Rain on a Tin Roof

by Suzanne Cass

  ‘Snow? Is it snowing?’ And now she knew what to listen for, she could indeed hear the snow falling. A sound as soft as cat paws padding across the roof. A gentle whispering against the corrugated iron.

  ‘Yes it is,’ Dusty declared as he shut the door again before all the warm air could leak out. He’d put his flannelette shirt and jeans back on when he’d jumped out of bed to stoke the fire and put the billy on to boil. Lana let out a quiet sigh as he put his clothes back on. She’d rather been enjoying the view of his powerful thighs and straight, muscled back. Especially now she knew them intimately. Enjoyed having her arms wrapped around those shoulders, and her legs entwined with his. She now knew exactly how solid and warm his chest was; her head had been cradled against it for the past few hours, her ear resting just above his heart. And she also appreciated just how impressive his biceps were as they’d curled behind her head and across her stomach, keeping her warm and safe.

  Dusty was a splendid looking man. There was no denying it. A thick shock of black hair covered his head. A few tufts of which were now standing up at odd angles from where he’d used his jacket as a pillow. But it just made him even more endearing.

  She now saw through his gruff demeanour, which’d scared her back when he’d first ordered her to take her clothes off and get under the blankets. Now she understood the big-hearted, contemplative man that lay beneath. She knew enough of the farmers who lived up here in the Snowies from visiting her uncle over the years. Typical of most alpine men, Dusty was steady as a rock, laconic, hard working and shaped by the elements. But that was where the similarities stopped. There was a certain sadness that radiated from Dusty. She wasn’t sure if it was loneliness—if she’d caught his words earlier, his mum had died a while ago and he had no one else helping him on the farm now—or perhaps it was just he was more introspective than most. Obviously highly intelligent and aware of everything around him. She was tantalised. By that spark of … whatever it was inside him. As well as by that awesome body he’d now covered up. She blew on her tea again and wondered how she could get him to take his clothes off and come back to the blankets with her.

  ‘Have you finished that tea yet?’ Reflexively she took another gulp, hoping she hadn’t been caught staring at him.

  ‘Nearly,’ she replied.

  ‘Well, the beans are just about ready.’ He turned his back again and she continued her perusal. Unique. That’s what he was. More robust. More alive than any other man she’d met. He made her feel safe, somehow. And she didn’t think it was just because he’d rescued her from nearly freezing to death on the mountain-side. It was more than that. As if he could see beneath her shields, down to the real woman who lurked below. Down to the Lana not even her father or sister understood.

  How could she be thinking this way? She hardly knew the man. Just because they’d lain together, body against body, for two hours, didn’t mean she knew him at all.

  ‘Here you go.’ He handed her a tin plate piled high with the beans. The steam wafted up to her nose and her stomach growled loudly. She dug in with the battered metal spoon he’d given her and was surprised when she next looked down to find her plate empty.

  Dusty chuckled from across the room, where he was eating his own plateful standing up. ‘Hungry much?’

  ‘Just a little,’ she admitted.

  ‘I’ll make you some more later. The fire should be right for a while. Perhaps we should try and get some sleep. The SES won’t be here till morning. How are you feeling? Better?’

  ‘Yes, much better. Almost human. Thanks to you.’ She cast him a shy glance and he gave her a quick, awkward smile in return. It was charming, the way he was so humble. Didn’t want to take any credit for rescuing her.

  ‘Move over then.’ His fingers found the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

  Her prayers were answered. He was coming back to bed. She put the empty plate on the floor and scooted over next to the wall, so there was room for him to join her on the wooden platform.

  His big arms surrounded her and she couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips. It felt so right, to be back in his arms like this. Both of them lying and listening to the snow fall quietly all around them.

  ‘Are you sleepy?’ he asked, the sound rumbling through his chest and into her ear.

  ‘Not too bad. You?’

  ‘Yeah, I am. I’ve had a rough couple of days. I should really stay awake and make sure you’re okay, though.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said indignantly.

  ‘Yeah, you do seem pretty fine to me.’

