by Cathryn Hein
‘I’m sorry, Lachie dear, but I was worried.’
‘That’s okay. I thought you might come and check on her anyway. How is she?’
‘Still feverish, poor love. You’ll need to make sure she drinks plenty of water. I’ll make some soup and bring it over tonight, just in case she’s up to eating.’
Lachie swallowed a shard of resentment. Nancy only wanted to mother Brooke, yet for some reason her interference annoyed him. He might be a man, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t care for Brooke properly.
As if she’d read his mind, Nancy let out a little gasp, her furrowed cheeks pinkening as she pressed her fingers to her mouth. ‘Oh, what must you think of me! There I go intruding again.’
‘You’re fine, Nancy,’ said Lachie, softening. ‘I appreciate the help and I’m sure Brooke does too. Anyway, if she’s all right I’ll get back to work.’
Nightfall cast deepening shadows over Kingston Downs by the time he finished all that needed to be done, but the horses were now feeding contentedly in their raked yards, Dorothy was head-down in the enclosure he’d built in RL1, the spelling horses and paddocks had been checked, and he had all the measurements required for the dairy’s cornices and batts. And though he’d winced at the intrusion while collecting them, in his arms he carried clean clothes and toiletries for Brooke.
He found Nancy in the kitchen, flowery apron fixed tightly around her front, reading the local paper. The house felt tropically warm and smelled of whatever was bubbling in the two large pots she’d set on the stove. His stomach gave a grumble as he registered the delicious scent.
‘Something smells good.’
Nancy rose and began to strip off her apron. ‘Chicken and vegetable soup for Brooke when she’s up to it – and I hope you don’t mind, but I made you a nice beef casserole. I know what you boys are like.’ She waggled a finger, expression stern. ‘Never looking after yourselves properly. There’s a loaf of fresh bread and I popped an apple and rhubarb crumble in the oven for later.’
Whatever residual umbrage Lachie felt toward Nancy vanished, melted by the old lady’s sweet motherliness and generosity. He stooped to plant a kiss on her cheek. ‘Can I marry you when I grow up?’ he asked, grinning, before ducking away as she blushed and batted her hand at him in embarrassment. ‘How’s Brooke?’
‘Asleep again. Poor love’s caught a nasty wog. Her fever still hasn’t broken. I’d say she’ll be out of action for a few days. Well,’ Nancy said, tucking her apron over her arm. ‘I think I’ve stuck my nose in enough. Now, if you need anything, you just let me know.’ She hesitated at the door, gazing back at Lachie with concern deepening the lines of her corrugated face. ‘Take care of her, Lachie. I’m so terribly fond of Brooke.’
‘Seems like everyone is.’
‘That’s because she’s a nice girl.’ Suddenly her eyes glittered and a sly smile tilted the corner of her mouth. ‘She’d make a good match for a handsome boy like you.’
‘Goodnight, Nancy,’ said Lachie, shaking his head and holding the screen door open. What was it about the elderly that made them take such glee in matchmaking?
When Nancy had trotted off next door, Lachie went to check on Brooke. He stood in the spare room’s doorway with the bundle of clothes, watching her.
‘I can feel you staring at me,’ she said, not opening her eyes.
‘Sorry. I just wanted to see how you were.’ He took a few steps inside and laid the clothes on the edge of the bed. ‘I brought you some things. Sorry if they’re not right. I kind of just grabbed whatever was on top in the drawers.’
She eased up in bed, wincing at the movement, and frowned at the pile, gaze lingering on the underwear lying beneath her hair-brush and toothbrush. Lachie’s skin heated with embarrassment. He hoped she wouldn’t comment. He felt bad enough as it was for rifling through her belongings.
To his relief she smiled weakly. ‘I suppose that’s a hint I should have a shower.’
‘It’ll probably make you feel better.’
Shivering and manoeuvring painfully, she slid out of bed, gripping his proffered arm for balance. As she straightened, the waistband of her stripy pyjamas flopped to one side, exposing a sliver of pale hip. Any other time he’d think it cute, but she looked so forlorn he could only feel sorry for her.
