The Protea Boys Read online

  WANTED: STRONG, FIT YOUNG MEN

  Do you want a job in the open air?

  Have you experience with basic tools and equipment?

  Look no further. Here is your opportunity to

  build your muscles and your bank balance.

  For further information

  Ring Hillary on 0469 234 967

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you might end up with some pretty quirky replies.” Georgie grinned and raised an eyebrow. “But if you don’t mind, then let’s give it a try.”

  “I don’t think it’s too bad. This is about the fourth draft. I started with, ‘Have you a body of steel, rippling, suntanned muscles, and a way with women?’ I thought that might cause some quirky replies. This is toned.”

  “Just like you want your men, hey, Hill.” Georgie said, realizing she’d already found the perfect candidate.

  “I have so much work I need done, I reckon I could employ them for the first month—no trouble.”

  “How many replies do you think we’ll get?”

  “Thousands—especially when word gets around they will be working for two stunning women.”

  “Come on. Be serious. How many ‘boys’ do we want to employ?”

  Boys, right. Perhaps I don’t know the perfect candidate. Mr. Leopard Eyes definitely doesn’t fit into that category.

  “I think we should start with two or three, and then we’ll choose one of them as a supervisor.” Hillary tapped a bright pink nail on the arm of the chair. “We need someone who is a bit more responsible and can keep these strapping young men under control. Especially if their muscles are really big and bulging.”

  Georgie took another sip of wine; they needed to get down to business. All the asides were fueling her flights of fancy. She had to push away the ridiculous notions that had plagued her ever since she returned from the village.

  Concentrate.

  “Four boys would be able to do the equivalent of twenty-four hours’ work in one day. So they could go in and do most jobs in a day, which would save fuel and keep wait times to a minimum.” That was better. She’d managed an almost businesslike note in her voice.

  “Yes, you’re right—as usual—and I ran the idea past a few of the ladies at my Pilates class yesterday, and there are three or four possible jobs already. I didn’t realize how much work there was, especially with the bushfire season coming up. Gutters need to be cleaned and areas around houses cleared, and then there are the weekenders who just want to come and enjoy a peaceful couple of days relaxing and not spend the whole time working.”

  Hillary’s words dried up and she took another gulp of wine. “It’s going to be a stunning success. I know it. Will you place the ad? I’ve put the e-mail address of the community newsheet on the piece of paper. When shall we schedule the interviews?”

  “Let’s try and get them all done in one day because I really can’t afford the time with so many flowers to pick at the moment.”

  “Ah. You need the Protea Boys.”

  And a man in a wet blue T-shirt.

  “Right—the paper comes out on Wednesday, so let’s say Saturday morning interviews.”

  “It’s a deal. Saturday it is.”

  Georgie shivered as Hillary jumped up from her seat, sucking the energy out of the atmosphere.

  “I’ll leave you the rest of the bottle of wine for later. Don’t get up.”

  Relieved, she raised her cheek to receive a quick kiss, and Hillary sashayed off to her car. Her words boomed out of the lilac-gray dusk. “See you tomorrow morning for Pilates class. You need the exercise.”

  She nodded into the half light and waited for the noise of the car to fade and the frogs to reclaim their space.

  Once Georgie had finished her glass of wine, she wandered into the bedroom and pulled off her cargo pants. A shower could wait until the morning. Exhausted, she fell onto the bed in her T-shirt and underwear knowing she’d be fast asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

  An hour later, her mind still raced, and her body twitched with the thought of the exercise class she’d promised Hillary looming large, and despite every relaxation trick she’d ever learned, she simply couldn’t make sleep happen.

  Arrogant bloody man. Why didn’t he want to buy my proteas? Why would roses be more my thing?

  Her skin prickled, and goose bumps flittered up her arm as she remembered the heat of his hand searing the skin of her elbow.

  Since when is an elbow an erogenous zone?

