by Anne Ashby
Sinking onto the verandah steps, Leath’s chin collided with her chest. She couldn’t do this. They couldn’t do it. They could never turn this into a garden again. Staring down at her boots she groaned and wondered, what’s the point in even trying?
Allowing herself only a moment to wallow in negativity, Leath jumped to her feet. Sitting here wasn’t going to achieve a damned thing. She could give up before she’d even started, or she could do what they’d planned. Clear the vegetation from around one unit. “Tiny steps,” she whispered under her breath. “Just think about taking tiny steps.”
With renewed dogged determination, she took the scrub cutter and petrol can from her car and forced her way through to the assigned unit, blocking the rest of the ten acres from her mind. At least she couldn’t see it from ground level. Maybe if they did a little clearing at a time, ignoring the big picture, they might find they were achieving some semblance of order.
A quick walk around the unit confirmed Leath’s course of action. With the exception of the large shrubs planted as screens between the units, she was going to cut everything down to ground level. And pray hard some of the plants might rejuvenate themselves.
After almost dislocating her shoulder in the numerous attempts it took, she finally got the little motor going. Adjusting her goggles and earmuffs, she approached the grass verge closest to the beach. A glance behind her moments later sent her confidence soaring. The steel blade had reduced the metre high grass to nothing. This wasn’t so hard.
She grinned as she continued moving, enthusiastically swinging the blade from side to side, singing at the top of her voice as she demolished everything in her path.
Whether it was the earmuffs, the noise of the motor, or her loud singing, Leath continued, blissfully unaware of the interested gaze following her every move. She was no longer alone.
She’d cleared right around to the back and was turning to complete the circumference of the unit when the tiny motor chugged a couple of times and died. Stretching her tired back, she swore as she lay the cutter down.
Why did it have to run out of petrol when she was on such a roll? Could she be bothered starting it again? Don’t be stupid she berated herself. I’m not resting yet.
Swiping her tee-shirt sleeve across her brow, she dug deep for extra reserves of energy. Going to the gym a couple of days a week didn’t prepare you for this sort of physical work. Trudging over to pick up the petrol can, a pair of brown boots came into her view.
Tearing off her earmuffs—not easy when they’re entangled with goggles—Leath looked up at the most arresting face. Licking her lips, she turned aside and grabbed the bottom of her tee-shirt to wipe her sweat-, dust-, and grass-covered face.
It wasn’t until she turned back and spotted his gaze slowly rise from looking at the expanse of midriff left showing by her action that a swell of awareness flared. Her back stiffened, despite its tired ache, and she lifted her chin. Just because she was facing a drop-dead gorgeous guy with the loveliest blue eyes didn’t mean she had to turn to jelly.
“Good morning.” Her voice was croaky. Oh No. Was it still morning? Perhaps it was the middle of the afternoon by now, since she felt like she’d been swinging that cutter for hours.
He must think I’m a right dork. Having someone this hot seeing her dressed like this—humiliating! Her hand tugged at the bottom of her tee-shirt until she realised what she was doing and dragged her fingers away. She didn’t need to act like an idiot as well.
“Morning.”
Phew. Okay, so she’d crossed that hurdle. She continued looking up at him, waiting for him to speak again. The state of her clothes and, she was sure, her face, meant there was nothing she could do to suddenly make herself look attractive.
The heat coming into her cheeks added to what colour she suspected was already there from her hard work. If any man had to see her looking like this, why couldn’t he have been some crusty old farmer instead of this stud?
The twitch hovering around his mouth as he tried not to smile had her stiffening her back more, urging the top of her head up as high as it would stretch. The certainty he was laughing at her cooled her initial appreciation of his good looks.
Working hard wasn’t something she needed to be ashamed of. She was proud of what she was achieving, she decided, as she stood in his shadow. Damn. Height gave him an advantage. She barely reached his shoulder. Her stomach squirmed as he looked down at her.