‘Can you manage?’ he asked when she let go of his arm and shuffled forward, arms wrapped around herself against a chill only she felt. Her lips trembled and she breathed in short jerky pants.
‘I think so.’
‘The bathroom’s to the left. I’ll fetch you a towel.’
She flashed him a filthy look. ‘I think I know where it is, thanks.’
He said nothing as she continued past. No point in making it worse. He wasn’t an insensitive man. He understood that every minute he occupied her home caused Brooke hurt, but he wasn’t going to let her make him feel guilty for taking a job he needed.
At the door she stopped, hand on the jamb, head down. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. You’ve been so nice.’ She made a choked noise, like a wrenched sob.
Lachie stepped forward and placed his arm around her shoulders. ‘Hey, it’s okay.’
‘It’s not!’
‘It is. You’re sick and feeling miserable. You’re allowed to snap.’ He squeezed her shoulders. ‘Now come on, let’s get you to the bathroom.’
While she showered, Lachie changed her sweat-soaked sheets and laid out her night-time flu tablets, mentally running through his chores for the next day as he worked. He’d need to do a load of washing, feed Sod, Poddy and Venus and muck their yards once he’d led them out for the day. Plus he had to check on Dorothy and the other horses, and complete his scheduled weekly walk through the lucerne stands to check the lucerne flea population. Brooke had said so far it had been kept under control but numbers could rise quickly, and left untouched the pest could have a significant impact on yields. The property’s two young stands in particular required close monitoring. Only when those jobs were complete could he head in to Pitcorthie to pick up what he needed for the dairy. Finishing both the batts and the cornicing in a day may have been a bit optimistic, but the sooner he finished, the sooner Brooke could settle back where she belonged.
His mind skipped to the cute image of her in her pyjamas. He remembered the way his arm felt around her slim shoulders, how protective she’d made him feel. Irritated with himself, he let out a harsh sigh. He’d felt the same way about Tamsyn once, and she’d broken his heart so badly that nearly twelve months on it still hurt.
And if there was one thing he knew, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let the sister of his new employers do the same.
Two days later, when Lachie wandered into the cottage at the end of a wearying day, he found Brooke on the couch, curled with her feet tucked up in the corner of the lounge, watching the news. While she was still obviously sick, he was relieved to see her fever had broken. Her skin had lost its greasy sheen and the colour in her cheeks was now a healthy pink instead of a burning red. The house was cosy with warmth and the smell of Nancy’s made-for-spoiling-men home cooking. Seeing Brooke up and on the mend added to the odd feeling of contentment Lachie had been experiencing since her arrival. With Nancy bustling in and out, cheery smiles and wonderful cooking smells wafting in her wake, and the strange comfort of another – albeit ill – person’s presence, the cottage had the air of a real home instead of a shelter where he ate, bathed and slept.
He returned her welcoming smile. ‘You look much better.’
‘I feel a lot better, thanks, except for this cough. How are the horses?’
‘Fine, but I think Poddy misses you. He keeps staring at the house like he’s waiting for something. Venus is her usual self and Sod has been good. He only tried to bite me once today.’
In fact, the horse had been more than good. Much to Lachie’s gratification, that afternoon he’d managed to coax Sod a few steps up the float ramp. With a bit more time and patience, he felt confident Sod would make it
all the way on. The horse seemed to respond to his voice, size and no-nonsense attitude, trusting him when Lachie encouraged him onward.
‘Probably enjoying his holiday. Everything else okay?’
‘Don’t worry, the place hasn’t fallen apart.’
‘I didn’t mean to imply —’
He held up his hand. ‘I know you didn’t.’ He indicated the kitchen. ‘So are those smells yours or Nancy’s doing?’
‘Sorry, not mine. I can cook pretty well but not like Nancy.’ She paused and shifted a little. ‘You’ve made quite an impression with her.’
‘I’m good at charming little old ladies.’
