by Jennie Jones
‘That’ll probably take forty-eight hours. I don’t want to leave the car where it is though, so I’ll go this morning and take photos of everything, for the insurance, then tow the car out of the paddock. It’ll be safe on the side of the road.’
‘I ought to buy a new gate too,’ she said, and flicked through the screens on her mobile phone, as though searching for the nearest shop to buy one.
Jamie smiled, although she wasn’t looking at him. He’d got the fright of his life when she’d walked in for breakfast earlier, wearing a dressing gown that ought to be termed a morning ball gown. She wore it still. An ankle-length silky lavender-coloured dressing gown. She sat on the arm of the Chesterfield sofa by the fireplace. The gown slipped open revealing a smooth pale-skinned portion of her thigh and Jamie’s brain scrambled.
What day was this? What was his name?
He blinked a few times, attempting to sooth the heat in his eyes. ‘I’ll clear up the broken gate and fix up some wire fencing for the moment,’ he said, concentrating on physical activities he could engage in with— No, dammit. Not physical as in…not with… Oh hell, who was he kidding? The woman didn’t knock his socks off, she ripped them off.
‘You can discuss paying for a new gate when Sammy and Ethan get home.’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘All sorted then.’
Jamie raised his brow. ‘You’re staying?’
She looked up from beneath her long chestnut lashes. ‘If you’re sure it’s okay.’ She smiled, and all that honey nougat caramelised his brain all over again.
It should be okay. It really should. But she hadn’t said for how long he’d be in the oven, getting cooked. Two days or the whole holiday?
Her mobile phone rang. ‘Oh, darn.’
The morning ball gown slipped open as she uncrossed her legs. Looked like she had long legs. Nice thighs. Soft skin. Hell. What was his name?
‘“Oh darn”?’ he said, as moisture returned to his mouth.
‘Country vernacular for “oh shit”.’
‘So why not say “oh shit”?’
Jamie didn’t get an answer. She pressed a button on her phone. ‘Kate Singleton, Singleton’s Sassy Sensations.’
Jamie smothered a smile. Good job she didn’t have a lisp.
‘Don’t know,’ she said. ‘Mm-mm. Uh-huh. Really no idea. You’ll have to figure it out for yourself.’ She ended the call by snapping a pink-nailed finger on the End Call button, and slid the phone back into the silk pocket of the gown that made Jamie feel… Pretty much peeled, sliced and roasted.
‘You get a lot of calls,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to take them?’
‘You’re darn tootin’ I don’t.’
‘Business?’
‘Yup.’
‘Well, talking of business, I need to make a call. Excuse me.’
‘Okay. I’ll wash up. Since you cooked.’
She floated across the kitchen, dressing gown flowing between her legs.
Jamie left the room, eye sockets stinging.
He walked to the end of the hallway to the back door, opened it, stepped outside into the already warm morning air and punched in the speed dial for Sammy’s number. She answered it within one ring.
‘Hi, Jamie.’
‘Hi, Sammy.’
‘How’s it going? What’s new your end?’
‘Um. Well…’
‘Those ditches aren’t giving you trouble, are they? Don’t tell me there’ll be no water or electricity for Christmas.’
‘No, no. Everything’s going to plan. All on time.’
‘Great. So…what do you need?’
Oh, come on. What game was Sammy playing here? ‘Well, I’m sort of wondering about your friend Kate.’
‘Oh that! Of course. I’m really sorry about the mix-up. My fault, Jamie. I don’t know how it happened — although, truthfully, it would have been hard for her to have to spend this time back in the city.’
‘Really?’ Like — why? What problems did she have with her business?
‘Actually, Jamie — can I speak to you in confidence?’
Jamie hoped like hell this confidence wasn’t going to involve woman-stuff. Like broken hearts and two-timing boyfriends.
‘Alright,’ he said deliberately slowly. Might as well learn what sort of nail gun wielding, morning ball gown-wearing woman he was giving his bed to.
‘Kate has a problem.’
‘Oh?’ Reluctance to hear the answer crawled up the back of his neck. Sammy wasn’t going to ask him to take care of the problem, was she? Sammy wasn’t going to ask him to do things for Kate, was she? Like befriend her. If he got that close he’d be toast.
‘She’s shy.’
