The Protea Boys (8 page)

Heaving a sigh, she rested her cheek in her palm and gazed out over the rows of protea bushes. What she needed was some fresh air, and there were flowers to be picked and bushes waiting for a decent prune. Georgie levered herself up, pulled on the pink Protea Boys cap, and headed into the sunshine.

The shed looked positively cavernous without the truck, but far more organized. Running her hands along the shelves of neatly stacked buckets, she came to the end of the bench, stood back, and grinned.

Excellent!

Her tools hung in neat rows, and all the secateurs had their own space on a new white peg-board. She stretched up and pulled down the long-armed shears, then grabbed a pair of gloves while she searched around for the ladder. Failing to find it, she ambled into the vegetable garden and grabbed hold of an old wooden one. It had seen better days, but it would do. She peeled the remains of some old runner beans from it, realizing the new one had to be on the truck with the boys.

Whistling quietly, she dragged the ladder over to the first of the bushes and wedged it firmly against the sturdy trunk of the protea bush and climbed up. With her knees braced against the outside struts, she reached out and clipped the first branch. It fell easily to the ground, and she moved to the next. Hearing a satisfactory clatter as it hit the ground, she stretched up, extending the arms of the shears, and reached for the final branch. Her back arched with the weight of the shears, and she paused as the ladder settled into the soil. Realigning her feet, she leaned forward and up, pulling the handles of the shears together with as much force as she could muster.

The vibration and the sound of cracking heralded the first warning. “Oh no.” The rung of the ladder creaked, and Georgie’s heart missed a beat as her foot slid down a rung. “Bugger.” She braced herself uselessly against the rotting wood, anticipating the crash.

***

Tom stood quietly, enjoying the easy grace of her limbs as she stretched up into the top of the bush, the muscles in her back visible through her thin shirt when she pulled her body upward. Her hair beneath the cap had fallen loose and was hanging down over her shoulders, the sun highlighting the dappled streaks of color. He swallowed the thick knot filling his throat. She was, without a doubt, the most unselfconscious, naturally beautiful woman he had ever set eyes on—but she was falling.

In one fluid movement, Tom reached her and gently spread his hands, encompassing her waist. “I’ve got you now, one step at a time. Take it easy.” A rapidly beating pulse below her rib cage thrummed beneath his fingers, and her soft, warm body trembled slightly; only a thin layer of cotton separated his fingers from her skin. She slowly stretched one leg down toward the next rung, testing it with her weight. He absorbed the heady scent of her sun-warmed skin, mixed with the fragrance of flowers. An overpowering urge to simply lift her down into his arms, pull her close, and cradle her against him swamped him.

The raucous whistling and banging on the corrugated iron of the shed announced his enthusiastic audience and made him change his mind, but in that instant of distraction, Tom’s plans crumbled. Georgie fell backward, breaking the last two rungs, and twisted, collapsing against him. Her hands rested close to his heart, and her face pressed deep against his chest. He could see the button on the top of the ridiculous pink cap and feel her breath catching and the slight shiver of her body.

Tom planted his feet firmly in the dirt and spread his hands around her waist, steadying himself against her slight weight, and a protective surge of emotion swept through him. Wolf whistles and catcalls filled the air. Blood roared in his ears, and he wanted to go and belt the living daylights out of the fools in the shed, but he didn’t want Georgie to move. In fact he prayed she wouldn’t move, would stay there, forever close to him where he could make sure she was safe and not throwing her accident-prone body all over the place. It was ridiculous, totally crazy. Tom searched his memory for some key as to how he should behave, but failed. Finally he dropped his hands and stepped away from her, ignoring the taunt of disappointment that erupted from the vicinity of the shed.

“Are you okay?”

A timid smile crept across Georgie’s face, wrinkling her nose and making the flurry of tiny freckles dance. She pulled the pink cap off her tousled hair and shook her head. He imagined bending forward and kissing her right on the end of her upturned nose.

“I’m fine. It was just a stupid mistake. I shouldn’t have used the old ladder, but the new one was on the truck.”

