The Grass is Greener (21 page)

When he did finally lift his head and step back they stood there for a moment staring at each other in shock. For once, he was speechless and it was because he had just realised he had gone too far with his teasing this time.

She slapped him, the sting of her palm hot against his face.

‘That was mine to give!' Her chest heaved with emotion.
‘I wanted it to be special and sweet and real and you just … you stole it from me! You're a jerk, Jack. A big fat jerk!'

His eyes rounded. ‘Bron –'

‘Sod off, Jack!' She hooked her bag over her shoulder and tore off into the vineyard.

They hadn't spoken for days after that and the awkwardness of it all had stretched between them like a sticky piece of Blu-Tack. He'd had no idea how to fix his blunder. And then she'd gone back to Perth and he'd thought that maybe it could all be brushed under the carpet – the next time she came to town they could pretend like nothing had happened. Of course, Chris,
damn him
, had noticed something was up and had immediately demanded an explanation.

‘What's going on between you two? Why were you both acting funny just before she left?'

And because at the time he was so completely self-absorbed, so wholly incapable of seeing past his own nose, he'd told him. No fluff on it either. Just the unvarnished truth. It was his brother, after all, and they'd never kept secrets from each other in the past. So he hadn't seen any reason to do so then. What he hadn't realised was how Chris would react to his honesty.

He had punched him in the face.

Nearly broken his nose too.

There was certainly enough blood on his shirt to show for it.

‘What the hell!' he cried reeling back. ‘
What'd ya do that for?
'

‘You're a bastard.'

‘Okay, I know.' He held up his hands palms up. ‘It was a dumb thing to do. And I've been sorry ever since, but I don't know … There's something about Numbat that makes me lose my head.'

‘No shit,' Chris snapped, his fists clenching by his sides like he was getting ready to hit him again.

‘
What's the matter now?
'

‘You must know I like her.' His eyes flashed fury like Jack had never seen before. ‘And then you go and do
that
.'

He gaped at his brother. ‘I had no idea. You never said anything.'

‘Isn't it fuckin' obvious?'

The problem with having too much luck with women was that you never tried subtlety anymore. It just took too much time. Chris, on the other hand, was a master at it. It was, after all, the gentleman's way. Jack suspected that if you really were looking for a long-term relationship you had to spend some time on the emotional side of things. However, as far as he could see, from day one Chris had firmly set down roots in the ‘friend zone' and grown a bean stalk that had led to absolutely nowhere. Spurred on by this fact, Jack shook off his shock and glared at him. ‘
No.
It's not obvious. You haven't even asked her out, for crying out loud.'

‘I'd been working up to it,' Chris had returned in anger.

‘How?' he remembered sneering as he wiped the blood from his nose on his sleeve. ‘It's not rocket science, Chris. You just ask the bloody question.'

‘It's more complicated than that and you know it,' Chris threw at him. ‘She's Claudia's best friend. Hell, she's
our
friend. She's here all the time and she thinks of us as brothers.'

‘Not anymore,' he'd responded, a little too cruelly.

‘How can you be so callous? She's not one of your two-week flings, Jack. You can't do shit like that to her.'

‘Who said I thought of her as a fling?'

‘Well, you can't mean to go after her for real.'

‘Why not?'

Chris's eyes shot sparks as he literally rolled on his feet with rage. Words seemed to fail him, and so Jack had filled in the blanks.

‘Because she's yours?' he suggested quietly. ‘Who's the neanderthal now?'

‘Why are you doing this to me?' Chris had spluttered. ‘You
could have your pick of women and often do. It's not like I get in your way. Why do you have to go after the one woman I like. She's not even your type!'

Because I don't want you to have her.

As soon as the thought had entered his head it had refused to budge. The challenge was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

‘Who says I didn't like her first?'

Chris had gasped. ‘I don't believe you.'

‘Believe it or don't believe it, I don't care. But if you think I'm going to back off to spare your feelings, think again.
Contemplating
asking her out isn't a claim, Chris. It's not even a head start. It's nothing.'

