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The Loner's Guarded Heart
Michelle Douglas


Josie was touched that her brothers had arranged a holiday for her–she certainly needed one.Only, the location isn't the lively resort she'd expected, but a rustic cabin in a beautiful but isolated Australian idyll…. Her only neighbor for miles is the taciturn, if incredibly attractive, Kent Black. Following a family tragedy, Kent cut himself off from the world.Josie can't help but be intrigued by this solitary man, and with her bubbly, warm personality, she's determined to pick away at the iron padlock around his heart.









He began to press hot kisses to her throat before claiming her mouth.


Their desire swept her along like a swollen current of the river, like gale-force winds that bent the tops of trees. She felt wild, free…cherished. She—

“No!”

Kent jerked back and glared. Through the haze of her desire Josie saw the torment in his eyes. His fingers bit into her shoulders and he shook her, but she had a feeling it was himself he wanted to shake. She made a move to reach out to him, to try and wipe away the pain that raked his face, but he dropped his hands and stepped back out of her reach.

“This is not going to happen,” he ground out.

Her arms felt bereft, cold. She gulped. Need lapped at her. What had she done wrong?


At the age of eight, Michelle Douglas was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, “A writer.” Years later she read an article about romance writing and thought, Ooh—that’ll be fun. She was right. When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English master’s program, for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero—husband Greg—who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings. Michelle would love you to visit her at her Web site, www.michelle-douglas.com.


“Michelle Douglas makes an outstanding debut with His Christmas Angel, a complex, richly emotional story…This one’s a keeper.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews




The Loner’s Guarded Heart

Michelle Douglas












TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND




Just like having a heart-to-heart with your best friend, these stories will take you from laughter to tears and back again!

Curl up and have a






with Harlequin Romance




So heartwarming and emotional, you’ll want to have some tissues handy!

Look out for the next HEART TO HEART

THE ITALIAN’S CINDERELLA BRIDE

by Lucy Gordon

Available in June


For Greg




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN




CHAPTER ONE


‘HELLO?’

Josie Peterson bent down and called her greeting into the half-open window before knocking on the door again.

No movement. No sound. Nothing.

Chewing her lip, she stepped back and surveyed the front of the cottage—weatherboard, neatly painted white. A serviceable grey-checked gingham curtain hung at the windows.

Grey? A sigh rose up through her. She was tired of grey. She wanted frills. And colour. She wanted fun and fanciful.

She could feel the grey try to settle over her shoulders.

She shook herself and swung away, took in the view about her. The paths were swept, the lawns were cared for, but there wasn’t a single garden bed to soften the uniformity. Not even a pot plant. At the moment, Josie would kill for the sight of a single cheerful gerbera, let alone a whole row of them.

Six wooden cabins marched down the slope away from the cottage. Nothing moved. No signs of habitation greeted her. No cars, no towels drying on verandas, no pushbikes or cricket bats leant against the walls.

No people.

Fun and fanciful weren’t the first descriptions that came to mind. The grass around the cabins, though, was green and clipped short. Someone took the trouble to maintain it all.

If only she could find that person.

Or people. She prayed for people.

The view spread before her was a glorious patchwork of golden grasses, khaki gum trees and a flash of silver river, all haloed and in soft focus from the late-afternoon sunshine. Josie had to fight back the absurd desire to cry.

What on earth had Marty and Frank been thinking?

You were the one who said you wanted some peace and quiet, she reminded herself, collapsing on the top step and propping her chin in her hands.

Yes, but there was peace and quiet and then there was this.

From the front veranda of the cottage, there wasn’t another habitation in sight. She hid her face in her hands. Marty and Frank knew her well enough to know she hadn’t meant this, didn’t they?

Her insides clenched and she pulled her hands away. She didn’t want the kind of peace and quiet that landed a person so far from civilisation they couldn’t get a signal on their cell-phone.

She wanted people. She wanted to lie back, close her eyes and hear people laughing and living. She wanted to watch people laughing and living. She wanted—

Enough already! This was the one nice thing Marty and Frank had done for her in…

She tried to remember, but her mind went blank. OK, so maybe they weren’t the most demonstrative of brothers, but sending her on holiday was a nice thing. Did she intend spoiling it with criticisms and rank ingratitude?

Some people would kill to be in her position. Lots of people would love to spend a month in the gorgeous Upper Hunter Valley of rural New South Wales with nothing to do.

She gazed about her wistfully. She wished all those people were lining the hills of this valley right now.

She dusted off her hands and pushed to her feet. She’d make the best of it. According to her map there was a town a few kilometres further on. She could drive in there whenever she wanted. She’d make friends. She was tired. That was all. It had taken too long to get here, which was probably why her landlord had given up on her.

She wondered what kind of people would live out here all on their own. Hopefully the kind of people who took a solitary soul under their wing, introduced them around and enthusiastically outlined all the local activities available. Hopefully they’d love a chat over a cup of tea and a biscuit.

Josie would provide the biscuits.

Impatience shifted through her. She rolled her shoulders, stamped her feet and gulped in a breath of late-afternoon air. She didn’t recognise the dry, dusty scents she pulled into her lungs, so different from the humid, salt-laden air of Buchanan’s Point on the coast, her home. Her stomach clenched up again at the unfamiliarity.

She didn’t belong here.

‘Nonsense.’ She tried to laugh away the fanciful notion, but a great yearning for home welled inside her. The greyness settled more securely around her. She hastened down the three steps and back along the gravel path, hoping movement would give her thoughts new direction. She swung one way then another. She could check around the back, she supposed. Her landlord could be working in a…shed or vegetable plot or something.

In her hunger to clap eyes on a friendly face, Josie rushed around the side of the house to open the gate. Her fingers fumbled with the latch. Need ballooned inside her, a need for companionship, a need to connect with someone. The gate finally swung back to reveal a neat garden. Again, no flower beds or pots broke the austerity, but the lawn here too was clipped and short, the edges so precise they looked as if they’d been trimmed using a set square.

The fence was painted white to match the house and the obligatory rotary clothes-line sat smack-bang in the middle of it all. An old-fashioned steel one like the one Josie had at home. Its prosaic familiarity reassured her. She stared at the faded jeans, blue chambray shirt and navy boxer shorts hanging from it and decided her landlord must be male.

Why hadn’t she found out his name from Marty or Frank? Although everything had moved so fast. They’d popped this surprise on her last night and had insisted on seeing her off at the crack of dawn this morning. Mrs Pengilly’s bad turn, though, had put paid to an early start. Josie bit her lip. Maybe she should’ve stayed and—

A low, vicious growl halted her in her tracks. Icy fingers shot down her back and across her scalp.

Please God, no.

There hadn’t been a ‘Beware of the Dog’ sign on the gate. She’d have seen it. She paid attention to those things. Close attention.

The growl came again, followed by the owner of the growl, and Josie’s heart slugged so hard against her ribs she thought it might dash itself to pieces before the dog got anywhere near her. Her knees started to shake.

