He couldn’t tell by her tone whether she was angry or amused. ‘What’s all this?’ he asked, as he nodded into the room.
She sighed. ‘I started putting together my baby furniture, but …’
She didn’t need to finish the sentence for him to understand. Putting flat packs together could be a nightmare with two hands, so he could imagine the challenge with only one. ‘Surely Lawson or someone would help you?’
‘I didn’t want to ask him.’
Fergus knew Tabitha didn’t like to admit any kind of weakness but sometimes she was too stubborn for her own good. ‘That’s ridiculous. You don’t have to try and prove yourself by doing everything on your own, you know.’
‘That’s not why.’ She paused. ‘Meg and Lawson are struggling to get pregnant, so shoving all this in their faces just doesn’t feel right, but if I asked anyone else it would probably get back to them and then they’d get angry that I didn’t ask them in the first place.’
‘Oh Tabitha.’ He shook his head and took a step into the room. ‘Where are the Allen keys?’
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m helping you make some damn baby furniture,’ he said, in a tone that dared her to argue with him.
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘I know I don’t. But I want to. I actually quite like making things. Besides, we’re friends, aren’t we?’
When she nodded, he added, ‘Well, friends help each other out, but if you can’t accept that then consider this as repaying the favour you did me when you brought me dinner.’
‘That wasn’t a favour,’ she objected. ‘That was just to show my appreciation for what you did and how you were with Mrs Lord.’
He hit her with his most seductive smile. ‘And this is to show my appreciation for you making my stay in Walsh way more exciting than I originally imagined.’
Her cheeks flushed and she bit her lower lip as if trying not to smile. She was damn cute when trying to put up a fight but she wasn’t the only stubborn one in the room.
‘Look we could stand here all afternoon arguing about this, or we could actually build you a nursery.’
‘But what about the tour I promised?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m here six more weeks. We’ve got plenty of time.’
‘Okay, then. If you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure, Tabitha.’
Finally, she stepped into the room and started through the disarray, stopping to bend and pick up an Allen key. ‘I think this is what you need?’
He took it from her, ignoring the usual thunderbolt that shot through him as their fingers touched. If he succumbed to that, they’d never get anything done here. But working on the baby furniture would be a good reminder that however strong the chemistry between them, sex and friendship were all that could ever be on the table.
‘Thanks.’ He dropped to his knees and assessed the pieces. ‘Cot first?’
She nodded and kneeled down beside him. ‘By the way, please call me Tab. Tabitha reminds me of when my grandmother is angry at me.’
‘Tab it is. I definitely don’t want you to be thinking about your grandmother every time you look at me.’
She whacked him playfully on the arm. ‘Do not even go there.’
Chuckling, he picked up one end of the cot. ‘Do you want to hold this steady and I’ll attach the side?’
As she did so, she said, ‘I probably shouldn’t have told you that about Meg and Lawson before, but something about you has me speaking before thinking. I need to learn to keep my big mouth shut.’
He smiled at that—turned on by the thought that he flustered her enough to forget propriety. ‘I promise I won’t say a word to anyone. I guess that’s why she wasn’t drinking at dinner?’
‘Actually …’ Tab hesitated a moment. ‘I suppose it’s okay to tell you because Meg’s history is now common knowledge.’
‘What history?’
‘When Meg came to Rose Hill she was trying to start fresh after a difficult time in her life. She’d struggled with various addictions and although recovered now, she didn’t drink even before she was trying to get pregnant.’
Tab went on, and the story she told him of what her sister-in-law had been through totally surprised him. Not that he’d led any kind of a sheltered life himself, but Meg simply didn’t seem the type to get herself caught up in such troubles. It just went to show, you could never truly know anyone and almost everyone was capable of hitting rock bottom if pushed far enough.
‘I’d wondered what brought her to Rose Hill,’ he said, as he secured the other end of the cot. It was finally starting to take shape. ‘So, is this place really haunted? Ned told the class you lived in a haunted house and Meg mentioned the ghost when I first came here. What was her name? Eleanor?’
