The House On Burra Burra Lane

by Jones, Jennie

  ‘What tool is it you need?’ he asked, mindful, careful, because something wasn’t sitting straight between them.

  She stirred, straightened her shoulders. ‘I need to take these shutters off the windows and clean them. They’re not normal screws. They’re funny bracket things.’

  ‘Well, it’s my lucky day. I get to make your heart burst with pleasure.’

  Her cheeks flushed, but the colour drained quickly. ‘Do you have one on you?’

  He nodded. ‘In the ute.’

  ‘Can I borrow it?’

  ‘Don’t normally allow women around my toolbox. Things have a nasty way of not coming home.’

  She didn’t laugh. He was stuck in some mud, and it wasn’t the warm, comforting mud from last week, with an animal between them and the camaraderie of joint effort. It was cold, and he was up to his ankles in it.

  ‘Can I just take a look at it then? So I know what to ask for at the hardware store.’

  Maybe his thighs. He glanced at her hair.

  ‘Stop looking at my hair. It got wet in the rain.’ She turned, her shoulders pulled in irritation, like a gruff billy goat.

  ‘It looks lovely, Sammy,’ he told her, hoping that would appease. It was a spray of russet glory, like the claret ash trees along Main Street in autumn.

  ‘It got wet, okay? Then it dried, so now it’s a mess of curls. It happens, it’s no big deal.’

  Hadn’t he brushed over the awkwardness between them? He thought he’d managed well all week, considering. He didn’t think she’d recognised what was inside him. But he might have been wrong; all week sleepless wrong. ‘I thought you had straight hair.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Ethan. I straighten it with a tool. You can borrow it anytime you like, I’m not precious about my tools.’

  It wasn’t only anger and embarrassment, there was timidity swimming in the depths of her eyes. He’d never seen that before. Had it been there all week? He couldn’t say, hadn’t looked her in the eye too deeply.

  ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ she asked in a clipped tone. ‘It’s after six.’

  He took a breath. What had he disturbed by coming to visit her? He rubbed his chin with his knuckles. Perhaps it was just a bad day. ‘Thought I’d stop by, check your roof wasn’t leaking after the rain, it was quite heavy.’

  ‘My roof’s fine. Can I see that tool?’

  ‘No.’ That made her look at him. Whatever was out of place between them, he needed to know what it was before he could sort it out. ‘I’ll come over tomorrow and take the shutters off for you. When you’re done, I’ll put them back for you. Now will you tell me what’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m capable of taking the shutters off myself if I’ve got the right tool. And anyway, won’t you be too busy?’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Julia Morelly.’

  He hadn’t heard her properly, so how could he work that one out? ‘I’m not doing work for anyone else—Julia Morelly?’

  ‘Yes, and you won’t get very far if you’re late.’

  He shifted his stance. ‘I’m a bit confused, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Julia, and your hot date. Seven o’clock at Kookaburra’s. And don’t look so surprised, it’s a small town, word gets around fast.’

  ‘And who gave you the word on this?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I got it straight from Morelly’s mouth. Oops.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Sorry—I should call her sweet Julia to you, shouldn’t I?’ She bounced the secateurs in the palm of her hand.

  He glanced down to check she had them fastened.

  ‘I think you’re making a mistake, Ethan. You need to be careful around Julia, she’s a fast mover. She could run you down with a mere shuffle of what she keeps in her wire-cupped bra.’

  At the mention of bra, he grimaced. His eyes smarted as he stopped himself looking at her breasts, because the yellow top she wore was wet, and it was wet right across her breasts, showing the outline of a bra. Slow Down, the motto on her T-shirt said.

  ‘So you need to be very sure about what you want,’ she continued. ‘And whether or not you can handle the fallout.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind. What time am I meeting her again?’

  ‘Seven.’

  So Julia herself had told Sammy that he was meeting her. On a date.

  She turned, bent to the roses on the grass. He bent to help her, she didn’t have gloves on, the thorns would pierce her flesh. His shoulder bumped into hers, so he moved and her head knocked into his.

