The House On Burra Burra Lane (11 page)

‘He’s a good boy. Helps me when what he really wants is to leave. He reminds me of Ethan. Hot and sulky all at once, fired up, and chasing a pretty girl.’

‘Doesn’t sound like the Ethan I know.’ But there again, what
did
she know?

Patricia chuckled. ‘Not now. When he was younger.’ She paused a moment. ‘Josh has a girlfriend—in Canberra, met her on the internet. He’s chasing her electronically. He’s hot and bothered from afar.’

Sammy smiled, the words
wife
and
baby
thundering too loudly in her head for more of a response.

‘How’s the house?’ Patricia asked. ‘How is he coping at the house?’

Sammy studied Patricia’s face, felt as though she’d been asked a trick question. ‘My house? Josh?’

‘Ethan.’ Patricia cast her gaze down. ‘It was a long time ago. It won’t affect you, he’ll make sure of it.’

Sammy couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘What are you talking about?’

Patricia blushed a little. ‘I’m sorry, Sammy. I thought you and Ethan were getting it together. That’s the talk, anyway.’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t pay any mind to it—in fact, don’t listen to any gossip. I’ve heard a few things being said recently that I don’t like to hear.’ She smiled. ‘I apologise. I honestly thought you liked him.’

Sammy forced a laugh. ‘He’s my builder, he’s very good at it, of course I like him. The whole town likes him as far as I can see.’
So why were they gossiping about him?

‘We give him his space.’ Patricia paused. ‘Josh wants to work with him, wants to be a carpenter, just like Ethan.’

‘Well that can’t be too hard to organise. I’m sure Ethan would help.’

‘Maybe.’ Patricia smiled. ‘I’ve been wanting to meet you, Sammy. Thank you for liking my Josh and taking an interest in him. I appreciate that.’

Sammy took Patricia’s offered hand. ‘Don’t rush off, stay a bit longer.’

‘No, I must go. Thanks for helping out today, too. It’s nice to see a new face in town after all these years.’ Patricia wheeled her chair around and lifted a hand to her son as Josh sauntered along the walkway towards her.

Sammy went back to the table, her head ringing with a thousand questions. She had nowhere near enough information.

She scanned the field in front of her.

Julia stood at the fence. Taller than Sammy. Not slimmer, but sleeker, her limbs long and languid. Her hair an inch or two shorter than Sammy’s, but straight-as-a-die and starstruck blonde, whereas Sammy’s brown hair found a hint of sparkle if the sun caught it. Julia’s eyes were almond shaped, dreamy-blue. Sammy didn’t know what glow might show in her own eyes. Daring, silly, vulnerable …

She looked down at the table as a vision of a younger Ethan came to mind; smiling and flirting with a pretty girl who looked just like Julia.
His wife.

She turned her attention to the brochures and pamphlets, sorting the bundles, struggling to remove the image.

Oliver had wanted Sammy sleek and perfect. Sammy could do it too, she just didn’t want to anymore. She had designer suits and blouses in the box at the back of her wardrobe. And stiletto sling-backs and soft leather pumps. She had jewellery, not gems, but fancy costume pieces, and expensive. She glanced at the jeans she wore. She’d worn them to the Bushman’s Clock that first time she’d visited with Ethan. She’d worn them when he took her to visit his horses.

She looked up, caught sight of Ethan walking towards Julia; children, dogs and balloons trailing beside him. Her heart took a dive from the highest mountain top.

Why hadn’t he told her?

Julia beckoned him over, her manicured hand raised in the air. Ethan listened as Julia tilted her face to him. He nodded, said something in response, and smiled. He slapped the fence rail and moved off.

When he came up the steps to Sammy’s table, shock had worn off, replaced with hostility, running through her veins, skirting the icy shield around her heart. Did she want to further
any
relationship with him, knowing she wanted more from him? Wanted time with him. She’d been musing and petting her own fancies, taking a look at him, admiring his strong shoulders. But he hadn’t been keen on ringing her bell. He’d told her he could do it, and he’d done it. But not for her. Not for anybody. Unless he still held feelings for his wife.

He smiled his slow, patient smile. ‘You’ve still got your crown on.’

She swiped the circle of flowers from her head. ‘I forgot.’ She slapped it on the table, stared at him.

She’d ask him. She’d simply ask
why
he hadn’t told her.

