Man Drought (20 page)

He just knew that if he did go back to town, if he did offer Imogen the apology she deserved, she’d take one look at him and know that there was something else, that the throwaway comment about all women being like Serena was something she’d want to pry into. As independent as she was, she was a woman, and that meant
talking things through
, going over and over them until you both wondered what actually started the discussion in the first place. They may have agreed to be friends, but he had no intention of sharing with her what was at the root of his disastrous marriage.

He swore to himself – on the day he learned the truth, and then again on the day Serena packed her bags and sped up the gravel drive in that ridiculous Audi convertible – that nothing – not Charlie, not another woman, not torture by foreign spies – would induce him to reveal his secret. He was man enough to live with it, to change his life, to moderate his ambitions, his dreams, but that didn’t mean anyone else had to know. It didn’t mean he had to put up with their thoughts, suggestions,
opinions
of what he should do to remedy the situation. As if he hadn’t thought of them anyway. What did they
think
he’d thought about, lying in his empty four-poster on those cold, lonely winter nights after Serena had gone? How the hell could he have thought about anything else?

On Monday evening, Imogen lifted her hair straightener, closed the tongs around a chunk of near-dry frizz and groaned at her reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t dressed up in an age and she was out of practice.

All this effort – a flimsy pink sundress, lots more make-up than she usually wore, heels and the hair – was for Charlie, to thank him for going to the effort of making dinner. Yeah, right … She’d never been much of a liar, and lying to herself she had about as much chance of success as she would if she tried to teach her parents’ blue heeler to sing opera. Buckley’s.

Fact was, she’d barely thought about anyone or anything else but Gibson since Saturday night. She was angsty over the way he’d departed, worried that there was something going on that she – as a friend – should try to help him with. Her anger waned in the early hours of the morning as she’d run – she reasoned that his actions and his opinions had to be rooted in deep pain
– and she couldn’t deny that she missed him. Even the Jenna-Guy dilemma had taken a backseat. Despite a good crowd in the pub on Sunday night, it had felt empty to her. A truckie had spent the evening glued to Gibson’s bar stool. Some of the local boys made an effort to engage her in conversation and she’d tried, dammit, she’d tried to be attentive and friendly, but she feared she’d failed miserably. More than one patron asked her if she was okay and she sensed Cal, Pauli and even Charlie had been walking on eggshells around her.

No matter what she tried, she’d been unable to snap out of her funk until today, when she’d woken up knowing there were only hours until she’d see
him
again. And that made her feel better – a fact she didn’t want to analyse too closely.

Her mobile phone buzzed from the bedroom, and she was so deep in thought that she almost dropped the hair straightener. She saved the fall but managed to burn herself in the process.

‘Youch.’ Shaking her hand, she dashed out of the en suite and across the room to answer the phone. According to Sod’s Law, the phone stopped ringing just as her non-burnt hand closed around it. ‘Dammit.’

She glanced at the screen and uttered a harsher curse as she registered the name of her missed caller:
Jenna
. It was her first call of the day, the first since last week, and the first since she’d learnt of Guy’s weekend in the city. Desperate to talk to her friend, Imogen rang back, but the busy tone only caused more frustration.

Her hand throbbed, reminding her of what the call had interrupted; reminding her she didn’t have all night to faff about. Deciding to call Jenna first thing in the morning, she stepped back into the en suite to finish.

Judging by the reception when she went down to the pub half an hour later, she hadn’t done too badly at all.

‘Wow.’ Cal wolf-whistled and paused in the process of pulling a glass of beer. ‘Charlie is one lucky guy.’

Of course, Imogen blushed. As far as she could tell, no one knew Gibson had also been invited to Charlie’s special dinner. Pushing that thought aside, she revelled in the lovely attention she received not only from Cal, Pauli and Karen, who’d volunteered to fill in for the evening, but also from the blokes scattered around the pub.

Their compliments made her wonder why she’d shoved fashion and make-up aside for so long. Perhaps paying more attention to her presentation was the key to feeling better about herself?

‘Are you sure you’ll all be okay tonight?’ she asked, fiddling with the strap on her shoulder bag, ready to yank it off and throw herself into work if required.

‘Go.’ Paulie made shooing motions with her hands. ‘We’ll be fine.’

‘You’ve got my mobile number, just in case?’

Cal rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. ‘Your mobile is programmed into all of ours, but even if it wasn’t, you’ve plastered it all over the bar, office and kitchen. We’ll probably all have it memorised by the end of the night. Go!’

