might have to.”

  Meg frowned. “Not this time. This time if I walk I take what’s mine, what I’m owed. I’ve worked too hard on this relationship and this business to walk with nothing.”

  Anne settled into her chair. “Does he know of your intentions?”

  “I haven’t got any intentions,” Meg replied. “There’s all too much to think about. I’ve been out of the formal workforce now for five years. Employers wouldn’t look twice at me. I’ve no trade, no specific skills—”

  “You don’t think people would jump at the chance to take you on?”

  “This is my livelihood, now. This is all I want to do. And I want to do it with a man, a partner in all aspects of my life.”

  “And what about the land?”

  Their block on the east coast of Australis Island had one of the best panoramic coastal views there was. Meg and Martin had plans to build a new establishment and operate both the wilderness tours and the bed and breakfast from there. And it was going to be impressive. It just needed more time, a lot more money and very careful planning.

  But Meg’s life with Martin was unravelling fast. “I don’t know, I just don’t know.”

  “Does Martin know how you’re feeling now?”

  Meg set her cup on the table, a beautiful red gum timber table Martin had built when they first arrived. It always raised comments from their guests. She inhaled again deeply, trying to bolster some clear thoughts.

  “I told him last night that things hadn’t improved. Once again. I told him there was nothing left for me to do but live my own life, now. To live separately from him under this roof and—”

  “Impossible.”

  “I know. I really do. But I can’t walk away.”

  “And his reaction?”

  Meg sipped her coffee, set the cup down and rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Total disbelief. Tried to tell me that he’d been getting better... All the same old stuff I’ve heard before.”

  Anne shook her head. “It’s such a shame, Meg. I really think he’s a nice guy.”

  “While he’s a nice guy out there, I have an emotional cripple here. I need a big-strong-robust-healthy-male man.” Meg sighed. “Martin could’ve had it all. He could’ve had everything. But he refuses to budge on it, won’t address it and now, it’s too late.”

  The love was gone and with it any chance of reconciliation. Meg dreaded to think of the months ahead and the trauma that would follow.

  “Take one day at a time,” Anne said. “Don’t make any decisions – let the opportunities come to you. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  Meg refocused on Anne. “I don’t love him anymore and I’m married – again. How could I have made another mistake? Why didn’t I listen to all the things I knew were wrong for me? I’m well and truly trapped. That’s my problem.”

  “Only trapped by the material things, otherwise you’d walk out, wouldn’t you?”

  “Am I so bad to want the things I’ve worked hard for?” Anne shrugged. “Perhaps he’ll leave, or move out.”

  “He might.”

  “Could you cope?”

  “Yes.”

  Anne leaned back in her chair. “Would he do that?”
/>
  Meg laughed shortly. “I doubt it.”

  “Perhaps you’d better suggest he does.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Anne nodded. “Something will come of all of it, Meg. Just a matter of time. The right time,” she added. “Do you have guests tonight?”

  “A single, Somebody Scott,” Meg answered. “Don’t know if it’s male or female. Just one person. They’re often the hardest to keep entertained.”

  “And probably just as much work.”

  Meg nodded. But her mind wasn’t on the guest arriving later that day. It was on Evan, her one night stand, and the implications of her actions.

  She did not feel good.

  The guest was male.

  Meg looked into the deep, dark brown eyes. Her stomach fluttered, and a lick of heat instantly burned her head, her chest and her belly.

  “Hi. Jarrad Scott.”

  The shock of his touch in their handshake unsettled her. “Meg Donovan,” she said and couldn’t take her eyes off his face.

  He was taller than her, but not by a lot. His short, dark hair was cropped, tidy, shiny. His stubbly beard was dark, red tinged and she wondered what it would feel like against her cheek. Tufts of wiry black hair curled out through the open neck of his denim shirt. What would that feel like brushing against...

  Crimson bloomed on her cheeks as she realised he was aware of her staring at him. “I’ll show you your room.”

  “Thanks.” His smile was wide, gleaming, and his breath was cool as it fanned her face.

  He didn’t seem to mind that he was in her space and she was damned sure he knew he was.

  Animal magnetism, she thought. I am an animal...

  Her bloom deepened. Her heart thumped merrily, harder than it had just a moment before.

  Oh no. He’s under my own roof for nearly ten days. My heart will give out by then.

  Inside the room, he dropped his luggage on the bed. “Nice. A private bathroom. I didn’t expect that.” He turned and fixed his gaze on her face.

  Not more than twenty-eight, twenty-nine. Maybe thirty. Maybe not. She didn’t care. Even if he was only twenty-one, it wouldn’t have bothered her. He was gorgeous.

  “Pretty civilised here,” she managed. Except I’m feeling a bit cavewoman right now.

  She explained the rest of the house to him. He nodded and smiled at her the whole time. Her heart was racing. She couldn’t look him in the eye for fear he’d see lust and want, a heaving bosom and a bodice which needed ripping.

  She glanced down at herself. No heaving bosom. Yet.

  “Martin said I could also take meals here.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Many other guests?”

  “You’re the only one booked in for tonight.”

  “I’ll just go to the pub for tea, then.” He hesitated. Then, “You should join me.”

  She laughed. “Maybe.” He was cheeky, that’s for sure. A funny little ripple rolled through her again, this time with a glow.

  “Well, it’s no good just cooking for one, is it?” He slipped past her too closely. “I’ll bring in the rest of my gear.”

  She exhaled, watched him at his car, a ute loaded high with machinery. He leaned over into the tray. Breath caught in her throat.

  He squatted by the bags he’d dumped outside the car. He’d already thrown down the gauntlet. Those eyes had twinkled and the charm had flashed in her direction. Its little arrow had struck her heart. Something else had done a little dance lower down.

