Stirling almost cracked a grin. ‘Valerie showed me how, and now I’ll show you.’
Ten minutes later, Jaime wished she hadn’t been so hasty to agree. Stirling’s arms were clasped around her, his chest glued to her bare back. She really shouldn’t have worn a halterneck top. She could feel every movement he made, every muscle, as he guided her hands to fold the thrice-sifted flour into the egg mixture.
‘You just lightly lift the fork up and down, blending the flour with your eggs.’
Jaime knew what her eggs were doing and they weren’t blending. Her ovaries were standing to attention, passionately saying, ‘Man! Give me man!’ She tried to wriggle out of his grasp a little, only to be pulled in tighter by iron-hard arms.
His soft voice murmured near her right cheek, ‘Slowly does it.’
As he spoke, tiny puffs of air wafted into her ear, making her shiver. She could feel goosebumps patterning her skin below her cut-off shorts.
‘Just move the fork gently in a circular motion …’
Her hips wanted to gyrate in a circular motion against his –
‘And that’s enough.’
He let go abruptly and turned to face the sink. Jaime felt the cold air of the overhead fan brush across her spine where his warm body had just been.
Stirling washed his hands, then headed to the oven, grabbing a tea towel. He checked the temperature on the gauge, adjusted it a bit, and turned back to face Jaime, fastidiously drying his fingers on the towel. Jaime glanced at the cloth, which was now hanging down over his thighs. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was hiding something …
‘Just pour the mixture into the tins, gently place them in the oven and bake for twelve minutes. I’ll be back to check.’ And he dumped the tea towel on the bench and ran for the door.
The Cat, lounging on the windowsill, meowed as Marble Man rushed past. He halted momentarily and stroked its fur. The Cat leant into the caress. Jaime watched, gobsmacked. The bloody cat barely even looked at her, let alone sat still long enough for a pat.
Then the screen door slammed and Stirling was gone, calling Buster away from the accumulation of discus-like cakes adorning the path. The dog came on command but not before snatching up a delicacy to eat on the run. Well, at least Jaime’d made someone’s day.
Stirling came back exactly twelve minutes later. Jaime knew this because she was sitting on a stool in the kitchen, munching on some nibbles and counting down the seconds. She was also trying to work out why she felt such a strong attraction to this man.
He was nothing like her last serious boyfriend. Joshua Mulvaney had been a debonair, light-hearted, fun-loving, out-to-have-a-good-time-regardless kind of man. A bit like herself, really, until the fizz drained out of her when that relationship ended. Being cheated on really sucked, so she’d already been feeling sad that final Christmas with her father. And then came Boxing Day … The pain of losing her Dad had easily wiped out her earlier heartbreak, and she still hadn’t recovered, almost a year later. She hadn’t felt like dating, or even going out much, as if to have a good time, to enjoy herself, was a violation of her loss and grief.
And now she felt attracted to this man – a very serious, very country bloke. It was weird. Really, really bizarre.
Then Stirling walked in the door and her heart just melted as she took him in, fresh from a shower. His cropped russet hair curled where it softly touched his tanned neck. Those yummy broad shoulders were now encased in vivid green, and his long legs were sheathed in faded blue jeans, with a brown leather belt drawing attention to his trim waist. The man had no right to look so scrumptious. She could have eaten him right up. Bizarre didn’t cut it at all. He was fantastic.
Jaime touched the side of her mouth to make sure her tongue wasn’t hanging out. It wasn’t, thank God. She smiled brightly. ‘Time to retrieve the sponges?’
Stirling didn’t reply. For some reason his eyes were focused on her legs, which were crossed as she sat perched on the stool. She glanced down. Nothing strange there. She looked back up. He was still standing there, all silent and brooding, just staring.
She cleared her throat. Startled blue eyes dragged their way up to her neckline, where they fastened on the V of her halterneck top.
