Man Drought (8 page)

Imogen watched as Charlie scribbled another name on the list of volunteers that now hung on the wall behind the bar, a list that grew longer by the day.

With only a few days to go until the big slab party, she was beginning to worry that they might have too much help. Thankfully, Amy – a project manager for a major event planning company – would be on hand to oversee things and direct where necessary. Imogen had emailed Amy the list of jobs and the latest list of volunteers, and Amy was going to work out teams and a roster. This task made her feel useful because this late in her pregnancy, she wouldn’t be much physical help. Jenna would no doubt prove a good distraction to any men left with nothing to do.

Imogen smiled – she couldn’t wait to see her girls.

Then she bit her lip and stared at the list of tasks she’d been working on, wondering whether she’d left anything off. Most of them were minor – moving furniture, hanging the vintage signs she’d sourced
from eBay, a bit of gardening in the deserted window boxes out the front – and could be done in less than an hour with only one or two bodies. Then there were some painting jobs – the whole building could do with a new coat – and facelifting the verandah, which would involve some serious TLC. Initially, Charlie had volunteered Gibson to sand down all the rails and posts – apparently he’d renovated the farmhouse at Roseglen a few years back, and the verandah was one of the major improvements. But, of course, he’d declined.

She’d had to force herself not to roll her eyes and scoff when Charlie put in Gibson’s apology. He’d offered to lend his sander but was far too busy to lend himself. Well, that was fine with Imogen. She didn’t want to put him out.

But Charlie didn’t want to leave things there. He’d apologised a number of times on behalf of Gibson, who appeared to have ceased his daily visits to the pub. Mostly, Imogen was happy about this fact. The cranky glare he bestowed on her whenever he sat at the bar made her feel uncomfortable, as did the reactions his mere presence sparked deep down in her core.

She shivered simply thinking of them.

She didn’t need grouchy patrons and she certainly didn’t need to be distracted by unexplained and unwanted feelings when she was trying her damn best to be professional and make a go of this. But she felt sorry for Charlie, who clearly missed his grandson’s visits. Gibson’s absence unnerved him and he talked about him much more than before. Worst of all, he felt the need to explain, to justify and make excuses. She supposed it was sweet, but the last thing she needed was a reason to feel sympathy towards Gibson. Unfortunately, earlier that day, Charlie had provided one – touching that kind heart Imogen still needed to harden.

He’d caught her coming out of the office, and just by the gleam in his eyes, she knew he was about to launch into another conversation about his precious grandson.

‘I’m a bit busy, Charlie,’ she’d said, her arms laden with old account books she planned on storing in a back room. ‘Can it wait?’

‘Here, let me help.’ Charlie put his arms out to take some of her load.

Great
, now it would take them twice as long to get to the storeroom and back again. ‘Thanks,’ she said, trying to keep the exasperation from her voice.

Sure enough, as they started down the corridor, Charlie launched into his favourite subject. ‘I know you and Gibson didn’t hit it off to start with, but he’s really not as awful as he makes out.’

‘I know he’s your grandson, Charlie, but to be honest, I don’t waste too much time dwelling on his standoffishness. I have bigger fish to fry.’

Blatant lie – she thought about him much more than she liked. There was no reason she should think about him at all. If she were going to start pondering being with a man other than Jamie – and she wasn’t – there were so many that should have been higher up the list than Gibson. Any of the other pub regulars, for a start. All of whom appeared to be kind-hearted, fun, hardworking and, although not quite as jolt-your-insides good-looking as Gibson, certainly smiled more. She liked smiling.

‘Good. I’m glad.’ Charlie entered the storeroom behind her and put his pile on a shelf. ‘But I still want to explain. He’s my family and I wouldn’t want you to think we raise them grumpy and rude in the Black clan.’

‘He hasn’t been rude, exactly,’ Imogen began. ‘More like quiet and reserved.’
Hah!

‘His wife left him a few years ago,’ Charlie announced. ‘He was a mess.’

