Man Drought (19 page)

As promised, they stopped in a nearby paddock and Gibson looked over the sheep. They all stared dumbly at her as if wondering who the hell she was.

‘Can I pat one?’ she asked.

Gibson laughed and shook his head. ‘You can try.’

She climbed off the bike and took a step towards the flock, but where they’d been frozen seconds earlier, they scattered in all directions as she approached. They were a lot faster than what she’d expected gtiven their rotund bellies. Rather than making a complete fool of herself, she stepped back, admitting defeat.

‘Come on,’ Gibson called from back on the quad bike, his tone betraying his amusement. ‘I’ll see if I can find you some leftover wool in the sheds.’

‘Thanks, but there’s no need.’ She laughed, turning back towards the bike and climbing on, her stomach only dropping a fraction as her legs brushed against his. ‘I’d much rather pat your gorgeous dogs. At least they have the good sense to tell friend from foe.’

Gibson didn’t want the morning to end. Chatting with Imogen and learning more about her past was as natural and easy as breathing. She showed a genuine enthusiasm for his land and livestock – something Serena never had.

But he had to stop comparing the two women. It was probably a good thing she had to get back into town. He had a list of menial tasks that would keep him busy till well after dusk, and if he spent
too much time in her company he might start thinking thoughts he shouldn’t: thoughts of getting her into bed, maybe more.

He rode carefully over the paddocks, trying to ignore the temptation of her body crashing into his as they flew over bumps. About a kilometre from the house, he felt a tap on his back and slowed the bike so he could listen.

‘What’s that?’ Imogen asked. He followed her finger to an old drywall hut, a long-forgotten garden and a few unevenly placed gravestones not far way.

He killed the engine. ‘That was the first building on Roseglen, built by my great-grandparents. Next to it is our family cemetery.’

‘Can we have a look, or …’ Her voice drifted off.

‘Sure. Charlie’s the only one who really comes here anymore.’ Gibson climbed off the quad and fell into step beside her as she approached the historic site.

‘This is amazing.’ She froze not far from the first decrepit headstone and stared at the beaten-up cottage, more than weathered by almost a century of harsh conditions. ‘What’s it used for?’

‘Nothing anymore. My great-grandparents started their married life in this shack. It’s pretty run-down now, but Charlie still comes here quite a bit – apparently he and Elsie used to escape here to get away from her father and sisters. And she’s buried just over there.’ He pointed to the newest (but still ancient) gravestone. The flowers Charlie had laid there a couple of days ago were still fresh and vibrant.

Imogen turned, walked forward and then leaned down to read the inscription. Her forehead furrowed in concentration and a few strands of runaway crimson fell across her face. He resisted the urge to invade the moment and brush them back.

‘He really loved her, didn’t he?’

At her near-whispered words, he straightened, not wanting to be caught staring. ‘Yeah. He did.’

‘I think it’s beautiful,’ she mused, standing and glancing towards the shack.

Not wanting to talk or think about such love – the kind he’d never experienced – he said the first thing that came into his head. ‘Would you like to take a look inside?’

Her eyes widened and a smile lifted her lips. ‘You don’t think Charlie will mind?’

‘Course not. Charlie adores you. I think he’d let you do absolutely anything.’

Pink blossomed in her cheeks and she glanced down at the sparsely covered ground, as if embarrassed. ‘In that case, I’d love to.’

The uneven wooden door creaked as they pushed it open, but thankfully didn’t fall off its primitive hinges. They stepped inside the tiny two-room house and Gibson could almost see the thoughts rushing through Imogen’s head – the tiny, cosiness of a space where a whole family had once lived. No inside toilet, no luxuries.

He hadn’t been inside here since he was a teenager, but nothing much had changed. An old table and two chairs had pride of place in the immaculately clean room, and the broom he guessed Charlie used to sweep the place rested against one wall. That was it.

