Career Girl in the Country

His mouth curved upwards, surprising muscles stiff from lack of use. ‘That has to be an exaggeration of about forty-eight. Are they in the kitchen too?’

‘I don’t know!’ Her voice snapped. ‘I didn’t stop to enquire if they’d taken over in there as well.’

Don’t get involved. But he couldn’t resist a dig. ‘I did suggest you settle in to the house earlier in the day.’

Her chin shot up and she gave him a withering look. ‘I am not exaggerating, and if that is the extent of your useful advice then I suggest you shut up now and leave.’

She crossed her arms and he suddenly noticed she had breasts. Small but round and … He hauled his gaze away. ‘It’s been a few months since anyone’s lived here, although I would have thought someone would’ve checked out the house before you arrived. Who did you talk to in Administration?’

She stepped back inside, her gaze darting left and right and her long legs moving gingerly. ‘No one.’

He followed. ‘No one?’ Usually Julie was very efficient.

‘Me coming up here was—’ She stopped abruptly for a moment. ‘I rushed up here because the town was desperate. The fax telling you I was coming probably only arrived a few hours before me.’

They’d been desperate for weeks so her hasty arrival without the usual planning didn’t make a lot of sense and he was about to ask her about it when a mouse raced out from under the couch.

Poppy leapt into the air, her long T-shirt rising up to expose creamy white thighs.

Matt tried not to look and instead marched like a foot soldier on patrol, punching open the kitchen door. Every surface was covered in mouse scats.

He heard Poppy’s shocked gasp from the doorway but by the time he’d turned, her face was the usual mask of control, although she had a slight tremble about her.

‘Just fabulous. This really is the icing on the cake of a stellar few days, and yet the poets wax lyrical about the bush.’

A startling fragility hovered around her eyes despite her sarcasm and he had an unexpected moment of feeling sorry for her. He shrugged it away. ‘Living with a few creepy-crawlies is all part of the Bundallagong allure.’

‘Not from where I’m standing it isn’t. I think we have definition conflict on the word “few”.’

Again he found himself wanting to smile yet at the same time a feeling of extreme restlessness dragged at him. He flung open cupboards and found mice squeaking and scurrying everywhere amidst bags of pasta, cereal, oats and biscuits, all of which had been chewed and their contents scattered. He slammed the doors shut. ‘OK, you were right. It’s a plague and with this many mice it probably means you don’t have a python.’

Her eyes widened like the ongoing expanse of Outback sky and her hands flew to her hips. ‘No snake? And that’s supposed to make me feel better? Hell, and they give surgeons a bad rap about their bedside manner.’

This time the urge to smile won. ‘Actually, a python would have meant fewer mice. I haven’t seen an infestation like this in years. Your predecessor must have left food and I guess the cleaners figured it was non-perishable and left it for the next occupant. Thing is, time marched on and the mice moved in. Julie can get the exterminator to come in the morning.’

‘The morning.’ The words came out as a choked wail loaded with realisation. Another mouse shot past her and she stiffened for a second before hastily retreating to the lounge room.

Matt crossed the kitchen and leaned against the architrave, watching her. She had her back to him and was standing on tiptoe, reducing her contact with the floor to the bare minimum. One hand tugged at the base of the T-shirt in an attempt to make it longer, and the other pressed her mobile phone to her ear as she spoke briskly.

‘Yes, I need the number for motels in Bundallagong. I don’t have a pen so can you put me through direct?’

He thought about the suit she’d worn when they’d met and how it had been followed by surgical scrubs. Both garments had given her a unisex look, but the baggy shirt she wore now hid little. Poppy Stanfield might sound like a general but she had the seductive curves of a woman.

Heat hit him, making him hard, followed immediately by a torrent of gut-wrenching guilt. He loved Lisa. No woman could match her but for some reason his body had disconnected from his brain and was busy having a lust-fest. He hated it and every part of him wanted to get the hell out of the house and away from Poppy Stanfield and that damn T-shirt. But he couldn’t leave, not until he knew she was settled in a motel. So he moved instead, putting distance between them by crossing the room and tugging his gaze away from the sweet curve of her behind that swelled out the T so beautifully that his palm itched.

He stared at the blank walls and then at the couch with a ferocious intensity he’d never before given to decor. He noticed a significant-size hole in the material covering the couch and realised the inside was probably full of rodents too. It would take days before baits and traps took effect, making the house liveable again.

He started making plans in his head to keep his mind off those long, shapely legs. As soon as he knew which motel she’d got a room at, he’d set the GPS in the hospital vehicle for her so she wouldn’t get lost at this late hour. There’d be no point driving her because she’d need the car to get to and from the hospital.

Yeah, that, and you don’t want to be in a car alone with her.

