Sofie Dove should’ve been ecstatic this morning, but for some bizarre reason, unease twisted inside her. An ominous expectancy, so powerful it made the skin at her nape prickle and her stomach tie in knots.
She shook the feeling off and focused on the early morning sun sparkling on frost-covered grass and shrubs. She stopped for a moment to enjoy the bejewelled fantasy scene. She smiled, buttoned up her down-filled coat, and wrapped her woolly scarf around her neck, muttering, ‘It’s going to be a wonderful, creative morning.’ She open the back of her rusty station wagon, hauled out her equipment with a heave, and shut and locked her car. She tucked her easel and enormous sketchpad under one arm, and lifted her carrycase of art supplies in her other hand. Armed with these tools for teaching her first art class, Sofie hurried to the back entry of the Edwardian hall, hoping the caretaker had turned on the heating. There was no point in holding a life drawing class if the model needed to cover up because she had goosebumps and puckered nipples. As it was, she didn’t know how the men who had signed on would react to a naked woman. They’d seemed very eager at the time, which in itself was a worry.
She hurried up the short set of stairs, her boots echoing on the old hardwood timber. Relieved to see, on reaching the stage, that three gas heaters, the kind used at outdoor cafés, were pumping out heat and the drawn heavy drapes were keeping it in. Chairs and small tables were set up in a semicircle facing a red chaise longue draped with a warm blanket. Eight people had signed on to take her class, a nice number that she could tutor one-on-one when necessary. After her breakfast stint at Veronica’s—her sister Jennifer’s restaurant—drawing was the perfect way to unwind.
Sofie started as a loud noise resounded through the building. Moments later the sounds of clomping feet and people chatting echoed through the hall. She smiled; her pupils had arrived and were ambling towards the stage. Sofie peered through the drapes and gave her artists a welcoming wave. ‘Hi everyone, come on up by the heaters. Do you all know each other?’
Lots of nodding as the would-be artists, five women and three men, rugged up in coats, assorted beanies and scarves, hurried to get near the heat. They each chose a place, such as it was, at chairs and tables and arranged their equipment.
‘Right,’ Sofie said, rubbing her hands together, ‘we’re all here and our model shouldn’t be long.’ She’d promised Britt two hundred dollars for a two-hour sitting. Britt didn’t have a problem with nudity, on the contrary, she was looking forward to it. She’d even swapped with Fiona who was happy to take over her mid-morning coffee stint at Veronica’s.
So where was Britt?
‘Um, Sofie?’ Janet asked, worried brow wrinkled.
This did not bode well. Nerves?
‘Yes, Janet?’ Sofie replied, smiling into Janet’s bright blue eyes that seemed to say a hell of a lot. No, this doesn’t bode well, at all. Was it all going to go to shit on her first attempt at bringing something different to Tumble Creek, something she would enjoy and hopefully her new pupils as well? It wasn’t that she hadn’t made friends, because she had, but something had been missing since moving here from Sydney. Art. She needed to get back into creating, into painting and drawing, to meet like-minded people, and this was the perfect solution.
All seven swung around to face Janet, who fidgeted with her pencils and haltingly continued, ‘Um … did you ask Britt or … um … Gabby?’
Britt was always punctual, yet she had not arrived. The same uncomfortable feeling she’d had standing by her car earlier stole through Sofie: something had gone wrong, already. ‘Um … Britt?’ Sofie replied cautiously, her tone slanting up to a squeak.
Janet nodded and the rest of the worried-looking pupils swung their heads back and forth between them. ‘Well, we may as well pack up because Britt has disappeared. There are rumours going around town. Something about that she’s in a witness protection thing.’
‘A what?!’ Sofie’s mind raced. Why would Britt need protecting? What or who would she need protecting from? Britt was, at a guess, about twenty-eight, maybe thirty, not married but she had family and friends who would worry. Sofie forced herself to calm down; after all, it was just a rumour. Nevertheless, Britt was still absent.
‘Britt has been living in town for about eighteen months. She kept to herself at first, always wary of her surroundings and anyone who tried to make friends … except you, Sofie.’ Janet wasn’t telling Sofie anything she didn’t already know.
