The Protea Boys (2 page)

Twisting a strand of hair around her finger, she concentrated; underneath all of Hillary’s enthusiasm, she sensed the makings of a great idea.

“I’ll get all my landscaping done and gardens finished, and you’ll have the protea farm of your dreams—there you go—problem solved. The Protea Boys to the rescue.”

Georgie leaned over the kitchen bench, the phone cradled against her ear, and listened more closely as her friend chattered on, gradually being sucked in by Hillary’s eagerness.

“We could even paint the truck pink, and they could all wear those lovely Chesty Bond shirts with a pink protea logo on them. And we could drool over their rippling muscles and their tight abs while they work away in the blistering sun.”

A giggle escaped Georgie’s lips. “And apply sunscreen to their poor, tortured skin and wipe their brows when they stop for a drink of refreshing spring water.”

“And hold their towels as they step, dripping with water, from the pool after a cool, refreshing dip at the end of a hard day’s work. And massage their...”

“Stop right there, you fool.” Georgie sniggered into the phone. “I thought this idea solved all our problems, not created them. I’m off men. Remember? Why would I want to get myself embroiled with a bunch of muscular, tanned young men who are bursting with energy and strength?”

“Why indeed?” Her friend’s laugh echoed back at her. “No, seriously, I’m not being silly, I think this idea’s got merit and could be a very profitable little business.”

“I’ve got a business. It is the profitable I’m a bit short on at the moment.”

“And I’ve got it all worked out. I’ll call in this evening, and we can discuss it over a glass of wine on your beautiful veranda as we watch the sun go down. What do you think?”

“I think I’d love to see you. You know you’re welcome anytime—I’ll expect you about six.” Georgie put the phone carefully down and ran her fingers through her hair, pausing to twist the ends around her index finger. Perhaps it was the solution to some of her problems; they’d definitely talk about it more this evening. Meanwhile, she had proteas to pick.

***

Moving gingerly, step by step back up to the house, Georgie caught sight of Hillary reclining on the veranda. She pushed her damp hair off her face and yanked up her cargo pants and then let out a snicker of laughter as Hillary teetered along the veranda, practicing her hot, sassy bombshell impersonation.

“I’m not too early, am I? I’m really keen to nut out this advertisement. I got a phone call from Carl this afternoon, telling me he could only do two hours’ work tomorrow morning.” The sunglasses disappeared into Hillary’s blonde, wavy hair, and she let out an exaggerated groan. “And he doesn’t think he’ll be back within the next two weeks. It’s impossible.” She rolled her eyes. “How am I ever going to get this B&B up and running?” Stopping to draw a breath, she frowned and stared at Georgie. “Are you okay? You look really flustered.”

“Hi, Hill.” Georgie leaned against the wall and dragged off her boots. Every bone in her body ached. “No, you’re not too early, and yes, I really want to get this sorted, too, so make yourself at home. I’ve been in the paddock all afternoon. I just need a glass of water, a cup of tea, something.” Her reflection in the window stared back at her. What she really needed was a cold shower, something to wash away the rampant thoughts she wasn’t prepared to admit to.

A chilled bottle of Chardonnay waved in front of her.

“You look as though you need something slightly stronger. A couple of glasses of this will do the trick while we toast the sun going down on another day.”

“I’ll be right with you.”

Georgie turned on the kitchen tap, and splashed cold water over her face, then twisted her thick, disheveled hair back into an elastic band. With arms as heavy as lead, she reached into the overhead cupboard and pulled out two wineglasses and passed them through the back door to Hillary out on the veranda.

In no time at all, Hillary had unscrewed the bottle of wine and poured two glasses, handed one to Georgie, and wriggled down into the chair. “Ah, this is the life.”

Georgie wandered outside and took the glass and sniffed it appreciatively; the citrusy scent rose to her nostrils. “Cheers—and here’s to the Protea Boys, our first joint enterprise.”

The cool wine slid down the back of Georgie’s throat, and she pulled a chair toward the veranda railing with one hand, her back muscles aching, then sank down against the cushions with a sigh.

