by Margaret Way
“And I don’t think that it would be necessary for us to fulfil all of the usual marital obligations,” she had told Heath, while laying down the ground rules one night on the phone.
“You mean no sex?” he threw back at her, his voice all but crooning down the telephone wire. “For anybody?” Jodie had to clamp a hand into the couch fabric to stop from swooning.
“Well, no. I’m sure there will be sex. Elsewhere. I just don’t think it would do either of us any good to let our friendship move in that direction. It would only further complicate an already complicated situation.”
“Especially since you have already drafted up the divorce papers, right?”
“Right,” she said, happy he had arrived on the same page at last.
“But then again,” he said, and Jodie’s teeth clenched again remembering the moment she had lost him, “I’m sure that a year ago neither of us would have answered an ad for someone looking for a husband in a hurry. Circumstances change. Life throws down opportunities that we don’t see coming. Never say never, right?”
“Well, then, at least let me pay you,” she said, moving onto a subject that she had thought might be the more uncomfortable of the two subjects but it now somehow seemed less delicate.
“For sex?” he said back. “But I thought you just said—” “No! Not for sex. As a kind of betrothal endowment.” She still had some savings, and some money coming in from sales of her earrings to Mandy’s voracious friends. And she could cash in her return ticket for a thousand dollars at least. Jodie couldn’t officially work just yet, but she didn’t want to be a burden on Heath. She wanted to help with the household expenses. She needed him to hang in there for two years. And to a poor farmer, a betrothal endowment made sense.
Though he had kind of talked her around in circles on that issue too until she couldn’t remember what the final outcome had been.
But now, here she was standing at the altar next to a guy with sexy unkempt hair and flirtatious eyes, looking all too dashing in a dark suit, white shirt and yellow tie, who had all but admitted that he wasn’t averse to the idea of sleeping with her. And, truth be told, she wasn’t all that averse to the idea herself.
Will-power, she reminded herself. Self-control. It would be up to her to keep things congenial but not consummated.
Suddenly Heath took her by the hand, and she almost leapt out of her shoes in fright. He tugged her to face him and he winked, discreetly enough for only her to see, and she even managed a wobbly smile.
A cool white gold band appeared from nowhere on her ring finger and the glimmer and sparkle of the new jewellery took what little breath she had fair away.
When Heath had offered to look after the rings, she’d agreed, insisting only that he not give her some family heirloom. She had been expecting a simple yellow gold band, a quickie special, not white gold engraved with a delicate wreath of intertwined Lancaster roses and Australian wattles.
English roses …
A bitter taste rose in her throat as she wondered for the umpteenth time how she was going to tell her mother. It wasn’t her fault that Patricia had gone away and not turned on the answering machine Jodie had bought for her before she had left. It wasn’t her fault that, though Patricia sent sporadic postcards from whichever exotic locale she was in this week, she never gave a return address.
But then again, if her mother kept this up, maybe she would never have to tell her. Maybe over time Patricia wouldn’t notice that she had overstayed her visa and would one day think, Oh, well, glad she’s happy where she is, and that would be that.
Jodie bit her lip to stop herself from laughing hysterically at the thought of Patricia acting so calmly about anything. Divorce, marriage, the weather.
Then Heath, in his deep, familiar, soothing voice, promised to love and cherish her for ever and all thoughts of her mother were lost beneath a whole new set of worries.
As she numbly took her turn to slip a larger white gold band—this one plain and simple—on Heath’s hand, she realised his ring finger had been broken and not set quite right at some time in the past. And she, the woman about to become his bride, had no idea how it had happened.
It took some doing to get the band over his large knuckle and in the end he had to help, much to the delight of those watching.
“You may kiss the bride,” the celebrant said, and Jodie heard those words loud and clear.
A kiss? Were they at that part already? Surely it was passé to have to kiss the groom at the end of a ceremony these days. But with twenty-one of Heath’s closest family members looking on she could hardly voice a complaint. It seemed Heath had no intention of doing so either.
In a move that felt more real to her than anything else that day, Heath ran a reassuring hand through her curls. He then pulled her near, until she found herself bodily against him, chest to chest, hip to hip, and physically closer than the two of them had ever been.
She could see flecks of navy and silver in his bright blue eyes, she could see an old scar in his eyebrow, and she could see every gold-tipped chestnut eyelash.
“Just a quick warning—I am about to kiss you, Mrs Jameson,” he whispered with his mouth mere inches from hers.
“Get on with it, then, Mr Jameson,” she whispered back.
And then he kissed her. She expected a quick meeting of mouths, a platonic sealing of a bargain. But what she experienced was something else entirely.
The very moment their lips met Jodie was overcome by an explosion of sensation. Shivers and warmth all at once. Trembling fingers. Tingling feet. Hot limbs. Hot lips. Heat shooting through her centre.
Somewhere amidst all this searing awareness she felt him pull her closer still, or maybe she was the one who melted against him, until her entire weight was held by his strong arms like a heroine in an old movie.
When he released her, she let go with an audible sigh, and only then did she hear the outbreak of applause erupting around them. A wolf-whistle that could have only come from Mandy rocketed through the small room. Many of them were obviously under the impression that it was all real.
