The House at the Bottom of the Hill Page 4

  Then he’d moved overseas and Dan had turned up. Sparks had flown as everyone fretted about what the new guy was going to do. They didn’t want change. They were scared of it so Dan had decided he didn’t need to do anything fast and had been content to mosey around for a few years, settling in and finding his feet. And anyway, there weren’t as many tourists passing through back then and Dan had learned the virtue of patience in Swallow’s Fall as he waited for the right moment to announce his plans.

  As owner-builder he had to abide by certain rules, given the size of the development. Which meant he’d have to hire professionals to undertake the plumbing and wiring and most of the re-build. Which meant he needed somewhere for them to stay.

  He wandered to one of the windows and rubbed at the grime. Swallow’s Fall had enough historic attractions to show off. The pioneer cemetery with white bunting along the fence line. The Town Hall, and its noticeboard with renovation updates and a thermometer chart tracking the dollar donations—the jackpot still a decade off by Dan’s reckoning. The stock feeders’ with its oversized neighing plastic horse out the front. Morelly’s hardware store got a look in too, usually by the men, the women trotting their kids inside Cuddly Bear Toy Shop two doors down—when it was open. The craft centre just out of town made some profit, showcasing the skills and wares of the locals.

  He looked over at the B&B. Red was out early this morning, the dog at her heels in the front garden. She was dressed for exercise, Lycra running shorts and a big grey sweatshirt. No hat. She did a few waist twists and took off at a jog, heading for the hill on the eastern side of town. Lucy bounded ahead of her.

  Dan stepped back from the window. She was good-looking, yeah, and there was sweetness within her, but there could only be one explanation for how she’d reacted to Ethan: she had to be attracted to his friend. His married friend.

  Dan turned, jogged down the stairs and crossed the bar, his deck shoes squeaking on the polished floorboards. ‘Josh, I’m going for a run.’ He headed behind the counter to his room at the back of the bar.

  Josh paused at the dishwasher, a glass cloth in his hand. ‘Didn’t you go first thing this morning?’

  Dan rolled a shoulder. ‘Yeah.’ He went running every morning, unless there was a metre of snow. ‘Only did ten kilometres though. Feel like finishing it off.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘Sorry, mate, I need you to restock from last night. The backup mixers are low. Next time, huh?’ He often ran with Josh and enjoyed the competition. Josh was taller than Dan but Dan was faster. They pushed each other in companionable sportsmanship. Today he needed to get Charlotte alone.

  Dan slammed his bedroom door behind him with his foot. He kicked off his shoes, undid the buttons on his shirt and dragged it off his shoulders. He pulled off his jeans, hopping to the chest of drawers. He yanked out a pair of cotton rugby shorts and a crumpled but clean white T-shirt.

  Where the hell had he left his runners? He turned, scanning the room. The king-size bed sat in the middle, sheets and blankets in a mess, pillows propped against the wooden headboard; one on the floor. The room was spacious enough to be his away from it all bolt-hole. He had a small study area set up by the window. His home gym equipment took up nearly half of the room. A dumbbell rack served as a bedside table—enough space to balance his alarm clock on top—not that he needed a wake-up call; he rose before sunrise. The only piece of equipment that didn’t see any action, except in deepest, darkest winter, was his cross-trainer.

  He grinned. His king-sized bed hadn’t seen much action lately either, but he took his thoughts off that.

  His runners were where he’d thrown them that morning after his usual six a.m. fifteen-kilometre run: in the doorway to the bathroom, half hidden under the towel he’d discarded after his weight session.

  He dressed, and headed out the back door and down the alleyway. She was halfway up the hillside. She wasn’t running, but she had a reasonable pace going considering the hill was steep. It wouldn’t take much to catch up with her, but Dan ran the other way—he’d bump into her when she got to the top of the hill.

  He headed north out of town, picked up the pace and took the bush track leading off Main Street. His breathing pattern settled quickly, his lungs like healthy bellows by the time he got to the other side of the hill. He’d seen her, almost at the top, as he ran between the granite boulders that were scattered on the hill as though randomly dropped like marbles from the hand of a giant.