Imogen lifted a hand and ran it gently along one wall. ‘It always amazes me, looking at places like this. Nowadays we take so much for granted, but what kind of hardships did the native Aussies and then those people who first settled here go through?’ She was silent for a moment, then she smiled at him. ‘You’re lucky to have such heritage on your doorstep.’

His heart clenched at her words. Lucky? For as long as he could recall, his mother and then Serena had been barking in his ear about what was lacking out here in the middle of nowhere, yet here was someone who looked at the world through different coloured glasses. A woman who appreciated life and history, nature and people. He had to get out of this confined space before
he
did something she’d regret.

‘Thank you,’ he managed, taking a step towards the open door. ‘If you think this is something your girls would like to see we could check with Charlie. There’s ample room for picnicking outside and it’s not as far a walk as the lookout.’

She followed him out onto the tiny porch. ‘I think this would be perfect, but we have to make sure it’s okay.’

Gibson rolled his eyes. ‘As I said earlier, you only have to smile and he’ll agree.’

They’d spent longer than expected out touring the farm, so they headed straight back to the homestead and Imogen’s car. Imogen played with Jack and Jill while he popped inside to get her handbag, and then that awkward moment came upon them where they stood beside her car, facing each other in order to say goodbye.

‘Thanks for having me. And for letting me use your farm for the weekend. I really appreciate it.’ She stared past her car, across the property. When she looked back to him, there was a pensive smile etched across her face. ‘For what it’s worth, Gibson, I think Serena must have had a few roos loose in the top paddock.’

Their gazes held for a few moments and her words sent his heart soaring ridiculously. He grinned, knowing she chose the silly colloquialism so her words didn’t seem too serious. ‘Thanks,’ he said, not needing her to elaborate. He understood she meant him
and
the farm – that she couldn’t comprehend how Serena could have left either of them.

For one second, that was enough. The knowledge that Imogen thought highly of him –
liked
him – sent the blood surging through his body as if she’d breathed life back into his soul. At that moment, for what it was worth, he was glad Serena had left. Just having Imogen here amplified how wrong his marriage had been. Experiencing her joy was almost worth the pain that had gone before.

She’d burst into his world, snuck deep under his defences and become someone he couldn’t get out of his head. He couldn’t take
his eyes off her, standing upright and beaming beneath Charlie’s old eucalypt. The branches swayed above them and the shadows of the leaves swept back and forth across her face, making her seem almost ethereal. Pesky cockatoos screeched above them but nothing could break the moment. He felt an almost magnetic pull, drawing him towards her. Unable to look away from her lips, he imagined them mashed against his, her body heat one with his once again, and he didn’t know if he were man enough to resist.

He took a step closer, and just as he was about to cross the line that would ruin their fragile friendship for good, the dogs started barking.

‘Charlie,’ he breathed, his eyes still glued to her.

‘Finally.’ She smiled, turned in the direction of his approaching car and started waving, apparently unaffected by their near-moment.

Gibson puffed out a breath of relief. This was for the best; he had no right to fantasise about anything more. Despite this truth, every muscle in his body remained trip-wire tight as Charlie’s car stopped a few metres in front of them.

Why did life have to be so damn unfair?

This was how Saturday nights at The Majestic should be. Cal and Charlie were busy serving drinks at the bar and Imogen was run off her feet delivering food to tables. But instead of the ache that used to linger in her calf muscles after a long shift at the wine bar, she had a spring in her step and an uncontainable smile on her face.

Life certainly hadn’t turned out how she’d planned, but it was true what they said about time healing wounds, and she’d been more than ready to embrace this new direction. She still didn’t know if they’d succeed at this
being friends
business, but she’d de-stressed immensely since Gibson made her confront the issue. Despite a few awkward moments, the visit to his farm had been a triumph, and she was determined to be a grown-up and move on.

She laid a plate of Pauli’s to-die-for sweet-potato wedges on a table in front of Wazza and his mates, and noticed his regular sidekick was absent. That was odd, especially for a Saturday night.
‘Where’s Guy tonight?’ she asked, starting to collect their empty glasses.

