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