The Protea Boys (18 page)

Tom wasn’t going to see that side of her.

She had other things on her mind. The phone had been going flat out. There was a stack of jobs that needed to be attended to, and someone had to take the truck and pick up the new quad bike she’d ordered. She opened the door and walked out onto the veranda; somehow she didn’t want Tom in the house, filling her space with his bulky presence.

Tom’s face was a mask of frozen politeness, every inch of arrogance smoothed behind the stubble on his jaw and the dark circles under his eyes. As he walked toward her, she resisted the temptation to shrink back against the wall, determined she would not be swayed by his powerful magnetism and her foolishness.

“Don’t worry. I am not going to impose myself on you for very long.”

Georgie clamped her teeth together. “Hello, Tom. I’m fine, thank you, how are you?” If he couldn’t even be polite, she wouldn’t offer him a seat or a coffee.

It didn’t seem to bother him. He leaned against the veranda rail, staring out at the rows of protea as though he couldn’t bear the sight of her.

“I’m pleased you’re here. We need to discuss the work schedule. Now the mop-up is over, and there’s a list of jobs as long as my arm for the Protea Boys. The others have already taken the truck out.”

Tom didn’t answer, just looked at her. His face was tired, and he appeared angry as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Georgie.” His voice sounded raspy. “I’m leaving at the end of the week.”

The words hit her like a punch, and she gasped as though she’d been winded.

Control freak
.

There was nothing for her to say, was there? He’d decided, and he was leaving. She couldn’t make him stay. Job or no job.

“I’m going to WA. I’ll pick up a contract there in one of the mines.”

WA. Such a long way away, no chance they’d bump into each other.

“Nick’s restaurant’s up and running, the Protea Boys can handle themselves. It’s time for me to move on.”

Georgie blinked back the prickle of tears and despite her pain managed a cool smile. “I understand. It’s your kind of job. A real job.” And she did understand. Oh yes, she did. He was leaving. Just like Dale had. He was going back to his previous life, maybe not to a woman, but a past just the same as before.

For a moment he stared at her, and she saw a flicker of longing leaping in his eyes. Longing for what? Freedom and independence probably. It died in a moment, and she saw him replace it with an expression of studied, casual indifference.

Damn the man.

She’d done it again. Misread the situation, presumed too much, expected too much, and listened to her body, let her heart rule her head.

Lifting her chin, she straightened her back. “Don’t feel you have to leave because of me. Our paths needn’t cross.”

Tom opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head.

“Oh,” she said, her face reddening with embarrassment. “You’re not leaving because of me, you’re leaving in spite of me.” How much worse could it get?

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, as though he had something else to say, then changed his mind.

“Good-bye, Georgina.” The muscles in his shoulders rippled as he walked along the veranda, away from her.

“Will you come back?” Her words were whisper quiet, not intended for him, almost a contradiction to the bright sunlight, but he hesitated for a moment. He’d heard her.

“No. I’m not planning to. Not in the immediate future.”

Georgie followed the roll of his shoulders as he strolled across the paddock, but there was no whistling today. He’d gone. She would never see him again. Never look into those crystal green eyes and see the reflection of her desire. She’d miss what they’d shared, the friendship and the camaraderie. She’d swap it in a moment for those few hours of sensuality fueled by excitement and drama. Or would she? Why did she feel as though her world had been split in two? Why couldn’t she have both?

She squared her shoulders. She’d survived before, and she could do it again. There were things to do. Flowers to be picked, deliveries to be made, accounts to finalize. Practical things to keep her mind busy. But first she owed Hillary a phone call. They’d have to decide if they were going to replace Tom. Her stomach sank.

Impossible.

Chapter Twenty-
Seven

“Georgie! I was beginning to think you really had disappeared of the face of the earth.”

“I almost did actually, but then the phones went down because of the bushfire so I’ve been a bit out of touch.”

Liar.

“I know. I know. I heard all about it from Matt. Tom’s rescue was the talk of the Inn, apparently.”

