Tumble Creek

by Louise Forster

  The constant relay from Claudia to Jennifer, then Jennifer yelling, ‘What else is he cooking up?’ made Sofie inwardly cringe. She only had herself to blame, she’d put Jennifer through hell when her relationship with Calum had run hot and cold, and finally hot, which was Jennifer’s fault, not Calum’s. ‘Sweetheart, ignore your Aunt Jen … Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Love you too.’ She ended her call and tucked her phone away.

  Brock piled food on her plate. ‘Before I forget, the scaffolding’s being erected at your house, give it a couple of days and you can go and collect whatever you want.’

  ‘Can I get a removalist in for what’s left of my furniture?’

  ‘Sure, but some …’ He stopped dishing up, and turned towards her, his body so tense she was sure that any second now he was going to burst right out of his shirt.

  Apprehension tightened Sofie’s stomach. Growing up with that feeling didn’t help her cope any better right now; she’d hated it then and all these years later nothing had changed. ‘What are you not telling me?’ Sofie filled her lungs, forced the air deep into them, and tried to push the dread out of her body.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, just warning you that it’s a mess, okay? Don’t expect too much.’

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ Sofie said, nodding to show she appreciated Brock’s warning.

  She used her old mantra: there was no point in stressing, stressing never helped. Her house was gone, and probably most of her furniture, but that was okay, they were just easily replaced things.

  Brock was a good cook. The steak was tender, the gravy delicious and the fresh vegetables tasty. After cleaning up, which he also insisted on doing, he joined her in the living room where she sat sipping a glass of wine while staring into the flames of his open fire.

  ‘Want to download a movie?’ Brock asked, taking a sip of the beer he’d brought in with him.

  ‘What sort of movie?’ Sofie asked warily. ‘I’m not real good with scary.’

  ‘Your first night here, you get to choose.’

  ‘Really? Anything?’ This was too good: a meal cooked for her, no cleaning up, and her choice of movie. An uneasy flutter hit her stomach, that her beautiful, rosy bubble was either going to pop at any moment, or sprout a slow leak and by morning end up a deflated, wrinkled sac.

  Brock handed her the remote! That had to be a world’s-first for men. He pushed himself out of the couch, piled logs on the fire and then sat back down next to her on the large leather corner suite. The length of his thigh touched hers, in fact she could feel his body heat all up and down one side. How could something as simple as sitting next to this amazing man fill her with desire? She desperately wanted to touch him, have her hands and mouth explore every naked inch of him?

  ‘Anything?’ she repeated, amazed her mouth was actually working.

  ‘Sure, how bad can it be?’

  She thumped him. A bit juvenile, but any excuse to get her hands on him.

  Unfazed, he grinned and took another swig of his beer.

  Sofie flicked through the movies and selected Are We Officially Dating? About three guys falling out of, and into, love, she figured he’d enjoy it more than, say, Bridesmaids.

  Sofie spent most of the movie watching Brock. He wasn’t bored, nor did he fall asleep, but he did laugh a lot, and she laughed with him. In fact, Brock laughed out loud, often. She could never get enough of seeing him do that. Apparently, and without trying, she’d been surprisingly amusing. And she hoped that, maybe, Brock would get the message that sometimes the right person was right in front of you. Now and then, he’d glance her way, his amusement crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes. Then slowly his expression would soften, become curious, as if he was seeing her for the first time. There was no doubt in Sofie’s mind that he enjoyed her company. When his hand edged closer, her heart fluttered. She hoped this would be it, but he stopped, crossed his arms and shoved both hands deep under his armpits.

  Damn, maybe later then.

  Chapter 4

  That night Sofie tossed and turned. New surroundings, different bed, no Claudia fussing but worrying about her anyway, made sleep impossible. Fed up with herself she clambered out of bed, went to the toilet, washed her hands in the little basin, and then wandered into the kitchen for a drink.

  She had her head stuck in the fridge, its light pooling over her, when a deep voice behind her said, ‘Hungry?’

  Sofie squealed, bolted upright and slammed the fridge door so hard, glass bottles and jars rattled inside. Hand on her heart, she replied, ‘You scared the hell out of me.’

