Gibson blinked away the recollection of seeing Imogen home – the torturous thoughts he’d had for half the night after finally leaving her. ‘You remember Imogen was here?’
Charlie stared boggle-eyed at Gibson, like he were the one who needed his head tested. ‘Course I remember. I didn’t drink that much. We had a bonza dinner and then looked at the old photos. I didn’t drone on too much, did I?’
‘Not that I recall.’ Gibson’s head ached, trying to work out what Charlie knew and what he didn’t. In lieu of painkillers, he took two steps across the linoleum, picked up the pot of coffee, poured a mug and drank it as quickly as if he were sculling a beer. As he slapped the empty mug down on the bench top, a knock came from the front door.
Charlie frowned as they glanced at the time on his microwave – 7:00 a.m. ‘We’re probably safe to open the door,’ he decided. ‘I don’t think the Jehovah’s Witnesses are early risers.’
Gibson refilled his mug and then, curious, he followed Charlie down the short hallway. As his grandfather peeled open the door, he caught a flash of soft red hair before his brain registered the owner of the locks. Where his mind was slow, his body more than made up for it. His groin tightened as he took in the vision of Imogen wearing those illegally tight running shorts again. He’d managed to sit by her on the couch and keep his hands to himself while she wore PJs, for crying out loud, but a pair of shorts threatened to snap his control. And how the hell did she look so fabulous after so little sleep?
It appeared he wasn’t the only male affected. ‘Good morning, gorgeous,’ Charlie flirted. ‘You’re looking mighty fine this morning. If I was only a few years younger, you’d be in serious danger.’
Imogen laughed. ‘If you were a few years younger, Charlie, you’d be the one in danger. How are you feeling this morning?’
‘Fine, fine,’ he said, seemingly oblivious to the look of concern that Imogen gave Gibson.
Gibson shook his head behind his grandfather’s back, trying to tell her that Charlie had been acting normal so far.
‘So, what can we do for you?’ Charlie asked Imogen. ‘Not that this early morning visit isn’t delightful, but—-’
‘Gibson and I arranged to go running,’ Imogen announced, looking to him to corroborate her story.
He glanced at her running gear again – muscles all over his body contracting at the sight – and tried to nod. ‘Um, yeah.’ He patted his almost-flat abs. ‘Mum reckoned I was getting a bit of a paunch last time I saw her, so Imogen invited me to go running with her.’
Charlie peered down at Gibson’s gut. ‘Hmm, she may have a point, for once.’
What? Gibson pressed his hands to his stomach, looking for evidence of a spread. Imogen smirked and coughed, her hand rushing to her mouth to cover her amusement.
‘But you can’t go running in those pants.’ Charlie pointed at them accusingly. ‘You can borrow something of mine.’
Before Gibson could argue, Charlie turned and shuffled down the hallway. Gibson glared at Imogen. ‘Couldn’t you have thought of a different excuse? Running isn’t really my thing.’
She raised one obviously amused eyebrow. ‘Really? Then what was boot camp?’
‘You know what the hell boot camp was,’ he replied dryly.
She blushed, then leaned forward and whispered, ‘Has he really been okay this morning?’
Gibson glanced quickly behind him to check Charlie was still digging around for workout clothes and then nodded. ‘He seems completely with it. I don’t know what to think, but I’m definitely going to talk to my friend about it ASAP.’
‘Hmm.’ Imogen brushed some hair off her face. ‘I suppose there’s no need to worry your parents unnecessarily. Maybe your friend could suggest a way to confront Charlie without getting him offside.’
Gibson nodded, inwardly shuddering at the thought. He’d have to tread carefully, because whatever happened, he didn’t want to risk alienating Charlie the way his mum and dad had.
Before they could say any more, Charlie reappeared, holding a massive pair of brown, holey shorts and an oversized purple t-shirt like they were a whopper fishing catch. Gibson cringed even before Charlie thrust the items at him, and his nose twitched at the smell of mothballs. The smirk on Imogen’s face told Gibson the odour hadn’t gone unnoticed by her either.
