‘That’s the one.’
‘My mum didn’t read many picture books, but I think I saw it on Play School.’
She laughed. ‘Would a free drink encourage a smile?’
He shrugged. ‘Couldn’t hurt.’ Not that he’d been planning on drinking tonight – he had an early start in the morning. Hell, he hadn’t intended to stay more than a few minutes, but somehow his plans had changed.
Cathy gave him a bottle of beer then went back to her celebrations. He took a long sip. About to take a second one, he froze as a shadow fell over him. Even before he looked sideways, he knew the perky, pint-sized new publican had taken the stool beside him. He glanced at her as she pushed a plate with a piece of Trevor’s chocolate cake on it towards him.
She smiled, and this time he thought it a real, slightly amused one. ‘I think you’re the only person who hasn’t tasted this yet, and it’s a sin not to. Trust me on that.’
She rested one elbow on the bar and held her head against her palm as she looked intently at him. A few strands of crimson hair fell across her pale cheek and he had an almost uncontrollable desire to reach out and tuck them behind her ear.
‘I have tasted it. Just not tonight.’ The tantalising aroma of freshly cooked cocoa wafted up to him but he resisted the urge to taste it.
‘Okay, that’s it.’ Instead of the pout he’d expected, she folded her arms under her breasts and straightened on the stool. ‘Have I done something to offend you?’
Where to start? But he knew how stupid he’d sound if he started listing the reasons. In his head, the fact he didn’t want new women in Gibson’s Find made sense. The fewer women around, the less likely one of his good friends would hook up with someone, get married and live the life he never would. Not that he didn’t want his mates to be happy, but it was easy living here, where new relationships were even less frequent than heavy downpours, and where happily married couples weren’t dancing smugly under his nose.
But if he couldn’t admit this to Charlie or even to his closest friends, he could hardly admit it to a newcomer. He’d sound loony at best, downright nasty at worst.
‘It’s not you personally. It’s more that I’m looking out for this town.’
‘Oh yeah?’ She rolled her eyes, her incredibly long and thick eyelashes dancing as she did so. ‘Because I’m such a terrible threat. I’m a pyromaniac in my spare time, I’ve been known to shoplift, and I stalk old ladies in the street. Yeah, this town is seriously endangered by my arrival.’
He stifled a laugh, secretly amused by her wry comeback. ‘Now you’re just being ridiculous.’
‘Am I?’ She looked narky. It kind of suited her. ‘From where I’m sitting, you’re the one being ridiculous, and I have no idea why.’
He groaned, louder than he meant to. He knew he should have left hours ago.
She seemed to take the groan as an invitation. ‘Listen. You may have lived here for who knows how long – all your life, for all I care – but if you want to make a habit of hanging out in my pub, you’re going to have to get over yourself, because I’m here to stay. I like to talk and I plan to feel comfortable when I serve someone.’
‘You say that now but you’ve only just arrived. Life’s no picnic in the bush, and this is a tough business to take on all on your own.’
She opened her mouth to reply but Charlie interrupted them, coming to rest at the other side of the bar.
‘I see you’ve met my grandson.’
‘Your grandson?’ Imogen looked at Charlie, her expression incredulous and almost pitying.
‘Yep, that he is. My son’s boy, Gibson Black.’
‘He hasn’t exactly introduced himself.’ Imogen spoke as if he weren’t even there.
Charlie reached out and cuffed Gibson round the ear. ‘I’ve told you to be more sociable. You could at least make an effort to be polite to my new boss.’
‘Don’t worry, Charlie. I won’t judge you on him. You can’t choose your family.’
‘Hey Charlie,’ called one of the blokes from the other end of the bar. ‘Got any peanuts? I’ve got the munchies.’
Charlie tottered off and Imogen returned her focus to Gibson.
‘Gibson, hey? As in Gibson’s Find?’
‘Not in the way you’re thinking.’ He took another sip of his beer.
‘I was thinking maybe your mum was a Gibson.’
