Honey Hill House

by Lisa Ireland

  ‘And I told you there was no need.’ She still didn’t turn around.

  ‘Well, seeing as I’m here can I at least help out by holding the door for you?’

  Finally, she looked at him. ‘Sure.’

  He set down his toolbox and took hold of the door as she removed her foot. This time her feet were sensibly enclosed in Blundstone boots. He found himself wondering if she kept the toe rings on underneath. When the door was attached she put down the screwdriver and picked up a cordless drill. Bea really wasn’t his type—way too skinny for his liking, and that pink hair, accidental or not, did nothing for him—but he had to admit there was something rather sexy about a woman who knew her way around a power tool.

  ‘I reckon that’ll do it,’ she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

  ‘Looks pretty good to me.’

  Bea’s attention had moved on. She bent down to pat Rosie, who, true to form, had immediately rolled over in the hope that her belly would be scratched. Bea obliged immediately. ‘Aww, you’re such a cutie pie. What’s your name?’

  ‘This is Rosie. She is pretty cute, and she knows it. Don’t you, girl?’ Rosie’s ears pricked up and she gave a little yap in response.

  Bea laughed. ‘You are adorable, Miss Rosie, and I love your name. In fact, it’s something we have in common.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Rose is my middle name.’

  ‘Beatrice Rose, eh? That’s name you don’t hear every day.’

  ‘Beatrice is after my great grandmother—my Dad’s gran. She raised him and he honoured her by giving me her name. And Rose, or Rosina actually, was my Mum’s name. As a kid I hated my name, but now I kind of like the fact that it has a history. It makes me feel connected to my past, if you know what I mean.’

  He did know. Perhaps there was more to this woman than he’d given her credit for. ‘Of course. That’s a great story.’

  Bea laughed. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to get all deep and meaningful on you there. I have a tendency to waffle on. It’s a bad habit.’ She stood up and brushed her hands on her faded jeans. ‘Come on inside.’

  Rosie jumped up and looked at the door expectantly. ‘Not you, missy,’ Mitch said. ‘You can stay.’

  ‘Oh, you can bring her inside if you like.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Bea nodded. ‘Sure. I love dogs. In fact, I’m going to get myself one just as soon as I’m settled.’

  Mitch pulled back the door and nodded for Bea to go ahead.

  ‘Come on, Rosie,’ she said.

  Rosie looked up at him, waiting for his go-ahead. ‘Go on then, in you go.’ The pup trotted inside as Mitch went to retrieve his tools. Once he was inside a mouth-watering aroma flooded his senses. His stomach rumbled in response. ‘Something smells good in here,’ he said as made his way into the kitchen.

  ‘Bolognese sauce,’ she said, pointing to the pot bubbling away on the hotplates. ‘My mama’s special recipe. I had planned on cooking us a lamb roast, but I wasn’t sure how long it would take to fix the oven, so I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with a simple pasta dish. I hope that’s okay?’

  ‘Are you kidding? That’ll be fantastic. I’m a terrible cook—sausages with scrambled eggs is about the extent of my repertoire. I go to the main house for a decent feed every now and then. Mum’s a great cook but she tends to stick to pretty basic fare—you know, meat and three veg, shepherd’s pie. Plain country tucker.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘I’m going to have to turn the power off for a bit. I hope that won’t spoil the sauce?’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s pretty much done. I can take if off now and reheat it when I cook the pasta. I’m afraid I’ve only got instant spaghetti. I usually make my own fresh pasta but I haven’t really had time with the unpacking and all.’

  ‘Make your own? Wow. I’d like to see that.’

  Bea turned off the hotplate and removed the pot, placing it on a heat mat on the kitchen table. ‘Once I’ve got this kitchen sorted out I’ll show you how to make your own if you like.’