‘These’ll be perfect,’ Charlie said. When Gibson didn’t make a move, he nodded towards the bathroom. ‘Well, go get your kit on. Don’t keep the lady waiting.’
Scowling, Gibson balled up the clothes and went to get changed.
Charlie and Imogen were chatting about the Man Drought weekend when he finally emerged, holding the waistband of the shorts so as not to have them fall around his ankles. ‘All right. I’m ready,’ he said. If they had to do this, he wanted it over quick smart.
‘What about shoes?’ Imogen looked down towards his naked feet, obviously trying to smother a giggle.
‘I’ve only got the ones I wore last night,’ he said, glaring at her, ‘and they’re not exactly made for running.’ Nothing he was wearing felt made for exercise, but if he wanted any chance of keeping up with her, he’d have to go barefoot.
She shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’
They waved goodbye to Charlie, and Gibson grudgingly followed Imogen down the garden path.
‘Are you always so chirpy in the morning?’ he asked as they turned onto the footpath.
‘Oh yeah. Especially when I start the day with exercise. Are you always so grumpy?’
‘Yep. There’s only one type of exercise I believe in starting the day with.’ He hitched up the waistband of the enormous shorts again.
‘I see.’ He thought her voice sounded slightly strangled as she strode ahead of him, her long legs eating up the pavement with each graceful step.
He averted his gaze. It was hard enough keeping pace with her when he had to keep a vice-like grip on his shorts, never mind with his libido distracting him. He couldn’t get the image of spending a whole night with Imogen out of his head. The thought was like drinking a sixpack of rum-and-cola on an empty stomach. It’d be an incomparable rush while it happened, but he couldn’t bear the regret and discomfort that’d take root afterwards. Not when they were finally moving on from the last time.
‘Hey slowpoke!’
He tore himself from his thoughts to see Imogen a good few metres ahead of him.
‘I actually want a workout,’ she said, cockily. ‘If you can’t keep up—-’
‘Course I can keep up. It’s these damn pants. Would be easier if I was running naked.’
She stumbled on a crack in the pavement, but saved herself from falling by grabbing on to a nearby letterbox.
‘You okay?’ he asked, catching up and reaching out to help her.
‘Fine. I just can’t …’ She stopped and clutched her stomach. Close up, he realised she was laughing – tears in her deep-green eyes. ‘It’s the visual,’ she said, gasping for breath. ‘You running in Charlie’s shorts was bad enough, but naked? All that …’ – her eyes flicked down to his package – ‘flying free.’ And then she burst out in another episode of giggles.
Feeling the need to stick up for his nuts, and trying to stifle a laugh himself, Gibson put his hands onto his hips. The instant he let go of the dysfunctional elastic waistband, it dropped towards the pavement as if the ground had a magnetic force. A whoosh of warm morning wind blasted his privates as he stood there in nothing but Charlie’s old shirt and his own black jocks.
And Imogen lost it. If she’d been fighting hysterics a moment ago, now she could no longer control herself. She doubled over, her ponytail bouncing on top of her head as she laughed.
Gibson stood motionless, knowing he needed to bend over and pull up the shorts, but unable to do so because he’d finally seen the funny side. Laughter bubbled from deep within him and erupted into something he couldn’t control. They stood there in the middle of the path, literally trembling with amusement like a couple of crazy kids.
>
The wall of defence she usually kept firmly around her crumbled and he realised he was getting his first glimpse of the real Imogen. More real even than when she’d trembled in his car and screamed his name in release.
And damn it felt good.
The sound of a vehicle registered somewhere at the back of his brain. He tried to pull himself out of this madness, but one glance at Imogen sent him over the edge again. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d laughed so much, and judging by the tears streaming down her face, she felt the same. His arms shaking, he reached out to touch her face, to wipe her tears with his thumbs. And that’s when the vehicle pulled up beside them.
‘Well, well, well. What have we here?’ Wazza stepped out of his ute and looked over the top. The sweaty shearer’s singlet he wore indicated he’d just come from boot camp.
