The Loner's Guarded Heart

‘I’m so happy.’

He guessed from the way she gritted her teeth together as she said it, she didn’t mean it.

Without any more prompting on his part, Josie shifted her weight from her behind to her stomach then tried to take her full weight with her arms to lower herself to the ground. Kent leapt forward and wrapped his arms around the tops of her thighs.

‘I don’t need—’

The rest of her words were lost when her hands slipped and she landed against him with a muffled, ‘Oomph.’

Kent couldn’t manage much either as the top half of her body slumped over him and he found his face mashed between her breasts. Then a long, delicious slide as her body slipped down his.

They were both breathing hard when her feet finally touched the ground.

They paused then sprang apart.

‘Thank you,’ Josie babbled, smoothing down her hair. ‘I, umm…It probably wasn’t necessary to jump to my rescue like that, but, umm…thank you all the same.’

‘Are you going to make a habit of that?’ he snapped. He darn well hoped not. His body wouldn’t cope with it. Even now he had to fight down a rising tide of raw desire. He didn’t need this.

‘It’s not part of my plans.’

He wanted her off his mountain. Fast. He flung his arms out. ‘Doesn’t this prove how unsuited you are to this place?’

Her chin shot up although her shoulders stayed hunched around her ears. ‘Because I’m frightened of goannas?’

‘Because you’re frightened of everything.’

‘I’m not afraid of Molly. Not now,’ she pointed out reasonably enough. ‘I just didn’t know what to do when that thing started running at me.’

‘Run away at right angles to it,’ he answered automatically.

‘I’ll remember that.’

He didn’t want her remembering. He wanted her gone. ‘You don’t know how to protect yourself out here.’

‘Well…I’m not dead yet.’

‘What would you do if some big, burly guy jumped out at you, huh?’ To prove his point, he lunged at her.

The next moment he was lying on his back, and staring up through the leaves of the trees at the clear blue of the sky. With no idea how he had got there.

Josie’s face hovered into view as she leaned over him. ‘Does that answer your question?’

She’d thrown him? He deserved that smug little smile. For some reason he wanted to laugh again.

He scowled. No, he didn’t. He wanted her off his mountain.

‘I might be hopeless, but I’m not completely helpless, you know. Men I can defend myself against. It’s the dogs and goannas that I have trouble with.’

He rolled over onto his stomach to watch her saunter away. He really wished he didn’t notice how sweetly she filled out a pair of jeans. Molly licked his face, as if in sympathy, then trotted after her new-found friend.

CHAPTER THREE

JOSIE was back at her cabin by ten o’clock.

So, now she only had ten hours to kill.

She wished she’d learnt how to draw or paint. Or knit.

A craft project, that was what she needed. She made a mental note to hunt out a craft shop when she went into Gloucester. Tomorrow.

Still, what would it hurt if she went in today and—?

Kent’s scornful lips flashed through her mind. No! She’d manage to stick it out here for a whole day. Somehow.

Books. She’d buy some books. And a radio. Tomorrow.

She rearranged her grocery supplies on the kitchen shelves. That took less than ten minutes. She made a shopping list. For tomorrow. That took another ten minutes, but only because she dallied over it. She glanced around, clapped her hands together and wondered what she could do next.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she growled out loud, suddenly impatient. Seizing a pen and notepad, she plonked herself down at the table. If she’d just work out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life instead of putting it off, then she could get on with living that life and leave this awful place behind. Marty and Frank would forgive her for curtailing her holiday if she came up with a plan.

At the top of the page she wrote: ‘What do I want to do with my life?’ Her mind went blank, so she added an exclamation mark, in brackets.

Familiar doubts and worries flitted about her. She swallowed and tried not to panic. She was looking at this all wrong. She should break it down into smaller, more manageable bits. Skills. She should list her skills.

1—Assistant in Nursing certificate. 2—She could give bed baths. 3—She could measure out medicines. 4—She could coax a difficult patient to eat. 5—

No. No. No.

She slammed the pen to the table. She didn’t want to do those things any more. There had to be other things she could do. She had to have at least one talent that could steer her towards a new vocation. Take her brothers. Frank had a great head for figures, which made him a successful accountant. Marty had great spatial abilities, which was why he was an architect. She had…?

Nothing.

Her shoulders sagged. She couldn’t think of one single thing she had a talent for. Except looking after sick people, dying people. Fear clogged her throat. She couldn’t do that. Not any more. She’d loved her father dearly, missed him terribly, and she didn’t regret one single day she’d spent looking after him. But…

She couldn’t take on another dementia patient. She couldn’t watch another person die.

She leapt up and started to pace. The grey drabness of the cabin pressed in against her. The only splashes of colour were the labels on her groceries. Her gaze drifted across them, paused on the packet cake mix that, for some reason, she’d thrown in. What? Did she think she’d be giving tea parties? Her laugh held an edge that earned her a low bark from Molly.

She’d love to give a tea party. A sigh welled up inside her. She chewed her bottom lip and cast another glance at the cake mix. She could cook it up for Kent.