‘You were thinking wrong. Those Gibsons left town yonks ago, after selling their discovery to the bigwigs.’
‘So …?’ She eyed his chocolate cake as if she’d start digging in if he didn’t.
He pushed it towards her. ‘My mum had this thing about naming her kids after the place where they were conceived. I have an older sister called Paris. My parents honeymooned there.’
‘Romantic.’ She picked up his dessert fork and cut off a chunk. He had to make an effort not to stare as she opened her lips and popped the piece inside.
‘Loopy if you ask me.’
She shrugged. ‘This cake really is divine. You sure you don’t want any?’
He had a stupid urge to lick the icing off her lips. ‘I’m sure. I’ll just go say goodbye to Charlie.’ He stood up. ‘Nice meeting you.’
She placed the fork next to the unfinished cake and glared at him, bemusement sparkling in her eyes. ‘No need to pretend, Gibson.’ She stood as well and he swallowed as he raked his gaze down her peachy-perfect figure. ‘I need to go do some work anyway, but you should know, you couldn’t be more wrong about me. I know what I’m doing and I can look after myself.’
With those words she stormed off in the direction of the tables and started gathering empty glasses. He watched her for longer than he intended, unable to resist properly checking her out. She got full marks in his head-to-toe assessment, but it wasn’t only her physical attributes that grabbed him. There was something else. Something alluring. Something intriguing.
Something he didn’t want to think about.
Despite exhaustion cramping her limbs, when Imogen climbed into bed she rolled onto her side and smiled at the photo of Jamie next to her. When she’d arrived she’d unpacked her favourite photos first, ensuring Jamie’s had pride of place in all the rooms.
‘Evening gorgeous.’
Some may have found it disturbing that she still talked to him every night, but it was a ritual that calmed her and helped her sleep.
‘I had such a great night downstairs. People here are all so welcoming. I hope you’re not worrying about me, because I know I’m going to be happy here.’
She leaned her head against the pillow, tucked her hands under her cheek and chattered on about some of the people she’d met, Charlie’s idea of a slab party to renovate the place, the new staff who were arriving soon, absolutely everything that came into her head. She imagined Jamie chuckling to himself from wherever he was right now. He’d always said she talked too much, but the gleam in his eye whenever he’d said it had told her he hadn’t minded one little bit.
Eventually, when she’d exhausted the day’s activities, she blew him a kiss and turned off the light. In the dark she stretched her legs diagonally across the bed – one of many tricks she tried to make it feel less empty. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, Imogen imagined Jamie snuggling up to her, wrapping his strong, warm arms around her and kissing that little spot just beneath her ear. She didn’t have to imagine the sparks his lips would ignite because she dreamed of it every night.
She yawned.
Not long now.
When she slept, he was still alive.
Chapter Three
Imogen woke early the next morning and pulled on her running shorts, a t-shirt and sneakers.
She hadn’t exercised properly since before Jamie died. Truth be told, her health had been the least of her worries, but recently she’d noticed her love handles were feeling extra lovey and her favourite jeans didn’t sit right on her hips. She’d hoped all the packing and carrying of boxes might have been enough of a workout, but appar
ently it didn’t negate the comfort-eating. It was time to take drastic measures.
Going on a run would also give her the opportunity to do a proper reconnaissance of the town. Apart from a couple of quick trips to the general store, she’d barely set foot outside the pub since arriving.
After double-knotting her shoelaces, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, picking up her keys and slipping them into a pocket, she blew a kiss to the Jamie photo that had the centre spot on her new hall table. If he’d still been around, no way would she have been getting fat. They’d played tennis twice a week in the summer and squash in the winter, not to mention their frequent horizontal activities that burned as many calories as a jog around the block. Apparently.
She paused a moment and pressed her hand against her chest, hoping to ease the pang that erupted at thoughts of Jamie and sex. Although her red-hot dreams were good, they didn’t satisfy her like the real thing, and she had to admit her girly bits were getting twitchy. That presented a dilemma, for she’d never seen the appeal of casual sex, and she certainly didn’t plan on getting into a relationship.