Jamie thought about this for a few seconds. Kate Singleton, city woman with sky-scraper heels was shy? He had to admit his interest piqued. ‘Doesn’t seem that way.’
‘Oh, she’d never let you know. I bet she’s showing you her gregarious side.’
‘Don’t know about gregarious, but she’s…’ Offbeat. Trying too hard. A little desperate around the edges. All that golly galoshes talk.
‘Thanks for saying she could stay, Jamie. It would be fantastic if you were able to get her to open up.’
Jamie straightened. Open up to what? The woman didn’t stop talking. But Sammy must mean the problem Kate was facing. ‘She hasn’t said she’ll stay the entire time.’
‘I don’t suppose you’d try and persuade her?’ Sammy asked. ‘Maybe until the power’s back on at the homestead? Then she can move in there if you’re uneasy having her around.’
Oh, uneasy had him by the scruff of his neck. Not to mention his Bojangles. ‘Power’ll be off for another five days.’
‘Oh…of course. I forgot.’ Sammy sounded deflated.
Jamie sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll see if I can persuade her to stay.’ If she really wanted to.
‘Thank you, Jamie, thank you! You’re a star.’
The immediate vision in his head was the tail end of a bright light he’d seen in the night sky ten weeks ago as he’d dithered with an unexplained urge to buy Silver Bells House and settle into Swallow’s Fall. He was a journeyman builder. He was supposed to journey. He had an apartment in Sydney which had hardly been used over the last two years, as he travelled the sunburnt country rescuing stone houses from disrepair and assisting in heritage works. He wasn’t supposed to buy a house and settle down for at least another decade. Thirty-three-year-old men had a lot of single-life left in them. But this thirty-three-year-old man must have gone soft in the head. He’d bought Silver Bells House on a whim. On the tail end of a shooting star. Madness.
He shook his head as he disconnected the call to Sammy. If Katie stayed and this was day two, he had ten to go. Somehow, he didn’t think he was going to make it through without something major happening. He only hoped this major event didn’t involve a heart attack and the emergency services.
Chapter 5
Nothing to do. Nothing to do. Nothing to do.
Kate roamed the house, folding her arms as she studied Jamie’s chosen artwork, most of it impressionist with auras of restfulness which suited the languid, French-feeling of his house. Unfolding her arms, she wandered from the living room to the hall and into the open-plan kitchen-dining room. She plumped the cushions on the big deep-brown leather Chesterfield sofa. The colour of Jamie’s eyes.
The beechwood shelving and the mellow-yellow stone created a haven, she decided. Somewhat masculine but not male enough to deter a woman from wanting to throw herself on the Chesterfield and fall asleep.
She’d slept most of yesterday and missed an entire day. When had she ever been this tired? Maybe she needed fresh air. And she had no intention of staying indoors while outdoors summer beckoned in such a spectacular manner. She still had no car and Jamie had been at work all day yesterday, and today, so no lift. She’d walk into town then.
She’d moved her luggage into the main bedroom and set her rosebud wellies next to a wooden
chest of drawers. If all this furniture was Jamie’s, he’d either had unexpected good fortune when buying the house, because it slotted in beautifully with the architecture, or he’d bought the house, furniture and all. Must remember to ask him.
She unzipped her large suitcase and plucked out her designer denim shorts in bloodshot red and a white capped-sleeved top. She’d been given heaps of next summer’s clothing range by the shoot guys in New York. Just as well, or she’d have been sweating in angora and fleece for the next eight days.
Oh, darn. No socks. Kate sighed and glanced at the chest of drawers. Jamie would have socks. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she borrowed a pair to wear with her wellies? She opened one of the top drawers. There they were. She pulled a rolled pair apart. ‘Holy bulldozer.’ Size thirteen thickened wool. Workman’s socks. Well, they wouldn’t be seen once she had her wellies on.
While she changed and put on the socks and wellies, her mind waged war. Should she take a peek in his wardrobe? In the other drawers in the chest? In the bedside tables? No, of course she shouldn’t. But her mind’s counsel did nothing to appease her curiosity. It would be rude to search through his possessions. However, she did need a hat and maybe Jamie had a baseball cap somewhere. Like on the top shelf of the wardrobe. No. Just boxes and folded jumpers. Maybe he’d tucked a hat in his bedside drawer.
