Elsa's Stand

by Cathryn Hein

  ‘Cats are okay. Good for mice and rats but dogs are the best.’

  ‘Unconditional love, huh?’

  His answer was an enigmatic smile.

  ‘Did you have a nice time?’ she asked as they walked on. ‘Despite Butch.’

  ‘I did, yeah. Your mum’s one of a kind.’

  ‘She is that.’

  He sank his hands into his pockets. ‘You’re a lot like her.’

  Elsa deliberately bumped him. ‘I’m hoping that’s a compliment.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘That’s okay then.’

  ‘What does your dad do?’

  ‘Besides being chief recruiter for the Wirralong Warriors Cricket Club? He’s a pharmacist at the hospital.’

  ‘Smart family.’

  ‘Except for me. I’m just a hairdresser.’

  ‘Who runs her own successful business.’ He looked at the sky. ‘Better than being a dumb miner, chasing stones that might not even be there.’

  ‘Ah, but you’re not a miner anymore, you’re a gentleman farmer.’ And Elsa suspected he’d done all right out of opal mining. His clothes were good quality, his vehicle late model, and the roll of cash he’d peeled notes off on the day of Kate’s funeral had been eye-popping thick. ‘Anyway, I don’t think you’re dumb, neither does Mum. I can tell.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘I don’t reckon, I know.’

  He beeped his car unlocked but made no move to open the door. Instead Jack leaned his back against it, hands shoved even deeper into his pockets, his head slightly lowered. Anticipation whirred with the circling night insects.

  ‘Around you I feel pretty dumb,’ he said. ‘You’ve been running rings around me since we met.’

  She slipped her fingers into her back pockets and swung back and forth, looking at him from under her lashes, mirroring him. ‘Just so you’re aware, I fully intend to keep that up.’

  ‘Do you now?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Huh.’ Jack rubbed his chin. Moths and other insects wove around the streetlight, casting shadows. Behind them, Figaro yowled, setting off a dog further down the street. ‘Does your mum have Born Free?’

  ‘Of course.’ Elsa’s heart began to flutter. She took a step towards him, head tilted. ‘Why?’

  He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing it one day.’

  Elsa edged even closer. The gap between them was so narrow she could smell the fragrance of his clothes, feel the heat of his body, see the rise and fall of his chest as his breath quickened. Unable to help herself, she reached for a button on his shirt and toyed with it. ‘We can arrange that.’

  His hand closed over hers, stilling her fingers. His heart beat a tattoo against them, matching the wild thump of her own. For a long while they just stood, Jack’s big hand covering hers, hyperaware and hot in the cooling night. Then his chest rose as he took in a breath.

  ‘Elsa,’ he said, the word coming on a whisper that sent delicious tremors up her spine.

  With infinite slowness and hooded eyes, Jack curved towards her.

  She eased up on tiptoe to meet him, only for Jack to jerk away when the garage door began to screech open.

  Light cascaded down the driveway. Though they were across the street and out of its range, Elsa felt captured, frozen in time and fading like Butch and Sundance. Seconds later, the twins tumbled noisily out of the house, followed by her dad.

  Of all the rotten timings. Elsa shot them a useless glare. Unaware of their interruption, the twins waved and carried on to the garage where their pool table was set up.

  Jack took that as his cue to open the driver’s door. ‘Thanks, Elsa. It was a good night.’

  Elsa wanted to hit something, but like Jack she knew the moment was over and wouldn’t be reclaimed. ‘I’m glad. Perhaps we can do it again?’

  He glanced at the house and back at her. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘I’m tied up with an event at Wirra this weekend but you could come in for a shave on Monday morning.’ Sensing his hesitation, she pushed on. ‘We’ll make it early, when no one’s around. I’ll keep the closed sign up. How ’bout it?’ She teased her forefinger across his jaw and down his throat. ‘You and me and a cut-throat razor.’

  Still he said nothing.

  ‘Go on, Jack. Indulge me.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it’d be me being indulged.’

  ‘It’s for both of us. I like pampering you.’

