by Jennie Adams
Soph sighed and settled back to enjoy the tour.
They travelled around the outsides of some of the paddocks of flowers and viewed the sheds with materials in all stages of processing, but didn’t come across the sister. At the end of the tour they stood in the foyer of a small cottage. The farmer handed them the biggest bunch of dried flowers Soph had ever seen.
‘The flowers are on the house.’ He shrugged. ‘We consider them part of the cost of the tour. Would you like to browse in the gift shop before you leave?’
‘Thanks, and yes. We’ll browse.’ Grey raised his eyebrows slightly and Soph nodded agreement.
‘Is your foot up to it?’ The farmer grinned. ‘I can’t drive the quadster into the store.’
Grey smiled back, a relaxed smile that said he had enjoyed his time here, that it had been worth it to organise the visit. ‘I can manage a browse through a few shelves, I think.’
When the farmer nodded, Soph took Grey’s arm and turned towards the interior of the building. In contrast to his apparent relaxation, tension coiled inside her. She dropped his arm after all. ‘Great. Let’s take a look, then.’
She could do this—take care of him in the role of employee and helper and nothing else. This could work. It was working. No reason why it shouldn’t continue to do so all the way to the end of her contract with him.
They’d moved to a higher plane of existence now. At least she had. She had!
‘I’ll leave you both to look around.’ Their farmer guide gestured them towards the interior of the shop. ‘My sister will come over in a while to see if you want to buy anything.’
Soph left the dried flowers on the side table in the entry and they wandered through the place. There were more dried flowers and some mass-produced Australiana items—teaspoons with echidnas and possums on them, coat-hangers with handles made to look like kookaburras. Postcards and tea towels jostled for space with Styrofoam beer mug covers.
There were pottery vases too—beautiful things in all shapes and sizes and rich earth tones, both glazed and unglazed.
‘Oh, they’re made locally. See the sticker?’ Soph turned one of the vases over to show Grey, holding it reverently because they were truly beautiful, carefully crafted with breathtaking floral designs.
He bent his head close to look, inhaled a long, slow breath and stepped back. ‘Choose enough of them to display the wild flowers in the house and…pick one out for each of my stepmothers. They might like them.’ On those words he turned away and focused his attention elsewhere in the small shop, but he turned back a moment later.
‘Leanna might like that one.’ He pointed to a vase. ‘She had a painting once that reminded me of the design on the vase.’
He helped pick the other stepmothers’ vases and Soph thought it was such a good thing that she felt all mushy inside until he said he hoped the sister would hurry up and get there because he’d had enough, and stomped his way to the far corner of the shop.
Grumpy Grey was back.
Soph caught herself inexplicably grinning, though the smile had an edge of sadness. She picked out small hand-crafted fridge magnets with floral designs for her sisters and forced herself to focus wholly on the task and not think about anything else.
The farmer and his sister stepped into the cottage together. Soph paid for her little purchases. Grey asked the woman to tally his up and, while she did so, sent Soph outside with the farmer to load the boxed items into the car.
‘I’d thought of suggesting lunch.’ Soph glanced at Grey as she slowed the car at the end of the farm road. What if he was tired? What if he’d had enough of her close company already? What if he guessed how much she had enjoyed being with him this morning?
She didn’t usually second-guess herself or fill up with doubts, but they hammered at her now.
‘There’s a pub in the small township about ten kilometres from here.’ If Grey caught her concerns, he ignored them. Instead he gestured to indicate the direction while his gaze lingered on her hair and then shifted away. ‘Why stop the day now? Aren’t we supposed to be entertaining ourselves?’ Oh, yes. Soph was vastly entertained by the direction of her thoughts and feelings, and her apparently complete inability to control them. She was so entertained she was about to implode as a result. She dipped her head and turned the car towards the pub, though.
After all, how much harder could she find it to be in his company for a meal out than for any other purpose at his house? In truth, it would probably be easier.
