Stirling, who had come up behind her, grabbed at The Cat and completely missed, which sent Jaime jumping in another circle trying to dislodge the furry thing.
Buster came flying from the motorbike snarling at The Cat. It decided the dog was worthy of its attention, let go of Jaime’s leg and took off through the cat door to sanctuary inside the house.
Jaime dropped to the ground and pulled up her leggings. Red welts ran in parallel lines along her shin. She was just pulling the pants back down when two big strong hands halted hers.
‘Let me see,’ said Stirling. He dropped to the ground beside her and had hold of her leg before she could jerk away. ‘Not too bad. A good dash of antiseptic on the broken skin might be enough.’
He glanced up at her and she saw exactly the moment it hit him she’d been crying. Her swollen lids and the redness around her eyes were probably like a flashing billboard! She pushed his hands away and got to her feet. This morning she’d vowed not to make a fool of herself again in front of this man. She wasn’t going to renege on that promise now.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, and moved towards the back door at a fast clip. Well, at a fast, limping clip. The claw marks hurt like hell.
She was shocked when a pair of hands came from behind and spun her round. Stirling was standing in front of her, as big and immovable as the mountains.
‘You’d been crying before the cat attacked you. Why?’
So much for a clean getaway.
‘It hurts.’
There, try that for size, Mr Marble Man. Now he’d just think she was a wuss rather than a mushy, gooey animal-lover (except for cats).
Stirling’s brow was doing its caving-in thing again. ‘You’ve been crying for a while.’
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘I can tell. I’ve got a sister and two nieces.’
Okay, so she might be snookered. She may as well just come out with it. It’s not as if she cared what Stirling McEvoy thought of her, anyway.
‘I just don’t like the wasteful, pointless shooting of poor defenceless animals.’
There, she’d said it. She crossed her arms, straightened her spine and tried to ignore the pain in her leg. She risked a quick glance up at Stirling. If the man frowned any harder he’d cause an avalanche on that face of his.
‘Poor defenceless animals, huh? And just how do you figure that?’
‘Well, you shot them and left them there. You weren’t shooting for any reason other than the thrill of the kill!’ Like her stepfather, Dave. He was probably blundering around the bush right now on Balveno Island, trying to shoot Bambi.
Stirling gave her one last withering glare before turning on his heels to walk back down the path.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything in your defence?’ she called to his retreating back. How dare he just turn and walk away!
‘Why waste words?’ Stirling threw over his shoulder. ‘You hoity-toity city girls are all the same. You’ve made up your mind already.’
‘Maybe I’ve missed something, although I can’t for the life of me think what,’ she called.
That stopped him. He slowly turned and formed a mirror of her own stance: back straight, arms folded, and square chin in a belligerent pose. When he spoke, it was in a deceptively mild voice. ‘Those rabbits you’re so fond of are responsible for severe gully erosion in the paddock beyond that fence line they were living on.’
Jaime opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again. She’d seen erosion around the creeks where she went fishing with her dad. It made a terrible mess, and took hundreds of years to repair itself.
‘Valerie’s spent thousands upon thousands of dollars fencing out that gully and many others like it on Polly’s Plains. We’ve been revegetating them to try and arrest the erosion, but your bunnies keep eating the new trees as fast as we can plant them.’
Geez, why did he have to make it all sound so plausible?
‘And what’s more, shooting them’s a hell of a lot more humane than a painful, drawn-out death from a virus like calici.’
He had her there. Now she felt really bad.
‘So I suggest, Mizz JJ Hanrahan, you get your facts right before you go wasting your precious tears on pests and vermin. Good night.’
Stirling McEvoy about-faced and stormed down the path, leaving Jaime staring after him. As the motorbike rumbled to life and took off, Buster gave one short, sharp bark. Jaime couldn’t help but wonder if the dog was saying goodbye or ‘So there!’
She looked up to the stars and mumbled, ‘Well, Dad, I sure as hell put my foot in that one.’
