Man Drought (2 page)

‘So,’ Jenna said, leaning across the table to top up Imogen’s glass and then her own, ‘what are you going to do with your house?’

Imogen’s heart constricted a little. Her friend hadn’t mentioned Jamie but they all knew the house had belonged to him as well. In fact, the last house they’d renovated – an early settler’s stone cottage in Guildford – had been more about him than her. From the moment he’d seen it advertised on the net, he’d been envisaging having kids and growing old there. And she’d quickly bought into the dream. Jamie had taken leave from his job as a firefighter to do it up, while Imogen had worked extra shifts at the wine bar to pay the bills.

‘I’m putting it on the market.’

‘Are you sure it’s the right thing to do?’ Amy’s caring tone conveyed her reservations.

Imogen swallowed. She didn’t want to cry here. Not today, the day that marked her fresh start. ‘Yes.’ She paused, garnering the courage to continue. ‘Even in today’s property market, it’s in a good location, not far from the train line. There’s nothing anyone would need to do to it and it has lots of charm and style. I think it’ll sell quickly, and then I can put the extra money into doing up this place.’

‘No arguments here,’ Jenna said, ‘but I think Amy meant your emotional wellbeing.’

Amy nodded. ‘Your house is the last bit of Jamie you’ve got.’

Imogen chuckled and shook her head at her friends. ‘You two have spent the last couple of years telling me it’s time to move on, and now that I’m trying to, you’re worried?’

‘We’re your best friends. It’s our job to be worried.’ Amy grabbed Imogen’s hand across the table and gave it a squeeze. ‘It’s ‘cos we love you. You know that, right?’

Jenna took another sip of champagne, then added, ‘You know I’m not one for warm fuzzies, but she’s right. We’re just looking out for you.’

‘I love you guys too. And if we weren’t surrounded by blokes, I’d pull you both into a group hug.’ She took a deep breath, then spoke seriously. ‘I am sad to sell the house, but living there isn’t good for me anymore. Everywhere I look, every room I go into, he’s there. And while I never ever want to forget him—’

‘You won’t,’ interrupted the others in unison.

‘I know.’ Imogen smiled and placed her hand on her chest. ‘He’ll always be in here, but I’m only thirty. I need to get my life back. I need to find something new to live for.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Jenna turned and took another good look around the pub. ‘I think your ideas are fantastic and I’ll gladly offer my services on weekends. I’m always up for a good challenge, and besides, I’ll need my Imogen fix every couple of weeks.’

Imogen couldn’t help snorting. ‘I never thought I’d hear you offer to leave the city.’

‘Me neither,’ laughed Amy, rubbing her tummy.

‘I have ulterior motives.’ Jenna leaned in towards the table and lowered her voice. The smile on her face told Imogen those motives even before her friend spoke. ‘I’ve been watching, and some of the men I’ve noticed in here aren’t too bad-looking.’

In the last few hours, the pub had all but filled with men as they’d knocked off work. From their outfits, Imogen guessed that
most of them worked on local farms. Loud, happy men, muscular and sweaty from hard manual labour. So different to the crew that came into the Subiaco wine bar she currently worked in. Most of them wore shirts and ties even on the weekends, and thought lifting a flat pack from Ikea constituted hard manual labour.

‘Ten o’clock, at the bar,’ Jenna continued. ‘I’ve had my eyes on him since he walked in the door.’

They all turned to follow Jenna’s directions.

‘Oh Mary, mother of Jesus.’ Amy smiled and fanned her face. ‘I may be happily married but I can appreciate good eye candy. And that there is
quality
candy.’

Yep, Imogen couldn’t deny she’d noticed that man too. A tiny, unwanted bubble of lust had erupted low in her belly when she’d first laid eyes on him. But that hadn’t been tonight. He’d been in the pub when she’d first come to see it with the real estate agent.

The man in question leaned sideways against the bar now. He was tall with liquorice-dark hair and a two-day growth along his jawline. He wore faded jeans and a flannelette shirt rolled up at the elbows. She didn’t know how he could bear it in the heat, but on him flannelette looked incredibly sexy. He wasn’t in a group like most of the others; rather, he nursed a lone schooner of beer and talked to Charlie whenever he wasn’t busy. The current owners of the pub also attended the bar and meals were starting to be served, but Charlie made plenty of time to chat with this guy.

‘Good Lord, I think we’ve been sprung,’ said Jenna with a slight giggle.

Imogen refocused her attentions to see Charlie and the man staring at their table. The man said something to Charlie, he responded, and the man scowled and then turned back to his drink. He downed the last half in two seconds flat, then barely flicked her a glance as he stalked out of the pub.

