12 Days At Silver Bells House (10 page)

Jamie raised his brow. ‘Holy moly, Katie. Not sure we're ready for you.'

She laughed. He'd meant to put fun into the conversation and to get her to open up, but hearing her laughter, listening to her discuss her wants, needs and possibilities — Jamie hoped like hell everything did work out for her. Whatever
it
was.

****

After their fifth game, one of which Jamie had won, Jamie tucked into his lamb casserole. She'd only eaten a small bowlful, which he supposed he couldn't blame her for. She'd eaten her way through most of the family-sized packet of chips and half a tub of guacamole dip.

‘How do you know Sammy?' he asked.

‘I was her boss. She's a fabulous artist. She used to finalise my designers' sketches. Turned them into art, believe me. Then she married the vet and gave it up to do her own art stuff. But she's my best friend above everything else. At one point — before she and the vet sorted themselves out into a true love match — I had it in mind to come down to Swallow's Fall and punch him.'

‘Why do keep calling Ethan the vet?' Jamie asked.

‘Because I love him and he likes my jokes.'

‘I didn't take you for a joke-maker.'

‘He's the master vet. Like you're the master builder. Maybe I love men who are masterful.' She raised a finger. ‘In the nicest possible way, of course.'

Jamie's thoughts swung to being masterful in the bedroom.

‘Damn,' she said, frowning as though a thought had struck her.

‘What now?'

‘I'm jealous of my best friend.'

‘Because she has a masterful man in her life?' He expected Kate to throw him one her well-placed executive looks but instead, she nodded.

‘Not of Sammy having Ethan,' she said. ‘Just that she's got someone wonderful in her life.' She peered at him. ‘I'm going to have to do something about this.'

Jamie raised his eyebrows. Looked like he was going to be told what. Just his luck. ‘Like?' He hoped to God it didn't involve him.

‘Like start getting my act together. I've only got eight days.' She looked across the kitchen. ‘Can you spare a small area of your chalkboard?' She uncurled her long bare legs from her chair and hobbled to the board he'd put up on one wall, closest to the pantry.

She picked up a piece of chalk and drew an off-centre line down the board. Jamie's chalked notes about additional lifting tackle and the types of dowels and clamps he intended to use on the veterinary surgery now took up a quarter of the space, with Kate's section taking up the remaining three-quarters.

Things for review
, she wrote as a header, then drew another line down the board so she had two columns.
Things to go without
, she wrote as a header in the second column.

‘That's a small area of my chalkboard?' he asked.

‘Ssh,' she said. ‘I'm thinking. You see, I have to strip down…'

Oh, please
.

‘…and get to the earthy side of me. Then I can rebuild myself, being true and all that.' She stood looking at her columns for minutes. Then wrote under the Things for review heading:
country vs city (big change!)
,
my life (a mess)
,
my business (and you know what),
my sudden desire for a masterful man (could just be the country air).

Jesus. Why couldn't women figure things out by nipping down to the local pub, throwing a few darts and talking sport?

She raised the chalk in her hand to column two and Jamie held his breath. What things would she go without? The Chardonnay might a good idea. Or the pyjamas.

High heels (don't need them)
, she wrote, then,
Lipstick (hard but necessary)
.
The need to control (probably impossible)
.

‘There.' She plopped the chalk onto the board holder and turned to him with a smile that pronounced she'd been successful. ‘It's a start. What do you think?'

‘Do I have to answer?'

‘Yes, you do. Unless you'd prefer to play Exasperation again and get your hide beaten. Again.'

Chances were she'd cheat, again, and do it so well he didn't notice. Again. ‘Okay,' he said, sounding as reluctant as he felt. ‘How does the Things for review column relate to what you're going to try to go without?' What the hell did it matter if she wore lipstick or not? And what about the heels? Did she mean go without them forever? He'd sort of miss them. Like a lot.

‘Jamie, Jamie, Jamie,' she said, shaking her head with every utterance of his name.