As she pulled at the drawer, she knew she wasn’t looking for a hat, but hey, the handle was in her fingers, and hey — the drawer was open. Her heartbeat pounded as she rifled through pens and notepads filled with notes about equipment and mathematical calculations. He must work at all hours. He had a huge chalkboard in the kitchen, and that too was peppered with lists about metal fixings and epoxy resins.
Her fingertips rested on a photograph frame. Plain silver, usual plywood backing and flip-out support. Upside down though, so she couldn’t see the picture of who or what was in the frame. She tapped it. This was rude. Downright intrusive. She should leave it. She shouldn’t be looking in his bedside drawer in the first place.
She pulled the photo frame out and turned it over.
Her heart danced with a surprisingly resentful tempo. She took a breath, swallowed the unease about her nosiness and gave herself a moment to adjust to the funny nausea inside her which had now reached her stomach. Jealousy. Because Jamie had a photo of a beautiful young woman in his bedside drawer?
She ran her finger over the edge of the frame. No dust. Perhaps he’d put the photo into the drawer before offering her his bedroom last night. Or maybe he kept the photo in his bedside drawer so as not to be hurt by looking at it every night. Maybe he took it out and gazed at it just before he went to sleep. Maybe he spoke to the brunette beauty in the photo, telling her about his day and what he’d done.
She put the frame back into the drawer; carefully. Concealing it as best she could with the notepads and pens, making it look like it hadn’t been disturbed.
If the lady in the photo was the one who’d broken his heart, his heart must hurt like hell. Younger than Jamie though. A good ten or twelve years younger, Kate guessed. But oh, so beautiful. Wind blowing her long brown hair, dark-brown eyes smiling, and a flush of pleasure on her cheeks.
Darn. Kate didn’t do jealous. Kate had no need of jealous. No, siree. But as she wandered back downstairs, still hatless, her mind burned to know more about the woman Jamie kept a secret in his bedside table. Perhaps she only came to life in his dreams.
She opened the cupboard under the stairs. A coat closet. Gnarled walking sticks, a couple of golf umbrellas and an array of hats. The baseball cap too big and with no way of tightening it. The purple beanie a definite no in a heatwave. The straw hat then. She plucked it off a peg and shook the dust off the crown and the large brim. She’d slathered herself in sunscreen, force of habit, but certainly didn’t want to burn her face. It might be an hour’s walk into town.
She stuffed the hat on her head and checked her reflection in a mirror on the inside of the cloakroom door. She decided she looked different and perhaps a bit eccentric, but if she didn’t want to burn she’d have to wear the dang thing. Her fingers itched to yank off the two fake white daisies but it wasn’t her hat to improve. Anyway, this was the country. She’d probably just blend in.
****
The land either side of All Seasons Road wasn’t too parched yet, but it was dry. Like Kate was beginning to feel. The sheep were resting in flocks, nibbling the green bits of grass still left, looking all cute and cuddly and in the shade. Unlike Kate.
Bad move with the wellies. For one, there wasn’t any mud, the roads were bitumen. Two; Jamie’s socks were too thick. They might also have melted and stuck to her feet which now felt like two bricks in an electric blanket.
At last, a crossroads. Main Street, the sign said. Swallow’s Fall 6k. Six kilometres? She did the maths. Ten minutes to walk one kilometre. One hour to go. ‘Holy bloody gumnuts.’
She took a slug from her water bottle, then trudged on.
Later, her heat-induced tiredness turned to anticipation as she rounded a bend and walked into the sanctuary of Swallow’s Fall. The town seemed to spring open before her in a splash of welcoming calm. A cool, colourful array of late nineteenth and early twentieth century buildings lined the one-street town. The chosen colours for the half-dozen shops on the raised walkway along the right-hand side were mostly traditional Australian heritage. Yellows, greens, dove-greys, hints of red and a splash of pink at the northern end of town from the closed B&B. A sort of sad bumpiness settled in Kate’s chest at the sight of the churned-up lawn and the broken railings on the veranda. What on earth had happened to the B&B?
