The Country Girl

by Cathryn Hein

  ‘It’s just a bit of bruising.’

  ‘Let me see.’ She reached to tug at his jumper but Patrick took a hasty step sideways. Tash crossed her arms. ‘Show me.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not getting dessert until you do.’

  ‘It’s just a whack.’

  ‘Stop trying to be a hero and show me.’

  With a sigh he lifted his jumper.

  Tash’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh shit.’

  He let the jumper drop. The bruising wasn’t attractive—angry red and covering more than a hand span on his right side, and far, far worse than the boot scrape Clip had left. ‘It’s all right. The doc checked it out. Bruised ribs, that’s all. Be sore for a while.’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Fourth quarter. Late tackle.’

  ‘I saw that. It looked horrible.’ Her brows were furrowed and she kept making restless movements like she wanted to touch him again. ‘Shouldn’t you be soaking in a salt or ice bath or something?’

  ‘Probably, but I’d much rather eat your dessert.’

  ‘Is that a hint?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Demanding. Fortunately for you, here at The Urban Ranger we live to feed brave footballers.’

  Patrick didn’t feel brave. More like a fool for almost spoiling things with his sulk over Thom. He wished she hadn’t hugged him so hard though. The painkillers he’d taken earlier were losing their edge and his ribs were throbbing. He was flagging too. Good food, beer, wine and the warmth of the flat had made him feel drowsy. He hid a yawn behind his hand, hoping Tash was too busy in the fridge to notice.

  ‘Honey panna cottas,’ she said, opening the cutlery drawer and taking out a couple of spoons. She returned to her stool and passed Patrick his dessert. She regarded hers for a moment. ‘I feel like I should have made something more comforting. A fruit crumble or something.’

  Patrick ate a spoonful. The mix was creamy, not too sweet, and luscious. ‘Too heavy. Crumble would’ve put me to sleep.’ He pointed his spoon at the panna cotta. ‘This is perfect.’

  Her face turned to sunshine. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘When are you leaving?’ he asked when they’d eaten a few more mouthfuls.

  ‘I’m not sure. Depends how much I get done here tomorrow. Monday morning maybe. My first meeting isn’t until three that afternoon. Plenty of time to drive over, dump my stuff at Thom’s, grab something to eat and go over the questions I want covered.’

  ‘How long will you be away?’

  ‘I’ll be home Thursday. In time to have dinner ready for you.’ She wiggled her eyebrows at him. ‘Be prepared. I am going to wow you so bad.’

  ‘You already do.’

  Tash’s spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. A pretty pink blush bloomed across her cheeks as shy pleasure lit her face. Slowly she lowered her spoon and stared at him. ‘Thank you. That was a really nice thing to say.’

  He shrugged, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. ‘It’s the truth.’

  Still staring, she scraped her top teeth over her bottom lip.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Just thinking.’

  Thinking women were always a worry. He’d learned that from his mum and Maddy. Thinking could mean good or bad, and occasionally ball-breaking. He checked Tash’s expression and decided to take a chance. ‘About what?’

  She leaned on her elbow and rested her chin on the edge of her hand, then plunged her spoon back into her dessert and swirled it around, making a mess of the untouched panna cotta. ‘Just what you said the other day, about waiting.’

  It was Patrick’s turn to hide his face and toy with his food. ‘What about it?’

  ‘You asked if I’d wait with you.’ She swirled some more. ‘That’s a bit different to waiting for someone.’

  Patrick blinked. He supposed it was.

  ‘I was wondering which one you meant.’

  Good question. Trouble was, Patrick wasn’t sure what the answer was. All he wanted at the time was to know she’d be around for him to hold when he needed anchoring. ‘Tash …’

  Her spoon clattered against the edge of her dish. ‘Silly question. Don’t worry about it.’ She stood quickly and carried her unfinished dessert to the sink where she scraped the contents into the scraps.

  Patrick quietly placed his own spoon down and stared at it for a moment. Then he shoved back his stool and followed her. He touched her arm. ‘Look at me?’

  She did, smiling brightly, trying to cover up whatever was wrong.