Right there, right then, the last piece of the cot, which had been leaning against the wall behind him, crashed onto the floor, only narrowly missing his leg. He startled, dropping the Allen key. Tab laughed long and hard. ‘You should see the look on your face. Like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Hah hah.’ Although a shiver scuttled down Ferg’s spine leaving goose bumps in its wake.
‘Eliza is her name and I think she just gave you her answer. She likes to be taken seriously.’
At what had to be a disbelieving expression on his face, she said, ‘I know, I know. I wasn’t a believer until I heard some of Meg’s stories and even then I wasn’t completely convinced, but when I moved here myself … Well, it’s impossible to live here and not feel Eliza’s presence. Sometimes I even hear her.’
‘How do you know she’s called Eliza, or did you give her that name?’
Tab shook her head and offered him a pitying expression. ‘Fergus, Fergus, Fergus, do you know nothing about the paranormal? You don’t make up the name of a ghost, you do your research. You find out what you’re dealing with, why the spirit is still lingering between this world and the next and then, if you can, you help them find peace. Some ghosts will finally move on after that but Eliza seems pretty happy where she is.’
Ferg shivered as he reached for the final side of the cot—the piece Eliza had tried to give him a heart attack with. It would be pretty brave living out here alone, but living out here with an actual ghost … He had a newfound respect for Tab. ‘What research did you do?’
‘Not me, Meg,’ she said and then told him how her sister-inlaw had started to do research in the old historical society across the road after she could no longer write off her encounters with the ghost as faulty wiring, creaky floorboards or strong drafts getting through gaps in the old doors and windows.
‘She wasn’t exactly scared but she wanted to get to the bottom of it. She found some old newspaper articles about the building and some photos, and worked out that a woman called Eliza had supposedly thrown herself over the balustrade upstairs because her lover had chosen someone else.’
Ferg shook his head. ‘Love makes people do crazy things.’
Tab snorted. ‘Love makes people do murderous things.’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We’re pretty sure Eliza didn’t kill herself.’
‘She was murdered?’
Tab nodded.
‘Any idea who did it? Was that why she didn’t pass on? Because she wanted to seek revenge for her death?’
They finished the cot almost on autopilot and barely commented on the achievement as they flipped it over; Fergus was far too riveted as she told him the whole story. He’d never been one for ghost stories but he found he believed this one and that only made what Tab told him more outrageous.
‘And Penelope Walsh got away with it? Her family just kept on living in and ruling over the district for all these years?’
Tab nodded sadly. ‘No court would ever touch the case. You can’t exactly summon a ghost to the witness box.’
‘Geez. And there I was feeling sorry for the old duck every time I go to visit Mrs Lord. Seems wrong that she’s the one that has a loving
family and a stream of visitors.’
‘Right? Makes it hard to believe in karma, but, since her stroke, Penelope’s been trapped inside her own body and I guess that’s a kind of prison in itself.’
‘So, maybe karma just takes its time.’
Ferg chuckled as they moved onto the change table and as they worked, Tab entertained him with more stories of Rose Hill and nearby Walsh. She told him that the landscapes in the gallery downstairs had been painted by a hermit who’d lived in the service station when Meg first arrived, how they’d become friends and that the chickens out back had belonged to him. She told him about how Meg and Lawson met, and the divided opinions among the people of Walsh when the truth about her past finally came out. She talked about all this and much more.
Putting together baby furniture was the last thing he’d expected to be doing on his Saturday afternoon, but it was the most fun he’d had in weeks. Except for his interactions with Tabitha between the sheets, of course.
‘Wow. Thanks so much for this,’ she said, when they’d finished the change table. ‘I can’t thank you enough. Do you want me to get you a drink? Or maybe you’re hungry? I could make some dinner?’