  She pushed him away. ‘I can manage.’

  ‘What’s wrong, Sammy?’ She didn’t normally run him over with tetchy remarks. His behaviour in her kitchen—with that damned kiss—might have put a strain between them he wouldn’t be able to mend.

  ‘My hair, that’s what wrong. It makes me crazy when it goes curly. And I think I’ll just go on inside now and take a shower and get changed.’ She’d gathered the roses without breaking the skin on her hands. ‘I like dressing like this when I’m gardening or sorting the shed out.’ She straightened her top, pulling it down and across her waist. His gaze shot instinctively to her body then quickly back to her face.

  ‘But I do have other things I could wear.’ She ran a hand over her hair. ‘Little designer numbers. Lots of them. There are times in my life when I look incredibly attractive.’

  Of course she was attractive. All the time. There hadn’t been a single moment since he’d met her where she wasn’t absolutely fucking beautiful.

  She strode towards the house. He had to lengthen his stride in order to stay right behind her.

  Had he done something to annoy her, other than kiss the breath out of her and leave? Or had he not done something she’d expected him to do? ‘What has Julia said to you?’

  She turned to him at the front door. Her eyes were tearing up. ‘Sammy.’ He wanted to reach out and take hold of her, even took a step forward in case he did it.

  ‘Go away, Ethan, go and enjoy Julia. And don’t worry about the shutters, I’m sure you’ll have other things on your mind. Like sex.’

  He stepped back when she slammed the front door in his face. ‘Sex?’

  It took a full half hour to get the bath filled with lukewarm water due to the erratic and small capacity water heater. She’d have to get it swapped for gas tanks soon, this was murder. All she’d wanted to do after closing the door in his surprised face was sink into the depths of despair and hot water.

  The bath was drawn, waiting. She ripped the clothes from her body and flung them across her bedroom. She put the heels of her hands to her eyes, pushing back the sting. She’d embarrassed herself more than she could bear in front of him. She’d shown him her tears as she got to the house, out of frustration and dejection that he was going to be kissing Julia and not her. He might be kissing her right now, leading her to his bed.

  She dropped her hands and moved to the chipped mirror on the stately dressing table. Her hair was long enough to keep the curls tamed a little with weight, but it wasn’t in any way sleek, even after she’d worked on it.

  She scanned the length of her body. It was pretty good, very good in fact. She evaluated in the same way she would view a finished drawing. She was slim but had the correct curves. She wasn’t tall, but had enough length in her torso to make a person think she might be. Her waist narrowed at the right place, her breasts would look like Julia’s if she wore that type of push-up bra. But there was no need for the carefully packed city clothes now. No reason to show them off.

  She picked up her hair straighteners, the only indulgence she allowed herself; and that hadn’t done her any good, it was still her hair that let her down. She should forget them too. Leave her hair to curl, what did it matter here? Who was there to care but herself? Bugger the bloody hair straighteners. She could do without the effort it took each morning.

  She settled her mind. She was a stronger person now, this was a hiccup in life.

  Another one, her heart reminded her with
its fierce pulsing. It was one thing to run away from a man, but an entirely different sorry tale to want one. A man who didn’t want her.

  She threw the hair straighteners through the air. They hit the window instead of the wall. Glass cracked and shattered. Her last vanity landed somewhere on the ground outside.

  Fourteen

  Ethan had never been jealous of anyone or anything, so he couldn’t say what a woman might do if she were envious. She’d throw a few criticisms around. She’d spark up for no reason. She’d talk nonsense and make it sound clear. She’d push a man down so many tracks it twisted his train of thought.

  Sex. Sammy had thrown the word at him as she slammed the door in his face.

  She was jealous. Holy hell. How did that make him feel? Buoyed up. Happy. Worried.

  He stopped just before the Bar & Grill doors, not ready to face anyone inside, although Grandy would be waiting for him. And Julia. Julia was playing some game and he’d been caught in her net, but he sure as hell wasn’t interested in what kind of bra the kid wore.