‘Strange that she never said anything to me. I think something, or someone, has caught up with her.’ Oh crap, why did she have to say that out loud? Turning back to her students Sofie muttered, ‘Not that I know anything, it’s just a feeling in my …’ she trailed off.
Thinking back, it was all true, yet once Britt settled in at Veronica’s, she was bubbly, outgoing and a delight to have around. ‘I’ll miss her,’ Sofie mumbled, troubled about why Britt, a vivacious, gorgeous girl would need help in that way. For no reason, other than her peculiar sixth sense, the dread she’d dismissed returned, burying itself deeper.
Sofie’s fingers raked through her mass of curly blonde hair. ‘She didn’t say anything about it to me,’ she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
‘I suppose if she is under protection, and it all being hush-hush … um … she probably couldn’t tell anyone … anything.’ Janet nodded, face drawn with concern.
‘Bloody hell—I hope Britt will be all right.’
‘Are we still having a class?’ Gina asked, sounding hopeful.
After making the effort to come out in the freezing cold, Sofie didn’t want to disappoint her new pupils. ‘We’ll try … hey? I don’t suppose Gabby is available?’
Gina shook her head, red hair dancing around her face. ‘Gabby is on her shift at the hospital, won’t be free until later this arvo.’
The scary idea that she could model took hold of Sofie. There wasn’t anything to it, really. You just go naked and draped yourself over a chaise … simple. Did she worry about what her mother would think? She could picture her disapproving face and hear her tut-tutting. Well bugger that. Did she worry about showing her body? Of course she did, but being curvaceous was perfect for life drawing. Rubens would have thought so. Rubens would’ve loved it, definitely.
‘Well—’ Sofie took a deep breath, ‘—if everyone is still interested in having a go, I’ll strip and you can all draw me.’ Gasps echoed through the hall. Men cleared their throats. ‘It’s not a problem, honestly. I just won’t be able to walk around and give you pointers, but I will call out now and then to remind you to stay loose and let your lines flow freely.’ Taking the blanket off the chaise, Sofie went behind the screen to undress, dropping her clothes over the top of the screen as she peeled off the layers. Talking all the while and hoping they didn’t run when she came out. ‘We’ll do five-minute sketches at first. Your choice of either pencil or charcoal.’
‘Five minutes? I can’t draw a person in five minutes,’ Barry complained.
Sofie popped her head over the screen. ‘This is what artists do, it’s an exercise that will help you loosen up. Help you to stop worrying about all the little details, you know, sketch the whole person, not just an eye or mouth. Trust me, it works,’ she said rounding the screen, blanket tucked around her ample breasts. She picked up the timer, set it to repeat the alarm every five minutes. ‘Okay, ready?’
Despite more throat-clearing, Sofie tiptoed over the cold floor and draped herself on the chaise. They would just have to deal with the discretely-placed blanket covering her privates. Quickly, pencil and charcoal scratched over artist’s paper. Soon the alarm tinkled and Sofie changed position. This went on several times, before she called a break and, wrapped in her blanket, moved around behind her pupils to gently make suggestions. And then she went back to the chaise, lying down, one leg cocked and leaning over her other thigh, otherwise exposing her whole body. Eyes closed, she encouraged them by saying, ‘There’s no one here to criticise your work, so stay loose, occasionally change from pencil to charcoal or whatever …’ She finished with a flutter of her hand.
The heavy sound of boots thumping on timber echoed through the hall below them … getting closer.
Up on one elbow, Sofie covered herself and waited for whoever it was to speak or leave. But the sound of boots hitting the steps up to the stage put an end to that idea. Sofie couldn’t believe this was happening, it was just her luck to have someone walk in on them. She quickly covered herself as best she could before the intruder entered their private area.
The drapes parted and Brock Stewart, a mountain of powerful muscles, sauntered right up and stopped barely inches away from her chaise longue. Starting at his boots, Sofie’s eyes slowly drifted up. His thigh muscles flexed in faded jeans, the long sleeves on his black T-shirt were pushed up to mid forearm, the rest was stretched over a deep, wide chest and taut biceps.