T
he old shed smelled of dampened earth, mildew and new wood.

‘Thought you might want a coffee.’ Sammy put a mug onto the work table and glanced at Ethan discreetly, even though his back was turned.

‘Thanks,’ he said, but he didn’t look around.

She’d have to make some appeasement before she got her questions answered. She’d been so narked at him yesterday at the fair that her negative response to his suggestion they join the others at the Bar & Grill for dinner had come out barbed and waspish. He’d stepped away from her, frowning when she’d refused, telling him she was far too tired and still had her own work to do.

She’d missed out on a good dinner and decent company by spiting herself with tetchiness, but the pleasure of being useful in town had been drowned by the pain of him having a wife— having any woman before her.

How should she start this conversation? She didn’t want to sound like a jealous fishwife, but she’d go mad if she didn’t know more.

‘I heard you were called out to a dog in the middle of the night,’ she said.

‘Where did you hear that?’

She shrugged. ‘Someone said something at the grocer’s this morning. You know how people talk.’

He looked over his shoulder but didn’t respond.

‘Didn’t think you’d turn up today. Is the dog okay?’

‘He’s fine now. He’d knocked over his owner’s can of beer and drank it. Didn’t agree with him.’

‘Don’t imagine it did. Are you tired?’

He narrowed his eyes, as though unsure about whether to wade into the conversation or not. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘Are you?’

Sammy shook her head. ‘I had a good night’s sleep. I got over my bad mood.’

There was relief, perhaps, in the quick half-smile that flashed. ‘Good.’

‘Sorry about yesterday,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’

‘You’re working too hard.’

That wasn’t the problem. ‘Did you have a nice dinner at Kookaburra’s?’

‘I didn’t go either.’ He put a piece of builder’s chalk between his teeth, picked up a metal tape measure and measured one of the heavy sheets of wood lying across builder’s horses. He marked a spot, put the chalk back between his teeth.

‘Doesn’t that taste disgusting?’

‘I imagine your coffee will take care of it.’

Sammy took a breath. Given his terse responses, she wasn’t the only one harbouring a little irritability.

He moved to another stack of wood and bent low on his haunches, measuring the top board. Hunched down, the dark shirt stretched across his back. He had the cuffs rolled up, as always. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were in proportion with the muscles on his back. No need for the tan belt looped through his jeans to cut into his waist because there was no additional flesh.

He looked the same, but she’d lost her perception of him. He was a man with a wife, albeit dead. He’d married someone for better or worse. How badly had she hurt him before she died? So difficult to judge what might have happened from the little she’d been told.

Her feet dragged as she turned to look out of the doorway, giving herself a few moments to organise the words in her head before she spoke. The grass smelled sharp and tangy. One day she’d smell flowers. She’d plant hundreds of them. They’d sway in the breeze next to the wildflowers in the fields surrounding her homestead.

What would Ethan want in a woman? Did she possess any of the qualities he’d look for?

She swung back to him, determined to take this as far as she could. ‘Ethan? Is there a lot of gossip about me in town?’

He turned then. ‘Has someone said something to you?’

She shook her head. ‘Not about me, exactly.’ She swallowed. ‘I think it might be about us.’

He picked up the coffee and sipped. ‘The bet’s still running on you, but no-one is saying bad things about you. I’d have heard.’ He paused. ‘And put a stop to it.’

‘Maybe you wouldn’t know. If it’s about you and me, they wouldn’t say it to your face.’

‘And what would they be saying about you and me?’

Tension pulled at the back of her neck, but she persisted. ‘I get the impression they think I might be chasing you.’ She forced a grin. ‘You can’t blame them, we’re both single. And you’re pretty good husband material—for a woman who was looking for that sort of thing.’

The corner of his mouth tilted but it wasn’t a smile. ‘Take no notice of it.’ Sharpness edged his tone. He put the mug onto the work table.

Perhaps her nudge hadn’t been big enough. ‘By single, I mean never married.’

He fired her a look, brow furrowed. Now he was listening, working it out.

‘And they think you’re after me, too.’ She shrugged. ‘Silly, huh?’

He looked away, stepped around the makeshift table. ‘You’re covered in dust,’ he said. ‘What have you been doing?’