Chapter 6
The next morning, Jaime ruminated on events of the night before while she weeded, trimmed and hacked at the overgrown bushes in the homestead’s garden. She knew now why her father spent so much time pottering in his backyard. It was therapeutic and allowed you to think of virtually nothing for hours on end, except where the next weed was to be pulled.
Therapeutic or not, by morning tea time she knew she had to make amends to the man she’d wrongly accused of mass (bunny) murder. She decided to drive the Suzuki over to his house in the hope of catching him at home having a cuppa. She might even get a look inside the place this time if she was lucky.
She was in luck. He wasn’t having a drink, but he was there, hooking some kind of rope around his verandah posts.
Buster barked hello and came running up to sniff the Suzuki’s tyres before letting fly with a stream of piss. Stirling yelled ‘BUS-TER!’ and whistled the dog back to his side.
‘Give me a hand here, will you?’ he said, wrestling with metres of long white strings.
Jaime looked around, then realised the instruction was for her. She shook her head and grinned. Men were an amazing species. While women tossed and turned all night playing an argument over and over in their minds, dissecting who said what, when and where, men just forgot about it and moved on. But when she stepped up onto Marble Man’s verandah, the taut look on his face yelled loud and clear that this man hadn’t forgotten. Not one little word.
He held out the end of one of the strings. ‘Pull this gently, will you, so I can get the whole roll unravelled in one piece.’
She took the string and started to walk backwards, not even registering what she was holding, intent on what she wanted to say. ‘I’m sorry.’ The words came out all rough and squeaky.
She cleared her throat. She’d always found it hard to admit she was wrong. Her dad had warned her about it, saying it was better to admit to your mistakes than live with the guilt of them forever.
‘I’ve come to apologise for making such a hasty judgement on your behaviour last night.’
Shit! That didn’t come out right either. His behaviour? It sounded like she was still pissed with him.
‘I mean, I’m sorry for judging you without knowing all the facts.’
There. Now it was up to him.
‘That’s fine. You weren’t to know.’ He waved his hands in a shooing motion. ‘Can you drag that back out towards the gate, please?’
That was it? Gobsmacked, she looked down at the string in her hands and nearly dropped it in fright. The white string held hundreds and hundreds of little red, green, yellow and blue bud-like globes. Christmas lights! She wasn’t doing Christmas this year. Possibly not ever again!
She glanced back at the man who was making her get up close and personal with the festive season. He wasn’t looking at her. He’d moved along the verandah and stood with his head down, brow furrowed, working at the knotted strands of what she now realised was fine electrical wire. She couldn’t drop the string and leave. It’d look like she was a hoity-toity chick walking off in a huff. Just like he’d called her yesterday.
Maybe if she did what he asked and just averted her eyes? Yes, that was it. She’d concentrate on his garden and the insects that were communing in buzzing ecstasy with his highly perfumed roses. She wouldn’t even look at the tiny lights in her hands.
But the memories came unbidden. She, her mum
and dad used to do the ‘Christmas light drive’ to The Boulevard in Ivanhoe. They would eventually find a park, jump out of the car and wander along the decorated street, ooh-ing and ahh-ing along with everyone else. The displays on the houses were incredible and it seemed half of Melbourne turned out to enjoy the lights, causing massive traffic jams.
‘There, I think I’ve got it,’ said Stirling’s satisfied voice from the other side of the variegated pittosporum trees. The line in her hand went taut then slack. ‘Right, I’ll just get up on the ladder. Can you feed the lights along to me? I’ll grab some tinsel to tie them to the fretwork between the posts.’
Tinsel? Oh crap! And how could she concentrate on his garden if she had to feed the lights to him? Jaime kicked at the gravel, then the garden gate. Her Colorado boots sure were getting a workout today.
‘You okay down there?’ yelled Stirling.
‘Fine. I’m just fine,’ said Jaime, suddenly realising that the string of lights had gone taut again. He obviously wanted her to come back towards him and his damned Christmas decorations. Oh look, there was a bee. No, two bees, buzzing around that gorgeous red velvet rose.
‘Princess, I need you to help me here. It’s not a tug-of-war, you know.’