Jaime had always wished for a bigger cleavage. She needed to squish her arms together to give the impression of a decent bust. But her arms weren’t squished together now and he was still staring. She peered down and saw, sitting on her top, a big blob of cake mixture. She lifted a finger, scooped it off and slid her finger into her mouth to suck the sweet mixture. Stirling’s flinty eyes took in every move. Jaime, not quite herself after downing a whole bottle of wine and just starting on a second, licked and nibbled her finger some more, enjoying watching Stirling watch her do it.
Then The Cat appeared, curling around the stockman’s legs and jolting him out of his trance. Stirling leant down to scoop the creature up. Jaime’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. The Cat let him pick it up!
‘You better get those cakes out of the oven, otherwise they’ll be flat and burnt,’ he said, leaning against the doorjamb and stroking The Cat, which lay cradled in his arms like a baby. Watching The Cat stretch out its paw in obvious ecstasy, Jaime found herself wishing Stirling would stroke her like that.
‘Yes. Right. The cake.’ Keep your mind on the job, Jaime Josephina.
She moved to open the oven door, grabbed a pot-holder and slid out the two sponges. They were beautiful. Tinged with light brown, crisp at the very edges, nice and high, looming over the tin.
‘Now run a butter knife around the side and tip them out onto that cake cooler with the clean tea towel on it.’
Jaime did what he said. And voila! There they were, two featherlight sponges. She turned incredulous eyes towards the man still standing in the doorway, stroking The Cat. How did a man who lived in the bush know all this finer cooking stuff?
‘It worked!’ she said.
‘Of course, Princess. I expected nothing less.’ And he grinned.
Holy hell! When the man really smiled, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.
Oh crap, did she say that aloud? Why was he looking at her all funny?
Jaime had to sit down.
‘Are you okay?’ Stirling dropped The Cat and was at her side in seconds.
She waved him away, grabbed her wine glass and tipped it up to her mouth. It was empty.
She felt Stirling’s hand come down on hers. ‘Here. I don’t think you need any more of that.’ He took the wine glass away and put a cup of water into her grasp instead.
‘Party pooper,’ she mumbled. And promptly passed out.
Chapter 11
When Jaime woke up, she couldn’t work out where she was. She was lying down and a bongo drum was playing the rumba in her head. Her mouth was as dry as a parched puddle of bulldust.
She half sat up and peered around through slitted eyes. The afternoon sunlight boring in from outside was making the rumba turn into a salsa. She flopped back down. She was on the couch in the lounge. The last thing she remembered was …?
Oh hell, no. The kitchen, the sponges and Stirling McEvoy. She cringed. He must have carried her over to the couch. How embarrassing.
She lay there for a good five minutes, trying to pull herself together, then heaved herself off the couch. She’d best go see what damage she’d inflicted on the kitchen. If she remembered rightly, it was a train smash. But when she walked through the door she was met by the sound of the dishwasher whirring, the scent of Pine O Cleen and the sight of no less than five amazing sponges sitting on the bench under fly covers.
She sat on the nearest stool, stunned. Stirling McEvoy to the rescue. Again.
The man deserved a medal for this little effort. But unfortunately her head wasn’t going to allow her to deliver one just yet. She’d never been able to hold her liquor.
She got up and staggered to the medicine chest, and searched for painkillers. She popped a couple of tablets from their packe
t and downed them with a cup of water that was sitting on the bench top. The same cup she remembered Stirling handing her just before she passed out.
She gave the bench another glance and saw, balanced perfectly on its end, a tube of Berocca. Ha! So the man thought she’d have a hangover? Well, she hated to admit it, but he was right. She was going to have a shower and get straight into her beautiful, comfy bed.
It was dark when Jaime woke again. She felt much better. The painkillers had done their job, as had a restorative sleep. She looked at her watch. It was only ten o’clock.
She wondered what had woken her.
A rustle came from under her bed, followed by scratching near the bedside table.
What the hell?
‘C’mon, Cat, stop playing funny buggers,’ she called into the blackness.
All was quiet. Until a thump sounded, followed by some heavy scrabbling.