The men at the table exchanged boyish grins.

She glared at them. ‘What’s going on?’

‘You mean you don’t know?’ Warren’s eyes widened. ‘So much for females telling their friends everything.’

‘If you don’t tell me right away,’ she threatened Warren, perching her hands on her hips, ‘I’ll put a halt to your drinks for the rest of the evening.’

‘Woman, don’t blaspheme.’ Warren pulled his beer towards him and then held up his hands in surrender. ‘He’s gone to the big smoke to stay with Jenna, hasn’t he.’

‘What?’ She’d been on the phone to Jenna up to three times a day this last week, pulling all the details together for the Man Drought weekend, and not once had she even mentioned Guy. A second date? Or a first, if she wanted to get technical. ‘No way!’ It didn’t compute. Jenna
never
had second dates. It wasn’t in her make-up.

‘Yes way,’ confirmed Warren with a grin. ‘He left this morning, actually.’

‘Well … thanks for the information,’ she said, making the decision to call Jenna the moment all her staff finished their tea breaks.

She absentmindedly collected the last couple of glasses and as she turned back to the bar she saw Gibson sitting there, leaning on one elbow as he chatted away to Charlie. Her belly did the obligatory flip – one she needed to breed out – and she had to work hard to keep hold of all the glasses. How the hell had he managed to sneak in without her noticing? She took the glasses into the kitchen and then served another couple of patrons at the bar before edging along to him.

‘Busy tonight?’ He smiled and she willed her body not to react.

Swallowing in an attempt to give her throat some much-needed moisture, she nodded. ‘Just the way I like it. Can I get you a drink?’

He frowned and gestured to the glass of beer in front of him.

‘Oh.’ She licked her lips. ‘Sorry.’

He smiled briefly but it wasn’t as raw as the one before. ‘I’d have another but I’m driving.’ Gibson nodded towards Charlie at the other end of the bar. ‘Did he ask you about dinner yet?’

Charlie had proposed the idea of cooking them dinner to apologise for not making the farm tour.

‘Yes,’ she answered slowly. ‘I told him it sounded nice, but that he didn’t need to make it up to us.’

‘You’re not horribly opposed to the idea?’ he asked with the hint of a smirk. ‘Charlie has a reputation as a bit of a matchmaker.’

‘Really?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I think we can handle him. Besides, I haven’t had a night out in forever, and he’s been raving about this dish he makes since he asked me this arvo.’

‘Let me guess …’ He rolled his eyes, but she could tell it was in good spirits. The initial bubble of lust between them had eased and they were settling into friendly conversation. ‘Elsie’s shepherd’s pie?’

‘That’s the one. Is it really any different from normal shepherd’s pie?’

‘Oh yeah, it really is.’ His eyes kind of glazed over as he nodded.

‘That good, hey?’ She licked her lips at the thought.

He nodded. ‘Until you’ve tasted Elsie’s shepherd’s pie, you haven’t lived.’

‘I guess it’s settled then. We’ll go play with Charlie.’

He smiled what she knew was grateful thanks but he needn’t have bothered. These last few weeks, she’d spent more time with Charlie than almost anyone else at The Majestic. He made her and the other girls laugh on a regular basis, but he also looked out for them, and she’d seen his serious, sentimental side with every
mention of his late wife. Charlie was like the grandfather she’d always wanted. And because of his loss, he understood her like no one else did. She’d already do anything for him.

She bent down and grabbed a bottle of water from the bar fridge, then took a sip while glancing over to the table with Warren and his mates.

‘What’s up?’ Gibson asked, following her gaze. ‘You seem a bit distracted tonight.’

‘More like confused,’ she admitted.

‘Anything you’d like to share?’ He lifted his glass and took a sip.

She contemplated for a moment, not accustomed to having someone here she could air her worries to. ‘I … um … it’s Jenna.’