‘Nice doggy,’ she tried, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, slurring her words and making them unintelligible.

The dog growled in answer. Nuh-uh, it wasn’t a nice doggy and, although it wasn’t as large as a Rottweiler or a Dobermann, it was heavy-set and its teeth, when bared, looked as vicious as if it were. She could imagine how easily those teeth would tear flesh.

She took a step back. The dog took a step forward.

She stopped. It stopped.

Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. She wanted to buckle over but she refused to drop her eyes from the dog’s glare. It lowered its head and showed its teeth again. All the hackles on its back lifted.

Ooh. Not a good sign. Everything inside Josie strained towards the gate and freedom, but she knew she wouldn’t make it. The dog would be on her before she was halfway there. And those teeth…

Swallowing, she took another step back. The dog stayed put.

Another step. The dog didn’t move. Its hackles didn’t lower.

With a half-sob, Josie flung herself sideways and somehow managed to half climb, half pull her way up until she was sitting on top of the rotary clothes-line.

‘Help!’ she hollered at the top of her voice.

Something tickled her face. She lifted a hand to brush it away. Spider web! She tried to claw it off but it stuck with clammy tentacles to her face and neck. It was the last straw. Josie burst into tears.

The dog took up position directly beneath her. Lifting its head, it howled. It made Josie cry harder.

‘What the devil—?’

A person. ‘Thank you, God.’ Finally, a friendly face. She swung towards the voice, almost falling off the clothes-line in relief.

She stared.

Her heart all but stopped.

Then it dropped clean out of her chest to lie gasping and flailing on the ground like a dying fish. This was her friendly face?

No!

Fresh sobs shook her. The dog started up its mournful howl again.

‘For the love of…’

The man glared at her, shifted his feet, hands on hips. Nice lean hips she couldn’t help noticing.

‘Why in the dickens are you crying?’

She’d give up the sight of those lean hips and taut male thighs for a single smile.

He didn’t smile. She stared at the hard, rocky crags of his face and doubted this man could do friendly. He didn’t have a single friendly feature on his face. Not one. Not even a tiny little one. The flint of his eyes didn’t hold a speck of softness or warmth. She bet dickens wasn’t the term he wanted to use either.

Heaven help her. This wasn’t the kind of man who’d take her under his wing. A hysterical bubble rose in her throat. ‘You’re my landlord?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you Josephine Peterson?’

She nodded.

‘Yes.’ He scowled. ‘I’m Kent Black.’

He didn’t offer his hand, which she had to admit might be difficult considering she was stuck up his clothes-line.

‘I asked why you were crying.’

Coming from another person the question would’ve been sympathetic, but not from Kent Black. Anyway, she’d have thought a more pressing question was ‘What the dickens are you doing in my clothes-line?’

‘Well?’ He shifted again on those long, lean legs.

An hysterical bubble burst right out of her mouth. ‘Why am I crying?’ She bet he thought she was a madwoman.

‘Yes.’ His lips cracked open to issue the one curt word then closed over again.

‘Why am I crying?’ Her voice rose an octave. ‘I’ll tell you why I’m crying. I’m crying because, well look at this place.’ She lifted her hands. ‘It’s the end of the earth,’ She fixed him with a glare. It was the only thing that stopped her from crying again. ‘How could Marty and Frank think I’d want to come here, huh?’

‘Look, Ms Peterson, I think you ought to calm—’

‘Oh, no, you don’t. You asked the question and demanded an answer so you can darn well listen to it.’ She pointed her finger at him as if he was personally responsible for everything that had gone wrong today.

‘Not only am I stuck here at the end of the earth but…but I’m stuck in a clothes-line at the end of the earth. And to rub salt into the wound, I got lost trying to find this rotten place and ended up in Timbuktu, where I got a flat tyre. Then your dog chased me up this rotten clothes-line and there’s spider web everywhere!’

Her voice rose with each word in a way that appalled her, but she couldn’t rein it back the way she normally did. ‘And Mrs Pengilly took a bad turn this morning and I had to call an ambulance and…and I buried my father a fortnight ago and…’

Her anger ran out. Just like that. She closed her eyes and dropped her head. ‘And I miss him,’ she finished on a whisper so soft she hardly heard it herself.

Darn it. She reluctantly opened one eye and found him staring at her as if she was a madwoman. She opened the other eye and straightened. Then smoothed down her hair. She wasn’t a madwoman. And despite her outburst she didn’t feel much like apologising either. He didn’t have the kind of face that invited apologies. She pulled in a breath and met his gaze.

‘You’re afraid of my dog?’

She raised an eyebrow. Did he think she sat in clothes-lines for the fun of it? ‘Even at the end of the earth you should put signs up on your gates warning people about vicious dogs.’

He continued to survey her with that flinty gaze and she felt herself redden beneath it. With a sigh, she lifted her T-shirt. She didn’t need to glance down to see the jagged white scar that ran the length of her right side and across her stomach. She could trace it in her dreams. To do him credit, though, he hardly blinked.

‘How old were you?’

‘Twelve.’

‘And you’re afraid of Molly here?’

Wasn’t that obvious?

She glanced at the dog. Molly? The name wasn’t right up there with Killer or Slasher or Crusher, was it? And with Kent Black standing beside her the dog didn’t look anywhere near as formidable as it had a moment ago. Josie gulped. ‘She’s a girl?’

‘Yep.’

The dog that had attacked her had been a big male Dobermann. ‘She growled at me.’

‘You frightened her.’

‘Me?’ She nearly fell out of the clothes-line.

‘If you’d clapped your hands and said boo she’d have run away.’

Now she really didn’t believe him.

His lips twisted, but not into a smile. ‘Moll.’ The dog wagged her tail and shuffled across to him. He scratched her behind the ears. ‘Roll over, girl.’

His voice was low and gentle and it snagged at Josie’s insides. Molly rolled onto her back and a part of Josie didn’t blame her. If he spoke to her like that she’d roll over too.

Oh, don’t be so ridiculous, she ordered. She focused her attention back on Kent. He parted the fur on the dog’s belly. He had large, weathered hands. Even from her perch in the clothes-line she could see the calluses that lined his fingers.

‘Look,’ he ordered.

She did, and saw a mirror image of her own scar etched in the dog’s flesh. An ugly white raised scar that jagged across Molly’s stomach and ribs.

‘A man with a piece of four-by-two studded with nails did that to her.’

Sympathy and horror pounded through Josie in equal measure. How could someone hurt a defenceless animal like that? It was inhuman.

She scrambled down out of the clothes-line, dropped to her knees at its base and held out her arms. ‘You poor thing.’

Molly walked straight into them.



Kent had never seen anything like it in all his thirty-two years. Molly hid from strangers. When someone surprised her, like Josephine Peterson here obviously had, she’d try and bluff her way out of it by growling and stalking off. Then she’d hide. The one thing she didn’t do was let strangers pet her. She sure as hell didn’t let them hug her.