As seedy as it made her feel, she decided that next time they talked, she would ask Jenna’s advice about buying a vibrator. Jenna openly and proudly knew about such things.
That decision made, Imogen took the stairs out of her apartment. When she stepped into the early morning air she breathed in deeply, smiling at the fresh country scent. This was why she’d moved so far away from the city – well, one of many reasons. Fresh air and no pollution – noise or otherwise.
She began to run, turning right out of the pub grounds and onto the main street. The Majestic sat on the corner, just before the sign directing motorists out of town and on their way to Southern Cross.
Next door to the pub stood a couple of abandoned shops. One looked to have been a dress shop in times when there were enough women in town to warrant one, and the other, if the rumours were to be believed, was once a brothel. With the lack of females in Gibson’s Find, some of her patrons probably wished it was still in operation. There was no graffiti like you’d see on vacant shops in the city, only weeds forcing themselves up through cracks in the pavement out front. The emptiness was echoed in Imogen’s heart. She was glad to move past the deserted strip to the busier end of the street.
Though it was wide enough for about four trucks to drive parallel to each other, she’d rarely seen more than two cars drive down the main street at the same time. Shops were scattered along one side of the road, and the other was home to an old train station and semi-landscaped bushland dotted with metal-art statues made by locals long ago. On the shop side there was a post office; a cafe that never appeared to have more than two customers at a time; a Holden dealership that looked like it only had three cars for sale; a hardware and farm supplies shed; and a general store with an agency for Bendigo Bank.
The street was empty and, due to the early hour, all the shops were currently closed. Although the wind made the temperature pleasant, a hint of promised warmth already hung in the air. Looked like it’d be another forty-degree scorcher. The last couple of days, her forehead had become a permanent waterfall of sweat, and her shirts were getting stains under her arms and at the back of her neck. Not a good look for the woman in charge.
‘Morning.’
She looked round from where she’d been reading the magazine billboards outside the general store and smiled at the owner of the voice. She recognised him as one of the men who’d ribbed Charlie about his mistake that day she’d brought her friends to the pub. He’d been there again last night, but they hadn’t been formally introduced. Blonde hair, medium height and reasonably good-looking, she’d put him in his late thirties. His football shorts, sneakers and a t-shirt soaked in sweat told her he’d been exercising as well.
‘A group of us get together down on the oval three mornings a week for boot camp, if you’re interested,’ he said, his grin growing wider. ‘I’m Guy, by the way.’ He held out his hand but seemed to think better of it at the last minute, pulling it back and wiping his palm against his t-shirt.
She smiled back. ‘Imogen. And thanks. I’ll think about it.’ She took a sip from her water bottle, itching to ask him if any women attended. It wasn’t that she minded being one of very few women, not exactly, but she didn’t think she’d be comfortable if she were the only one.
‘Great. Well, I’ll see ya round.’ Guy waved and jogged across the street.
She read another headline before continuing down the street, walking briskly at first and then starting into a run. At the end of the main street, which wasn’t very long, she turned right into the grid of streets that formed the majority of the Gibson’s Find township.
As she lengthened her paces, pounding the uneven and cracked pathways, she studied the houses on either side of the road. What struck her as very different from Perth was the mishmash of architecture. Whereas in the city you had a suburb of flash houses or a suburb of shabby ones, here the best and biggest house in the street might be alongside one that looked as if it needed a demolition order.
Jamie would have had a feast in a town like this. So many old places with potential to be turned into works of art. And she’d die to get her thumbs into some of the gardens, or lack thereof. It didn’t appear that anyone in Gibson’s Find had a green bone in their body. Most of the front yards were desolate and decidedly lacking in colour. No cute gnomes or fairy statues, never mind flowers.