‘According to her, you’ve charmed all the locals.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that. Anyway, if you’re right for a moment, I’m off to shower.’
When they were both clean and fed – Brooke with a small portion of Nancy’s Lancashire hotpot and Lachie with hotpot and a large bowlful of one of the best bread and butter puddings he’d ever eaten – they settled back in the lounge. The television murmured softly in the background. Lachie balanced his laptop on his knees and studied the news and commodity and stock prices before moving on to the long-range weather forecast and the rainfall statistics for Pitcorthie and the Jemalong Irrigation District. Though his eyes were on the screen, half his mind remained tuned to Brooke.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked when she readjusted her blanket for the third time, suppressing a cough that sounded like it’d been drawn from somewhere around her feet.
‘Just a bit chesty.’ She moved her chin, indicating the laptop. ‘What are you looking up?’
‘The news. Weather. Boring stuff.’
‘Not wasting time on Facebook?’
‘Not my thing.’ He glanced at her. ‘Is it yours? I can post something to your wall about you being sick if you want.’
‘No, thanks. Nan might see, then she’d tell Mum or Mark and I’d never hear the end of it. Plus I fibbed a bit and texted to Chloe and Andrew that I just had a cold instead of the flu. I’ve been enough trouble as it is without them adding to the fuss.’
Lachie remained quiet, thinking about his call to Angus on Sunday. He’d made no mention of it but she’d find out eventually. Better to come from him. ‘Just so you know, on Sunday, when I went to the chemist, I called your brother.’
Panic flitted across her face. She sat up, fingers curling into her blanket, deep cough heaving her chest, making it hard for her to get the words out. ‘You called Mark?’
‘No.’ He set the laptop aside and leaned toward her. ‘Not Mark. Angus.’
‘Oh.’ Relief sent her back against the pillow. ‘What did he say?’
‘That he was worried.’
‘I suppose now he knows the dairy’s like a fridge he thinks I should come to Sydney.’
‘No. Once I told him I could sort it out he seemed okay with you staying.’
‘You’re going to fix the dairy?’
‘Not going to. Done. I finished the ceiling off and laid insulation, so now it should stay warm for you. I fixed the loo cistern while I was there too. And that loose cupboard.’
She appraised him for a while, before smiling wryly and shaking her head. ‘You’ve been here, what? Two weeks? And already you’ve charmed the entire district, almost single-handedly won the most important rugby game of the season, played nurse to an appallingly ungracious patient, looked after the farm and my horses, and now you’re telling me you’ve fixed the dairy, including the leaky loo. Is there anything you can’t do?’
‘Plenty. I can’t sing, for starters.’ And nor could he make his father see sense or make Tamsyn love him the way he’d loved her, but they were other stories.
‘Makes two of us. Andrew says I sound like a strangled cat.’ She coughed again and slapped at her chest. ‘Right now I feel like one.’
They lapsed into quiet. In the background the fire crackled. A phone company’s jingle emanated from the television before giving way to a car ad.
Lachie cleared his throat. ‘You and Andrew …’
‘Friends.’
‘But he’d like to be more than friends?’
She frowned. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason.’
She waited for him to elaborate but Lachie already felt he’d said too much. He reached for the laptop again. He hadn’t sent Nick an email for a while and they needed to sort out what they were doing for their mother’s birthday, plus he had a few other mates he wanted to catch up with. He opened a blank email and began his laborious two-fingered typing, making even more mistakes than usual, aware of Brooke’s contemplative gaze lingering on his face.
‘So what do you think of Chloe?’
He swallowed. How to answer? Chloe was sexy, stunning and vivacious, but he doubted Brooke wanted to hear that, particularly now when she wasn’t feeling her best. Navigating women’s egos was a minefield and he didn’t want to hurt Brooke, even accidentally.
He tapped out a few more letters, feigning nonchalance. ‘She seems very nice.’
‘She’s very beautiful.’
‘But so are you.’ His fingers stopped. He stared hard at the screen, wishing he could dissolve into ones and zeros and whoosh off into the ether. What the hell possessed him to say that? Maybe he’d caught her fever. He closed the laptop lid. ‘I, ahh, might go to bed. You probably should too.’