She swallowed over the lump in her throat, and if her insensible lips had been able to form the words she would have shouted them down then and there. “This isn’t real!” she would have said. “We made a deal. Two years. Just two years.”
She looked up into Heath’s eyes, expecting to see the same shock registered there, but her own shock was further compounded by the fact that she did not. His gaze was brimming with questions, but not surprise. It was as though he had expected the kiss to be exactly how it was, and he wanted more.
Before Jodie had the chance to remind him exactly why it would be for the best if he didn’t get any more, she found herself stepping down the aisle with Heath’s large hand in its unfailing position against her lower back.
When she stepped out into the early December sunshine she was hit with the most beautiful blinding array of rainbow-hued soap bubbles, as somebody had supplied each guest with a small clear tube of liquid soap. Then, before she had even had the chance to decide if she was delighted or cross, Heath led her to the roadside where an elegant horse and cart awaited them.
“What’s this?” she asked, backing up.
“This, my lady, is our transportation.”
“But I didn’t agree to this,” she hissed. “To any of this. To the suit, or the guests, or the bubbles or.” Or the kiss, she thought. “Or this,” she said instead, flapping a frantic arm at the docile Clydesdale horse.
“For Pete’s sake, just get in,” he muttered. “For one second pretend it’s real and you just might enjoy it.”
She heard the frustration in his voice, and she didn’t blame him. She was being overly touchy. So, to keep the peace, at least until they were out of listening range of their guests, she hopped into the handsome cab.
Heath leapt up next to Jodie, and motioned to the driver to get a move on. So much for the spring in his step when he had leapt out of his hotel b
ed that morning. To think he had even caught himself whistling when he was shaving, simply because it was his wedding day.
And now he was married he felt shell-shocked. Dazed. Confounded by the events that had changed and would further change his life. And it didn’t help that his bride looked ready to either faint or spit chips at any given moment.
Well, blow her and her skittish ways, he thought, determinedly wrapping an arm about her shoulders and drawing her to him.
He liked Jodie. Hell, he more than liked her. He was taken with her, a little enamoured, even, if he was honest with himself, which was obvious considering he was blithely ignoring her assertion that it would all be over within two years.
If she was in fact right, and at the end of two years they went their separate ways, then so be it. At least he would never look back on his life and say he had never tried. But if they didn’t go their separate ways, if somehow the feelings that he had around her continued to grow at the rate they had, and if he was able to convince her that such feelings of her own were okay, well, then this day would be a decision well made.
If she wanted to fuss and fidget and complain, she could go right ahead, but he wasn’t going to live those first two years walking on eggshells. Especially now, on this glorious summer day, trotting beneath the overhanging oaks on a Melbourne city street with the sun on his back and a beautiful woman at his side, he wasn’t going to let anything take away his contentment.
“Have we made a big mistake?” Jodie asked, throwing a big bucket of cold water over his indomitably cheery mood. “Have we gone into this for all the wrong reasons?”
He took a breath and counted to ten in his head. “Jodie, we want the same thing. We both want to be married. And since we are agreed on that, and have said so in front of everyone, our motives beyond that point are irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant? You are from a large family, Heath. And you will want one of your own, if not now, then soon. I know it. But I have no interest in having a family. In being a part of a family. All family means to me is adversity or desertion. I want a Permanent Visa and nothing more. And I don’t see either one of us budging on those issues.”
It took all of his strength not to throttle her then and there. He’d thought he knew how to deal with women. He had four sisters. The local police officer was a woman and they got on fine. He’d never had a problem with women at university—in fact he’d been somewhat of a big man on campus in that regard.
But Jodie was something else. She was wilful, determined and intractable. But she had such a consuming aura of vulnerability that those other traits shimmered just outside his mind’s eye until they hit him like a slap across the face the moment he stopped paying attention.
Heath rubbed at his temple with the thumb and forefinger of his spare hand. “We have time, Jodie.”
“Time?” she repeated, her voice becoming a little hysterical as she sat back and glared at him, her green eyes over-bright. “Are you saying that some time over the next two years you plan on convincing me to give in and live your great Australian dream? Well, no farm boy with dreamy blue eyes and the ability to wear jeans like no other man I’ve ever known will change my mind on all that.”
She came to an abrupt halt, her breathing shallow and loud, and Heath heard the moment she realised what she had said.
So she thought he looked good in jeans, did she? Well, well, well. It seemed Miss Prim-and-Proper English Rose was not as immune to him as she made out. And if her ardent response to his kiss hadn’t given her away, the pretty pink blush warming her cheeks now did.
So he threw another log onto the fire to see how she would burn. “Jodie, I meant there is time to call it quits.”
Her wide eyes were suddenly so full of concern he almost laughed in her face. Or kissed her. Either way she frustrated him to distraction.
“Are you saying you want to get our marriage annulled?” she asked, her voice more than a little breathless.
“No, Jodie, I don’t. I happen to think this can work.”