She jogged a little further, pleasantly surprised when she came upon a cute little shack with an abundance of colourful flowers. A middle-aged woman stood in the garden, wielding a hose like she barely had control over the thing. She spied Imogen and waved, hose and all. An icy spray of water fell over Imogen and she jumped back, but not before the front of her top got splashed.
‘I’m so sorry,’ gushed the woman, screwing off the water, dumping the hose on the grass and rushing forward to greet Imogen over a pristinely kept hedge. ‘Can I get you a towel?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ Imogen pulled the rubber band from her ponytail and shook out her hair. This woman was only the third she’d met in town – Cathy being the first, and the old woman who seemed to sit permanently behind the counter at the general store the second. Granted, she’d barely left the pub, but still, she was beginning to believe the rumours that Gibson’s Find was suffering a veritable drought of females. ‘No harm done.’
‘I’m Karen Davies,’ the woman announced as Imogen re-scooped her hair into a ponytail. ‘I’m so sorry we haven’t met yet, but I work for you. Great way to meet your boss, isn’t it?’
‘Karen, pleased to meet you.’ Imogen grinned at the warmth and embarrassment in the older woman’s voice. It went perfectly hand in hand with her appearance. She was round but not obese – her mother would say ‘cuddly’. Karen’s hair was cropped short around her chin in a practical style and streaked with grey as if she were happy to age gracefully. ‘Don’t worry about the water. I was hot anyway. How are you feeling?’
Karen had been sick with tonsillitis and therefore hadn’t been around yesterday or the day Imogen had arrived, so this was the first time they’d met.
‘Much better,’ Karen replied with a nod. ‘I’m desperate to get back to work but the doc says I need another couple of days’ rest. Don’t tell her you saw me exerting myself.’
Imogen laughed. ‘I won’t. But don’t overdo it. We’ll chat when you’re completely better.’
With a quick wave Imogen resumed jogging down the street. If she kept getting stopped by friendly locals she wasn’t going to work up much of a sweat at all.
The next few houses were nothing to write home about, in fact some of them looked unoccupied. She was running, lost in her own thoughts and not looking out for traffic when a dirt-covered ute reversed rather quickly out of the driveway in front of her.
She jumped back and grabbed onto a nearby letterbox to stop herself from falling. The ute stopped. A curse sounded inside, and then a dark-ha
ired head popped out the driver’s side window.
Her tummy flipped in a traitorous manner. Gibson Black. Just her luck.
‘You should be careful how you’re driving,’ she said before she could think better of it.
He raised his eyebrows, amusement dancing at the corners of his illegally luscious lips as recognition dawned in his eyes. ‘And you should be more traffic-conscious when you’re running.’
She folded her arms across her chest, noticing it was heaving and that he wasn’t being surreptitious about looking. Soaked through from Karen’s hose, her white top was now no doubt see-through. Her black running shorts felt ridiculously short and tight and the neck of the water bottle dug into her side, but she refused to look perturbed. ‘You’re the first bit of traffic I’ve seen all morning. And anyway, this here’s the footpath.’
He shrugged slowly as if he really didn’t have the time or inclination to debate with her. ‘Maybe you’re right, but you’re the first jogger I’ve seen in town in about …’ He paused as if thinking this through. ‘In forever. You took me by surprise.’
She bit her lip, thinking this was about the closest to an apology she was ever going to get from him.
‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ She looked past him to the dull-grey fibro house – neater than many of the other houses in the street, but still without much of a garden.
Immediately, she wished she hadn’t asked. What right did she have to give him the third degree? Maybe he’d stayed over at his girlfriend’s house. There weren’t many women in town, but she’d bet money on the fact that if he wanted every one of those few, he’d have them. She tried to ignore the ridiculous resentment that thought invoked. Softening her voice, she added, ‘I thought you lived on the family farm.’
He smiled. Well, it was more of a smirk, but his lips definitely lifted. And if his scowl was scandalously sexy, his smile was lethal. Its effects ricocheted right down to her toenails.
‘Have you been making enquiries about me?’ he asked, in a tone that said he was good-looking and knew it.
Man Drought Page 4