  He cupped his hand over the bare point of her shoulder and traced caresses with his thumb. Her skin was warm and smooth. ‘I don’t know what I meant. All I know is that you’re the best thing in my life right now and I don’t want to lose that.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  His thumb traced more trails. As the circles continued, her eyes began to hood and her breathing shortened. Colour stained the base of her throat. His gaze darted to the hollows and curves of her neck, and up to her parted mouth. Christ, he wanted to kiss her, and more. Patrick let go and jammed his fists into his jeans pockets to hide what was going on down there.

  ‘I should probably go,’ he said, not meaning it but aware he was in no fit state to start anything, and from the way Tash was looking at him, bedroom-eyed and hopeful, he was pretty damn sure she wanted to. Most of him wanted to too, the rest was too bruised and tired. Patrick was buggered if he’d ruin their first time by wincing and sucking in breaths every time he moved or Tash touched him.

  Twisting her hands together, she glanced towards the bedroom, her voice a whisper. ‘You could stay.’

  He smiled crookedly, incredulous that he was about to refuse her offer. ‘Believe me, I want to but I’m not much good to anyone right now, least of all you.’ He looked at the floor and up at her. ‘I want to be good to you, Tash. More than good.’

  ‘I want to be good to you too.’

  ‘Another time then?’

  She bit her lip but was smiling behind it. ‘Another time.’ Her smile broke into a grin. ‘Thursday night okay with you?’

  Patrick laughed and wished he hadn’t as his ribs protested. He covered the spot and blew out a breath. The drugs had definitely worn off. It might make him the world’s biggest idiot but leaving was the smart call.

  Tash walked him to the door. Side by side, they stared at the glass, neither making a move to slide it open.

  ‘I want to kiss you,’ he said, reaching to tangle his fingers with hers.

  ‘Well?’

  He turned to face her. ‘If I start I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop and I’m having enough trouble convincing myself to leave as it is.’

  She reached up to cup his jaw, gaze teasing. ‘Maybe a little one, to say thanks for an amazing dinner? It’s rude not to thank your host, you know.’

  ‘You’re right, it is rude. What would my mum say?’

  ‘She’d tell you to hurry up and kiss me.’

  She probably would too. She’d probably kick his arse for being so hesitant about it as well. Patrick slid his palms to the silky skin of Tash’s neck and glided them slowly up until he was cupping her jaw. His gaze lingered on her eyes before dropping to her mouth. He traced his thumbs over her lips and she moved to delicately suck at the tip of one. Patrick groaned as his cock reacted.

  ‘Shit,’ he said, and brought his mouth to hers.

  Tash kissed the same way she cooked, generously and with passion. His heart exploded at the softness of her lips, at the welcome of them. She tasted of cream and honey, of sweetness and hope and beautiful things.

  And want. A whole lot of want.

  Christ, he wanted to stay.

  Tash made a little moan of protest as Patrick forced his mouth from hers and pressed his forehead against hers. He held it there, catching his breath and enjoying the feel of her rapid, excited breaths on his skin. His chest was ballooned with triumph, like he’d just won a grand final. And this after a kiss that had lasted only a few seconds. What wou
ld he be like once he got her into bed?

  ‘Do me a favour,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come back safe.’

  She covered his hand with her own. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  He stayed looking at her for a while longer, drowning in her smile and his own elation, then glanced at the door and sighed. ‘If I don’t walk out now I never will.’

  Tash tugged the handle. Cold blasted inside, shocking them both. She laughed. ‘I think I needed that.’

  ‘Me too.’ Unable to stop himself, he kissed her quickly, groaning when she immediately yielded. ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘Okay.’ She stepped back. ‘But you have to promise me something too.’

  ‘Sure.’ Patrick would promise the universe if it meant he could take her to bed.

  ‘Heal fast.’

  He was still grinning when he drove through Castlereagh’s gates. Only when he passed Springbank and saw the property cloaked in darkness, and guilt penetrated the cuddle Tash had wrapped around his heart, did it fail. He drove on, fists clenched around the wheel.

  But his smile was left behind.