  He gave a sigh of surrender. ‘All right. Monday.’ He glanced at the garage then, carefully cupping a calloused hand around her neck, drew her close and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. ‘Sleep well, little lioness.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Yep, no two ways about it, Jack was in love.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Elsa, the way she looked under the streetlight, hands slid into her back pockets. How it made her breasts thrust against the thin fabric of her shirt and show the ridges of her lacy bra. The huskiness of her voice, the lowering of her eyes. The way she’d moved to join him when he’d lowered himself towards her, wanting the kiss as much as he did.

  She made him smile with her teases. Made him feel warm and wanted with her interest. And she made him hot. Hot, hard and messy brained, and a little bit hopeful that he might have a future at Wirralong after all.

  Monday seemed forever away. Jack killed time with farm chores and prospecting. He dug mini mountains of overburden. Sieved and washed rivers of gravel. Rose at dawn and stayed out until sunset, then collapsed into bed with his bones aching from work, only to dream of her.

  Restlessness had him rising even earlier on Monday morning. He showered and ate breakfast sitting on the back step with Daisy by his side, watching the sun paint the hills and listening to the air fill with birdsong. Wondering if Elsa was awake or still dreaming. If she dreamed of him the way he dreamed about her.

  He took his bowl and mug inside and checked the time: ten past six. Still too early.

  Jack brushed his teeth twice. Applied an extra layer of deodorant. Swapped his pale blue polo for a striped long-sleeved shirt, observed himself in the mirror, decided it was too try-hard and changed back to the first. He headed outside, stalked to the sheds, startling a few rabbits who immediately disappeared. Hands on his hips, he frowned at the holes. Rabbits, and plenty of them. Another chore, but not one for today.

  He wandered to a nearby paddock, leaned on the gate and watched his grazing cattle. A few regarded him with interest before lowering their heads again. The beasts looked contented, swishing tails at early morning flies as they grazed. If it weren’t for the bit about ending up on someone’s plate, Jack could almost envy them.

  He looked down at Daisy. ‘What do you reckon, Daise? Get reincarnated as a cow?’

  Daisy licked her chops.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. We wouldn’t make good vegetarians.’ He patted the rail, stared a bit more. At the cattle, at the sky, at his house and his dog. At a morning that was moving too slowly.

  With a loud ‘stuff it,’ Jack strode back to the house for his keys.

  It was seven-forty when he finally parked in front of the salon. He’d cruised past twice earlier, both times seeing no sign of Elsa. With nothing else to do, Jack had driven to the cemetery and killed half an hour talking to Kate’s grave. Asking again where the hell she’d buried the sapphires before giving that up to tell her about Elsa and her family. It was easier than talking about Jesse. He’d phoned his brother after dinner the night before, only for his call to go unanswered, his message to get in touch unreturned.

  The ‘Closed’ sign was up but Jack had expected that. He knocked softly and waited, hands in his pockets, stomach churning with nerves and excitement at seeing Elsa.

  Her smile was prettier than the morning’s sunrise.

  ‘Jack Hargreaves,’ she said in her teasing voice, ‘fancy seeing you here.’

  ‘Hard to keep away from a girl with a razor.’

  She stepped back from
the door. ‘And there I was thinking it was my excellent hair cutting.’

  ‘That too.’

  For a moment they stared at each other. Jack drinking in Elsa’s gorgeousness. She looked morning dew fresh with her hair tied back in a girlish ponytail, and make-up that made her skin look flawless and her blue eyes even more sparkly. No off-the-shoulder white dress today, but Jack approved whole-heartedly of her snug red T-shirt and even snugger red mini-skirt, matched with a black belt and sandals. The outfit showed off her deliciously round breasts, curved waist and coltish legs, and made his fingers twitch.

  He dug his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘How did your thing at Wirra go?’

  ‘Good. Busy though. Maggie was pleased with the turnout. How was your weekend?’

  ‘Okay. No different to any other day.’ Except for the amount of time he kept thinking of Elsa and wishing Monday would hurry up.

  She slanted him an under-the-lashes look that made his groin throb. ‘Find any sapphires?’ She laughed at his lack of response and hooked her arm around his. ‘Come on, big boy. Time to put you at my mercy.’

  Jack already was.