  Her heart did a little skip in her chest. Should she read anything into that last comment? There was definitely a double meaning there if she wanted to think about it.

  ‘Tell me more about yourself,’ he said, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Not much to tell, really. It’s just me and Gail and my dad. My mum left us a long time ago. She’s living in Brazil, I think.’

  ‘Mmm hmm. Go on.’ Again the reverberation of his voice buzzed through her ear. She liked the sound. Then his hand started to absently stroke up and down her back. A soft flash of his fingertips over the ridges of her spine. Distracting her. Did he know what he was doing to her? She had to physically pull her mind back from the places it was wandering as those fingers traced lazily over her back. What’d she been talking about before? Her family, that’s right.

  ‘I like to come up and visit Tom and Joyce as often as I can. Just to get away, you know.’ She loved escaping up here. It was a long drive from Sydney, but it was worth it, and she tried to come every month or so. Thank God her uncle was nothing like her father. Tom accepted her for what she was. Encouraged her painting. Had even spent a day with her, cleaning out a corner of his large shed, helping her erect an easel and set up her paints and canvasses. There was a big window through which she had a perfect view of Mount Jagungle and the Snowy Mountains beyond. And Joyce kept telling her how fantastic an artist she was and how beautiful her paintings were. She’d even said she had a friend who was a gallery director for a small but prestigious gallery in the nearby town of Cooma, who’d take a look at her paintings, if she ever wanted to show them. But Lana never really believed either of them, not really.

  Lana used acrylics on canvas. Big, bold canvasses that filled the whole corner of the shed. Her paintings were of the mountains and the leaves on the trees, the brilliant, overarching sky, and the dark rivers and streams that bisected the hills. Joyce said they were vibrant, full of life and colour. That they lifted her soul and inspired her, made her happy and sad all at the same time. But Lana had never shown her artwork to anyone else. It was a just hobby. Yes, it made her satisfied and filled a craving deep within. But that’s all it really was, just a hobby.

  ‘If you love it so much, why don’t you just come and live up here? Chuck that desk job in the city and come and do what you want to instead.’ Dusty’s voice was thick with sleep and his last words were mumbled, so Lana almost missed them.

  ‘Ha,’ she laughed softly. ‘What I wouldn’t give for that dream to become reality.’ She didn’t add that her father would never allow it. Not in a million years. She’d never hear the end of his tirades as to how he’d paid for her uni degree and how she owed him now. Sometimes she wished she hadn’t done that damned degree. Wished her father didn’t believe he owned her soul. Besides the job and her dad’s expectations, she had bills to pay, commitments in the city, a life to lead. She couldn’t just drop all that and leave. And Gail lived in the city, she couldn’t abandon her sister, she needed her. Didn’t she?

  Dusty’s breathing had become slow and even. He’d fallen asleep. Poor man was probably exhausted. Working on the farm by himself, then out searching for her sorry arse most of the day. She took the opportunity to lever herself up onto one elbow and stare down at his face, mapping the contours of his square jaw and high cheekbones in the firelight. He was stunning, and it made her heart yearn for something she never even knew she wanted until this very mome
nt.

  How different would her life be if she’d chosen another path? What if she did live up here, in these beautiful mountains? What if she was free to paint every day? Would people really buy her paintings, as Joyce was sure they would?

  Laying her head back down on Dusty’s chest, she closed her eyes and listened to his steady breathing mingling with the falling snow. It was surreal, being out here in a tiny hut in the middle of the dark foreboding mountains, in the arms of a man who’d just saved her life. A wonderful, but lonely man.

  There was a lot for Lana to think about as she breathed the solitude in and out, in and out.

  DUSTY

  Grey morning light slanted in through the small window above Dusty’s head. He had no idea what time it was. He went to roll over to check if the fire was still alight, but a weight on his chest stopped him.

  Lana. She was still asleep, using him as a pillow. He looked down and saw the top of her head, her brown hair all tousled and messy. Very cute. The beanie must’ve come off sometime in the night. He could feel the rest of her was warm as toast beneath the blankets. The curve of her soft cheek was the only part of her face visible from his vantage point. It had a healthy pink tinge. How would that delicate skin feel beneath his fingertip?

