by Téa Cooper
***
The steep track wound up the hill and then veered into a dirt driveway where Hillary’s pristine white house twinkled in the early morning sunshine. With the view across the tops of the eucalyptus trees above the valley, it was like being in an eagle’s nest.
Georgie and Hillary left the cars and picked their way carefully over the piles of mulch and sandstone surrounding the house.
“The house faces due north,” said Hillary. “So it will be cool in the afternoons, and the decks will get the morning sun.” She tipped her head toward the stocky workman resting on a shovel. He winked at them both and resumed his digging. Hillary’s eyes sparkled. “Hi, Carl. How’s it going?”
“Not bad, not bad, but we’ve only got time to work until lunch today, and maybe we can come back in a week or two but...”
“But what?” The dramatic roll of Hillary’s eyes made Georgie smile for the first time that morning.
“But we’ll see,” he said, making a big deal of wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
Hillary linked arms with Georgie. “Carl has a heart of gold, but really he is getting a bit long in the tooth, especially after his heart attack, and I’m certain I can get better value for my hard-earned dollar elsewhere.” She nodded her head emphatically and heaved a sigh. “The Protea Boys to the rescue. I really hope we can pull this off.”
Georgie glanced around with interest. She could easily guess the amount of work already put into the place.
“There’s where I want the vegetable garden built.” Hillary sketched an arc with her arm toward the back of the house. “I can hardly advertise homegrown, organic vegetables for the table if I haven’t got a vegetable garden. Come to think of it, I haven’t got a table yet either.” She giggled at her own joke. “Come on, enough of my problems. Let’s find a cup of coffee, and you can tell me how things are going with you and your proteas.”
***
“So all in all,” finished Georgie before taking a final sip of her coffee, “the last couple of days have been a bit of a mixture, some ups and some downs. I know there’s a market for these flowers. Mum and Dad made a good living out of them. I just wish I hadn’t let the farm go to wrack and ruin while I was in Sydney.” She rocked back on the chair and sighed. “Everyone just falls in love with the proteas as soon as they see them. The guesthouse was wonderful, and the other two B&Bs said they’d give it a go. Except for the restaurant. That’s just another story altogether—bloody man. Do you know what he said? He said he thought roses were more my style—pftt. I blushed and stammered like some idiotic schoolgirl.”
“So he was attractive, was he?” Hillary’s words cut like a knife straight to the point.
Georgie tried to cover the reddening of her face by looking out over the half-built garden. She wanted to tramp on her wayward thoughts and push the memory of his predatory green eyes aside. “No. He was not.” The pause lengthened, and she fanned her face. The coffee had made her so hot. “Well, yes... I suppose so...a little bit, but absolutely not what I need right now. Far too arrogant.”
If Hillary would just stop looking at her so intently, she’d be able to get rid of the heat making her cheeks so red. “What I need right now—and for that matter, so do you—is a handyman, someone who can do all those things around the place I just haven’t got time for. Take out the dead bushes, do the pruning, clean up between the rows of flowers.” She finished, pleased with the determined note in her voice.
“And move my mulch and my sandstone blocks,” said Hillary, “and build my vegetable garden. Told you. We need the Protea Boys.”
Chapter Five
The never-ending list of jobs just grew and grew, and Georgie doubted she’d ever get on top of it. A haze of proteas, spreadsheets, and ridiculous fantasies filled her week. She fell into bed every night exhausted, her heavy sleep plagued by dreams of canvas tents spread under a canopy of acacia trees, moonlit dinners reverberating to the night sounds of the bush, and always the presence of a man whose tawny green eyes were the only feature she could drag into focus. Strangely, she woke refreshed and relished the hard physical work outside. She received phone calls from the growers’ markets, and she delivered bucketloads of proteas to the distributor. Much to her delight, she also received a hefty transfer into her bank account. There were four answers to the advertisement, and then Hillary called to say she had scheduled all the interviews for Saturday morning.