  At the top of the hill, he paused and looked out over the pastures. A bit parched but not bad yet. Not damaged by drought. The sunlight cast a golden colour over the tops of the many hill crests. Deep in the valleys the land was still dark green, dotted with snow gums, which were the strongest trees he’d come across. In winter, the boughs cradled the snow, dipped and bent, patiently waiting for spring.

  Lucy trotted over the crest, yapped, and went into a gallop, heading for him.

  Dan turned his back to the ridge and jogged on the spot.

  Lucy barked, circling him.

  ‘Hey, girl. How’s it going?’

  Two barks.

  ‘Is she nearly here?’

  One bark.

  Dan grinned and bent to scruff the dog behind her charcoal, black and white ears. She rolled onto her back. ‘You’re nothing but a flirt.’ He tickled her stomach. The white hair on her belly, peppered with the odd copper spot, felt soft and warm on his fingers.

  He lifted his hand and clicked his fingers and Lucy twisted her body to sit, as fast and agile as a Jack Russell after a rat. She watched him, waiting for another command. Yeah, she was a good example of the breed, quick-minded and trainable. Dan shook the paw she held up for him. She wouldn’t see much ranch action around here, but she might be a useful search and rescue dog.

  ‘Lucy!’ Charlotte called out behind him.

  ‘Help me out here, would you, Luce?’ Dan said. ‘I need to talk to her, so if you could make it look like you need a rest, I’d be grateful.’

  Lucy got to her feet, circled Dan and plopped her rump on his shoe just as the redhead came over the ridge.

  ‘Lucy!’

  ‘She’s right here,’ Dan said, waving.

  ‘Oh.’ Charlotte stopped, her chest and shoulders heaving beneath her baggy sweatshirt.

  ‘You okay?’

  She flipped the lid of a plastic water bottle and drank. ‘Fine. A bit hot.’

  ‘Nearly summer. You’re going to need a hat sooner than later.’ He was repeating himself and he doubted she’d listen, but he didn’t want her to burn. She was used to the English climate, not the Aussie one and even in the Snowies the sun could be unkind.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slapped the bottle’s mouthpiece down. ‘You’re not wearing one.’ She ran a hand through her hair. It was darkened, like treacle, and a little frazzled looking. Exhaustion came off her in waves.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked again.

  ‘I’m just getting back into exercise. It’s been a while.’ She sat on a rock and peered at Lucy, still sitting on Dan’s foot. ‘Lucy,’ she said. ‘Come here, girl. Want some water?’ She squeezed water from her drink bottle into a cupped hand. ‘Come on.’

  Dan nudged the dog by lifting his foot slightly. She took the hint, walked across to her mistress, lapped at the water and trotted back to sit on Dan’s foot.

  Dan shoved her off gently, and walked over to Charlotte. He sat on the boulder next to her and leaned forwards, elbows on knees. He took a deep, easy breath, and caught the scent of her. Since when had exhaustion come bottled in a fruity orange perfume? ‘So,’ he said casually, ‘what type of running do you do? Just jogging?’

  She straightened. ‘I told you, I’m only jogging because I haven’t exercised for a few months.’

  ‘So what are you into when you’re in shape? Marathons?’

  She cast a sideways glance. ‘Are you suggesting I’m not in shape?’

  Dan splayed his hands.
‘Hey, I’m just making conversation.’

  She pulled her knees together. ‘Sorry. That was a bit defensive of me.’

  An apology? Man; that mellowed the tone of the conversation. Which was just as well because he intended to delve deeper into her interest in Ethan and what her plans for the B&B were.

  ‘It’s lovely up here,’ she said.

  He scanned the horizon, the pull of contentment in his chest as familiar and necessary to him as breathing. ‘You’ll see the summer wildflowers soon. I don’t run this field from December to January, too many flowers to squash underfoot.’

  ‘Are they pretty?’

  He looked at her. Her eyes were silky green and her skin smooth although flushed. He nodded. ‘Cover the whole hillside.’ He raised an arm and swept it across the vista in front of them. The hillside rolling down to the town, the crops of boulders, the narrow bush tracks, the creeks and the main road in the distance. ‘When they’re in full bloom this hill looks like some watercolour painting of the olden days.’