Guy leaned out the passenger-side window and wolf-whistled. ‘Looks like debauchery to me, mate. The kind of depravity we ought to report to the local copper.’
Gibson stopped laughing as suddenly as if his mates had thrown a bucket of icy water over him. He yanked up the granddad pants and instinctively stepped in front of Imogen.
‘Ah … maybe,’ Wazza said, and Gibson didn’t like the tone of his voice. ‘But I say we only report them if Gibson doesn’t pay up.’
‘Oh, yeah, the bet.’ Guy grinned even more and winked at Imogen.
Gibson kept a grip on his shorts, resisting the urge to take to the road and pummel both his mates.
‘What bet?’ Imogen asked, her chest still heaving as her breathing finally began to calm.
‘Never mind.’ Gibson glanced quickly behind him.
Laughing, Wazza slid back into the ute. He shouted across Guy, through the open window, ‘I’m sure Gibson will fill you in.’ With that, Wazza hooned the ute down the street and out of sight.
‘What bet?’ Imogen asked again. Why did women have to be so damn persistent?
‘Waz and Guy’s stupid bet,’ he said, deciding to come clean. He’d never wanted any part of it anyway. ‘They haven’t grown up yet, and when you first arrived they had a bet about who could get you into bed first.’
A combination of horror and amusement flashed across her face. ‘And how much did you bet?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, you know I didn’t bet anything at all.’ He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘I didn’t want to get you into bed. I couldn’t help myself.’
‘What the hell have you been keeping from me, girlfriend?’
Imogen balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder as she secured a towel around her body. Her phone had been buzzing when she’d stepped out of the shower following her run and she hadn’t had time to check the caller ID, but she recognised Jenna’s irate voice immediately.
It didn’t take long to work out what she was on about. The bush telegraph had grown wings and flown to the city.
‘I’ve been meaning to ask the same thing,’ Imogen said to her friend.
There was a silence at both ends of the line.
Eventually, Imogen found her voice. ‘I’m guessing you had a call from Guy this morning.’
‘Well … yes,’ Jenna finally admitted. ‘He’s been calling quite a lot, actually.’
‘So I heard.’ Imogen couldn’t help the frostiness in her voice. ‘How was your weekend?’
‘Really good,’ Jenna said on a sigh. ‘I … I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Guy rang me the night after the slab party and we’ve phoned every night since. I’ve never talked so much to a man in my life. Like, really talked. And then when he wanted to come visit me, I didn’t know how I felt. I figured I’d probably get sick of him and be desperate to send him back, and I didn’t tell you or Amy because I didn’t want you to read into it more than was there.’
‘Okay.’ Imogen could never stay angry at Jenna for long and she sounded so genuine – genuinely confused. If there were one thing Imogen could empathise with at the moment, it was confusion. ‘And did you get sick of him? He’s obviously still on your radar.’
‘Oh Imogen, there’s never been anyone more on my radar. I can’t think about anything else, never mind anyone else.’
Imogen’s tummy flipped at Jenna’s words. She related completely; it was exactly how she’d felt about Jamie. He’d consumed her so that everything around them seemed insignificant. The fact Jenna had found someone that made her feel these things both pleased and surprised her.
‘Men come into the gallery,’ Jenna continued. ‘They smile and try to flirt with me, and they’re good-looking blokes – the type I’d usually have a thing for – but I feel nothing. At all. It’s really quite scary.’
‘So what are you doing about it?’
‘I’m coming up on Friday. The weekdays are long, but at least Guy isn’t that far away. It’s not a long-term solution though; we’re going to talk about our future this weekend.’
The future? Already? Imogen and Amy had all but given up on Jenna ever settling down with anyone. ‘That’s wonderful! I can’t wait to see you. I’ll get the spare room made up,’ Imogen said, excited at the prospect of catching up with her friend so soon. Hanging out with Jenna would also help distract her from other things, like Gibson admitting that he hadn’t wanted to sleep with her but couldn’t help himself.
‘Uh … do you mind if I don’t stay with you?’ Jenna asked. ‘We’ve kind of got plans.’