No matter what he wore, Brock Stewart was hot, and now in front of everyone her body took off on its own pleasurable erotic trip. Sofie dared to crane her neck and look up. Oops, someone wasn’t happy. His flinty, brown eyes penetrated hers before slowly taking in her state of undress. She clutched the red blanket closer around her, hoping it would somehow calm things, but it just made matters worse, because now a muscle in his jaw flicked. Then, strangely, he folded his arms and shoved his hands deep into his armpits.
Ignoring all the muttering which, to Sofie’s reckoning, had no effect on him at all, and mouth tight, he growled, ‘Come with me.’
‘Why? I’m in the middle of—’
‘No time to explain,’ he said, his tone none too happy. ‘Get up, get dressed and come with me.’
‘Has something happened to Claudia?’ Claudia was Sofie’s teenaged daughter.
‘No—’
‘To Jen? To anyone I love or know?’
‘No—’
‘Right, then I’m staying here to …’
In a disbelieving stupor, Sofie watched Brock’s hands as he tugged them free of his armpits, reached over and scooped her off the chaise. She squealed like a girl who’d seen her first big hairy spider.
‘Put me down!’ Sofie yelled, and clutched the blanket tightly around her body. But, his look of determination told her, he had no intention of doing anything of the sort. She called on her pupils for help. ‘Somebody stop him!’
‘But Sofie, honey,’ Janet replied helpfully, ‘he’s Sergeant Stewart!’
‘He’s a detective now and in civvies!’ Oh lord, now she was sounding snippy. Sofie wriggled but Brock flexed his arm muscles and held her tighter. ‘You can stop him!’ But, shaking their heads, her students stayed rooted to the floor.
A helpless feeling stole through her. Damn!
‘Clothes,’ Brock ordered. In the cavernous hall his voice punched through the drapes, sounding like an avalanche of boulders tumbling along the floor. But it didn’t stop there; the vibrations in his chest seeped through Sofie’s flesh to lodge in that very personal place between her legs. Shit! Without thinking, she squeezed her thighs together. Brock’s head dipped, his intense gaze captured hers. And, oh God, he knew what was going on inside her … what was going on between her thighs. In a fraction of a second his serious look disappeared. The longer he gazed at her the more his eyes softened and the more his luscious mouth curved into a teensy lopsided grin.
Holy crap. If they’d been alone, he would’ve had her up against a wall and … hopefully.
A thrill filled her chest, heat rose up her neck, and—damn it all to hell—her cheeks were aflame.
‘Detective,’ Gina prompted, holding out a bag.
He cradled Sofie to him and stuck a hand out from under her bottom for the plastic bag of clothes, as well as Sofie’s handbag. He gave Gina a nod of thanks then, boots clomping, headed through the drapes, down the steps and along the hall to the back entry.
The moment his back was turned, her pupils muttered loud enough for them to hear, ‘What do you suppose is going on?—Perhaps it’s against the law to be naked in the community hall—Maybe she hasn’t paid her parking fine—Maybe …’
Sofie tried to peer over Brock’s shoulder. But his big body blocked everything behind them from view, so she yelled instead, ‘I paid all my parking fines in Sydney, there’s no place in this town where you could get a parking fine! Don’t worry I’ve tried.’
Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Brock was shaking his head, ever so slightly. Was he having fun at her expense? Sofie had had enough. ‘Put me down this minute!’ She thumped his shoulder for emphasis, but he didn’t even flinch.
He eased her down in front of the ladies toilets, handed over her clothes and handbag, then hands on her shoulders he spun her around, and gave her a nudge with his fingers in the small of her back, saying, ‘Get dressed.’
She swung back around. ‘Wait just a minute!’ Defiant, Sofie prodded his chest. ‘I don’t know what this is all about, but I’ve had about enough of the cat and mouse thing you’ve been playing with me for months.’ She waved her hand for emphasis. ‘I have a new class. I’m not there, they’ll go home, and someone has to turn off the heaters, plus I’m not leaving my art equipment!’ She flung an arm out indicating the door they’d just come out of.
He held out his hand. ‘Car keys. I’ll turn off the heaters, get your stuff and put it in your car. You get changed.’
‘Why the hurry? What’s going on? Tell me or I won’t take another step!’