  *

  Jack should have realised Elsa wasn’t going to stop at a basic shave. In addition to the usual cleanser, she applied some sort of scrub that smelled of apricots and felt like being sloppy-licked by a cow.

  ‘I’ve borrowed this from Serenity,’ she said, wheeling over a gurgling machine and directing a weird nozzle thing at his face. A flick of a switch and he was being blown with scented steam. ‘It’ll really get your pores open and help soften those bristles. I put a few drops of chamomile in there as well, to soothe your skin and help you relax.’

  Jack sank further into the chair as she drenched her hands in pre-shave oil and began her massage.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ she whispered, tapping his temples gently.

  He didn’t want to—watching her was too pleasurable—but Jack obeyed and gave himself over to the feel of her soft, slick hands and the warmth of the steam.

  She’d put on music. An album of sleepy-sounding choral tunes that for some bizarre reason made him think of chocolate before his mind drifted into more interesting things, like Elsa with her clothes off. By the time the massage was over, he had a hard-on like a flagpole and felt even more stupidly in love.

  The steamer’s wheels clack-clacked loudly as Elsa wheeled it off. She returned with a hot towel and swaddled his face. He heard the castors of her saddle-seated chair as she rolled it close, then the soft touch of her hand as she reached beneath his cloak for his left arm.

  ‘All good?’

  Muffled by the towel, Jack gave her a thumbs-up, then nearly jumped out of the chair when Elsa closed a goo-slicked hand around the digit. The feeling was so warm and moist that for a moment he could have sworn she’d sucked on it, and it did nothing to help his already sex-drunk brain.

  He was hard, hot and couldn’t give a rat’s arse about his shave, but this was Elsa. For her, he’d endure anything.

  ‘Now for the dangerous part,’ said Elsa, removing the towel and twisting the razor back and forth in front of his eyes so that the sharp edges glinted and gleamed, and causing Jack to give an involuntary swallow. ‘But you trust me, don’t you, Jack?’

  ‘Always.’

  She cupped his cheek and smiled. ‘Good.’

  A layer of cream went on. Elsa wielded the razor with her usual expertise, Jack watching her as she concentrated on shaving every last whisker. His gaze kept darting to her chest but the T-shirt was too snug to gape, which was just as well given his state. Another eyeful of lacy bra and razor or no, he’d probably haul her onto his groin and feed his hands straight up her skirt.

  Elsa was working around his scar when she spoke. ‘How did you get this?’

  ‘Fight.’

  She traced a finger over the scar edge. ‘You don’t seem the fighting type.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Ratter.’

  She frowned and sat back, resting the razor in her lap. ‘You caught one?’

  ‘Not me. Others. I didn’t know he was a ratter though. Just saw a bunch of beefy blokes at the bush bar beating up a skinny one. Stepped in.’ He grimaced. ‘I was new, young. Didn’t understand.’

  ‘Oh.’ She traced his scar again, her gaze questioning.

  ‘Broken beer bottle.’ Jack pointed to his nose. ‘Fists.’ He shrugged. ‘Could’ve been worse.’

  That earned him an eye roll. ‘What? A broken nose and glassing wasn’t enough?’

  ‘You forgot concussion.’

  ‘Of course. Silly me.’

  Elsa lifted the razor and tapped the back of it against his lips. ‘At least they didn’t hurt these.’

  ‘Why? Got plans for them, have you?’

  She gave him a look. The sort that said: nice try. ‘I was thinking about your smile, Jack. Which I happen to like a lot. Now hold still while I finish this off.’

  Elsa’s inspection for missed hairs seemed more drawn out than usual. She tipped his jaw this way and that, eyes narrowing as she peered, her fingers curled beneath his chin, her thumb just below his lip.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ he murmured.

  She smiled and the thumb that was driving him crazy brushed his bottom lip. ‘I might be.’

  ‘Is there something wrong with it?’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘My lip.’

  ‘No.’ She contemplated it. ‘It’s a very attractive lip.’

  Jack swallowed. ‘You could …’ He slid his eyes sideways then back to hers. ‘You know.’

  ‘I could.’ She leaned closer, so close he could feel the caress of her breath and the soft plumpness of her breast as it pressed against his shoulder. ‘In fact, I think I’d better.’