Imogen tried to keep the hurt from her voice. ‘Of course not. We’ll do lunch or something.’
‘Definitely.’
Imogen recognised that Jenna was so caught up in the bliss of new love she wouldn’t recognise another’s pain, and she felt upset at herself for feeling it anyway. Wasn’t this what she and Amy had always wanted for Jenna? To find what they both had in their marriages? And, despite his childish bet, Guy was a nice bloke.
‘Now, what’s this I hear about you and the divine Gibson Black? What’s happening?’ Jenna asked, bursting into Imogen’s thoughts.
Her pulse skipped a beat. Technically, nothing was happening. Not anymore.
‘Nothing, we’re just friends,’ Imogen said, because it was the truth. ‘We went for a run together this morning.’ No one in the world was less likely to judge her for having a quickie in a ute than Jenna. But the truth was, she still didn’t know how she felt, and she didn’t need any more encouragement to go back for more.
‘That’s not what Guy reckons.’
Imogen told Jenna about Gibson borrowing Charlie’s clothes and how Guy and Warren had driven by at exactly the wrong moment. She left out the bit about the bet, but couldn’t help the giggles that came with just thinking about Gibson struggling in Charlie’s clothes – she hadn’t laughed that hard in a very long time.
Jenna laughed too, but only half-heartedly.
‘I think it’s one of those had-to-be-there moments,’ Imogen said, biting her lip to try and quell her amusement. ‘Anyway, how’s Amy going? Have you seen much of little Gibson?’ she asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the other Gibson.
‘Oh yeah, he’s so cute.’ Imogen could hear the smile in Jenna’s voice. ‘Did Amy tell you she and Ryan are coming up this weekend too?’
‘No.’
‘Oh shit, maybe it was supposed to be a surprise, but Ryan’s really excited,’ Jenna explained. ‘It’s his last weekend before he goes back to work and Amy says he’s driving her mad with talking about seeing Gibson’s farm.’
Why did every conversation have to lead back to Gibson? As a shiver slid down her spine, Imogen forced that thought out of her head and chatted with Jenna for another five minutes, making plans for the weekend and thrashing through some more ideas for Man Drought. Perhaps it was a good thing Jenna was now partnered off. It meant she might be more actual help on the weekend and less likely to be distracted by the men on offer.
Chapter Twenty-two
If there were ever a lovesick puppy contest in Gibson’s Find, Guy would take out the gold, silver and bronze.
It had only been a few weeks since she’d sat at Amy’s bedside in the hospital, gaping down at that precious baby, but it felt like a century. So much had happened since then, and her life in Perth felt like an alternate reality. She hadn’t shopped in a supermarket or a speciality store since coming to Gibson’s Find, and the strangest thing was she didn’t even miss it. Until Jamie had died, she’d always thought she enjoyed working at the wine bar, but she didn’t miss that either. Being out here in the bush, running her own business, making a new life all felt so right. But it also added to the guilt.
How could she be so settled, so at peace, with Jamie no longer a part of her life?
‘What’s a guy have to do to get a drink round here?’
Imogen startled at the voice. Her stomach tumbled and she had to catch her breath. Somehow her new friend had slipped into the pub without her noticing. She forced a breath through her lungs as she turned to smile at him.
As if reading her mind, Gibson said, ‘I came in the back door with Charlie.’
Briefly distracted from Amy and Jenna’s imminent arrival, she asked, ‘How is he?’
They’d both tried to get him to relax since the night of the dinner, and Imogen even suggested he cut back on his hours, work fewer late nights. But stubborn as anything, he’d adamantly refused. Everyone was walking on eggshells around the old man, who’d now made too many mistakes for it to be coincidence. The problem was, without coming straight out and telling him they were worried about his memory – which Gibson didn’t want to do for fear of upsetting him – they couldn’t push the point. He’d been unable to get through to his doctor friend yet, but after both Cal and Karen questioned Charlie’s forgetfulness, Gibson had agreed to Imogen discussing the matter with the other employees. They were all now keeping an extra eye out for any issues.
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