Imogen got the distinct impression his quick departure had
something to do with them. Unease washed over her. Although she didn’t care what one particular man thought of her – the only man whose opinion ever mattered was dead – she didn’t like being judged without a trial. And she had a feeling that’s exactly what had just happened.

‘What I want to know,’ Amy asked, once again jolting Imogen from her reverie, ‘is where are all the women?’

So, they’d finally noticed. And finally asked a question she could answer without having to rein in her emotions. ‘There hardly are any. The town’s population is ninety percent male.’

‘Hmm.’ Jenna took a sip of her drink, leaned back in her chair and smiled. ‘I’m liking this idea of yours more and more.’

Gibson had noticed the three women sitting at the table by the window the moment he entered the pub. They stood out like a mirage on a dry road. Women were few and far between in Gibson’s Find and that was the way he liked it. What had been a reasonably good day spent cleaning and servicing machinery now took a nosedive.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at his shirt collar as he wove through the dinner crowd, nodding at a few locals, his mates Guy and Wazza, and a couple of contractors who’d been out at Roseglen before. He was one of the lucky ones who lived close enough to town to be able to come down to the pub almost every night for a cold one, not that distance seemed to keep many away. Travellers might not think The Majestic had much to offer but aside from work and sport, there wasn’t much else to keep a guy occupied around here. While he’d never be such a frequent patron if it weren’t for Charlie, Gibson generally enjoyed the camaraderie he found at The Majestic. As in most country towns, the pub was an icon, perhaps more vital for morale than any other business.

Today, he headed straight for the bar, not pausing to engage in small talk with anyone.

‘Gibby!’ Charlie beamed when he saw him. No one else in the world called him Gibby, but he didn’t mind Charlie doing so. ‘Your usual?’

‘Yes please.’ He trained his eyes on his grandfather as Charlie grabbed a glass. He refused to give in to the temptation to turn around and take a better look at the three ladies, but his mind wouldn’t stop with the questions about what they were doing here. Gibson’s Find wasn’t exactly a holiday destination, and it was hardly the type of place three city women – and they were definitely city women – would choose.

If his ears served him correctly, the piercing giggles told him they’d already imbibed quite a lot of alcohol, which meant they had to be staying in town. He itched to ask Charlie if they’d booked a room, but that would alert him to his interest. And he wasn’t interested. Well, not in the way his granddad would think, or hope.

Charlie put a glass of Carlton Dry down on the bar between them and nodded to the specials blackboard behind him. ‘We’ve got that pasta you like tonight. Can I tempt you?’

Gibson took a sip of his drink and then wiped some foam off his upper lip with the back of his hand. He’d been ravenous when he’d parked his ute, but seeing strange women in the pub had distracted him from his hunger. He wasn’t a misogynist, not at all. He liked women and sex as much as the next bloke, but his days of wanting either in Gibson’s Find were over.

‘What’s the deal with those three?’ He didn’t nod his head in their direction or turn to look. Aside from Cathy, who owned the pub with her husband Trevor, the trio by the window were the only people with XX chromosomes in the joint. There were some other women in town – a couple married to middle-aged
farmers, a few who worked in the shire offices, and then the few widows who tried to keep the local CWA alive – but they rarely ventured into the pub.

‘You noticed them, hey?’

Gibson glared at Charlie’s upturned lips. ‘Of course I noticed them. I can’t remember the last time there were new women round here.’

‘Interested?’

‘Nope. Just curious.’

Charlie’s propped his elbows against the bar. ‘You can’t blame an old man for trying.’

Actually, he could, but he didn’t see the point. Gibson had made it more than clear on a number of occasions that he wasn’t interested in finding another woman to settle down with, but it seemed that the more he protested, the more Charlie ignored his wishes. Luckily, despite Charlie’s fervent intentions, the lack of single women in the area hindered his efforts. Gibson wasn’t complaining.

Charlie sighed, seemingly disappointed that he couldn’t rouse Gibson’s interest. ‘One of them, I think the redhead with the big kahoonas—-’

‘Granddad!’

‘Sorry, breasts.’ He chuckled and continued. ‘She’s buying the pub.’

‘She’s what?’ Gibson racked his brain, trying to think if he’d noticed a Sold sticker on the For Sale sign that had hung outside The Majestic for the last two years. One of the things about a small town with next to no women was the lack of gossip. Usually it wasn’t a problem, but in situations like this …

‘Buying the pub. She signed the papers last week. Handover is in a month.’

