Man Drought (28 page)

‘Oh.’ An awkward pause. ‘Well, I suppose it has been a while since she left. How do you feel about it?’

‘Fine. I’m happy for her. Just a shock, seeing her after all this time. I don’t really want to talk about it.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Charlie opened the magazine from
The Weekend West
and settled in to read.

But not talking about Serena and her pregnancy didn’t mean Gibson stopped thinking about her. When he and Charlie finally arrived back in Gibson’s Find, the last thing he felt like doing was facing the pub, facing Imogen. But he’d promised to tell her how Charlie had been, and if nothing else, he was a man of his word.

‘Imogen!’

She startled at Cal’s call and almost dropped the glass she’d been polishing. She’d like to say she’d been going over her to do list – an extensive inventory of preparations for Man Drought – but that would have been a lie. She’d been daydreaming. Again.

‘Do you mind serving Wazza?’ Cal nodded towards the other side of the bar.

The pub was getting busy – unheard of for a Sunday night a couple of months ago, but now not unusual at all. It seemed the locals liked what she’d done to the place. There were even a few couples: women who never ventured into the bar before she arrived but whom she’d discovered did exist, sipping bottles of beer or glasses of wine with their smug husbands. They started to come out of the woodwork when she’d first raised the idea of the Man Drought weekend, and all voiced their enthusiasm for Imogen’s plan to bring more oestrogen back to the region. Many of these couples had volunteered their spare rooms when the accommodation at The Majestic had filled.

‘Imogen? Hello?’ At Cal’s voice, she realised she’d drifted off again. What the hell was wrong with her?

‘Sorry Warren,’ she turned to her patron. ‘What can I get for you?’

‘Just the usual, please. Got an early start tomorrow, so I’d better make it my last.’ He leaned in close. ‘What’s the dress code for this … uh … Man Drought thing?’

Imogen tried not to smile at the first sign of uncertainty she’d ever seen in Warren. He was usually Mr Cocky. ‘Smart casual on Friday and Saturday nights, and casual during the day. That help?’ she asked, pouring him a glass of Carlton Dry.

‘Yeah, great.’ He passed her his money. ‘My sister’s sending me a couple of new shirts from Perth, but I didn’t want to go overboard.’

‘You’ll be perfect.’ And she meant it. Some smart woman would
look past Warren’s class-clown charms and see the genuine and sweet man inside.

‘Thanks.’ He held up his glass to show his approval, then swaggered off to join Guy and some other mates around the pool table. Not Gibson, though. He was still at the football with Charlie. She glanced at her watch – almost eight o’clock. The game would be long over and they’d be on their way home. He’d promised to pop in after dropping Charlie home, but he could be tired after the round trip to Perth. He could change his mind.

She felt a hand on her arm and jumped.

‘Jeez, you’re on edge tonight,’ Cal said. ‘Are you okay?’

Imogen smiled at her employee, who’d become a good friend in a short space of time. ‘Just tired.’ It wasn’t a total lie. She was tired – tired of not being able to think about anything or anyone else but Gibson. Tired of trying to work out what she should do about these feelings,
if
she should do anything at all.

‘Go have a quick break upstairs.’ Cal gestured to the rest of the pub. ‘The rush is over now, I think. Quite a few people are starting to head out and I can always grab Pauli for a few minutes, if necessary.’

Cal was right. She really could do with a few minutes to try and pull herself together. ‘Okay, that’d be great. Thanks.’

Imogen ran up the stairs to her apartment, drank a long glass of ice-cold water, and had just decided on five minutes with her feet up on the couch when her mobile rang. Jiggling the phone from her pocket, she glanced at the screen and smiled.

‘Hey Jenna,’ she said, leaning back into the couch again.

‘Have I caught you at a bad moment?’

‘Nope. I can talk. I’m on a break. How are you?’

‘Pregnant,’ Jenna said, in a tone she may have used to say ‘fine’ or ‘great’.

For a second Imogen wondered if she’d heard correctly. ‘Did you say “pregnant”?’ Her heart began a heavy beat at the thought.

‘Uh-huh. Surprised?’

Speechless, more like. Imogen took a moment to gather her thoughts and locate an appropriate response. ‘Wow,’ she said eventually. ‘Is it Guy’s?’

‘You betcha.’