  Chapter 33

  Thom peered at Tash’s face. ‘Are you getting laid?’

  If it weren’t for the hairpins sticking from her mouth, Tash would have poked her tongue out at him. Instead she gave an enigmatic smile—which was probably more like a horror-movie leer given the pins—and continued moulding her hair into a bun.

  Thom folded his arms and tapped a foot while he waited for her to finish. Tash took her time just to torture him. That he should notice her excitement was no surprise. Tash had been fizzing worse than a shaken can of cola since Patrick’s kiss the previous night.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Tash when Thom’s tapping had accelerated to machine-gun-fire rapidity. She performed a twirl and finished with a self-congratulatory wiggle. ‘But I will be.’

  ‘Patrick,’ said Thom.

  ‘Patrick,’ replied Tash.

  Thom collapsed onto his sofa. ‘I want to be jealous but you look too happy.’

  She sank down next to him and gave him a squeeze. ‘And you have Ceci.’

  ‘I wish.’

  She squeezed him harder and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘It’ll happen, you’ll see. She’s probably just wary after what happened with Brandon. She got a fright. A bad one. She’s not going to be looking for another relationship for a while.’

  He sighed. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Anyway, how can she resist? You’re looking pretty sexy these days.’ Tash ruffled his new short, neat haircut.

  Thom rubbed his jaw. Like his old shaggy hairstyle, the manscaped beard was gone, replaced with clean-shaven slickness. He was dressing differently too. Less urban mod and more casual country, and not a pair of braces in sight. Tash wondered if it was Ceci’s influence or Thom copying Patrick. Knowing Thom, it could simply be the latest trend.

  ‘You should do something for her,’ said Tash. ‘Buy her flowers or something. Be romantic.’

  ‘Is that what Patrick did with you?’

  ‘Not quite. Patrick made himself a hero on the footy field, danced with me in the dark, got jealous of you,’ she nudged Thom, ‘and told me I was the best thing in his life.’ She sighed happily. ‘Then he kissed me until my toes curled. I have never been kissed like that before.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Thom drily.

  ‘Oh, stop it. You were lovely.’ Tash’s voice turned dreamy again. She couldn’t help it. Her feet and head had been permanently in the clouds since the night before. She’d been so excited about Thursday she’d rushed off to Melbourne a day early so she could return Wednesday night and spend all Thursday cooking seduction food. And spend Monday morning at a day spa, getting beautified. She released another long sigh. ‘There’s something really special about kissing someone you’re falling in love with.’

  Thom twisted to face her. ‘You’re in love with him? When did that happen?’

  ‘I don’t know. It just kind of happened without me noticing.’ She put her hand to her chest. ‘One day it was just there.’

  ‘So Ceci was right. You won’t be coming back.’

  Tash opened her mouth, closed it, and frowned. ‘I hadn’t got that far.’

  ‘Better start thinking about it. ’Cos he’s not going to move to Melbourne.’

  Tash did think about it. All through her Monday-morning pamper session and after her first meeting with a branding consultant that afternoon. The spread of products she could attach to the Urban Ranger brand was enormous, everything from chopping boards to aprons to tea towels to utensils. Some, however, would require more time and cash investment than others, and the pipe-dream items, like her own cookware range, would require partnerships. Her audience had grown dramatically since her move to Castlereagh, but Tash wanted more data before she made any commitments.

  ‘You’re going to send me an invoice for this,’ she said to Thom that evening. They were huddled around his dining table in front of their laptops, notebooks alongside. Thom was deep into Tash’s website and social media analytics, digging out the information she’d requested. Tash waggled her pencil at him again. ‘I mean it.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Did you know you have a couple of thousand fans in Albania?’

  ‘I have fans everywhere. That doesn’t mean they’ll buy anything off me.’

  ‘Good for advertising.’

  ‘I can’t keep relying solely on that.’ Tash tapped the pencil against her chin. ‘Not long-term. It leaves me too much at the mercy of the tech companies.’

  ‘Everyone’s at the mercy of the tech companies, Tash.’