‘Oh.’ Her chest tightened. Why hadn’t she expected something like this? No one got to be like Gibson without good reason. But
what kind of woman would leave a man like him? Despite the rudeness, the sex would have to set your sheets on fire.

Argh! Here I am, pondering the horizontal mambo again. What’s wrong with me?

She laid her books next to Charlie’s and leaned against the wall. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

Charlie shrugged and adjusted his hat, as she noticed he did whenever he spoke about something close to his heart. ‘Serena was never cut out for country life. Gibson was too blinded by lust to see that.’

‘And love?’ She couldn’t help herself.

‘Oh, he loved her all right. Was absolutely gutted when she left.’ Charlie sighed sadly. ‘It changed him. Believe it or not, before marriage, Gibby was the life of the party round here. The local larrikin.’

She frowned. Could she believe that?

‘I’m telling you because I know you’ll understand,’ Charlie said, folding his arms across his chest.

‘How?’ She pushed herself off the wall, ready to get back to work. The noise in the bar was growing. Cal was out there but she’d need assistance.

‘He’s like us, isn’t he?’ Charlie explained. ‘We’ve each lost the person we loved more than anyone. He’s hurting just like you.’

His words felt like a slap in the face. However unfortunate, no way was Gibson’s situation anything like hers. She did feel a twinge of pity for him – having the love of your life walk out would definitely be harsh – but what was to say he hadn’t treated his wife with the same disregard he showed her?

‘I can’t believe you can compare us, Charlie. Divorce and death have nothing in common. His loss isn’t the same at all, and you of all people should understand that.’ She felt the fury building within, raising her temperature. ‘Did he ever try to win her back?’

Charlie hung his head. ‘Not that I know of.’

‘See? I’m sure his pride was hurt, but if he truly loved his wife he wouldn’t just let her go. He’d move heaven and earth to win her back. That country verses city stuff is crap. If a woman loves a man, she’ll move to Mars to be with him. I would have for Jamie.’

‘I’m sorry.’ The shock in Charlie’s eyes made Imogen realise she’d been overly defensive. ‘I just wanted you to know he’s got reasons for the way he acts.’

‘We’ve all got reasons, Charlie,’ she replied, trying to be a little softer this time. ‘And choices. But just because one woman wrongs you doesn’t mean you should treat every woman you subsequently meet with such disregard. He’ll never be able to move on if that’s the case.’

‘True,’ Charlie answered sadly. ‘I really don’t know what to do.’

Imogen sighed. This really bugged the old guy – it made her want to drive out to Gibson’s farm right away and have it out with him. ‘They say time heals everything. Maybe he needs a little more. Or maybe he just needs to meet the right woman.’

‘Know anyone?’ Charlie looked hopeful for a moment.

She pursed her lips while she thought. ‘Maybe.’

Cal was too young and Pauli too adamantly against relationships. The only candidate that came to mind was Jenna. Her friend would be more than happy to scratch any itch Gibson might be harbouring, but physical release was all she would have to offer. Deep down, Imogen imagined Jenna was exactly the same type of woman as Gibson’s ex-wife. She was no more likely to settle in the outback than a skyscraper. ‘Leave it with me,’ she said finally, hoping that promising to help would stop Gibson creeping into every sentence that came out Charlie’s mouth.

Early on Friday morning, Gibson did the usual rounds of feeding and checking sheep, all the while umming and ahhing about jumping in his ute and heading to Perth early. He had to go on Sunday to visit his parents anyway, and it wasn’t like he had big plans for this evening. Tonight, he’d be alone in his big house, knowing that pretty much every other bloke in town was at the pub, enjoying themselves. The rest of the day loomed ahead and he knew that even if he occupied himself on the farm, his mind would be in town.