‘Care to elaborate?’ He took another sip of his beer and waited. When she still didn’t say anything, he added, ‘I’m not a mind-reader.’

She took a quick breath. ‘Warren told me Guy has gone to Perth to see Jenna.’

‘I see. And that’s a problem because …?’

She groaned. ‘I don’t know … Because she didn’t mention it to me. And because it’s just odd. Jenna
never
has relationships. She flits from one guy to the next, never spending more than a night or two with each, and she never told me Guy was going to visit her. Letting a man stay the weekend at her place is serious.’

Gibson laughed. ‘And you’re
worried
about this? You’re worried she’s going to fall head over heels and move to the middle of nowhere for the sole purpose of shacking up with Guy?’

‘Yes,’ she all but shrieked, and then quickly corrected herself. ‘No. I’m not worried about it, it’s just … I don’t know, odd.’

She couldn’t quite explain why Jenna getting into a relationship would bug her. And she could be blowing it out of all proportion, but after years of accepting that Jenna was how she was, Imogen always assumed her friend would be single – and there for her. When Jamie died, she could always call on Jenna, knowing
she wasn’t interrupting a cosy couple’s existence. Amy was great – possibly better at sympathy than anyone – but she had Ryan, whereas Jenna would blow off any guy to eat ice-cream out of the tub with Imogen.

‘Relax,’ Gibson said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘It won’t happen.’

‘What won’t?’ She shook her head slightly, wondering if the conversation had moved on without her.

‘This’ll just be another one of Jenna’s flings,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘She’ll never settle out here. She’s just like all the rest.’

Imogen didn’t take kindly to her friend being bundled up so negatively with Gibson’s ex-wife. The fact he put all women in the same small box infuriated her

‘I’ll have you know, Jenna can handle anything she puts her mind to. If she falls in love with Guy, she’ll move out here.’

He scoffed at that, but she’d drifted into her own little bubble, a lightbulb going off inside her head.
That was it!
Jenna hadn’t called to brag about a dirty weekend with Guy because it meant something. Something more than she’d ever experienced before. Maybe Jenna had finally found The One. Imogen grinned at the thought.

Gibson took another sip of his beer. He swallowed, then wiped the froth from his lips with the back of his hand. ‘Jenna might move, but she won’t stay.’

‘Not all women are like Serena,’ Imogen snapped, slamming her bottle down on the bar and spilling water all over her fingers. She’d had it with his attitude.

His face lost all expression as he carefully placed his near-empty glass on the bar. ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he said, before pushing slowly off his stool. ‘All women are.’

Unmistakable sadness flashed across his face, but he covered it quickly. She bit down on the urge to apologise, because she hadn’t said anything which overstepped the mark. She wasn’t in the habit of keeping quiet about her opinions, just as he was happy to convey
his. And as she watched him wave a seemingly carefree goodbye to Charlie, she fought another urge entirely. The urge to go after him and offer make-up sex.

Appalled at such wantonness, when she’d so adamantly told him she didn’t want him, she sighed deeply, took a final sip of her water and then forced her focus back to the bar and the patrons. For the next few hours she served drinks, collected glasses and chatted on autopilot, unsure whether Charlie’s curious glances were a figment of her imagination or if he’d witnessed the altercation with Gibson.

And when the time came to turn out the stragglers and bid her staff goodnight, Imogen was more than ready to fall into bed. Or so she thought.

Lying on her side in bed, Imogen couldn’t find the right words for what she wanted to say to Jamie. She wanted to talk like they used to, to tell him how confused and utterly bereft she felt. Confused about her feelings for Gibson, confused and upset about Jenna, or rather, Jenna’s lack of communication with her. Since their first day of high school, she, Amy and Jenna had told each other every little pesky detail of their lives. When it came to her encounters with the opposite sex, sometimes Jenna shared a bit too much, but Imogen would choose too much detail over silence any day. Sure, Jenna hadn’t exactly been silent – but the fact that they talked every day and emailed back and forth as well and she
still
hadn’t mentioned Guy really hurt.