The depth of his reaction surprised him. He was responsible for her near-accident. She could have fallen and hit her head or hurt her back. The horror hit him deep in his gut, and unable to control himself, he let fly. “You shouldn’t have been up the ladder. Don’t do it again. Next time get someone who knows what they are doing.”

Georgie’s head came up with a snap, her eyes flashing amethyst danger signals. “I am quite capable, thank you, of deciding what I’ll do and how and when I’ll do it. You forget I am running this business.” She stepped away from him like a scalded cat, leaving a cold rush of air filling the space that a moment ago had been so warm. “Thank you for your assistance,” she said, brushing her hands on the side of her cargo pants, then spun on her heel and stalked back up the path.

She was about as prickly as an echidna and impossible to get near because of all those tortuous spines. What was a man supposed to do?

“Bloody ladder,” he swore quietly to himself, pulling the remains of the rickety frame down from the bush and heaving it effortlessly over his shoulder. “Get back to work. The bush cutters need cleaning,” Tom shouted over his shoulder, taking his frustration out on Matt and Jim. Intent on keeping the ladder out of sight and away from Georgie until he’d repaired it and tested all the rungs, he took it around to the back of the shed.

Chapter Eleven

Determined to stay away from temptation, Georgie adopted a new timetable. She worked outside in the mornings after the truck had left and in the office in the heat of the afternoons. If she timed it right, she’d have as little to do with Tom as possible. Being close to him was too much of a temptation and besides, the control freak made her angry, damned angry, with his overprotective attitude and patronizing comments.

Every afternoon the rumble on the gravel announced the truck returning, the banging doors and calls signaling the end of their working day. Every afternoon Georgie counted the cars leaving before she left her office. It wasn’t as though she wanted Tom completely out of her life; she just needed some space. The Protea Boys were in great demand, and between the extra money and the extra labor, the farm was beginning to look up. She might even break even next month.

With the final pile of invoices sorted and her desk less like a battle zone, Georgie decided to call it quits. She pushed back her chair, wandered over to the window, and stared out across the paddock to the shed. Tom’s tall, lean frame was silhouetted against the afternoon sun. If she leaned back against the window frame, she could watch him unobserved. He had a stillness about him she found intriguing, and joke as she would about his body, there was more to him than just brawn, she was certain. On the few occasions she had been close enough, she could see deep in eyes, lurking beneath the surface, a distance and a disappointment. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. He fascinated her and made her want to know about the parts of himself he hid from the rest of the world.

As enraged as she had initially been, she had to admit Hillary had made a good decision when she employed him. As a leader, he was perfect, and she had to do very little in the way of organizing the Protea Boys—Tom just took over.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it all under control,” seemed to be his mantra, and most of the time, it was a refreshing relief to be able to mention that the irrigation pipe had broken or the top branches she couldn’t reach needed pruning and then discover the job had been done. It released so much more of her time, and she’d even managed to knock up some flyers promoting the business, and last week she hadn’t been able to fill all the flower orders.

But there was a downside. Tom drove her mad with his constant intervention in everything and his belief that he had to personally supervise every detail made it virtually impossible for her to get a word in. She ran her fingers through her hair, raking the unruly mess into a tight ponytail, and knowing she was letting temptation get the better of her, she walked out of the door, across the paddock, and to the shed.

“Afternoon, Georgina.”

Tom’s greeting rang out, and her face burned as his gaze travelled the length of her body, making her want to smooth her shirt and shake her hair down her back.

“Georgie,” she said with a slight smile.

“I was wondering how long you were going to stand, admiring the view.” He laughed as the color hit her face.

Oh, what is it about this man?

Tom seemed to delight in catching her out; surely he hadn’t been watching her as she watched him. She sucked in a deep breath of warm afternoon air and adopted her most professional tone. “Good afternoon, Tom. Did you have a good day? Is everything running smoothly?”

“It’s going pretty well, but I need to spend some time servicing the machines, especially the brush cutters.” Tom opened the back of the truck and leaped up onto the tray, his one smooth, fluid movement uncoiling some spring deep in her belly. She tried not to stare at him, forcing her gaze to stay on the truck bed as he unclipped the safety straps and pulled the gear down.