  Rolling over for the umpteenth time, she thumped the pillow into shape, trying to ignore the image of his full lips coming down on hers in a demanding and passionate kiss, and his tawny green eyes radiating desire.

  This has to stop.

  Surely she had learned her lesson by now...

  Chapter Three

  The scent of the gum trees cleared her head as Georgie drove through the arc of morning sunlight that bounced rays down to the leaf-strewn tarmac. Fingers of God, her father had called them. They always heralded a warm day.

  “I really have to get things sorted,” she grumbled aloud while she negotiated the winding road, close to the speed limit but comfortable with the familiar camber of the road. “I need some help. I have to get these jobs done, and it will pay off later.” She glanced at her watch and was relieved to find it was still early.

  The resounding thud on the bumper bar took her by surprise, and she slammed her foot against the brake pedal. The back tires skidded across the dirt verge, and the car skewed to a halt. Her neck jerked back, and the seat belt strained across her chest, forcing the headrest into the back of her skull.

  Georgie’s head fell forward onto the steering wheel. The erratic thumping of her heart pounded in her ears, and her breath rasped in the silence. With her arms and legs trembling, she carefully peeled her whitened knuckles from the steering wheel, lifted her head, and leaned back against the seat, waiting for her heart to still. Eventually, she opened the car door and stepped gingerly down to the rough verge. The warmth of the sun hitting the side of her face surprised her, and she staggered around to the front of the car.

  The crumpled body of the wombat lay on the tarmac where it had been thrown by the impact of her heavy ‘roo bar. Squatting down, she tentatively reached out a shaking hand and ran it over the lifeless body, crooning as the tears trailed down her cheeks. The destruction she’d caused sent wave after wave of devastation washing through her.

  Georgie heaved the wombat over, the warmth of its body seeping into her fingers, making her breath catch. Then her stomach flipped, and with a mixture of horror and pleasure, she spotted the tiny ears and nose inside the pouch. She reached inside and removed the perfectly formed baby wombat.

  Cradling it against her chest, she stroked the sparse fur and tried to remember what she should do next.

  Keep it warm and stay calm. No sudden movements, no loud noises.

  She recited the instructions like a mantra, eased herself to her feet, and picked her way to the passenger side of the car. Once she opened the door, she reached inside with one hand and grabbed her exercise towel. With the tiny creature nestled against her chest, Georgie pulled the towel around its body.

  The sudden blast of a horn slashed the silence, and she jumped instinctively back onto the verge, clutching the pathetic body close to her chest with a maternal instinct she didn’t know she possessed. The fierce, protective urge almost swamped her when the black four-wheel drive skidded to a halt a few meters ahead. She covered the wombat’s head, noticing the shivers from its tiny body against her skin.

  Heavy footsteps approached.

  “Are you all right there?”

  Georgie stared up into the piercing green eyes that had preoccupied her since yesterday, and a less-than-polite comeback died on her lips.

  “This makes a change from proteas. I didn’t realize flora and fauna were your forté.”

  The familiar drawl doused her, and she clenched her fists against the to
wel, resisting the urge to land a hefty kick on the man’s shins. A wave of heat rocked her, and her heartbeat stuttered as she clutched the pitiful bundle and shuddered uncontrollably. Georgie groped for words, but instead to her horror, she burst into loud sobs.

  Waving her free hand pathetically in the direction of the front of her car, she stammered, “I’ve killed the mother, and it’s there on the road.” A deep, wrenching howl escaped her lips. “The baby was in the pouch, but it is so tiny, and it’s in shock.” Another gulping sob escaped. “I have to get it to the vet.”

  The man moved closer, and Georgie took several cautious steps back. He stopped in his tracks and stretched out his arms, palms down, fingers splayed, as if he were trying to calm a frightened animal, and then he reached out one strong, suntanned hand toward her.