He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and widened his stance, like he was ready to wait it out. His chest expanded with a deep breath, then he slowly exhaled. It didn’t take an idiot to know he was trying to control his patience. He sighed, head slanted to one side, and gently said, ‘No one’s hurt—I’ll explain in the car—for fuck’s sake get dressed, I need you to come with me—now!’
Sofie stared at his deadly serious expression, exasperated. ‘God, you’re so annoying,’ she grumbled.
He grabbed her shoulders, leaned in to within an inch of her face, and forced out through clenched teeth, ‘Sofe! There’s been an accident at your house, and for safety reasons people need info. You want to tell them about your house over the phone, or d’you want to get dressed?’ Eyes hard, he growled deep in his throat. ‘Or as you seem to like flaunting yourself in public I’ll take you as you are—naked!’
Shit, the way he barked out the word ‘naked’ made her feel as if she’d done something wrong, and she hadn’t. How dare he? ‘I was not flaunting myself, and this is hardly a public place. Why didn’t you let me change behind the screen?’ He merely gave her a look. Sofie continued on her rant, and God it felt good! ‘You came charging in uninvited and … and scooped me up in the middle of a life drawing lesson!’ she finished yelling, and emphasised her point with a wave of her hands. The forgotten blanket untwisted its hold and slid off her breasts to pool at her feet. Horrified eyes wide, she determined not to crack and burst into tears, nor laugh hysterically. She also determined not to bend over and pick up the blanket; he’d see all of her bare back, not to mention the top of her arse. So, no way was she doing that. But, she thought sarcastically, much better he see her ample breasts, even if they weren’t as perky as they used to be, and at least her belly was reasonably flat; unfortunately, this meant she couldn’t hide her pubes which should have been trimmed last week!
Nice one, Sofe.
She had to hand it to Brock; his eyes didn’t stray but steadfastly held hers, even though away from the heaters and no blanket, Sofie’s nipples pebbled into hard, rosy nubs, and then she started to shiver.
Maybe she just wasn’t his type. Shit … what was she going to do with that?
Brock’s dark, burning gaze slowly travelled down her body. Oops, maybe she was wrong. He hunkered down, retrieved the blanket, came up and tucked it around her shoulders. Quietly, and with controlled authority, he clipped, ‘Get—dressed—Sofe.’
Mouth pressed together, she snatched her clothes out of his hand, rummaged in her handbag for her keys and slapped them into his waiting palm. He lifted his chin indicating the ladies toilets and strode back towards the hall muttering, ‘Not a fan of you being naked in front of other men.’
Sofie peeked around the corner to see him disappear. ‘What the …?’
She could not work him out. Half the time his look screamed hungry for sex, the other half he was angry … actually it was both at the same time. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Okay, she had to get a handle on her emotions before she dived headlong into hysterics. So what if Brock Stewart had shown signs he found her attractive over the past six months, she sure as hell wasn’t going to take the first step. And she’d better get dressed, and fast, because she was damn sure he wouldn’t even blink twice about coming into the ladies to drag her out. She certainly wasn’t going to sit next to him, in his car, naked. Though, if he ever gave her the chance, that might change somewhere down the track.
***
Out in the cold, Brock grabbed Sofie’s hand and dragged her straight to his Ford Ranger. She glared at the beast, its engine running, making a show of how confident he’d been that it wouldn’t take him long to fetch her. Misty clouds of vapour mixed with diesel fumes floated through the parking area and up into the surrounding leafless, twiggy oak trees. She tried to yank her hand out of his; of course that didn’t work. At some stage he’d have to let her go to open his car door, she could easily make a run for her car, then she wouldn’t have to sit next to his ongoing mixed messages. Damn, no keys—not a problem, she could try hot wiring her car. He opened his passenger door, let her hand go, and just as she was about to take off, he scooped her up again. Ignoring Sofie’s squeal of protest, and without a word, he set her down in the passenger seat. Then his actions got more bizarre. Brock grabbed the seatbelt, pulled it across her lap and chest, and snapped it in, as if she were a child not capable of performing this simple routine task.
‘Stop that!’ she smacked at his hands. ‘I’ll follow you in my own car.’
Brock peered over his shoulder at her station wagon. ‘That’s not a car.’ He turned back to face her. ‘That’s an accident waiting to happen.’
