She could see chinks of sunlight through the drapes. Flossie was lying at the end of the bed—she could feel her warm, welcome heaviness across her feet—but the rest of the pack had obviously taken off to check out the day. The storm was over.
She should tug away, out of this man’s arms.
She’d wake him and he’d been so good...
It was more than that, though.
She really, really wanted to stay right where she was. For the moment the world had stopped. Here was peace. Here was sanctuary.
Here was... Bryn?
A man she’d known for what, twelve hours? Most of that had been spent sleeping. Oh, for heaven’s sake... Get up, she told herself. Check on Flossie’s leg. Go face the damage of the day.
But she didn’t. She lay and let the insidious sweetness of the moment envelop her. She could lie here and imagine there were no problems. That Grandma wasn’t dead. That she didn’t have debts to her ears. That she didn’t have to worry that she had no clue how to rehouse misfit dogs that she couldn’t keep.
That she hadn’t been betrayed by a low life herself, and that there seemed no one in the world who she could trust?
‘Nice,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘You think if we stay here for long enough the rest of the world will disappear?’
So he was awake. And he had problems in his life, too? Well, didn’t everyone? That made him...more human still.
Nice? No. Nice didn’t begin to cut it. His body...if she didn’t move soon...
And he got it almost the moment she did. ‘Charlie, if we don’t part I may well not be responsible for my actions,’ he said and there was all the regret in the world in his voice. But she felt his body stir—where she most definitely didn’t want his body to stir—and the fantasy had to end. As if in agreement, Flossie wriggled at the end of the bed and the day had to begin.
His arms released her. He shifted back. She struggled to sit up and it felt like the greatest grief...
Which was ridiculous. Her body was responding to the heightened emotions of the last weeks, she told herself. It had nothing to do with the body of the man pushing back the covers and rising to his feet...
Dear heaven, he was breath-taking.
Last night he’d said he was a farmer and his body confirmed it. He looked weathered, tanned, ripped, as if he spent his life heaving hay bales or shearing sheep or hauling cattle out of bogs or...whatever farmers did.
Which reminded her...
‘There’s probably stuff to do,’ he said as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘Dogs to let out? To feed? Other animals?’
‘Cows to attend,’ she told him. ‘And chooks to feed. That is, if they’ve survived the night. But there’s no need for you to stay. If the ground isn’t too wet you can run your car over the back paddock. I can cut the wire and let you out to the road.’
‘And leave you on your own to cope with the mess?’
‘It’s my mess. I’ve kept you long enough. Where were you headed last night? Melbourne?’
‘I was,’ he said, ruefully, reaching for his trousers. It was such a domestic thing to do. She was lying in bed while the man beside the bed was dressing. It was discombobulating. Weird. ‘I was heading for the airport.’
‘Then you’ve missed your plane?’ She sat bolt upright and stared at him in horror. ‘Because of Flossie? Oh, no.’
‘There’ll be other planes.’
‘Will you forfeit your ticket? I can... I’ll...’ Yeah, right, pay for another airline ticket? With what?
‘Charlie...’ He must have heard the panic in her voice because he leaned over and put his hands on her shoulders. It was a gesture that was meant to steady her, ground her, and in some ways it did. In other ways she felt not the least bit grounded. What the feel of this man did to her... ‘I hit your dog,’ he said, softly but firmly. ‘This is my responsibility.’
‘Flossie should never have been out on the road.’
‘How did she get out?’ He flicked a glance down at Flossie, who was curled against Charlie’s legs as if she never wanted to leave. Maybe he could see her point.
‘When Grandma had the heart attack the paramedics left the gate open and Flossie disappeared. That was three weeks ago. I have no idea where she’s been since then. I’ve hunted everywhere.’
‘You weren’t here when your grandmother died?’
‘I was in Melbourne. I did make it to the hospital before she died. She wanted to know about all the animals. I told her they were fine. I told her... I’d look after them.’