Poppy’s voice suddenly went silent and the next moment, with a frustrated yell, she hurled her phone with a great deal of feeling onto the soft cushions of the couch. It was her first display of ‘surgical temper’.

The outburst—so very different from Lisa’s quiet approach—made him feel less guilty about getting hard, and yet it was so full of energy and life that it swirled around him, both pulling him in and pushing him away. After months of not feeling anything this maelstrom of emotions confused and scared him, and when he spoke, the words shot out harsh and loud. ‘No instruments to throw?’

She didn’t even raise a killing look. ‘I have never thrown anything in Theatre, although I did train with a master thrower and once had to dodge a chair.’ She plonked herself down hard on the couch, threw her head back and closed her eyes. ‘This is a nightmare.’

Grey shadows hovered under her eyes and she looked exhausted.

‘Actually, it’s probably not a good idea to sit on that.’ He pointed to the gnawed hole.

He’d expected her to fly off the couch but she merely shuddered and stayed put. Eventually she opened one eye and stared accusingly at him. ‘You could have told me that the Australian billfish competition is on!’

Was it? Had that many months passed? ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise it was that time of year.’ Once he’d had his finger on the pulse of his hometown and been part of the committee for one of the biggest events on the calendar, but not any more. Now days just rolled together into one long and empty period of time.

She frowned at him as if she didn’t quite believe him. ‘Every motel between here and a hundred k up and down the coast is fully booked out with anglers hoping to catch a two-hundred-and-twenty-kilo marlin. God, I hate this dust-impregnated town.’ She picked up her phone and stared at it as if willing it to ring with news of a bed.

A mouse scuttled between his feet.

She can’t stay here.

She’s not staying with me.

Why not? You don’t care about much any more so why care if she stays a few nights?

She sighed. ‘I don’t suppose you know if my office at the hospital has a couch?’

Her tone was unexpectedly flat, as if all the fight had gone out of her, and a tiny crack appeared in the blackness of his soul. His mouth started to work before his brain had fully thought it through. ‘You can stay at my place until this joint is clean and mouse-free.’

Her smooth brow creased in uncertainty. ‘That’s kind of you but don’t you think you should discuss it with your wife first?’

Your wife. He felt the darkness sucking at his heart and soul, threatening to drown him over again the way it had so many times in the last year and a half. His heart thumped faster, pumping pain with every beat, but he somehow managed to growl out, ‘No need. Come on, grab your stuff. It’s late.’

He turned and strode out of the house, not waiting for her, not offering to carry her case, and not looking back because if he did he might just change his mind. Not even Poppy deserved that.

Poppy lugged her unopened and mouse-free case the short distance to what she assumed was Matt’s house—lights on, front door open—and wondered what on earth this man’s deal was. He lurched from sarcastic to ironic, friendly to downright rude and a thousand emotions in between. Why offer her a bed if he clearly wasn’t happy about her staying? She assumed he’d gone on ahead to let his wife know they had an unexpected guest. She thought of her gorgeous apartment in south Perth with a view of the river and silently cursed William and the hospital board.

She stepped into the empty foyer of a house considerably larger than her hospital residence, and unlike the minimalist furnishing of rental accommodation she could see the hand of a woman in the decor. Silence hovered and given it was close to midnight she didn’t want to call out and wake anyone. For all she knew, there could be children asleep.

A closed door on her left was probably a bedroom so she left her case by the front door and padded down the well-lit hall, which opened into a formal lounge-dining area. Despite its stylish couches and polished wood table, it had an air of ‘display only’, lacking the personal touches like ornaments or photos that created living spaces. She kept walking and passed through a doorway into another huge space, which wasn’t well-lit but she made out a kitchen and assumed beyond was a family room and bedrooms.

She spoke softly. ‘Matt?’

He appeared through a door off the kitchen, his arms full of bed linen and his face set in unforgiving lines. ‘Your room’s this way.’

She expected him to turn towards the yet unexplored part of the house but instead he headed back from where she’d come from and entered the bedroom at the front of the house. A stripped white-wood queen-size bed dominated the room, which had a feature wall wallpapered in alternating cool blue and white stripes. Matching white-wood bedside tables held reading lamps with gold stands and white shades, although Poppy noticed the plugs had been pulled from the sockets. No books or boxes of tissues adorned any surfaces but gauzy curtains hung softly in front of a white blind, which was pulled down. The room should have said, ‘restful haven for adults’ but instead it looked abandoned.

Matt threw out the bottom sheet and Poppy moved to grab her side. She was almost certain this room had been designed to be the master bedroom. ‘Are you sure this is OK?’

