by Fiona Lowe
Emily squirted green liquid detergent into the sink and started to attack the large pile of dishes now that everyone had consumed more sticky toffee pudding than was probably good for them. It felt good to be doing something, rather than just sitting and wondering why Linton was here. Why was he casually leaning back in a chair at her father’s table, looking for the entire world like he belonged there?
He even sounded liked he belonged. He’d matched her brothers in their verbal sparring debates that were synonymous with family meals, as well as taking a genuine interest in everyone, actively drawing them out, seeking their opinions.
And he did it with such casual ease, looking completely and utterly, devastatingly gorgeous. The “shallow man” accusation she’d hurled at him almost a week ago seemed grossly unfair today.
She silently screamed as confusion encircled her. She wanted to run to the woolshed, just like when she’d been a little girl. Home was supposed to be a sanctuary from the world—a Linton-free zone.
Instead, her heart had been skipping beats all night, making her feel giddy. It had completely ignored every reasonable request she’d made of it to beat normally and treat Linton like any other guest. Every nerve pulled taut, ready to snap, and she just wished Linton would go home so she could find her equilibrium again.
Not that he’d really talked to her. He’d been busy chatting with everyone else. He’d even made an effort with Tyler. It rankled that she felt ignored. She shouldn’t care.
Voices from the table drifted over to her and she heard snatches of conversation and her father discussing the Warragurra Rodeo, which was going to be held the following weekend.
‘Where are the teatowels kept?’ Linton’s deep voice unexpectedly rumbled behind her.
A strong tingling wave washed through her. Angry with herself, she snapped, asking the question that had bugged her all night. ‘Why are you here?’
His green eyes flickered with darker shards of green, giving her a look that made her feel small and mean. ‘Your brothers invited me.’
He reached around her and grabbed a teatowel, his heat slamming into her. He dropped his voice so only she could hear. ‘You look great, by the way.’
She plunged a bowl under the white suds and vigorously scrubbed it with the brush, trying to stop the sensation of lightness sweeping through her. She didn’t want to enjoy the compliment. She was furious with him. She breathed out a strained but polite ‘Thanks’.
‘Your dad reads pretty widely.’ His strong, tanned hands dextrously wiped a plate dry.
‘What, for a farmer?’ Suds sprayed her in disapproval.
He raised his brows in question. ‘Emily, do you have a problem with me being here?’
Yes! Yes, I do. But she couldn’t say that. He was the guest of her brothers, although why he’d want to be here after she’d called him shallow she had no idea.
Anger meshed with longing, need duelled with frustration. He had no right to look so at home in her family kitchen! Not when he’d hurt her so much. She paused, her gloved hands resting on the sink, and pulled in a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, that was rude. I’ve been studying all day and I’m tired and scratchy.’
‘Study does that.’ He gave a nod of understanding. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day.’ He pushed the teatowel deep into the glass and looked thoughtful. ‘You were right. I was pretty shallow and I hurt your feelings and abused your friendship. Our friendship.’ He caught her gaze, his eyes serious. ‘Sorry.’
Had she been holding a plate, it would have slipped from her fingers. She gripped the edge of the sink for support as her knees sagged. So that was why he was here—he’d come to apologise. She hadn’t expected that at all. Nathan had never apologised, he’d only blamed.
‘You want to be friends?’ She couldn’t hide the disbelief in her voice.
Contrition interplayed with hesitancy. ‘I do. I think we can do that, don’t you?’
‘Colleagues and friends?’ She must sound completely vacant, repeating everything he’d said, but her mind continued to be blank, unable to absorb this astonishing turnaround.
He nodded. ‘Friends and colleagues.’
She rolled the idea around in her head. This meant they could start afresh with no confusion. The crazy desire that had simmered between them would disappear now they had ground rules. They were workmates and friends, pure and simple. They’d never socialised together before the ball so there was no reason to expect that to change.