He hadn’t realised how much The Majestic was a part of his social life – okay, in non-footy season, it
was
his social life – until he’d stopped visiting daily. Aside from Charlie and old Mrs Lorder at the general store, the only conversation he’d had lately had been with Jack and Jill, and he was fairly sure interactions with dogs didn’t count. But was driving to his parents’ place a few days early going to be any better? He didn’t have to be psychic to know his
mum would want to talk about Charlie, that she’d try to convince
him
to talk to Charlie and lure him round to her views. And Gibson didn’t want to be any more involved in that disagreement than he already was. Even before he’d decided it wasn’t an option, Gibson remembered this was his week on the ambulance roster.

As a local St John’s volunteer, he did a week on roster once a month – Saturday to Saturday. Most of his call-outs were motor vehicle accidents on the highway and the occasional cardiac problems amongst the older members of the community, but generally they were pretty quiet. He hadn’t been needed for over a month. Still, if he chose today to slink off to Perth, Sod’s Law said there’d be an emergency.

‘Nope, Perth is not an option.’

He only realised he was talking to his dogs again when Jill looked up and cocked her head at him. Jack was wreaking havoc on the paddock of sheep but Jill was the more sensible of the two. She understood that Gibson had bought them for companionship, not to work. She barked at him and her intense stare made Gibson think she wanted to tell him something.

Don’t be ridiculous
. He shook his head and checked the time on his watch. If he didn’t want to spend the whole weekend watching the clock and
thinking
, he was going to have to keep busy. Maybe he should swallow his damn discomfort and head into town later to volunteer for the pub renovations. Charlie would welcome him with open arms. Aside from farm work, he hadn’t done much manual labour since Serena had moved to Roseglen and they’d made their additions and renovations on the house, but he was good at that kind of work. Liked the buzz you got when a project was finished. A bit like when, after months of stubble burning, seeding, spraying and praying for rain, the crop finally started growing thick and fast. It was those times that made all the hard work and stress of farming worthwhile.

He thought on that a moment and then asked himself why he
really wanted to be involved. The answer was clear. He hadn’t seen Imogen for days, but staying away hadn’t made any difference. She still invaded his mind on a regular basis, as if she had a right to be there and he had a right to want it.

‘Argh!’ He let rip a scream from the bottom of his lungs and felt marginally better for it. He didn’t want to be a prisoner on his own farm.

He’d been standing in this paddock for who knows how long, and if he didn’t make a move soon, the sheep wouldn’t get a chance to eat – it took a long while for Jack to tire. He tapped the tray of the ute, indicating for Jill to jump up, and then whistled to Jack. The dog deserted his fun immediately and returned to Jill’s side.

‘Good dogs.’ Feeling determined, Gibson patted each animal on the head and then got back into his ute. Halfway back to the homestead, inspiration struck. While his grandfather and all his mates were working at The Majestic, he’d give himself his own project. Start that veggie garden he’d been deliberating over lately.

Yes
. Feeling better already, he headed into town, stocked up on seeds and mulch and then returned to Roseglen, determined to keep busy. Soon the garden was taking shape; he was dripping with sweat from the manual exertion and feeling pretty damn happy.

When his mobile rang, he wiped his dirty hands against his dirty jeans and dug the phone out of his pocket. ‘Hi Charlie.’

‘Gibby. When are you going to bring that sander to the pub?’

Dammit, he’d completely forgotten he’d offered it. ‘I’m a bit busy, Granddad.’ He surveyed the raised wooden garden beds he’d spent all afternoon knocking together. ‘Can you come and get it?’

‘Nope. I’m working. Why don’t you bring it in and have a drink?’

In other words,
why don’t you bring it in, have a drink and sit around while I bend your ear about helping all weekend.

‘Can’t do tonight, Granddad. I’ll drop it in tomorrow morning before I get stuck into work.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Charlie grumbled.

Gibson hated disappointing Charlie but on this issue he couldn’t allow himself to waver.

It was better for all involved if he kept his distance from the pub, and also from the alluring Imogen Bates.

The last few days had been busy. Even before the renovations, the pub was starting to pick up trade in the evenings. Imogen reckoned her exotic young barmaid and her equally attractive chef had a lot to do with it. One night, Cal road-tested her Mexican cuisine by making dinner for the pub staff and they all loved it.