For the first time in a long time Kent found himself wanting to smile. Then he remembered Josephine Peterson’s blood-curdling cry for help and he went cold all over again. He didn’t need a woman like her at Eagle Reach.

A woman who couldn’t look after herself.

He’d bet each and every one of his grass-fed steers that Josephine Peterson didn’t have a self-sufficient bone in her body. And he’d be blowed if he’d take on the role of her protector.

His lip curled. She was a mouse. She had mousy brown hair, mousy brown eyes and a mouse-thin body that looked as if it’d bow under the weight of an armload of firewood. Even her smile was all mousiness—timid and tentative. She aimed it at him now, but he refused to return it.

It trembled right off her lips. Guilt slugged him in the guts. He bit back an oath.

She rose and cast a fearful glance at the back of the house. ‘Do…do you have any other dogs?’

‘No.’ The memory of her scarred abdomen rushed on him again. His hands clenched to fists. When she’d lifted her shirt, shown him her scar, it wasn’t tenderness or desire that had surged through him. He had a feeling, though, that it was something closely related, something partway between the two, something he didn’t have a name for.

What he did know was he didn’t want Josephine Peterson here on his hill. She didn’t belong here. She was a townie, a city girl. For Pete’s sake, look at her fingernails. Long and perfectly painted in a shimmery pink. They were squared off at the tips with such uniformity he knew they had to be fake. This wasn’t fake-fingernail country.

It was roughing-it country.

He hadn’t seen anyone less likely to want to rough it than Josephine Peterson.

When he glanced at her again she tried another smile. ‘Do you have a wife?’

Her soft question slammed into him with more force than it had any right to. She needn’t look to him for that either!

He glanced into her hopeful face and despite his best intentions desire fired along his nerve-endings, quickening his blood, reminding him of everything he’d turned his back on. Now that she stood directly in front of him, rather than perched up in his clothes-line or on her knees with her face buried in Molly’s fur, he could see the gold flecks inside the melt-in-your-mouth chocolate of her iris. That didn’t look too mousy.

Get a grip! Whatever the colour of her eyes, it didn’t change the fact she wasn’t the kind of woman he went for. He’d been stuck up this hill too long. He liked tall, curvy blondes who were out for a good time and nothing more. Josephine Peterson wasn’t tall, curvy or blonde. And she looked too earnest for the kind of no-strings affairs he occasionally indulged in.

She continued to gaze at him hopefully. ‘No,’ he bit out. ‘I don’t have a wife.’ And he had no intention of landing himself with one either. The sooner this woman realised that the better.

Rather than light up with interest, with calculation, her face fell. Kent did a double take.

‘That’s a shame. It would’ve been nice to have a woman around to talk to.’

He’d have laughed out loud at his mistake only he’d lost his funny bone.

‘Is there anyone else here besides you?’

‘No.’ He snapped the word out. ‘I’ll get the key to your cabin.’

She blinked at his abruptness. ‘Which one is mine?’

‘They’re all empty.’ He strode around to the back of his house. She had to run to keep up with him. With a supreme effort he slowed his stride. ‘You can have your pick.’

‘I’ll take that one.’

She pointed to the nearest cabin and Kent found himself biting back another oath. Damn and blast. Why hadn’t he put her in the furthest one and been done with it? He disappeared inside, seized the key then strode back outside and thrust it at her.

‘Thank…thank you. Umm…’ She shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘Does the cabin have a phone?’

His lip curled. He despised city folk. They came here mouthing clichés proclaiming they wanted to get away from it all, get back to nature, but all hell broke loose when they discovered they had to do without their little luxuries. It made him sick.

Granted, though, Josephine Peterson looked as though she wanted to be at Eagle Reach about as much as he wanted her here. Her earlier words came back to him and a laugh scraped out of his throat. ‘This is the end of the earth, remember? What do you think?’

She eyed him warily. The gold in her eyes glittered. ‘I’m guessing that’s a no.’

‘You’re guessing right.’

She wouldn’t last a month. At this rate she’d be lucky to last two days. What on earth had possessed her to book a cabin for four whole weeks? The advertisement he’d placed in the local tourism rag made no false promises. It sure as hell wasn’t the kind of advert designed to attract the attention of the likes of her.

‘Look, Ms Peterson, this obviously isn’t your cup of tea. Why don’t you go on into Gloucester? It’s only half an hour further on. You’ll find accommodation more suited to your tastes there.’ Behind his back he crossed his fingers. ‘I’ll even return your deposit.’

‘Please, call me Josie.’

She paused as if waiting for him to return the favour and tell her to call him Kent, but he had no intention of making any friendly overtures. He wanted her out of here.

When he remained silent, she sighed. ‘I have to stay. My brothers organised all this as a treat.’

He recalled her rant whilst she’d clung to his clothes-line. Marty and Frank, wasn’t it? His eyes narrowed. ‘Are they practical jokers?’

‘Heavens, no.’ For a moment she looked as if she might laugh. It faded quickly. ‘Which is why I have to stay. I wouldn’t hurt their feelings for the world. And they would be hurt if they found out I’d stayed somewhere else.’

Fabulous.

She smiled then. He recognised the effort behind it, and its simple courage did strange things to his insides. He wanted to resist it. Instinct warned him against befriending this woman.

‘Is Gloucester where I’ll find the nearest phone? It’s just…I’m not getting a signal on my mobile.’

Which was one of the reasons he loved this hill.

‘And I’d really like to check on my neighbour, Mrs Pengilly.’

For a mouse she could sure make him feel like a heel. ‘There’s a phone in there.’ He hitched his head in the direction of the house.

Josie’s face lit up. ‘May I…?’

‘It’s in the kitchen.’

She raced inside as if afraid he’d take his offer back. He collapsed onto the top step, shoulders sagging, and tried not to overhear her conversation, tried not to hear how she assured whoever answered the phone that the Gloucester Valley was beautiful, that the view from her cabin was glorious, that her cabin was wonderful.

He leapt up and started to pace. Two out of three wasn’t bad. The Gloucester Valley was beautiful, and her view was glorious. He had a feeling she’d give up both for the wonderful cabin.

He blinked when she reappeared moments later. He’d expected her to be on the phone for hours. It was what women did, wasn’t it?

She tripped down the back steps. ‘Thank you, I…’ She made as if to clasp his arm then stepped back as though she’d thought better of it. ‘Thank you.’

His pulse quickened. ‘How’s your Mrs Pengilly?’

He couldn’t believe he’d asked. Maybe it was time he had a holiday.

A smile lit her face. ‘Her son Jacob came down from Brisbane and he says she’s going to be OK. Apparently she has late-onset diabetes.’

‘Once they’ve stabilised her blood sugar and organised her medication she’ll be fine.’ The words rolled out of him with an ease that was disconcerting.

‘Yes.’ The gold of her eyes glittered with curiosity. ‘You sound like you know all about it.’

‘I do.’ But he wasn’t volunteering any more information. He’d already given enough away. He reached across and plucked the key from her fingers. ‘Let’s get you settled.’