  What was he thinking?

  He’d done his job. She was safe and over the worst of the hypothermia. Now he needed to get up and get them ready, before the SES team arrived. Except he didn’t want to move. Not yet. Didn’t want to wake her.

  But he was too late. Lana stirred and then stretched just like a cat, toes pointed and back arched.

  ‘Is it morning?’ she mumbled into his chest.

  ‘Yep. Time to get up.’

  ‘Do we have to? I like it right here.’ That’s when she tipped her head up and back, using his bicep for support, so she could stare him straight in the face. His heart stopped beating when those blue eyes collided with his.

  So do I. That’s what he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t leave his throat.

  ‘I haven’t thanked you yet. For saving me.’

  ‘You don’t ne—’ The rest of his words disappeared as her lips found his. Supple and light, she landed soft as a snowflake. And he let her kiss him, invited her in. She tasted sleepy and warm and wanting. Like a promise. He craved more of her. Her lips set off a fire in his belly. Of its own accord one of his hands came up to cup the back of her neck and he pulled her in for more. Deeper, harder, their mouths meshed as one and she responded to his need with equal intensity. She moved then, climbed on top of him and lay along his body, his other hand coming up to curve around her buttock.

  ‘Mmm,’ she groaned deep in her throat, her tongue darting out to meet with his. Then she stopped and looked at him. ‘I’ve wanted to do this all night.’

  ‘Really?’ The idea came as a shock at first, but then he shouldn’t be surprised. If he were truthful, so had he. Everything about last night had felt so … right between them. As if this was meant to be.

  ‘Ahoy in there,’ a voice sounded from outside.

  ‘Shit, they’re here already. The SES team.’ Dusty wanted to scream and curse. They couldn’t have timed it any worse. But instead he carefully manoeuvred out from beneath Lana and stepped onto the cold wooden floor. ‘Sorry,’ he breathed as he pulled on his crumpled jeans and reached for his shirt. She just gave him a rueful smile.

  Dusty gave his own grim smile in return and reached to open the door. Four men in bright orange overalls stood outside on a carpet of white. Snow coated everything in its magical shroud.

  ‘How’s it going, Dusty?’ The lead man extended his hand for Dusty to shake.

  ‘Hi, Paddy.’ Dusty took his hand. He recognised the local mechanic from the next town. ‘She’s here, come on in.’

  ‘Thanks, Dusty, we’ll take it from here.’ He opened the door wider and let Paddy and one of the other men inside; their small sanctuary now forever shattered.

  An hour later, Dusty and Scout made their slow way back down the mountain. The appaloosa was showing no ill effects from being cooped up in a wood shed all night. The horse had stopped for a long drink of icy water from the snow-fed stream at the bottom of the ridge. And he’d more than deserve that bin of feed waiting for him back in the stables when they finally got home. Come to think of it, Dusty could do with a good hot meal as well. He’d heated up another tin of baked beans for Lana this morning, but he hadn’t eaten anything. He hadn’t felt like food, for some reason.

  The SES arranged for the Westpac rescue helicopter to come and pick Lana up. There was a clearing a few hundred metres away. Not big enough to land in, but big enough so the helicopter could get low and winch her up without incident.

  Once the SES team arrived, there hadn’t been a chance to speak to Lana alone again. Dusty stood back and let them go about their business. But just as Paddy led her down the single step from the mountain hut, she turned and grabbed him by the arm. He searched her face, imprinting it on his memory, taking in her aquiline nose, the small nose ring beneath it, and her elfin features, still dwarfed by his stupid beanie.

  ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she said. ‘And we need to talk. I want to talk to you.’ Her sky-blue eyes had fixed on his, and right at that moment, he believed her. Believed that something passed between them, a spark, a pledge of some sort. She would be back. He wanted her to come back.