Pauli had been the most effusive in her praise, which surprised Imogen, not only because Pauli undoubtedly cooked better than everyone, but also because the Pauli she knew wasn’t the warm-and-fuzzy praise-giving type. Cal, energised by the enthusiastic response, had decided she rather liked cooking for a crowd. She couldn’t wait to make a bigger batch on Saturday night, and had been spending a fair bit of time in the kitchen asking Pauli to teach her things. It crossed Imogen’s mind that if she wasn’t careful she’d have two cooks and be short of bar staff, but in the mood she was in right now, no such worry could really take hold.

Excitement bubbled within her – she couldn’t wait for the pub’s new look to start taking shape, but even more so, she was dying to catch up with Amy and Jenna at the weekend.

Her best friends surprised her by turning up Friday lunchtime, a good five hours earlier than she’d expected.

‘Who are those chicks?’ hissed Cal, who was polishing glasses for the night-time rush. Like the locals, the inhabitants of the pub had grown accustomed to the fact that women rarely ventured through the doors.

Imogen looked up from where she was stocktaking to see Amy waddle into the pub wearing a very flattering maternity sundress, and Jenna practically stalk in wearing heels that were high even for her. She dropped her clipboard and rushed around the bar to greet her friends with a hug.

When the embrace ended, she turned her attention to Jenna’s shoes. ‘I hope you’ve got some sneakers or Crocs in there as well.’

Amy laughed, her hands resting on her jiggling tummy. ‘It’s okay. I went through Jenna’s suitcase, extracted the stuff I really didn’t think she’d need and added in the practical shoes. We’re ready to rock’n’roll.’

Jenna pushed her Prada sunnies up onto her head and said huffily, ‘She took out my little black dress. I need a drink.’

Imogen showed her friends to the spare rooms in the spacious publican’s apartment. She’d had Karen make up the beds that morning. Amy chose to have a nanna nap but Jenna went straight back downstairs to kick off her evening. She insisted on paying her own way, but by the second glass of champagne, it was obvious Jenna wouldn’t have to pay another cent – so numerous were the offers from the guys in the pub.

If Imogen didn’t know her friend well, or know that these blokes could hold their drink, she’d have been worried that none of them would be fit to report for duty in the morning. As it was, she loved seeing Jenna as the centre of attention.

Amy came down to the bar after a few hours, grabbed an OJ from Imogen and then joined Jenna and her claque of men. Despite not drinking alcohol and having a tummy the size of a large watermelon, the men treated her in the same way, hanging on each woman’s every word.

‘You go and join them,’ said Charlie, sneaking up behind her. ‘I’m sure Cal and I can manage for a bit.’

‘Of course we can.’ Cal wrapped an arm round Charlie and grinned.

Three tables had been pushed together and there was now a rather large group surrounding Amy and Jenna. A couple of men eagerly shoved their chairs aside and pulled another one over to make room for Imogen.

‘What are you having?’ asked the guy sitting next to Imogen. His name was Warren – though his friends called him Wazza – and he made it into the pub every few nights.

Dammit, she’d forgotten to get herself a drink. She went to stand. ‘I’ll go grab a Coke. I’m still on duty.’

‘I’ll get it.’ Warren all but rocketed out of his seat and headed for the bar.

Immediately, another bloke scooted over to take his place next to Imogen. ‘So, how are you enjoying life in Gibson’s Find?’ he asked.

‘Very much,’ she answered honestly. ‘I’ve been really busy but that’s the way I like it.’

‘But she misses us,’ piped up Jenna from across the table. ‘Don’t you, darling?’

Imogen smiled at her friend and noticed that Guy – the bloke she’d met during her first run – was sitting mighty close. Was Jenna’s hand on his knee? The table obstructed her view, but it certainly looked that way. She shouldn’t have been surprised – Jenna had always been a fast mover and Guy had Mr Flirtation written all over his face. Good for them.

‘Of course I do.’ She smiled.

‘Given any more thought to joining us at boot camp of a morning?’ Guy asked.

