Stan

by C. J. Duggan

  I gasped. Someone was here.

  Shit.

  I flung my legs down from the desk, jumping to attention. I clicked off the computer screen from the games, at the same time upending the jar of Kool Mints off the counter, spilling and rolling them everywhere with a clatter.

  Oh shit, no-no-no-no …

  I fell to my knees working frantically to scoop up the white rolling balls, cursing that they weren’t made into a square shape instead of rolling on and on and on under cupboards and drawers and places never to be seen again. I scooted around the desk, clawing my way to gather and clear the mess that was trailing to the door, scooping and gathering them back into the jar.

  But it was too late.

  The bell jingled above the door. I froze; the sound rang in my ears causing my blood to run cold as two dust-covered boots entered my vision. On my hands and knees I watched them step through the door, crunching directly onto a Kool Mint and pausing. Maybe it was from the feeling of the unexpected crunch underfoot or the sight of a girl flailing on the ground chasing mints that caused them to stop. Either way, I was afraid to look up, to follow the line of the jean-clad legs and find out who they belonged to. And before I could work up the nerve to do just that, the mint-smashing stranger saved me from myself. He crouched down.

  My eyes finally moved up to a friendly face, and beautiful eyes that almost smiled too through the wisps of his dark honey-blond hair.

  “You okay?” He posed the question with guarded amusement, spoken gently as if he was frightened of spooking the wild animal on all fours before him. Gee, lucky I had straightened the tourist information brochures otherwise I would have absolutely no dignity intact.

  The sex god held out his hand, which I eagerly took as he helped me to my feet. I laughed in good humour, dusting the invisible dust from my knees.

  “Oops,” I said quietly in front of this hotter-than-hell man who looked like he had stepped out of a Levi Jeans ad.

  “Sorry, I just upended a jar of mints.” I winced. “I’m not usually on my hands and knees.”

  Oh God, Bel, just shut up!

  “Unless of course I upend a jar of mints.” I laughed nervously.

  I really needed to just stop talking.

  Sex God bent over to pick up a few wayward mints near the door; he studied them with a bemused smirk. “It’s a shame they don’t make them square.”

  I grinned broadly; goofishly. “That’s what I think,” I said a bit too high-pitched.

  His smile was sinful. “Great minds think alike.” He shuffled the handful of mints to free up his right hand that he held out to me. “I’m Max.”

  I quickly shifted the jar to my left, taking his hand. “Belinda, but people just call me Bel.”

  Max crushed my hand in a bone-breaking firm shake that would make any man proud; I did my best not to wince and was glad it was over as quickly as it was.

  Our goofy grins were interrupted by that infamous doorbell that would chime in my nightmares, followed by that dreaded crunching sound of smashed mints.

  Seemed Max missed a few near the door. I bit my lip and took in the sight of Stan lifting his shoe up as he flipped his sunnies onto the top of his head. His brows raised taking in the sight before him: me, Max, and a sea of scattered white pebbles.

  “Everything under control?” he asked with uncertainty.

  “Oh, yeah. Um, sorry, mate, I’m afraid I’ve trashed your office.” Max cut me off from speaking. “I knocked over the jar by accident.” He grimaced.

  Stan’s mood lightened. “Oh, no worries, it happens.”

  Ha! I couldn’t help but lift my brow. Somehow, I thought, if he had known I had actually done it, I bet he wouldn’t have been so forgiving.

  “So, how can we help you?” Stan asked.

  Oops, I hadn’t even thought to ask that.

  “I know it’s a long shot, but I was wondering if you had any cabins available? There’s nothing in town.”

  “Actually, you’re in luck,” Stan said, brushing past me and heading for the reservations book. I simply stood to the side clutching the mint jar, feeling like an idiot, until Max threw me a friendly wink and rested his elbows on the reception desk as Stan searched through the book.

  “How long are you planning to stay for?” asked Stan.

  “Well, I’m not sure—a few weeks. Is there a limit?”

  “Not for the cabins. Number seventeen isn’t pre-booked at all, so you can crash there as long as you want. We have a discounted rate for long term.”

  “Great, I’ll take it.”

  “All right, just need to fill out some things and I’ll take a copy of your licence.”

  I only realised I was actually staring at Max when Stan said my name.

  “Bel?”

  “Yes?” I double blinked into the present.

  Max was busy filling out the booking form so he didn’t see the not-so-nice look Stan was giving me.

  “How about you grab the broom and dustpan?” he asked.

  I smiled sweetly.

  Yes. Master.

  “Sure.” I placed the jar back on the counter. “Nice to meet you, Max.” I smiled.

  Max looked up, peering through the wisps of his dirty-blond hair. “You too, Bel. Sorry about the mints.” He winked again.

  We gave each other a knowing look, a little secret that we were bonded together by.

  “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” I said sternly.

  “Oh, don’t worry, it won’t.” He nodded.

  The only person who didn’t find our little exchange funny was Stan, who sighed not too subtly and looked at me with a bored and unimpressed expression.

  “I’m going.” I mimed.

  Geez, what a killjoy.