  ‘Sure,’ Mitch said. It was a throwaway reply. Bea was nice enough and interesting too, but he wasn’t planning on spending too much time in her company. He was happy to help her out now and then, just like any of the other newcomers. Who knew, maybe some of them would stick around? But unlike the rest of Dulili, he wasn’t pinning his hopes on it and he certainly knew better than to get too close to outsiders. It just made things harder when they inevitably went away. ‘I’ll just head outside and flick the power off and then I can get started.’

  ‘Do you know where the fuse box is?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. I know this old place like the back of my hand.’

  ‘Okay. If you don’t need me I’ll go freshen up a little and change out of these clothes.’ Her face coloured slightly at the mention of removing her clothes and perhaps because of this he found himself wondering what lay beneath the baggy sweatshirts she seemed to favour.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Go ahead. This won’t take long. Half an hour tops.’

  ‘Great.’

  After an awkward pause she retreated to one of the bedrooms and he made his way back outside, Rosie once again at his heels. This was a mistake. He was already harbouring inappropriate thoughts about his new neighbour. It was stupid. For starters she was not his type, but even if Bea was the most desirable woman on earth hooking up with her was definitely not a good idea.

  Maybe he was just reacting to the attention. First she’d invited him for dinner, then she’d offered to show him how to make pasta—a second ‘date’ perhaps—and finally she’d blushed when mentioning getting changed. She was interested and he was flattered. It’d been a while since he’d had any female attention and his ego was lapping it up. But it wouldn’t do to lead her on. Not when they had to live right next door to each other, at least for the time being. A fling was out of the question, it would make things incredibly awkward once they were done with each other. And as for anything more? Unlikely, considering he was betting Bea’s ‘tree change’ would be over in six months or so. By the summer she’d be back in the city and Honey Hill House would be empty once more.

  * * *

  Now that he was here, just down the hall with his head in her oven, Bea found herself in a tizz. Why on earth had she blurted out that thing about showing him how to make pasta? And the blushing. What was that about? Was she going through a second adolescence? Why couldn’t she just be normal and businesslike around this man? Now he was going to think she had the hots for him, which was going to make this evening’s dinner very uncomfortable.

  As much as she’d love to, she couldn’t stay in her bedroom forever. She’d already spent twenty minutes in here ‘freshening up’. It would be incredibly rude to stay away for much longer. The trouble was she was still in her bra and undies, completely unable to decide on an outfit that conveyed ‘I am a together and completely sane woman, who wants you to like me, but not like me’. Unfortunately none of her clothes seemed up to the task.

  Screw it. Clean jeans and a jumper would have to do. It wasn’t a date and she didn’t want him to think it was one. There was no point get all ‘gussied up’, as her dad would say. All her going-out clothes, the ones she would wear if she were hosting friends for dinner in Melbourne, seemed out of place here.

  She shimmied into her favourite jeans, which were still a tad loose despite her trying her hardest to gain back the weight she’d lost after the surgery. It seemed her body had settled on a new, lean version of itself and wasn’t giving that up anytime soon. She drew in the jeans with a chunky leather belt and pulled on old faithful, a black crew-neck cashmere jumper that she’d bought in London years ago. Despite its age the jumper still looked good and she felt comfortable in it. It was the best she could do. She checked in the mirror to make sure her pretend boobs—prosthetic was such an ugly word—weren’t lopsided. She’d have to get used to wearing her ‘falsies’ every day now. Back i
n Melbourne, she hadn’t bothered to wear them unless she was going out. Everyone there knew about her mastectomy. Here she was reluctant to draw attention to the fact that she’d had surgery. She didn’t want people feeling sorry for her or treating her with excessive caution. It was better to pretend the surgery had never happened. At least for now.

  With her boobs passing inspection, she slid in a pair of embossed silver hoop earrings—her favourites. She’d taken to wearing them lots lately. Jason had never liked them, thought they were ‘common looking’, so every time she put them on she felt a tiny jolt of rebellion.