He was beginning to hunger—not just for food either—but he wanted to put the rocking chair together before he stopped. ‘A little, but let’s finish here first.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tab’s routine changed over the next week or so. While previously her life had revolved around her ice-cream business, the tea rooms, her various committees and clubs, coaching cricket and spending time with her family, now a great chunk of her time was spent with Ferg. They stole almost every night together, and the days between those nights dragged as she counted down the hours to when she could be in his arms again. With the amount of sex they’d had, she’d thought her pregnancy hormones might have been sated, but so far there was no sign of that happening. She couldn’t get enough of him and luckily, the feeling seemed to be mutual.
Meg and Lawson had both commented that there was something different about her, but thankfully they bought the story that her second trimester had given her a fresh burst of energy.
This was backed up when they’d driven out yesterday to collect something Meg had left at the tea rooms and Tab proudly showed them the progress on the nursery. They couldn’t believe she’d managed to make all the furniture and paint the room a lovely soft lemon all by herself. She hadn’t exactly lied, but had failed to mention that Fergus had helped her with the furniture, and had turned out to be a dab hand with a paintbrush. When she’d told him her plans to paint the room yellow, he’d not only insisted on helping but had shown up the following evening with tins, brushes and drop sheets.
‘Pregnant women should not be painting walls on their own,’ he’d insisted when she tried to put up an argument.
She liked these times almost as much as she enjoyed being in bed with him. It was during these breaks between shagging each other silly that they talked. Okay, mostly she did the talking, but sometimes Fergus let down his guard. He loved hearing her tales of growing up on the farm because it was so far removed from his own childhood. By piecing together snippets of things he dropped in conversation, she’d worked out that the longest he’d spent in any one house growing up was twelve months—and this hadn’t been with his own mother, but with a foster mum who’d taken both he and his sister into her care.
There’d even been talk of this carer trying to adopt them, but sadly she’d remarried and her new husband wasn’t as keen. He wanted to travel and didn’t want them to be tied down or paying for children that weren’t their own, at least that was the impression Fergus had got. Occasionally he’d tell her a horror story from his time in foster care, which would make her blood boil and him inevitably retreat for a little while. She usually managed to draw him out of his shell again with sex.
She wanted to know more about his sister. They’d obviously been close as children—having only had each other to rely on—but whenever they got close to discussing them as adults, he changed the subject again. Fergus definitely preferred it when they were talking fun and light stuff—like movies, favourite foods, books they’d loved, places they’d been and places on their bucket lists—so Tab tried to resist grilling him on the tough subjects. She’d tried not to get frustrated when she’d suggested he do a DNA test to try to track down the missing side of his family—Aren’t you curious about your father? You could give him the surprise of your life if you found him and told him you were his son. But he’d brushed her off. Surprises aren’t always a good thing, Tabitha.
He only very rarely called her Tabitha now and when he did, she knew not to push him any further. But overall, the last two weeks had been euphoric, and Meg and Lawson weren’t the only ones to notice the change in her.
‘Earth to Tabitha!’
‘I’m sorry.’ She roused at the sound of Chloe Wellington calling her name. They were in the middle of a show committee meeting, but Tab had no idea what they’d been discussing. ‘What were you saying?’
Tennille chuckled as she picked up a homemade choc-chip cookie. ‘Looks like pregnancy brain has struck. That’s it for you now, Tab. Once it strikes you’re stuck with it—pregnancy brain gives way to baby brain, which never seems to go away.’
‘Maybe if you stopped having babies it would,’ Carrie said with a good-natured wink.
‘You’re probably just tired,’ said dear old Beth, giving Tabitha a sympathetic grin. ‘I don’t know how you manage to do all you do, and then here we are making you come all the way back into town for a late night meeting.’
‘It’s hardly late,’ Adeline snapped, tossing an aggravated glance at her watch, ‘but we should be focusing on the agenda.’
‘You don’t actually look that tired,’ Eileen Bennett mused, ignoring Adeline as she scrutinised Tabitha.