‘Sorry, but I prefer running. It helps clear my head in the mornings.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Guy shrugged and turned back to Jenna.

The next few hours passed easily. Imogen loved being back in the company of her friends, and the blokes were easy to get along with. She learnt a lot more about the bachelors of Gibson’s Find than she
needed to know, but wasn’t that one of the perks (and pitfalls) of being a publican? Bottom line was that she couldn’t understand why they were all still single. It wasn’t as though they had bad body odour or warts growing all over their skin. And Gibson’s Find wasn’t
that
remote. It was a mystery. She even asked Warren this question.

He shrugged and finished a mouthful of beer before answering. ‘It’s not just a rain drought we have out here. There’s a serious female famine as well. Most of us blokes were born and bred on the land and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Some of the contractors have sheilas back in Perth, but lots don’t. Women in general don’t see the appeal of life in the bush. Even the ones raised round here seem to move on eventually.’ He paused a second and laughed. ‘The few blokes that do have better halves are at home making the most of it.’

‘Hmm.’ Imogen took a sip of her drink and contemplated this. Reading between the lines, Gibson probably wasn’t the only one who’d lost a lover to the city, even if he seemed to be the one most wounded by it.

‘What’s “hmm” mean?’ Warren laughed.

‘Just thinking,’ she said with a smile. She’d only been in the country a few weeks but so far she liked – no,
loved
– what she saw. The community spirit, the slower pace of life, the wildlife on her morning runs. So there weren’t designer boutiques on every corner and the local library (housed in the general store) looked more like the bookshelf in her apartment, but hadn’t these women ever heard of online shopping? She wished there were something she could do to fix the famine.

Halfway through this thought, Amy sidled up to Imogen and tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Hope you don’t mind, sweet, but I’m going to call it a night.’

Imogen glanced at her watch and then stood up. ‘I’ll come up with you quickly.’

As they passed the bar, she told Charlie and Cal she’d be back before closing time.

Amy took her time climbing the stairs to Imogen’s apartment. Her breath seemed laboured and when she reached the front door, she looked like she’d just run a marathon in forty-degree heat.

‘Are you okay?’ Imogen asked, regretting not giving Amy one of the hotel rooms on the ground level.

‘I’m fine.’ Amy puffed to catch her breath. ‘I just stayed up way past my pregnancy bedtime and the heat’s getting to me a little. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.’

‘Can I get you anything before you go to bed?’ Imogen asked.

‘A glass of cold water?’ Amy said, already on her way to her room.

By the time Imogen returned with the drink, Amy was all tucked up in bed. Imogen perched on the edge and grinned. ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she told her friend. ‘This is like old times. Remember our sleepovers?’

‘How could I forget?’ Amy took a long sip of water and then said, ‘Although, from what I remember, there wasn’t much sleep involved, whereas tonight I’m going to sleep like a proverbial baby. That’s if you don’t have anything you need to talk about first,’ she added quickly, concern evident in her eyes.

‘No.’ Imogen shook her head, not wanting her very pregnant friend to start worrying unnecessarily. ‘I’m all cool. Busy but good.’

‘Jamie?’ said Amy, not needing to add anything more.

Imogen sighed. ‘I think about him all the time, but being here is helping. Having a project is exactly what I need.’

‘I’m so glad.’ Amy tried to stifle a yawn.

‘Go to sleep.’ Imogen switched off the bedside lamp and kissed her friend on the forehead. ‘Sweet dreams. I’ll see you in the morning.’

When Imogen trekked back downstairs, the crowd had thinned significantly. Cal and Charlie were beginning the end-of-day tasks and Jenna was nowhere to be found. Imogen didn’t worry until the pub emptied fifteen minutes later and there was still no sign of her friend.

‘Either of you seen Jenna?’ she asked her bar staff.

Cal rubbed her lips together and wiggled her eyebrows. ‘My guess is Guy is seeing quite a lot of her right now.’

‘What?’ She shouldn’t have been surprised. Jenna had never been short of admirers and the chemistry between those two was obvious.