  Finally, she ran a brush through her hair and pulled it up into a high ponytail. First thing tomorrow she’d be calling that hairdresser Evelyn recommended and getting something done about this disgusting hair. The colour didn’t suit her at all. It made her complexion look dull and grey. Sickly even. And that just wouldn’t do. She’d had enough of looking ill. Now that she was fit and healthy she wanted to look the part, not be reminded of a washed-out dishrag every time she caught a glimpse of her reflection.

  Banging from the kitchen reminded her that Mitch was probably wondering where she’d disappeared to for all this time. Never mind about tomorrow. She had tonight to get through first.

  * * *

  Mitch found himself having a much better time than he’d expected. Once he’d sorted the oven out he’d headed back to the cottage for a quick shower and change of clothes. Bea had changed out of her work clothes and despite not being in any way dressed up she looked pretty, like she’d made an effort. It would be ill-mannered of him not to do the same. He’d attempted to take Rosie back to the cottage with him and lock her in for the night, but she was having none of that, preferring to remain in the sunny spot she’d found in the kitchen. Bea insisted she was happy for the pup to stay put. It seemed she and Rosie had taken a shine to each other. In fact right now his heeler, who rarely strayed from his side, was curled up on the couch between the two of them with her head resting on Bea’s lap.

  They’d finished dinner a while back and were halfway through a nice bottle of shiraz. Luckily he’d walked back to Honey Hill House, because at the rate he was going there would be no way he could drive home. The conversation flowed effortlessly. They’d covered a lot of ground in these past few hours, although it seemed both had carefully avoided revealing anything too personal. Nevertheless, he found out some interesting titbits. For instance, he now knew she spoke a smattering of Italian. He’d discovered this when she exclaimed ‘mannaggia!’ after spilling half a glass of wine on the table. Apparently her mum was Italian, her dad an Aussie. Her heritage explained her deep brown eyes and her tendency to gesticulate with her hands, which tonight had ended in wine spillage.

  She’d talked about her dad and her brothers—one wasn’t much more than a kid—and her friends back home. Her voice was tinged with homesickness as she spoke, but it was momentary. Her eyes sparkled as she poked him playfully, saying she’d hogged the conversation for too long and now it was his turn.

  To be honest he was more than happy listening to her. Her eyes danced when she warmed to a subject and she laughed often, usually at her own expense. The wine had given her voice a warm husky tone and he would be content to listen to it exclusively for the remainder of the evening. But not wanting to seem churlish, he obliged and took his turn. He told her about Dulili. What it was like growing up when times were better and all the shops on the main street were occupied. He talked about his mother’s stubborn refusal to believe that the town was dying and the birth of the committee that had eventually come up with the one-dollar leases to attract people such as herself to the town.

  She started to talk about her hopes for Honey Hill House. How she planned to restore it and make it more than just a B&B. She was hoping to turn it into a ‘wellness retreat’, whatever the hell that meant. She believed once it was up and running she’d be attracting tourists to the town. Obviously it had been this aspect of her submission that had convinced the committee to take on a divorced woman in her thirties. The Dulili Project Committee had stated that its first priority was to attract young families to the area, or young couples who would hopefully become young families, but so far few of the newcomers fit these criteria. In fact, Adele and her daughter were the only newcomers he could think of that did. When Mitch questioned his mother about the ragtag assortment of new citizens, she snapped at him that every single person selected would be an asset to the town and she thought she’d raised him to be more open minded than he was currently being.

  As much as he found himself hoping that Bea’s venture was successful enough for her to stay on in the town, the thought of hordes of tourists streaming into Dulili did not fill him with joy. Not that it would be an immediate problem, given the current state of Honey Hill House. The place was only barely habitable, and certainly not fit to take on guests.

  ‘You’ve got a big job ahead of you,’ he said. ‘Fixing this place is going to take a fair bit of work.’

  Bea grinned. ‘I’m up for the challenge. I know the place looks bad, but it has good bones. The structure is solid. I had it thoroughly checked out before I signed the lease.’

  ‘Still, it needs more than a lick of paint before you can entertain the idea of having paying guests.’