“Success,” Hillary said and took a healthy swig from the frosted glass. Only the croaking of the frogs around the dam broke the sunset silence.

“Okay, to business.” Hillary’s words punctuated the fading light and dragged Georgie’s mind from stretched blue T-shirts and undulating abs. “This is going to solve all our problems. I have rung Carl, and he is prepared to let us have the truck for five thousand dollars. It goes really well, but it will need a bit of maintenance as time goes by, and the tray is going to need replacing sooner rather than later. I’ve told him we’ll take it. Is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine.” Georgie wiped her hand over her eyes and tried to erase the memory of the figures on her last bank balance. If she could manage to live on a liquid diet for the next few months, she might make it. The farm had to be self-supporting. It was one of the promises she had made to herself when she had sold the business in Sydney. She was not going to touch her investments.

“Carl’s going to deliver the truck in a couple of days. I told him to bring it here because you have more room in your big machinery shed than I do at my place.”

Georgie leaned forward and nodded in agreement. “It’s a great idea. We can leave it in there overnight and not have to unpack the gear every night.”

“So now all we need are
the boys
.” Hillary’s grin lit up her face and she set her wineglass on the table and rubbed her hands together. “I’ve written this advertisement for the local paper.” She reached into her handbag to pull out a piece of paper, then held it triumphantly aloft between her bright pink fingernails, cleared her throat, and announced:

WANTED: STRONG, FIT YOUNG MEN

Do you want a job in the open air?

Have you experience with basic tools and equipment?

Look no further. Here is your opportunity to

build your muscles and your bank balance.

For further information

Ring Hillary on 0469 234 967

“What do you think?”

“I think you might end up with some pretty quirky replies.” Georgie grinned and raised an eyebrow. “But if you don’t mind, then let’s give it a try.”

“I don’t think it’s too bad. This is about the fourth draft. I started with,
‘Have you a body of steel, rippling, suntanned muscles, and a way with women
?’ I thought
that
might cause some quirky replies. This is toned.”

“Just like you want your men, hey, Hill.” Georgie said, realizing she’d already found the perfect candidate.

“I have so much work I need done, I reckon I could employ them for the first month—no trouble.”

“How many replies do you think we’ll get?”

“Thousands—especially when word gets around they will be working for two stunning women.”

“Come on. Be serious. How many ‘boys’ do we want to employ?”

Boys, right. Perhaps I don’t know the perfect candidate. Mr. Leopard Eyes definitely doesn’t fit into that category.

“I think we should start with two or three, and then we’ll choose one of them as a supervisor.” Hillary tapped a bright pink nail on the arm of the chair. “We need someone who is a bit more responsible and can keep these strapping young men under control. Especially if their muscles are really big and bulging.”

Georgie took another sip of wine; they needed to get down to business. All the asides were fueling her flights of fancy. She had to push away the ridiculous notions that had plagued her ever since she returned from the village.

Concentrate
.

“Four boys would be able to do the equivalent of twenty-four hours’ work in one day. So they could go in and do most jobs in a day, which would save fuel and keep wait times to a minimum.” That was better. She’d managed an almost businesslike note in her voice.

“Yes, you’re right—as usual—and I ran the idea past a few of the ladies at my Pilates class yesterday, and there are three or four possible jobs already. I didn’t realize how much work there was, especially with the bushfire season coming up. Gutters need to be cleaned and areas around houses cleared, and then there are the weekenders who just want to come and enjoy a peaceful couple of days relaxing and not spend the whole time working.”

Hillary’s words dried up and she took another gulp of wine. “It’s going to be a stunning success. I know it. Will you place the ad? I’ve put the e-mail address of the community newsheet on the piece of paper. When shall we schedule the interviews?”

“Let’s try and get them all done in one day because I really can’t afford the time with so many flowers to pick at the moment.”

“Ah. You need the Protea Boys.”

And a man in a wet blue T-shirt
.

“Right—the paper comes out on Wednesday, so let’s say Saturday morning interviews.”

“It’s a deal. Saturday it is.”