She managed to find her voice again, although she was sure it still croaked. “Can I help you?”
“I don’t know.” He had a deep voice. Sexy, she figured, feeling more heat rise in her face. But he sounded hesitant, uncertain. Not something she imagined was normally in line with his character. “My name is Kirk Buchanan. I live—”
His voice halted and she knew she’d reacted to his name. Her mind raced.
This was Kirk Buchanan? This hunk? She wasn’t sure she’d ever pictured the man wanting to buy their land, but she’d never have imagined this was how he’d look.
This sort of guy encroached on your dreams, sneaking in during lonely nights to intensify your solitary existence. To remind you of exciting adventures and passionate liaisons which were sadly missing from your life.
Leath stopped day-dreaming and stared at the man. His eyes had lost that sparkling intensity, and she noticed he had a crooked nose.
Chewing her bottom lip, she wondered what he was doing here anyway? What did he want? They’d told Mr. Ellis to refuse his second offer and instructed the response to leave no doubt they’d change their minds. So why had he turned up in person? Did he think he’d talk them around?
Narrowing her eyes as she examined his features, Leath suspected Kirk Buchanan was used to getting whatever he wanted. What would his reaction be when she refused him again?
Alarmed, her gaze flew toward the house. Did he know she was here alone? A sliver of fear raced through her but quickly dissipated. There was nothing even slightly menacing about his current behaviour.
Kirk cleared his throat. He’s nervous, Leath realised with a little thrill. It took away any edge his appearance might have had over her. “I was hoping to talk to Mr. or Ms. Robson. Do you know them? By any chance could you be related to the new owners of this property?”
A faint smile tugged at her mouth, but she kept it at bay. Obviously he doesn’t imagine I could be the Ms. Robson he’s looking for. Glancing down at her ill-matching, ill-fitting clothing, she supposed she might look a bit too scruffy to be the new landowner. She couldn’t stop the satisfied warmth from stealing through her as that word landowner resonated through her for the umpteenth time.
“Yes, I am. Can I help?”
He glanced around, his eyes searching. “Perhaps if I could speak to them...?”
“I’m Leath Robson, my brother’s not here right now.” She looked him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry if you’ve come to make us another offer, Mr. Buchanan, because we’re not interested in selling.”
She held her stance and watched the change come over him. The warm, teasing light disappeared, replaced by a colder, harsh expression. He looked less attractive...his right ear was deformed. She watched the Adam’s apple bob at his throat.
“What do you want?” he demanded. “Name your price and I’ll match it.”
Her eyes boggled and her eyebrows rose. Was he serious? Yes, it appeared he was, from the way he waved an agitated arm around.
“Come on. Name it,” he snapped. “Everyone has their price. What’s yours?” His Machiavellian smirk conveyed his certainty.
Frowning, Leath stared up at him. “You mean if we asked for, what, ten million dollars, you’d give it to us?” She shook her head. “You’re crazy.”
She didn’t believe for a moment he’d seriously consider that sort of amount and gasped when he replied almost immediately.
“That’s your price, ten million?”
“No, Mr. Buchanan, that’s not our price!” Leath feared he might reach fo
r his cheque book. “That was just a stupid figure plucked out of the air. We’ve already given you our answer, twice.”
Seeing a very slight slump in his shoulders and something odd in his expression, Leath softened the blow. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed.” She even smiled up at him. “But it’s not going to change. We like the place.”
“But you have to sell it to me!”
Stepping back at the ferociousness in his voice, Leath bit her lip.
“I have to have it.”
His apparent desperation caused a sympathetic response from her. “I’m sorry.” She felt compelled to soften her voice. “We’re not selling.”
“But you must.” He stretched out and would have grabbed her arms if she hadn’t stepped back once more. “It’s ours, and I mean to have it back.”
The hard determination now evident caused a cold knot to form in her stomach. She’d tried being nice, and sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Mr. Buchanan, but we have no intention of selling, no matter what you might offer us.” She turned away, bent down, and picked up the petrol can, hoping he’d take the hint she had work to do.