As a thank-you for last night’s bottle of wine.

Maybe he’d even invite her to stay and share it. She chewed her bottom lip some more. She wanted to find out what made him tick, what made him so strong. She wanted to be more like that. She put her list away and reached for a mixing bowl.

Kent rubbed his hands together as he waited for the tea to brew. With his chores done, he could kick back and enjoy the fading golden light of the afternoon, his favourite time of day.

The cattle were fed and watered. He ran a herd small enough to manage on his own. And between them, the cattle and the cabins, they kept him busy enough through the days.

The nights, though…

The nights nothing!

A knock sounded on his back door. He swung around. Josie?

It had to be. He rarely had visitors out here, which was the way he liked it. He wasn’t a sociable man. He thought he’d made that plain to her this morning.

Guilt wormed through him. He scowled at the teapot.

Maybe she’d come to return the key and tell him she was leaving? His jaw clenched. Good. She could drive off into the sunset. He didn’t care. No skin off his nose.

‘Kent?’ She knocked again.

He bit back a string of curses and strode out to answer the door. The sharp remark on his lips died when he found her standing on the bottom step with a frosted chocolate cake in her hands and a hopeful expression in her gold-flecked eyes.

Damn.

‘Hello.’ She smiled, or at least her lips gave the tiniest of upward lifts.

He grunted in reply. Things inside him shuffled about and refused to settle into place.

She’d recently showered and damp hair curled around her shoulders. It gleamed in the last shaft of sunlight that touched his house for the afternoon, and he could pick out more shades of brown than he thought possible for one person to possess. Everything from light honeyed brown all the way through to rich walnut.

And not a mouse in sight.

She smelled fresh and fruity. Not run-of-the-mill apples and oranges either, but something more exotic. Like pineapple and…cucumber? She smelt like summer nights on the beach.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat on a beach. Or when he’d last wanted to. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten chocolate cake either. He tried to stop his mouth from watering.

She thrust the cake towards him. ‘This is for you.’

He had no option but to take it. ‘Why?’ His eyes narrowed. He didn’t trust the sensations pounding through him and he didn’t trust her either.

Her gaze darted behind him into the house. She moistened her lips when she met his gaze again. ‘I, umm—’

‘You want to use the phone again?’ Typical woman. Couldn’t be without—

‘No.’ She drew herself up. ‘It’s a thank-you for last night’s bottle of wine.’

He’d known he’d end up regretting that bottle of wine. He stared at her. She had a pointy little chin that stuck out when indignant. He wanted to reach out a finger and trace the fine line of her jaw.

He darn well didn’t! He shoved the cake back at her. ‘I don’t want it.’

She took a step back and blinked. Then amazingly she laughed. ‘Wrong answer, Mr Black; you’re supposed to say thank you.’

Shame bore down on him. There was a world of difference between unsociable and downright rude. Jeez. ‘You’re right.’ He dragged his free hand down his face. ‘I’m sorry.’ He pulled in a breath and tried to gulp back hasty words clamouring for release. ‘You better call me Kent.’

He couldn’t grind back the rest of his words either.

‘I’ve just made a pot of tea. Would you like to join me?’

The gold flecks in her eyes lit up. ‘Yes, please.’

Josie wanted to run from Kent’s scowl. Then she remembered the only place she could run to was her cabin. Her bleak, lonely cabin. She gulped back her trepidation and followed him into the kitchen.

She wrinkled her nose as she glanced around. Definitely a bachelor’s pad—no frills, no colour, next to no comfort. A woman wouldn’t put up with this.

She glanced at Kent. She had a feeling he wouldn’t give two hoots what a woman thought.

A large wooden table dominated the room. That was about all she’d taken in yesterday when she’d made her quick phone call. She wondered if there was a separate dining room, then dismissed the idea. The house wasn’t large enough.

She glanced through the doorway leading through to the rest of the house. It looked like a typical gun-barrel miner’s cottage. The next room along would be the living room then a short hallway would lead to two bedrooms at the front of the house.

She also guessed she’d never make it past this kitchen.

Heat suddenly flamed through her. Not that she wanted to make it as far as the bedroom with Kent Black, of course. Good lord. She couldn’t imagine him unbending his stiff upper lip long enough to kiss a woman, let alone—

Are you so sure? a wicked voice asked.

Umm…

She slammed a lid on that thought, swung away and found herself confronted with the hard, lean lines of Kent’s back…and backside, as he reached into a cupboard above the sink for two mugs.

Oh, dear. She fanned her face and swung around another ninety degrees. She didn’t want to ogle his, uh, assets. In fact, it probably wasn’t a good idea to ogle any man’s assets until she’d sorted out what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

The rest of her life? What was she going to do with the next ten minutes?

Arghh. She scanned the room, searching for distraction. Her eyes landed on a chess set. A beautiful hand-carved chess set.

At her indrawn breath, audible in the silence of the room, Kent spun to face her. ‘What?’ He glanced around as if searching for a spider or lizard, some creepy-crawly that may have frightened her.