Outraged, Sofie opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind when he slammed the door shut and locked it. The nerve. Brock rounded the bonnet, unlocked the driver’s side door, and slid his big frame behind the wheel. Then palm open flat on the steering wheel, he swung his car around and headed out of the car park.
‘You’d better tell me what’s going on.’
His masculine hand left the steering wheel and moved across to hold hers where it was resting on her lap, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t have to—his action spoke volumes, only she didn’t know what it meant.
Apprehension tightened her chest until it squeezed all the breath out of her. ‘You said no one’s hurt,’ she said, her voice strained, ‘but it’s something else, something bad.’
Brock’s manner scared the crap out of her. Right from the moment he’d walked into the hall, she’d been fighting an ominous sense that something dreadful had happened.
Brock slowed as he turned the corner into Lavender Lane and Sofie’s worst fears, that this was very bad, were confirmed. Her beautiful, peaceful street had been turned on its head. How bad was this accident that it could attract a crowd of onlookers, and turn her tranquil, pretty street into a circus? She craned her neck, but couldn’t see past cars, vans and trucks. Gawkers were blocking the road. Mouth tight, Brock growled long and hard, sounding very pissed off. Everyone in town respected him, he was their police detective; unfortunately, he could never really let his anger rip. He beeped his horn and people scurried aside. His frown deepened, and muscles ticked above his jaw.
‘Brock! Talk to me!’ Sofie demanded. ‘Is Claud—’
‘I told you, Claudia’s fine. Last we checked, she was at Veronica’s cooking with Jen.’
Nodding, Sofie screwed her eyes shut, imagined Claudia cooking up a storm with her aunt and let it settle inside her, easing her fears. She opened her eyes again and her heart seized. Brock couldn’t hide the emotions mapping his face, concern, understanding … anguish?
‘There’s no way to soften the blow, I’m sorry, Sofe,’ he told her quietly, and with feeling. ‘A truck ploughed into your yard and …’
Every muscle in her body braced, she just didn’t know what for, exactly, except it was bad—very bad.
Up ahead, gathered around the front of her house, was a police car, ambulance and fire engine, all with lights flashing. ‘It’s not just the yard, is it?’ Sofie asked, hoping he’d allay her fears, but he merely shook his head. Dread ripped through her, making her stomach clench and her skin feel cold yet sweaty at the same time. As they approached, onlookers and their vehicles moved out of their way and the scene opened up. ‘Brock?! Why is there a semi in my … my …’
Leaning in, she gripped the dashboard while Brock edged his car as close as he could to her house.
The destruction was heartbreaking. Weird noises came out through her constricted throat, she tried to stop them but couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get air into her lungs. The Ranger stopped at the kerb. Brock leaned across the console to unclip her seat belt, and somewhere in her consciousness the strength of his big hands curling around her shoulders filtered through as he forced her to face him.
He took her hand and gently placed it palm open on his massive chest. ‘Focus on me, Sofe. Slow down your breathing.’
‘Okay, no one was hurt—no one was hurt,’ she repeated firmly, adding, ‘I can do this.’ Eyes locked with Brock’s caring, dark-brown ones, she followed the rhythm of his chest.
‘Of course you can, you’re Sofie Dove.’ He gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘Breath out … in again … slowly. That’s it.’
Staring at his face and chest, listening to his steady voice, Sofie had calmed enough to speak and not fall apart any second. ‘I’m all right now.’ But he didn’t move his hand covering hers on his chest.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes. I’m fine. I’m afraid to look, but at the same time, I know I can’t avoid it.’ And Sofie hoped to God that she wasn’t wrong, because to fall apart anytime was bad enough, but doing it surrounded by the entire community, and the local photojournalist, would be appalling. That’s not the way she was brought up, her mother insisted on maintaining a strict proper image at all times, but like her sister, that was still a work in progress for Sofie.
Back straight, she muttered, ‘I’m okay.’
Brock stroked her arms a few times then let her go. ‘Stay here,’ he said, accompanying the order with a look that meant she should do exactly that. He swung out of his car and quickly moved around to her door; opening it, he held his hand out to help her down. Sofie vaguely noted he was extremely agile for a big man.
