Chapter Five
After shutting Tia securely in her stable, Jay lead me into the house, and the sleek kitchen with its granite counters and mahogany cabinets. It was an ideal mix of modern and rustic.
“Listen,” I began to say as he gestured for me to take a seat at the large pine table, “I didn’t mean to offend you, I just...well, you’re pretty young to own a ranch. That’s why I assumed-”
“It’s all right,” he quickly interjected, interrupting my clunky attempt to apologize. “Besides, I suppose, it would be more accurate to say, I inherited it,” he added, taking off his hat and hooking it on one corner of a high-backed dining chair. “It was my parents’ ranch. Dad passed away three years ago, and my mum decided she couldn’t bear to be here without him,” he explained as he swept both hands through his lustrous, sandy blond hair. “So, she moved out to Perth to be near my oldest brother and his family.”
“I’m sorry about your dad,” I muttered.
“It’s OK,” he replied quietly, peering down at his boots. “That’s life, right?” Something flicked through his mind and then he swiftly shook the melancholy aside. “Anyway, both of my elder brothers had already got their careers, and weren’t interested in running this place, so it was down to me and Rob.”
“Oh,” I nodded. “Rob’s your brother?”
“Yeah,” he smiled. “I’m sorry about earlier; he can be a bit of an arsehole, but he doesn’t mean any real harm.”
“That’s OK,” I replied, not knowing what else to say. I wasn’t sure if the mildly threatening speech was entirely OK, but I did feel perfectly safe with Jay around. And if he trusted his brother, then I guessed it probably was all right.
“Anyway,” he breathed, grinning, “what’ll you have? I’ll fix you up a brew, and then I really oughta jump in the shower.”
“Um, I don’t mind,” I shrugged, brushing hands that trembled slightly over the smooth surface of the table. “Whatever you’re having.”
Humming, he wandered to a kitchen cabinet and opened it. “Coffee OK?” he said, taking hold of jar of instant.
“Fine,” I swiftly replied.
He kept his back to me as he filled the kettle, took two mugs down and began to prepare the drinks. “So, if it’s not too nosy of me to ask,” he began quietly, “how long have you been in Australia?”
“I arrived in Sydney three days ago,” I told him.
“Right,” he nodded, although his back remained toward me. “So, you on vacation or a gap year or...?”
“Actually, I’m here to go to school,” I responded, glad of the chance to make small talk and get my mind off the potential embarrassment of the ride. I was also, mercifully, beginning to cool down. The tingling between my thighs had ceased, but the fact it had existed at all continued to mortify me.
“Ahh, I see,” he countered evenly, pouring the boiling water into the mugs, then turning. “Which uni?”
“Newcastle,” I offered, “I’ve just rented a place in Warabrook, and I felt like taking a drive.” Shaking my head ruefully, I added, “I didn’t really think it through. Pretty stupid, I guess.”
Setting one of the mugs before me, he shrugged. “How were you to know the car would breakdown?” he said kindly. “Unless it’s ’cause you ran out of petrol. You didn’t, did you?”
“No,” I stated sharply. I may not know much about cars, but I do know how to put gas in them. Not really annoyed, because I sensed he was only teasing, I offered him a small smile. “Thank you,” I added much more quietly. “For, y’know, rescuing me.”
His bright grin seeming to illuminate the entire room, he shook his head. “No worries,” he dismissed easily. “Look, I’m gonna get cleaned up. You’ll be OK here for ten?”
“Sure,” I nodded.
I watched him rub at the nape of his neck and pick up his coffee. He blew on the steaming liquid as he took the cup with him and left the room. I listened to his footsteps along the hall, and then the stairs.
Left in silence, I wrapped my grimy hands around the mug and was struck by how cold my fingers were. It wasn’t cold in the kitchen, but it seemed the pulsing adrenaline of the previous hour or so had constricted my circulation. Gratefully, I gripped the coffee a little tighter and brought it to my lips.
It was only at that instant that it hit me. I had been incredibly lucky. Lucky to be found, and even luckier to be found by Jay and not some machete-wielding lunatic. I was suddenly keenly aware of a dozen or more terrible things that could have happened to me, and I began to tremble from within. Traveling alone was an adventure all right, but that afternoon had been an adventure I’d rather forget.
Promising myself that I’d never be quite so foolhardy when travelling alone, I slowly sipped on the coffee until my jittering began to subside.
