Tumble Creek

by Louise Forster

  The sound of Jennifer singing Pink’s song ‘Raise Your Glass’ preceded her as she trundled up the stairs, her footsteps taking her along the hall to their room. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked entering the ensuite.

  Sofie filled her in, finishing with Britt’s house and Brock’s order, which, she added, was the safest idea, except Claudia didn’t want to go. And she sure as hell wasn’t leaving her behind.

  ‘Ooh,’ Jennifer shivered. ‘Go stay with Brock. We’ll look after Claud.’

  ‘What am I, some sort of baby? I can look after myself,’ Claudia announced, looking less like a capable teenager and more like a cute panda in need of rescuing.

  ‘Of course you can.’ Jennifer ignored the state of Claudia’s face, swung an arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. ‘But everyone likes a little company, especially at night. Calum will be gone a couple of days, he’s looking at buying another bull. Fresh blood he said. Poor Killer George, hope he won’t be put out.’

  ‘Right, that’s it then. I’m staying here to look after Aunty Jen, and Mum’s going to sleep with—’

  ‘Sleep with Brock?!’ Sofie screeched. ‘Hardly, the man runs hot and cold. And besides, he’s not my type!’ Which was an absolute lie.

  Jennifer laughed so hard her bum hit the bed, and then she promptly flopped back on the mattress, hands on her belly. After catching her breath, she hauled herself up, swung her arms around Sofie and Claudia and pulled them both in for a tight hug. Stepping back she eyed her niece and said, ‘There’s no need to hide behind the Goth make-up, Claud. Your house got demolished, not your life.’

  ‘Ooh, ouch!’ Sofie exclaimed. ‘That’s a bit harsh.’

  ‘Claud knows I love her and wouldn’t say something like that unless she needed to hear it.’ She turned to Claudia. ‘Understand? You’re beautiful, you’re nearly sixteen, and your Aunty Jen would love to see you shine.’ Jennifer ran her fingers down Claudia’s cheek. ‘We’ve got a huge weekend coming up with Christmas in July celebrations. I’ve called on Fiona and Ryan to help as well.’

  ‘But we have school holidays starting on the twelfth,’ Claudia muttered. ‘We’ll have heaps of homework as usual.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve planned it for the weekend before. After that, then you’re off my list, you and Michelle are free to have fun. And I promise, I’m recruiting staff, you’ll both be off the hook.’

  ‘Wait a sec, Aunt Jen. We love working here and the pay is excellent. We’re saving to buy a car. Mum said she’d get me one, but I want to do it with my own money … mostly.’

  ‘Aw, sweetheart, that’s lovely. Okay, but schoolwork takes priority, so as soon as working here becomes an issue, you have to tell me.’

  ‘I promise we will.’

  ‘Okay. And I’m not bullshitting you when I say you’re an amazing barista and our customers love both of you. You’re genuine, and friendly, and that makes a huge difference.’ She cupped Claudia’s jaw and squeezed her cheeks. ‘So don’t hide your beautiful face. Let everyone see your smile.’

  ‘Barista, why me, I’m just a kid!’ Claudia complained.

  ‘Funny how teenagers twist things around.’ Jennifer slid an arm around Sofie and walked her out of their room, leaving Claudia to clean her face. Loud enough for her niece to hear, she said, ‘One minute they can look after themselves and the next, when they think stuff is a little daunting, they’re suddenly “just a kid”.’

  Once in the kitchen, Jennifer became quietly serious. ‘Sis, do you really think I was too harsh?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jen. It was a shock to see Claud hiding behind her make-up again. She has to know it’s not who she is. And you’re right, she can’t wear that stuff in the restaurant. What she needs is a big boost of confidence. It has to come from outside the family, otherwise she’ll just keep thinking we’re her Mum and Aunt and we’re supposed to say that sort of stuff.’ She kissed Jennifer on the cheek. ‘It’ll happen, I know it.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, you can feel it in your bones.’ Jennifer giggled, then gave her a look that said she wasn’t finished with her yet. ‘You should let Brock feel your bones.’ Sofie opened her mouth to protest. Jennifer put her hands up and, shaking her head, said, ‘Uh-uh. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him would melt the Arctic. You’d have to be melting him too.’