To Josie, Kent’s words sounded more like ‘Let’s get you out of my hair’. Nope, not a friendly bone in his body.

He did have a nice body, though—broad-shouldered, lean-hipped, athletic. And he wasn’t all bad. He had let her use his phone. And he’d asked after Mrs Pengilly.

She trotted to keep up with him. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and noted the uncompromising line of his mouth. Maybe he was just out of practice. Living here all on his own, he wouldn’t get much chance at personable conversation. Anyhow, she was determined to give him the benefit of the doubt because the alternative was too bleak for words—stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a man who wouldn’t give her the time of day.

No. No. She bit back a rising tide of panic. Beneath his gruffness Kent had a kind heart.

On what proof are you basing such an assumption? a disbelieving voice at the back of her head demanded.

She swallowed. He’d asked after an old lady. And…And he had a dog.

Not much though, is it? the same voice pointed out with maddening logic.

No, she guessed not. The panic rose through her again. ‘Did you nurse Molly back to health?’

‘Yes.’

One uncompromising word, but it lifted the weight settling across her shoulders. See? He did have a kind heart. For dogs.

It was a start.

Kent leapt up onto the tiny veranda that fronted the cabin and pushed the key into the door. Josie started after him then swallowed. The cabins all looked really tiny. She’d hoped…

The door swung open and she gulped back a surge of disappointment. When Marty and Frank had said ‘cabin’ she’d thought…Well, she hadn’t expected five-star luxury or anything, but she had hoped for three-star comfort.

She was landed with one-star basic. And that was being charitable.

Kent’s shoulders stiffened as if he sensed her judgement and resented it. ‘It has everything you need.’ He pointed. ‘The sofa pulls out into a bed.’

Uh-huh. She took a tentative step into the room and glanced around. Where were the flowers? The bowl of fruit? The welcoming bottle of bubbly? There wasn’t a single rug on the floor or print on the wall. No colourful throw on the sofa either. In fact, there wasn’t a throw full stop, grey or otherwise.

Admittedly, everything looked clean, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. By the light of the single overhead bulb—no light shade—the table and two chairs gleamed dully. Would it really have been such an effort to toss over a tablecloth and tie on chair pads?

‘The kitchen is fully equipped.’

It was. It had an oven and hotplates, a toaster and kettle. But it didn’t have any complimentary sachets of tea or coffee. It didn’t have a dishwasher. She hadn’t wanted the world, but—

An awful thought struck her. ‘Is there a bathroom?’

Without a word, Kent strode forward and opened a door she hadn’t noticed in the far wall. She wasn’t sure she wanted to look.

She ordered her legs forward, glanced through the door and released the breath she held. There was a flushable toilet. And a shower.

But no bathtub.

So much for the aromatherapy candles and scented bath oils she’d packed.

‘What do you think?’

Josie gaped at him. The question seemed so out of character she found herself blurting out her first impression without restraint. ‘It’s awful.’

He stiffened as if she’d slapped him.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, but it’s a dog kennel.’ In fact, she bet Molly’s quarters surpassed this. ‘It’s…Do all the cabins have the same colour scheme?’

The pulse at the base of his jaw jerked. ‘What’s wrong with the colour scheme?’

‘It’s grey!’ Couldn’t he see that? Did he seriously think grey made for a homely, inspiring atmosphere? A holiday atmosphere?

He folded his arms. His eyes glittered. ‘All the cabins are identical.’

So she was stuck with it, then.

‘Look, I know this probably isn’t up to your usual standard,’ he unfolded his arms, ‘but I only promised basic accommodation and—’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Tiredness surged through her. Was this all Marty and Frank thought she was worth? She gulped back the lump in her throat.

‘Like you said, it has everything I need.’ The greyness settled behind her eyelids.




CHAPTER TWO


KENT strode off into the lengthening shadows of the afternoon, his back stiff, his jaw clenched. For once he didn’t notice the purple-green goldness of the approaching sunset. He skidded to a halt, spun around and slapped a hand to his thigh. ‘C’mon, Moll.’

Molly pricked her ears forward, thumped her tail against the rough-hewn boards of the cabin’s veranda, but she didn’t move from her post by Josie’s door.

Oh, great. Just great.

‘See if I care,’ he muttered, stalking back off. Solitude was his preferred state of affairs. Josie Peterson was welcome to his dog for all the good it would do her. Molly wouldn’t say boo to a fly.

Birds of a feather…

Up on the ridge a kookaburra started its boisterous cry and in the next moment the hills were ringing with answering laughter. Kent ground to a halt. He swung back in frustration, hands on hips.

These cabins weren’t meant for the likes of her. They were meant for men like him. And for men who lived in cities and hungered to get away occasionally, even if only for a long weekend. Men who wanted to leave the stench of car exhaust fumes and smog and crowds and endless traffic behind. Men who wanted nothing more than to see the sky above their heads, breathe fresh air into their lungs, and feel grass rather than concrete beneath their feet. Men happy to live on toast and tea and beer for three days.

Josie didn’t want that. She’d want spa baths and waterbeds. She’d want seafood platters and racks of lamb and soft, woody chardonnays.

And he didn’t blame her. If she’d just lost her father she probably deserved some pampering, a treat, not this rugged emptiness. Her brothers had to be certifiable idiots.

He kicked at a stone. He couldn’t give her spa baths and seafood platters.

A vivid image of mousy Josie Peterson lying back in a bubble-filled spa rose up through him and his skin went tight. She didn’t look too mousy in that fantasy.

He scratched a hand through his hair. Idiot. The kookaburras continued to laugh. Their derision itched through him. He surveyed the cabin, hands on hips. Not a sign of movement. His earlier vision gave way to one of her lying face down on the sofa, sobbing. He took a step towards the cabin.

He ground to a halt.

He didn’t do crying women. Not any more.

A month. A whole month.

His gaze flicked to her car. He wasn’t a blasted porter either, but that didn’t stop him from stalking over to it and removing two suitcases and a box of groceries. Or from stalking back to the house, grabbing a bottle of chardonnay and shoving it in an ice bucket and adding that to the items piled up by her front door.

He bent down and scratched Molly’s ears. ‘Keep an eye on her, girl.’ That would have to do. Common decency demanded he check on her in the morning, then his neighbourly duty was done.



If she hadn’t already had a crying jag when perched in the clothes-line, Josie would’ve had one now. But she decided one a day was enough.

A whole month. She was stuck out here for a whole month. On her own.

She tried to repress a shudder. She tried to force herself to smile as she glanced around the interior of the cabin again. She’d read somewhere that if you smiled it actually helped lift your spirits.

Ha! Not working.

She scrubbed her hands down her face. Oh, well, she supposed if nothing else she at least had plenty of time to sort out what she was going to do with the rest of her life. And that was the point of this holiday after all.

Things inside her cringed and burned. She wrapped her arms around her waist. She wasn’t qualified to do anything other than look after sick people. And she didn’t want to do that any more.

Familiar doubts and worries crowded in on her. She pushed them away. Later. She’d deal with them later.