She flicked on the bedside lamp. Nothing happened. Okay, so this was getting a bit weird. The lamp had been plugged in and working last time she’d used it. Maybe the power had gone out?
The rustling was louder now, followed by another noisy bump. Suddenly there was a screeching meow – The Cat – and she heard it jump to somewhere in the middle of the room.
Feeling a quiver of unease, she called out again, ‘What’s going on, Cat?’
Another hiss and a snarl.
She had a torch around here somewhere.
Jaime slid her hand down the side of the bed – and touched a soft furry bundle. She let out a yell, which scared The Cat, now hissing and spitting from what sounded like the top of the wardrobe. Which meant … her hand hadn’t touched The Cat.
What the …?
She finally found the torch and quickly switched it on. A pair of big round white eyes were reflected back at her.
She screamed at the top of her lungs.
The creature’s fur was grey-brown and a tail curved over its back, curled around tight like a snail’s shell. Claws the size of a witch’s talons clung to the doona.
Jaime flew out the other side of the bed, screaming so loud it became one long wail of terror. ‘ARGHHHH!’
She fled down the passage, into the kitchen, across the enclosed verandah and right out the back door still screaming …
And slammed into a hard male chest coming in the opposite direction.
‘ARGHHHH!’
‘Relax, Princess. It’s only me.’
Stirling McEvoy’s steady voice was like balm on a wound. She sank into his arms in relief and stayed there. No way was she going back in the house with that creature on the loose! She could feel her whole body trembling, and the man who held her must have felt it too, because he pulled her in even tighter and held on. It was glorious. Like being encased in warmth and muscle. She fitted neatly against him, completely immersed in his embrace. It was sublime.
Slowly her tremors receded and Stirling reached down and lifted her chin. ‘Want to tell me what that was all about?’
‘A poss–’ She stopped and swallowed. ‘There’s a possum in my room. On my bed!’
Stirling’s brow did its sinking trick and then all of a sudden he was laughing! She tried to wriggle free from his grasp, but he was having none of it. His arms had her pinned tight against him. So tight, in fact, she felt parts she probably shouldn’t have.
‘I guess he was kinda lonely,’ Stirling said. ‘It’s a big world out there for a single possum.’
Jaime was about to wrench herself free when she heard her father’s voice as clear as if he was right beside her. ‘You have to learn to laugh at yourself, Princess. Don’t take things that really aren’t important too seriously.’
She recalled the scene in the bedroom. On reflection, the poor possum was probably as scared as she was. And it was about time The Cat got his bloody comeuppance. From the outside peering in, it must have been pretty funny. She started to giggle and found her chin being tilted up again.
‘Well, thank goodness for that. I thought I was going to have a hysterical female on my hands.’
‘As opposed to a screaming one?’ said Jaime, laughter bubbling up again. ‘Oh hell, that must be the weirdest thing that’s happened to me yet.’
Abruptly Stirling let go of her and she stepped back, grabbing his retreating arm for balance. What was that about? Was he scared of women after Fancy-pants Tiffany had broken his heart?
Without Stirling’s warm embrace, Jaime shivered, and realised she was dressed in only a barely there singlet and undies. She snatched a quick glance at Stirling to see if he’d noticed. He’d noticed, alright. He was staring at her high-beam nipples with the concentration of a cat stalking a mouse. She quickly wrapped her arms around her body.
Stirling blinked. His face turned a bright shade of red. ‘Guess I better go catch a possum.’
Jaime grinned. Marble Man blushing? Now there was a turn-up for the books. She flung an arm towards the open screen door. ‘Go ahead. Be my guest.’
It took a sturdy wire trap, some grapes for bait and a whole lot of patience, but eventually Stirling caught the possum. Though not before the furry intruder had shat all over her bed. Yuck!
Jaime, meanwhile, had found a navy dressing-gown hanging behind the door in the bathroom. Distinctly male, with an ‘S’ embroidered on the front panel. ‘S’ for Stirling? What exactly was Marble Man’s relationship with the owner of Polly’s Plains?