  ***

  I finished sweeping the verandah first; seeing as though it was the job I was set to do earlier, I didn’t need another reason for Stan to be pissed at me. It also seemed like a better idea to wait until the coast was clear to clean up the mint fiasco. I watched on as Stan and Max made their way out of the office, crunching a path down the drive, heading toward the cabins housed a short distance away. I waited until they were out of sight before I quickstepped back to the office and began to sweep like a mad thing. I got what I suspected was the very last mint visible to the naked eye before I dumped them into the bin. I thought better against putting them back in the jar; they were well past the three-second rule. Clicking the mouse to close the screen saver, I quickly disposed of the solitaire evidence and took it back to the desktop, just like I was never there. I was about to make my way out from behind the desk when I took the chance to peer into the reservations books and the filled-in paper.

  Max Henry

  3409 Moira Station

  Ballan

  Hmm, seemed like Mr Max Henry was a long way from home.

  I moved the papers back into place, giving the room the final once-over. Yep, it was like I was never even there, as long as no one ever looked under the cupboards.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Stan

  There was something unnervingly primal about the way I was feeling.

  After showing Max where his cabin was, I had this urge to make up some excuse that the caravan park was actually booked out and he would have to seek shelter elsewhere.

  It was obvious Bel had made the mess, and that Mr Knight in Shining Armour had come along and gallantly taken the heat for her. My eyes rolled thinking about it, and then again, I wondered why I was feeling so on edge about something so stupid.

  I found my answer.

  I paused, momentarily observing Bel on the far end of the verandah, oblivious to me watching her as she twirled the broomstick like she was a girl swinging a baton leading a marching band. I smiled, leaning casually against a post, taking in the sight of Bel wasting time. I put money on the fact that her actions would miraculously change as soon as I came into view. I deliberately made a coughing noise before starting to walk and, sure enough, Bel stopped twirling th
e broom so abruptly, it nearly hit her in the eye. She quickly, if not inelegantly, started to sweep the already spotless verandah, feigning surprise when she saw me make my way up the stairs.

  “Max settled in all right?” she asked.

  The question was the equivalent to someone running their nails down a blackboard—it somehow shifted my mood.

  “Fine.” I shrugged, looking to change the subject. “Toilets?”

  Bel’s shoulders slumped. “What?” she breathed in dismay.

  I let the dread seep into every part of her being before I smirked. “I did them this morning.” I walked past her, pausing to take in the bemused wonder in her gaze.

  “Seriously?”

  “Looks like it’s your lucky day.”

  Bel smiled broadly, a little glint lighting her eyes. “Something tells me I should enjoy this feeling while it lasts,” she said.

  I held the screen door open for her. “You hungry?”

  “Famished.”

  ***

  “Cold pizza? Seriously?” Bel’s eyes were cast downwards on her plate, dismay slumping in her shoulders as she looked back up at me in horror.

  “Geez, ungrateful much?” I said, grabbing a couple of cans of Coke from the fridge.

  “Your insides must be rotten,” she said, stabbing her pizza like a science experiment with her fork. “This is gross.”

  I sighed, punching the tab of her can and placing it in front of her, choosing to ignore her complaining.

  “I would ask you to heat it up for me, but you know … that didn’t go so well for you last time.” She smirked.

  My brows lifted, biting off a sizable chunk of pizza as I took in her devious smile.

  Such a smartarse, I mused.

  “So what music do you want to listen to tonight? I have some Clapton or Dire Straits.”

  All of Bel’s fleeting humour melted away. “Don’t you dare.” She glowered. “Or at least play something decent.”

  I all but choked on my pizza. “Decent? Wash your mouth out, Bel Evans.”

  “Oh, believe me, after this lunch I plan to,” she said, pushing her plate away in distaste and rubbing her hands on her thighs as if they were covered in grease. “Is there anything else I had to do today?”

  There was plenty to do, always plenty. But I couldn’t think of anything for Bel to do; delegating wasn’t my strongest point as I always just thought it easier to do it myself. I could sit her in the office for the rest of the day but then my mind flashed back to the glazed look of awe she had when she was watching Max fill out his paperwork, and my insides twisted.

  “No, nothing I can think of,” I lied.

  “Cool!” Bel leapt off her stool and headed for the door; the action of her happiness jolted me into action.

  “Um, hang on, I just thought of something.”

  I had nothing.

  Bel came to a sliding halt at the door, her body language slumping into that of a disappointed child.

  “Whaaaat?” she moaned, only making me more adamant in making an excuse for her to stay.

  “There is something.”

  Think-think-think-THINK, Stan.

  Bel stood there waiting, crossing her arms, and curving a brow, her foot impatiently tapping.

  “Yes?”

  My mind was blank; I couldn’t think of a damn thing that would warrant keeping her here, and furthermore, why did I want her to stay? Shouldn’t I have been glad to see the back of her? Hadn’t I looked forward to the solitude, the quiet time? It was the only silver lining I had found in the event of being stuck here. I had it all worked out; get all my chores done as early as I could and then stick as close to the main house as possible in case anyone came by. And now here I was making up some lame excuse for Bel Evans, the proverbial pain in the arse, to actually ‘hang’ with me. Was I so starved of company? This was Bel Evans. Not a friend. Certainly not someone I’ve ever wanted to hang with.