  But now, as he and his horse wended their way through the drifts of snow, back towards his little farm, the words seemed to fade into the vaporous clouds above. Who was he kidding? He made a living here, on his small farm. Just making ends meet. It was hard work, but he wouldn’t give it up for the world. She was a city girl. She wouldn’t want what he could give her. He’d just imagined it. Nothing had passed between them. He’d rescued a city girl from freezing to death one day. That was all. There was nothing more to it.

  Scout snorted, emitting a cloud of white steam in the cold morning air.

  ‘I know, mate. I want to go home, too.’ Patting the horse’s neck, he urged him down the mountain. Better go and check how many sheep he’d lost in the storm.

  LANA

  ‘Hi, Dusty.’ Lana couldn’t keep the tremble out of her voice. Goddamnit, why was she so nervous? ‘I’m glad you could make it.’ He stood next to his old Toyota ute in her uncle’s driveway, awkward and unsure. Broad shoulders hunched uncertainly, he managed to give her a quick smile.

  ‘Hiya.’ His voice was still as gruff and deep as she remembered it. ‘Well, your invitation was a little cryptic. How could I resist?’ He looked as good as she remembered, too. No, better. Tall and straight, he stood gazing down at her, brown eyes sparkling in the setting sun. She wanted to knock that dirty old Akubra hat right off his head and run her hands through that wonderful thick black hair. A bit of decorum was called for, however, and she managed to contain herself. Her aunt and uncle were here, watching. But it was hard. She was about to burst with a mixture of excitement and trepidation and joy, all rolled into one.

  ‘It’s so good to see you again.’ She couldn’t help herself then, she had to throw her arms around his neck and hug him. And it was just as she’d imagined it would be. Two months of hoping this moment would happen hadn’t dulled the reality one single bit. He felt solid and real beneath her hands. Ridding her of the last vestiges of doubt. She hadn’t dreamt her time in the hut with him after all. Hadn’t dreamt how she felt about him. His arms came up around her, holding her tight against his body.

  ‘Good to see you, too.’ His reply was a little muffled because her arms were still around her neck. Heels landing back on the gravel, she finally let him go.

  ‘How have you been? How’s the farm?’ It was a mundane question, but she knew the farm was important to Dusty. Tom had filled her in on the details, after she’d asked him to make some discreet inquiries around town, while she was still down in Sydney, recovering. Lana knew Dusty left his some of his sheep out in the storm when he’d come to rescue her. She hated to think she mi
ght’ve been a source of misery and financial loss to him. But the news had been good. Dusty only lost two sheep that night. Somehow they’d managed to find shelter under a stand of snow gums, away from the worst of the snowfall.

  ‘Good. It’s all going good.’

  ‘That’s great,’ she replied chirpily. But she could see the unasked question hovering in his eyes. Time to get on with the reason she’d asked him here today. ‘I wanted you to be the first to see it.’ Now it was her turn to be shy and awkward. What if he hated it? Bracing her shoulders, she straightened her back. If she wanted to be a world-renowned painter, then she needed to get over all these self-doubts. But after so many years the habit was hard to break.

  ‘I think you’ve already met Joyce and Tom.’

  ‘Tom, how’s it going?’ Dusty extended his hand in greeting. ‘Joyce, good to see you again, too.’ But Joyce dispensed with the pleasantries and followed Lana’s lead, taking Dusty in a big, bear hug. Lana winced. It wouldn’t do to scare the man away before she’d even had a chance to show him.

  ‘Come this way,’ she said and grabbed his hand, rescuing him from Joyce’s clutches. They walked towards the large work shed, Tom and Joyce trailing behind.

  ‘What am I looking at?’

  ‘Well ….’ She wasn’t sure how to voice her hopes and dreams and aspirations, so instead she flung open the double doors to the shed and led him inside.

  ‘It’s an art exhibition.’ And there in front of them, filling every available space, were all her paintings, arranged in neat, symmetric rows, on easels, hanging from wires, attached to every wall of the shed. It did look good, she had to admit. Tom and Joyce had helped her over the last three weeks. They’d moved all the old equipment and boxes and tools and other paraphernalia out of the shed so there was room for her paintings.