Imogen knew she should summon some enthusiasm, but a volcano of emotions had erupted inside her. Thankfully, Jenna started rambling. ‘We only just found out. I had my suspicions this morning when I realised I was a couple of days late – you know how like clockwork my cycles are. I called Guy and he came to Perth immediately, armed with three pregnancy-testing kits. We did the lot and they all showed positive.’

Imogen struggled to get her head around everything Jenna told her, not the least her friend’s excited response. Jenna had
never
been enthusiastic about motherhood.

It’s not fair
, Imogen thought, as a lone tear slipped from her left eye. She needed to pretend for Jenna, to hold off the avalanche of tears until she was off the phone. It felt like a slap in the face that her terminally single best friend was suddenly achieving everything Imogen had always dreamed of. Jenna had Guy. And soon, like Amy, she’d have a baby.

Meanwhile, Imogen had nothing.
Damn you, Jamie!

‘I know you’re not supposed to say anything until three months or anything, but you know how terrible I am at keeping secrets.’ Imogen tried to focus on Jenna’s words, knowing she’d missed a bit in the middle there. ‘But you’re the reason we’re together. If you hadn’t bought the pub, I’d never have met Guy and … and … oh, look at me, I’m bawling.’ There was noise at the other end of the phone and then Jenna blew her nose. Imogen heard Guy speak in a gentle, supportive tone, although she couldn’t decipher his actual words.

‘I’m really happy for you.’ Imogen forced the words. She
was
happy for her friend – at least, she wanted to be happy. Jenna had been ecstatic for Imogen when Jamie had proposed, and now it was her turn to repay the favour. She would do it if it killed her.

‘Thank you.’ Jenna sighed happily. ‘Anyway, how are you? I’m so excited about next weekend. Do you think—-’

Imogen didn’t hear the rest of Jenna’s question because a knock sounded at her front door. She snatched the chance to get off the phone, but once she’d disconnected, the last thing she wanted to do was answer the door. Right now she needed that five-minute break more than anything.

The knock sounded again, followed by ‘Imogen?’

Gibson
.

Her heart jolted at the sound of his voice, and she wiped her palms over her eyes, thankful she’d held off the tears while on the phone to Jenna. ‘Coming,’ she called.

His
visit was a welcome diversion.

She peeled the door back a fraction and Gibson’s tantalising aroma hit her nostrils even before he stepped into the light. A warmth flooded her body as if she were starving and had just opened the door to a delicious delivery of her favourite takeaway meal. The happiness at seeing him tonight, when she hadn’t been sure if she would, almost floored her. She couldn’t fight the need any longer. Didn’t want to.

‘Hi,’ she managed.

‘Can I come in a moment?’ A warm but tentative smile hung on his lips.

‘Yes.’ She pulled back the door the whole way and he slipped inside. ‘How was the football?’

‘Um … yeah … enlightening.’ He stood awkwardly in the space just inside the door.

‘Come sit.’ His unsure tone and distracted words worried her. ‘How’d Charlie go?’

Gibson followed her to the lounge room and sank down onto the couch. ‘Actually, he wasn’t as …’ He didn’t finish his sentence, lifting his butt slightly instead, as a confused expression flitted across his face. He slipped his hand beneath him and looked to be digging under the cushions. As he pulled out a thin pink box, her heart leapt into her throat.

Oh! No!
No good was ever going to come from Jenna bringing that thing into her life, but this was worst-case-scenario embarrassing.

‘Give that to me,’ she shouted as she all but threw herself across the lounge room, stopping just short of landing on top of him.

He visibly relaxed before her eyes, grinning wickedly as he held the horrid pink box high out of her reach. ‘Why? What is it?’

Do. Not. Hyperventilate.

She tried for calm and unaffected – bit late for that – as she spoke. ‘It’s a present.’

‘A present for me?’ His grin stretched even further, as if he liked this notion.

‘God no.’ Just the thought had her insides twisting into painful knots. Could this day possibly get any worse?

He shrugged. ‘Then I don’t see why I can’t peek.’

‘Because … because …’ She lunged at him, unable to think of any reason that would both satisfy him and save her.

His reflexes quick, he caught her wrist with his free hand as her body collided with his and her own fingers closed around the box. Victory! Now she just had to keep her grip, extract herself and then distract him from pursuing the issue. Yeah, right, easy – about as easy taming a crocodile, that is. Right now, the only possible way she could think to distract him – and thus give herself the opportunity to escape – was by leaning closer and pressing her lips against his.

