The House at the Bottom of the Hill (9 page)

‘If you’ve got the capital, you ought to deal with it now.’

‘I’ll wait.’ No need to tell him that the hefty capital she had would be sending her straight back to Britain on a first-class ticket and to a new life. Free from fear … and free from interference, and free from the not inconsequential charms of a honed sixfoot-two guy with a great butt.

He swivelled on the fourth step and sat on it, elbows on knees. By the look on his face, he was pondering more than the creaky staircase. He nodded at the door. ‘One question—no joking, no bullshit—what is it with the locks and bolts? You think you’re going to be invaded or something?’

Charlotte didn’t answer.

‘You’re getting all defensive again, Red.’

‘You’re throwing your smooth, sexy charm around. It grates on me.’

He grinned. ‘So now I’m gorgeous
and
sexy? What’s not to like?’

Another slip-up. Time to knock his inferences and suggestiveness on the head and get her own brain functioning around something other than coffee and sex. She moved to the banister and rested a hand on the wooden knob. ‘Let me tell you the definition of charmer.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Quote: An entertainer exhibiting a professed ability or power to charm a venomous snake. Unquote.’

He studied her for a long time. Three beats, four, five …

‘Looks like it’s not working on you,’ he said softly. He stood, head tilted, brow drawn. ‘Let me give you the lowdown on uptight
.
Bad-tempered, snooty, repressed—’

‘Repressed?
’

‘Inhibited—and I don’t mean shy—and frightened to death of making the wrong decision. I reckon you’d rather shave that red hair off than admit you were wrong about anything. You’ve got a marker for yourself and you’ve put it real high on the board.’

Charlotte blinked and closed her mouth to stop from answering. Quite a speech. She must have pissed him off big-time. Had she meant to do that?

He jumped the three stairs down to the hallway and strode to the door.

‘You’ll never attain the mark, Charlotte.’ He yanked the flyscreen open and turned to her. ‘Not until you liberate yourself from the rigid corset you put on every morning. Shake up your skirts and dance a little, why don’t you?’ He stormed down her path, the flyscreen slamming shut behind him.

Shocked, Charlotte wavered in a haze of angst about apologising— and even worse, possibly telling him why she was here.

Ethan
.

Dan glanced up when someone knocked on the door.

‘Man,’ he murmured, but didn’t move from behind the bar.

The redhead stared at him through the glass panel.

‘It’s open,’ he called.

She stepped half inside, holding onto the door with her hand and resting it against her shoulder. ‘I came to apologise. And for that coffee, if it’s still on offer.’

Dan didn’t answer.

‘Pissing you off wasn’t my intent,’ she said. ‘I got carried away.’ She paused, looking as though she was gauging her next words with caution. ‘I also think it would be good idea to accept your offer of mediation.’

‘Alright then.’ Dan threw the cloth in his hand over the rim of the stainless steel sink. He strode across the wooden floorboards and pulled the half-opened door she was leaning against out of her hands. She stumbled into Kookaburra’s, steadied herself and swung around to him.

‘During which process,’ she said, with a business-like expression, ‘I promise to be the politest I possibly can be while around you.’

‘Do you always change your mind so fast?’

‘Depends what’s on offer. Right now, I could do with a real coffee.’

He smiled and let the door swing closed. ‘I might need something stronger.’ This bar was his home and he didn’t want bad feelings in his environment; it took more than a mop and a bucket of water to wash them away. And maybe this time they’d talk without bickering. Dan rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and moved behind the bar. Shame Mrs J wasn’t here to witness his tetchiness with the redhead first-hand. It would sure stop the gossip.

‘You didn’t come to the barbecue last week,’ he said. ‘Why not?’

‘I didn’t think I was invited.’

‘Nobody was invited. There was a small dollar charge per head and me and my cook threw some sausages and steaks on the hot plate. Everyone had fun. You should have come.’

‘Who would I have spoken to?’

‘Me.’

‘We’d have ended up arguing.’

The woman had layers of vulnerability beneath that bristly veneer. ‘You’re right. Glad you didn’t come. Might have made me look too macho when everyone knows I’m just an easy-going, friendly country boy.’

Her smile appeared quickly, but she angled it away from him. One layer stripped. How many more to go? Dan let his own smile form. Felt like he couldn’t keep it contained when she was around. ‘Where are you from?’ he asked as he pulled the portafilter from the coffee machine.