Jaime moved a few feet towards Stirling and trained her eyes on the flowers. A dragonfly was having a lovely time flitting amongst the petals.
‘More lights, please.’
Damn it. Couldn’t he see she was busy admiring his garden?
‘More …’
Obviously not.
‘That might just about do it. Hang on, I’ll shift the ladder.’
Jaime rolled her eyes at Buster, who’d come to sniff at her bare legs. ‘Don’t you dare piss on me,’ she warned him. Buster barked and rolled over onto his back, baring his belly for a scratch. She laughed, leant down and gave the dog a scruff. Realised she couldn’t hear Stirling anymore. What was he doing? He was awfully quiet.
She peered through the pittosporums and still couldn’t see him. Then she sighted a massive blow-up Santa Claus exiting the garden shed. Oh hell, no.
Oh hell, yes. Was the man mad? Since when did a fully grown male who lived by himself, was stoic, taciturn and grumpy most of the time, get all sentimental about Christmas?
Stirling must have spotted the disbelieving look on her face. He shrugged. ‘My nieces love him.’
And if she’d been doing Christmas this year, she would have too. But seeing she wasn’t … ‘Look. Are you finished with me? Can I go?’
Stirling propped Santa against the verandah post and came towards her. ‘Sure, you can go. Polly’s Plains was part of the free world last time I looked.’
Jaime pulled a wry expression. ‘Thanks for that.’ She carefully placed her end of the string of lights on the ground. ‘I just wanted to say sorry for being such an idiot. Now I’ll be off.’
‘Mmm …’ Stirling was peering at her with a calculating look. ‘What do you have on now?’
Jaime pursed her lips. ‘Trying to make friends with The Cat. He attacked me again this morning.’
‘What are you feeding him?’
‘Dry food that I found in the cupboard.’
Stirling’s mouth quirked. ‘He likes Dine.’
‘That’s what I’m trying to get him to do – dine. The bag says the dried food’s got all the essential good stuff in it. But I’m not winning any favours.’
He let out a slow chuckle. ‘No. He likes to eat Dine – you know, the cat food.’
‘So why did Valerie leave instructions to give him the dry stuff?’
‘Dodge won’t eat the dry food unless she’s there feeding it to him. Those two dote on each other. Listen, I’ll get you some Dine next time I’m down in Lake Grace.’
Jaime hoped she looked grateful but underneath she was a little hurt. Why hadn’t he mentioned this before? Because he wanted The Cat to hate her and claw her shins?
‘So if I get you some Dine and take care of the cat problem, you’d be free for the next little while?’
Jaime frantically searched her mind for some other plausible excuse, but she was coming up a total blank. ‘Maybe. Why?’
‘I just need the Suzuki and a spare pair of hands. I’ll roll up these lights, tie up Santa and we can go.’
‘But I haven’t said …’ Jaime stopped. She was talking to air. He was gone.
She kicked the gate again and spun towards the ute. She didn’t know why she was feeling so disgruntled. After all, she had come to apologise, so she really should help him as recompense. Deep down she knew it was all this Christmas stuff. She’d come up here to get away from the festive season, not get thrown right in amongst it.
‘You want to drive?’
She jumped. For a big man he was as silent as a panther.
‘I’ve hooked on the trailer. You have driven with a trailer before?’ Not waiting for her reply, he took off across the big gravel yard, tossing back over his shoulder, ‘Just drive over towards the machinery shed, will you?’
Jaime eyed the trailer with misgiving. She had towed a trailer. Once. And had managed to jack-knife the thing. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen again. She just had to remember her father’s instruction after that little incident, which had left a dent in her mother’s ‘new’ second-hand Mercedes: ‘When you’re reversing, chase the trailer, Princess. Chase the trailer with the car and you’ll be fine.’ Unfortunately her mother had been anything but fine when she saw the damage to her precious Merc, but she’d got over it after Jaime’s father shouted a new paint job for the car.
Jaime jumped into the Suzuki. Buster leapt into the passenger seat, sat up straight and looked at her with a big doggy grin. She chuckled. You couldn’t stay irritated for long with that happy kelpie face smiling at you.