  The unexpected gesture soothed her, and she sighed, allowing him to take two more measured steps closer. Then he bent his head and moved the crumpled towel aside. The tanned skin at the back of his neck looked weathered, and his black hair finished in a neat, geometric line. Her tummy flipped, and a shiver traced her spine. Holding the wombat away from her body, Georgie offered it to him. The towel fell back to reveal the trembling bundle.

  “Here, give it to me.” The deep timbre of his voice calmed Georgie, and she handed over the tiny form. His large hands gently cradled the creature, making a different kind of shudder trace her spine as she imagined herself cradled against his chest. She trampled the thought down.

  “It’s about six months old.” He moved the towel aside with such care. “I think it will survive. Nothing seems broken. The mothers’ pouches do such an amazing job of protecting their babies. Its eyes are open, and its fur is forming. I’ll call the wildlife rescue to organize someone to look after it. It’ll survive as long as we keep it warm and quiet. You did the right thing wrapping it up so quickly.”

  An unexpected flush of pleasure coursed through her at his praise, but she couldn’t respond. Georgie stood rooted to the spot, mesmerized and unable to pry her eyes away from his fingers tenderly massaging the tiny wombat through the towel.

  “The drought is causing all sorts of problems for these critters. The drier it gets, the scarcer food becomes, and they’re drawn closer and closer to civilization. See the fresh shoots on the other side of the road? That’s what attracted Mum.”

  Georgie murmured in agreement, but all she could focus on were his large, tanned hands rhythmically massaging the tiny bundle.

  “Didn’t do yourself any harm, did you?” His abrupt question jolted her.

  “No.” She shook her head, raking her hair away from her face with her fingers. “I’m fine, thank you. I wonder what we should do about the mother. My mobile phone doesn’t work on this stretch of road and I...”

  “Leave it to me. I’ll sort it out. You go and get yourself a cup of tea. I’ll call in and see the vet and get it all fixed up. I’ve got it under control.” He stepped even closer to Georgie, and with his free hand, pushed the last strands of hair from her face. Mesmerized, she froze as he leaned slowly forward until his leopard eyes locked with hers, and every bone in her body screamed at his proximity. One tanned finger reached up and gently traced the outline of her lips, and her mouth parted. He leaned closer. The scent of soap on his skin and the patterned flecks in his eyes engulfed her. His lips brushed hers and then he pulled back. A shiver of disappointment trickled through her.

  “Don’t worry, the wombat will be fine.”

  His words caressed her as gently as the hands cradling the baby wombat, and then he flashed a smile and winked at her.

  Walking back to her car, Georgie touched her fingers to her pulsing lips, bemused by her acquiescence. She almost regretted leaving but was also relieved she could hand over responsibility for her carelessness. As she reached the car, she paused. She wanted to deny the kiss that had only lasted a second; perhaps it hadn’t even been a kiss, just a mere brush of lips against lips. Touching her fingers to her mouth again, she checked, searching for a lasting residue. Nothing. Just a curling deep inside her. She turned back to face him.

  “I don’t know your name—”

  “Tom,” he said. “Drive carefully, Georgina.”

  Chapter Four

  Drive carefully, Georgina.

  The words bounced around in her head and kept time with the jolts on the rutted road as she yanked the steering wheel over another pothole.

  Never mind drive carefully—how about behave carefully?

  She’d run over a poor, defenseless animal, and she’d let some man she didn’t even know kiss her, all before seven o’clock in the morning. Shouldn’t she be upset, outraged, infuriated? Instead her insides were all soft and furry like the wombat he had cradled in his large hands.

  And what’s with the Georgina bit?

  How did he know her name? It made her think of her mother and being in serious trouble, but then again, perhaps she was.

  By the time Georgie pulled up at the village hall for the Pilates lesson, the morning mist had cleared. Warm-up music wafted out of the windows, and she grabbed her yoga mat, fumbled with the car lock, and then walked in through the old doors. She intended to sneak unseen into the back row but luck was not on her side.

  “Morning, Georgie. Sleep well?” Hillary’s voice boomed out over the music, and every head moved in her direction. “We’ve just started.”