As I drank, my eyes moved around the neat, clean space and I began to wonder whether Jay and Robbo lived alone. Sexist it may have been, but I struggled to imagine two young men being so tidy. I recalled Rich’s apartment, and the kitchen that was always a dump, because he and his roommates seemed incapable of cleaning up after themselves. Of course, Jay was older than Rich - I supposed he must have been in his late twenties or early thirties. But perhaps age had nothing to do with it anyway. The man could have just been a clean freak. It was difficult to picture the very filthy cowboy I’d first laid eyes on as a clean freak, but stranger things have happened.
To my right were glass sliding doors with an almost completely transparent mesh fly screen that covered their length. Beyond those windows, I peered out in the dimness at the unspoiled land at the rear of the property. There were a few evergreen trees out there that looked like Christmas trees, but the pines were sparser. Part of the space was graced with a lawn, which obviously needed to be manually watered. As I took in what was a back yard of sorts, one that Jay and Rob may have played in as boys, I became keenly aware of just how quiet it was. Cocking my head to the side, I strained a little and realized I could hear nothing. It was so unusual to not hear a sound - a car, arguing neighbors, a siren.
“You OK?” his voice startled me and sounded louder for my efforts to detect something in the silence.
Flinching in surprise, I laughed self-consciously. “Yeah, yeah, I was just admiring how quiet it is out here.”
As I twisted to the doorway, I found him with hair that he hadn’t seemed to towel dry. It was drenched; it was a light brown rather than a dirty blond. Uncombed, some strands flopped onto his forehead. He wore a plain white T-shirt, which amplified the natural tan of his skin. It also clung to his biceps, and shoulders, in a way that made it difficult not to stare. A pair of much smarter jeans than those he worked in covered his legs, and on his feet he wore only black socks.
Coming closer, he pulled out the chair next to mine. “I’m not jumping to conclusions to suggest you’re a city girl,” he mused in half-question as he sat down with a chuckle.
“I guess I am,” I admitted softly, irrationally flustered by the admission. It wasn’t as though he’d posed the sentiment as an accusation. Yet, I did get the feeling he found my lack of country smarts amusing. And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I didn’t like him laughing at me.
“Well, I reckon we could beat that out of you,” he added, propping his elbow on the table and casually resting his chin in his palm.
“Wh...What?”
Laughing gently, he shook his head at my alarmed expression. “Not literally,” he clarified. “But ya didn’t do too bad for your first time on a horse, so I think a little time on a ranch would turn you into a proper hardy Sheila.”
‘Hardy Sheila’ didn’t sound much like a compliment, but the way he was grinning suggested he believed it to be one.
“Hmm,” I nodded, not revealing my thoughts on the matter one way or the other. “And is your wife a hardy Sheila?” I asked, knowing deep down that the question had more to do with a desire to know whether he was single than it should have done.
“I’m not marr
ied,” he replied in his mellow, lilting manner.
My lips drifting apart, I was about to follow up with, ‘Girlfriend?’, but the word stayed in my head.
“I’m sorry,” he rapidly breathed, sitting up straighter. “I haven’t asked if you wanna clean up. You’re welcome to take a shower or a bath or whatever.”
“Oh, no,” I shrugged. “Thanks, but I don’t have anything to change into, so there’s not really a point.”
“Right, yeah,” he noted. “Sorry to say, I probably don’t have anything that’ll fit you.”
“It’s OK,” I smiled shyly, feeling shaky again under his intense blue gaze.
“Well, do you want another drink, or can I get you some tucker?”
“Tucker?” I repeated in confusion.
Pushing the chair back but staying seated, he licked his bottom lip as he jerked his head in the direction of his kitchen units. “Food,” he translated. “Are you hungry?”
“Um,” I hesitated, trying to figure out when I last ate. I couldn’t put an exact time on it, but it had been that morning. “Yeah, I guess I am,” I admitted. “Please don’t go to any trouble, though.”
“It’s no trouble,” he insisted, already striding across the room and yanking on the refrigerator door. “Let’s see,” he muttered mostly to himself as he eyed the contents of his fridge. “I could knock us up some pasta, with some veggies and a bit of chicken,” he suggested, lifting his face to the top of the door so I could see him.
“Sounds great,” I replied, with a grateful grin.
As he grabbed some ingredients and began to move about the kitchen with the fluidity of someone who cooked often, I watched him with intrigue and interest. More casual conversation passed between us: he asked what I was studying at university. I asked whether he had any misgivings about taking over his family ranch. I told him that I’d always been fascinated by history. He told me that he’d been a bit of a slacker at school.
Then, we ate and I discovered that he could indeed cook. However, my enthusiasm for the meal started to feel as though I was patronizing him and I quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean to sound surprised,” I explained. “Must guys I know are happier ordering a pizza than making anything for themselves.”