  ‘Sorry. Scaring you is the last thing I’d want to do.’ Brock stood a couple of feet away, his loose pyjama bottoms slung low on his hips, his T-shirt stretched across the wall of his muscled chest, broad shoulders and pecs, leaving nothing to the imagination. Head dipped, fighting a grin, tousled bed hair, after-five stubble. Brock would make a sexy as hell ad for Calvin Klein. He’d folded his arms, hands shoved firmly in his armpits. It was a curious habit, and one she desperately wanted to ask him about; perhaps another time when they both weren’t groggy from lack of sleep.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ Sofie tilted her head. ‘What’s your excuse?’

  ‘Me either. But that’s my problem.’

  Sofie hoped she was wrong, but guessed his sleeplessness might have to do with action in Afghanistan. What horrors had he and other soldiers witnessed? How often did his time in Afghanistan keep him awake?

  He let go a long sigh. ‘Can I make you a hot chocolate, hot milk and honey?’

  ‘Hot chocolate sounds nice. Do you have any marshmallows?’

  ‘No,’ he said with a grin, and moved to the fridge for milk, then to the pantry for chocolate and retrieved two mugs from an overhead cupboard. Once he had the mixture right he put the mugs in the microwave. Through his whole routine, Sofie sat on a kitchen stool, elbows resting on the bench, chin in her hands, watching his masculine way of performing simple tasks. The way his beautiful, big, man-muscles moved under his T-shirt. His strong hands and fingers grasping a delicate cup. His wide shoulders and back, which tapered down to narrow hips and a really nice arse.

  ‘Hmmm,’ she hummed her appreciation out loud.

  ‘You say something?’ Brock asked over his shoulder.

  She didn’t bother to lift her head when she said, ‘No, the chocolate smells good.’

  He pulled the mugs out of the microwave and gave her a sideways nod. ‘Let’s go in the living room. I’ll throw some logs on the fire.’

  Sofie enjoyed watching the flames as she sipped the last of her cocoa. She curled her feet up, laid her head back and didn’t even try to stop her eyelids from slowly closing. Somewhere in her foggy consciousness, her fingers were eased off her cup and the wonderful sensation of a heavy, masculine arm came around her shoulder and pulled her down to his warm body. Her mouth eased into a tiny smile; she didn’t yet have all of him, but right now what she did have was superb. Brock covered them with a throw that hung on the back of the couch. Wanting more, but for the moment satisfied with feeling him along her entire body, Sofie snuggled further into him and soon fell fast asleep.

  ***

  Brock woke with a start when a cold wet nose nudged his arm. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into a pair of dark-brown ones surrounded by golden fur. Sarge’s tongue came out and slathered across Brock’s cheek.

  ‘Sarge,’ he whispered, ‘Don’t do that. Back up.’ But Sarge didn’t move. ‘Okay then, sit.’ With a soft thump, Sarge sat, his tail swishing back and forth across the carpet. Brock moved his head to face the ceiling and a slice of early morning sun pierced his eyes. He held back a curse and tried to untangle himself from Sofie, but she just snuggled deeper. Sofie made lip-smacking noises, alerting Sarge, his ears perked as he tilted his head to look at her. Without thinking too much about it, Brock gathered her in his arms and stood. He cradled her to the back door and opened it to a blast of cold air; Sofie moaned and curled deeper into h
im. Thankfully, Sarge hurried out to do his business.

  Brock closed the door and ambled into the living room, still carrying Sofie. He stood near the cold fireplace, not sure what to do next.

  Find your phone, ring the station and beg for time. Was he insane? Somehow managing not to disturb Sofie, he grabbed his phone from the coffee table, rang the station and briefly spoke to Takumi who said everything was quiet and there was no reason to hurry in.

  Right. He stood in the middle of the living room with a delectable, warm woman in his arms and he didn’t know what to do next. He knew what he’d like to do. But there was always that battle scar holding him back, those times when he’d wake up, breathing hard and covered in sweat. He hadn’t last night, but that didn’t mean it would never happen again, there just hadn’t been anything to trigger it. And then there were the real scars that peppered his back. Was he doing Sofie an injustice thinking they would matter to her?

  ‘Shit,’ he whispered, gazing down at her beautiful, soft-in-sleep face, her mussed-up blonde curls, her delicate fingers resting on his chest. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her sweet, fresh scent. His chest expanded and he unwittingly squeezed her closer to him.