  ‘I’ll admit, Brock has shown signs, but just when I think things are moving forward, he backs away.’ Sofie let go a frustrated sigh. ‘I don’t quit on something that easily. I’ll find out one way or another.’ Having said that, she realised tenacity had a double-edged sword: her own doggedness made it impossible to get rid of past crap that needed to be excised. But at least she was working on it. That had to count for something.

  ***

  Sofie followed Brock’s Ranger to his place, parking on the street so she could leave early in the morning without disturbing him. But Brock called out and was making hand signals for her to pull into the driveway behind him.

  It was his house, Sofie was his guest, and even though she couldn’t shake the feeling she was intruding on his life, she did as he asked. He strode over, opened her car door and the rear door too, grabbed her bag from the back seat and headed along the path to his porch.

  ‘Wait a minute, Brock!’

  He swung around. ‘Yep?’

  ‘I don’t feel comfortable parking here. After the weekend I’ve got four days off starting tomorrow, but three days a week I leave early in the morning and I don’t want to disturb you any more than I have to.’

  ‘It’s all right, I’m an early riser.’

  ‘Five-thirty?’

  He was giving her the sexiest over-the-shoulder half-grin that slowly curled up one side of his mouth.

  Her stomach dipped, which made her feel lightheaded. How was she going to survive staying with him, in his house? Which was more like a cottage, and surely not big enough for the two of them, without bumping into each other, half naked, as they went to the bathroom or the kitchen for a drink in the middle of the night.

  Oh crap, she had to stop thinking like that.

  Key in hand, he turned back, shaking his head a little, and mumbling something about ‘gotta make changes’.

  Damn it, she wished he’d stop doing that. ‘Speak up, Brock!’

  He waved, urging her to follow. ‘Five-thirty’s a great time for …’ His voice was drowned out by Sarge voicing his appreciation that Brock was home with a deep woof, putting a stop to their brief chat. Brock called out to quieten his new dog and shoved his key in the lock.

  Brock’s house was a neat, old weatherboard cottage, and strangely ill-fitting for a man his size.

  The entry hall was dim, narrow and long, carpeted in shades of beige and brown flowers dating back to the nineteen-fifties. This retro-fright went further with a hall light that resembled a beige speckled upside-down box jellyfish, minus its tentacles. Family photos hung at intervals along the wall and doors led off on either side to various rooms. Sofie stopped to gaze at a photo of Brock in full SAS camouflage gear and holding a large assault rifle. His low-sitting helmet, his wraparound sunglasses and a scarf to keep out the sand and dust hid nearly all of his face. He had all manner of gizmos hanging off his vest and belt, it was a wonder he could move. Seeing him like this, she’d bet anything he could walk through brick walls and come out the other side unscathed.

  He looked fierce, strong, loyal, and incredibly hot!

  Brock waited a couple of metres down the hallway, his body at an angle, half facing into a doorway, half facing Sofie. ‘Afghanistan,’ he whispered matter-of-factly, but his quiet uneasiness roared a telling tale.

  Sofie caught his expressive dark eyes, time stood still, and something passed between them, understanding, acknowledgement—and dreadful loss? She wasn’t sure, but, it was powerful. So powerful, it moved her to the depths of her soul. It took effort, but she held the tears at bay. What had he seen? What had he been through? She gave him a brief
nod, the moment was broken, and she moved towards him, a little unsteadily.

  Brock ushered her into a neat bedroom and, instantly, Sofie was startled by its nineteen-fifties, baby blue, frilly, satiny, feminine décor. Sweet Uncle Bob immediately came to mind, and she smiled.

  ‘In case you’re wondering, I grew up here.’

  ‘Oh, that helps,’ she said, shaking her head.

  He chuckled. ‘I know where your mind’s going, and you can forget it.’

  Hands to her cheeks, Sofie scanned the room and whispered, ‘Okay then, no disrespect, Brock, you have my deepest sympathies.’

  Startled by his bark of laughter, she swung around to look at him. And was so glad she did. In the time she’d known Brock, he’d never laughed like this. His stuffy stiffness and concerns disappeared. His face was alight, carefree, and beautiful to see; Sofie wouldn’t have missed it for anything.

  Hands shoved in his pockets, his laugh slowly quietened, easing into a deep, body-shaking chortle. He took a breath and sighed. ‘That felt good! Can’t remember when I last laughed like that. And you did it, Sofe, so easily.’

  She grinned up at him. ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘I should explain about …’ He indicated the room with a sideways nod.