The first thing that hit her was the smell of burning rubber, dust and smoke, kept hanging low in the cold morning air. The stench was something she’d never forget.
Brock slid an arm around her waist, and protectively held her close to his side. Not only was he big and strong, but he had a tangible, don’t-mess-with-me aura about him. He took her around the back of a fire engine parked at the kerb. Sofie left his grasp and edged around the semi-trailer. Bracing herself for the worst, she peered around the back of it. But nothing could have prepared her for the destruction. To her sorrow, the roof had collapsed and landed partly on top of the truck, the rest was on her garden and driveway. Her bedroom, the hallway and living room beyond, now exposed to the weather, made Sofie want to rush in and protect what was left. The rest of her cottage teetered on the brink of collapse.
The visual onslaught was bad enough—Sofie’s imagination did the rest. She stepped back and lost her footing. Brock’s arm around her waist didn’t move, his grip simply tightened around her as she stumbled into him.
‘You okay?’ he asked, his clipped tone contradicting his caring, protective stance as he encircled her with his shoulders and torso, blocking everything from her view with his body.
His sharp, assessing eyes scanned her face. There was no mistake: they were sharp because he cared, and assessing because he needed to know. She nodded, and cleared her throat to test her voice, but could only managed a raspy whisper. ‘There’s nothing left of my house.’ She grabbed hold of his T-shirt and hung on. Her mouth trembled, a sob escaped, and before she completely lost it, she sucked her lips in between her teeth and bit down. Filled with all sorts of questions, Brock’s gaze didn’t waver and, stuck in the moment, neither did hers. Seconds slipped by and something other than his concern passed between them. Needing to calm her thumping heart, she let go of her mouth and gasped.
‘Sofe?’ Brock gently prompted.
His warm gaze dipped to her mouth then slowly came up to meet her eyes—eyes now flooded with tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.
‘You said no one was hurt—’ she swallowed past a lump in her throat, ‘—You’re not hiding something from me are you? Is—is the driver okay?’
Brow furrowed, Brock answered, ‘He must be, we can’t find him.’
‘He walked away from this? He might be wandering around in a daze.’ Nerves stretched to breaking point, she snapped, ‘Has anyone bothered to look?’
‘Of course.’ Deep lines appeared between Brock’s eyebrows. ‘This is your house, Sofe. We’re doing everything possible to find the driver and question him about what happened.’
‘Thank you. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound touchy … It’s not your fault.’ She laid her hand on his forearm. ‘I am wondering what would make someone veer off the road like this—you know? Maybe he had a heart attack or something. It’s good he walked away, somewhere.’ Her shoulders sagged, and then shock really set in with all that could have happened, the people who could’ve been seriously hurt, or worse, killed. There was no controlling it, Sofie began to shake.
Big strong arms wrapped around her. Brock held her tightly to him, she buried her face in his broad chest and sobbed. She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that and didn’t care. It had been a long time since Sofie had had a man’s muscular arms around her. She silently thanked him; the all-encompassing sense of protection he gave her was something she desperately needed right now. He waited, and slowly, through hitching breaths, Sofie pulled back. Embarrassed her tears had left dark wet patches on his T-shirt, she brought her hand up to brush them away.
‘I’ve made a mess of your shirt … Sorry.’
‘I’m here for you, Sofe. A few tears on my shirt?’ He shook his head. ‘Nothing to be sorry about.’
‘Thank you, I do appreciate it, very much …’ she trailed off.
‘Ready for a closer look?’
‘Yeah,’ she said on a trembling breath. ‘Let’s get it over with.’
They moved around the back of the semi-trailer and the smell of freshly churned earth hit her nose. The sight of her beautiful garden now demolished made her gasp; automatically her hand went to cover her mouth for fear she would cry out loud. The massive wheels had ploughed right across her restored timber cottage from one side to the other, destroying it.
‘Oh God, no! Our home!’ Sofie whispered behind her hands, as she and Brock stood together on her smashed and flattened front picket fence and surveyed the destruction. The much loved wrought-iron gate gone, probably somewhere under the truck.
She moved to get closer; perhaps she could salvage something. Brock slid an arm around her waist. ‘Stay here. It’s unsafe. The whole front end of your house could collapse.’
