Paul sat on the edge of the sofa and listened to Trish Jenkins tap on a door, before her clear voice rang down the hall. ‘You’ve got a visitor, Serena. Paul Carey’s here.’
‘I’m coming.’ Moments later, Serena appeared in the doorway, eyes heavy-lidded, cheeks flushed. ‘Hi, what are you doing here?’
He stood, feeling awkward. What had possessed him to show up on her doorstep tonight? It was crazy, but her company this afternoon had made him forget his worries. Until Hayden mentioned Greg Frankston.
Paul wanted that sense of calm Serena wore like a winter coat. He wanted not to think about the farm, or the mill, or the man he blamed for his father’s heart attack. He wanted a couple of hours thinking of nothing more than the attractive woman watching him with her curious emerald gaze.
‘I should have phoned first. I thought you might like to sample more of Ruby’s cooking for dinner and we didn’t get a chance to really talk about your ideas. Whether you still want to go ahead with them now you can see what’s happening here.’
She blinked, and looked at Trish.
‘Fine by me, dear. I held off cooking until I knew if you were awake, and the Ace in the Hole serves great food.’
Serena turned back to him. ‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready. Honestly, I could eat a horse.’ She darted through the door.
Trish grinned and patted his arm. ‘Thanks for recommending my place, Paul. I’m glad of the custom, especially now the mill’s closed. Will you excuse me? I’ve a batch of parmesan pumpkin scones in the oven.’
‘Sure, Trish. Thought something smelled good when you opened the front door.’
She paused with her hand on the door handle. ‘Did you hear who’s back in town?’
‘Yeah. Bad news travels fast.’
‘He won’t be able to con anyone here again. We’re all wise to him now.’
Trish left but the dark mood descended as he slumped into an armchair. If only he’d held off signing the damned contract on the Cotton Bale just one week, if only he’d managed to pay more principal off the bank loan, if—
A whole lot of ifs that meant fuck all.
And the biggest if of all was the pine trees. If only his father wasn’t soft-hearted and hadn’t been conned into sinking farm profits into a scam. Four years may have dimmed the collective town memory, but not his.
And now Frankston was back in town.
Paul thumped the arm of the chair. In the dark days after his father’s heart attack there’d been no option. Paul had borrowed heavily to keep their farm afloat. If it came to the crunch, would the bank lend him more to keep the farm this time?
And what if—
Frankston’s appearance at the mill appalled him. The conman had skimmed tens, maybe hundreds, of thousands of dollars from the community before his lawyer fiancée and Paul’s father had discovered his criminal activity and given the evidence to the police. But what if the man had hidden the profits of his crime until he got out of prison?
What if he really could buy the mill?
Whichever way Paul looked at it, he was screwed.
Serena opened the door and smiled. ‘I’m ready. Your car or mine?’
‘I walked so if you want to drive, it had better be yours.’
***
Listening to Serena’s light-hearted conversation eased the tension in Paul’s shoulders. He needed this, needed the break from a lousy week and too many hours shut up alone in his workshop.
‘I’m glad you gave me a chance to make up for our cut-short lunch.’
‘We both rushed our meals. Besides, you had me at steak.’
‘Good to know the secret. You were saying—’
Hayden strolled up to their corner table, beer in hand, and sat down uninvited. ‘You living in the pub these days?’
‘Geez, Hayden, join us, why don’t you.’
Serena gave him an odd look and smiled at his brother.
Paul rarely employed sarcasm, but tonight, he wasn’t in the mood for his brother’s company. He looked at Hayden more closely. His eyes were red and bleary, and the degree of sway as he sat on the chair was better suited to standing on the deck of a boat. Was it too much to ask for a couple of hours’ break from everything, including a brother who’d obviously had too much to drink?
Hayden ignored him and focused on Serena. ‘Paul said Veronica Carter commissioned you to make cotton clothes for the festival. Doubt that will go ahead now. Why are you still here?’
‘Hey, bro, let’s leave the bad stuff out of the conversation.’ How long had Hayden been at the pub? ‘Won’t Mum be expecting you home for dinner?’
‘Shut it, bro. I’m having drinks with my mates.’ He raised his glass towards the bar. ‘Can’t I have an evening off once in a blue moon?’
‘Of course you can, but it looks like you’ve had a few. Want a bed at my place for the night?’
‘Why? Because you think I’m pissed? Ha, I’m drinking to forget why I’m pissed. Off, that is.’ Hayden drained his glass and put it down hard, then leaned towards Serena. ‘My big brother’s not the only smart one in the family.’