Everything was moving forward to a new and improved working relationship. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling broadly. ‘Apology accepted. Here’s to the new order.’ And she handed him a dripping pile of cutlery.
‘Hey, Linton.’ Stuart and Mark pushed their chairs back from the table. ‘You ever been to a rodeo?’
Linton opened the drawer and dropped the cutlery into the slots as he dried each item. ‘No, no yet.’
‘Mate, you can’t go back to Sydney before you’ve experienced a rodeo.’ Eric appealed to Emily. ‘Can he, sis?’
Three sets of eyes stared at her as her heart leapt into her mouth. What Eric was really saying was that the Tippett family would take Linton as their guest. And as all her brothers and her father would be involved in riding horses and roping bulls, that meant she would be the host. She would be the one spending all of Saturday with Linton.
Linton away from work was a totally different proposition. Dread danced with a sensation she refused to name.
She stared back at her brothers’ questioning eyes. They had her on toast.
She gulped in a breath, playing the only card she had. ‘Linton’s pretty busy. I doubt he’d want to spend a day in the dust, watching you guys play around trying to prove you’re men.’ She turned back to the sink.
Linton flicked his teatowel like a whip. ‘I’d love to go.’
Four small words sealed her fate.
CHAPTER NINE
EMILY checked the message on her phone for the third time. Meet you by the stables. Linton. But she couldn’t see him anywhere.
She scanned the crowd again. Cowboys and cowgirls promenaded in their best jeans. Fitted button-down shirts in every colour of the rainbow were tucked neatly behind ornate belt buckles, which sparkled in the sunshine, and showed off a wide variety of waistlines. A hat graced every head, some tipped forward, some tipped back and some hung against their owners’ backs, flicked off by the occasional gust of wind that sent dust and leaves swirling into the air.
Linton should have stood out in the crowd because he didn’t own any western gear. He was a city boy through and through. A city boy with a penchant for all things Italian.
‘There you are. I thought I must have missed you.’ Linton’s hand caught her arm.
She spun around, his touch making her dizzy, the rich timbre of his voice making her heart skip. She gazed up at him, blinking rapidly. ‘Linton?’
He flicked his thumbs into the belt hooks of his moleskins and threw his shoulders back, standing tall, his chest straining the fabric of his jade-coloured shirt.
She forgot to breathe.
Then he grinned, his eyes flashing, and he tipped his hat. ‘Ma’am.’
A giggle bubbled up, escaping through her lips.
‘Hey, the salesman at Country Outfitters said this was the gear I needed.’ Indignation clung to his words. ‘I thought I looked like a pretty good cowboy.’
You look sensational. Good enough to eat. ‘You look like a stockman.’
‘Why not a cowboy?’ He sounded like a little boy who had lost the costume competition.
‘Denim is the cowboy code and you’re in moleskins, which is the fabric of choice for drovers, stockmen, graziers and shearers. You’d better watch out—Dad might offer you a job. How are your roping skills?’
‘I lassoed a pretty good nurse for the afternoon.’ He slipped his hand against hers, his lean fingers closing around her finer ones. ‘So, this is a rodeo. Busy, isn’t it? Your brothers told
me all about the camp drafting, which is on at four, so can you take me there?’
His wide palm engulfed her small hand, stealing all coherent thought. She stole a glance at him but his expression gave nothing much away. Smile lines creased the edges of his eyes and he looked happy, interested and laid-back.
All week at work he’d been affable and relaxed. She’d noticed little things like how he’d brought her a drink when he’d made one, how he’d asked if Mark had gone to kinder to see Tyler’s Mexican walking fish and if she’d finished her first assignment for uni.
And, unlike with Nathan, none of it had come with a condition.
Instead, all of it had been the action of a friend doing the sorts of things that friends did for each other. And they’d talked about all sorts of things and laughed about nonsense. They’d become friends. Good friends. She believed he really did enjoy her company—in fact, at times he sought her out just to talk. Their friendship seemed to be working well for both of them.
