12 Days At Silver Bells House (6 page)

‘Why not? You'll hardly see him.'

‘Because… Because…' Kate leaned her forehead against a glass pane in the back door and stared out at the garden. ‘Am I safe?' she asked quietly.

‘From Jamie? Are you mad? He's the most reliable man I've met — apart from Ethan.'

She hadn't meant it that way. After her riotous thoughts in the shower about how he'd soap the dirt off his body she'd wondered if perhaps Jamie Knight might be unsafe from the clutches of Kate. ‘What's his story?' she asked.

‘Haven't got a clue what his whole story is.' Sammy paused. ‘But…'

‘Yes?'

‘I think he's the retiring, reluctant type — and he's shy.'

Kate considered this. Shy? At six foot three and built like a brick outhouse? ‘Why?' she asked.

‘Not my place to say.'

Kate nodded, her mouth tugging to one side. ‘Woman trouble?' she asked, keeping her voice low. Had he been hurt in love? Maybe some woman had wounded him and he'd buried his poor stonemason's soul in the country. In what should have been
her
holiday house.

Kate pulled a face. Jamie's scenario wasn't too far from her own. Lost and lonely, looking for…well, not love but some other word beginning with L if the alliteration in the sentence was going to work. If she did stay, perhaps she could help him. Ease him out of his misery. Be a good house guest and cheer him up. It would be something to do. He had been big-and-burly helpful, apart from the initial peeved tone, which she now understood the reason for. Woman trouble.

What kind of female troubled Jamie Knight? The petite bouncy blonde? The Jessica Rabbit redhead? Or the executive brunette?

Kate squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn't meant herself. Yes, she was a brunette and she happened to be an executive but she hadn't meant herself. No way, José.

‘Promise me you won't go digging for whatever it was that hurt him,' Sammy said. ‘Be jolly and happy around him. Don't push and don't ask him personal questions.'

Was Sammy out of her mind? One of Kate's best skillsets was figuring out what made people tick. She ran a fashion house, for God's sake. Human beings ticked differently and in the fashion world you met all types of beings. Not always human. ‘Alright,' she said to Sammy. ‘I'm feeling safer.' About not ogling Mr Knight too much, and about being brave enough to concentrate solely on The Decision.

‘You've got nothing to worry about,' Sammy said. ‘You probably won't even see him. He'll be out early morning and back late afternoon.'

‘I think I might stay then.' Because where else was she going to go to get away from it all? She'd have to wait at least two more days due to the damage on her hire car anyway. Or get the bus into the next big town with hire car prospects. Talk about stuck.

‘Okay,' Sammy said. ‘Your choice — but don't forget that shooting star. It was magic. Magic happens when shooting stars appear, Kate. Don't forget the star.'

Kate had forgotten about the shooting star. It had appeared in the night sky in New York and she'd made a wish. She'd also forgotten that she'd told her best friend about the star — and the wish.

‘You're a fine one, telling me what not to forget, Samantha Granger. You've forgotten that you're the one who
forgot
to tell me I'd have nowhere to stay for my magical twelve-day holiday.'

****

Jamie looked up as his house guest walked back into the kitchen. ‘Did you get hold of Sammy?'

‘Yes.'

‘And?'

‘And… I do need to stay for a few days. I'll call the hire car company now and ask them what they want to do. I suppose they'll send a tow truck down.'

‘That'll probably take forty-eight hours. I don't want to leave the car where it is though, so I'll go this morning and take photos of everything, for the insurance, then tow the car out of the paddock. It'll be safe on the side of the road.'

‘I ought to buy a new gate too,' she said, and flicked through the screens on her mobile phone, as though searching for the nearest shop to buy one.

Jamie smiled, although she wasn't looking at him. He'd got the fright of his life when she'd walked in for breakfast earlier, wearing a dressing gown that ought to be termed a morning ball gown. She wore it still. An ankle-length silky lavender-coloured dressing gown. She sat on the arm of the Chesterfield sofa by the fireplace. The gown slipped open revealing a smooth pale-skinned portion of her thigh and Jamie's brain scrambled.

What day was this
?
What was his name
?