She walked over to the Chesterfield and sat, legs pulled up to her chin, feet on the seat. She contemplated the chalk board as though God himself had written a new commandment. One only for Eve, obviously. Poor Adam, Jamie thought. The man hadn't stood a chance in a paddock with a naked woman and an apple. If Eve had looked anything like Katie Singleton and Adam had had anywhere near the appreciation for Eve that Jamie had for Kate, why the hell had anyone dithered over the apple?

‘Don't you get it?' she asked.

No. Hadn't got a goddamn clue. And neither could he focus. He was caught in how she looked. Trapped in her soft sensuality. She had eight days. He wasn't going to last forty-eight hours.

Kate stuck the tip of a fork into a cold potato in last night's lamb casserole, pulled it out and bit into it.
Mmm
. Delicious. A man who could cook.

She put the lid on the casserole dish and slid it into the pre-heated range oven. It had taken a while to work out how to operate the range, but she'd done it. Her housekeeping skills hadn't stopped there either. She'd found her long-lost homey side earlier this morning. Although she preferred to think that her natural ability to multi-task had risen to the fore in order to vanquish boredom. Everyone around her knew her predilection for orderliness. But today, she'd played house. What a great game. No deadlines. No-one interfering.

Jamie had gone by the time she'd got up and showered. Superman was a hit in the kitchen, the do-it-yourself department and with the gentleman qualities he displayed but he was after all, she'd discovered, a typical man. Cushions needed to be plumped and straightened, picture frames realigned where they'd tilted out of whack. A pile of paperbacks and trade magazines had needed to be put into order on the beechwood shelving in the dining area. And everything above floor level had to be dusted.

Her mobile sang with the birdcall she'd chosen to make her feel more at home in the country. She picked up the phone from the bench where she'd placed it next to the breadboard and the bread she'd unfrozen and warmed in the heating stove. The aroma of dough hitting her nostrils created an overwhelming hunger within her the like of which she'd never given into before.

Fat Jacques Burch, the ID told her.

She put the phone down, unanswered, her appetite waning fast. She didn't want the scumbag disturbing the peace and happy-go-lucky enjoyment she'd eventually found today as she sauntered through Jamie's house, tidying up and feeling like a real, ever-present, ever-loving country householder.

However, after the conversation with Grandy, the fun evening playing games with Jamie, and the initial chalkboard sort-out of the goals she needed to achieve, Kate had dreamed all night. One dream after the other and each as abstract and absurd as a dragon with two heads breathing fire in her face.

Jacques' and Sahra's faces had loomed at her within the psychedelic world of her dreams. Shouting demands, screaming for business recognition in the world Kate no longer felt she belonged to. Voices admonished her about lost goals and financial wreckage if she didn't sign the paperwork and help lead Sensations into the future. A future that she'd accepted in her dreams. Signing the documents that saw Jacques take control and relinquishing her personal endeavours to remain sassy and creative, and foreclosing any chance for her young designers to stay true to themselves and what they created.

She'd woken soaked in terror, with a pounding headache. So much for the lie-in. Two extra hours sleep had wrung her emotions through a mangle.

She'd devoted herself to the art of fashion and helping young designers, beginning her career as a fashion artist, just like the job she'd hired her friend Sammy for, and leading herself forwards to a damned remarkably good position and an industry presence. She'd brought Jacques into the business as a co-partner only last year, and only because she'd been at a point where she'd needed a financial bump-up in order to keep her desire to be straight and sincere in the fashion world going. To keep her designers employed. But Jacques had turned her business into an industry-gossip, celebrity-kow-towing nightmare. He'd already fired six of her designers and brought in what he termed were fresh talent with avant-garde flair.

Sensational bullshit. No truth. No eye for what women wanted or needed in order to remain feminine yet functional. Just money-making nonsense. Fashion no woman on today's street would dream of wearing, let alone be able to afford.

And then, in New York, a mere week ago, he'd hit her with his bombshell. Bastard.

She switched on the timer sitting to one side of the oven range and set it for one hour. Then chewed on her thumb. Decide or stew.

Difficult to believe she was hesitating by taking a huge twelve-day break. But this was the dilemma that had found her wishing on a shooting star.

