Handle Me with Care (27 page)

She walked away, frustrated at letting him have the last word. Up until her recent redundancy, she had worked incredibly hard and this was her first real bit of relaxation in eighteen months. She wanted to ask why he was here to see Mr Harris, who was one of Bobby’s clients, but that wasn’t something she wanted to tackle whilst wearing skimpy pyjamas. Instead, she stalked back into the house and turned around in time to see Jake saunter past the swaying branches of the eucalyptus tree at the foot of the garden, his faded Levis perfectly capturing his masculinity. 

This wasn’t why she had come to Australia; she didn’t need another man to complicate things.

Chapter Two

Jake passed through the gate to Mr Harris’s property. He couldn’t shake off the image of Tamara, her skin silky-smooth to the touch as he’d knocked the spider away. He let out a breath as he thought of her dark hair that caught highlights from the sun and hung down between delicately-boned shoulder blades, and that sexy little toe ring that glistened in the light. As pleasant and well-meaning as Daphne was, she certainly wasn’t a patch on this girl from London who had taken over control of the friendship tree, and he looked forward to coming face-to-face with Tamara again if she was as serious about keeping it up-to-date as Daphne was. 

With noticeable hourglass curves, and cute, seductive, heart-shaped lips, Tamara was a welcome distraction in the midst of all the trouble in Jake’s life right now, although he didn’t doubt her ability to land a decent punch on him should he put a foot out of line. When she’d caught his gaze drop to the silky pyjama top which left little to the imagination, he’d averted his eyes quickly.

He knew he’d also raised Tamara’s suspicions the second he mentioned that he was here to see Mr Wilson, and he admired that in her; looking out for your family was something very close to his heart. But if Tamara thought that he was here to cause trouble or muscle in on Bobby’s clientele, then she was wrong. His reasons for being in Brewer Creek were far less callous than that, and he had chosen a place with country town safety that couldn’t be mimicked elsewhere.

Soon after he’d arrived in town, Daphne Abbott had cornered him in the milk bar that she ran and requested his personal details for the friendship tree. From that moment he had been hooked on the place. It felt as though he had stepped into the pages of a children’s book rather than an insignificant town.

Jake closed the gate to the paddock and waved over to Mr Harris, who was fitting a saddle to one of his horses. A quick glance at his watch reminded him that he didn’t want to be out for too long, because April hated being left alone in the house.

Mr Harris pushed his greying hair back over to the other side of his head and Jake didn’t have the heart to tell him that comb-overs really were a thing of the past. He followed the man past the stables and into the rear paddock where Solomon looked happy enough.

“The medication to clear up that abscess must’ve worked its magic,” said Jake, gently inspecting the hoof which had been treated. When he patted Solomon and felt the horse tense, he took a closer look at the coat beneath the mane. “What’s this?”

Mr Harris’s face dropped when he peered at the injury. “He must’ve caught it on the fence; I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”

Jake rummaged in his bag, deftly cleaned the wound, and then stitched the small area. “He’ll be fine, Mr Harris, but you need to sort that fence out over there before any more animals get hurt.” Jake pointed to a section of exposed barbed wire which had most likely been the culprit. “If there’s grass over the other side, then Solomon’s going to put his head over the fence to eat it. And next time he could do more damage.”

“I’ll get to it straight away. Thanks, Jake.” Mr Harris shook his hand enthusiastically, an action which conveyed how welcome Jake was in this town. Already he felt part of the small community, and knew he and April had made the right choice in coming here.

With his bag repacked, Jake made his way across the paddock and looked over at the Harding property. He was settling in just fine in Brewer Creek, but Tamara Harding was a complication that he wished he felt ready to handle. In those few moments they had shared today, she had crept well and truly under his skin.

Chapter Three

“Here you go.” Tamara plonked a pile of mail down onto the kitchen table beside Bobby. Despite the early morning wake-up call from the kookaburras, followed by a lengthy Skype call with Beth, she was full of energy.

“Thank you. Any creepy crawlies get you out there this morning?” Bobby teased.

“There was a nasty big cockroach scuttling across the lid of the mailbox; it must’ve seen me coming. God bless English postboxes, where the mail just lands on the mat.”