  She sighed and looked glumly at her screen. Analytics drove Tash crazy, too boring and mathematical. She was much better at creating things than analysing them, but understanding her fan base—where they came from, what they liked—was vital for the long-term prosperity of her business.

  She skipped over to her social media accounts to see how her morning ‘pamper’ posts were faring. Tash had conned her beautician into taking a snap of her in a candlelit room with a towel wrapped around her, lying on her belly with her chin on her folded hands and her legs curled up, grinning at the camera. Later, Tash had snapped a wonderfully unflattering selfie with her face covered in a clay mask and her hair in an equally ugly hairnet. She’d followed that up with another selfie, made-up and businesslike in a figure-hugging blue skirt and hot pink blouse, ready for her appointment.

  The comments ranged from the praiseworthy and ‘You go, girl!’ to the ‘Why aren’t you cooking?’ to the downright dirty, along with the usual misogynistic trolling that Tash deleted without hesitation. She searched hungrily for one from Patrick but all that appeared was a ‘like’.

  Perhaps he was grumpy that she’d left early for Thom’s without saying anything, but one toe-curling, lust-exploding kiss didn’t make a relationship, no matter how much she craved it. And Tash wasn’t that naive to think that the change in their friendship had nothing to do with Maddy. This had everything to do with her. Patrick had said as much himself with his admission of confusion over his feelings of relief, and whether it was wrong. Plus people coming out of relationships tended to be vulnerable to kindnesses, and Tash had done her best to be caring and compassionate. Then there was the likelihood that he hadn’t had sex since Maddy’s accident. That’d make any normal male go a bit crazy and latch onto the nearest warm body.

  Tash desperately wanted to believe she was more than that but she’d been wrong before. About a lot of things.

  She checked her messages and smiled when she spotted one from Farmer Fred, then laughed when she read his comment about her face mask and there being plenty of free mud on his farm. She wrote a quick note back and returned to sorting through her other messages. Two minutes later an instant messaging request popped up.

  She thought about rejecting it, but she needed the break. She and Thom had been at their computers since returning from dinner at a local Greek restaurant.
r />   ‘Hi Fred. How are your cows?’

  ‘Happy. They get to eat, burp and fart all day, who wouldn’t be happy?’

  ‘You’re such a man.’

  ‘I hope so. Having fun in the big smoke? You looked amazing today. Happy.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m feeling pretty happy.’

  ‘Because you’re back in Melbourne?’

  ‘Yes, but mostly because I have LOTS of exciting things happening.’

  ‘Exciting things? Tell Fred …’

  ‘Just business things. And a date.’

  ‘A date? With who? He’d better be a decent bloke or I’ll sic my cows onto him.’

  Tash grinned. ‘He is.’

  ‘I bet he’s crazy about you.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I know so.’

  Thom pushed his laptop around so she could see the screen. ‘See this?’

  Tash held up a finger. ‘One sec.’

  ‘How?’ she typed.

  ‘Because I would be if I were him.’

  She started to reply but Thom raised his eyebrows. ‘Sorry,’ she said and leaned over to read his screen. She sat back, nose scrunched up. ‘It’s just charts and numbers to me.’

  ‘Tash,’ he said with weary patience, ‘your growth since moving has been exponential.’

  ‘Surely not. I mean, I know it’s been pretty good but …’ She peered at the screen again, trying to make sense of it.

  ‘You need to look deeper. Your blog stats are through the roof but what’s important is that when people get to your website they stay. For a long time. They search for recipes, watch videos, read about the farm, about you. This is gold, Tash. There are companies that would kill for that kind of stickiness.’

  ‘So what does that mean in terms of adding a shop?’

  ‘It means, my soon-to-be bazillionaire friend, you’ll do all right.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Tash, sitting back and blinking. ‘Wow.’ She looked at Thom and grinned, then made shooing motions. ‘Well, what are you waiting for, webmaster? Hurry up and build my shop!’

  They settled into a discussion about what she’d need, the size of her product range, where it would ship from, and a dozen other things she had mulled over but hadn’t yet gone into detail about. By the time she remembered she was mid-conversation with Fred and turned back, he appeared to have gone.