With a sigh, she collapsed onto the sofa. Then groaned. It was as rock-hard as Kent Black. That didn’t bode well. She twisted against it, trying to get comfortable. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to work out Kent didn’t want her here. As far as she could see, he didn’t have an ounce of sympathy in that big, broad body of his for weakness of any kind.

She had to admit it was a nice, broad body though, with scrummy shoulders. If a girl disregarded that scowl she could get all sorts of ideas in her head and—

No, she couldn’t! Besides, Josie could never disregard that scowl. Kent didn’t think she belonged out here and he was one hundred per cent right.

A whole month.

‘Stop it!’

Her voice echoed eerily in the cabin, reminding her how alone she was. She suppressed another shudder. She was just tired, that was all, and sitting around wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to help. A shower, that was what she needed. That’d pep her up. Then she’d unpack the car and make a cup of tea. Things always looked better over a cup of tea.

The shower did help. She emerged into the main room of the cabin, vigorously drying her hair. Then froze.

Something was on her veranda!

There it was again. A scuffling, creaking, snorting noise right outside her front door. She hadn’t locked it!

Josie’s mouth went dry. She held the towel to her face. Oh, please. Whatever was out there she prayed it didn’t have an opposable thumb, that it couldn’t reach out and open door handles.

And that it didn’t have the kind of bulk that barged through flimsy wooden doors.

Just clap your hands and say boo!

Kent’s earlier advice almost made her laugh out loud. Not funny ha-ha, but losing it big-time ha-ha. She retreated to the bathroom door. She doubted she could manage much of a boo at the moment.

‘Kent?’ Maybe he was out there. Maybe he’d come back for…She couldn’t think of any conceivable reason why he’d come back. He hadn’t been able to get away fast enough, horrible, unfriendly man.

She’d give anything for it to be him out there now, though.

‘Mr Black?’

A low whine answered her, followed by scratching at her door and a bark.

‘Molly.’ With her heart hammering in her throat, Josie stumbled forward, wrenched the door open and dropped to her knees to hug the dog. ‘You scared me half out of my wits,’ she scolded. Molly licked her face in response.

Thank heavens Kent hadn’t been here to witness her panic. He’d have laughed his head off then curled his lip in scorn. She’d have died on the spot.

She glanced out into the darkness and gulped. Night had fallen in full force. She couldn’t remember a night so dark. Not a single streetlight pierced the blackness. Her cabin faced away from Kent’s house, so not a single house light penetrated it either. The moon hadn’t risen yet, but a multitude of stars arced across the sky in a display that hitched the breath in her throat.

She should’ve unpacked her car whilst it was light. She didn’t fancy stumbling around in the dark. Dragging her eyes from the glory of the night sky, she turned and found her suitcases lined up neatly on the end of her veranda. Her jaw dropped. Kent had unpacked her car for her?

That was nice. Friendly. In fact—she struggled to her feet—it was almost…sweet?

No, you couldn’t describe Kent as sweet.

She reached for the nearest bag then stilled. She adjusted her reach to the right and picked up an ice bucket, complete with a bottle of wine.

She blinked madly and hugged it to her chest. Now, that was friendly.

And sweet. Most definitely sweet.



Josie groaned and pulled a pillow over her head in an effort to drown out the cacophony of noise. Molly whined and scratched to be let out. She’d spent the night sleeping on the end of the sofa bed, and Josie had welcomed the company. Molly’s presence had made her feel less alone. Last night she’d needed that.

Now she needed sleep.

Molly whined again. Groaning, Josie reached for her watch. Six o’clock! She crawled out of bed and opened the door. Kookaburras laughed as if the sight of her filled them with hilarity and, overhead, white cockatoos screeched, three crows adding their raucous caws. And that wasn’t counting all the other cheeps and peeps and twitters she didn’t recognise in the general riot. Magpies started warbling in a nearby gum tree. For heaven’s sake, what was this place—a bird sanctuary?

Flashes of red and green passed directly in front of her to settle in a row of nearby grevillias, twittering happily as they supped on red-flowered nectar. Rosellas. Ooh. She loved rosellas.

Racing back inside, she clicked on the kettle, pulled on her jeans, threw on a shirt then dashed back out to her veranda with a steaming mug of coffee to watch as the world woke up around her.

OK. So maybe Eagle Reach was at the end of the earth, but she couldn’t deny its beauty. To her left, the row of grevillias, still covered in rosellas, merged into a forest of gums and banksias. To her right, the five other cabins stretched away down the slope. Directly in front of her the hill fell away in gentle folds, the grassy slopes golden in the early-morning sunlight, dazzled with dew.

She blinked at its brightness, the freshness. Moist earth and sun-warmed grasses and the faint tang of eucalyptus scented the air. She gulped it in greedily.

In the distance the River Gloucester, lined with river gums and weeping willows, wound its way along the base of the hill to disappear behind a neighbouring slope. Josie knew that if she followed the river she would eventually come to the little township of Martin’s Gully, and then, further along, the larger township of Gloucester itself.

As one, the rosellas lifted from the bushes and took flight and, just like that, Josie found herself alone again. She swallowed. What would she find to do all day? Especially in light of the resolution she’d made last night.

She chafed her hands. She’d think of something. She’d stay at Eagle Reach for the whole day if it killed her. She would not drive into either Martin’s Gully or Gloucester. Kent Black would expect her to do exactly that. And for some reason she found herself wanting to smash his expectations.

She found herself aching for just an ounce of his strength too.

By eight o’clock Josie wondered again at the sense of such a resolution. She’d breakfasted, tidied the cabin and now…

Nothing.

She made another coffee and sat back out on the veranda. She checked her watch. Five past eight. Even if she went to bed disgustingly early she still had at least twelve hours to kill. Her shoulders started to sag and her spine lost its early-morning buoyancy, the greyness of grief descending over her again.

She shouldn’t have come here. It was too soon for a holiday. Any holiday. She’d buried her father a fortnight ago. She should be at home. She should be with her friends, her family. Maybe, right at this very minute, she could be forging closer bonds with Marty and Frank. Surely that was more important than—

‘Good morning!’

Josie jumped out of her skin. Coffee sloshed over the side of her cup and onto her feet. Kent Black. Her heart hammered, though she told herself it was the effect of her fright. Not the fact that his big, broad body looked superb in a pair of faded jeans and a navy T-shirt that fitted him in a way that highlighted bulging arm muscles.

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.’

He didn’t look the least bit sorry. And if he didn’t mean to startle people he shouldn’t bark out good-mornings like a sergeant major springing a surprise inspection.

‘Not a problem.’ She tried to smile. ‘Good morning.’

He didn’t step any closer, he didn’t come and sit with her on the veranda. She quelled her disappointment and tried to tell herself she didn’t care.

‘How’d you sleep?’ The words scraped out of a throat that sounded rusty with disuse.