It’s harder than you thought.
She ignored the voice. Friendship was what they both wanted and it would be perfect if she could only ditch these irrational shimmers of sensation whenever he came near. They were supposed to have gone, banished by their friendship pact.
But they kept popping up to haunt her, like right now. She hauled in a deep breath, trying to settle her somersaulting stomach. The only reason he was holding her hand was so he didn’t lose her in the crowd. She took a step and tugged his hand. ‘If we go to the arena now, you can see some bull riding.’
Linton stood still, frowning. ‘Please, tell me none of your brothers do that.’
‘They all tried it once, Hayden even twice, but fortunately their skills lie on the back of a horse and camp drafting is a lot safer.’ She tugged on his hand again. ‘Come on, you need to get some red dust on those boots of yours so you don’t look like such a city slicker.’
He counter-tugged, managing to move her slightly behind him as he strode off, his long legs quickly eating up the distance. ‘I’ve been here for over a year, you know.’
She jogged to keep up. ‘Mate, even if you married a local girl, settled down and had children and grandchildren…’
A horrified look streaked across his face at her words.
Half of her wanted to laugh and half of her wanted to cry. She forced herself to continue, ‘You’d still be a city bloke, but your great-grandchildren would be locals.’
‘That’s never going to happen.’
His emphatic words pierced her like tiny arrows. ‘What? Having grandchildren or marrying a local girl?’ She worked hard to keep her tone light.
‘Neither.’ He took a sharp left, following the sign to the arena.
She stopped walking, dismay for him thundering through her. Even though she knew that they would never work as a couple, she’d assumed that at some point in the future he would marry. ‘So even when you’re back in Sydney, on track with your career plan of being in charge of a city hospital A and E, you still have no plans to marry?’
‘No.’ Determined, clear green eyes stared down at her. ‘I tried it once.’
She stared at him, speechless, her brain refusing to work. ‘You…you’ve been married?’ She couldn’t hide the shock in her voice.
He shrugged. ‘We all make mistakes.’
She tugged him over to one side, out of the main thoroughfare. ‘You’ve never said anything about being married.’ She blurted out the words, stunned at his casual mention of such a big issue. Didn’t friends tell each other things like that?
Tension radiated along his jaw. ‘I was young and stupid. I’m divorced now.’ The words rushed out stilted and defiant.
She stared at him, seeing a steely resentment she’d never really glimpsed before. Was this tied up with the playboy doctor? The need to know burned inside her but she wasn’t certain he’d tell her. She gave it a shot. ‘With my disastrous attempt at an adult relationship, I’m hardly in a position to judge you.’
His gaze wavered for a moment and then he spoke, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, as if he was telling a tale he’d told too many times before. ‘From the age of twelve my father told me how much his life had improved once he’d divorced my mother. I hated hearing that and I used to daydream about happy families, and how I would fall in love and get married one day and stay married.’
‘That sounds pretty normal.’ She’d daydreamed the same sort of thing. In weaker moments she still did.
He snorted. ‘Yeah, well, it’s not normal for the Gregory men.’ He ran his hand across the back of his neck. ‘I met Tamara at a party when I was a fifth-year med student. She was majoring in literature and her student life was very different from mine. She went to plays, parties and poetry readings, and enjoyed campus life, while I was strapped to a horrendous study load. She’d call by the residence and drag me out and for the first time in a long time I had fun.’ A grimace crossed his face. ‘I completely missed that she had an agenda.’
She nodded her understanding, thinking of Nathan. ‘Looks like we share that in common.’
His mouth twitched into a half-smile. ‘I guess so. Anyway, my father wasn’t happy about the amount of time I was spending with Tamara and he had her sussed much better than I did. But I was twenty-three, not a kid, and the more he pushed for us to break up, the more I pulled the other way. Tamara was keen to get married and I was determined to show Dad he was completely wrong about marriage.’