‘So what’s happening to them now?’
‘I’m finding homes for them,’ she said, with more certainty than she felt. ‘I’m trying to fix the farm up so I can put it on the market...’ Her voice faltered at that. It wouldn’t be her putting it on the market, she thought. It’d be the bank, trying to scrape back anything it could. ‘But now...your plane...’
‘It doesn’t matter. For now it seems we need to feed animals, feed us and then take a look at the damage outside.’
‘You don’t need to stay.’ The thought of him missing the plane because of her... How could she ever make it up to him?
‘You mean you’re not offering me breakfast?’
‘Don’t you want to...just leave?’
‘Without breakfast? That was great soup last night but it didn’t cling to the sides. I saw your fridge last night. You have eggs. Bread. Mushrooms...’
‘But your plane...’
‘There’ll be another plane tonight.’ If there was a seat available.
‘To London. You’re English?’
‘Part English, part Welsh.’ He’d sat on the bed and was pulling his boots on, and once more that impression of domesticity intensified. ‘Where I live is border country.’
‘Your farm...’
‘My farm’s in England. Just. Right, what’s first? Will the dogs be downstairs waiting to be let out?’
‘Grandma has a doggie door. She closed it when she had Flossie but since Flossie left...’
‘I doubt if Flossie’s thinking of leaving,’ he said gently and leaned over Charlie to pat her.
And as if to deny his words Flossie struggled to her feet—well, three of her feet—and staggered across the bed towards him.
He scooped her into his arms and held her, smiling down at her.
‘I’m thinking this girl’s great,’ he told Charlie. ‘I suspect we don’t even need the vet. But I also suspect there’ll be a need for a nature call.’
‘The yard outside the kitchen’s enclosed,’ Charlie told him. ‘I’ll be down in a moment. You won’t let her out, will you?’
‘I’ll stay with her the whole time,’ he said and then his smile turned to Charlie, a smile that almost had her heart doing back flips. Where did a man ever learn to smile like that?
‘Take your time getting dressed, Charlie,’ he said gently. ‘I suspect you could do with a morning’s break from responsibility. I’ll check your charges and the damage outside.’ He stooped and touched her face, a mere brush of finger against cheek. Why did that make her feel...as if she didn’t know how she was feeling? ‘You need help,’ he told her. ‘A morning might be all I can give, then I’ll give it willingly.’
* * *
She took him at his word. She stood under the shower and tried to allow the hot water to calm her.
It sort of did. For some reason the appalling mess of the last weeks had receded. Someone was helping. What was more, she was trusting him. He was presently feeding the cows, collecting eggs and letting the hens out for the day, doing everything a farmer would know how to do.
But why was she trusting? How did she know who he was? Had the mess her grandmother had got herself into taught her nothing?
Oh, for heaven’s sake, what was he going to do? Steal her eggs and run? There was little else le
ft in the place to steal.
Everything was sold. All that was left was the valueless. A sad little cow and her bag-of-bones calf. Chooks that were almost past laying. Seven assorted dogs.
Her grandmother’s jewellery box was empty. The shelves had long been stripped of anything saleable. Even the gorgeous old lounge suite, faded but beautiful, had been carted off to the auction rooms.
For the last few weeks Charlie had been consumed by an anger so deep, so vast it had threatened to overwhelm her. She hadn’t been able to put it aside for a moment.
But now, with the hot water streaming over her naked body, her anger had been overlaid. She was suddenly thinking of a guy called Bryn with a lazy smile and gentle hands.
A man who’d held her in sleep.
A man who was getting on a plane tonight and she’d never see again.
Which was why she was getting out of the shower right now because standing under the hot water fantasising about the man was dangerous indeed—and besides, she was missing out on being...with him.
Or not. It was only because she needed to cook breakfast, she told herself as she tried to rub sense into herself with the threadbare towel. She had things to do. Sensible things.
She wasn’t hurrying because Bryn was downstairs.