He blinked a few times, attempting to sooth the heat in his eyes. ‘I'll clear up the broken gate and fix up some wire fencing for the moment,' he said, concentrating on physical activities he could engage in with— No, dammit. Not physical as in…not with… Oh hell, who was he kidding? The woman didn't knock his socks off, she ripped them off.

‘You can discuss paying for a new gate when Sammy and Ethan get home.'

‘Right,' she said. ‘All sorted then.'

Jamie raised his brow. ‘You're staying?'

She looked up from beneath her long chestnut lashes. ‘If you're sure it's okay.' She smiled, and all that honey nougat caramelised his brain all over again.

It should be okay. It really should. But she hadn't said for how long he'd be in the oven, getting cooked. Two days or the whole holiday?

Her mobile phone rang. ‘Oh, darn.'

The morning ball gown slipped open as she uncrossed her legs. Looked like she had long legs. Nice thighs. Soft skin. Hell.
What was his name
?

‘“Oh darn”?' he said, as moisture returned to his mouth.

‘Country vernacular for “oh shit”.'

‘So why not say “oh shit”?'

Jamie didn't get an answer. She pressed a button on her phone. ‘Kate Singleton, Singleton's Sassy Sensations.'

Jamie smothered a smile. Good job she didn't have a lisp.

‘Don't know,' she said. ‘Mm-mm. Uh-huh. Really no idea. You'll have to figure it out for yourself.' She ended the call by snapping a pink-nailed finger on the End Call button, and slid the phone back into the silk pocket of the gown that made Jamie feel… Pretty much peeled, sliced and roasted.

‘You get a lot of calls,' he said. ‘You don't want to take them?'

‘You're darn tootin' I don't.'

‘Business?'

‘Yup.'

‘Well, talking of business, I need to make a call. Excuse me.'

‘Okay. I'll wash up. Since you cooked.'

She floated across the kitchen, dressing gown flowing between her legs.

Jamie left the room, eye sockets stinging.

He walked to the end of the hallway to the back door, opened it, stepped outside into the already warm morning air and punched in the speed dial for Sammy's number. She answered it within one ring.

‘Hi, Jamie.'

‘Hi, Sammy.'

‘How's it going? What's new your end?'

‘Um. Well…'

‘Those ditches aren't giving you trouble, are they? Don't tell me there'll be no water or electricity for Christmas.'

‘No, no. Everything's going to plan. All on time.'

‘Great. So…what do you need?'

Oh, come on. What game was Sammy playing here? ‘Well, I'm sort of wondering about your friend Kate.'

‘Oh that! Of course. I'm really sorry about the mix-up. My fault, Jamie. I don't know how it happened — although, truthfully, it would have been hard for her to have to spend this time back in the city.'

‘Really?' Like — why? What problems
did
she have with her business?

‘Actually, Jamie — can I speak to you in confidence?'

Jamie hoped like hell this confidence wasn't going to involve woman-stuff. Like broken hearts and two-timing boyfriends.

‘Alright,' he said deliberately slowly. Might as well learn what sort of nail gun wielding, morning ball gown-wearing woman he was giving his bed to.

‘Kate has a problem.'

‘Oh?' Reluctance to hear the answer crawled up the back of his neck. Sammy wasn't going to ask him to take care of the problem, was she? Sammy wasn't going to ask him to do things for Kate, was she? Like befriend her. If he got that close he'd be toast.

‘She's shy.'

Jamie thought about this for a few seconds. Kate Singleton, city woman with sky-scraper heels was shy? He had to admit his interest piqued. ‘Doesn't seem that way.'

‘Oh, she'd never let you know. I bet she's showing you her gregarious side.'

‘Don't know about gregarious, but she's…' Offbeat. Trying too hard. A little desperate around the edges. All that
golly galoshes
talk.

‘Thanks for saying she could stay, Jamie. It would be fantastic if you were able to get her to open up.'

Jamie straightened. Open up to what? The woman didn't stop talking. But Sammy must mean the problem Kate was facing. ‘She hasn't said she'll stay the entire time.'

‘I don't suppose you'd try and persuade her?' Sammy asked. ‘Maybe until the power's back on at the homestead? Then she can move in there if you're uneasy having her around.'

Oh, uneasy had him by the scruff of his neck. Not to mention his Bojangles. ‘Power'll be off for another five days.'

‘Oh…of course. I forgot.' Sammy sounded deflated.