‘Like a top,’ she lied. She decided she’d been rude enough about the amenities—or lack of amenities—last night. She couldn’t start back in on him today. Yesterday at least she could plead the excuse of tiredness. ‘I’m sorry about my lack of enthusiasm last night. It had been a long day and, like you said, the cabin is perfectly adequate.’

He blinked. His eyes narrowed. Up close she could see they were the most startling shade of blue, almost navy. Still, it didn’t mean she wanted them practically dissecting her.

‘How was the wine?’

A smile spread through her. He could look as unfriendly and unapproachable as he liked, but actions spoke louder than words. Last night, over her first glass of wine, she’d decided Kent Black had a kind heart. He’d just forgotten how to show it, that was all. ‘The wine was lovely.’

Really lovely. So lovely she’d drunk half the bottle before she’d realised it. Once she had, she’d hastily shoved the rest of the bottle in the tiny bar fridge. Quaffing copious quantities of wine when she was stuck out here all on her own might not be the wisest of ideas.

‘It was a really thoughtful gesture. Thank you, Mr Black.’ She waited for him to tell her to call him Kent. She bit back a sigh when he didn’t.

He touched the brim of his hat in what she took to be a kind of farewell salute and panic spiked through her. She didn’t want to be left all alone again. Not yet.

Molly nudged Josie’s arm with her nose, forcing her to lift it so she could sidle in close. ‘I, umm…Molly is a lovely dog. Really lovely. I was wrong about her too.’ Ugh, she should be ashamed of such inane babble. ‘I…She spent the night with me.’

He spun back, hands on hips. ‘I noticed.’

Oh, dear. She should’ve let him leave. Her fingers curled into Molly’s fur. She didn’t want to give Molly up. ‘I…Do you want me to shoo her home in future?’

‘She’s all yours.’

Relief chugged through her and she swore his eyes softened. Then he turned away again and she knew she must’ve imagined it. ‘Are any of the other cabins booked over the next few weeks?’ She crossed her fingers.

His impatience, when he turned back, made her want to cringe.

‘No.’

The single syllable rang a death knell through her last forlorn hope. All alone. For a month. ‘Then…what do people do out here?’

‘Do?’ One eyebrow lifted. ‘Nothing. That’s the point.’

Dread fizzed through her. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Surely he’d like a cup of tea. Kind hearts and cups of tea went together and—

‘No.’

She gulped. Couldn’t he have at least added a thank-you to his refusal? She tried to dredge up indignation, but her loneliness overrode it.

‘Some of us actually have work to do.’

Work? ‘What kind of work?’ Could she help? She knew she was grasping at straws, but she couldn’t stop herself. She knew she’d die a thousand deaths when she went back over this conversation later.

‘I run cattle on this hill, Ms Peterson.’

‘Josie,’ she whispered, a hand fluttering to her throat. ‘Please call me Josie.’

He pulled the brim of his hat down low over his eyes. ‘Bushwalking.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘People who come here. They like to bushwalk.’

‘Oh. OK.’ She liked walking. She walked on the beach back home. She didn’t know her way around here, though. What if she got lost? Who’d know she was missing? She didn’t trust Kent Black to notice.

‘There are some pretty trails through there.’ He pointed at the forest of gums. ‘They lead down to the river.’

Trails? She brightened. She could follow a path without getting lost.

‘Take Molly with you.’

‘OK. Thank you,’ she called out after him, but she doubted he’d heard. His long legs had already put an alarming amount of distance between them in a seriously short space of time.

She turned her gaze to the shadowed depths of the eucalypt forest and made out the beginnings of a path. A walk? She leapt up, glad to have a purpose.



Kent swung around as an almighty screech pierced the forest. Birds lifted from trees and fluttered away. He glanced at his watch and shook his head. Fifteen minutes. She’d lasted fifteen minutes. Not that he’d deliberately followed her, of course. He hadn’t. He’d just taken note of when she’d set off and down which path, that was all.

He’d chosen a different path, an adjacent one, and it wasn’t as if he was keeping an eye on her or anything. He had business down this way.

Yeah, but not until later this afternoon, a voice in his head jeered

He ignored it.

No more screams or screeches or shrieks for help followed. She’d probably walked into a spider’s web or something. But then Molly started up her low, mournful howl. Kent folded his arms and glared. With a muttered curse, he unfolded his arms, cut through the undergrowth and set off towards the noise.

He almost laughed out loud when he reached them. Josie clung to a branch of a nearby gum and a goanna clung to the main trunk of the same tree, effectively cutting off her escape. Molly sat beneath it all, howling for all she was worth. He chuckled then realised what he’d done.

‘Enjoying your walk I hope, Ms Peterson?’

She swung her head around to glare at him over her shoulder. The branch swayed precariously. He readied himself to catch her if she overbalanced.

‘What do you think?’ she snapped.

‘I think you enjoy scaring all the wildlife on my side of the hill.’

‘Scaring? Me?’ Her mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. She pointed an accusing finger at the goanna then clutched the branch again as it started to sway. ‘Move it.’

He glanced at it. ‘Nope, not touching it.’

‘So, you’re scared of it too?’ she hissed.

‘Let’s just say I like to treat our native wildlife with a great deal of respect.’

‘Oh, that’s just great. Of all the wildlife in this God-forsaken place I had to get a…a dinosaur rather than a cute, cuddly koala, huh? Any wildlife wrestlers in the neighbour-hood by any chance?’

‘Not much call for them out here.’

‘How am I going to get down?’

Behind her bluff he could see she was scared. He had a feeling she hadn’t stopped being scared since she’d scrambled out of his clothes-line yesterday. ‘Jump,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll catch you.’ She wasn’t that high up. In fact, if she hung from that branch by her hands, she’d only be four or five feet from the ground. He knew it would look vastly different from her perspective, though.

He wished she wasn’t so cute.

The thought flitted in and out of his head in the time it took to blink. ‘Cut out the racket, Molly,’ he growled. The dog had kept right on howling all this time. Like most of the females of his experience, Molly loved the sound of her own voice.

Josie bit her lip and glanced at the goanna. ‘Is it going to jump too? Or chase me?’

‘Nope. This is his tree. It’s where he feels safe.’

She glared at him again. ‘So, of all the trees in the forest I had to pick his?’

‘Yep.’

‘I’m so happy.’

He guessed from the way she gritted her teeth together as she said it, she didn’t mean it.

Without any more prompting on his part, Josie shifted her weight from her behind to her stomach then tried to take her full weight with her arms to lower herself to the ground. Kent leapt forward and wrapped his arms around the tops of her thighs.

‘I don’t need—’

The rest of her words were lost when her hands slipped and she landed against him with a muffled, ‘Oomph.’

Kent couldn’t manage much either as the top half of her body slumped over him and he found his face mashed between her breasts. Then a long, delicious slide as her body slipped down his.

They were both breathing hard when her feet finally touched the ground.

They paused then sprang apart.

‘Thank you,’ Josie babbled, smoothing down her hair. ‘I, umm…It probably wasn’t necessary to jump to my rescue like that, but, umm…thank you all the same.’