  He walked to the wooden railings, looked out on the darkened street and inhaled the musky night air. The only image he saw in the lamplight was Sammy. Her body, to be exact, now the subject of sex had been brought up. He knew how she looked beneath her clothes, he’d taken enough looks. A slip of flesh when her T-shirt rose as she stretched to hang sheets on a line; a breeze moving the hair from her neck, highlighting the tenderness of a throat he wanted to put his mouth to. Slender shoulders that shrugged in laughter, shadowing her collarbones. She usually had her jeans slung a little low on her waist, her legs long and slim in the soft denim, and those running shorts had given him a more vivid picture of how it would feel having her wrapped around him.

  Sex … yes, he missed it.

  He looked up at the moon as a shooting star streaked across the inky night. He blinked, and it was gone behind cloud cover.

  It had been months since he’d felt a woman under him, and no matter what he’d promised himself, he hadn’t been able to stop the thought of Sammy beneath him. He couldn’t imagine another woman easing the agony of wanting Sammy.

  He thrust his hands into his coat pockets. She hadn’t shed a single tear when she’d told him about her mother and Dolan, but her hair curling after the rain had upset her. Why did she bother with hair tools anyway, when she had all that russet brilliance? Had no man told her how lovely she was? He had enough compliments listed but hadn’t spoken a single one until today, with his wonder at her hair. Stupid male ignorance—apart from how she handled her tools, and her art, it had been the first flattering remark he’d given her for being an attractive woman.

  He withdrew his hands from his pockets and grabbed hold of the railing. If he was too pushy, they’d lose their friendship. They wouldn’t be able to go back to that—and then he’d lose her completely. But what the hell would he do if she found herself a man that wasn’t him? There wasn’t a man alive who would know what she needed in bed or how to make her feel desired— except him. Dolan had practically forced her in the end, but he didn’t know what had happened between them before the end; how many times she’d slept with him. He thumped the railing. Plenty of times, she’d been his girlfriend. He wouldn’t have been her only boyfriend either, she was a city girl, used to corporate environments, wine bars, and the men who frequented those places.

  He could taste the words in his mouth without speaking them—I want to make love to you. I want to wipe the memory of Dolan. Of every other man.

  He turned, one hand still on the rail, and looked through the glass panes of the Bushman’s Clock doors to the warmly lit interior, and the townspeople. His friends, people he’d known all his life, people who looked up to him these days. He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a family man; wasn’t built that way. His history had shown him that much, and he’d closed himself off because of it. Had he withdrawn for the wrong reasons? He’d watched people around him shape their relationships, make children together, build a life for themselves, and hadn’t felt anything like the envy that filled him tonight.

  Make a decision, man. Take her while she’s there for you. Show her care. Share yourself with her.

  He moved to the door, gripped the handle firmly and pushed the door open. If he wanted Sammy he’d have to step into his past in order to walk away from it.

  The Morelly table was over to the side of the bar, sitting in full view of everything and everyone. There weren’t any official labels on the tables, but most regulars had a spot they called their own and got irritated if someone took it.

  ‘Beer, Ethan?’

  Ethan nodded. ‘Yes please, Frank.’ He indicated where he was heading.

  Grandy sat nurturing his cane and a beer. Julia was there too and Ethan took a good look at her as he moved towards their table. Her blonde hair fell flat and straight down her back which was also straight, although she was probably sitting that way because it enhanced or exaggerated her breasts. They were certainly pushed upwards and she appeared to like them on show.

  ‘Grandy.’ He took his seat next to Grandy, opposite Julia.

  Julia didn’t move but her presence was like white heat.

  ‘Got m’granddaughter here. Wanted to come along when I said I was meeting you. Don’t pay no mind to her, I’ll shift her as soon as we get down to business.’

  ‘Hi, Ethan.’

  ‘Julia. How are you?’

  She got straight in and gave him a come-on. Her large blue eyes stalked him with a bewildered, helpless appeal for strength and manhood, perhaps just man.