‘There you are, Princess. All done and dusted.’ The man in question stood at the door with the cage in his hand. The possum cowering inside it was huge.
‘What are you going to do with him?’ The poor thing looked so scared.
‘Take him down the river and let him go. He’ll be a lot happier there than in your bedroom.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Glad I was around. I was coming to see if you were alright. The last time I saw you, you were a little under the weather.’
Jaime clapped a hand to her mouth. Oh my God. In all the excitement about the possum she’d forgotten her drunken behaviour. And the sponges!
She walked over, stood on tiptoes and placed a light kiss on his cheek. Mmmm, he did smell nice. She had to force herself to move away.
Stirling put a hand to his cheek. ‘What was that for?’
She pointed towards the kitchen. ‘To say thank you – for the cakes and cleaning up the mess. For putting me to bed, and the Berocca.’ She smiled at the last one. ‘You’ve been great.’
Stirling just grimaced, said, ‘Good night,’ and walked out the door.
Jaime stared after him. What was it with the man? He was all soft and mushy one minute and as prickly as a hairbrush the next. Bloody Tiffany. She’d obviously made him wary of women. But he had caught the possum for her, and that meant a lot.
She just needed to find another place to sleep and she’d be right for the night. She cast her eye around the lounge and focused on the couch. It had been pretty comfy this afternoon. And she really didn’t want to make up a bed in a new, cold bedroom.
She went down the hall to the linen press, dragged out some spare sheets and blankets, grabbed a pillow and took it all back to the lounge. She soon had the couch looking something like a bed.
As she moved to the window to close the curtains, the brilliantly lit house across the paddock caught her eye, followed by the massive Polly’s Plains entrance gate. Both were hard to miss, seeing they were the only lights for miles. Even the stars were covered with cloud tonight. She gazed at the candy cane lights racing up Stirling’s verandah posts, and Santa, balanced on the roof with a big sack of toys over his shoulder.
Suddenly everything went black. The light show was over. Marble Man must have just got back from releasing the possum and was probably heading to bed. A weird feeling curled around Jaime’s consciousness. Something akin to sorrow. Sorrow for what? The possum? But he was in a much happier place, chewing leaves or whatever he did. No, it wasn’t the possum making her so unhappy. What was it?
It wasn’t until
she’d laid down on the couch, pulled a blanket over herself and stared into the dark for some time that she put her finger on it.
She missed seeing the lights.
And she longed for her father.
Jack Hanrahan had adored Christmas and always aspired for his home to be as good as those along The Boulevard. Every year when 1 December rolled around, he’d drag boxes of Christmas decorations from the shed. He’d turn the interior of their family home into a festive wonderland with tinsel, baubles and Santa figurines covering every available surface. He’d string lights from trees and shrubs in the garden and play Santa on Christmas Eve, giving away lollies to every kid in the street.
Her father had loved Christmas like no other.
Jack Hanrahan was her Christmas.
But now he was gone forever.
Grief rent Jaime’s heart like a dagger, leaving a gaping wound that bled tears rather than blood.
She cried herself to sleep.
Chapter 12
Jaime spent Saturday morning trawling the internet, but not one job she was interested in had popped up, which was hardly surprising since Christmas was only five days away. But she wasn’t going to think about that.
Distraction was the key, so she flicked open her email account to find a barrage of messages from friends in Melbourne.
‘H-iiii Jaime, life’s frantic here. How are things going in the sticks …?’
This was from Sally, who Jaime didn’t think had ever travelled beyond Richmond.
‘Hi Jaime, met any hot men I should know about?’
Stunning and gorgeous Ruth, who was one of those players …
‘Jaime, do you need a lift to the Wheetles & Brute Christmas break-up?’
Shane, hopelessly tactless but a sweetie.
‘Hi Jaime, a few of us are heading to St Kilda beach tomorrow if you want to come? I can’t get you on your mobile for some reason …’
So glued was Celia to her iPhone, she wouldn’t have even contemplated such a thing as ‘no reception’.
Rose River Page 8