She leaned into him, buried her face in his chest and cried again, mumbling, ‘I know I should be grateful no one was hurt, or worse, and nothing else matters but …’
Brock stroked her hair and murmured, ‘I know, Sofe, it’ll be okay, Babe.’
It was brief, said quickly, but she wasn’t mistaken, he’d called her ‘Babe’. She’d never known Brock to speak like this … never. His sweet words and tone moved deep inside her to a warm private place, a place where it would remain safe forever. She curled her arms around his hard, muscled waist and hung on.
Since helping her make Jennifer’s restaurant and courtyard garden pretty with autumn flowers, hanging baskets and paving, Brock had kept his distance. She’d felt a deep connection with him—his eyes couldn’t lie, could they? But it had been over a year. She’d moved to Tumble Creek after her Sydney house was sold last January. It was now July, well into winter and he hadn’t made any advances, not even come into the restaurant for breakfast or coffee. She told herself that right now, hiding from the carnage, safe in Brock’s arms, she would take all he was willing to give. She breathed in his musky, manly scent, wanting to crawl under his shirt and suck in the strength his warm, muscled body gave her. God, he felt good, really good—comforting.
The sound of heavy boots and the rustle-squeak of protective fireman’s coat preceded a voice she recognised: Bruce, Tumble Creek’s newest fully-fledged fireman.
‘Oops, ’scuse me.’ Bruce ducked his head. ‘Just came to tell ya, the truck’s owner is here. He reported his truck stolen in Parrot Creek. Was listening to the local news and a reporter was talking about the commotion here, and his mate drove him straight over. Also, someone’s coming from Armidale with scaffolding to secure what’s left of your house, Sofie, they’ll make it as safe as they can. They’re bringing a tarp big enough to cover most of your house too.’
She pulled herself together. ‘Th-thank you so much, Bruce.’
‘Is someone questioning the semi’s owner?’ Brock asked.
‘Oh, yeah.’ Bruce nodded. ‘Tak’s onto it.’
‘Right.’ Sofie could feel some of Brock’s tension ease.
‘Sorry this happened to ya, Sofe. Is there anything we need to know, like any chemicals? Something that could leak and cause a fire or explosions?’
Startled, Sofie shook her head.
‘Jesus, Bruce!’ Brock warned. ‘Have a heart.’
‘Look, Rock, er, Brock.’ Someone in town said ‘The Rock’ better suited Brock and now he was stuck with it, nothing was going to change that, ever. ‘Some people do have shit stashed in their garage. I have to ask. It’s routine.’ Bruce gave Sofie a swift nod, did an about-face and went back to inform his chief.
Brock gave her an encouraging squeeze. ‘You seen enough?’
‘No, if I can just gather some things, clothes and … whatever,’ she trailed off.
‘No way. It’s not safe. Maybe when the scaffolding’s up.’
After destroying her bedroom, the truck’s cab had come to rest in her living room in front of her new, now cracked, flat-screen TV. Her bedroom closet had been torn apart and her clothes were strewn across the room; the slightest puff of wind had caught and fluttered some items, like the flimsiest garments imaginable, her sweet, pretty underwear that her sister Jennifer had bought for her—of course!—into the garden. As she watched, her favourite pair of scarlet lacy undies, caught on an air current, twirled up and up, then, as if sucked by a vacuum, went straight to the back end of the truck where it caught and hung like a flag. Sofie turned to Brock to see his eyes fixed on the undies that were now making a slow, agonising descent down the back of the truck. Once they were within reach, he lunged and grabbed the lacy delight, and stuffed it in his jeans pocket.
Crap! Her undies were in his pocket—that really was the last straw.
Before she could ask for them back, a loud crack rent the air. Sofie jumped and clung to Brock, gripping his shirt. A large piece of ceiling plaster dangled by a thread. Mesmerised by the spectacle, Sofie held her breath and waited for the drama to unfold. The plaster ripped, dropping a few inches, then ripped a bit more, and finally fell onto her bedside table, which exploded, bits of it flying everywhere. And with one last thump-clunk the house quietened again.
Through the cacophony of people moving about with equipment and more people calling out instructions, Sofie caught the sound of a familiar buzzing, and she broke out in a panic-stricken sweat.