***
“Hiya. I’m here. Can I come in?” Hillary’s cheerful voice resounded through the house.
“I’m in the office.” Georgie pushed the pile of paperwork to one side and closed down the computer before getting up to greet her friend.
“I am so excited. This is going to be the beginning of something really good, I can feel it in my waters.” Hillary massaged her stomach with her manicured fingers. “We’ve got four takers. Where do you want to do these interviews?”
“I thought we might use the table on the veranda. We don’t want to make it too formal, but we want to look as though we mean business. What do you think?”
Hillary nodded in agreement, and they set up three chairs around the table on the veranda overlooking the rows of protea flowers.
“Do you want to get changed?”
Georgie glanced down at her cargo pants, black T-shirt, and boots. Her clothes were clean, no grass stains, no oil, and eminently practical. She shook her head, her tightly restrained ponytail whipping across her face. “No, I’m comfortable.” Then she took a good look at Hillary, and her wolf whistle echoed out across the paddocks.
“Wow. Look at you. You look very...very...businesslike.” The snug polka dot blouse just managed to restrain Hillary’s breasts, and her tight navy pedal pushers looked positively uncomfortable.
“I do, don’t I?” She executed a little twirl; her hands flared on her hips. “I want these guys to realize they are here to do the work, and we are the bosses. Ladies don’t do manual labor.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Hillary sat on the chair and crossed her legs. She swung one forward to admire her firm calf and red follow-me-home shoes. “Okay,” she began. “Four applicants. The first is Matt. He says he’s had experience on his family property but can’t work at the weekend because he has rugby commitments. I told him it wouldn’t be a problem, and I thought...mmm...rugby player. He’ll be here in...” She tilted her wrist with an exaggerated twist and showed her bright red fingernails to their best advantage. “Five minutes.”
The sound of a car on the crushed sandstone of the driveway stopped Hillary in her tracks. “Here we go. I’ll tell you about the others as we get to them. I am so excited. Oh. My. God.”
Georgie saw a pair of denim-clad legs swing out of the red Ute parked in the driveway.
“Ten out of ten for body,” muttered Hillary under her breath as the tall, muscular man walked toward them.
“Hello. You must be Matt. Do come up. We’ve decided to interview outside on the veranda, as the weather is so steamy,” Hillary said, batting her eyelashes.
Matt swaggered confidently up the steps. “Morning, ladies.” He smiled, nodded, and sat in one of the cane chairs, looking totally incongruous—his muscled body swamped the white linen cushions.
“My name’s Hillary, and this is Georgie.”
Georgie nodded her head.
“As I explained on the phone, we are looking for a group of boys—men,” Hillary corrected herself as Matt raised his eyebrows, “who can form a tight team, are prepared to work quickly and efficiently and turn their hands to all kinds of maintenance. Can you tell us a little about yourself, your experience, and why you think you would be suitable for the position?”
Rather impressed with the new side of Hillary, Georgie sat back and let her take control. She really sounded as though she knew what she was doing, and Georgie realized she had no idea what Hillary had done before she escaped from the city. Obviously more than run Pilates classes.
Dragging
herself back to the interview, Georgie heard Matt say, “I can use most common hand and power tools, and obviously, having worked on a big property, there’s not much I haven’t come across.”
“How familiar are you with diesel pumps and irrigation systems?” Georgie interrupted, thinking she could more than use this man’s help.
“Very,” said Matt. “My parents grew lucerne out West, and we irrigated from the dams on the property.”
“Excellent.” Georgie raised her eyebrows and nodded at Hillary. “Hill, do you have any more questions?”
“Yes. When can you start? We thought a two-week trial would be the best for everyone, just to make sure we all get along and you like the job. As I said on the phone, you will be paid by the hour from the time the truck leaves here.”
“It sounds just fine,” Matt said, and Hillary licked her lips at his country drawl. “Happy to start on Monday if it’s good for you.” Pushing his chair backward, he untangled his long legs and stood towering above them both. Hillary giggled as she reached up to shake his hand.