Did he really? Seriously? Was he really willing to put all of his eggs in one basket with this flighty, skittish, crazy, adorable, intriguing, sexy woman now that she was giving him one final out? You bet he was. Marissa’s death had taught him that if he wasn’t willing to take risks he wasn’t willing to live, and, boy, did this wife of his let him know he was alive.
“Stay, Jodie,” he said, putting every ounce of that resolve into his words. “Stay and be my wife.”
She gave a great heaving sigh. And if he hadn’t known any better he would have thought that, despite her constant protestations, this grand plan of hers was fuelled by more than a little romance.
“Okay,” she said, before he had the chance to push home any such advantage. “I’m glad we have that settled.”
If they ever actually got to the end of the first day, this was going to be a heck of an interesting two years. The merry whistle started up again inside his head.
“Come here, you,” he said, and pulled her back in to snuggle at his side. She acquiesced, even going so far as to rest a gentle hand on his chest. He wondered if she could feel the immediate quickening of his heart.
A soft whisper escaped Jodie’s lips and he looked down to find she had fallen asleep in his arms. Her lashes rested against her pale pink cheeks, her bow lips pouted as she breathed, her tiny hand curled around a button on his white shirt. And he knew in that instant he had made the right decision.
There were farmers” daughters aplenty who would have salivated at the thought of living at Jamesons Run. But he had never been able to convince himself to pick one of them and be done with it.
Because for so very many years, since he had returned from university and taken over the running of the Run, he had wanted more. More what, he had never been entirely sure. But definitely more.
And Jodie had more going for her in spades.
Two hours later, after being swamped by what turned out to be not twenty-one but at least a thousand and twenty-one Jamesons, most of whom seemed to think she was the greatest thing to happen to Heath in for ever, Jodie managed to find herself at The Cave bar alone with an empty martini glass and a drunk olive.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Heath asked, slipping onto the stool next to hers.
“Why the heck not?” she said, the volume of her voice proving that she was very slightly sloshed.
“I guess now is as good a time as any to find out what your favourite drink is.”
“Yours is beer,” she said, proudly. “Whereas I don’t think I actually have a favourite. But another of these would go down well,” she said, tipping her martini glass at him. “You have one big family—do you know that?”
Heath looked over at the group huddled around a pair of pool tables. “I don’t see them nearly as much as I would like. They all live down this way now and have families of their own. Mostly at Christmas. Funerals …”
Funerals. The way the word seemed forced from deep inside of Heath made Jodie think of his brother’s wife. Cameron, Marissa’s husband, was the only one who hadn’t come to the wedding. And even with the thousands of family members there, she could tell that Heath was more affected by Cameron’s non-presence. She wondered if there was more to Cameron not being there than the recent loss of his wife.
But it was a fleeting thought. Jodie was feeling all warm, mushy, and vodka-logged, so she reached out and laid a hand over Heath’s. “So go hang with them. I’m fine sitting here, watching the world go by.”
Heath motioned to the bartender for the same for Jodie and his favourite beer for himself. Then he laid his spare hand over hers, turning it until it was palm up, cradled between his warm hands with his thumb running back and forth along her lifeline.
“That’s all well and good,” he said, his voice travelling as a deep hum over the giggles and cackles of the restaurant crowd, “but, still, I would prefer to sit here, with you, and share a drink.”
Jodie’s breaths grew shallow, mo
ving in and out with each stroke of his thumb. “I don’t think Elena much likes me,” she admitted before she knew the words were going to come out of her mouth.
“Rubbish,” Heath said, though he wasn’t looking her in the eye as he said it, but glaring in the general direction of his older sister. “Elena is the one who put me onto you in the first place.”
“Really?” she asked, seriously surprised at that nugget of information. Of all the happy Jamesons, Elena hadn’t cracked a smile all day. But maybe Jodie had been wrong about her.
“Anything else I need to reassure you about?” Heath asked. “I can’t keep my eyes off you, you look so stunning. And you smell utterly delicious. I wish we were alone right now so I could—”
Jodie cut him off quick smart before her pink cheeks turned ruby-red. “I’m good. Fine. Fabulous. A nap and a martini has become my new cure-all.”
“Really? Because I seem to remember you being a little shaky earlier.”
Jodie was all prepared to disagree, but Heath was looking at her with such concern she couldn’t. Especially since that look reminded her very much of the one that had met her gaze as she had woken earlier from a heavenly slumber perched in the crook of his arm.
“Weren’t you? Shaky?” she asked.
His mouth hooked into a crooked smile. “Not a bit.”
She shifted on the stool until she was facing him fully, their knees knocked and she instinctively shuffled back as far as she could. “But don’t you think it’s weird that I’ve never seen your home? I don’t even know when you lost your first tooth or what you ate for breakfast. And here we are—Mr and Mrs.”
She threw her arms out as her voice grew ever so slightly hysterical. “This is all about appearances,” she said, setting him straight as to the reason behind her fretting, or at least a reason she was prepared to admit. “The appearance of a whirlwind romance between a London girl and an Australian farmer. At some stage, who knows when, we will get a visit from the Department of Immigration and the more we know about one another, the better.”