Serena flicked a glance at Paul, and eased away from Hayden. The sour smell of beer and defeat wafted across the table and smacked Paul in the face. He had to get Hayden away before he did something stupid, like make a move on Serena. He opened his mouth to apologise for Hayden’s behaviour and take his brother back to the saddlery, but Serena beat him to the punch.
‘You asked about my business, Hayden. I’ll be okay, but it’s my workers and suppliers I’m worried about. Don’t suppose there’ll be any jobs going in this area in the next few months?’
‘You staying around?’ Paul had expected her to hightail it back to Sydney when the depressed state of the town became obvious. Mindalby was no place for a holiday.
‘Yes. I—have my reasons. Something might be able to be salvaged. From my holiday, I mean.’
Salvaged?
He couldn’t see a single positive in the whole damned situation, aside from Serena’s arrival. But her cockeyed optimism could do nothing for him tonight. Not while Hayden loomed over her.
‘Okay, Hayden, it’s time to—’ Paul was halfway to his feet when Serena interrupted. She pinned him with a hard look and he sat down.
She touched his brother’s arm. ‘Our meals will be here soon. Have you eaten, Hayden?’
Oh, you clever woman. He sighed, but brotherly love extended to seeing that Hayden stopped drinking, even at the expense of his own evening. ‘Yeah, have a bite to eat with us.’
‘I had a burger and chips.’ Hayden picked up his glass, looked into its empty depths, and tipped it upside down. ‘My shout. What are you drinking?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. Paul mentioned he had plans for—’ Glancing at Hayden, Serena bit her lip, cutting off reference to their earlier discussion. ‘Sorry.’
‘Hayden knows about the art school and the contract on the pub.’ He shared everything with his family, including his brother.
Including his date with Serena.
Her relief was clear. ‘I didn’t want to break my word to you.’
Hayden frowned. ‘You told her your plans? Wow.’
‘It came up in conversation.’ Damn it. Even in his current state, Hayden was capable of sussing out his brother’s attraction to Serena.
‘I was thinking about the pub. You might be able to sublease the space. Does it still have its licence?’ She sipped her drink, leaving an imprint of pink lipstick on the rim of the glass.
He consigned Hayden to hell for intruding and focused on Serena’s mouth. ‘It closed its doors ages ago. Besides having no money for a new licence, I don’t want to be a publican.’
‘Is there a chance of getting out of the contract?’
‘I’ll see my solicitor, but I doubt it. There won’t be anybody in town not affected by the closure.’ His gut clenched. He picked up the glass and finished his beer.
‘You know we’re all up shit creek and I know who’s responsible.’ Hayden shoved the table as he pushed up off the bench. ‘I’m going to Carter’s place and demand answers from the bastard.’
Paul stood and grabbed his brother’s arm. So much for a quiet evening in female company.
‘What good will that do?’
Hayden’s muscles bunched beneath Paul’s hand. ‘It will make me feel better.’
Paul’s fingers twitched with similar longing to grab Carter by the fancy lapels of his camel coat. ‘Right before Sergeant Johnson locks you in the slammer. Short-term relief. You’re better off smashing your fist into the side of the barn like we did in our teens.’ Cold weather still made his knuckles ache with the remembered pain of broken bones.
‘Or—’ Serena’s calm voice interrupted their brotherly argument, ‘—you could sit down and brainstorm ideas together. Receivers will sort out what belongs to the mill and what doesn’t. Clearly your cotton is yours, not Carter’s, and you’ll get it back.’
‘Probably not in time to meet the buyer’s contract. Maybe the only bit of luck we’ve had is that the bales haven’t been processed. At least I don’t have to pay Carter and still lose everything. Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake?’ Hayden slumped back onto the bench.
Paul released his breath and sat on the edge of his chair. At least Hayden hadn’t gone off half-cocked—yet.
Hayden picked up his glass, realised it was still empty, and put it down again. ‘Even if the receiver pulls off a miracle, there’ve got to be changes. We can’t go on with our livelihoods controlled by someone like Carter.’
Control. That was why Paul had left home. Too many things were beyond his control on the farm—enough rain at the right time, but not too much, everything that had to do with the cotton gin, market prices, strikes. Opening the saddlery and making the decision to create large art pieces in leather made him master of his destiny.
Until the mill closure, and damn if that irony didn’t turn his stomach.
‘You’re right. Although I’d take Carter over Frankston any day of the week.’ Not that Paul wanted either man around. The town was better off without them.
‘I still have to find money I don’t have until I sell our cotton, to pay fuel costs in order to sell it.’
