‘That’s OK,’ Zoe responded glibly, hoping that she sounded much calmer than she felt about ongoing communication with Bella’s fiancé—even if it was only via email or telephone.
‘And thanks for taking your car, Zoe. So much better than bumping along in the old bus.’
‘My pleasure.’ However, Zoe couldn’t possibly share Bella’s opinion on this matter. If she hadn’t taken her car, she wouldn’t have had a flat tyre and she wouldn’t have had a private meeting with Kent. And her weekend would have been a darned sight easier.
‘Thanks for inviting me, Bell. It was—wonderful. You’re going to have the most gorgeous wedding ever.’
‘I know. I’m so lucky.’ Bella’s green eyes took on a wistful shimmer. ‘You do like Kent, don’t you?’
Zoe’s heart took a dive, but she forced a bright smile. ‘Of course. What’s not to like? He’s lovely. Perfect husband material. You should have snapped him up years ago.’
Bella smiled, looking genuinely happy now, as if she’d needed this reassurance. Then she grabbed the straps of her overnight bag, slammed the door and called, ‘See you in the morning.’
Zoe watched as Bella hurried up her front steps, pale hair shining in the glow cast by a streetlight, then she drove on, feeling the last of her strength ebb away.
All weekend she’d held herself together—remaining upbeat and excited for Bella’s sake, while keeping a lid on her own private turmoil. Dropping any interest in Kent had proved much harder than she’d expected, and now the ordeal was over she was totally drained. She just wanted to crawl into her own little space and let go.
Finally, she reached her flat in Newmarket, let herself into the kitchen, dumped her bag in the corner.
She loved her little home. For the first time in her life she had a proper place to call home that had four walls instead of four wheels.
First she checked her goldfish—Brian, Ezekiel and Orange Juice. They’d survived beautifully without her. Then she dashed out onto her balcony to make sure her pot plants were still alive.
Zoe had always kept pot plants, even when they were in the bus. Her mum said she’d inherited Granny Weston’s green thumb, and Zoe saw it as a sign that she was meant to have her own plot of land.
One day.
Back in the kitchen, she reached for the kettle. First priority was a comforting mug of tea, accompanied by a long soak in a warm bath. She could sort out her laundry tomorrow night after work. For now, she was going to be totally self-indulgent.
Five minutes later, warm, rose-scented water enveloped her, and at last she could set her thoughts free.
Unfortunately, her thoughts zeroed straight to Kent Rigby.
She let out the loud groan she’d been holding in for two whole days, ever since the road-side revelation on Friday evening. All weekend, honest to God, she’d tried unbelievably hard to stop liking Kent.
It should have been easy. He was her best friend’s fiancé, and Zoe had already dated a previously engaged man. She’d been burned. Horribly. After she’d dated Rodney for several months and helped him to get over his break-up, he’d moved in with her and she’d been deeply in love with him. Then she’d come home unexpectedly early one evening and found him in bed with Naomi, his former fiancée.
Rodney the Rat.
Never again would Zoe set herself up for that kind of heartache.
So why hadn’t she found the ‘off’ switch for her attraction to Bella’s fiancé?
It was ridiculous, as if she’d contracted a mutant strain of a virus that was resistant to all known treatments.
The truth was that deep down she was genuinely thrilled for Bella. Willara Downs was the lifestyle her friend had been born into. Bella’s parents had always lived in the district. Her father would soon be out of hospital and home on his farm, and her grandfather still lived in an aged care facility in Willara township. On top of that, the Shaw and Rigby properties were adjoining and so Bella and Kent had the whole dynasty thing happening.
Beyond all these practical considerations, Bella and Kent were so sweet together, and so very at ease. Maybe they weren’t all touchy-feely, but that was to be expected when others were around. Just the same, it was clear as daylight that they belonged together.
Without question, Bella fitted in. She’d found where she belonged, while once again, as always, Zoe was the outsider.
Oh, God.
Zoe dunked her face under the water to wash away her stupid tears. She had to get a grip. Had to stop this nonsense now.
Curse that flat tyre.
This problem would never have arisen if she and Bella had driven to the homestead together. If Bella had been there, from the moment Zoe met Kent she would have known who he was, and the first thing she would have seen was Kent embracing his bride-to-be. She would have been excited for Bella, and her heart would have stayed safely immune to Kent’s charms.
Instead, cruel fate had delivered her a punctured tyre and twenty minutes alone with a wonderful man who’d arrived like a gift from heaven.
She kept reliving that thrilling moment—only a few seconds admittedly—when their gazes had connected. She could have sworn something huge and earth-shattering had passed between them.
Had it all been in her stupid head?
She hated to admit that she’d deluded herself, but there was no other explanation. Thank heavens Kent hadn’t noticed.
His behaviour had been beyond reproach. He’d been unfailingly polite and friendly to Zoe, and he’d been wonderful about her damaged tyre, organising a replacement to be sent out from a garage in Willara and then fitting it for her.
Appropriately, he’d devoted the bulk of his attention to Bella. There’d been no sign that he was remembering the moment when he and Zoe had looked into each other’s eyes and the world had stopped.
And she was going to be just as sensible.
It was time for self-discipline and maturity. Time to get a grip on reality.
Kent-slash-man-of-her-dreams-Rigby was going to marry her best friend in less than two months and she, Zoe Weston, was going to be their happy, loyal, non-jealous, and perfect-in-every-way bridesmaid.
Kent couldn’t breathe. Pinned at the bottom of a dark muddy pool, he could feel his lungs bursting, his legs thrashing. He couldn’t see a thing. Couldn’t hear anything either, just a dull roaring in his head.
Fear, blacker than the night, pressed down with a weighty and smothering hand.
He fought, struggling, gasping … shooting awake out of a tangle of sheets.
He dragged in air. His heart raced, but he wasn’t panicking. He knew it would slow down soon. He was used to this dream. He knew its familiar pattern, even though he had no real memories of almost drowning in Willara Creek.
The dreams were based on what his family had told him—that he’d been pinned under a rock and Tom Shaw had saved him, and that little Bella had been there, white-faced and sobbing.
Don’t let Kent die. Please, please don’t let him die …
It was years later, in his teens, that the dreams had begun. By then it had finally sunk in that all life was tenuous and that Kent’s own life had nearly ended when he was six years old.
A kid showing off. All over red rover. Then a man with good instincts diving down and dragging him free.
Tom Shaw