“We’ll see you here at seven thirty on Monday morning.”
“Bye, ladies. Monday, seven thirty.”
Leaning over the veranda next to a furiously waving Hillary, Georgie tried to contain the laughter bubbling inside her as the Ute disappeared down the driveway in a flurry of dust. She returned Hillary’s high five and hooted with excitement.
“See it wasn’t too difficult, was it? I hope his work is as good as his body.” Hillary face split into an excited grin. “Did you see the edge of the tatt on his shoulder? I wonder where it spreads to.”
“We’ll find out on Monday morning.” If all else failed, Georgie would be happy to employ him for two weeks stripping down and repairing her aged irrigation system. “Okay, so what kind of spunk have you organized next, Ms. Interviewer Extraordinaire?” A twist of excitement grew in the pit of her stomach; this mad plan of Hillary’s could be just what she needed to get things moving and the company wouldn’t come amiss either. She’d enjoy a bit more companionship now the pain of her indignant rush from the city six months ago had worn off.
“Next is Garth. He says he’s a surfer but needs to earn some money for six months or so to finance a trip to California next winter. He’s also a trained mechanic but hates being locked up inside all day long. I thought a mechanic would be useful for the truck and the other machinery. He says everyone calls him Gap—because he hasn’t got anything between the ears but he can’t be too bad if he’s a trained mechanic.”
Feeling distinctly redundant because Hillary had covered everything, Georgie sat back to enjoy the show.
Gap came and went, ready to return at seven thirty on Monday morning. His deep blue eyes, tanned skin, and blond dreadlocks were as good a group of attributes as his mechanical skills in Hillary’s eyes.
“Any chance of a cup of coffee?” Hillary said as Gap left. “This meat market is making me thirsty.”
“I’ll get one.” Georgie headed for the coffee machine in the corner of the kitchen. “Tell me all about our next candidate while I’m making it.”
“Two more candidates and if they both work out as well as the last two, the Protea Boys will be in business on Monday. Way to go,” Hillary crowed, walking into the kitchen to pick up the coffee Georgie had made her.
Minutes later a V8 Commodore sporting probationary plates drove up, windows down and doof-doof music blaring. A scrawny white arm hung out of the window. Georgie and Hillary leaned over the veranda, staring in horror as the car skidded to a halt and a guy in squeaky stiff Levi’s and a checked shirt, ironed within an inch of its life, stepped out. With a flourish he removed a pristine white Akubra from his head and bounded up onto the veranda.
“Alexander Broomfield, at your service, ladies.” He sat down on the edge of the chair, legs crossed neatly. Georgie’s eyes widened, and Hillary’s shoulders shook. As the silence lengthened, Georgie quietly prayed Hillary wouldn’t be too hard on him. Then she knew she had to jump in. “Hi, Alexander. Thanks for coming.” Her overenthusiastic tone made her cringe. “Can you tell me a little bit about your experience?”
“Well, I’m actually a trainee accountant, but I’ve decided I need a change. Time to do something different and your advertisement caught my eye.”
“I see,” said Georgie, wondering how she would to get out of the situation and mentally cursing Hillary, who sat shaking silently, her face getting redder and redder by the moment. She made a mental note to kill her when the interview was over.
“Have you had much experience with diesel motors?”
“Ah. No.”
“Chainsaws? Brush cutters? Tractors?”
“No. But I learn really quickly.”
“I’ll be truthful with you, Alexander”—Georgie took a deep breath—”we have actually filled all our current positions. But did you say you were a trainee accountant?”
“Yes. A very good one.”
Terrified his enthusiastic nodding would cause his head to fall off, Georgie made an instant decision. “I wonder if perhaps you could give me your telephone number because I am going to be needing some accountancy help soon, and I’d like to be able to call upon your services.”