‘From just outside Harrogate in England,’ she answered, slipping onto a stool.

‘Big town, huh?’

She tugged at the thin cardigan she wore. ‘No. A village called Lower-Starfoot-in-the-Forest.’

‘Sounds like a fairy tale,’ he said as he packed the portafilter with ground beans and tapped it down.

‘It was, once.’

Dan glanced at her. ‘Fancy place, is it?’

‘If you like village ponds, Maypoles and ye-olde-type buildings.’

‘Flat white or latte?’

‘Flat white. So who’s your cook?’ she asked, picking up a laminated bar menu and running an eye down the list.

‘Me and Lily Johnson.’

‘Mrs J’s daughter?’

‘Yep. Mrs J looks after Lily’s kids while she works. Lily’s divorced, and Mrs J lost her husband a few years back so the ladies and the kids live together. Seems to work well for them all.’

She glanced back at the menu. ‘Not bad.’

‘We keep it small. People don’t like change.’ Dan was sure she almost laughed at that.

‘Does Lily do all the cooking while you swagger around the bar being a hearty country boy with your customers?’

‘Mostly,’ he said, deciding the gentle barb was merely one more layer stripped from her prickly nature. ‘I’m a dab hand in the kitchen though.’ He nodded at the menu. ‘Chilli is my speciality. Chilli chicken, chilli mussels, chilli con carne. Give me a chilli pepper and I’ll create mouth-watering magic for you.’

‘Really?’ She turned the menu over. ‘Who does your desserts?’

‘I get most of them delivered.’

‘Mmm, shame.’ She put the menu back into its metal holder. ‘You could expand your business if you offered home-made desserts. I doubt even the steadfast citizens of Swallow’s Fall would refuse a good selection of cakes and tarts.’

‘Is that what you offered in your quaint English B&B?’

‘Yes. I trained as a pastry chef.’

‘Can you make all the fancy doings? The éclair things and the sweet puff pastry stuff?’

She gave him a perplexed look. ‘Of course. I’m a
pastry chef
. I had a small side business running alongside my bed and breakfast. I catered for parties and weddings.’

Dan pursed his mouth. Pretty much all he offered at Kookaburra’s was shop-bought tiramisu cake and lemon meringue pie alongside Mrs Tam’s home-made ice creams. ‘Impressive,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’

‘Why did you leave?’

She paused a fraction too long. ‘Adventure.’

No way did he believe that. ‘And you thought you’d get it in Swallow’s Fall?’ He smiled at her. ‘Come on, give. Why are you here?’

She leaned an elbow on the bar. ‘I thought we’d formed a truce.’

He poured milk into a stainless steel jug and lifted it to the steam wand. ‘We have. We don’t trust each other, so all questions we ask are fair and equal. Any answers decided on are up to the individual but open to suspicion from the other.’

She rested her chin in her hand and arched one delicate eyebrow. ‘For a moment there, I almost fell for your country-boy charm.’

Cute expression on a cute face, especially with the light of cheekiness glowing in her eyes. But she was the one with charms. Beneath her expensive, slightly conservative clothing, Charlotte had a body with any number of fascinations a guy might be tempted by. Not that he’d admit to anyone that he’d noticed.

He looked back to the jug as the milk heated, circulated and gradually began to rise up the sides. ‘I’m your negotiator. I need to know more about you so I can get everyone on your side.’ He withdrew the jug, set it down and wiped the steam valve with a damp cloth. He took a cup and saucer off the stack sitting neatly on top of the coffee machine.

‘How?’ She leaned forwards, watching him work.

‘You’re new in town. I can help you get settled.’ He made sure the portafilter was tightly secured and turned the hot water knob on full. After a few seconds, her nose twitched as the scent of coffee pouring into the china cup reached her.

‘Don’t know if I’ll ever actually … settle.’

‘I’d like to know why you need so many bolts on your doors,’ he said quietly.

She sat upright on the stool and turned her attention away from the coffee. ‘General security.’

‘Kinda touchy on the subject, aren’t you?’ She didn’t answer and the light had gone from her eyes. ‘I’m pretty good at sussing people out,’ he said. ‘And I think you’re scared of something.’

‘And I’m pretty good at not letting anything slip—should there be anything to let slip.’

‘So are you hiding from something? Or someone?’