Liar.
* * *
Breakfast seemed top of the agenda but there was a problem. She came downstairs just as Bryn came through the kitchen door from outside, and she could read problem on his face.
‘What?’ she said with trepidation. ‘Flossie...’
‘Flossie’s fine,’ he said hurriedly. ‘She’s hopping on three legs but she lined up for her kibble with the rest of them. She even put a bit of pressure on her pad when she thought she was being beaten to the feed bowls.’
‘You’ve fed them.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ There was that smile again. ‘I hope that’s okay with you. I assumed that industrial drum of kibble by the back door was for them.’
‘I’m not reduced to eating kibble myself,’ she joked but it didn’t come out as she’d meant it to. It came out sounding needy. But Bryn’s smile had faded. He looked preoccupied. ‘There’s something else?’
‘You have a cow in a bog,’ he told her. ‘The creek’s a quagmire but she’s obviously tried to reach it. I have no idea how she’s worked herself into such a mess. Luckily her calf had the sense not to join her. The calf was standing on the bank making her displeasure at her mother’s idiocy known to the world, but that’s made things worse. The cow’s desperate to reach her and has dug herself deeper. I’ve put the calf in the shed, so now we have one stuck cow to deal with. Do you have a tractor?’
‘Um...no.’
‘A neighbour with a tractor?’
She gazed out of the window at the debris scattered across the paddocks. Last night’s storm had been appalling. Every local farmer would be out assessing damage to their own properties. Besides, Jock next door had been scathing of Grandma’s cow and calf.
‘Not even the knacker’s ’ll want them,’ he’d told her when she’d tentatively asked if he could take them on. ‘You can’t take ’em back to your city apartment? The best thing to do is take ’em down to the back of the gully and shoot ’em. Tell you what,’ he’d said in a spirit of neighbourliness because this was at Grandma’s funeral and he was trying to be helpful. ‘I’ll do it for you if you like.’
She didn’t like, and now...to ask if he’d abandon assessing damage on his place and spend the morning saving a cow...
Bryn was waiting for an answer. Did she have neighbours who’d help?
‘No,’ she said a bit too abruptly and got a sharp look in return.
‘They’re not helpful?’
‘They’ll be busy. And they don’t think much of Cordelia.’
‘Cordelia?’
‘Cordelia,’ she repeated. ‘Her calf’s Violet. And don’t ask. I have no idea how Grandma chose names.’
‘Then I guess Cordelia needs to be dug out,’ he said as if it was no big deal. He sounded almost cheerful. ‘I might need some help. Can you show me where your spades are kept? And I’ll need rope and planking...’
I might need some help...
See her gobsmacked.
Did he know how sweet those words sounded? For the last three weeks they’d been thrashing themselves around her head. I might need some help... She did need help. And now this man was assuming a bogged cow—her bogged cow—was his responsibility and he was asking for her help.
Did he know how close she was to bursting into tears on his chest?
Oh, my.
‘But coffee first and toast,’ he told her. ‘She’s in trouble but she’s not going anywhere. If she was dumb enough to try and get to the creek to drink when all she had to do overnight was open her mouth and swallow, then she can wait until we fuel up. Toast and coffee and let’s go.’
* * *
Charlie wasn’t a farmer. Actually, neither was her grandmother. This place represented the remnants of the family farm, but Grandma had never been interested in farming. After her husband had died she’d sold off most of the land and committed herself to caring for injured wildlife. As she’d grown older she’d confined herself to dogs and chooks. Every now and then she’d let the neighbour bring his cows in to keep the grass down, but she’d spent the rest of her life collecting strays.
Six months ago she’d found a cow wandering along the road at dusk, a hazard to traffic, obviously neglected. Three weeks later it had given birth, much to Grandma’s delight. Cow and calf were rangy, weird-looking bovines with no proven ancestry. No one had wanted them—except Grandma.