Soph’s hands tightened on the wheel and she drew a deep breath.
Yes. This was sure to be heaps easier.
CHAPTER TEN
TO KEEP her whirling thoughts under control, Soph instigated a conversation about the farm—about flowers, vases, anything to fill the air with sound so she didn’t think of anything else.
Grey let her talk, though he didn’t contribute a whole lot to the conversation.
She pulled to a stop in a parking space in front of the pub with a sigh that was part relief and part no idea what to do with herself. A blue heeler dog sat on the welcome mat at the pub’s front door, looking bored or possibly comatose. Soph reached for her door handle. ‘I wonder if the dog is friendly.’
‘Or even if it’s conscious.’ Grey added the mild words with a spark of something close to humour.
Something inside Soph’s chest squeezed as she tried to smile in return. She forced her gaze away from Grey’s face and looked up at the sky where fat cotton-wool clouds scudded along. The fear that she might be falling a little in love with him grew. Soph didn’t want to fall. She couldn’t afford to do that.
I’m not falling in love with him. I will protect myself from that.
She would fall in love when she was ready, with some bland, non-threatening man. Except the idea had lost all appeal. And she wasn’t sure what she was afraid of any more—just that she did have fears in there somewhere.
‘Let’s brave the dog, anyway.’ Grey pushed his door open and climbed out. ‘We can eat and forget ourselves for a while.’
‘That would be nice.’ Soph didn’t know if it was possible, but the idea had merit. She joined him and they moved towards the pub door. Their hands bumped lightly as they walked. Even that made her feel warm and sad and worried all at once.
‘Do you think the dog wants us to believe it’s a statue?’ The dog’s sides moved rhythmically and Soph had no doubt that it knew they were there, despite its stillness otherwise. Determined to pull herself out of this rattled state, she raised her voice slightly and pitched her words right at the canine doormat. ‘Or maybe it expired there and nobody’s noticed?’
The tail thumped up and down on the mat and Grey gave a soft chuckle. ‘Look at that. It lives.’
They had to step over the hound. It didn’t bite them. Soph suspected this was a rite of passage for all who entered the pub.
Inside, there were two groups of old men at tables and a number of younger ones on stools, eating their lunches at the bar itself. As she and Grey stepped into the bar, every head turned. Someone gave a low whistle and, inexplicably, heat raced into her cheeks.
‘Do you have a beer garden?’ Grey had seen the blush. His gaze lingered on it for just a moment before he shifted it to the scribbled chalk board menu above the bar.
‘There’sa private room,’ the bartender offered. ‘It doesn’t get used much for actual meals. It’s at the back with a…ah…a view of the rear of the premises.’
‘That will do.’ Grey turned to Soph. ‘What would you like from the menu? Battered fish? Roast of the day? Rissoles and veg?’
‘I’d like a meat pie with chips and gravy, please, and…’ she paused to think ‘…a glass of lemon squash.’
Grey nodded. ‘I’ll have the same, but with a light beer instead.’ He paid for their meals.
The bartender pointed them towards the back of the pub. ‘Just go through that door and then into the room on the left. The local craft ladies’ guild uses the room thre
e days a week, but not today.’
Once they were seated at one of half a dozen square tables, Soph said, ‘We could have eaten out there. I wouldn’t have minded.’
‘Maybe I didn’t want to share you with twenty admirers,’ he said grouchily and sighed. His mouth turned down at the corners and he glanced away.
Soph forced her attention to the view, what there was of it. The window was small and low in the wall. ‘That’s a nice view of…um…of scraggly grass and maybe half a broken-down wood shed?’
‘Yes, very interestingly rustic.’ His gaze came back to her and softened and he reached into his pocket and drew out a small wrapped package. ‘This is for you. I spotted it at the farm’s gift shop and…thought you might like to have it.’
Soph’s heart did an odd little tripping thing. She took the small packet and unwrapped it. ‘It’s gorgeous.’ She held the painted ceramic brooch in the palm of her hand and struggled with the desire to fling herself across the table at him and hold him so tightly he wouldn’t be able to breathe.