  But instead of the kiss he’d been hoping for, Jack got the frozen towel treatment.

  ‘Very funny,’ he muttered into the cloth as she pressed it against his shocked skin.

  Elsa left the towel in place for what felt like a punishingly long time, then had the gall to grin and pat his tingling cheek when she finally removed it. ‘There, that’s much better.’

  A final layer of soothing gel and he was done. Elsa unfastened his cloak and stood aside. Jack watched her as she rearranged her trolley, feeling weird and let down and a bit of a fool. No kiss, just a pat on the cheek. Clearly he’d misread things.

  He hesitated a moment longer then rose and dragged his feet towards the counter. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Nothing. It was a present.’

  He let out a long sigh and rubbed his head. ‘Look, Elsa, we’ve been through this.’

  She presented her cheek. ‘It’ll cost you a kiss.’

  Her cheek? Christ on a bicycle, he didn’t want to kiss her bloody cheek like an old uncle. He wanted to strip her naked and kiss every centimetre of her luscious body. Touch her outside and in, watch her squirm, hear her moan, make her pant. Make her want him the way he wanted her.

  Jack glanced at the salon, at the mirrors and basin and shiny floor and shelves of towels and other paraphernalia, and thought he had to be the biggest sucker there was. He’d waited all weekend for what? A frigging shave and a stupid cheek kiss?

  ‘Yeah, all right,’ he said, not disguising how pissed off he was. He bent down, intending to make the kiss as brief as possible, only for Elsa to change the angle and capture his mouth with hers.

  Every angry thought vanished. All he could think of was how her lips felt.

  His stunning, funny, teasing little lioness.

  ‘Elsa,’ he whispered, cupping her face to regard her in wonder.

  ‘Shh,’ she said, her mouth finding his again.

  Jack couldn’t kiss her deep enough, couldn’t touch her fast enough. She was heat and skin and vibration and gasping noises that skittered over his skin as though alive.

  A tiny part of his brain registered that this wasn’t smart, that he should stop now before
it became impossible. They were at the front of the shop. People were driving past. It had to be nearing eight-thirty. Someone could walk in at any moment. The ‘Closed’ sign meant nothing if the lights were on, and all anyone needed to do was peer through the mirrored stripes and they’d see him and Elsa going at each other like teenagers.

  Somehow, Jack couldn’t bring himself to give a shit.

  His hands slid to her hips. She was tall but light, and it took barely a lift to sit her on the edge of the counter. He fitted between her legs like he was made to be there. She nipped his lip, his jaw, his neck, her breaths rapid. His own turned even more ragged as his hand ventured from her waist to her breast and felt the bud of her nipple, and his other fingers stroked her thigh where her skirt had ridden up.

  ‘We should stop,’ he whispered, mesmerised by the way her nipple was pebbling even harder beneath his touch. He wanted to bow his head and suck on it.

  ‘No.’ Then, as though reading his mind, she arched back and Jack wondered why the hell he’d even spoken.

  He was running his thumb down the edge of her underwear and contemplating carrying her to one of Serenity’s rooms when someone knocked at the door.

  Jack’s head jerked up. A blob of fluoro orange hovered near the door.

  ‘Only Serenity,’ said Elsa, sucking on his earlobe. ‘Ignore her.’

  But Jack was already easing backwards against Elsa’s determined hold.

  A key rattled in the lock and clicked. The door slid open and quickly closed.

  ‘Hi Elsa, Jack.’ Serenity held up a palm. ‘No, no. Don’t stop on my account. Carry on with your counter sex, I don’t mind. But just so you’re aware, I’ve a client in fifteen minutes, which means you probably have about ten minutes to get it over and done with and cleaned up. I can’t speak for Elsa, of course, but if I were her I’d think I deserved something a bit more special than a five-minute shop shag.’

  ‘Serenity,’ said Elsa with a sigh. Though Jack had tried to ease them apart, her arms remained firmly around his neck.

  ‘Just sayin’. By the way, your knickers are showing.’ Giving one of her trademark twinkly waves, she skipped off to her rooms.