Gibson gulped and gave in to the urge he’d been fighting since he walked in the door. He turned and unashamedly stared at the
female trio, zooming in on the beauty with red hair and a rather large … bust. Not too large, but big enough to cup in his hands –
shit
, what was he thinking?

He shook his head and turned back to Charlie. ‘Her and her husband?’

‘No. She came a few weeks ago to have a look, and I asked Cathy and Trev about her later. Only her name on the contract.’

‘That’s insane.’ He looked around the pub at the rowdy mob of blue-collar workers. They were generally in good spirits, but if a brawl kicked off, how was she supposed to handle it? She couldn’t be much over twenty-five and she couldn’t rely on Charlie. At eighty-two, he wouldn’t stand a chance against an irate patron, although he’d give it his best shot. ‘What about you? Will she want an old bloke hanging around still?’

‘Nuff of the “old”, thanks. But don’t worry your pretty little head about me, Gibby. Cathy and Trev wrote me into the contract. The old girl and I,’ he waved his arms around, gesturing to his surroundings, ‘we’re a package deal.’

Gibson tapped his fingers on the bar top, resisting the urge to ball his fingers into fists. ‘She’ll never last. A pub’s no place for a woman on her own. This town’s no place for a woman.’

‘We’ll see.’ Gibson detected a hint of amusement in his grandfather’s voice. The man was mocking him. ‘So, can I interest you in the pasta?’

Gibson took one more look at the girls then shook his head. ‘No thanks, I’m not hungry. See you tomorrow.’

Before Charlie could say more, Gibson downed the rest of his beer, turned and walked out of the pub.

One Month Later

Imogen spent most of her first full day in Gibson’s Find in The Majestic’s tiny office, sweating in the late summer heat and discussing the handover with the previous owners. According to the contract, Cathy and Trevor had to stay on site for ten days to help Imogen learn the ropes, but the middle-aged couple were eager to leave sooner if possible. They were getting ready to head off in their shiny new caravan on a tour of Australia, and Imogen was looking forward to having the place to herself.

She knew The Majestic would be hard work, but that’s what she wanted – needed – to keep her mind from dwelling on the past.

Cathy was giving her a crash course – everything from the staffing arrangements and the ordering of new liquor and food supplies to the system for taking accommodation bookings. After a day of it, Imogen’s head spun from all she’d learnt but she appreciated Cathy’s attention to detail. With her experience of running
the wine bar in Perth, she had her own ideas for overhauling some of these ancient systems, but she didn’t want to sound ungrateful by telling the older woman. As helpful as Cathy and Trevor were, with them hanging around, she felt as if a teacher were constantly watching over her shoulder.

At half past five Trevor poked his head around the door. ‘You girls finished yet?’

He wore a chef’s outfit that could no longer be classified as white, and his round face was red and shiny from the heat in the kitchen. As a couple, he and Cathy had always held very defined roles within the pub. Trevor handled the menu, any heavy lifting and all the cooking, while Cathy did the bookkeeping, managed their limited staff and sweet-talked the boys that treated the bar as their home night after night. From what Imogen had seen, the regulars all adored Cathy – none of them seemed to care about the derelict state of the building.

Imogen had big shoes to fill. And even though she’d hired a backpacker to work the bar and had a chef arriving soon from Perth, she was more than a little nervous about what she was taking on.

Trying not to let these thoughts overwhelm her, she looked up and smiled at Trevor. ‘I don’t know about Cathy, but I think I’ve almost reached information overload.’

‘Good.’ Trevor grinned and scratched the back of his neck. ‘Because the pub’s starting to fill up. I think you’re going to be thrown in the deep end tonight.’

‘Sorry love,’ Cathy said. ‘I feel bad running out on you, but my book club would never forgive me if I didn’t go to my goodbye dinner.’

Imogen nodded. Cathy had mentioned her monthly trek to the nearest town to meet with a bunch of other ladies and talk about books. She’d also confessed that they talked more about men and
their unsatisfying sex lives than about literature. Tonight the group were throwing her a farewell party and Imogen had agreed to man the bar with Charlie.

‘It’s fine,’ Imogen said, trying not to think about a bunch of fifty-something-year-old women sitting round a table, talking sex. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting the locals. I’ll just go get changed.’

‘See you soon, then.’ Trevor retreated down the corridor.

Imogen thanked Cathy for all her patience and then headed to her new abode above the pub. Like the rest of the building, the publican’s residence had seen better days. Her first priority would be restoring the public parts of the building, but in the few spare moments since she’d arrived, she’d done her best to make her private quarters comfortable. Cathy and Trevor had moved out the previous week and were ‘road-testing’ their caravan in the hotel’s car park, but Imogen didn’t think she’d truly consider the apartment her home until they’d left town.