She smiled, looking sweet and saucy suddenly. ‘Do you want to hear about how I was fired from my job as a waitress and why I’m sulking here in the country? Or would you prefer the tale about my angry boyfriend … the one I was three timing?’

‘Three, huh? That must have tired you out. Personally I prefer the one about you tying up an intruder in your house and using him as your sex slave for three days before turning the poor wasted bugger over to the police.’

The cheekiness left her eyes and she shivered slightly. ‘I imagine you would.’

Damn. She obviously hadn’t heard that story. Bloody idiots from outside town. Good job they were contractors and not around all the time or he might be tempted to visit one or two of them and put them straight with a punch to the jaw. Perhaps he should have done that in the first place. He picked up the milk jug and banged it on the bar to settle the milk then swirled the jug to get rid of any bubbles.

‘Make that a takeaway, would you?’

‘Those stories came from guys passing through, Charlotte. The ones that had seen you and fancied you. They won’t be back, so don’t worry about it. But as far as general gossip goes there’s nothing you can do. Unless you tell someone why you’re here, they’re going to make up stories. And they’re wondering why you’re here.’ He bent to the shelf beneath the coffee machine for one of the takeaway cups.

‘I’m here because …’

Dan stilled. She swivelled on the bar stool to face the windows and the street. She’d been about to open up to him, he sensed it. Was she starting to trust him? Perhaps he really could help her. Perhaps they’d become friends—eventually. He poured the espresso shot into the takeaway cup.

Why the nerves and the occasional shadows fluttering beneath her eyes? She was flicking at her hair as though there were a bug in it. Was she more hurt by the townspeople’s attitude than she was letting on?

‘What’s upstairs?’ she asked, head tilted back as she gazed at the ceiling.

‘The old rooms from a hundred years ago. Falling to bits though. Mainly storage space now.’ He poured the thickened milk onto the shot of coffee.

‘Must be a big space.’

‘Three hundred and fifty square metres’ worth.’

She got off the stool and walked into the centre of the bar where a wooden balustrade separated the drinking area from the family restaurant, still gazing up at the ceiling. ‘You could have a whole apartment up there.’

Dan picked up a skewer and drew a heart-shape through the light froth of milk on her flat white, something he’d normally only do with a latte but he figured what the hell, Red needed something to make her smile.

‘Three apartments, probably,’ she said.

Or seven redeveloped hotel rooms. ‘Yeah, well, I like my back room.’ He pressed a lid onto the cup, firmed the rim and walked around the counter. ‘No sugar. I figure you’re sweet enough without it.’ He handed her the coffee.

‘Such potent charm.’ She took the coffee from him and sipped.

‘Careful, it’s hot.’

She looked up at him. ‘I’m sorry, the charm remark was uncalled for. It slipped out. Your coffee is delicious.’

Backing down again?

‘It’s hard to keep secrets in this town, isn’t it?’

Dan kept his gaze on her and off the ceiling, where it wanted to go. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.’ She turned from him.

Jesus, for a second he’d almost panicked. If his intentions to open up the hotel slipped out before he was ready to face the council, he’d be burned alive.

‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the coffee. Oh, and by the way, I’ll drive myself on Saturday night.’

‘What’s happening Saturday night?’

‘Dinner at Burra Burra Lane.’

‘You’re going?’

‘Yes. Got a problem with that?’

Well, at least he could keep an eye on her. Since his interest in why she was so guarded about being in town had heightened, so his fear of her coming between Sammy and Ethan had lessened. Sure, Ethan was in the picture somehow, but she’d shown such genuine outrage at his inference that he believed her. Man, he was doing a lot of reading of her recently. ‘Is anyone else going?’ he asked.

‘No, just you and me.’

This was Sammy’s doing. He wondered if Charlotte knew that. ‘They’re not trying to … you know—I mean I hope Sammy hasn’t got the wrong idea here.’

‘Don’t worry. Sammy knows I can’t stand you.’

‘You think that’s going to stop her?’

‘I know two things: I like your coffee but I don’t like you. Three things actually: you don’t like me either.’

‘Yeah.’ One minute she was easing up, the next she froze faster than a drainpipe in winter. She charged him down every time he attempted to kick the ball of bad-temper away from them, giving him no chance of a drop goal. What had happened to make her plug such a solid stopper into the valves of her heart?