‘You want to make this a competition,' Chris said darkly, ‘fine. Have it your way. I don't think she'll go for you anyway. Not after what you've pulled. The truth is, Jack, you don't get what you want by stealing it. I hope one day you learn that.'

And then he'd marched off, never knowing how poignant his words would prove to be.

Bronwyn hadn't returned to Yallingup for six months. When she did, he'd made every attempt to make up for his earlier impulse, just short of bringing it up. In hindsight, he realised the best thing he could have done was apologise and then try to move on. But no, that Jack Franklin, that idiot from half a decade ago, was far too sure of himself. He apologised to no one and so, despite his efforts to befriend her, Bronwyn had remained distant at best.

Of course, Chris was not so encumbered. And it was beginning to dawn on Jack that for all his expertise with women he had effectively boxed himself out of the market. He didn't know the first thing about friendship with a woman. Real friendship – the kind that led to love. The last thing he wanted or expected was his brother to swoop in and start wooing the first woman he'd given half a damn about, but that was exactly what happened.

Good old dependable Chris. Sensitive to a fault. He couldn't see how Bronwyn would not eventually fall for his brother. He was just the sort of man for her. The honest truth was, Jack knew he was losing.

Jealousy was a terrible, green-eyed monster that didn't allow you to think straight, and it had followed him to Gum Leaf Grove the night of the accident. The usual suspects were present. Chris, some of the vineyard workers and a couple of cellar hands. The twist was, Chris had invited Claudia and Bronwyn to join them. The surprise was … they'd accepted. It was a rare victory that never would have occurred had he raised the invitation himself. The knowledge had made him mad and moody, which was probably why the fight with his father had been inevitable as knock-off time approached.

‘You're irresponsible and reckless. You spend more time organising your next social event than looking after the business.'

‘Is the business failing, Dad?' he'd demanded. ‘Am I losing us money? Sales have never been better. People love my wine.'

‘Overconfidence is not a virtue.'

‘Neither is constantly looking over your shoulder. Can't you just calm down? You're stressing me out.'

‘
I'm
stressing
you
out? I heard you're going out again tonight.'

‘So what?'

‘Last week, you punctured two tyres on our ute from driving it off to Gum Leaf Grove. That property is not safe. Besides the fact that you're trespassing there with an Oak Hills vehicle. Get some responsibility!'

It had probably been one of the worst things to say to him in the mood he was in. What do you suppose he'd done? Taken that exact same ute off to the party they'd organised that night. Driven himself, Chris, Claud and Bron in it, just to spite his father.

Stupid arrogant fool.

When he looked back on those days, all he could see was mistakes. One after another. Dumb, pig-headed, couldn't-see-the-forest-for-the-trees oversights that in the present day just made him want to close his eyes and cringe.

His brainlessness, however, hadn't stopped at the ute. With Chris winning the race for Bronwyn's affections, he'd been nothing but a brute to him all evening and everyone had noticed, including the girls.

‘Get a grip, Jack,' Claudia had scolded him when Bronwyn and Chris had walked off to get more drinks from the esky. ‘What's up with you? You're terrible to be around tonight.'

He'd taken a swig from his beer, unable to put his dissatisfaction into words. Mainly because it was disappointment in himself. It didn't help matters when some of the boys had suggested doing donuts with this father's ute on the gravel.

What a great idea.

Nothing helped a foul mood more than doing something to make things worse. The fight he'd had with his father that evening hadn't even occurred to him as he'd jumped behind the wheel, adrenaline pumping, freezing out things he didn't want to think about. And if Horace's disapproval had featured on his radar, he probably would have thought ‘so much the better'. His dad needed to loosen up before he turned to stone.

As the revelry escalated, some of the boys jumped in the tray to hitch a ride, and that was fine too.

Then two things happened.

At the same time.

And only one of them was witnessed by everyone.