Twelve days. Deals were made and broke in twelve minutes but here she was, in the country. Looking for…something. Thank God for Chardonnay.

She'd had another nap this afternoon. Had lain on the Chesterfield, closed her eyes and waited for more sleep to cover up the lack of decision making.
What was it with the air around here
? She'd never felt more exhausted in her life.

But eventually she'd risen, showered the smell of cleaning fluids and dust from her body and assembled the sensible parts of Kate.

And here she was making dinner and planning on a fruit platter for dessert. Outside, on the patio maybe. Kate — under the stars with nothing to do but relax. How cute. How so not Kate Singleton. Would she ever fit in here? Probably not. But it was a nice picture. For those who wanted that sort of thing.

Every way she looked at it, Kate wasn't in that country picture.

She pulled her shoulders back and her thoughts into order. Jamie would be home soon, a little weary from his day. Wanting sustenance and a quiet evening.

Okay. Kate could do that for him. What a guy he was turning out to be. God bless the country; even if it wasn't to be her field in life she recognised that it was Jamie's. It embraced him. It had sunk into his skin and his clothing, that summer-dry aroma of stone and earth. And she'd promised Sammy to be cheery around him.

She pulled butter out of the fridge and unwrapped it. She used a spoon to pull lengths off the pat, creating butter curls which she placed in a bowl.
You got through the nights, and here you are in on the evening of day five
.
You've still got time
.

Rise and shine, Katie. Smile. Put on the glitz.

****

As soon as Jamie stepped through his front door he noticed the difference. The aroma struck him first. Lamb casserole and warm bread. He swallowed the mouth-watering need to eat and closed the front door. He stood awhile, taking in the changes. Atmosphere, he decided. He wasn't alone. The house had a friend. He couldn't quite figure out what was different about the hallway as he studied it. Nothing had changed, nothing out of place but it felt as though it had been used today, not just walked through as a means of getting in or out.

He put his keys on the hall table, walked to the door of the kitchen cum dining room and paused.

There she was. His house guest. Tonight she wore ivory-coloured linen slacks that clung to her delectable bottom and a midriff-hugging pale green strappy top. Suitable clothing for a hot summer's night. Most unsuitable for a man who already had trouble
not
envisaging her naked.

‘Hi,' he said.

She spun around, and smiled. ‘Hi. How was your day?'

Such a positive, energetic yet warm, homey feeling pervaded the space, Jamie half expected the cat to appear.

‘Can't lay claim to having slaved over your dinner,' she said, lifting a glass of white wine from the bench. ‘Since you cooked it. But I'm heating it up. Hope that will give me points.' Another smile.

Jamie responded with a smile of his own. ‘What else have you been doing?' He turned a slow, full circle, taking in the neatness of his usual clutter. ‘You've been tidying.' Hell. Had she felt the need to clean up his mess? Was it a mess, his usual way of living? He cleaned, he cooked but…yeah — he hardly ever tidied up. Had a habit of stacking things where he'd last used them instead of putting them back in their proper places. Unlike his truck or his working gear and equipment in the shed where he knew where every damn screw or trowel was.

He turned back to her. She had a hand on her hip, and the smile still bounced on her features. ‘You look rested,' he told her, although her eyes were a little over-bright.

‘Jamie, I've been playing house with your home. I hope you don't mind. You have some fabulous pieces of furniture and art. Are they all yours? Or did you inherit them from the previous owner of the house?'

Jamie turned and picked up one of the renovation magazines she'd stacked on the bookshelves. ‘Mostly mine,' he said, absently flicking through the pages so he had something to occupy him. ‘Some of it was my father's.' He hadn't kept any of Megan's things when he'd closed up the family home, not that she'd had much. Mostly just her bedroom furniture and a few pieces her mother had left her. Megan's stuff was in storage, waiting for Megan to want it.

Jamie looked up from the magazine. Kate obviously didn't feel the need for further enquiry because she began flitting around the kitchen again, pulling dinner plates and side plates from the cupboards. Slicing bread, setting the table. Looking at home in his kitchen. Looking damned good in his kitchen.