***
What the heck had just gone on? Jody pondered as she stared at Christian’s back, which wasn’t so much taking the lead as beating some kind of retreat. One minute they were discussing the boys’ involvement, the next he’d bounded off the bed and bolted from the room.
But there had been a moment before that. A moment she thought she’d imagined. Or perhaps wanted to imagine. His eyes had flicked down, lingered on her top. Her chest. Then his eyes had widened, and he’d been up and gone. A man on a mission. Or a man looking to escape whatever was on his mind.
And what had been on his mind? Her? Jody glanced down at her top and saw it through new eyes. A man’s eyes. Oh. Her old painting tank top was a little see-through. And her bra was perhaps a little alluring. Not that she was trying to lure anyone with it. It was just there to hold up her boobs.
A shiver trailed its way down her spine. Why did she suddenly feel as if she’d exposed herself to Christian? Why hadn’t she brought another top in case it got chilly? Because it was summer. A warmer than usual summer at that. And why did she have a feeling things were only going to get hotter? Jody clenched her jaw. Nope. No heat here. Nothing steamy at all.
She followed the boys into the dining room and looked for the iced-water pitcher Tony always had filled and ready for customers. What she needed to do was drench herself in that, cool off… and give Christian a view of everything. Wet T-shirt competition styles. No. No water. She just needed to continue ignoring the fact that he was the hottest man she’d seen in years, while continuing to remember her number-one rule. No. Men. Allowed. Not until her boys were men. That was her rule and she was sticking with it.
And then what? The shiver returned, needling her conscience. And then what? Then she’d find another excuse, another way to keep her heart locked up, wrapped in chains and buried down a concrete-filled well.
‘Mum.’ Tyler tugged at her hand. ‘Where is Christian going?’
Jody gripped Tyler’s hand. Her boys were what mattered. They needed to grow up knowing they were all that mattered to her. They weren’t to feel like a second thought, the way she had growing up. She gave Tyler’s hand a squeeze. ‘No idea, T. Let’s follow him and find out, shall we?’
The three of them picked up their pace as they half walked half ran after Christian, who was storming down the main street, head down, shoulders hunched. He stalked past the butcher’s, passed Mel’s Café, didn’t look twice at the village hall, and continued up towards the school.
Her arms began to ache and she looked down to see the boys lagging behind her. Their chests heaving with exertion. ‘Christian!’ she called. ‘You’ve got to slow down. Our legs aren’t as long as yours!’
‘Nearly there,’ he yelled back.
To her relief he began to slow down. Then stopped. In front of the old pool, she realised.
‘Come on, boys, we might as well see what this madman is up to.’ They traipsed over to where Christian was standing, his eyes trained on the mural painted on the brick wall that separated the pool from the community.
‘Do you like it?’ asked Jody as she took in the picture she knew like the back of her hand. A fifty-by-ten-feet painting, filled with images of the Leap, from the town’s oldest resident, Mr Muir, hunched over his daily crossword, to a younger, laughing Mrs Harper washing a shopfront window, to her own boys frolicking in the pool – not that they’d had the opportunity as it had been out of commission well before they were born. The lives of the local residents were backed by the rolling Rabbits Leap hills, criss-crossed with hedgerows and stone walls, a clear blue sky hugging the hills. She considered it her greatest work. And hoped one day, once the boys were older, she’d be able to seriously work on her art. Take on commissions. Make enough money to realise the one dream she’d had before the boys were born, to travel through Europe seeing her favourite works of art in the flesh, not on some computer screen or in the pages of a coffee-table book.
‘It’s great. The artist really captured the boys. Their light. Their happiness. Their joy. You can almost feel the coolness of the water. I can see the wisdom coming from that gentleman. And Mrs Harper’s raucous joy. The artist is talented.’ He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a picture of the mural.
‘The artist is me,’ said Jody. The words came out more shyly than she’d hoped for.
‘Wow, a sculptress and a painter. You really are very talented. Do you do it for a living?’
Jody shook her head. ‘No. It’s just something I do when I have some spare time. Looking after the boys and the day-to-day work on the farm keep me busy enough.’
‘You’re a farmer too? Like Serena?’ Christian’s lips quirked in disbelief.
Jody refrained from rolling her eyes. ‘Yes, I’m a farmer. Sort of. It was my grandparents’ farm and it was passed on to me when they passed away. Except I don’t know all that much about farming, so I’ve a farm worker, Jack. He does the hard work. I tend to do more of the managerial side of things. Not that I know much about managing anything, but it seems the story of my life is being plunged into a deep pool and being told I can sink or swim.’
Christian’s eyes darted between the two boys. ‘Well, it seems you’re very good at swimming.’
‘I could be better. It’d be nice for the farm to make enough money to not just pay Jack and the household bills, but for the boys and I to go on holidays. Do more than meander around this place. Still, I can’t complain. We’ve a roof over our heads and enough coming in that we’re fed and clothed.’
Christian’s eyes flicked down, then quickly up. Jody crossed her arms over her chest and wished she’d sprung for a better-quality tank top, preferably made of inch-thick opaque material.
Christian, as if sensing her discomfort, changed the subject. ‘So, now we’re out of that tiny, cramped space and at the source of inspiration to remind us why we’re going to make the festival a runaway success, let’s brainstorm. Let’s combine ideas. Work out what we can do with the space and time available, then get the rest of the committee to secure what we need.’
‘Well, I really liked the idea of replicating the Rabbit Revolt. I could design the costumes. There’s a local group that are keen on sewing, the Stitch ‘n’ Snitch club. They come together every week to sew. And gossip. Mostly gossip,’ Jody admitted. ‘We could get them to whip up the costumes. And, like you suggested, the local kids could play the rabbits.’
‘Mum!?’ Tyler wailed. ‘It’s school holidays. That sounds like we have to take part in a school play.’
‘And I hate taking part in plays,’ Jordan moaned. ‘They always make me be a statue of some sort.’
‘Because you can’t remember your lines,’ Tyler snickered.
‘Shut up, Tyler. At least I didn’t have to dance with a girl like you did in the last one.’
‘Yeah, that was gross.’ Tyler stuck his tongue out and faux-gagged. ‘I’m not dancing with girls at the festival. Okay?’
Christian regarded the boys seriously. ‘So, if we don’t have dancing, you’re in? And you think the rest of the local kids will get onboard?’
Unexpected warmth flooded Jody. It was good to see the boys interacting with a man on a man-to-man level. They didn’t get that a lot. Tony was always working, and her farm worker, Jack, was always out in the fields, so their role models were few and far between. A fist tightened around her heart as guilt niggled at her. Would her refusal to give a relationship a chance, to get close to another man, mean they were missing out on something special?
‘We’ll