  ‘Who owns that house over there?’ She pointed to their left.

  Dan smiled. ‘Kate and Jamie Knight.’ The high, slanted rooftop of the town’s stonemason and his fashion designer wife steepled from the grey-green of the treetops to poke at the wispy cirrus clouds above.

  ‘Kate is best friends with Sammy Granger,’ Dan told her. ‘They know each other from way back. Used to work together. Both fashion artists, although Sammy is more landscape than fancy clothes these days and Kate has an online dress shop, or whatever you call it.’

  ‘A fashion business online? Good idea.’ She paused, frowned a little. ‘I haven’t met either Kate or …’

  ‘Jamie Knight. Local stonemason. He built Ethan’s new veterinary surgery on Burra Burra Lane.’ Dan paused after mentioning Ethan’s name. ‘Kate and Jamie are away at the moment. In Sydney.’

  ‘Working?’

  ‘No. They’re adopting a child. They’re finalising whatever it is they have to finalise.’

  ‘Wow. Do they have children of their own too?’

  Dan shook his head. ‘Can’t, or so I believe.’ He and Jamie were good buddies. The guys of a certain age in town stuck together when the opportunity arose. Exercise, the odd boys’ night out at Kookaburra’s. Same as the women did, when they got a chance.

  ‘So they’re bringing a baby home?’ she asked.

  ‘No. A young teenager. A boy.’

  ‘Good for them,’ she said softly.

  Dan happened to agree. He’d guessed a fair amount over the last few years, and had seen—as had everyone in town—the pain of disappointment in his friends’ eyes as each year went by with no child appearing for them, but Dan had never pushed either to tell him their business. Neither was he going to gossip about them.

  ‘I saw a little animal that looked like a mouse the other day,’ Charlotte said suddenly.

  He turned to her. ‘A pygmy possum? You actually saw one?’

  ‘If that’s what it was. I thought it was injured at first, it just sat there and didn’t move when I walked up to it.’

  ‘Do you carry your mobile phone when you’re out running?’ He scanned her torso but couldn’t make out anything beneath the oversized sweatshirt.

  ‘Do you?’

  Dan looked up. ‘I asked you first.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Well, you might want to.’ He could see her now, lost and sunburnt with one small drink bottle. Someone was going to have to look after her; give her a few pointers on surviving an Aussie summer.

  ‘Why do you keep telling me what to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t get prickly, Charlotte. I was only making an observation.’

  ‘It was the way you made it.’

  Dan laughed and put a hand on his thigh. ‘Why is it we can’t have a normal conversation without bickering?’

  ‘No idea, but you start it. Every time.’ She cricked her neck and rolled her shoulders.

  Dan wasn’t convinced the squabbling was entirely his fault, and if she looked at him he was pretty sure he’d see the vulnerable look in her eyes. The one she tried to cover up. Maybe she was trying to be tougher than she was.

  ‘If you find an injured animal and you want to save it you’d need a phone to call someone, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Like who?’

  Dan studied her to make sure he wouldn’t miss her reaction. ‘Like Ethan.’

  The blush already on her cheeks from the exercise spread to her throat.

  So Ethan was on her mind. ‘Or if you don’t want to call Ethan for some reason—’ like because she had the hots for a married man and didn’t want his wife picking up the telephone ‘—you could call someone in the wildlife rescue group.’

  ‘I don’t think the mouse animal was injured, it was just quiet.’

  ‘It was a pygmy possum. They hibernate beneath the snow through winter. But they’re nocturnal. I’m surprised you saw one.’

  ‘So it was probably sleepy,’ she said, tilting her head.

  ‘Or simply mesmerised by you,’ he said quietly, thinking that any creature would be dazzled by Charlotte Simmons.

  She stared at him, blinked a few times as she sussed him out—he could tell, her emotions sat on her face, readable for anyone who was interested. She wasn’t about to give him a flippant response though, not if he read the sudden spark of laughter lighting her eyes correctly. She bit her cheek and looked away.

  Dan grinned. ‘You almost smiled there, Charlotte. Careful. Next thing you know, you’ll be falling for all the small-town charisma and magic.’