She let her breath out and swept a hand down her ruby-red sweatshirt. Couldn’t blame him for turning away and changing the subject. It wasn’t pleasant asking him to open up about his past. And the time wasn’t right. He wasn’t in the mood. ‘I was moving furniture. I’m going to paint my living room.’ She slapped her thighs and watched sandpaper dust dance to the earth floor. ‘I’m normally dusty anyway, you ought to know that by now.’ The box of city clothes came to mind. Crammed with so many outfits from her other life she’d had to tie the lid down. ‘What you don’t know is that I’m in disguise.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I’m a designer queen beneath all this dust.’

‘Well don’t get your ermine cloak out before you paint the living room.’ He glanced at her and cocked an eyebrow. ‘You’ll be splattered in more paint than you get on the walls.’

She twisted her mouth to a grimace. ‘I could lop your head off for that.’

His smile shone. A full Ethan smile. ‘Want to try it?’

Warmth washed through her. She’d brought him back. Although not for the reasons she’d wanted—where he said how lovely she was, not to worry, he did like her …

‘Ignore the gossip in town, Sammy.’

Gossip in town she’d cope with, it was the steadfast, non-talkative man in her shed giving her problems. Unless he was prepared to look hard, to look beneath—all she offered was straightened hair, disordered enthusiasm and a joke. Not exactly enticing traits for a man who liked sleek blondes and organised order.

‘Shouldn’t we put it straight? Let them know they’re wrong.’
Were they wrong?
She sighed, yanked the hem of her sweatshirt, and looked away from him.

‘Let it run its course. It’ll die down.’

Which meant what? That there was
nothing
between them, not even a hint of the attraction that had simmered when they’d first met?

‘They’re telling me things about you, Ethan.’

He blew out a breath. ‘If there’s talk about me, I’m not going to listen to it.’

‘You’re good at ignoring what people might say about you. I don’t think I am.’

‘That’s because you’re new, and you’re finding your way. It’s different for me. I’ve been here longer than you.’

She glanced up. ‘Were you brought up here?’

‘Dragged up, mainly,’ he said, his tone sarcastic. He looked down and stared at the mug of coffee. ‘I’m a solitary person these days. I like being on my own and people don’t always understand.’

Frustration narrowed to a spear of annoyance. Did he think she hadn’t already sussed that out? ‘You don’t need anything from anyone, do you?’

He glanced at her, his gaze hardened. ‘Are you offering me something?’

She stepped back, her heart beating faster than it should. She’d pushed him too far, had never heard anything but gentleness in his voice before this.

‘I’m sorry.’ He shook his head, clenched and unclenched his hand. ‘Ignore me, too. I am tired today. That’s all.’

She drew in a slow breath. ‘Ethan, do you think we should have a break?’

Ethan looked up sharply. How would he feel if she asked him to leave and not bother her again? Empty. A field with no sunshine. A mountainside without trees. ‘You think that will stop the gossip?’

She put her hands on her hips and shifted her feet on the earth floor. ‘I’m not worried about that, but perhaps you shouldn’t spend all your free time here. Why don’t you take the day off and go fishing?’

‘You want me to leave?’ He wouldn’t stay where he wasn’t wanted. Needed.

‘Up to you.’ She shrugged.

He focussed more firmly on her. She looked a little shattered. Not tired exactly, perhaps wary because they were getting themselves into an argument.

‘I’d like to get this started.’ He indicated the leaning shed wall.

‘Okay.’ She nodded, hands raised in surrender. ‘I’ll get back to my painting then.’ She turned to the door.

‘Sammy.’ He didn’t want her leaving thinking he was some grouchy guy with a splinter jabbed under his skin. ‘I don’t talk about my past.’

The momentary pause felt like an eternity until she looked over her shoulder, smiled gently. ‘I realise that.’

She left, heading for the house. He blinked, picked up the mug and stared at the coffee so he wouldn’t have to look at her legs in those skinny shorts. If the weather got any warmer, she’d be in skinny tops too. How would he cope with that?

He’d promised himself if she asked about his past, he’d tell her, and as soon as she had, he’d clammed up, changing the subject to queens and ermine cloaks. He didn’t need twenty guesses to know what she’d been told. He’d known the rumours would escalate yesterday, standing in the lovers’ queue with her, kissing her in front of everyone. He should have made sure he missed that bell but with the weight of the hammer in his grip and pretty Sammy standing next to him, some silly pride had taken him over. He’d shown off for her. And now they were talking about her … and his past.