She thought of her parents, and of Nadine and Hayden. ‘There’s every chance he’s wrong.’
Contempt instantly filled his face. ‘No, Dad was spot on. Tamara and I lasted less than six months. Turns out she desperately wanted to be married to a doctor, only she’d picked the wrong one to suit her purposes. She didn’t want the life-style that goes with an intern working sixty-plus hours a week, so she conveniently found herself another doctor—older, richer and further up the career ladder.’
The hurt in his voice was like a knife in her chest and her hand briefly stroked his arm, wanting to lessen his pain. ‘She walked away from a good man.’
He shrugged off her words. ‘It taught me a valuable lesson and now I listen to my father. I don’t do long-term relationships and I won’t ever let another woman put me in that position. I will never get married again.’
His matter-of-fact tone tinged with bitterness crashed down on her like a lead weight. I will never get married again. His words bellowed in her head and crazily part of her heart ripped slightly as her stomach unexpectedly tipped upside down.
Nausea rose upwards, almost making her gag.
His hand touched her arm. ‘Are you OK? You look a bit white.’
She stepped back slightly, breaking the contact. ‘I don’t think I should have had that fried chicken from the snack bar.’
Instantly concern etched his face. ‘Are you up to this rodeo?’
She gave herself a shake and plastered a smile on her lips. ‘Absolutely. We can’t have you going back to Sydney next year without experiencing the quintessential outback event.’
She marched toward the arena, wishing she could ride on a bucking bull. It would be a hell of a lot safer than dealing with Linton’s personal bombshells.
Linton flinched every time a cowboy hit the dirt, bucked off a raging bull within seconds of being released from the pen. Emily had doggedly pushed through the crowd and she stood on the third rung of the blue temporary railing, while he stood slightly below her, his feet firmly on the ground. They were so close to the action that dust clogged his nostrils.
She called down to him. ‘The cowboy needs to sit over his hand. If he leans back he can be whipped forward as the bull bucks. He doesn’t want to do that because he can collide with the horns.’ Emily pointed to the current rider who stayed seated using his posture and the power of his thighs to grip the beast.
Even through the dust and the aroma of the animals, her perfume taunted him. He should be transfixed by the skill of the cowboys on t
he bulls, but he kept sneaking peeks at her. He hadn’t expected her to be wearing a skirt today but the layered denim flared out around her knees every time she moved, flashing a hint of skin—the only bit of her skin visible before the rest of her shapely legs disappeared under the decorative leather of her knee-high boots. The floral motif in cream, pink and green hugged her calves before merging into stitched pink leather.
He’d never seen pink cowgirl boots before—they were distinctively Emily. She could wear the most unusual things with flair.
He flexed his fingers against the urge to rest his palm against the area of soft skin behind her knee. He closed his eyes against the image of creamy thighs.
Being friends with Emily was supposed to have flattened out his response to her. Lusting after friends wasn’t acceptable and yet every time he slotted her into a safe hole, every time he pegged her down, she surprised him. She had more facets than crystal and every one of them intrigued him.
Bright, intelligent, funny and prosaic, he enjoyed every moment he spent with her. Since he’d apologised she’d seemed more relaxed around him and the last seven days had been one of the best weeks he’d spent in Warragurra.
One of the best weeks you’ve had anywhere.
He refused to acknowledge the thought. She’s just a friend.
‘No!’ Emily’s voice speared through him.
Surely he hadn’t spoken his thoughts out loud?
A flash of blue and large expanse of pink suddenly pushed past him as Emily flung her leg over the railing.
He grabbed her, stalling her flight. ‘What are you doing?’ Irrational fear for her gripped his chest.
Her look of incredulity threw him and he quickly scanned the arena. A cowboy lay eerily still in the red dirt as the bull charged frantically round the ring.
He’d been so busy gazing at Emily he’d missed the moment the cowboy had been thrown.
His grip tightened around her thigh. ‘You’re not going in there until the bull has been penned, and then I’m coming with you.’