‘Okay, okay, I get the message.’ Imogen grabbed a bottle of wine from behind the bar and then started towards the door before someone decided to pick her up and throw her out. The fact they cared and thought she deserved the break warmed her insides as if she’d just indulged in a hot chocolate with all the trimmings. Once outside, the balmy evening wind hit her cheeks, and she received another round of compliments from the guys at the outdoor tables. She made small talk for a few moments about the upcoming footy season, and then politely excused herself. Not wanting to arrive hot and sweaty, she slowed her steps as she walked the back-streets
to Charlie’s house. Lost in thoughts about what his cooking would be like, she didn’t hear Gibson’s ute approaching until he’d almost caught up to her.

‘Evening.’ At his greeting through the open car window her insides melted. Just for once she wished she could be prepared for her body’s reaction. She took a quick breath before turning towards him and smiling. She’d already decided if he didn’t mention their altercation over Jenna and Guy, she wouldn’t either. She didn’t want anything to spoil Charlie’s special dinner.

‘Hi,’ she said, offering a silly little wave.

‘Hi yourself. Can I give you a lift?’ Even from the distance she was at, she noticed Gibson’s Adam’s apple moving up and down as his eyes roved down her body. That body reacted as if his eyes were fingers, touching every inch of her intimately. The appreciative looks of the guys in the pub had been fabulous for her self-confidence but they were nothing like Gibson’s gaze. Their stares hadn’t sparked a heat in her core that his long, lusty looks did now. She suddenly felt so weak she didn’t know if she could walk the tiny distance to his ute.

Somehow she managed and he leaned over and pushed the passenger door open. As she slid into the seat, her traitorous mind imagined he might kiss her, but he remained the perfect gentleman.

‘Did you have a busy Sunday?’ she asked, almost swallowing her tongue at the sight she hadn’t noticed while standing in the dusk light. She wasn’t the only one who’d made an effort. Was that cologne? Imogen wanted to lean over and smell his neck where it emerged from the top of a crisp grey shirt, to run her fingers through his hair, which once again was still wet from the shower. Instead, she gave her eyes permission to look down. Smart black chinos and shiny black shoes had replaced his workwear and dusty boots. She didn’t know which side of Gibson she liked better: the rugged cowboy, Akubra hat and all, or this polished man of the
world. Then again, maybe she didn’t care. Maybe where he was concerned, she wasn’t actually all that fussy.

Oh Lord!

Just before they reached Charlie’s house, she realised he’d been answering her question, telling her about his day, and she hadn’t heard a word of it. She didn’t want to look rude, so she made a few interested noises and breathed a sigh of relief when Gibson turned into Charlie’s drive.

Getting out and traipsing up the garden path alongside Gibson felt somewhat awkward. Did he feel the same way? As the path narrowed near the porch, her hand accidentally brushed his and she pulled it back in embarrassment, immediately regretting her haste. She felt like a teenager on a first date, which was preposterous on so many levels – the main one being the fact they’d already done the deed together, and both agreed it wasn’t going to happen again.

They took three steps up onto the porch and then stopped in front of the door. She waited to take her lead from Gibson, thinking he might just head inside. But whether he would normally do so or not, today he lifted his sexy hand – gosh, why did she have to notice this kind of stuff? – and rapped on the wooden door. Imogen took the few moments to glance up and down the porch, smiling at the ancient rocker and the abundance of pot plants. When Charlie didn’t answer after what seemed like a reasonable amount of time, even taking into account the way he shuffled, they both glanced at each other awkwardly. Imogen saw her own anxiety reflected in Gibson’s eyes.

‘Maybe he’s got the music up loud?’ she suggested, with a hopeful shrug.

Gibson shook his head. ‘He likes silence while he cooks.’ Creases tainted his usually smooth forehead but she resisted the urge to reach out and smooth them.

‘Oh.’ And now that she listened, the house did sound silent. ‘Well, what should we do?’

In reply, Gibson slipped his hand into his pocket and conjured a lone key. She nodded as he slipped it into the lock and pushed the door open. He stepped inside and headed down a short corridor. Imogen closed the door behind them and followed him into the living room. They found Charlie sitting peacefully on a two-seater tapestry couch with a tea towel over his head.

Imogen gasped, and for a second contemplated the worst. Gibson acted quickly, stepping forward and yanking the tea towel off his grandfather’s head.

Charlie startled, opening his eyes. He blinked and then struggled to his feet. Gibson reached out to steady the old man as they both eyed each other suspiciously. Soon, Charlie’s attention shifted to Imogen and she smiled as he scrutinised her. He looked back to Gibson. ‘You two off some place fancy?’

Gibson’s brows knitted together. He obviously had no idea what to say, or what to do next, and unfortunately she didn’t have the answers either. ‘Granddad, you invited us for dinner tonight. Don’t you remember?’