Bobby ripped open a couple of utility bills and left them at the side of the table. “What did you think of my painting in there?” He gestured towards the annexe.

“I love it. Thanks.” Tamara planted a kiss on his cheek.

The custard-coloured walls of the annexe were bare except for a framed picture of concentric circles in shades of reds and oranges, and some shelving above the bed. The annexe had its own kitchenette equipped with a fridge, toaster and a kettle, as well as a small shower room. “I really appreciate you making me feel so at home.”

“No worries,” Bobby replied in his best Aussie accent. “The paint smell will go in time, and feel free to put up some more pictures.”

“You don’t want to make me too comfortable,” Tamara smiled. “I might outstay my welcome.”

“Twaddle,” Bobby slurped his tea. “We don’t see enough of you anyway, so make the most of it. And you’ve got those concertina doors along part of one wall so you can open them up and enjoy the garden when you feel like it.”

Tamara hugged him tightly. He had shown her the grand plans for the house renovations whilst she was still wobbly-legged from her flight, his enthusiasm bubbling over about the pool he wanted to put in, the cabana, and maybe a home theatre, too.

“Don’t you have to get to work?” She looked at the clock as the big hand took it past ten o’clock. Bobby was still munching on the last mouthful of peanut butter on toast.

“Soon,” he shrugged.

“Where’s Mum?”

Bobby tipped his head of short, greying hair back to get the dregs of his tea in the bottom of the cup as he headed to his study, calling over his shoulder, “She’s on the morning shift today, back at lunchtime.”

Tamara pulled out a fresh loaf from the breadbin – why they couldn’t buy bread pre-sliced she would never know – and cut a slice. When the slice tried without success to pop out of the toaster, she switched the machine off at the wall and used a knife to rescue it.

“I hear you met Jake the other day.” Bobby reappeared in the kitchen and grinned at the sight of Tamara’s toast, cut so unevenly that it looked like a ski run.

Trying to ignore the unexpected tingle that had zinged all the way up her spine at the mention of Jake, Tamara spread a generous helping of jam across the toast’s bumpy, golden surface and said, “I thought Mr Harris was your client.”

Bobby stashed a bowl and his empty mug in the dishwasher and sighed heavily. “Tamara, it’s good of you to worry about me; about us. Jake is healthy competition, nothing more, nothing less. Times are tough for anyone these days and I’m no exception, and I’m guessing neither is Jake. Don’t you worry, I still have my loyal customers.”

“But some of them have left, according to Mum.” Tamara knew that her stepfather wasn’t the Rottweiler that he needed to be to keep his client base. Instead, he was the dog that rolled over and let you tickle its tummy, and that could threaten what he had built up over the years.

He smiled at her now. “When I’m booked up, some of them drift over to Jake and unfortunately it means that sometimes they don’t come back. I expect Jake was here to check on Mr Harris’s horse. I couldn’t get out to him last week as I was dealing with Peggy Thompson – a litter of kittens arrived as a surprise one night in the corner of her laundry; she’d thought her cat was getting fat.” His rounded belly jiggled as he laughed. “She had the poor thing on all sorts of diets before she even realised.”

Tamara grabbed hold of his arm before he had a chance to fob her off some more. “You look tired.”

“That’s because I’m old.”

“You are not old!” She nudged him, even though she had noticed herself that his eyes were more sunken and lacked their usual clarity, and his words harboured a definite lethargy whenever he spoke.

“When you get to my age, Tamara, going out to work each day becomes much like having the same dinner every night of the week. It satisfies you and means that you can function, but the excitement has gone.”

She hesitated a moment, not wanting to speak out of turn. “You could always retire, or at least cut back a bit.”

“One day,” he said, and with that he left Tamara in the kitchen to wonder what this usually relaxed, happy-go-lucky man was holding onto so tightly inside. 

She wandered into the front sitting room and watched Bobby’s car slowly reverse off the drive, leaving her alone in the house. It was so quiet she could almost hear the grass growing outside. Tamara was used to living on her own in a one bedroom flat in Watford, not far from London, but the general noise that came with living in the same building as others and in such close proximity to shops and local businesses, must have kept her company.