She rolled her eyes. How could she have thought him attractive?
“You’ll change your mind.”
“I don’t think so,” she snapped over her shoulder.
“Oh, I’m sure of it.”
The sheer confidence in his voice halted her, and she swung around to face him. “We are not selling this property to you or anyone else.” She spoke very clearly and succinctly even though her insides were like half-set jelly.
He held out a business card, but when she made no attempt to walk back and take it, he flicked it toward her. “Call me when you change your mind, and I’ll take it off your hands. Not for anything like how much I’ve offered you to date though. I’ll pay you what it’s really worth—bugger all.”
Holding her head high, Leath stalked away, trying to ignore the tremor in her knees. She swore under her breath as her shaking hands spilled petrol all around the scrub cutter’s small tank. She glanced around. A red farm truck still sat there, but no signs of Kirk Buchanan. What did he think he was doing? Inspecting his property?
Tempted to chase after him and demand he leave immediately, Leath felt too squishy inside to instigate another encounter. Gritting her teeth, she readjusted her earmuffs and goggles and yanked on the cutter’s starter cord. She’d just dismiss him from her mind. There were plenty of other things to think about.
After ineffectively yanking the cord for what seemed like a hundred times, she jumped when fingers tapped on her shoulder.
Wrenching off her protective gear, she glared at a scar down the side of his chin.
“You’ve flooded it.”
Leath clenched her teeth at the condescending look he gave her.
“You need to leave it for a while.”
“I know that,” she snapped, not letting on she’d never worked with small engines in her life and hadn’t a clue what she was doing wrong.
Throwing the goggles and earmuffs down beside the cutter, she turned and glared at him again.
“Are you still here?” she asked pointedly, her fists clenching by her sides. “Was there something else you wanted?” Her voice was daring him. Just daring him. Her fists landed on her hips.
She refused to yield, despite cotton wool now filling her legs. “Then please get off my land.”
With narrowed eyes she watched his slow, measured steps as he walked away, hoping he felt the stab of her stare between his shoulder blades.
After a glare back at her, he climbed into his farm truck. The vehicle roared into life, and he spun out of sight.
Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as her heart pumped erratically. No initial meeting with a man had ever affected her like Kirk Buchanan’s just had.
It was the veiled threat behind his words that’s upsetting me. That explained the adrenalin rushing through her. Nerveless fingers slipped from her hips, and she sank onto the grass.
At first he might have seemed attractive...Seemed? screamed a voice in her head. Yeah, right. He’d soon killed any attraction she might have felt. Derisive laughter now echoed inside her.
Flipping over onto her stomach, Leath viciously poked at the ground with a small branch until it snapped in her fingers. “Concentrate on what he said,” she growled, “not what he looked like.”
She recalled his cold words. Had they been a threat? Could he do something to force her and Robby out?
She shook her head. This was countryside New Zealand, not some Mafia-style stronghold. Things like that didn’t happen in little old rural New Zealand. Did they?
Irritated beyond words, Leath left everything where it lay and stomped back to the house. She needed coffee.
Actually she needed something much stronger, but coffee was her only option. She didn’t have anything stronger.
Sitting at the kitchen table with the steaming cup clenched in her hands, she questioned the myriad of emotions rushing through her during what had been no more than a five-minute encounter with Kirk Buchanan. Embarrassment, attraction—oh, definitely attraction—amusement, pity because he’d seemed so desperate to have them accept his offer, frustration, anger, and then fear.
Despite the bold front she hoped he hadn’t seen through, he’d left her feeling a little scared. Sipping the scalding liquid, she examined that feeling. It wasn’t a physical fear he’d inspired, but a dread because he seemed to think he was in a position to realise his dream, at the expense of theirs.
She wished Robby were here, but almost immediately thanked heaven he wasn’t. Rob didn’t have the coolest of tempers.