  ‘Yeah that might be a good idea. I’m no décor snob, but this is historical?’

  ‘Historical doesn’t do history justice, but anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘My parents live in aged care now. I suggested to Dad that I move in, help out for a while. I didn’t change anything, so when they come to visit …’ He stopped, probably because her mouth was open. ‘Relax, they only come on weekends and they never stay overnight,’ he quickly added reassuringly, then finished, ‘Mum has early-onset dementia and when she comes home, she feels like she’s been out shopping or something. Not sure what’s going on in her head, only know she’s here, she’s happy. Her home is familiar, she’s not afraid to be here. It’s no hardship.’

  ‘Oh Brock,’ Sofie whispered past a lump in her throat. ‘I feel like such a bitch.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I criticised your Mum’s décor.’

  ‘I do too, often.’ He chuckled.

  She placed a hand on his arm, and amazing sensations filled her, how gentle this man was, how hard his muscles were. And when his eyes trailed down to her hand touching him, they softened and slowly came up to meet hers. Sofie’s excited body hummed with heat, she’d never experienced anything like this, ever. And it got better: a sweet tingle curled below her navel, and oh God that was so nice. He edged closer and she was so sure he was moving in for a kiss.

  His eyes changed, and she read in them concern, tenderness, compassion and hope. But yet again the moment passed too quickly; he sobered, stepped back and quietly said, ‘I’ll show you the bathroom, and then I’ll see to Sarge.’

  Damn! What kept stopping him?

  The bathroom had been renovated in a style that screamed ‘bloke’. Smoky grey tiles, a shower cubicle with enough gadgetry to send you into outer space, angular chrome fittings and white basin. Stark, clinical and very serviceable.

  ‘Your mum doesn’t mind these changes?’

  ‘Mum’s walked in a couple of times, it stopped her in her tracks. I was sorry about that, but the original bathroom leaked, the floor was rotting away. I was thinking of locking it, but Mum ignores this door now.’ He walked out into the hall and opened the next door. ‘The toilet’s original. When I started bringing friends home, Dad put the small handbasin in here. No more blokes wandering around the house looking for a place to wash their hands when the bathroom’s occupied.’

  Sofie scanned the tiny room. Faded wallpaper of pretty bouquets held together with pale blue ribbon lined the walls. The toilet and handbasin were also pale blue.

  ‘It all works, but as you can see, Mum loves blue.’

  ‘Refitting the bathroom would’ve been quite cathartic for you then.’

  Brock’s deep throaty chuckle made her toes curl. His beautiful smile, which crinkled his eyes, made her heart sing.

  Sofie stepped back so he could close the door.

  ‘I use Mum and Dad’s bedroom, through here.’ He opened the door wide so she could see.

  ‘Oh my, it’s very blue.’ Giggling, Sofie blinked a few times. ‘That has to be the biggest bed I’ve ever seen, you could almost …’

  ‘Have a party?’ As if he’d said the wrong thing, Brock cleared his throat and shifted, placing his feet apart, then he crossed his arms and shoved his hands under his armpits. ‘Mum and Dad had a double, I couldn’t fit in it diagonally, had to do something, so I bought a Californian King bed. Mum was a bit confused, but she shrugged it off, sits on the edge for a little while, stroking her shiny bedspread, just looking around and smiling happily. Everything else is as she left it. Dad and I kept some of her clothes in the wardrobe and dressing table. We swap them around on wash day.’

  ‘That is just so lovely.’ Sofie wiped at tears welling, ready to spill down her cheeks, and sniffed. ‘Beautiful. It’s faint, but I can smell your Mum’s perfume.’

  ‘Sofe?’ Though he spoke softly, Brock’s baritone voice jolted her out of the warm, emotional state she was beginning to wallow in.

  She pulled herself together. ‘Sorry … um, I’ve never met a family who would go to such lengths to keep their mum so calm and happy.’ Her mouth began to tremble and she quickly ducked her head so he wouldn’t see. The side of Brock’s big index finger pressed under her chin and lifted her face to meet his.

  ‘This is a small town, and Calum’s a good mate, so I know a little about your parents.’