‘I…’ She pointed. ‘Did you make that?’

He grunted and shrugged.

‘It’s beautiful.’ She stared at him, trying to recognise the creator of the work of art in the hard stern man in front of her. ‘It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.’

‘Then you need to get out more.’

She’d have laughed at his response if she hadn’t been so engrossed in admiring the individual chess pieces. Each one was intricately carved into the shape of a tree. The skill and workmanship that had gone into each piece took her breath away. The kings were mighty oaks, the queens graceful weeping willows and the bishops upright poplars. Talk about a craft project!

She held her breath and reached out to pick up a pawn—a miniature banksia—and marvelled at the detail. She could see each cylindrical flower on the delicate branches. How on earth had he managed that?

‘Do you play?’

She jumped, startled by his closeness. His breath disturbed the hair at her temple as he leant over to survey the piece she held. ‘I…’

He took a step back and she found she could breathe again.

‘Not really.’ She placed the pawn back on the board and sadness pierced her. She tried to smile. ‘My father was teaching me before he fell ill.’

The rest of Kent Black could look as hard as stone, but his eyes could soften from a winter gale to a spring breeze in the time it took to draw breath. Josie’s heart started to pound.

‘I’m sorry about your father, Josie.’

‘Thank you.’ He’d called her Josie.

‘I’m sorry he never had a chance to finish teaching you how to play.’

‘Me too.’ She couldn’t look away.

‘I’ll give you lessons if you like.’

She wondered if she looked as surprised by the offer as he did. She had no intention of letting him off the hook, though. ‘I’d like that very much.’

He grunted and took a step back. With one blink his eyes became as carved-from-rock hard as the rest of him.

‘When?’ she persisted. ‘Now?’

‘No.’ He strode back to the table. ‘Monday afternoons,’ he said after a pause. ‘At about this time.’

It was Tuesday now. Monday was six whole days away. He’d done that on purpose, she was sure of it. She’d missed out one lesson already if you counted yesterday.

She wanted to stamp a foot in frustration. The glint in his eye told her he knew it too. She forced her lips into a smile instead. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she now only had six afternoons a week to fill. She didn’t want him retracting the offer.

She wondered if she could talk him into two afternoons a week? One look at his face told her to leave it for now.

‘Why don’t we have our tea outside?’ He lifted a tray holding their tea things and Josie had no choice but to follow him back out into the sunshine.

She cut large wedges of cake whilst he poured out mugs of tea. He made no attempt at conversation and, strangely, Josie didn’t mind. She watched him instead. He devoured his slice of chocolate cake with the kind of hunger that did strange things to her insides.

Warm, fuzzy things.

She had to glance away when he licked the frosting from his fingers. She cut him another slice then cleared her throat. ‘Did you grow up around here?’

‘No.’

He physically drew back in his seat, his face shuttered, and disappointment filtered through her. He didn’t want her prying into his background. Though at least she now knew his unique brand of strength wasn’t something born and bred into him because he’d grown up out here on Eagle Reach. There was hope for her yet.

He eyed her warily. She smiled back. ‘It’s only a packet mix.’ She motioned to the cake. ‘I make a much better one from scratch.’

‘It’s good.’

His manners were improving, but the wariness didn’t leave his eyes. It made her feel…wrong. She couldn’t remember making anyone feel wary before. She didn’t like the sensation. She searched for something deliberately inconsequential to say. She stared at the cake. Her lips twitched. ‘I was sorry I didn’t pack hundreds and thousands to sprinkle on top.’

Kent choked.

‘But then I figured you probably weren’t a hundreds and thousands kind of guy. A chocolate-sprinkle kind of guy maybe, but not hundreds and thousands.’

Kent stared at her. Then his wariness fled. He threw his head back and laughed. It changed him utterly, and it stole Josie’s breath.

One thing became brilliantly and dazzlingly clear. She could certainly imagine this incarnation of Kent kissing a woman. She saw it in bright Technicolor vividness.

Seeing it, though, didn’t mean she wanted it.

It didn’t.

Kent rolled his shoulders, stretching out the aches in his muscles. He’d spent most of the day fixing a broken fence and he was dying for his afternoon cup of tea.

And the rest of that chocolate cake Josie had baked yesterday. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything quite so satisfying. His stomach grumbled low and long. His mouth watered. He reached out to unlatch the back gate then froze.

‘Kent?’

Josie.

He peered over the palings and found her standing on the top step of his house, hand raised to knock on his back door. In her other hand she held a plate of what looked suspiciously like freshly baked biscuits.

His stomach growled again. His mouth watered some more. In the sunlight her hair glowed all the hues of a varnished piece of sandalwood and his stomach clenched. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought it mousy. Anticipation leapt to life in his chest. He reached out to unlatch the gate again when reality crashed around him.

This couldn’t happen. He didn’t do afternoon tea parties.

You don’t do chess lessons either, a wry voice in his head pointed out.

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