Chloe agreed. ‘You really are glowing. Pregnancy was never so kind to me.’
And although the thought of her baby made her heart sing, Tab had a feeling her pregnancy wasn’t solely responsible for her current supposed glow. ‘Anyway, what were you saying?’ she asked, before her mind slipped away again.
Chloe cleared her throat and glanced at her iPad, which held the meeting agenda. ‘I just asked if the food trucks map you sent me is final?’
Tab nodded. ‘Yep. Everyone’s locked in and excited about the show.’
‘I hope you’ve informed them that our numbers are likely to be a lot more than we initially estimated,’ Adeline said, then added unnecessarily, ‘now we’ve got Ryder.’ Her smile at having secured such a big name was enough to rival the one Tabitha had been wearing permanently the last two weeks.
Tab shot her a synthetic grin. ‘Oh, don’t you worry, I have.’
Everything came back to Ryder. First item on tonight’s agenda had been the extra security they’d hired to handle the crowds and the added portaloos that had been booked. Some committee members were anxious about the extra costs but Chloe and Adeline ensured everyone that presold tickets had already more than paid for the added expenses. This had been the first time in the hundred-year history of the Walsh Agricultural Show that they’d opened tickets sales before the actual day—the last few years they’d almost had to give away tickets to get people to come.
This had been Beth’s genius idea to ensure that locals didn’t miss out on the show to people who were prepared to travel from further afield simply to see Ryder. Her whiz-kid grandson Jake, who was studying ‘something about computers’ at uni, had whipped them up a booking system for their previously archaic website.
They’d also given locals a two-day head start to buy tickets before out-of-towners were able to. And, if the fact the caravan park, the motel, the pub and all nearby B&Bs (including Tabitha’s) were booked out for the weekend within half a day of announcing Ryder’s performance was any indication, then plenty of people were prepared to travel. Tab thought the show was in danger of becoming more about Ryder than their centenary cel
ebrations, but dared not raise this for fear everyone would think she was simply upset at the prospect of seeing him again. Thankfully, some of the older members of the committee shared her worries. So to ensure the non-local ticket holders didn’t only come for the evening concert, but also patronised the stalls, rides, displays and other offerings, they’d decided gates would close at 2 pm and anyone who hadn’t arrived by then would miss out. Lastly, they’d put a cap on tickets—sales on the day would only be permitted for anyone who lived in the Shire of Walsh and for some reason hadn’t already secured tickets.
The excitement was buzzing around town at the prospect of such a famous singer coming to their show and Adeline was basking in the glory of securing him. The way she spoke, you’d have thought she’d managed to bring Elvis Presley back from the dead and lure him to Walsh.
Nobody seemed too concerned about Ryder’s recent indiscretions, and the media had already run a story about his community spirit and the fact he was forgoing payment to support country folks. Only a few people had stopped Tab in the street or in the supermarket and expressed concern over how she might be feeling about the situation, but she’d told them it didn’t bother her at all. And this was actually true. She found she didn’t really care what he thought of her and no longer even bristled when she heard his name. In fact, it was getting a little boring the way everyone was frothing at the mouth over him. So he had a good voice and knew how to use it? He wasn’t the only one.
‘I was just thinking that we might need to move the food trucks a little further away from the stage, that’s all,’ said Chloe.
They debated this issue for a while, then moved on to the last item on the list—the busy bee at the showgrounds scheduled for the weekend. Tab felt guilty about not being able to help, but she and Meg were already closing the tea rooms for show day so they didn’t want to lose another day’s trade.
‘I can spend some time there during the week though,’ she offered. ‘Clean the toilet blocks or something?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Chloe tsked. ‘You’ve done more than enough, and we’ve got plenty of volunteers for the busy bee. Right, I think that ticks everything off my list; has anyone got any further business?’
Something to Talk About (Rose Hill, #2) Page 21