“Well, I like a pizza, too,” he admitted, sticking his fork into a piece of chicken that was coated in the tastiest fresh tomato sauce I’d ever had in my mouth. “But Mum was adamant that her four boys knew how to cook and clean.”
“A bet she’s quite a woman,” I noted.
“Yeah,” he chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, she’s that all right.”
The rest of the meal passed in a semi-comfortable silence. I figured talk of his mom had got him thinking about his father’s death, and her being all the way on the other side of the country. Whatever it was he was thinking about, he fell into a contemplative hush, and I didn’t want to disturb him.
Setting my knife and fork down with a sincere thanks, I heard a thud at the front door and the heavy clump of boots along the hardwood hall.
“Jay!” Robbo’s shout echoed along the corridor and into the kitchen.
“In here,” Jay hollered back, twisting his face over his shoulder to help his voice carry in that direction.
Grinning proudly, the younger man swaggered into the room, swinging my car keys around his index finger. “All done,” he declared, “you’re up and runnin’ again.” Approaching the table, he dropped the key triumphantly before sniffing the air. “Something smells good, d’ya save me some?”
“In the pot,” his older brother succinctly responded.
“Well,” I breathed, “I suppose I better go.”
“You don’t have to,” Jay began to say. “I mean, if you want to head back in daylight, you’re more than welcome to spend the night.”
“Ahh, man,” Robbo groaned rubbing his hand down the length of his bare arm as he wandered to the pan of pasta and sauce that sat on the stove. “I’ve been bit to buggery.”
My attention sliding back to Jay’s features, I shook my head gratefully. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine.”
“All right,” he accepted, “I’ll walk you out.”
Scooping my keys from the table, I lifted my free hand to the younger man, whose mouth was full. “Thanks for your help,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” he returned around half-chewed pasta, lifting a grubby palm in return.
Jay then led me from the kitchen, out onto the porch and down to my parked Prius. I groped for something to say and could only muster a, “Well...” as I unlocked the car door.
“Well...” he echoed.
“Thanks again, cowboy,” I smiled.
“Err...” he mumbled with a puff of laughter. “I am not a cowboy.”
Peering over my shoulder at the ranch around us, I turned my gaze back at him and arched an eyebrow. “You look very much like one to me,” I told him in a matter-of-fact attitude.
“Where you come from maybe,” he chuckled. “Out here, the cowboy is the kid that does the milking. I’m a stockman.”
“Hmm,” I respond, smiling at his indignant tone as I opened the car door. I didn’t get in though. Instead, I simply clung to the edge of it. “That may be, but ‘thanks, stockman’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.”
“Nevertheless,” he insisted in pleasant humor, “I’m not a cowboy.”
“Well, either way, I really am very grateful to you,” I said, the amusement drifting from my lips. Experiencing an urge to touch him, I hurriedly quash it and moved to get into the car.
“Hey, Faith,” he stalled me, having no similar concern about touching me, his fingers looped around my elbow. “I don’t wanna come across like a weirdo, but I was wondering if I could see you again.”
Unprepared for his request, I faltered awkwardly. “Oh, well...I...” I can’t deny that the thought was not at all unpleasant. But, it was crazy to be thinking about dating someone, wasn’t it? “The thing is,” I breathed, realizing that my stuttered efforts to speak were not only making me look like an idiot, but also insulting someone who had been immensely kind to me. “The thing is, because I’ve just got here, I’m settling into a new home, and I’m starting school next week, I’ve got a lot going on right now. And I-”
“It’s OK,” he quickly interrupted. “It’s fine. I understand.” There was no overt hint of annoyance or even a trace of coldness to his remark. Smiling, he nodded as he slipped one hand in his pocket and extended the other open palm toward me. “Can I have your mobile for a sec, though?”
Instantly reaching for my cell, I handed it to him without question.
He took it smoothly and tapped his thumb across the screen. “Do me a favor,” he requested while focused on my phone, “give me a call when you get home.”
“Uh,” I muttered. “Well, I would, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take. You must get up early, so I wouldn’t wanna wake you or anything.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he dismissed, tapping in the last digit of his number before gently handing me the phone back. “I won’t go to bed until I know you’re safe, so...”
“That’s sweet of you, thanks.” I mumbled shyly as I stuffed the cell back into my pocket and finally sunk into the car seat.
Stepping back, he let me close the door and gave me a lopsided grin. “You’re welcome,” he said. Although the words were muffled, I read the movement of his lips clearly enough.
When the car started smoothly, I silently vowed not to turn it off again until I got back to Warabrook.