Mountain Ash (14 page)

By eight o'clock Jodie had decided she didn't have to be in any trouble at all. She and the girls had cooked themselves up a feed for tea and, after she assured them she was right to do the dishes, they'd gone running off to play merry hell, leaving her with a dishcloth, a pile of dirty plates and peace. She'd made a promise she'd join them later, but was currently considering breaking it. If she just washed up and went to bed, she'd be safe from this Cowboy Nate and his sort. She'd then get up in the morning with a clear head and hike it to her sewing class. Voila! Not one temptation to entice her to sin.

‘Need a hand with that?' The tone was gravelly, as though the owner had smoked his fair share of cigarettes over the years.

‘Holy crap! You scared the shit out of me.'

An elderly man doffed his hat. ‘Sorry about that, ma'am. Just thinking I should do my neighbourly duty.' The man, who she guessed was around seventy, nodded towards the
LandCruiser she'd seen coming through the gate earlier with an old Singer on the back. It was now parked a few vehicles up the paddock towards the river. ‘I was just heading off to find a tap to wash my dishes, saw you and thought we might be able to join forces?'

The bloke had an old-world air about him. His deferential attitude, the direct way he looked at her when he spoke, his open grin. She could say yes or no, no matter. She immediately warmed to him, wondering who he reminded her of. Then, she realised she'd better respond rather than just standing there like a dill, one hand in the wash tub, the other holding a tea-towel.

‘Right. Here's a towel then. Thanks.' She stuck her head down and started scrubbing the plates. Why the other girls hadn't brought disposables she didn't know. She guessed it would have taken a mother to have thought of that easier option.

‘And so you're riding?'

‘No. I'm doing other stuff.'

‘Like?'

Well, seeing he did have a sewing machine on the back of his ute, what was the harm in telling him? ‘Tomorrow I'm doing a quilting workshop the CWA have organised here in town. Just came here with a bunch of girlfriends.' She nodded towards Stacey's Crewman. ‘They've headed to the bar and band.'

The bloke smiled a slow, easy, gummy grin. ‘Yeah, my mate's headed there too. Me? I thought I might have an early night. Been hitting the turps a bit hard lately.' He patted the Driza-Bone vest that covered his tummy. ‘Need to let the old liver take a break.'

Jodie smiled her full-force grin at him and the man nearly dropped the plate he was holding. He must be a fumble fingers,
she thought, as she suddenly realised who he reminded her of. Her dad. That decided her.

‘I'm Ash,' she said. ‘And you are?'

‘Wallace. Wallace Price, at your service.' He tilted his hat in her direction.

Oh gosh. Another gentleman. Thank God this one was an
old
gentleman who didn't seem to want anything. She didn't need any more complications at this moment in her life.

‘And so, this quilting workshop, what are you doing there?'

Jodie snuck him another glance. He didn't
sound
like he was taking the piss out of her. In fact he seemed really interested. ‘It's a bargello quilt. Well, more of a sampler really. You can make it into a wall-hanging, part of a larger quilt – whatever takes your fancy.'

Wallace stroked his bristly old chin. ‘And this bargello, what is that exactly?'

Jodie had only a vague idea herself. ‘Using strip piecing, I think you slice and dice to make these geometric designs that look like they twist and turn in front of your eyes. In the quilting magazines they look amazing. I think there's a few ways to do them and a lot of designs, but I like the patterns that seem to move as you look at them.'

‘You're passionate about sewing? Or quilting, at least?' said Wallace.

Jodie thought about that. ‘Not so much passionate. I'm passionate about my daughter. Sewing is just a hobby, a bit like horse-riding, I guess. Although I'd have to say Parnie, that's my horse,' she explained, ‘doesn't quite come under the heading of “hobby” either. He's a part of our family.'

‘So you're married?' asked Wallace with interest.

Mmmm … what to answer? The truth, she decided. Take it or leave it. ‘No, I'm a single parent.'

To her surprise there was no judgement in his eyes. As he was of an older generation, she'd thought there might be, but he just took it in his stride and moved on.

‘I'm passionate about leather work, meself,' he said with a quick, self-conscious glance at her.

Goodness, was he ashamed that he sewed even if it was leather? ‘That's why you've got that terrific old Singer? I'd
adore
one of those.'

Wallace blushed, put down the plate he'd been drying and picked up another. ‘Yes, well, it's a lovely old thing. It was my mother's.'

‘You are
so
lucky!'

‘I guess I am. I hadn't thought of it like that. An old bushie who sews isn't exactly a common thing.'

Jodie smiled and said, ‘Hardly old,' trying to be nice.

Wallace looked thoughtful. ‘I guess fifty-seven isn't that old.'

She choked. He was
fifty-seven
? Holy crap. He looked waaaay older than Alex and there was only one year difference.

But Wallace was talking again, and she tried to refocus.

‘This patchwork thingy. Would the CWA ladies take a late entry? I wouldn't mind coming along.' The man's eyes twinkled. ‘You never know, I might learn about quilting
and
meet a lovely lady who can make a mean scone.'

Jodie smiled. Wallace did his ‘drop the plate thing' again. He really was a fumble fingers, just like her dad. ‘They said they were going to take a few extra machines to the hall for anyone who happened to turn up on the day. I'm sure you'd be welcome.'