  She darted for the kitchen as he came through the front door, laden with luggage, books and maps. She bent to retrieve something that had dropped from the load and when she placed it on the top of the pile in his arms, her fingers brushed his shoulder. A little spark of electricity crackled under her fingertips and she laughed nervously.

  “Could be a good night,” he said and threw his gear into his room.

  She felt silly, stupid, wondered if she looked obvious, or like mutton done up as lamb. She wanted to rush to a mirror and check there wasn’t something written on her forehead, ‘pick me, pick me’.

  “What is it you do for a job?” She stood in the doorway of his room as he sorted piles of paperwork.

  “I’m a soils tester. You know, check the different areas for crop suitability, fertiliser if needed, balances, all that sort of stuff. I don’t mind throwing a hand in on the farm when I get there.” He looked at her. “Sometimes I arrive in the middle of chores and it’s just as easy to pitch in.”

  She would be at least ten years older than him. At least. “I see.”

  “I’m never not working somewhere.” He shoved some paperwork into the desk drawer.

  “Is it your own business?”

  “Been going maybe six years now. Wanted to be a vet but couldn’t wait until I got a degree before I started earning.” He smiled broadly at her as if it was some joke she would enjoy. He pulled off his boots.

  “Oh.” Dear God, don’t let him take off his shirt. Her heart hammered again as that visual hit her imagination.

  She was easily ten years older, maybe twenty. She was a hundred years older. Get to that mirror. Suddenly the grey hairs in her fringe were staggeringly long and wiry, and the laugh lines at her eyes like road markers. Did she have a huge witch’s mole on her chin? What about the long spikes of chin hair sprouting from here to breakfast time... When was her last bikini wax job?

  Would the age difference be a problem if—

  She contained most of her panic. “Don’t you have another job anywhere today?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Nope. It’s already gone five, so that’ll do me for now.” He stood up.

  Meg felt heat wrap around her. His chest was broad, stomach flat and the fly on his jeans covered a distinct male-only bulge. Thank God for peripheral vision ... Her eyes were fixed to his face, but every part of her was tingling in response to the man in her bedroom. Uh, the guest in his bedroom.

  “Would you like coffee?” she asked, already turning from the room.

  “Tea, thanks.” He followed her into the lounge area. “Nice place. It was recommended to me. I feel right at home.”

  Meg nodded without speaking. Either he was doing a really good number on her—foolish old lady—or he just plain oozed appeal, basic masculinity. She preferred to think it was the latter.

  “No kids around. You don’t have kids?”

  Meg’s glance was unguarded.

  “Sorry.” He held up a hand. “You know us country types... nosey. I like kids. I’ll have a family one day.”

  “Not married now?”

  “Nope. Girlfriend.”

  “Oh. Nice.”

  What did it matter? She was kidding herself over Jarrad Scott. And she wouldn’t make a fool of herself here. She would not. He was too young, too much of a surprise on her, too gorgeous to be legal and had arrived right when she was feeling the lowest in her marriage she could possibly have felt.

  Was there a better time to make a fool of oneself ?

  In the kitchen and waiting for the kettle to boil, she fidgeted. His direct gaze on her face was irresistible and when she could no longer resist a glance, she asked if he needed sugar.

  His gaze flickered from one of her eyes to the other. “No thanks and just black.”

  Meg’s hands shook as hot water leapt from kettle to cup. She wondered if he noticed. Don’t be a fool, woman. Play him at his own game. Don’t let this kid get to you. “I see by the booking you have ten days here. All work and no play?”

  He leaned on the kitchen counter, barely an arm’s length away. “A couple of days off towards the end of the week. Maybe you could show me around.”

  “To the high spots of our little outback retreat.”

  “I’m sure you’d know where to take me.”

  Confident, cocky youngster. He was cheeky, cool and very self-assured. But she liked him. “Oh, yes,” she answered. “I surely do.”

  He laughed good-naturedly as she handed
him his tea.

  “Hey, Meg. I’m home.” Martin loped into the house. “G’day, mate. You must be our only guest in for tonight.”

  Jarrad stood and shook Martin’s outstretched hand. “Jarrad Scott.”

  “All settled? Got the run down on the place?” Martin glanced at his wife.

  “He’s just walked in, Martin.”

  Martin laughed. “Fair enough. So, covered the lot in thirty seconds flat then, hey?”

  Jarrad agreed pleasantly.

  Meg busied herself in the kitchen.

  “I’m not in for dinner, Meg,” Martin told her over his shoulder. “Meeting on at the yacht club I forgot to mention. Hope you haven’t cooked for me, too.”

  “No.” She stared out the window. Not that there was anything to see except her own reflection. She almost didn’t recognise herself. Her face stared back as if haunted, or that she was the ghost of the woman she used to know as Meg Donovan. She shook briefly. How silly.

  Jarrad spoke up. “I’ll be going to the pub, no big deal. Don’t want anyone put out just for me.”

  Martin didn’t bother to look at her as he headed for their bedroom, in a hurry to change his clothes and be gone again. Instead, he said from behind the door, “You should go to the pub, Meg. Have a night off. I’ll come down too, if I get back early enough.”

  Meg deliberately looked after him, not wanting to glance at Jarrad Scott. “Good idea. I think maybe I will.” She looked back at her reflection in the kitchen window. What a good idea.

  “Must be something pretty good at the yacht club,” Jarrad said.

  “That would be yachts,” she answered.

  She could see the grin on Jarrad Scott’s face without even looking at him.

  They found a table in the dining room. Wasn’t hard; meals at the Murphy pub here were hit and miss at the best of times. Locals kept hoping for some consistency so some nights were packed, some nights not so.

  “Everyone will be talking about you.”

  She shrugged. “Nothing new. They probably don’t have anyone else to talk about.”