If he’d perceived Kirk Buchanan was making a threat, he’d have felt honour-bound to take a swing at him. And from the little she’d seen, she’d guess it would have been her brother left sprawled on the ground.
Taking a quick walk around the kitchen as she finished her coffee, Leath wondered why the man was so desperate to acquire this property. It wasn’t prime farmland, and somehow Leath couldn’t imagine him wanting to develop it as a tourist venture. Why else would anyone want it?
Oh well, Leath commiserated as she plonked the empty mug in the sink and headed outside, he isn’t getting the land, so he’d better get over it.
Maybe that final comment had been wishful thinking on his part, frustration at finding the prize beyond him, not a threat at all. I bet he thinks we’re a pair of townies who’ll soon tire of country life.
Leath smiled. A lot he knew. She could think of nothing finer than being able to afford to live up here. No traffic or smog, no hours spent commuting every day. No noise.
She lifted her head and listened. There wasn’t an unnatural sound. She closed her eyes. She could hear the waves breaking on the shore, the wind rustling the trees, the call of some birds she couldn’t identify. A book about birds, she mentally added to her list of future purchases.
She concentrated hard, was that a tractor? Even if it was, it was a long way off. Only one car had passed along the road since she’d arrived, unlike in town where every five seconds something whizzed past their flat. If she ever won the lottery, she couldn’t imagine a lovelier place to live than right here.
Perhaps that’s how Kirk Buchanan feels too, she suddenly mused, picking up her earmuffs and goggles. Maybe he’d been that unknown recipient of the twelve million jackpot a few weeks ago, so he could throw money around. Lucky man. It’d be years before she could even think of giving up her job and shifting here from the city.
Unless we get these units up and running and our ideas take off.
That thought was just the impetus she’d needed.
Chapter Three
As the sun slipped behind the bush-clad hill to the west, Leath looked about with delight. She’d cleared around the four units alongside the beach as well as one side of the house. The slashed grass and branches were now piled high away from the buildings ready to be burned. Next time she came up, she’d put a match to it
, so the bonfire didn’t exceed a manageable level.
The ache in her back and shoulders would be agonising tomorrow, but for now it faded as she surveyed her day’s work. A wide, satisfied grin felt set in place.
She’d unearthed numerous flower gardens, around each of the units, and along pathways, their white-painted stone borders causing a couple of bad moments as the weed eater blade hit them.
Concrete pathways, some still intact, had caused similar problems until she’d been able to ascertain where they were. Looking at the sorry stumps poking out of the ground around the place, Leath hoped Carrie’s father had been right when he’d told Leath most plants would sprout new growth in the spring. If they didn’t, Leath shrugged; it looked like they might have to buy quite a few garden plants, because she’d have likely killed these ones.
A long soak in the bath eased the muscle stiffness that had grown by the minute, but Leath knew her body wouldn’t be agile tomorrow. Still, she’d had a great day and achieved so much. If she was too stiff in the morning to do heavy work, there were plenty of other jobs.
Stripping that offensive wallpaper from the toilet would be a good start. She grimaced as she glared toward the firmly shut toilet door. Another task could always be finding out who Penelope Maguire really was.
After a quickly thrown-together meal of baked beans and eggs, Leath dragged all the cartons they’d found in wardrobes and cupboards into the lounge and settled down on the sofa. Until exhaustion overtook her, she intended beginning the task of going through Penelope Maguire’s effects. She’d slowly and systematically work her way through everything.
They were at a loss as to why some things had been packed away while others remained. Leath had called the solicitor soon after returning to Auckland. But he hadn’t been able to give any idea of who had helped pack the house. All he could tell Leath was that Penelope had been fully functional when she’d arranged her own entry into a nursing home, although she’d fallen and broken her hip just a few days before she’d been scheduled to enter the home. Perhaps she’d been clearing out the place herself, and her fall had halted this.