She didn’t move. She simply stared at him with a strange unfocused look on her face he couldn’t interpret. A sort of dumbfounded, uncomprehending expression, as if she thought he’d lost his marbles. Given what just came out of his mouth, it was highly likely he had.
‘Brooke?’
She blinked and settled her eyes on him. ‘Yes. Bed. Good idea.’
As she brushed her teeth, he filled her glass of water and checked to see she still had enough night-time drugs and warm blankets. Satisfied, he stood at the door, hand on the light switch, waiting for her to snuggle down, desperate for escape and the solitude of his own room where he could brood over his big mouth in private.
‘All settled?’
She nodded, her small frame dwarfed by the timber bed, and for a brief but intense moment their gazes locked.
‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘For everything.’
Later, as he lay on his own bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, he puzzled over how, once again, she’d made a simple statement resonate. How so much of what she did roused something inside him, and made him feel tender and almost possessive towards her. How this whole place seduced him with its sense of home, of all the things he’d once hoped to find at Delamere.
And it left him worrying that he was being tempted along a path down which even his dreams had never wandered.
Ten
Brooke woke on Thursday morning at first relieved to find the last of the aches and fever gone, only to discover a few seconds later they’d been replaced with a cough so deep each convulsion felt like fish hooks jerking inside her lungs.
The humiliation seemed endless. She hung over the side of the bed, hacking and moaning, aware Lachlan would be in to check on her any second, but unable to stop. Cough or no cough, she had plans for today. Plans that required his cooperation, and she wouldn’t earn it by sounding like an emphysemic hag.
Bare footsteps padded across the polished floorboards. ‘Here,’ said Lachlan, handing her a glass of water.
She clutched it in her shaky grip and drank between half coughs and ragged, heaved breaths. The fit over, she sank back onto the mattress with her palm on her aching chest. Lachlan stood at the edge of the bed in a pair of faded jeans, the zip done up but the top button still loose, and a dark blue twill shirt hanging open over his chest. A fine line of inky hair ran up from his waistband and curled around his neat belly button before trailing toward his chest. The pale bronze skin of his torso stretched smooth over taut, well-developed muscles of the type seen more often in elite-sports change rooms than farm cottages.
&nb
sp; Brooke blinked, wondering if this was a cough-induced hallucination. Two-metre-tall rugby-playing rural types didn’t stand by her bed looking sleep-ruffled and concerned and unbelievably sexy every day. Yet there Lachlan stood, evaporating every drop of water from her mouth and turning her insides fluttery and hot.
Catching her intense appraisal he stepped back, fingers reaching for his jeans button. She glanced away, embarrassed by her blatant ogling and flustered by her body’s reaction to him.
‘Sorry, Lachlan. I didn’t mean to wake you.’
He shrugged. ‘I planned an early start anyway. Weather forecast’s perfect so I’m going to spray the Aurora stand while I have the chance.’
She closed her eyes and nodded. She’d noticed last week that particular lucerne stand needed a clean-up, but Lachlan’s words only reminded her that a short time ago the control of winter grasses and broadleaf weeds was her task. She released a long breath. Now was not the time for tears. Hauling back the blanket, she swung her legs from the bed, determined to get the day, and her plans, underway.
‘Would you like some breakfast?’ Lachlan had backed up to the doorway, filling it with his impressive V-shaped build, jeans fastened and hugging his hips, his shirt buttoned and tucked in. ‘There’s Vita Brits, or I can do you some toast.’
‘Toast and a cup of tea would be great, thanks.’
He left her hunting for clothes, but the clean pile folded neatly on the dresser comprised only nightwear, socks and a windcheater. She tugged on the socks and jumper over her pyjamas. They’d do until she made it back to the dairy. Her canary-yellow pyjama bottoms might make Sod’s eyes boggle, but no one else on Kingston Downs, least of all her, could care less how daggy she appeared.