Grey was watching her and, when her gaze lifted to his, her pleasure was reflected in his eyes.
She swallowed hard. ‘The Waratah flower looks so real.’ Red, bright, large, with prickly outer petals on the flower itself, the brooch would look great on a lapel or holding a scarf together, or in the middle of the brim of one of her crocheted hats in winter. ‘Thank you, Grey. It was very thoughtful of you.’
‘I’m pleased you like it.’ He watched her pin it to the collar of her blouse and his gaze darkened and the air around them became loaded and breathless.
‘I don’t really have the right colours on, but I want to wear it straight away.’ Her words wobbled just a little.
‘Sophia—’ He spoke her name in a deep, dark voice with not a speck of grouch or grumble to be heard in it.
‘Two pies with chips and gravy as promised, with a healthy serving of veggies on the side because we’re an equal opportunity food vendor.’ The bartender laughed at his joke, plonked the plates on to the table, added their drinks and walked out again, whistling.
They turned their attention to their meals then, and talked about this and that as they ate their way slowly through the tasty, filling fare. Inside the room, it was intimate and cosy, the air so still somehow that Soph hardly dared to breathe and kept her voice to a quiet murmur.
When a ringing sound came from her tote bag she quickly drew Grey’s cellphone out, looked at the caller ID and handed it to him. They’d agreed to carry the phone in case of emergencies and had instructed his company heads accordingly, but she’d forgotten she had it in there. ‘Here’s hoping there’s not too much of a problem.’
‘Let’s find out.’ Grey took the phone from Sophia. He let his fingers touch hers as he did so, and then wondered if he was a fool. Couldn’t he keep his hands to himself even through a single lunch? It appeared not.
She drew her hand away and touched the brooch with the tips of her fingers as she had done several times during the meal.
Her obvious pleasure fed his, and fed his need for her.
‘Barlow.’ He growled the word into the phone.
The caller was Peter Coates. Grey listened to him with half an ear and couldn’t take his gaze from Sophia.
‘…and they’ve committed to buy over half the apartments in the complex.’ Coates’s words finally penetrated and Grey straightened in his chair.
‘Could you sum that all up again for me?’ This time he listened carefully and surprise and pleasure built until he ended the call with thanks and congratulations and passed the phone back to Soph.
‘What was it?’ She tucked the phone away, but her gaze never left his face. ‘Was it good news? You look sort of stunned but not upset.’
He picked one last chip off his plate and ate it while he let the news sink in.
‘The Beacon’s Cove project is back on track for the original completion date, and we’ve just had a consortium of buyers agree to purchase more than half of the apartments in the complex. We already have buyers for most of the rest. Coates and McCarty are to be congratulated. They’ve pulled off a real coup with this.’
‘That’s great news.’ Her fingers almost reached across the table to his but, at the last moment, she dropped her hand into her lap instead. ‘I’m so pleased, Grey. You’ve obviously got some talented and dedicated people working on your behalf.’
‘I guess I do.’ He fell silent. That didn’t mean that he had to do anything differently. Not once he had the all-clear to get back in the thick of things.
And was that what he still wanted? That frenetic, sterile existence that allowed no room for feelings?
He paused and frowned.
It was.
Wasn’t it?
He gestured towards her plate. ‘Are you finished?’
‘Yes.’
They got to their feet together and moved towards the door. He glanced at his watch and discovered they had lingered quite a long time over their meal.
As they stepped out of the pub, he realised just how much things had changed while they’d sat in the cosy haven and he’d taken notice of nothing but her. A storm front had rolled in.
Dark clouds hung low overhead. The dog had left his place on the mat to crouch beneath a bench against the wall of the pub, and the cars and utility vehicles belonging to the lunch crowd were all gone.
‘I think we’d better get home.’ Soph hurried to the car. ‘I mean, back to the house.’