Charlie should have locked them in the sheds for the night. The truth was she didn’t know how. How to make a cow go where it didn’t want?
Bryn had, though. He’d driven the calf into the shed and Charlie was impressed.
Now they just had to deal with Cordelia.
Uh oh. Charlie walked down to the creek with Bryn and her heart sank.
Cordelia was obviously a cow accustomed to hard times. She’d sunk to her haunches in mud and was gazing down at the mire in deep despondency, as if thinking: If this is the way to go, then so be it.
‘Grandma has troughs near the shed,’ Charlie said as they gazed at the cow together. She was wearing jeans and wellingtons and carting a couple of spades. Bryn was wearing his gorgeous city shoes and the trousers and shirt he’d had on last night. He was carrying four lengths of planking and rope. She was trying not to be...aware of him. Very aware.
It wasn’t working.
‘I even left the shed door open,’ Charlie told him indignantly, pushing aside inappropriate thoughts with difficulty. ‘I went out in the rain especially but did she want to go in? No! And how do you get a cow to go where she doesn’t want to go?’
‘With a decent dog?’ Bryn said and grinned down at the pack following them. They’d left Flossie sleeping by the stove, but the rest were bounding around them, joyous in the sunshine and the sense of doing. Cattle dogs? Not a one of them.
‘You show me how and I’ll train them,’ Charlie told him.
He checked them for a moment, grin still in place. Possum, a sort of fox terrier. Fred, part basset, part...lots of things. Caesar, a wolfhound who trembled behind the back of the pack as if to say, Protect me, guys. Dottie, a Dalmatian so old her dots were faded to grey. Then there was Mothball, the fluffball, and Stretch, a sort of sausage dog whose tummy actually touched the ground when he ran. And Flossie back at the house.
‘I can’t imagine,’ he said faintly.
‘Don’t you laugh at my dogs.’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’ But still he grinned and she managed a smile back.
It really was a great morning. The sun was on her face. Her stomach was full of toast and coffee. She was still warmed with the memory of being
held in this man’s arms...
Whoa.
‘Tell me where to dig,’ she managed, a bit too fast, a bit...breathlessly.
‘I’ll do the digging.’
‘You have to be kidding. In those clothes?’
‘I already asked... You don’t appear to have wellingtons in my size. Besides, that’s what water’s for. Washing.’
‘Bryn...’
‘What’s the choice?’ he asked.
And there wasn’t one. Unless she went next door and borrowed a rifle.
No, there wasn’t one.
‘Right then,’ Bryn said and laid down his planking and took the two spades from her shoulder. He laid one down on the ground. ‘It’s up to me.’
She picked it back up and glowered. ‘It’s up to us.’
‘Right, ma’am,’ he said and grinned again, looking ruefully down at his city shoes. ‘You know, I should be bored out of my mind in a plane right now. How can I possibly regret my change of plan?’
* * *
It took skill, strength and patience to dig a cow out of a bog. Firstly there was the imperative of keeping the cow calm. Struggling would make her sink deeper and that was where Charlie came in.
‘You’ve been feeding her for the last weeks?’ Bryn asked and when she agreed he set her task.
‘Right. You’re the cow whisperer. You squat by her head, block as much of me as you can and tell her all about the hay bales back in the shed.’
‘I want to dig.’
‘We can’t always get what we want,’ Bryn said, unperturbed.
Charlie thought, Yeah, tell me about it.
So she stooped as ordered and tried to do the cow-whispering thing but the cow wasn’t having a bar of it.
‘It’s as if she thinks we’re trying to dig her out to turn her into sausages,’ she said indignantly as Cordelia did a bit more thrashing and Bryn nodded.
‘Some cows are bred for intelligence. Obviously not this one. Okay,’ he conceded. ‘Let’s go for fast. Grab a spade and help.’
Excellent. She dug, ankle deep in mud, shovelling the squishy mud from in front of the cow.
English Lord on Her Doorstep Page 4