  Dropping her yoga mat to the floor, she stood at the back of the room, unable to decide whether she should stay or give up and search out the cup of tea Tom had recommended.

  “We’ll be taking things fairly easy today after the Christmas break, ladies, so don’t worry if you haven’t had any exercise for a while.”

  Surrendering to Hillary’s ministrations and the music, Georgie stretched up. The muscles in her spine elongated as she bent toward her toes. If she closed her eyes, followed the instructions, and concentrated on breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, she discovered she could ignore the flashbacks to the roadside, and by the time the hour was over, all the tension had drained away from her. She shook her arms and legs, feeling loose limbed and relaxed, and made a pact—she would try her very hardest to make the classes a habit.

  The group of women collected their towels and their mats, then made their farewells, but the prospect of driving back down the road didn’t hold much appeal to Georgie. She rolled up her mat and stood aimlessly in the center of the old hall.

  “Hey. Are you okay?” Hillary’s gaze bored into her. “Your eyes are red. You look as though you’ve been crying.”

  Terrific, just what she needed.

  Georgie shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m a bit spaced out. I hit a wombat on the way here.”

  “Oh. You poor thing. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you? Why didn’t you tell me when you got here?”

  “I’m all right. The wombat’s not, but someone stopped and gave me a hand. We found a baby in her pouch. He’s taken it to the vet.” She stared over her shoulder, convinced her voice was coming from somewhere else, as though it didn’t belong to her.

  “Come back to my place and have a cup of coffee? It’ll do you good. It’s still early. I’d love to show you the new accommodation. I’m really pleased with it. You can give me some horticultural advice.”

  “Anything but proteas are fine, and the coffee sounds fantastic.”

  ***

  Tom slid back in behind the steering wheel of his car and jammed the key into the ignition, satisfied the wombat was now in good hands, but slightly irritated by the morning’s delay. He pulled out onto the road and headed back down the winding road to his brother’s restaurant in the village.

  Miss Georgina Martin appeared to be a little accident-prone. He looked back into the rearview mirror and shook his head as he passed the bend where he’d found her this morning. His brother would give him heaps about it when he told him. The mere fact that he’d asked who she was had been enough to start tongues wagging, and then Nick had a go at hi
m about women falling at his feet and accused him of becoming the local Lothario. Now he’d have to tell him he’d galloped to Georgina’s rescue, and Lancelot would be added to his list. He shrugged. The news would be all over the village in five minutes flat anyway.

  Tom scanned the road edges as he drove. No matter how prepared, or how careful, it was a horrible shock to run an animal over. At least she’d had the presence of mind to check the pouch and keep the critter warm. The memory of Georgina backing up, ready to fend him off, made him smile. Serious lioness syndrome—protecting her young. And she looked pretty good in those tight black exercise pants and the little crop top, too, way better than the bloody awful cargo pants and boots she’d been sporting the day she came into the restaurant. Tom shifted around in the driving seat as unexpected warmth surged in his groin. First thing he’d do when he got back was get out of the damn moleskins; they were far too uncomfortable.

  The good news was the vet had sorted out the wombat and seemed to think it would survive if she could find a carer. At least one thing had worked out.

  His attempt last night to visit his parents in Sydney hadn’t. It had been a raging disaster, his mother cold and unresponsive and his father abrupt and overpolite. It was as though he was a stranger. But then he didn’t deserve much better after what he’d put them through. He could hardly stand the sight of himself, so why would they want to look at him? Just a constant reminder of what they had lost and how he couldn’t be trusted.

  The last three months of renovations had been a bit more successful. Another few days of painting and the restaurant would be ready to open, and then he could chase up a real job and hit the road again. Western Australia was the go. With the mining boom, he’d easily pick something up. Not too many people, just wide-open spaces and machinery. He was way better sticking to machinery than people. All care and no responsibility was the way it was going to be from here on in.