She sat on the edge of the armchair and sipped from a glass of iced water, wondering how her parents could face their morning cups of tea or coffee when the weather outside was so warm. She looked out of the window at the landscape which her mum had provided a passionate rundown of when she arrived. Dappled with vibrant purple splashes of the jacaranda trees, and the creamy white sprays of fragrant flowers on the Fiddlewood that sat to one side of the driveway, it was the epitome of country living.

Restless, Tamara headed to the study and flicked on the computer. As it went through the motions of starting up, she let the sun warm her through the open window and carry the scent of the outside to the desk. She moved the mouse and prepared to live her life vicariously through the wonders of the worldwide web, flicking through her emails, deleting spam that asked whether she wanted to get laid more, something from EnlargeIt-Fast, and an invitation to have non-surgical fat reduction.

Her emerald green eyes played with the screen as she opened Facebook, unable to resist the opportunity to check-in with what was happening in the city she had left behind. She scrolled down the News Feed, giggling at Beth’s post showing a photo of her on a narrow boat travelling along the Norfolk Broads with her brother Heath. Beth was the skipper and she looked as though she were driving a car in the Grand Prix rather than a vessel that was moving slower than a push bike. 

When Tamara left the UK, she didn’t think she’d miss her drab flat with its tatty Formica kitchen floor and the slightly torn wallpaper beneath the lounge windowsill. She never imagined she’d miss the smell drifting up to her paper-thin windows every morning from the cafe across the road, or the sound of the twin toddlers upstairs wailing as their mother tried to get through the witching hour. But now, seeing such scenes with only the whirring sound of the computer for company, she yearned for that type of familiarity.

The leather chair creaked as she leaned into its backrest and smiled as she saw her message inbox receive a new mail. It was from Beth:

Really missing you, mate, but DO NOT COME HOME YET! (I’m writing this because I know you’ll see Facebook posts that make you feel as though you’re missing out. Believe me, you’re not!)

Trust me; I’ve always had your back, haven’t I? Ever since that Darren Wallis picked on you by the friendship tree. Blimey, wonder what he’s up to now? God, who cares!

Anyway, gotta go. I've got an early meeting in the morning.

Say a big hello to the parents. Love and hugs!

Beth x

Tamara manoeuvred the mouse ready to reply, but her eyes jerked to the other side of the screen. She felt her body go cold as she froze, because there staring back at her was a Friend Request, from Bradley.

She wondered why she hadn’t seen this one coming.

“Pah… I thought Facebook was for Losers!” She held her thumb and forefinger against her forehead in an ‘L’ shape, remembering how he had used those very words when she’d signed up to the social networking site. She realised then that she was rubbing her temple, and even though the bruise had healed pretty quickly, the memories still lingered of that night.

She shuddered as her mind flitted to Bradley’s solemn confession about his family a couple of weeks into their relationship: “I hid under my bed like a coward,” he’d said, as he described his father’s rage. “I should’ve protected my mum.”

The breeze from the open window made Tamara shiver now. She couldn’t deny that she missed Bradley, and she wondered whether things could’ve been different if she’d made him get help, or if she had supported him more. The answer from Beth would be easy: a resounding “no”!

Sometimes Tamara fought to forget the good times so that she could open her eyes to the bad. Was that what she needed to do now?

Of course Bradley had a nice side, but not everyone got to see that. Sometimes he’d bought her flowers “just because”; he’d driven around for hours one night to get her flu tablets when she couldn’t sleep and her temperature had gone through the roof; he’d cooked her breakfast in bed when she had the hangover to end all hangovers.

Bradley had kind eyes, a soft voice, and all the vulnerability of someone with a shaky past which Tamara had found herself responding to. Could she really push him away when he was reaching out to her, the girl he described as his “best friend”?

Two rectangular-boxed options waited on the screen for her to make her choice:

              Ignore.

              Confirm.

Her eyes looked first at one and then the other, unable to settle on either. She rubbed her hands against her bare legs, biting her lip as she refused to let her hands anywhere near the mouse. This was her chance; her chance to let him know that it was really time for them to go their separate ways.

Her hand returned to the mouse, moving it from side to side as though it were some kind of Ouija board:

Confirm, Ignore, Confirm, Ignore.

Click.