Obviously, it was totally impossible to keep anything a secret around Gum Tree Crossing. How did Matt know about it? There was only one person who could have told him.
Tom
. She coughed, thankful no one could see the color of her cheeks, and wondered what else he had told him. That he’d scored and now he was moving on?

“How did Matt know about it?”

“Tom told him, down at the Inn. He was in there last night, rather the worse for wear apparently. He said it was his fault. You’d asked him to slash the grass on the top of the ridge, and he hadn’t done it, and when he got back, you’d thrown yourself over the cliff trying and pranged the quad bike into the bargain. I take it you didn’t hurt yourself.”

“No, I didn’t hurt myself. Just a few bruises and a dented ego.” Just how dented Hillary didn’t need to know. “Thanks for asking.”

“I knew it couldn’t be too bad. Otherwise, Matt would’ve said something. I hope Tom soothed your bruises for you! How’s the great romance coming along, anyway?”

“It’s not and it never was a great romance.”

Only in my overactive imagination.

“Oh, come on. It’s not what I saw or heard.”

“Well, you heard and saw wrong. It’s one of the reasons I’m ringing. He’s leaving.”

Leaving because he got what he came for, and I was found wanting.

“Leaving? Leaving what?”

“Leaving here. He’s taking a job in WA, with one of the mining companies. So we’re down one Protea Boy. What do you want to...” She hiccupped and lost it. Covering the phone with her hand, she let out a great shuddering sob.

“Georgie? Georgie... Are you still there?”

“Yes. I’m still here.” Georgie sniffed loudly and rather disgustingly down the phone.

“Why? What happened? Was it because of the quad?”

“Oh no, Hill, it wasn’t his fault. I’m such a drop bear. It was mine, all mine. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was thinking about the bushfire and—well—things. You know what it’s like up there, and the next thing I knew I was flying through the air and the quad was disappearing into the gully.”

“And now he’s leaving and you don’t want him to.”

Why does she always have to cut straight to the point?

“Pretty much.”

“If you want something, you have to fight for it. If you’re big enough and butch enough to service a diesel engine, then you’re big and butch enough to go and tell the man you fancy him.”

Georgie wiped her nose and managed a soggy, spluttered laugh. “How did you know about the diesel engine?” She sniffed. “Don’t tell me. Matt.”

“Yes. Matt.”

“I thought men didn’t gossip.”

“I don’t think it was gossip really. Just the job had been done, and Matt didn’t need to do it. It’s me filling in the gaps to make the story. Like the two of you panting at each other over a wet hose. Come on, Georgie. You fancy the man like crazy.”

“I don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t fancy him.” No, it had gone past that, long past.

Hillary’s snort of derision practically deafened her. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m in love with him.”

This time it was the silence deafening her, and then Hillary sucked in a great gulp of air. It took a lot to leave Hillary speechless, but she’d finally achieved it. It didn’t last long though.

“Right. Then you’ve got a problem. You can’t have him leaving town. Long-distance relationships never work, and WA is a long, long way away. I think you better put on your big, brave boots and get down into the village and find some reason to see him. Rumor has it he’s been spending most of his time down at the Inn, drowning his sorrows, so if you can’t find him at Nick’s, check there.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it? Don’t think about it. Do it—and let me know what happens. I have a hankering to be a bridesmaid.”

“Bugger off!” Georgie slammed down the phone, laughing for the first time in days, and stared down the driveway across the paddocks stretching out to the ridge. She knew now what she had to do. It was a risk, and she might get hurt, but it couldn’t be any worse than it was already. Besides, she didn’t like the idea of being a quitter; she’d done that once before, and she was not going to do it again. What they had was worth fighting for, and not only that, she owed it to herself.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“What are you doing here?” The bucket of proteas hid all but the top of her head. He wanted to grin for the first time in days. Her trousers were rolled up, and he could see the tops of her woolen hiking socks above the ridiculous work boots that were far too wide for her narrow ankles. He stepped forward to take the bucket from her, waiting for the water to slosh all over him.

Big mistake. Too close.