Now she slid her key into the door – Trevor had advised her to keep it locked even when she was downstairs on the premises – and headed for her new bedroom. Eerie silence filled her apartment. A silence almost as bad as the one in her house after Jamie died. She blew a kiss at his photo on her bedside table and stripped off her denim shorts and t-shirt. While in the office, she hadn’t spared much thought to her appearance, but tonight she was officially stepping out as the new publican and she wanted to look the part.

She opened the wardrobe door and smiled at the neat picture in front of her. She knew it wouldn’t last – Jamie found her tendency to dump clothes on the floor or at the end of the bed infuriating – but right now it did look rather nice. Maybe she’d try a little bit harder to keep her living quarters tidy. Flicking through the outfits she’d bought to wear in the pub, she chose a knee-length black skirt and a short-sleeved checked shirt. She shook her head, ran her fingers through her hair and then finished by shovelling
it all into a high ponytail. She washed her face and smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she slapped on a layer of foundation, a swipe of mascara on each eyelash and then a little gloss across her lips. Professional but not overdone. Excitement kicked her stomach over as she thought about the evening ahead.

Imogen would be the first to admit she’d been a bit of a recluse since Jamie had died. Apart from work nights, she could count the number of times she’d been out in the evening on one hand. At first she hadn’t been able to summon the enthusiasm to dress up, and then, staying in and dreaming of happier times became a habit. When Jenna had finally conned her into attending her work Christmas party a year ago, she spent the whole evening sick to the stomach with guilt that she was out enjoying herself (or at least trying to) when Jamie would never spend a night out with friends again.

She hated the guilt. It took over the grief for a while there, ate at her insides so that she couldn’t physically stomach food if she wasn’t at work or at home. It made her angry and aggressive. She’d been dragged to more parties since that first one, cringing every time someone tried to talk to her and spending most of the evening staring at her watch. She hated that everyone looked at her with pity and sympathy when they spoke. She’d got to the stage where she’d had to actively refrain from throwing glasses of wine at genuinely nice people, people she and Jamie had once considered good friends.

But the kicker had been when people stopped talking about Jamie, stopped looking at her with pity and started looking at her as potential. Potential dates. Or worse, potential for matchmaking. Friends who had given up on trying to find Jenna a partner now transferred their attentions to her. They seemed to forget she’d already found her life partner. Just because he’d died didn’t change the fact Jamie was The One.

Every time she thought about those nights, her skin crawled.

She shook her head, shaking off the memories. This was a new adventure, no one here was privy to her unfortunate past. She’d be the ballbreaker publican, too busy, too ambitious for romance and love, and she’d make damn sure everyone knew it. Holding her head high, she switched on the bedside lamp so she could see her way in the dark later and blew another kiss at Jamie’s photo.

‘Wish me luck, good-looking.’

As she descended the stairs she could already hear the combined noise of Aussie rock music and blokes raising their voices to be heard. Mouth-watering aromas wafted up from the kitchen. She rubbed her rumbling stomach, hoping she’d get the chance to steal a bite to eat. Trevor’s burgers were apparently to-die-for, and she wouldn’t have many more opportunities to try one.

At the entrance to the bar she paused and took in the scene. According to local legend most country pubs struggled to lure a crowd these days, but The Majestic had no trouble tonight. At almost six o’clock the place was crammed with men in every available nook and cranny. Some played darts (she hadn’t seen a dart board in a city establishment for years) and the two pool tables were heaving. She was positively dressed up compared to all the patrons, most of whom appeared to have come straight from work. Would they put a bit of effort into their appearance if there were women here as well?

Imogen’s thoughts were sidelined as her gaze snapped to the bar. Old Charlie looked knackered as he shuffled back and forth pulling schooners of beer and taking money. She rushed to his aid, brushing past a couple of guys as she did so.

‘Wa-hey, what have we here?’

‘Nice skirt!’

She ignored their comments and launched straight into action. ‘Hey Charlie,’ she said, waving briefly in greeting. ‘Who’s next?’

Charlie grinned at her, ancient smile lines evident at the corner
of his eyes. She’d got to know him better since arriving and already knew he had a heart of gold. He’d spent much of their time together telling her exactly what the town had been like in its ‘heyday’, as he put it. He made it sound magical.

‘Him,’ he said, gesturing with one thumb towards the other end of the bar.