  She eyed his empty wine glass and reached over to grab the shiraz from the coffee table. ‘More wine?’

  He hesitated. It was getting late and he had an early start in the morning.

  ‘Go on. There’s probably only half a glass each left in the bottle. We may as well finish it.’

  ‘You’ve twisted my arm.’

  Rosie whimpered slightly as Bea’s movement disturbed her sleep and they both laughed. Bea settled back on the couch. ‘I know you probably think I’m some silly hippy with a pipe dream, but I do know what I’m doing.’

  Mitch cleared his throat uncomfortably. She had his measure. ‘I’m sure you do.’

  She laughed, a deep throaty chuckle. ‘You’re not sure at all. I can see the doubt in your eyes. But that’s okay. I’m happy to prove you wrong.’

  He felt himself colouring. ‘I hope you do.’

  ‘Look Mitch, I’m not stupid. I know there’s a lot of work to do and I don’t have endless funds, but I haven’t gone into this project blindly. To start with I can do a lot of basic things myself. My dad’s a builder and I’ve picked up a trick or two over the years.’

  That explained the proficiency with power tools. ‘That’s great.’

  ‘And for the bigger jobs, I’m hiring professionals. I’ve budgeted to add two guest en suites and modernise the kitchen. My brother’s a plumber so he can do the fit out for me. It’s just the major building work and new appliances I’ll have to shell out for.’

  ‘Well, it does sound like you’ve got it all under control. I wish you well. And if there’s anything I can do …’ What the hell was he saying? He had enough on his plate with the farm, without adding handyman duties to his list of chores. And as nice as Bea was, he didn’t want her relying on him, or getting the wrong idea.

  ‘Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I’m sure between my brother and me we’ll be able to sort out anything not on the builder’s to-do list.’

  ‘You must be close to your brother if he’s prepared to come all the way up here just to help out.’

  She smiled. ‘Yeah, Joe and I are close in age and in some ways we’re almost like twins. We lost our mum when we were young and the two of us banded together to take care of our baby brother, Luca. Luca was just two when Mum passed away.’ Her eyes misted with tears that she quickly blinked away.

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. It must have been very difficult for all of you.’

  Her lips clamped together in a hard line and she nodded. ‘Dad did his best, but Mum was the love of his life. He was lost without her. And Luca was a baby. He had no idea how to look after him. I was thirteen, and I’d helped Mum care for Luca while she was sick, so it was only natural for me to take
over that role. Joe helped out too. He took over things like doing the grocery shopping and paying the bills Mum would usually take care of. I sort of became a pseudo mum to Luca.’

  ‘Wow. That’s a lot of responsibility.’

  She shrugged. ‘I guess. At the time we didn’t think about it, we just did what we had to. It did bring us closer together, though. I would do anything for my brothers and I know they feel the same way about me.’

  Mitch thought about his relationship with Jimmy. He and his younger brother couldn’t be less alike. They got on well enough, but they had so little in common that they often found themselves with little to say to each other. Jimmy had no interest in the farm at all. Much to his parents’ dismay he’d decided to extend his overseas ‘gap year’. Who knew if he would ever return to Warialda? Unlike Mitch, he had no desire to spend the rest of his days in Dulili. Mitch didn’t envy Bea’s circumstances but he couldn’t help but be a tad jealous of the obvious bond she had with her siblings. It must have been incredibly hard for her to make the decision to move so far away. ‘So what made you do it?’ he found himself asking.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What made you pack up and move away from all the people you love?’

  Her face coloured and her gaze dropped to the floor. He’d overstepped the mark.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’

  She smiled, but her eyes had lost their light. ‘It’s okay. I figured people would ask me that question. It’s complicated and really not something I want to bore you with. The short answer is that I wanted a fresh start. My life hasn’t exactly gone to plan recently and I wanted to start over in a new place. I’ve always loved the idea of running a small guesthouse, or a B&B. My hus—I mean, my ex and I used to joke that’s what we’d do in our retirement.’