An awkward silence hung over them. Imogen could almost see Charlie’s brain ticking over. He looked back and forth between them again and then his nostrils flared and his cheeks grew red. As if hit with the clarity bug, he snapped, ‘That was supposed to be tomorrow.’

‘I don’t think so, it’s Cal’s night off tomorrow,’ Imogen said, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Charlie looked angry, almost like a stranger. ‘Must have been some misunderstanding,’ Charlie decided, his lower lip pushed out considerably further than his upper one.

‘That’s fine, Granddad, our mistake,’ said Gibson quickly. ‘How about I go get some takeaway from the pub and bring it back
here? We can still have a nice evening.’ He looked to Imogen for assistance.

She nodded. ‘Oh yes, Pauli’s chilli-and-paprika-crumbed cutlets are on the menu tonight.’ She rubbed her tummy. ‘Great idea.’

‘No.’ Charlie’s voice was like a gunshot. ‘I said I’d make dinner for you and that’s exactly what I intend to do, even if you did turn up twenty-four hours early. Sit.’ He pointed at the tiny sofa.

Like two naughty kids, they scuttled to the couch and plopped down. Even with them sitting at the ends, Imogen could practically feel Gibson’s thigh against her own. Suddenly desperate for a glass of wine, she remembered the bottle she’d brought. One glance at the stricken look on Gibson’s face told her he could do with a drink too. She held up the bottle while Charlie bent to pick a remote off a coffee table scattered with old farming magazines.

‘Can I interest you in a glass, Charlie?’ She made to stand. He all but snatched the bottle from her grip and gestured for her to stay put.

‘Lovely,’ he said shortly. He tucked the bottle under his arm, and aimed the remote at the kind of stereo she hadn’t expected to find in an old man’s house. Immediately, soft – undeniably romantic – jazz filled the room. ‘You two make yourselves comfortable while I get the drinks. Back in a moment.’

He padded out of the room and Imogen and Gibson’s eyes met in shared concern. ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ she said. ‘Maybe we really did just cross wires.’

He nodded and half smiled. ‘Maybe,’ he said on a sigh. She desperately wanted to talk this through with him, but with Charlie only a room away she didn’t want to be overheard. The old man’s feelings were of paramount importance to her and she knew Gibson felt the same.

When Charlie returned, his famous smile was back in prime position. ‘Here y’are.’ He flourished two crystal champagne glasses
at her and Gibson. The colour, bubbles and fruity aroma she smelled as she took her glass told Imogen it wasn’t filled with her mediocre offering but with the finest sparkling wine. She thought back to her talk with Charlie about how he wanted Gibson to find happiness again and guessed the wine was one step of a wicked plan. However misguided, she couldn’t help but find his attempts at matchmaking sweet.

‘Aren’t you joining us?’ she asked, looking to Charlie as her fingers caressed the stem of the beautiful glass.

‘Not yet. You kids enjoy yourselves.’ With that directive, he turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

‘Maybe you’re right.’ Gibson visibly relaxed as he leaned back into the couch. He smiled at her as he gestured around the room and held up his glass. ‘Expensive champagne, seductive music; I’d say Charlie knows exactly what he’s doing. If we’d turned up tomorrow he’d no doubt have had the kitchen table decked out with a fancy cloth and candles and the meal all ready.’ He took the first sip of his champagne.

‘I think it’s sweet. He just wants you to be happy.’

‘And you.’ Gibson tipped his head towards her. ‘He thinks you’re the duck’s nuts.’

She laughed. ‘And that’s a good thing?’

‘Oh yeah, that’s a very good thing.’

A delicious shiver flooded her body at the way he said these words. Not wanting to feel such things, she focused on savouring the deliciousness of the wine instead. ‘Has he done this before?’ She was curious whether this treatment had been offered up to someone else before her.

‘No. He’s made suggestions, but … this is new.’

An embarrassing thought struck her. ‘Does he know we’ve …’ Heat rushed to her cheeks as she gestured between them, unable to bring herself to say the words out loud.

‘He knows.’ Gibson’s lips formed an undeniable smirk.

She wanted to slap him. ‘Gibson, it’s one thing flapping your jaws about your conquests to mates, but to your
grandfather
?’

‘I would never talk about you or anyone I’ve slept with to the boys. Or Granddad. Never. Charlie confronted me about it.’

Shame rolled over her and the burning sensation in her cheeks increased. What must Charlie think of her? She took a much-needed sip of her wine and groaned.

Gibson drank again too and then, as if he had a direct line to her thoughts, said, ‘Don’t worry. He doesn’t think badly of you. It’s me he wants to stone. This is probably his way of showing me the proper way to woo a woman.’