  That’s all he needed to say. Confronted again with how family life could’ve been, Sofie felt it sitting on her like a heavy weight. Jennifer and her upbringing had been tense, always under pressure to present themselves at their best, but whatever they did, it didn’t matter what or how hard they tried, it was never good enough. By the time Sofie was dating, she rebelled and married a keen surfer, Jett. She became an art school teacher instead of something her parents wanted her to be, for prestige purposes only, like a doctor or lawyer. Then Jett left her and Claudia, and it was all Sofie’s fault for choosing to be with someone like that in the first place.

  She couldn’t stop the tears from slowly trickling down her cheeks.

  His intense, dark-brown eyes captured hers. Brock leaned in, and Sofie stopped breathing, then he kissed the wetness away from her cheeks. So gentle.

  Oh my. She held her breath, hoping for more, hoping he’d move to her mouth. Loving the feeling of his lips against her skin sending tingles straight to that special spot between her thighs.

  She placed her hand on his chest, she could feel his heart thumping under her palm, and his rapid shallow breathing, as if he’d run a few kilometres. Why was he so nervous?

  ‘You …’ he began on a rough whisper.

  Sofie daren’t move in case it would distract him and then he’d stop right there. Trembling but patient, she waited.

  His finger moved away from her chin, his arms came around her waist and up her back, and he held her close to his chest. Sofie buried her face in his shirt, breathing in his soapy, manly, fresh-air scent. He eased his grip. His hands slid up her ribcage, shoulders and neck. He cupped her jaw, the pads of his big thumbs slid back and forth over her cheeks, drying her tears.

  Then he said something that blew her away. ‘You think Jennifer’s the strong one because, alone, she followed her dream, became a chef and moved overseas. Your Uncle Bob encouraged her all the way. I’m not saying he didn’t support you as well. And I’m not weighing one against the other, you’re both phenomenal women, but other circumstances dictated that you take a different path. There were things he couldn’t help you with, and probably no one could. You’re strong, Sofe, and you’ll recover from the rotten blow of losing your house. You have support all around you, especially mine.’

  Sofie pulled in a shaky breath, and licked her lips. Brock’s eyes dipped to her mouth,
a sexy smile eased into his face and he made a deep, hungry, noise in his throat. Sofie’s belly tickled.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep, I’m fine,’ she affirmed, taking a deep breath.

  ‘I’d better go and see to Sarge. He hasn’t hassled me yet and I don’t want him to start.’ He kissed her forehead, grabbed her hand and moved down the hall to the kitchen and back veranda.

  Damn it, she so desperately wanted him to fling her on the enormous party-sized bed and play games with her, naked twister maybe, any which way he wanted.

  A huge, long-legged dog loping about the backyard was enjoyable to see. Brock’s big, but agile, body darting left and right was beautiful to watch. He finished off with some gentle play, stroking and brushing the dog down to calm him. Then he grabbed Sofie’s hand and all three headed inside.

  Brock washed up in the laundry, nattering to the dog, telling him he’d have to wait. ‘Relax, Sarge. You’ll get fed as soon as you stop panting.’

  Sarge groaned, his loose jowls fluffing out, as he sauntered off to his new bed in the corner of the kitchen, out of everyone’s way.

  Sofie caught Brock’s eyes and tried to stifle her giggles, but she ended up snorting instead.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ he asked, mouth and eyes smiling.

  ‘You talking to Sarge and him answering, like he’s saying, yeah all right, but I’m not happy that I have to wait. He’s adorable.’ And so are you. But she wasn’t going to say that out loud.

  ‘He’s a good dog,’ Brock said, glancing over his shoulder at Sarge, then back at Sofie. ‘It’s going to piss him off when he smells steak. How do you like yours?’

  ‘Well done, thank you. What can I do?’

  ‘You can sit there and look beautiful,’ he said, pointing at a stool.

  Beautiful? ‘But I can at least prepare the vegetables.’

  ‘Nah, this is your first night, it’s my treat. Tomorrow we’ll do it together, depending on what’s going on at the station. Or whoever’s home first.’

  ‘Sure, sounds like a plan.’ Sofie pulled the phone out of her bag. ‘I’ll just ring Claud, see if she’s okay.’ Sliding her thumb up the screen she came to Claudia’s number and pressed. ‘Hey, sweetheart,’ she said brightly. ‘Yes, I’m good. How was your day?’ She paused, listening. ‘That’s great, so we’ll see you in the end of year musical. I’m so proud of you.’ Another pause. ‘Sure, no, Brock is cooking dinner …’