  Sofie murmured incoherently, her eyes fluttered and focused on his face. She clutched his T-shirt and gasped, ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Sarge needed to go out; every time I moved, you hung on tighter.’ Just telling Sofie about it made his arms twitch, reflexively.

  Her cheeks tinged pink as embarrassment took hold. ‘Oh God, did I drool? Did I talk in my sleep? Did I hog the blankets?’

  Brock couldn’t stop the grin if he tried. ‘No, none of that.’

  ‘Thank heavens.’ She relaxed. ‘Are you going to stand here all day?’ And quickly added, ‘Mind you, I’m not complaining, it’s just that, well, I must be getting heavy.’ She squirmed a little, which made his cock twitch and his grin widen.

  ‘Not a bit. Are you tired?’ he asked.

  ‘Not particularly. I’ve had the best sleep for nearly a week. How about you?’

  Yeah, he hadn’t dreamt or moved all night. He started to chuckle, which soon became a belly laugh; it rocked Sofie back and forth and made her laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, giggling.

  Brock didn’t believe he could be anything other than honest with Sofie, so he murmured, ‘Holding you all night was the best sleep I’ve had in way too long.’

  In the grey, early morning light, Sofie’s dark blue eyes shimmered with tears of understanding, and it nearly did Brock in. ‘Don’t, Sofe.’ His voice was a rough whisper. ‘It’s all good.’

  ‘Okay.’ Reaching up, she pressed her mouth against his jaw, and lingered. Brock took a deep, steadying breath hoping it would slow his thumping heart; unfortunately it didn’t work.

  He eased Sofie down and without a thought his hands slowly moved from around her hips, up her ribcage, skimming the swell of her breasts, then up her shoulders and around her neck, cupping her jaw. ‘Shower. I’ll get coffee. You want eggs?’

  Fuck eggs! He didn’t know how he stayed calm. He was a burning mess inside. He didn’t want coffee, or eggs, he wanted to take his time to unwrap Sofie and himself, shed their clothes, then carry her into his bathroom and stand under the hot shower with her, for a very long time. Her aroused, questioning blue eyes met his. He swallowed back the urge to take things further, reminding himself that she was vulnerable, and he wasn’t about to take advantage. Not when all the shit she’d gone through was still so raw. He wanted it to be real, not on the back of some drama, for both their sakes. So, he’d wait for the right moment.

  ‘Towels are under the basin.’

  ‘O-okay.’ Sofie sounded tentative and sweet; her voice still husky from sleep pierced his chest, the feeling exquisite. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said, and ducked away from him.

  ***

  Sofie tried to come to grips with Brock’s curious reactions to her, like right now, on his way to the kitchen, he was clenching and unclenching his fists. What was that all about?

  ‘Oh God, I’m going to self-combust if he doesn’t do something soon,’ she mumbled, pulling off her pyjamas and thick socks. She wished to hell he’d tell her why he kept backing off. Damn it! Undressed, she wrapped herself in her sister’s fluffy dressing-gown and headed for the bathroom. Showered, shampooed and moisturised, Sofie was ready to face anything. She pulled on clothes also borrowed from Jennifer: thick black leggings and a fabulous red cowl-neck woolly jumper that stopped at her thighs. With thick socks covering her feet, she followed the aroma of fresh coffee, fried eggs and bacon to the dining room.

  Back in from the cold, Sarge lay on his comfy bed gnawing on a rawhide chew.

  Brock was at the coffee maker pouring them both a mug as she walked in.

  ‘Great timing,’ she said, smiling warmly, hoping he got the message she was fine and dandy, for now.

  ‘I heard you leave the bedroom.’

  ‘Oh well, it smells delicious, just what I need on a frosty morning. Though it’s lovely in here. How do you keep your home so warm?’

  ‘I insulated under the house and in all the external walls. There’s a hydronic heating system using solar power to heat water that’s pumped through the pipes between the insulation and floors boards. There are pipes within the brickwork of the open fire that also heat water and pump it around.’

  ‘That’s brilliant!’ Sofie exclaimed.

  ‘Green energy excites you?’ Brock asked, pulling a chair out for her.

  ‘Absolutely. My house can’t be salvaged, so Claudia’s going to help me design and build an eco-friendly one. And I’m thinking your heating system will be perfect.’ Sofie tucked into her eggs. ‘Mmm, this is delicious.’

  ‘That’s good; seeing as you’re always cooking them, thought you might be over eggs and bacon.’