Georgie shivered as Hillary jumped up from her seat, sucking the energy out of the atmosphere.

“I’ll leave you the rest of the bottle of wine for later. Don’t get up.”

Relieved, she raised her cheek to receive a quick kiss, and Hillary sashayed off to her car. Her words boomed out of the lilac-gray dusk. “See you tomorrow morning for Pilates class. You need the exercise.”

She nodded into the half light and waited for the noise of the car to fade and the frogs to reclaim their space.

Once Georgie had finished her glass of wine, she wandered into the bedroom and pulled off her cargo pants. A shower could wait until the morning. Exhausted, she fell onto the bed in her T-shirt and underwear knowing she’d be fast asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

An hour later, her mind still raced, and her body twitched with the thought of the exercise class she’d promised Hillary looming large, and despite every relaxation trick she’d ever learned, she simply couldn’t make sleep happen.

Arrogant bloody man. Why didn’t he want to buy my proteas? Why would roses be more my thing?

Her skin prickled, and goose bumps flittered up her arm as she remembered the heat of his hand searing the skin of her elbow.

Since when is an elbow an erogenous zone?

Rolling over for the umpteenth time, she thumped the pillow into shape, trying to ignore the image of his full lips coming down on hers in a demanding and passionate kiss, and his tawny green eyes radiating desire.

This has to stop.

Surely she had learned her lesson by now...

Chapter Three

The scent of the gum trees cleared her head as Georgie drove through the arc of morning sunlight that bounced rays down to the leaf-strewn tarmac. Fingers of God, her father had called them. They always heralded a warm day.

“I really have to get things sorted,” she grumbled aloud while she negotiated the winding road, close to the speed limit but comfortable with the familiar camber of the road. “I need some help. I have to get these jobs done, and it will pay off later.” She glanced at her watch and was relieved to find it was still early.

The resounding thud on the bumper bar took her by surprise, and she slammed her foot against the brake pedal. The back tires skidded across the dirt verge, and the car skewed to a halt. Her neck jerked back, and the seat belt strained across her chest, forcing the headrest into the back of her skull.

Georgie’s head fell forward onto the steering wheel. The erratic thumping of her heart pounded in her ears, and her breath rasped in the silence. With her arms and legs trembling, she carefully peeled her whitened knuckles from the steering wheel, lifted her head, and leaned back against the seat, waiting for her heart to still. Eventually, she opened the car door and stepped gingerly down to the rough verge. The warmth of the sun hitting the side of her face surprised her, and she staggered around to the front of the car.

The crumpled body of the wombat lay on the tarmac where it had been thrown by the impact of her heavy ‘roo bar. Squatting down, she tentatively reached out a shaking hand and ran it over the lifeless body, crooning as the tears trailed down her cheeks. The destruction she’d caused sent wave after wave of devastation washing through her.

Georgie heaved the wombat over, the warmth of its body seeping into her fingers, making her breath catch. Then her stomach flipped, and with a mixture of horror and pleasure, she spotted the tiny ears and nose inside the pouch. She reached inside and removed the perfectly formed baby wombat.

Cradling it against her chest, she stroked the sparse fur and tried to remember what she should do next.

Keep it warm and stay calm
.
No sudden movements, no loud noises
.

She recited the instructions like a mantra, eased herself to her feet, and picked her way to the passenger side of the car. Once she opened the door, she reached inside with one hand and grabbed her exercise towel. With the tiny creature nestled against her chest, Georgie pulled the towel around its body.

The sudden blast of a horn slashed the silence, and she jumped instinctively back onto the verge, clutching the pathetic body close to her chest with a maternal instinct she didn’t know she possessed. The fierce, protective urge almost swamped her when the black four-wheel drive skidded to a halt a few meters ahead. She covered the wombat’s head, noticing the shivers from its tiny body against her skin.

Heavy footsteps approached.

“Are you all right there?”

Georgie stared up into the piercing green eyes that had preoccupied her since yesterday, and a less-than-polite comeback died on her lips.

“This makes a change from proteas. I didn’t realize flora
and
fauna were your forté.”