She glanced up at the population sign hanging off a bracket on the historic and rather dilapidated Town Hall. Swallow’s Fall, Population Eighty Six Seven Eight. Sammy had told her that she was number eighty-seven, Jamie must be eighty-eight. Kate pulled at the brim of her hat, shading her eyes in case someone suddenly pounced her from nowhere and made her honorary townsperson number eighty-nine. Swallow’s Fall was too small for Kate. She was used to an expansive world. This little town was too isolated for her industrious mind. Cute and all that, with its never-changing atmosphere. But it wasn’t for Kate. Should she decide to move to the country, there’d be other towns, close to the city. And if she moved to the country she’d have made The Decision to let you know who have it all.
Fat Jacques Burch. And she wasn’t referring to his waistline. She meant fat as in greedy and petulant and downright nasty. Jumping jalopies, Jacques made her blood boil and her mind seethe.
Putting that scumbag to the back of her mind she stopped outside the petrol station and stared at a beautiful, pressed metal sign. A wonderful, welcomed and mouth-watering sign: Ice Cream. She nearly went down on bended knee in front of it to sing a halleluiah.
‘Good heavens. You walked all that way?’
Kate swung to the only fuel bowser at the station and the lady standing next to it. She recognised the short, plump, smiling person with her hair piled high in a bun. Still-jet-black hair, even though she must be close to retirement age. Mrs Z? Mrs P? ‘I’ve walked from Silver Bells House,’ Kate said, throwing a hand behind her to indicate the excessive kilometres she’d journeyed by Wellington boots.
The lady, whose smile hadn’t left her face, beckoned her inside the petrol station shop. ‘Come on in, dear. You must be exhausted. What are you wearing wellies for?’
Don’t ask.
Once inside the air-conditioned little shop — no more than a clean white room with a counter, a twirling rack of postcards and metal shelving full of all the expected mechanical oils, jump leads and car air fresheners — Kate’s heated skin and dehydrated internal organs breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Kate Singleton,’ Kate said as way of introduction while the lady peered under the rim of Kate’s straw hat. ‘I’m Sammy’s friend. I think I met you at the wedding.’
‘I know. I remember you. Heard you were in town. Jamie’s girlfriend, is it?’
/>
Excuse me?
‘Sammy and Ethan are away,’ Mrs P or Z said. ‘But you know that. Jamie’s been at Silver Bells House for over two months now. Fancy you and Jamie being together. Did you walk?’
‘Yes,’ Kate replied to the last question, and, ‘No,’ to being Jamie’s girlfriend. ‘I’m not his girlfriend.’ Sweet lady, but oh, so wrong about the situation. ‘There was a bit of a misunderstanding. I came down to rent the cottage for Christmas, not realising it had been bought, then I bogged my car because of a flock of parrots, and Jamie got me out and there was nowhere else to go.’
‘How kind of him. Such a gentleman. Were they gang gangs?’ She held her hand out. ‘Mrs Tam. And I meant the parrots.’
‘Hello again,’ Kate said, shaking Mrs Tam’s little hand. ‘Lovely to see you. Not sure what kind of parrots they were but there were thousands of them.’ Slight exaggeration but this was the country. Anything could happen, and for all Kate knew, probably did.
‘Fancy Sammy forgetting to tell you that Jamie bought the house.’ Mrs Tam shook her head. ‘Most unusual.’
Wasn’t it? Kate had been thinking along the same lines during the last two hours’ trudge into Sammy’s township. Have you been playing me, Samantha?
‘Can I buy an ice cream?’
‘Of course, and no buying. It’s on me. Can’t have Jamie’s girlfriend wilting from heat exhaustion. Homemade, you know. Which flavour?’
Kate followed Mrs Tam to the ice cream refrigerator. Rainbow colours of ice-cold ice cream made her forget about the girlfriend remark. ‘Two scoops of raspberry-ripple please.’ Pile it up. Bring it on.
‘Oh, good choice.’ Mrs Tam got her metal ice cream scoop out of a little bucket and lifted the lid on the freezer.
Kate inhaled the cold and welcomed the momentary freeze on her skin.
‘People are like children, you know, when they choose their flavours.’ Mrs Tam piled the ice cream into a waffle-wafer cone. ‘I’m trying a new recipe actually. Strawberry-marshmallow. There you go.’ She patted the top with the back of the ice cream scoop. ‘I’ve got the strawberry, of course, but I’m having trouble blending the marshmallow flavour in.’