Chris had been standing in the tray and had yelled out, ‘Hey, Bron, look. No hands!'

As Bronwyn had turned around, Jack had swerved. Chris had gone flying straight out the tray and smacked into a tree. His back never stood a chance.

What no one else had seen was the pair of glowing eyes in the undergrowth, a kangaroo poised to jump into the path of
his vehicle. That was why Jack had suddenly turned his wheel just when Chris cried out. And yeah, he'd saved the animal and ruined his brother's life, but none of this had anything to do with Bronwyn.

Nothing.

He had not swerved to show Chris up, though in the days that followed there was no persuading Chris otherwise.

Waiting for the ambulance had been the longest fifteen minutes of his life. Chris was out cold and Jack had no idea if it was better to stay or get him into the back of the ute and drive him to the hospital himself. Everybody had advised against moving him, though it had taken nearly all his willpower just to sit there, Claudia on his left, Bronwyn on his right. His sister had been beside herself, sobbing her heart out. Bronwyn's expression had been frozen as she stroked Chris's arm.

‘Hold on, Chris, we're getting help.'

He couldn't remember a time in his life when he had been more tormented.

He shook the memory off, even now wanting to get as far from it as possible. There was no use in reliving the past. What was done was done. All he could do was try to atone for it and seek forgiveness. He had hoped that five years on, Chris might be more ready to listen to his side of the story. However, it looked like the battle to be heard was still ongoing.

Keeping his gaze averted from both the gazebo and the direction of Gum Leaf Grove, at last the house came back into view. It looked older and more worn than he remembered. Grabbing his travel bag from the car, he trudged slowly up the front steps and found the front door was unlocked. Nothing much had changed in that department.

He pushed it open and walked in.

‘Hello? Hello? Mum?'

No one responded to his call and a quick reconnaissance of the lower floor showed him that everybody was out at the winery. The house was empty.

He thought about his father as he climbed the stairs. Horace had probably expected him to return crawling in on hands and knees, begging for forgiveness. Not there to provide the rescue. There was a certain satisfaction in that.

Fate had a weird way of sorting everyone out.

He walked into his old bedroom and was pleased to note his mother had not changed much about it. The few personal items he had left behind were still on the shelves. There were some of Claudia's clothes tossed over a chair, but otherwise it was mostly the same. Eagerly, he dropped his suitcase and stripped off his shirt, discarding it where he stood.

That had to be a good sign, right? His father hadn't ordered that the house be scrubbed of all things ‘Jack'. So there was at least some chance he'd expected him to return.

He pushed down his pants and jocks and stepped out of them, walking towards the bathroom door, never thinking it would open before he got there.

Bronwyn Eddings stepped out of the shower, naked as the day she was born, but certainly not as innocent. Despite her slender frame, she had curves in all the right places and skin as creamy and golden as a freshly plucked apricot. Her semi-wet hair was swept up in a tousled pile on her head, though a few strands had escaped to caress her damp shoulders. Arousal shot straight to his groin as her pretty pink lips formed a large ‘O' of surprise.

‘Jack!'

‘Bronwyn!'

‘You're naked!'

‘So are you!'

He stumbled back, tripping over the bags he had dropped in the centre of the room and landing squarely on his arse. ‘Ow!'

‘Damn! Are you okay?' She ran forward, her lovely bits bouncing everywhere.

No! He was not okay!

Especially if she happened to notice what was going on downstairs.

‘I'm fine.' He leaned left, trying to drag the doona off the bed to cover his person.

Unfortunately, from the angle at which he was trying to drag it the cotton quilt was quite heavy, especially covered in cushions, and was refusing to budge from the bed.

‘Here, let me help you,' Bronwyn said. But as she went to pick up the soft cover, he gave it an almighty yank and ended up with not just the doona on him but an armful of delectable, soft woman as well.

‘Oh,' said Bronwyn as her body grazed the length of his. The shock of it fried all his senses and he groaned loudly.