Once this thought entered her head it spiralled out of control. She felt everything she’d decided today – that she wanted more
than just sex – slipping away along with her grip on the box. It thumped against the carpet, making a much bigger noise than she’d have expected. Gibson twisted, manoeuvring and lifting her off him so she landed on the couch, stunned and feeling more than a little hard done by.

The thought of kissing him evaporated as he took his turn to lunge. She watched as he dived in what seemed like slow motion onto the carpet and captured the box like it was a football in the AFL grand final. Smiling, he lifted his booty, and Imogen watched her victory slip away as the contents fell onto the floor.

Kill me now
, she thought as her cheeks flashed what had to be tomato red to match her hair.

‘Is that what I think it is?’ Gibson sounded amused as he leaned to pick it up.

‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged, trying to appear coy while her eyes focused on the object in his hand. ‘What do you think it is?’

He raised one eyebrow, twisting the vibrator and gawking from every which way. She wanted to snatch it out of his grip and hurl it out of the open window. And she would have, if she weren’t scared it might land on one of her patrons heading for their car.

‘You’re not going to make me say it, are you?’

‘Hell, yeah.’ She folded her arms and nodded. Why should she be the only one feeling a little awkward?

He straightened up. ‘It’s a vibrator.’

She held her chin high and nodded. ‘Yes. It is.’ What must he think of her? That she was so randy she kept the blasted thing tucked down the back of the couch for easy access?
Oh Lord
, there went that flush speeding up her neck and colouring her cheeks again. She clamped her teeth hard over her tongue at the urge to tell him she hadn’t used it, and that she didn’t need it, but that it was the safer – and less complicated – option than pushing him down onto the couch and crawling on top of him as every cell in
her body was currently screaming for her to do. She squeezed her knees together and glued her feet to the floor at that menacing thought.

Even with him smirking and silently mocking her, she wanted him. Even knowing he didn’t want commitment, she wanted him so bad it was maddening.

She sat there, frozen, waiting for him to say something, do something. Time seemed to stand still. He gazed at her, his eyes hot as molten lava, her body burning up wherever he looked. The room grew small and it felt like they were the only people in a world no larger than an elevator.

And when there were only two options left – to scream or to kiss him – when she couldn’t stand the need a second longer, she leaned forward and grabbed hold of option two.

Fuck. Fuck. And more fuck.

Gibson’s whole body tensed as Imogen’s lips, tongue, her whole damn mouth teased his for interaction. For two long seconds his libido warred with his conscience – maybe she’d changed her mind, maybe she just wanted a fuck buddy. He could do that. He could
more
than do that!

But alarm bells rang in his head … alarm bells telling him this kiss wasn’t fuck-buddy territory.

Summoning every inch of willpower in his body, he grabbed her upper arms and pushed her away. The cocktail of hurt, confusion and embarrassment in her eyes felt like barbed wire tightening round his heart. As he stepped back out of her personal space, his instinct was to apologise.

‘I’m sorry.’

Fiddling with the collar on her work shirt, she blushed. ‘Why
are you apologising? I’m the one that kissed you when it so obviously repulsed you.’

He tore a hand through his hair, only just falling short of ripping out a huge great chunk. ‘As if! You know you don’t repulse me, but you confuse the hell out of me. What happened to just being friends?’

She sighed. ‘How’s that working for you, Gibson?’

Terribly
. ‘Fine.’

She raised an eyebrow and he shifted on the spot. Swallowed. Might have screwed his face up a little.

‘Gibson, why don’t want to get married again?’

Whoa!
His instinct was to kiss her just to get her to drop the topic, but one thing he’d learnt about Imogen was that she was persistent. If she wanted to know, she wouldn’t give up. ‘Why do you care so much? Why do you want to know?’

She looked right into his eyes, so that despite the distance he’d put between them, he felt as if she were pressed against him and he could see right into her soul.

‘Oh Gibson, isn’t it obvious?’ Her voice trembled and tears glistened in her eyes. ‘I think I’m falling for you. Big time.’

No!
His heart sank as if injected with a deadly weight. She hadn’t said
love
, but that’s what she meant. In another lifetime, another world, her confession would be music to his ears, but he couldn’t harbour such a fantasy.

‘What about Jamie?’ he asked, glancing across the room to the photos.