Did Amy know? She glanced at the alarm clock beside her bed – too late to call her, even if she’d likely be up feeding the baby. And what if Amy
did
know about Jenna and Guy? Were they keeping it a secret from her on purpose? She could see no reason why they would, but then again, she hadn’t told them about Gibson. Her traitorous belly flipped at the mere thought of him and an ache pounded the front of her skull. If it weren’t for the thin walls
and the fact that Cal and Pauli’s rooms were just below, she’d have screamed, because right now Gibson Black was infuriating her something chronic.

Quite aside from the attraction that simmered between them no matter how much she tried to ignore it, his woe-is-me, all-women-are-the-same record was getting boring. So he was divorced. Big deal! Half the adult population have divorces under their belts, but that didn’t mean they all turned into bitter hermits who refused to think one nice thought about the opposite sex. She knew he wouldn’t have touched her with a barge pole if she’d been single and on the pull. Ironically, her dead husband made her an attractive option.

And right now, that made her want to vomit.

Imogen sighed and snatched up the photo of Jamie, holding it and shaking it in frustration. She hadn’t spoken to him for a couple of days. Guilt hit her like a kick to the gut.

She clutched the frame against her chest. ‘Oh Jamie. Life would be so much less complicated if you’d let someone else be the hero … The pub is going great guns, better even than I imagined, but each day without you is still a huge learning curve. And I don’t know if I’m doing it okay or doing it all wrong. I …’

A tear trickled down her cheek and she stopped rambling because she didn’t even know what she wanted to say.

She was all over the place tonight and she hated it. She hated having secrets from her best friends and she hated the way one quick bonk with Gibson had made her feel fabulous and terrible all at the same time. She didn’t want to need him, but she was beginning to wonder if such feelings were out of her control. But how could she tell any of
this
to Jamie?

Tearing back the bed covers, she got up and thumped across the room. As crazy as the notion seemed, she needed to get out into the fresh air and run. She knew running in the middle of the night
was insane, but life had thrown her curveballs and she didn’t know how to process them in any other way.

Gibson kicked off his boots at his front door and barely stopped to ruffle the excited heads of Jack and Jill before heading for his fridge and grabbing a beer.

He took a hasty slug of the drink he’d wanted to have at the pub but couldn’t because he had to drive. He thought briefly of the many drinks he could have had if he and Imogen hadn’t agreed to stop at one episode of good – no, make that
great
– sex. But they had, he couldn’t, and it was a good thing.

They were nothing more than friends – acquaintances, really – so why did he feel so damn lousy about fighting with her?

He grabbed another beer and headed out to the verandah with both bottles, planning to drink them in quick succession so legally, he couldn’t drive back into town and apologise. Logically, he knew he owed her that. He’d been short-tempered and dismissive of her feelings when she’d talked about her friend. But he just didn’t want Guy to fall into the same trap he had. Okay, strictly that wasn’t true. It was unlikely that Guy and whomever he seduced to the sticks would have the same problems Gibson and his ex-wife had.

If he were honest, he realised after her visit to the farm that he was getting in deep with Imogen. She’d become a constant player in his mind, to the point that he found it tricky to think about anything else long enough to get things done. He’d been desperate to see her again, but had he thrown that barb about all women being the same because deep down he needed to put barriers between them?

He flopped into the surprisingly comfortable wicker outdoor sofa said ex-wife had purchased from some exorbitantly priced
furniture shop. He’d tried to tell Serena the combination of white and padded cushions wasn’t practical out here, but would she listen? Hell no. By that time the cracks in their marriage were more than evident, and she’d thrown herself into the decorating in an attempt to distract herself from their growing number of other issues.

Glancing at the unopened bottle of beer, Gibson sighed, moved to stand again and then stopped himself.
Don’t go!