  It wasn’t often a woman flirted so outrageously with him. It gave a man cause to pause, especially when the man was the intended victim. She was one hell of a good looking girl, beneath the manicured exterior.

  Frank stepped up and Ethan took the proffered glass with a nod of thanks.

  Grandy put his beer onto the table and told Julia to hightail it. She tossed her head and unfurled, eyes focussed on Ethan. He glanced away. Time enough to speak to Julia later, she wouldn’t be leaving the Bar & Grill yet, not with that look in her eye.

  When she left them and walked over to the bar to a group of young people, Grandy picked up his cane and rested both hands on top. Ethan shifted in his chair and waited. Time for business.

  ‘Twenty acres. Worth a bit today.’

  Ethan nodded.

  ‘What’s your best offer?’

  ‘The going price, and land is worth a pretty dollar these days.’

  ‘What would you do with it?’

  ‘I’ll use it for horses mainly, as I am now.’ Ethan made sure he spoke as though the land was already his. ‘They keep coming my way, and it’s difficult to get them homes. Down the track, when the animals are settled and reacclimatised, I’ll employ someone to take charge and offer riding lessons.’ He put his beer onto the table and took his gaze off Grandy. He hadn’t been intending that at all. It was an idea from a few years ago, nothing more. He didn’t know why he’d spoken aloud.

  ‘About time you started thinking about giving some of the young people work.’

  ‘It’s a thought, not a definite intent.’

  ‘Not sure if I really want to sell. What would you do then?’ Grandy picked up his beer and took a long drink. A move Ethan knew he’d made on purpose. The patriarch was going to prolong judgement for as long as he could, attempting to make Ethan offer more money.

  Well, if he was going to employ kids and run a horse riding centre, he’d need the land closest to the surgery. ‘There’s fifteen acres up for sale the other side of me. It’s not as good as your land because it doesn’t join my three acres. But it’s where I’ll head if you decide not to sell.’

  ‘Backs onto young Walker’s place, my twenty.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Told her I’d fix the fence between us and not charge her for it.’

  ‘I’ll honour that.’

  ‘Got a big job on her little hands, young Walker. All alone.’

 
Ethan nodded.

  ‘No bigger than a pitchfork to the likes of you and me. Is she coping?’

  ‘Still got your bet down, Grandy?’

  ‘Hoping for more inside information.’

  ‘I can’t help you with that. I don’t know how long she’ll stay. That’ll be up to her.’

  ‘Could be up to you though, couldn’t it?’

  Ethan took a minute to consider what level the town had taken their gossip about him and Sammy to. Two people, single, of marriageable age. And he was over her place most days.

  ‘Still not made that move, huh? You’ll be sorry, Ethan. Woman like that doesn’t come along too often.’

  ‘Grandy,’ Ethan warned quietly.

  ‘You don’t scare me. I’m closer to ninety than I’d like to be, do you think there’s anything I’m not prepared to say while I’ve got the chance? Which is why I’m going to tell you the reason I might sell you that land.’

  Ethan grimaced. ‘Do you have to?’

  ‘Because it sidelines young Walker’s place and I like her. Wish I was fifty years younger, then I’d be giving you a run for your money. If you don’t make a move on her soon, someone else will. And I like you too. Don’t fool around with her, boy. Get in there.’

  Ethan smiled, felt the tension between his shoulderblades ease off. He didn’t know why Grandy bothered, but here he was again, sorting Ethan out—or trying to. ‘Let me worry about what steps I intend to make towards Miss Walker, and how long it might take me to do it.’

  Grandy humphed a laugh, settled his hands back on his cane. ‘Have you kissed her?’

  ‘About the twenty acres,’ Ethan interjected.

  ‘You can have it for the going price, plus you pay for the fence to be fixed.’

  ‘Done.’ The old boy had got his extra after all; it would cost a few thousand to get people in to fix the fence, too big a job, time-wise, to do it himself.