She didn’t follow his gaze. ‘I’ll always love Jamie. And I used to think that meant to the exclusion of anybody else. But it doesn’t, Gibson.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you, the things you say, the way you look at me, the way you make me feel. And the bottom line is, I don’t want to. I think you feel the same way.’

He closed his eyes, thinking of the words his mum often parroted to him and Paris when they were kids.
Life isn’t fair.
Well, that just sucked. He didn’t want to break her heart, but it was kinder not to lead her on. She’d get over it – get over him – if she really were falling for him. He was the only one who had to live with this fate forever.

‘It doesn’t matter what I feel,’ he told her flatly. ‘You can’t love me because you don’t know everything about me. And when I tell you, you won’t be able to love me.’

‘Tell me then, Gibson, because right now, I can’t think of anything you could have done that would change my feelings.’ She spoke with such conviction, such love, that he hated what he had to do.

‘It’s not something I’ve done; it’s something I’ll never do.’

She frowned, her beautiful eyes crinkling at the edges.

He took a breath and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Eventually, he spoke, exposing himself in a way he’d never planned on doing. ‘I’m infertile, Imogen.’

‘What?’ She blinked, shaking her head slightly. He saw that she didn’t want to believe him. ‘How?’

‘Mumps, actually.’ He chuckled slightly, as if it didn’t matter to him. ‘My mum was a little bit of a hippy – she never believed in immunising us – so Paris and I didn’t have any of your standard childhood vaccinations. When I was fourteen I got mumps pretty bad.’

‘Oh.’ Her hand was pressed against her mouth.

He couldn’t stand the silence. ‘I was unlucky enough to be in the minority of people who have lasting effects. Of course, we didn’t know this when I married Serena – she wouldn’t have gone through with it if we had. Like most women, having children was a major part of her life plan.’

‘So that’s why she left.’ Imogen’s realisation came out on one breath. She stepped back and sank onto the couch. He could see
her mind ticking over. For the first time, she stood on Serena’s side of the fence and looked at Gibson differently. As someone who lacked.

‘Yes, that’s why.’ He stood straight, puffed his chest a little, pretending it didn’t matter to him anymore. Before she’d landed in Gibson’s Find, he’d almost fooled himself into believing it didn’t. ‘And let’s face it, you don’t blame her, do you?’

She went pale, her lips squeezed tightly together as if she didn’t trust herself to give an answer.

It wasn’t her fault, but the look on her face repulsed him. He just wanted out of there.

‘Gibson, I …’ As he turned to go, she launched off the couch and rushed to his side, but he shrugged her hand off his arm.

‘Don’t, Imogen. Unless you can look me in the eye right now and tell me you don’t feel like she did, then please don’t prolong the agony. It already hurts too damn much.’

She looked him in the eye, but she hesitated, and in that moment he knew she couldn’t lie any more than she could change her feelings. ‘Please, can we just talk about this?’

Talking was overrated. Talking couldn’t change a thing.

‘Goodbye Imogen,’ he said, already headed for the door.

She hesitated only a moment, and then she let him go. ‘Goodbye Gibson.’

As the door shut behind Gibson, Imogen wrestled with the urge to run after him and tell him she didn’t care – that babies weren’t the be-all and end-all, that she just wanted him – but deep down, she couldn’t be certain.

Hadn’t she been wallowing in self-pity only seconds before he knocked? And she hadn’t been upset about Jenna’s new relationship
with Guy. No, the ache in her heart had come from Jenna’s pregnancy announcement, which followed painfully close to the arrival of Amy’s beautiful baby.

She always believed she’d be a good mother. She wanted to be fun – not afraid to squeal down the slide, paint her hands and feet, jump in puddles and dance in the rain.

That dream had died alongside Jamie, but for a tiny while there … for a tiny while, hope had returned in the form of Gibson Black, and she’d thought that maybe she wasn’t destined to be a spinster publican with a bunch of cats after all. Not that she minded the publican bit – she was quite enjoying that, actually – but she wanted more. Didn’t she?

Desperate for a painkiller but unable to summon the enthusiasm to search for one, Imogen flopped back onto the couch instead. Her eyes sought Jamie’s photos on the wall, on the mantle.

‘What do you think, hon?’

She waited, because usually when she talked to Jamie, things became clearer in her mind. But tonight he was silent. For the first time, she felt truly alone.

Gibson was a good man. He was a gorgeous man.

And she hated that that wasn’t enough.