“Is there anything you need done tomorrow?” he said from the back of the truck. Georgie took a step backward, her breath catching and her imagination running riot. She visualized him pouncing down on her and grabbing hold of her. She sucked her stomach in quickly at the memory of his hands around her waist.

“I might send the boys off with the truck and service these two tomorrow”—he patted the two brush cutters—”and have a look at the irrigation system here, do a bit of snipping, and maybe see if I can get to servicing the water pump.”

Georgie cleared her throat, forcing the words out between her dry lips. “It would be great, Tom.” She allowed her eyes to widen appreciatively at the whisper of the gravel when his feet hit the ground. “But I have to work tomorrow. I’ll be in the office all day. I’ve got paperwork to catch up on.”

Inside, way away from temptation.

“It’s fine by me. I wasn’t expecting you to hold my hand.”

A shiver ran down her spine at the prospect, and she forced her eyes away from his strong, tanned, capable hands that had so gently massaged the wombat.

“I’ll be doing the hard work outside, and you’ll be inside, keeping your lovely skin out of the harsh sun.” He stepped closer and trailed a finger down her arm, watching with a wry smile the goose bumps following the path he’d created. Her knees buckled, and his touch went through her like lightning, burning a path of invitation. She heaved herself out of reach, ignoring the amusement lighting his eyes.

“Excuse me,” Georgie spluttered, rubbing up and down her arm, trying desperately to return the blood flow, excise the tingling, and grasp back some control. She cleared her throat, the dust from the driveway aggravating it. “It’s really important we get the diesel pump serviced because the weather is getting hotter and I’m going to need to water the plants; otherwise the new blooms won’t form properly.”

Tom nodded in reply and grinned. Desperate to get to safer ground, Georgie headed back up to the house, feeling strangely lonely, not looking forward to a night at home with only her accounts and the TV to keep her company.

One minute she spent drooling over him and the next he spent driving her insane with his remarks. She kicked a stone across the grass. If it wasn’t for the fact that he did such a brilliant job, she’d be tempted to get rid of him. Another stone followed. Somehow since he’d first turned up—since she had first fallen at his feet, she corrected herself—her emotions had been all over the place, and she’d become a clumsy, blushing excuse for a female. Hormones, she decided as she wandered into the kitchen. Splashing a solitary slug of wine into a glass, she sat on the veranda, glowering at the sun as it made a showy display of disappearing over the ridge.

Chapter Twelve

The usual bashing and crashing in the shed and shouted instructions woke her the next morning. She rolled over, swung out of bed, and looked at her watch. Seven thirty. The boys were leaving.

On the dot
.

She padded into the kitchen in her cotton pjs and shoestring camisole.

“Morning, Georgina.” Her heart crashed against her rib cage as she looked up and saw Tom leaning against the open kitchen door.

“Georgie,” she muttered.

The flat planes of his muscular frame seemed to fill the room. A rush of heat flew up her body, and she crossed her arms over the small and flimsy camisole. She itched to fling open the windows and increase the airflow in the room, but then she’d have to unfold her arms.

What is it about this man
?

He appeared to have perfected the art of catching her out. Her arms tightened around her body protectively. He didn’t need to mentally undress her; he made her feel naked even when fully clothed, as though she had no secrets.

“You made me jump. I’m just going to make a cup of coffee
.”

And next time I won’t walk into my own kitchen in my pjs
.

“Would you like one?” She regretted the common courtesy the moment she uttered it.

“No thanks.”

Breathing a mental sigh of relief, she concentrated on the coffee machine.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m here. I’ll be down in the shed if you need anything.”

Tom strolled back across the paddock, leaving Georgie scrutinizing the confident roll of his shoulders and listening to the sound of his self-assured whistle. The steaming screech of the steam wand was more in keeping with her mood. His easy familiarity frightened her, made her think she needed to keep her wits about her and not let him get under her skin.