  ‘No, and it’s really nice to have someone cook for me for a change.’

  ‘It’s good to see a woman who’s not picking at a lettuce leaf telling me she’s full.’

  ‘You’ve had that experience?’ She tried not to cringe at fishing. Way to go, Sofe. She’d bet her favourite stilettos a man like him would’ve had plenty of girlfriends. Yet, through the months she’d lived in Tumble Creek, there’d never been any gossip about Brock dating or being involved with anyone. If he had it would’ve been through town faster than a flood.

  ‘Not personally,’ he murmured, sending her a heart-stopping grin.

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Sofie caught his steady gaze and pursed her lips. She believed him, but teased him anyway.

  ‘I’ll let that pass,’ he mumbled, not losing contact with her eyes. He raised his coffee mug to his mouth and drank, then slowly put it down again. A wide, panther-ate-the-cream-bad-man-grin played his mouth when he said, ‘I’d love to stay, see where this is going, explore, but got to get to the station.’

  ‘What?’ Confusion taking over, Sofie pulled a face. Where is what going? Sofie thought. Oh, yeah please, let’s explore.

  He ignored her ‘what?’ and said, ‘Sarge has had his breakfast, but hasn’t been for a walk. I might take him to the station. He can cruise with me for a while.’

  ‘You can do that?’ she asked, astonished at the freedom.

  ‘If someone comes in, we’re looking for the owner, which is true.’ Brock ate the last of his eggs. ‘What’re you doing today?’

  ‘I’ll buy some clothes, then this afternoon I’ll spend some time with Claudia.’

  He gulped down the remainder of his coffee, moved to her side of the table, lifted her chin and planted a soft kiss on her mouth. ‘Car keys, Sofe?’

  She stopped breathing. He tasted of sweet coffee; who would’ve guessed the man took sugar? His face barely inches away from hers, Sofie didn’t miss the suggestive promises flickering in his eyes. She wished he could stay, and given time she’d see those promises come to fruition, whatever they were. But there was one emotion she did recognise, and that was longing
. Involuntarily, Sofie’s tongue slid out to lick her lips. Brock’s intense gaze dropped to her mouth and back to her eyes. His groan rumbled deep within his chest, sending delicious shivers through her. A naughty idea entered her mind, and she stifled the giggle that threatened. She had a sudden impulse to tie him to his enormous bed, he’d have no choice but to speak up, and tell her exactly what he wanted of her. The very idea of seeing him writhing and becoming sexual aroused under her touch made her tingle all over. ‘Hmm.’

  A teasing smile tweaked his mouth and softened his gaze. ‘Babe, keys.’

  ‘Huh … Oh yes. I’ll move it.’

  ‘Not necessary, stay here where it’s warm.’

  Brock swapped the cars around while Sofie peeked at him through the window. Quickly moving away as he came back inside. He gathered her hand, cupped it, dropped the keys in her palm, and said, ‘Tonight …’ He let that hang, opened the gate for Sarge to follow, and headed back to his car. Though Sarge had long legs, he wasn’t a leaper and needed help. Brock swung an arm under Sarge’s rump and heaved him up so he could clamber in the back of the car.

  Sofie called out, ‘What about tonight?’

  He gave her an over-the-shoulder naughty grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes, hopped in his car and drove off.

  ‘Well …’ Sofie said on a breath. ‘Whoever said Brock had a pole up his arse didn’t know what they were talking about.’

  ***

  Sofie drove past her house where, just as Brock had told her, men were hauling scaffolding from a truck and more men were erecting it around the house. The roof was covered in tarpaulins, but she was sure the frosty mornings were damaging her refurbished nineteen-forties furniture. Sofie heaved a sigh—there wasn’t anything she could do about the situation—, drove down Lavender Lane and headed for the shops. Not knowing what she could salvage of her clothes buried in the rubble, she only bought a few essentials: underwear, a couple of pairs of warm bootleg pants, and a few jumpers. That is until she clapped eyes on the cobalt-blue dress. A figure-hugging, long-sleeved, boat neck, stretch-velvet, stunning creation. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Did she dare? More to the point, would they have one in her size? The fabric stretched across the mannequin’s thighs; Sofie pinched it between her finger and thumb, pulled it back and released it. Just like elastic it popped right back with a soft, hollow thump.