  My attention snapped as a hand waved in front of my face, breaking my trance; I found Bel standing right in front of me. She had stepped close, far too close. She smelt like berry lip balm and sunshine; her inquisitive stare studied me intently.

  “You okay?” she asked, genuine concern softening her voice.

  I swallowed deeply, trying not to let my eyes dip to her collarbone, or the long feminine line of her neck that was beautifully exposed, thanks to her cropped, silken black folds that I wanted to push behind her ear.

  Shit, Stan, get a grip.

  “I’m fine.” I coughed.

  “Really? Because you don’t look so good.” Her hand lifted, pressing her palm onto my forehead. “You’re burning up.”

  Hell, yeah, I was, no thanks to her.

  Her cool skin on mine did nothing to alleviate my sudden symptoms. No, I wasn’t all right, far from it. I was in a diabolical state of insanity, and the moment I had realised exactly what ailed me, I came to the certain understanding … I also knew I was utterly screwed.

  “Maybe you got too much sun today?” Bel added thoughtfully, the back of her knuckles brushing the back of my cheek to gauge my temperature some more.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said, trying to keep my breaths even as her worried eyes were ever watchful of me, her soft hands sweeping across my face.

  Stop thinking these things, Stan. Now.

  “You’re on fire, Stan, and not in a ‘your pizza is on fire’ kind of way, but you are really hot.”

  I flinched where her other hand clasped my cheek.

  “Seriously, I’m fine,” I said, clasping her wrists and pulling them down.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t try and be a hero, Stan.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Look, if you can’t do everything on your own then don’t; I can help. You shouldn’t have done the toilets for me. I could have done it.”

  “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I feel—”

  “Sit on the couch,” Bel ordered.

  “Sorry?”

  “Go!’ She pointed towards the lounge.

  A small line curved the corner of my mouth with incredulous wonder. Was she for real?

  But taking in the stern look in her eyes and her unwavering finger pointing, I decided to go with it, intrigued with what she had in mind.

  “All right, all right, geez, is this the way your old man speaks to his patients?” I mused, making my way over to the lounge to keep the peace.

  Bel didn’t answer; instead, she padded her way around the kitchen, busying herself with opening and closing cupboards. I wondered if she was in search of a first aid kit or something dramatic, but then she finally located what she was looking for as she placed a fresh glass on the counter and headed for the fridge, opening it and grabbing the jug of water. I watched on silently—it was as if she was on a stage playing out a scene before me, her captive audience. I took in the crinkle of her brow as she concentrated on pouring the water into the glass so as not to spill a drop. The no-nonsense way she returned the jug and slammed the fridge door closed with her foot, before she disappeared down the hall, leaving the glass on the counter.

  “Don’t move,” she called from the hall.

  Umm, okay.

  A moment later, Bel swept back into view making a beeline for the glass and bringing it carefully over to me.

  “Here,” she said, handing it over to me.

  “Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my humour under wraps as I took the glass from her.

  “And here, take these.” She held out her hand, motioning to take what looked like two small white discs.

  I inspected them with interest. “No, thanks.”

  Bel rolled her eyes. “I am not trying to poison you.”

  “Really? Because some might say that your particular disdain for my late night music might be the perfect motive,” I teased, before taking a sip of my water.

  “The only risk you run of poisoning is either by alcohol or food poisoning; it’s probably why you have a fever.”

  I wished it
were that simple, but the heat of my skin had nothing to do with a hangover and everything to do with her. I cursed myself for letting my head get all fuzzy with such ridiculous thoughts.

  “Bel, I said I am fine.” I went to get up but was shoved down by her hand on my chest.

  “Just take them already. They’re only aspirin; they will hit your temp on the head,” she insisted.

  Sighing, I couldn’t help but admire her insistence; she would make an excellent doctor if her bedside manner weren’t so … violent.

  I picked up the discs from her palm, trying not to think about how soft her skin felt when my fingers brushed against her. I chucked them into my mouth, smiling sarcastically with the tablets wedged in my teeth as proof they were there, before I downed them with a big gulp of water. I opened my mouth, proving to her I had indeed swallowed them as if I was some kind of patient in an insane asylum. My thoughts had me wondering if that wasn’t too far from the truth, because as far as I was concerned, liking Bel Evans was absolutely, positively insane.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bel

  Worst patient ever.

  Okay, so maybe I was fussing, and maybe I was taking some kind of sick joy in bossing him around, but when he zoned out so quickly and having felt the intense burn of his skin, I knew it was more than just a possible hangover. He had been fine all morning; I had actually thought him superhuman that anyone could function on so little sleep and so much grog. And maybe it was the effects of all those things catching up with him. I couldn’t help feel the edges of guilt creeping into my mind knowing he had to look after everything on his own, when by all rights, he should have been kicking back on a riverbank fishing somewhere instead of here scrubbing toilets for me.

  Stan finished the last of his water. I instinctively took it from him and placed it on the coffee table before examining his forehead again; he moved his head aside all too late as I clasped my hand on his head again.