Imogen spun on her heels and it took less than a second for her body to recognise the guy in question: the guy Jenna had gushed over the day they’d visited. Imogen’s green eyes locked with his dark scowling ones, and liquid heat almost floored her. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she’d just been blasted with the lust bug, but it had to be something else. The way he looked at her, like he had a personal vendetta against her, made her mouth go dry. Did
he
have to be her first customer?

Refusing to be put off by a mere male – and deciding she’d like to be the one to make the guy who never smiled smile – she summoned her most saccharine grin and spoke. ‘Hi there. What can I do for you this evening?’

Although he didn’t reply, he raised his eyebrows and she wanted to kick herself for her unfortunate choice of words. Did he think she was flirting? The nerve of him.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead stretched her smile until her jaw ached. ‘I mean, to drink?’ She hoped he detected the patronising tone beneath her sickly sweet demeanour. ‘What can I get you to drink?’

‘Just an OJ, thanks. I’m not staying.’

Dammit
. First night on the job and instead of buttering up the customers she’d managed to alienate one of them. Vowing to pick up her act, she glanced down the price list in front of her. ‘Three dollars sixty, thanks.’

He handed her a five-dollar bill and she took it, careful not to touch him in the process. He’d no doubt assume she’d done it on
purpose. She stashed the money in the till, gave him his change and was happy for the ten-second reprieve from his intense gaze as she turned away to grab a bottle of juice from the fridge. She couldn’t help studying his reflection in the glass.

Despite her annoyance, she was woman enough to admit he had handsome down to a fine art, if you liked that brand of handsome. She could certainly understand what Jenna saw in him. He was just her type: tall and tanned with muscles bulging beneath his slightly-too-tight work shirt. His dark hair was a tad too long; Jenna would say perfect to rake her fingers through, Imogen would say scruffy. Jenna would also like the fashionable two-day stubble, whereas Imogen had always thought such a look signalled a man’s laziness and nonchalance towards personal hygiene.

Jamie was as masculine as they come, but he’d always taken the time to shave, and she’d never had to worry about getting stubble rash when she kissed him.

Not that she’d have to worry about that with this man either.

He cleared his throat. ‘Having trouble finding it?’

Argh
, caught. She scowled a scowl she hoped he couldn’t see in the reflection of the glass and summoned the plastic smile. Refusing to bite his grumpy bait, she turned back towards him. ‘Would you like it in a glass?’

‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

‘Not at all.’ Her face would crack if she held it like this much longer, but she would not give him the satisfaction of flummoxing her. This was her pub and if he didn’t like it, she’d be more than happy to show him the exit. She stood right in front of him as she twisted the lid off the bottle and poured the contents into a cold schooner glass, all the while praying she wouldn’t spill any. ‘There you go.’ She placed the drink in front of him and barely waited to hear his ‘Thanks’. Hopefully his grumpiness wasn’t indicative of the rest of the clientele.

Ten minutes later, she’d served at least ten more men, all of whom she’d willingly given genuine smiles and friendly service. They’d offered their names and returned her smiles with goofy grins and promises to show her round Gibson’s Find any time she wanted. Although she wouldn’t take any of them up on their offers, each warm welcome reassured Imogen that she’d made the right decision in moving here.

There seemed to be a lull, so she told Charlie she’d go and clear a few tables. Grabbing a tray, she began weaving through the men, collecting glasses and pausing every now and then to meet someone new and answer questions. Her feet already ached but her heart felt light and happy. Everyone was just so friendly. Well, almost everyone. As long as Mr Grouchy made good on his promise to leave after the juice, she’d have an enjoyable first evening.

At the thought, her head swivelled, as if of its own free will, to where he’d been leaning against the bar. She bit her lip; no matter how dismissive he’d been, she wondered why he was drinking in solitude when everyone else appeared to be part of a group. He turned, caught her looking and glowered.

Well fine, that’d be the last bit of human sympathy she wasted on him.

‘No point wasting your time lusting after Gibbo, honey.’

Embarrassed that she’d been caught looking, Imogen followed the voice to a middle-aged man sitting on a chair nearby. ‘I … I wasn’t.’ She hated anyone thinking she was lusting after anyone – that was sacrilege to Jamie. About to tell him exactly this, she bit her tongue at the last moment.
New start, fresh slate
.

‘Right.’ The man obviously didn’t believe her.

Torn between having it out with him and trying to distract his misled thoughts, she chose a combination of the two. She put the tray with the empty glasses on the table and held out her hand.
‘I’m Imogen Bates, the new publican. Thanks for the advice, but it’s really quite unnecessary.’

‘Tom Davies.’ His grip was firm and warm as he shook. ‘My missus cleans the rooms for you.’