Wallace had finished drying and was hanging up his towel on the nearby fence. ‘That seals it. Delightful. Until tomorrow then, Miss Ash. Lovely to meet you.' He doffed his hat and
strode off with a jaunty step, dishes under his arm, a whistle on his lips.

Well, at least she'd made someone's day.

It was hours later and Jodie was still awake. She'd given up trying to sleep. The noise coming from the party down the hill was too loud. She was amazed Stacey hadn't come back to drag her there. A part of her wished her friend had. The wild ‘I'm a single person again' part, that is. The rest of her was quite content to be right where she was.

The noise of someone walking past the ute caught her attention. Even though she'd only met him twice she knew that walk, that confident gait. It was Nate. She kept her head on her pillow, listening to hear if she could trace where he went. Which vehicle was his? Just lying there it was a bit hard to track him, though, and the sound of his boots quickly faded in the night. He was leaving the party early. As she lay looking out beyond her tarp, towards the millions of stars twink ling in the clear night sky, she couldn't help but wonder if that meant anything.

The next morning a ute pulled up beside Jodie. ‘Need a lift?' It was Wallace, complete with his Singer on the back of the tray.

Jodie stopped and considered the offer.

The man obviously saw she was prevaricating. ‘I'm safe,' he said. ‘I won't be going anywhere bar that patchworking hall, if you'll show me where it is.' Jodie nodded and got into the ute.
‘I'm too old for you anyway,' he said as he felt around and found the seat-belt clip for her. Jodie cringed, immediately thinking of Alex. The ute took off, Wallace grinding the gears as he drove. ‘Don't worry. We'll pick up the gear-box on the way back.'

Jodie laughed as Wallace crunched another gear. ‘It's not my ute, it's me mate's,' he said by way of explanation. ‘He's back watching the drafting. Thinks I'm a bit coo-coo doing this. But I says to him, fuck off –' Wallace stopped, looking aghast, then started again. ‘Begging your pardon for my language. Been around blokes way too long.' At Jodie's nod, he went on, ‘So anyways, I told him to take a hike and here I am. Looking forward to it too.' The old man grinned, showing his gums in all their red, shiny glory. Somehow, though, Jodie didn't mind. This
was
a man who was passionate about his sewing.

They arrived in plenty of time, picked up the kits for the quilt sampler, got Wallace registered and set up with a borrowed machine. (They'd decided it was easier to leave his Singer right where it was.) The CWA ladies were all a-flutter there was a man in the room and regardless of his lack of teeth Wallace's old-fashioned manners and courtesy towards women shone through and claimed many a widow's attention. He was in his element. His sewing prowess wasn't quite so crash hot, but he was having so much fun and was such a delight in class that no one really minded.

Jodie, for her part, assiduously followed all the instructions and by lunchtime had made a decent start on her quilt.

It was about two o'clock, after they'd returned to their machines, that her peace and sense of purpose departed.

‘Well, hello there,' said a voice at her shoulder.

She glanced up to see a pair of sky-blue eyes boring down at her. ‘This is where you're hiding, hey? Old Wal was
close-mouthed about that one. He didn't say anything about blonde-headed beauties being involved with bargello.'

Jodie started.
Nate
was Wal's ute-owning mate? And how in the dickens did he know about bargello?

At her look of puzzlement he gave a half laugh. ‘My mother was a great patchworker. You'd be surprised about what I know.' And then he winked, which sent Jodie's thoughts diving to her crotch. Oh God. There was something divine about a man who could wink as sexually as that.

She put her head back down in an attempt to concentrate on finishing sewing the strip of fabrics she had in her hand. Fussed with her scissors. Clipped the cotton. Anything other than look up at Nate while she was blushing like a virgin bride. Get a hold of yourself, Ashton. Get your mind out of the gutter and back on track.

It didn't matter anyway, as Nate had moved on towards Wallace. ‘Hey there, Wal. Looking good, mate. Love the run of colours.' Wal's sampler was a shifting pattern of deep russet, woodland green, midnight blue all waving and curling around lighter salmon, sky-blue and sunny yellow. It was a manly type of quilt. Jodie's, on the other hand, had scatterings of burgundies, pinks and purples. It was decidedly more girly.

Wallace, much to Jodie's amazement, was blushing a brilliant red. ‘Yes, well, I'm a bit proud of it meself.' He flung the squares of material he was strip-piecing back under the foot of the machine. ‘Gotta keep sewing though, mate. Haven't got time to be yakking to the likes of you.' Wallace's harem all twittered at his humour and Nate was summarily dismissed from the table. He wandered back towards Jodie and stood behind her. ‘Need a hand?' he asked.

Jodie wasn't sure she'd heard him right so she just glanced up and smiled, then looked down again at her material, which she was guiding through the machine.

She heard Nate exclaim under his breath. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him pick up a little stack of squares sitting on the table ready to be pieced. ‘How about I have a go at these?' he said.

So she
had
heard him right. She glanced up again. He was putting the Akubra he'd had in his hand on the floor. Sitting that gorgeous body of his on a chair. Folding his lanky legs under the table. Pulling a spare machine towards him. Dear God, the cowboy was going to
sew!

‘Don't worry. I won't wreck your handiwork. I'm rather good at this. Mum made sure of that.'

Whoever his mum had been, she was a classic. Nobody taught girls to sew any more, let alone
boys!
Jodie then realised Nate was staring at her, waiting for her to say
something.
But seriously, what was there to say, other than, ‘Be my guest.'