‘It’s a catch twenty-two situation, I admit, but at least there are offers to transport the bales once they’re released. Look, I’ll talk to the bank manager in the morning and see what I can do to—’
Hayden lifted a gaze so bleak and hopeless, Paul couldn’t finish his sentence. An image of their mate Al’s car wrapped around a tree crashed through the walls he’d thrown up to contain it within the deepest recesses of memory. The coroner’s verdict had left the cause of death open, but there was something in Hayden’s eyes too reminiscent of Al’s the last time Paul had seen him alive.
Bile rose in his throat. Depression would not claim his little brother, not while he had breath in his body.
Hayden shook his head. ‘Bro, you’ve done more than enough already. At some point the farm has to pull its weight.’
Raised voices cut through the babble, but the disturbance broke the impasse building between him and Hayden. Mustering more confidence than he was feeling, he reiterated his promise. ‘I’ll speak to the manager.’
Hayden’s white knuckles gripped the edge of the table. ‘You can’t keep rescuing the family.’
Someone bumped into their table and Herbie clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘Paul, did you hear what that bastard Carter said about me?’
The short, bald mill worker had lost his usual chirpiness. He swayed, but Paul couldn’t tell if emotion or several schooners were to blame.
‘He’s told the cops I must have left the gas on. Me! That prick is too busy keeping up with that young wife of his to know what’s going on under his nose. You know how careful I am.’
‘True, Herb. You’re the most careful bloke I know. You check everything three times and—’
‘Four. I check everything four times. If there was a gas leak, it wasn’t because I didn’t do my job properly.’
‘I know, mate. I know. Hey, Herbie, this is Serena Quinlan.’ Paul indicated Serena sitting across from him. Serena’s presence would distract even Herbie, as inebriated as he was.
‘The designer lass from Sydney. How d’you do?’ Herb blinked owlishly before shaking Serena’s hand.
Three sheets to the wind was way beyond Herbie’s—and Hayden’s—usual consumption and told its own story.
‘The cotton festival will be affected by the closure too. Tell her, Paul.’ Herbie swayed and Paul stood, ready to offer his own seat.
‘Herb, come back here, mate,’ called one of a group of mill workers huddled around a table on the other side of the pub.
Herb excused himself before walking a dignified if meandering line back to his co-workers.
Hayden stood. ‘I need to get home and let the oldies know what happened at the creditors’ meeting before they hear some garbled rubbish on the grapevine. I hate that I’ve let them down.’
‘Not you, mate. Carter’s to blame. Just don’t go near him. Not yet.’ Paul clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He looked older than his twenty-six years and, for the first time since Paul had left home to open the saddlery, he realised the real weight of responsibility he’d left to his younger brother. Guilt whacked him in the chest like a speed bowler’s delivery.
He would fix this. He had to fix this.
‘We’ll find a solution, mate. Even if we can’t quite see it yet. Now go back to my place and catch some sleep before you drive home.’ He pulled his brother in for a quick, hard hug and thumped his back. ‘We’ll work it out. Tell Mum and Dad I’ll be out to visit in a couple of days, will you?’
Hayden nodded before turning to shake Serena’s hand. ‘Nice to meet you—again—Serena. Wish it had been under better circumstances.’
‘You too, Hayden. See you around.’
As Hayden disappeared through the pub door, Serena touched Paul’s arm. ‘So, dinner and an early night?’
‘Doubt I’ll be able to sleep. Too much going through my mind.’ Like keeping a careful watch over his brother and finding some way to secure funds to get the Carey cotton to market.
And finding out Frankston’s plans.
He sat heavily and ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll try to think of other uses for the Cotton Bale like you said. You know, do something proactive.’
‘I don’t want to think any more about my problems tonight either. I’d love to brainstorm with you—if you like.’ Her smile was tentative, as though she feared she might tread on his bruised sensitivities, but her glorious green eyes shone with compassion.
Her problems? Or something else? Or was he reading more into her gesture than existed? Her hand lingered on his arm, the pressure light and comforting, while the warmth of her body stirred an answering heat within him.
If he’d like?
He cleared his throat and granted himself a breathing space from reality. ‘It’s settled. Dinner, then we can retreat to my workshop for a planning meeting.’
Above the pub noise, the wind began to howl. As the door opened to admit another couple of patrons, the cold air swirled dust in with them.
‘Hmm, how do you fancy staying put here? It’s way warmer than my icebox of a workshop.’ Pushing aside his worries for an hour or two in Serena’s company might inspire him to a solution. If only.
‘Or we could retreat to my accommodation. Trish said I was welcome to use her sitting room if I wanted to work.’
‘Good. I’ll go order dinner and—’
‘My suggestion, I’ll order.’ She slipped out of her seat, grinning as she gently pushed him back into his chair, and headed for the queue at the register.