Her scent filled his brain, pushing aside the throbbing pain of his hangover and reminding him of her curled against him under the quilt. The faint touch of her fingers against his as he grasped the bucket a souvenir of the way she’d traced the naked skin above his belt. He shuddered; the blood rushed to his groin.

“I was wondering if Nick would like to buy some proteas...” she began through the flowers. He took the weight of the bucket and put it onto the table, drinking in every detail of her face.

“Proteas are not for...” He paused, seeing the answering whisper of a smile touch her lips.

“I remember, but you’re not going to be here, and I thought perhaps Nick would buy them.” She lifted the huge proteas out of the bucket and walked into the prep room, leaving them in the sink.

Tom clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt, pretending not to care as she walked toward the door, her boots clumsy on the polished timber floor. Her bottom and thighs clearly outlined against the khaki cargos burned the memory of her body into his mind. Knowing she and her sinfully contradictory lacy underwear were all he would see in his dreams for a long, long time. Not burning wrecks any more. Instead, Georgie’s burning eyes and passionate body. He hadn’t dreamed of car wrecks since he’d pulled Georgie up over the ridge.

She glanced over her shoulder and caught him staring at her. Stopping in her tracks, she rested her hand against the doorjamb and with a deliberate sexy leer totally at odds with her clothes, raised her eyebrows and asked huskily, “Is Nick here?”

“No.” He curbed the chuckle rising in his throat. “He’s out buying wine.” Unable to resist the temptation, he took two steps closer. The freckles danced on her nose, and her eyes sparkled with laughter.

No!

Pulling himself up, he trapped his hand in his pocket to prevent his fingers from pushing the recalcitrant strand of hair behind her ear. Having made his decision to leave, he would not be swayed. He wouldn’t.

“Will you ask him about the flowers? Please?” She walked out of the kitchen and pulled herself up onto one of the tables and sat there swinging her legs, legs she’d wrapped tightly around his hips as he thrust into her.

As the fabric of her trousers pulled tight, his breath caught in his throat. Her lashes lowered over her eyes, and then she looked up at him, teasing him, flirting with him. He steeled his resolve and fixed his stare on some spot above her head. “It’s time you left.”

“That’s not very friendly.” She tilted her head to one side. “Why are you running away? You’re not a coward.”

It hurt as much as a punch, and he sucked in his stomach, the muscles contracting in response. She was right. He was running away but not for any of the reasons she believed. “Think what you like.”

“I think you are leaving because you are afraid, afraid of loving me and then losing me.”

“My leaving has nothing to do with you.”

And everything to do with losing you
.

“Then why are you leaving?”

When she shrugged her shoulders, her thick hair danced, the burnished color catching the sunlight streaming through the open window. The perfume of her shampoo reached him, floral, the smell of smoke long gone.

“You don’t understand.”

“How can I when you won’t tell me?”

Despite the catch in her voice, she put up a good front, although she wasn’t finding it as easy as the image she tried to portray. It was a different kind of PR this time, but she certainly wasn’t a coward. Georgie was determined to get what she wanted. And she wanted him.

“I’m leaving because I want you to be safe. I don’t want anything to happen to you and for it to be on my conscience. I couldn’t live with it.”

Georgie’s eyebrows disappeared into the mess of hair hanging across her forehead, and when she raked a strand back with her long, strong fingers it made him shiver at the recollection of those fingers grazing his skin. The bruise from her fall still stood out on the tanned skin of her forehead, not pale like the silken skin of her breasts.

“How selfish. How very, very selfish,” she said.

“What do you mean selfish? I’m doing this for you, not for me. How is wanting you to be safe selfish?” Why was he shouting? God, she riled him, and he didn’t have to explain himself to her, or anyone else for that matter.

“You feel guilty.” She slipped off the table and stood in front of him; defiance lined every bone in her body.

“What do you know about guilt?” She didn’t understand the way he suffered from having put her in danger, nothing of the guilt at being unable to resist her body. He shivered.

“Everyone makes mistakes, but you can’t fix them by running away.”