“It would be my pleasure,” he said and produced a business card, which he handed to her with a flourish. Relieved she had managed to solve the problem, Georgie stood up. “Let me walk you to your car.” Shooting a death glance at Hillary, she walked Alexander down the steps to his car and stayed to wave as he hooted his farewell, and then she stormed back up the steps.
“Hillary, that was the meanest thing I have ever seen. Why did you even allow him to come for an interview?”
“Oh,” gulped Hillary as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I am so sorry. He was the last person to ring, and I was so worried we wouldn’t have four Protea Boys I thought we better make sure he wasn’t as bad as he sounded...but he was,” she finished with a shrug of her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t ever do anything like that again. It wasn’t fair to him, and this is supposed to be a sensible business enterprise, not an alternative for an Internet dating service.”
“I’m sorry. Truly I am.”
The ringing of the phone interrupted. “I’ll get it,” snapped Georgie before clumping down the hallway into the office. “The protea farm. Georgie speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Georgina.” The instantly recognizable deep baritone made her stomach twist like a corkscrew. She didn’t need to ask who it was. The response of her body was enough. Goose bumps invaded every inch of her skin.
“Are you there?”
“Um... Yes.” She swallowed loudly and flushed at her uninspired, tongue-tied response.
“I just thought you’d like to know about your wombat.” The vision of the tanned hands gently massaging the wombat swamped her mind, making her shiver.
Focus.
“Oh, yes.”
Very inspired. He is going to think you are a moron.
“The good news is she passed her medical with flying colors and thanks to your fast response, is doing really well. She’s drinking from a bottle, and the wildlife rescue people have placed her with a carer.”
Warmth flooded her body, but whether it was from the smooth, velvet tones of his voice or relief at the wombat’s survival she wasn’t certain. “It’s wonderful news.”
Better.
“Thank you so much for all your help. I’m afraid I panicked,” she said.
“Don’t you worry about it. There’s nothing I like better than rescuing a damsel in distress.”
A crash resounded in Georgie’s head as she landed back in reality.
What is the matter with the guy? Damsel in distress.
It went into the same basket as his ridiculous comment about blushing flowers. Her goose bumps morphed into bristles.
“As I said, thank you. Hopefully I won’t be wasting any more of your time. Is there anything else?”
“No, just being neighborly.” The phone clicked as Tom broke the connection, and Georgie sucked in a deep breath before putting it down with impressive restraint.
He’s got tickets on himself.
She stomped back down the hallway.
Thinks he’s so cool, all he has to do is crook his little finger and women will just fall at his feet.
Her footsteps thumped out each word.
Go weak at the knees and fall over themselves in excitement.
Georgie arrived back on the veranda in no mood to finish any interviews, and the sight of Hillary leaning back in the chair with a beatific smile on her face simply made her want to scream.
“It’s done. You missed the last one. He was perfect. Jim—he’s a stonemason but has just moved into the area and hasn’t had much work so he’s looking for something to tide him over. Apparently, dry stonewalls are his specialty, so I’m pretty taken. I can see a beautiful, terraced vegetable garden at my place, and he’d have to be pretty fit if he’s been working lifting rocks. So, it’s almost a goer. We have three of our four Protea Boys.”
Georgie stared out across the paddock, her mind on green eyes and taut, tanned skin.
“Hello. Hello.” Hillary’s hand waved in front of her face. “Is there anybody there?”
Georgie blinked slowly and shook her head. “Oh, yes—sorry. I was thinking. I’m sorry I was so long.”
“Is everything okay? Who was on the phone?”
“It was Tom,” Georgie relied blankly.
“Tom? Tom who?”
“The guy from the restaurant. I told you about him the other day.”
“Oh yes, I remember.” Hillary winked, and her blonde curls bounced around her face. “The guy you fancy.”
She might as well have dumped a bucket of cold water over Georgie’s head. “I do not.” She stamped her foot, punctuating her statement, and balanced her hands aggressively on her hips. “He’s a pigheaded, arrogant know-it-all.”
“Whoa. Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” quoted Hillary. “What did he want?”