Jamie sighed. ‘Okay,' he said. ‘I'll see if I can persuade her to stay.' If she really wanted to.

‘Thank you, Jamie, thank you! You're a star.'

The immediate vision in his head was the tail end of a bright light he'd seen in the night sky ten weeks ago as he'd dithered with an unexplained urge to buy Silver Bells House and settle into Swallow's Fall. He was a journeyman builder. He was supposed to journey. He had an apartment in Sydney which had hardly been used over the last two years, as he travelled the sunburnt country rescuing stone houses from disrepair and assisting in heritage works. He wasn't supposed to buy a house and settle down for at least another decade. Thirty-three-year-old men had a lot of single-life left in them. But this thirty-three-year-old man must have gone soft in the head. He'd bought Silver Bells House on a whim. On the tail end of a shooting star. Madness.

He shook his head as he disconnected the call to Sammy. If Katie stayed and this was day two, he had ten to go. Somehow, he didn't think he was going to make it through without something major happening. He only hoped this major event didn't involve a heart attack and the emergency services.

Nothing to do. Nothing to do.
Nothing to do
.

Kate roamed the house, folding her arms as she studied Jamie's chosen artwork, most of it impressionist with auras of restfulness which suited the languid, French-feeling of his house. Unfolding her arms, she wandered from the living room to the hall and into the open-plan kitchen-dining room. She plumped the cushions on the big deep-brown leather Chesterfield sofa. The colour of Jamie's eyes.

The beechwood shelving and the mellow-yellow stone created a haven, she decided. Somewhat masculine but not male enough to deter a woman from wanting to throw herself on the Chesterfield and fall asleep.

She'd slept most of yesterday and missed an entire day. When had she ever been this tired? Maybe she needed fresh air. And she had no intention of staying indoors while outdoors summer beckoned in such a spectacular manner. She still had no car and Jamie had been at work all day yesterday, and today, so no lift. She'd walk into town then.

She'd moved her luggage into the main bedroom and set her rosebud wellies next to a wooden chest of drawers. If all this furniture was Jamie's, he'd either had unexpected good fortune when buying the house, because it slotted in beautifully with the architecture, or he'd bought the house, furniture and all. Must remember to ask him.

She unzipped her large suitcase and plucked out her designer denim shorts in bloodshot red and a white capped-sleeved top. She'd been given heaps of next summer's clothing range by the shoot guys in New York. Just as well, or she'd have been sweating in angora and fleece for the next eight days.

Oh, darn
. No socks. Kate sighed and glanced at the chest of drawers. Jamie would have socks. Surely he wouldn't mind if she borrowed a pair to wear with her wellies? She opened one of the top drawers. There they were. She pulled a rolled pair apart. ‘Holy bulldozer.' Size thirteen thickened wool. Workman's socks. Well, they wouldn't be seen once she had her wellies on.

While she changed and put on the socks and wellies, her mind waged war. Should she take a peek in his wardrobe? In the other drawers in the chest? In the bedside tables? No, of course she shouldn't. But her mind's counsel did nothing to appease her curiosity. It would be rude to search through his possessions. However, she did need a hat and maybe Jamie had a baseball cap somewhere. Like on the top shelf of the wardrobe. No. Just boxes and folded jumpers. Maybe he'd tucked a hat in his bedside drawer.

As she pulled at the drawer, she knew she wasn't looking for a hat, but hey, the handle was in her fingers, and hey — the drawer was open. Her heartbeat pounded as she rifled through pens and notepads filled with notes about equipment and mathematical calculations. He must work at all hours. He had a huge chalkboard in the kitchen, and that too was peppered with lists about metal fixings and epoxy resins.

Her fingertips rested on a photograph frame. Plain silver, usual plywood backing and flip-out support. Upside down though, so she couldn't see the picture of who or what was in the frame. She tapped it. This
was
rude. Downright intrusive. She should leave it. She shouldn't be looking in his bedside drawer in the first place.

She pulled the photo frame out and turned it over.

Her heart danced with a surprisingly resentful tempo. She took a breath, swallowed the unease about her nosiness and gave herself a moment to adjust to the funny nausea inside her which had now reached her stomach. Jealousy. Because Jamie had a photo of a beautiful young woman in his bedside drawer?