  She huffed a derogatory laugh. ‘Don’t hang around waiting for that to happen.’

  Dan stood. If she wanted to get a decent footing in town before she started her business, she’d have to fall for the town because if she didn’t, she’d never fit in.

  He jogged on the spot, mindful of keeping his body warm. ‘Might want to do the same thing, Red. Keep warm.’

  ‘I’m boiling hot. And don’t call me Red.’

  ‘Stay focussed. Keep your concentration on the task at hand—exercise.’

  She swept a hand along the crest of the hill. ‘Feel free to jog off.’

  ‘Doing the manly thing first. Making sure you’re okay to putter on down the hill without help.’

  She stood and turned her back to him. ‘There isn’t much that’ll take my concentration off whatever I’m doing.’ She crossed her arms over her front and grabbed her sweatshirt at the hemline. She peeled the sweatshirt up, revealing a white singlet top fitted tightly on her torso. She pulled the sweatshirt over her shoulders, then over her head—where it got caught. Blindfolded by the clothing, she struggled to get her arms out.

  Dan ran his gaze over her, giving a fair amount of consideration to how much and why she wasn’t his type. He’d only seen her wear clothes that skimmed her body without touching it—apart from the voluminous sweatshirt. Her blouses weren’t baggy but neither did they cling. Skirts above her knees with no swing to them. Although her legs were shapely: smooth calves, knees that bordered on knobbly but a person would only notice if he looked hard.

  She turned in a circle as she yanked at the top, her red hair flying through the neck. She didn’t have the full, ripe figure he usually went for, but she had eye-catching womanly curves. Who knew she’d been keeping a figure like that hidden beneath her demure clothing?

  Not your type, mate. Remember?

  ‘So how’s the B&B shaping up?’

  ‘What?’ she asked, voice muffled in the cloth of her sweatshirt. She gasped as it came off her head, hair flying around her face. ‘What did you say?’ Still puffing, she knotted the arms of the shirt around her waist and ran both hands over her head, taming her titian hair.

  Dan sucked in air. Red. He meant red hair.

  She parted her lips and licked them with the tip of her tongue. Her mouth was full and pouty. Too big for her face. He groaned inwardly. Who was he kidding? Her mouth was sexy
as hell. Any second now he’d be dribbling. He took up his jog again, willing everything stirring below his waist to lie low.

  ‘I said, how’s the B&B coming along? Got many renovations to do?’

  ‘I have a few plans, as I’m sure you’re aware.’

  He questioned her with a cocked eyebrow.

  ‘I’m going to paint it yellow.’ She stared at him, a defiant look, hands on her hips. The Lycra shorts clung to the top of pale-skinned thighs. Good muscle tone in her legs.

  He took his focus up to her face. ‘Yellow?’

  She pulled the legs of her shorts down. One sprang right up again. ‘Sunflower yellow.’ She hauled it down once more.

  ‘Need some help?’

  She paused, drawing her titian-coloured eyebrows together. Red! He meant red.

  ‘Not your shorts,’ he said. ‘The B&B.’ He couldn’t prevent his grin at her look of indignation. ‘Just thought you might like someone on your side with the war council.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Swallow’s Fall Community Spirit committee.’

  ‘And what do you think about me wanting to change the colour of the B&B?’

  ‘I don’t care what colour you paint it. Paint it purple if you like. It won’t interfere with my business. Kookaburra’s is halfway down Main Street and is obviously a hotel.’

  ‘You’ve got rooms? I thought it was just a pub.’

  He stopped jogging, tilted his head, put his hands to his hips and spread his feet, echoing her stance. ‘In Australia we often call a pub a hotel. No, I haven’t got rooms.’ Yet. ‘And it’s not “just a pub”.’

  ‘Have you got a thing going on with Mrs Johnson?’ she asked. ‘You sound just like her.’

  ‘Don’t go all spitty about the people here. They’re all right. You have to learn to get on with them.’ She didn’t seem prepared to even try. ‘Mrs J is okay … well.’ Dan gave in; he knew his townspeople. ‘Some people are a little odd, but they’ve got their reasons. Has Ted told you about his obsession with space and aliens?’