***
Serena wiped her mouth and fingers on a paper serviette and pushed her empty plate aside. ‘That was pretty good seafood considering how far we are from the coast.’
‘Pardon?’ Paul moved his chair and leaned closer. The Ace in the Hole was standing room only as half the town squeezed in. People needed to share their worries as rumours circulated, and the pub drew them together. A group who had been a few places behind her in the food queue stood eyeing off her table, juggling their table number, newly delivered dinner plates and drinks.
‘Shall we head back to the B and B? I think our table is needed.’
Paul looked at the people she indicated with a nod of her head. ‘Hey, Shazza, table’s yours if you want it. We’re just going.’
Shazza and friends mumbled their thanks and slid along the vinyl bench from the other end, filling the space as soon as Serena got to her feet. She followed Paul’s broad shoulders. He stopped every few feet, exchanging commiserations and goodnights. As they edged through the crowd towards the door a few people cast curious looks at her. Acknowledging she was an outsider and therefore of interest, Serena fixed a smile on her face. Once outside she shivered and zipped up her leather jacket. But the icy wind shrieking around the upstairs verandah of the two-storey building was almost a relief after the heat and noise inside. Paul stood beside her and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
‘Phew. Peace at last. Ironic, isn’t it? The worst week in the town’s history and this is probably the best day of trade the pub has had.’
The wind found its way through her jacket and Serena stamped her booted feet. ‘That’s life, isn’t it? Swings and roundabouts, highs and lows. Brrr. Come on. Jump in the car and let’s go find some heat.’ Her fingers were quickly losing all feeling and she fumbled her keys as she tugged her door open against a strong gust.
Paul sat in the passenger seat as she slammed her door, his presence making her perfectly adequate mid-size car feel tiny. Their breathing quickly fogged up the inside of the windows. She turned the key, flicked on the heater and rubbed her hands together. ‘It probably won’t do much more than clear the windscreen by the time we reach my place but it’s better than nothing.’
Or was it?
Heated by his body and wafted by the blower, Paul’s aftershave insinuated itself into her awareness. Unable to resist, she breathed deeply, inhaling tangy pine with citrus and leather undertones. The sensory combination along with Paul’s close proximity was heady.
While the heater slowly cleared the front window, she turned with the intention of studying Paul’s face in the spill of light from the pub.
His dark eyes—the darkest brown she’d ever seen—were focused on her. Not even the low light could disguise the intensity of his gaze. Her body responded with a mind of its own and she leaned across the centre console. Doors slammed, a diesel engine chugged to life and twin headlights on high beam blazed into the interior of her car, breaking the spell. She pulled back as the vehicle roared off down the main road, leaving her night blind. Suddenly the idea of being cocooned with Paul in the intimate confines of the sitting room at Trish’s place didn’t seem like such a good idea. After the rollercoaster day they’d spent together, and the unexpected attraction that teased her mind into thinking about Paul—retreat might be safer.
One day—not even a full twenty-four hours—and she was looking at the saddler with a crazy hunger. At least she was only looking. Meg wouldn’t have held back acting on her attraction. Serena ran her tongue along her top lip and swallowed. ‘Actually, would you mind if we left our brainstorming until tomorrow? I had a really early start and—’
‘Sure, no problem.’ He reached for the handle and cracked the door open. A soft glow from the overhead light banished the darkness, revealing his closed expression. ‘Don’t worry about giving me a lift. I’ll walk home.’
A mixture of relief and disappointment washed through her. She must have imagined his interest, but her body still hummed at his nearness. It was crazy. Twelve hours ago she hadn’t even met him yet here she was thinking about—what? Kissing him? Without a doubt she was coming down with a bug. Sheer, stupid lust wasn’t in her nature. Fatigue, the onset of illness, and the near miss today—they were a lethal combination around an attractive man. She drew back and rested her shoulder against the driver’s side window as though the cold could put a dampener on her feelings. ‘See you in the morning, maybe.’
Paul stepped out of the car, then turned and leaned down to face her. ‘Do you want to go for coffee in the morning?’
‘Can we decide tomorrow?’
His gaze flicked away. ‘Sure. Text me if you want to meet. Night.’ He shut the door and headed off quickly, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind. She watched him cross the main road and stride along Rolls Street until she lost sight of him behind the footpath foliage. With the festival in doubt and her cotton collection in limbo, what was the point of meeting him tomorrow? Paul had better things to do than waste time on a commission that would come to nothing. The same could be said about her. The festival was off her agenda, and the saddler was off the menu.
She wouldn’t meet him tomorrow.
Tomorrow she’d begin searching for her father.