She started the ute and drove over to where Stirling stood with a toolbox and Stihl chainsaw. They must be cutting wood. What for, seeing it had to be at least thirty degrees in the shade?
Stirling stowed his gear, then slid into the passenger seat next to Buster. With his knees pressed against the dash and his head hitting the roof, he made the ute’s cab shrink to the size of a Smart car. Buster wriggled up against Jaime, tucked his head under her arm and licked the side of her face. She wiped her cheek and grinned at the dog.
‘Well, Dodge mightn’t like you, but Buster thinks you’re a bit of alright,’ said Stirling.
She scruffed Buster’s neck then glanced across at Stirling. ‘And I think he’s a handsome fellow too.’
Her eyes caught his and time seemed to pause, then lean and scuttle sideways. What was it she’d just said? Her mind was turning to soup. Still they drank each other in. The flinty eyes opposite her were pooled with an emotion she couldn’t define. Was it trepidation? Regret? Or something more benign, like ‘just hurry the hell up and start driving’?
Stirling broke the contact first. He glanced away from her questioning face and cleared his throat. ‘We’d better get these trees, otherwise we’ll be late.’
What trees? And late for whom?
‘Um … where do you want to go?’ asked Jaime.
Stirling gestured out the window. ‘Head down the main drive, turn left and then along the road for about five kays. You’ll see a paddock of trees in the cleared land to your right.’
‘What are we doing there?’
‘Harvesting Christmas trees.’
Chapter 7
Jaime hadn’t thought her scowl was that apparent, but then she saw Buster had crept away from her and back towards Stirling.
‘You’ve got a real problem with the festive season, haven’t you?’ Stirling said.
‘No.’ The retort was short and sharp. Good one, Hanrahan, now he’ll know you’re lying.
‘Mmm …’
Geez, she hated it when he did that.
‘What do you mean, “Mmm”?’
Stirling leant back in his seat and shot her a bemused look. ‘I don’t believe you.’
She shrugged. ‘Why w
ould I have a problem with Christmas?’
‘That’s what I want you to tell me,’ he said, and leant towards her, a hand in the air, fingers extended. ‘First, you got cranky after you saw the Santa stamps my niece put on me. I thought, okay, so she doesn’t like anything that looks like a tattoo.’ He dropped his thumb.
‘Two, you nearly went under Ryan’s counter when he mentioned the movies showing in Lake Grace.’ A finger went down.
‘Three, you held my Christmas lights like they were a nest of snakes.’
He only had his ring finger and pinkie left.
‘Four, you glared at my Santa back there as if he was the most hated man on earth.’
His little finger looked very lonely standing there on its own.
‘And five, when I mentioned the Christmas tree drive your look could’ve killed the nearest elf.’ He sat back and ruffled his dog’s shaggy neck. ‘What gives, Princess?’
What to say? She didn’t want to share her heart and soul with this man. Worse, she didn’t want him to laugh at her.
‘I’m just Christmas-phobic,’ she said, staring straight ahead so he couldn’t see her eyes. They usually gave the game away when she was lying.
‘Mmm …’
Oh crap, there he went again. Time to be more convincing.
‘It’s the materialism. I just can’t stand all the wasted money on food and presents.’ She snuck a look sideways and was gratified to see he was nodding.
‘Yep. I like to make my presents myself.’
‘You do?’
‘Don’t sound so shocked, Princess. There’s more than one creative bone in my body. I’m not as gifted as my sister with her handiwork, but me and leather get on alright.’
‘Leather? Like whips and stuff?’ Her voice climbed a notch. She didn’t think he had it in him.
‘Stock whips, saddle bags, belts and purses …’
He had no idea her thoughts were in the gutter.
‘… handbags and computer satchels.’
‘You sell them?’ she asked.
‘No, I give them away to friends.’ He pointed to a pine-tree-covered paddock coming up on her right. ‘This here’s the one. Just pull in that driveway there and I’ll unbolt the locks.’
Rose River Page 5