‘Are you going to make a habit of that?’ he snapped. He darn well hoped not. His body wouldn’t cope with it. Even now he had to fight down a rising tide of raw desire. He didn’t need this.

‘It’s not part of my plans.’

He wanted her off his mountain. Fast. He flung his arms out. ‘Doesn’t this prove how unsuited you are to this place?’

Her chin shot up although her shoulders stayed hunched around her ears. ‘Because I’m frightened of goannas?’

‘Because you’re frightened of everything.’

‘I’m not afraid of Molly. Not now,’ she pointed out reasonably enough. ‘I just didn’t know what to do when that thing started running at me.’

‘Run away at right angles to it,’ he answered automatically.

‘I’ll remember that.’

He didn’t want her remembering. He wanted her gone. ‘You don’t know how to protect yourself out here.’

‘Well…I’m not dead yet.’

‘What would you do if some big, burly guy jumped out at you, huh?’ To prove his point, he lunged at her.

The next moment he was lying on his back, and staring up through the leaves of the trees at the clear blue of the sky. With no idea how he had got there.

Josie’s face hovered into view as she leaned over him. ‘Does that answer your question?’

She’d thrown him? He deserved that smug little smile. For some reason he wanted to laugh again.

He scowled. No, he didn’t. He wanted her off his mountain.

‘I might be hopeless, but I’m not completely helpless, you know. Men I can defend myself against. It’s the dogs and goannas that I have trouble with.’

He rolled over onto his stomach to watch her saunter away. He really wished he didn’t notice how sweetly she filled out a pair of jeans. Molly licked his face, as if in sympathy, then trotted after her new-found friend.




CHAPTER THREE


JOSIE was back at her cabin by ten o’clock.

So, now she only had ten hours to kill.

She wished she’d learnt how to draw or paint. Or knit.

A craft project, that was what she needed. She made a mental note to hunt out a craft shop when she went into Gloucester. Tomorrow.

Still, what would it hurt if she went in today and—?

Kent’s scornful lips flashed through her mind. No! She’d manage to stick it out here for a whole day. Somehow.

Books. She’d buy some books. And a radio. Tomorrow.

She rearranged her grocery supplies on the kitchen shelves. That took less than ten minutes. She made a shopping list. For tomorrow. That took another ten minutes, but only because she dallied over it. She glanced around, clapped her hands together and wondered what she could do next.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she growled out loud, suddenly impatient. Seizing a pen and notepad, she plonked herself down at the table. If she’d just work out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life instead of putting it off, then she could get on with living that life and leave this awful place behind. Marty and Frank would forgive her for curtailing her holiday if she came up with a plan.

At the top of the page she wrote: ‘What do I want to do with my life?’ Her mind went blank, so she added an exclamation mark, in brackets.

Familiar doubts and worries flitted about her. She swallowed and tried not to panic. She was looking at this all wrong. She should break it down into smaller, more manageable bits. Skills. She should list her skills.

1—Assistant in Nursing certificate. 2—She could give bed baths. 3—She could measure out medicines. 4—She could coax a difficult patient to eat. 5—

No. No. No.

She slammed the pen to the table. She didn’t want to do those things any more. There had to be other things she could do. She had to have at least one talent that could steer her towards a new vocation. Take her brothers. Frank had a great head for figures, which made him a successful accountant. Marty had great spatial abilities, which was why he was an architect. She had…?

Nothing.

Her shoulders sagged. She couldn’t think of one single thing she had a talent for. Except looking after sick people, dying people. Fear clogged her throat. She couldn’t do that. Not any more. She’d loved her father dearly, missed him terribly, and she didn’t regret one single day she’d spent looking after him. But…

She couldn’t take on another dementia patient. She couldn’t watch another person die.

She leapt up and started to pace. The grey drabness of the cabin pressed in against her. The only splashes of colour were the labels on her groceries. Her gaze drifted across them, paused on the packet cake mix that, for some reason, she’d thrown in. What? Did she think she’d be giving tea parties? Her laugh held an edge that earned her a low bark from Molly.

She’d love to give a tea party. A sigh welled up inside her. She chewed her bottom lip and cast another glance at the cake mix. She could cook it up for Kent.

As a thank-you for last night’s bottle of wine.

Maybe he’d even invite her to stay and share it. She chewed her bottom lip some more. She wanted to find out what made him tick, what made him so strong. She wanted to be more like that. She put her list away and reached for a mixing bowl.



Kent rubbed his hands together as he waited for the tea to brew. With his chores done, he could kick back and enjoy the fading golden light of the afternoon, his favourite time of day.

The cattle were fed and watered. He ran a herd small enough to manage on his own. And between them, the cattle and the cabins, they kept him busy enough through the days.

The nights, though…

The nights nothing!

A knock sounded on his back door. He swung around. Josie?

It had to be. He rarely had visitors out here, which was the way he liked it. He wasn’t a sociable man. He thought he’d made that plain to her this morning.

Guilt wormed through him. He scowled at the teapot.

Maybe she’d come to return the key and tell him she was leaving? His jaw clenched. Good. She could drive off into the sunset. He didn’t care. No skin off his nose.

‘Kent?’ She knocked again.

He bit back a string of curses and strode out to answer the door. The sharp remark on his lips died when he found her standing on the bottom step with a frosted chocolate cake in her hands and a hopeful expression in her gold-flecked eyes.

Damn.

‘Hello.’ She smiled, or at least her lips gave the tiniest of upward lifts.

He grunted in reply. Things inside him shuffled about and refused to settle into place.

She’d recently showered and damp hair curled around her shoulders. It gleamed in the last shaft of sunlight that touched his house for the afternoon, and he could pick out more shades of brown than he thought possible for one person to possess. Everything from light honeyed brown all the way through to rich walnut.

And not a mouse in sight.

She smelled fresh and fruity. Not run-of-the-mill apples and oranges either, but something more exotic. Like pineapple and…cucumber? She smelt like summer nights on the beach.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat on a beach. Or when he’d last wanted to. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten chocolate cake either. He tried to stop his mouth from watering.

She thrust the cake towards him. ‘This is for you.’

He had no option but to take it. ‘Why?’ His eyes narrowed. He didn’t trust the sensations pounding through him and he didn’t trust her either.

Her gaze darted behind him into the house. She moistened her lips when she met his gaze again. ‘I, umm—’

‘You want to use the phone again?’ Typical woman. Couldn’t be without—

‘No.’ She drew herself up. ‘It’s a thank-you for last night’s bottle of wine.’

He’d known he’d end up regretting that bottle of wine. He stared at her. She had a pointy little chin that stuck out when indignant. He wanted to reach out a finger and trace the fine line of her jaw.

He darn well didn’t! He shoved the cake back at her. ‘I don’t want it.’

She took a step back and blinked. Then amazingly she laughed. ‘Wrong answer, Mr Black; you’re supposed to say thank you.’