Matt deftly made a hospital corner with the top sheet and didn’t meet her gaze. ‘The en suite and walk-in wardrobe is through there.’ He waved towards a doorway. ‘The hot water’s solar and it’s really hot but it takes a minute or so to come through. Catch the water in the bucket unless you like to wake up to a cold shower.’ He shoved a pillow so hard into the pillowcase it bunched up and he had to thump the feathers back into place before throwing it on the bed.

He strode to the door, his hand gripping the handle and his gaze fixed firmly on the cornice where two walls met. ‘We leave at 7:30 a.m. and you’ll find something for breakfast in the kitchen. Good night.’

The door closed firmly behind him, the click loudly stating, ‘this is your space so stay here.’ Poppy fell back onto the bed, her relief at being out of the infested house short-lived, and she wondered if she’d have been safer sharing with the mice.

Perhaps it had been sheer exhaustion but, despite Poppy’s misgivings, she’d slept soundly. Now, as she dressed, she could feel the temperature climbing despite the early hour and her suit, which she donned automatically, felt hot. Still, if she had her way she’d be in scrubs soon enough. She opened her door, expecting to hear a household in full Monday morning action mode—radio or television news blaring, the drone of a kettle as it neared boiling and the ping of the toaster—but although she could hear the harsh squawk of cockatoos outside, she couldn’t hear anything much inside. She made her way to the kitchen, which was empty, but with morning light streaming in she saw that, unlike the front part of the house, which held an unlived-in air, the kitchen showed more than the occasional sign of occupation.

Newspapers were piled so high on one end of the long granite bench that they’d started to slide onto the floor. Used cups and glasses sat abandoned close to, but not in, the dishwasher. A supermarket bag filled with tins took up more space rather than being stored in the adjacent pantry and every other surface was covered in clutter from half-opened mail to nails and paperclips.

A casual eating area off to the left had a table and chairs but instead of the polished jarrah having placemats it held a laptop and was covered in screeds of paper. She glanced into the family room and saw a similar chaotic mess that jarred with the decor, which had obviously been undertaken with care and a great eye for detail. Poppy wasn’t a domestic queen by any stretch of the imagination but even she managed better than this. She was amazed the Albrights didn’t have mice!

She filled the kettle and while she waited for it to boil for her heart-starter morning cup of coffee, she emptied the dishwasher, guessing where items went, and then reloaded it with the dirty cups and glasses. She located the coffee and then opened the fridge. Milk, a loaf of bread, three apples and a tub of yoghurt hardly made a dent in the cavernous space that was big enough to store food for a family of six. ‘Morning.’

His voice startled her but at the same time it reminded her of a Cabernet Merlot from Margaret River: deep, complex and with a hint of tannin. She turned around and stifled a gasp as her body betrayed her with a shot of delicious, tingling lust.

He stood on the other side of the bench, his hair still slightly damp and rumpled from the shower, the ends brushing the collar of his open-necked shirt. His long fingers tackled the last few buttons and his tanned and toned chest fast disappeared under the placket. His wedding ring glinted in the sunshine through the window and when he raised his gaze, the Kelly green in his shirt lightened his dark eyes but the shadows remained, and fatigue hung over him like a threatening cloud.

What are you doing? Get yourself under control; he’s married, off limits, and even if he wasn’t he’s too damn moody and you’ve sworn off men for all time.

The moody man spoke. ‘Did you sleep?’

His question sounded almost accusatory. ‘I did, thank you.’ But you don’t look like you did.

He seemed to be staring at her suit and she thought she detected relief in his eyes, which made no sense whatsoever so she was probably totally wrong. She had no clue why she was letting Matt Albright unnerve her. If anyone unnerved her it was usually other women. Men she understood because she worked in a man’s world but the whole women and friendship thing she’d always found challenging and unfathomable, and that dated back to primary school.

You’re conveniently forgetting Steven, are you?

He didn’t unnerve me, he just broke my heart.

And now you avoid men.

I work with men all the time!

That’s not what I mean and you know it.

To distract herself she picked up a cloth and started to wipe down the bench. ‘No one else up yet?’

‘You don’t have to do that.’ He swooped, his fingers brushing her skin as he tugged the cloth out of her hand.

Trails of desire shot through her. This was crazy on so many levels and she had to act. ‘Look, Matt, I’m sorry I had to prevail on your family for a bed, although you were the one who offered. Obviously me being here is a problem and I’d like to apologise to your wife for the inconvenience.’

He lowered the dishcloth onto the sink, the action slow and deliberate. When he raised his head she experienced a chill.

‘My wife isn’t here.’

And you’re an incredibly gorgeous guy that women viscerally react to even when they’re sensible and know they shouldn’t. ‘And she’s not OK with me being here. I get it.’

He grimaced. ‘No, you don’t get it at all, Poppy.’ The ping of the kettle sounded bright and cheery, in sharp contrast to the strain in his voice and the emptiness in his eyes. ‘She died.’

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