‘Yes, we should hurry.’ He climbed into the car, but his thoughts remained stuck on what she had said—we’d better get home.
It sounded close, intimate. He fell silent, his thoughts a jumble, all seeming to centre around Sophia. When he became aware of the storm again they were on the narrowest part of the road, winding mountainous terrain with barely room for two cars to pass.
Lightning forked once in a jagged arc, thunder boomed overhead and then, without further ado, the storm opened up right on top of them.
Soph flinched and her hands tightened on the wheel. ‘The wipers can’t keep up with this rain and the wind is rocking the car.’
‘Try to stick to your lane. Keep the rough edge of the bitumen under the far side wheel but don’t go off it.’ He took care to speak in a calm, even tone and didn’t point out the obvious. If she went off the road—really went off—he doubted the flimsy guard rails would stop them.
‘That might be easier said than done.’ She did it anyway, though.
Grey couldn’t help the surge of pride in her that filled him as she negotiated each treacherous kilometre of road. He wished he was the one behind the wheel so she didn’t have to face the stress, but she was coping.
The car veered slightly on to the verge twice. Both times she steered it back on to the bitumen without jerking the wheel, her mouth tight, brown eyes wide and worried as she tried to see through those sheets of falling rain.
They got a break almost at the end of the worst of the mountain road. The wind died back for a while and the rain fell a little less heavily.
‘Do I keep going or try to find somewhere to stop?’ she asked with all of her concentration on the road.
‘Can you keep going? The house isn’t far now and the road is better here.’ He hesitated. ‘Only if you feel you can, Soph. Otherwise, we’ll pull off and wait it out and get someone to tow us out if we get bogged.’
‘I’ll go on. I can do it.’
The wind had picked up again by the time they reached the house, and so had the heaviness of the rain. It hammered at the car from all sides in a deafening roar.
Soph drew the car to a stop within inches of the front steps. He wondered if she realised that she had almost nicked them with the passenger side wheels.
Her face was pale and strained now—sheet-white. Yet she turned to him and, though her voice shook and her hands shook, her first thought was for her job, watching out for him. She shouted over the rain, ‘Can you take your shirt off and wrap it around yo
ur cast so it doesn’t get soaked? Is there an umbrella in the car?’
‘Yes to the first question and no to the second, unfortunately, but a little water won’t hurt me.’ He was more concerned about her, but she didn’t give him time to say so.
Instead, she waited expectantly and Grey manoeuvred out of his pullover shirt in the confines of the car. He let her help him wrap it around his cast and then he cautioned her, ‘Be careful on the steps. They’re slate. They’ll be slippery.’ He wanted to tell her what a great job she had done, but maybe they should get inside first.
‘I’d rather fall down the steps now we’re safely here, than off the side of a mountain in your car.’ Though she tried to make a joke of it, he heard the strain in her voice.
They made their way inside. Both got soaked in the process, though Grey’s wrapping protected his cast. Once inside, they stood in the foyer while drips rolled off their bodies and clothing and they looked at each other. He peeled his shirt from his cast.
‘You did great. You kept us both safe.’ With a sigh, he tossed the shirt on the mat and reached out to wipe a dribble of green rain from the side of her face. Her hair was running and somehow the sight was both vulnerable and so much Sophia that it made his insides clench.
‘I can’t believe the deluge out there. I was terrified I’d get us both killed.’ She made the confession, then lowered her gaze, trembling as she lost the fight with the control that had carried her through and the reality of what she had faced sank in.
‘Come here, baby.’ He pulled her against him, wet clothing, his bare chest, her runny hair and all. It felt good to hold her. Because of the storm and the danger they’d been in. Because he needed to and she needed it right now, as well. He indulged himself.
Breathed in her scent and kissed the top of her head and didn’t care if he got green lips.
When her arms snaked around his middle awkwardly, trying to avoid his arm in its cast, Grey shoved both arms around and behind her so she could snuggle as close as could be.