Shame bore down on him. There was a world of difference between unsociable and downright rude. Jeez. ‘You’re right.’ He dragged his free hand down his face. ‘I’m sorry.’ He pulled in a breath and tried to gulp back hasty words clamouring for release. ‘You better call me Kent.’

He couldn’t grind back the rest of his words either.

‘I’ve just made a pot of tea. Would you like to join me?’

The gold flecks in her eyes lit up. ‘Yes, please.’



Josie wanted to run from Kent’s scowl. Then she remembered the only place she could run to was her cabin. Her bleak, lonely cabin. She gulped back her trepidation and followed him into the kitchen.

She wrinkled her nose as she glanced around. Definitely a bachelor’s pad—no frills, no colour, next to no comfort. A woman wouldn’t put up with this.

She glanced at Kent. She had a feeling he wouldn’t give two hoots what a woman thought.

A large wooden table dominated the room. That was about all she’d taken in yesterday when she’d made her quick phone call. She wondered if there was a separate dining room, then dismissed the idea. The house wasn’t large enough.

She glanced through the doorway leading through to the rest of the house. It looked like a typical gun-barrel miner’s cottage. The next room along would be the living room then a short hallway would lead to two bedrooms at the front of the house.

She also guessed she’d never make it past this kitchen.

Heat suddenly flamed through her. Not that she wanted to make it as far as the bedroom with Kent Black, of course. Good lord. She couldn’t imagine him unbending his stiff upper lip long enough to kiss a woman, let alone—

Are you so sure? a wicked voice asked.

Umm…

She slammed a lid on that thought, swung away and found herself confronted with the hard, lean lines of Kent’s back…and backside, as he reached into a cupboard above the sink for two mugs.

Oh, dear. She fanned her face and swung around another ninety degrees. She didn’t want to ogle his, uh, assets. In fact, it probably wasn’t a good idea to ogle any man’s assets until she’d sorted out what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

The rest of her life? What was she going to do with the next ten minutes?

Arghh. She scanned the room, searching for distraction. Her eyes landed on a chess set. A beautiful hand-carved chess set.

At her indrawn breath, audible in the silence of the room, Kent spun to face her. ‘What?’ He glanced around as if searching for a spider or lizard, some creepy-crawly that may have frightened her.

‘I…’ She pointed. ‘Did you make that?’

He grunted and shrugged.

‘It’s beautiful.’ She stared at him, trying to recognise the creator of the work of art in the hard stern man in front of her. ‘It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.’

‘Then you need to get out more.’

She’d have laughed at his response if she hadn’t been so engrossed in admiring the individual chess pieces. Each one was intricately carved into the shape of a tree. The skill and workmanship that had gone into each piece took her breath away. The kings were mighty oaks, the queens graceful weeping willows and the bishops upright poplars. Talk about a craft project!

She held her breath and reached out to pick up a pawn—a miniature banksia—and marvelled at the detail. She could see each cylindrical flower on the delicate branches. How on earth had he managed that?

‘Do you play?’

She jumped, startled by his closeness. His breath disturbed the hair at her temple as he leant over to survey the piece she held. ‘I…’

He took a step back and she found she could breathe again.

‘Not really.’ She placed the pawn back on the board and sadness pierced her. She tried to smile. ‘My father was teaching me before he fell ill.’

The rest of Kent Black could look as hard as stone, but his eyes could soften from a winter gale to a spring breeze in the time it took to draw breath. Josie’s heart started to pound.

‘I’m sorry about your father, Josie.’

‘Thank you.’ He’d called her Josie.

‘I’m sorry he never had a chance to finish teaching you how to play.’

‘Me too.’ She couldn’t look away.

‘I’ll give you lessons if you like.’

She wondered if she looked as surprised by the offer as he did. She had no intention of letting him off the hook, though. ‘I’d like that very much.’

He grunted and took a step back. With one blink his eyes became as carved-from-rock hard as the rest of him.

‘When?’ she persisted. ‘Now?’

‘No.’ He strode back to the table. ‘Monday afternoons,’ he said after a pause. ‘At about this time.’

It was Tuesday now. Monday was six whole days away. He’d done that on purpose, she was sure of it. She’d missed out one lesson already if you counted yesterday.

She wanted to stamp a foot in frustration. The glint in his eye told her he knew it too. She forced her lips into a smile instead. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she now only had six afternoons a week to fill. She didn’t want him retracting the offer.

She wondered if she could talk him into two afternoons a week? One look at his face told her to leave it for now.

‘Why don’t we have our tea outside?’ He lifted a tray holding their tea things and Josie had no choice but to follow him back out into the sunshine.

She cut large wedges of cake whilst he poured out mugs of tea. He made no attempt at conversation and, strangely, Josie didn’t mind. She watched him instead. He devoured his slice of chocolate cake with the kind of hunger that did strange things to her insides.

Warm, fuzzy things.

She had to glance away when he licked the frosting from his fingers. She cut him another slice then cleared her throat. ‘Did you grow up around here?’

‘No.’

He physically drew back in his seat, his face shuttered, and disappointment filtered through her. He didn’t want her prying into his background. Though at least she now knew his unique brand of strength wasn’t something born and bred into him because he’d grown up out here on Eagle Reach. There was hope for her yet.

He eyed her warily. She smiled back. ‘It’s only a packet mix.’ She motioned to the cake. ‘I make a much better one from scratch.’

‘It’s good.’

His manners were improving, but the wariness didn’t leave his eyes. It made her feel…wrong. She couldn’t remember making anyone feel wary before. She didn’t like the sensation. She searched for something deliberately inconsequential to say. She stared at the cake. Her lips twitched. ‘I was sorry I didn’t pack hundreds and thousands to sprinkle on top.’

Kent choked.

‘But then I figured you probably weren’t a hundreds and thousands kind of guy. A chocolate-sprinkle kind of guy maybe, but not hundreds and thousands.’

Kent stared at her. Then his wariness fled. He threw his head back and laughed. It changed him utterly, and it stole Josie’s breath.

One thing became brilliantly and dazzlingly clear. She could certainly imagine this incarnation of Kent kissing a woman. She saw it in bright Technicolor vividness.

Seeing it, though, didn’t mean she wanted it.

It didn’t.



Kent rolled his shoulders, stretching out the aches in his muscles. He’d spent most of the day fixing a broken fence and he was dying for his afternoon cup of tea.

And the rest of that chocolate cake Josie had baked yesterday. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything quite so satisfying. His stomach grumbled low and long. His mouth watered. He reached out to unlatch the back gate then froze.

‘Kent?’

Josie.

He peered over the palings and found her standing on the top step of his house, hand raised to knock on his back door. In her other hand she held a plate of what looked suspiciously like freshly baked biscuits.

His stomach growled again. His mouth watered some more. In the sunlight her hair glowed all the hues of a varnished piece of sandalwood and his stomach clenched. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought it mousy. Anticipation leapt to life in his chest. He reached out to unlatch the gate again when reality crashed around him.

This couldn’t happen. He didn’t do afternoon tea parties.

You don’t do chess lessons either, a wry voice in his head pointed out.




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