Tumble Creek (3 page)

Brock stroked her arms a few times then let her go. ‘Stay here,' he said, accompanying the order with a look that meant she should do exactly that. He swung out of his car and quickly moved around to her door; opening it, he held his hand out to help her down. Sofie vaguely noted he was extremely agile for a big man.

The first thing that hit her was the smell of burning rubber, dust and smoke, kept hanging low in the cold morning air. The stench was something she'd never forget.

Brock slid an arm around her waist, and protectively held her close to his side. Not only was he big and strong, but he had a tangible, don't-mess-with-me aura about him. He took her around the back of a fire engine parked at the kerb. Sofie left his grasp and edged around the semi-trailer. Bracing herself for the worst, she peered around the back of it. But nothing could have prepared her for the destruction. To her sorrow, the roof had collapsed and landed partly on top of the truck, the rest was on her garden and driveway. Her bedroom, the hallway and living room beyond, now exposed to the weather, made Sofie want to rush in and protect what was left. The rest of her cottage teetered on the brink of collapse.

The visual onslaught was bad enough—Sofie's imagination did the rest. She stepped back and lost her footing. Brock's arm around her waist didn't move, his grip simply tightened around her as she stumbled into him.

‘You okay?' he asked, his clipped tone contradicting his caring, protective stance as he encircled her with his shoulders and torso, blocking everything from her view with his body.

His sharp, assessing eyes scanned her face. There was no mistake: they were sharp because he cared, and assessing because he needed to know. She nodded, and cleared her throat to test her voice, but could only managed a raspy whisper. ‘There's nothing left of my house.' She grabbed hold of his T-shirt and hung on. Her mouth trembled, a sob escaped, and before she completely lost it, she sucked her lips in between her teeth and bit down. Filled with all sorts of questions, Brock's gaze didn't waver and, stuck in the moment, neither did hers. Seconds slipped by and something other than his concern passed between them. Needing to calm her thumping heart, she let go of her mouth and gasped.

‘Sofe?' Brock gently prompted.

His warm gaze dipped to her mouth then slowly came up to meet her eyes—eyes now flooded with tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

‘You said no one was hurt—' she swallowed past a lump in her throat, ‘—You're not hiding something from me are you? Is—is the driver okay?'

Brow furrowed, Brock answered, ‘He must be, we can't find him.'

‘He walked away from this? He might be wandering around in a daze.' Nerves stretched to breaking point, she snapped, ‘Has anyone bothered to look?'

‘Of course.' Deep lines appeared between Brock's eyebrows. ‘This is your house, Sofe. We're doing everything possible to find the driver and question him about what happened.'

‘Thank you. Sorry, I didn't mean to sound touchy … It's not your fault.' She laid her hand on his forearm. ‘I am wondering what would make someone veer off the road like this—you know? Maybe he had a heart attack or something. It's good he walked away, somewhere.' Her shoulders sagged, and then shock really set in with all that could have happened, the people who could've been seriously hurt, or worse, killed. There was no controlling it, Sofie began to shake.

Big strong arms wrapped around her. Brock held her tightly to him, she buried her face in his broad chest and sobbed. She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that and didn't care. It had been a long time since Sofie had had a man's muscular arms around her. She silently thanked him; the all-encompassing sense of protection he gave her was something she desperately needed right now. He waited, and slowly, through hitching breaths, Sofie pulled back. Embarrassed her tears had left dark wet patches on his T-shirt, she brought her hand up to brush them away.

‘I've made a mess of your shirt … Sorry.'

‘I'm here for you, Sofe. A few tears on my shirt?' He shook his head. ‘Nothing to be sorry about.'

‘Thank you, I do appreciate it, very much …' she trailed off.

‘Ready for a closer look?'

‘Yeah,' she said on a trembling breath. ‘Let's get it over with.'

They moved around the back of the semi-trailer and the smell of freshly churned earth hit her nose. The sight of her beautiful garden now demolished made her gasp; automatically her hand went to cover her mouth for fear she would cry out loud. The massive wheels had ploughed right across her restored timber cottage from one side to the other, destroying it.

‘Oh God, no! Our home!' Sofie whispered behind her hands, as she and Brock stood together on her smashed and flattened front picket fence and surveyed the destruction. The much loved wrought-iron gate gone, probably somewhere under the truck.

She moved to get closer; perhaps she could salvage something. Brock slid an arm around her waist. ‘Stay here. It's unsafe. The whole front end of your house could collapse.'

She leaned into him, buried her face in his chest and cried again, mumbling, ‘I know I should be grateful no one was hurt, or worse, and nothing else matters but …'

Brock stroked her hair and murmured, ‘I know, Sofe, it'll be okay, Babe.'

It was brief, said quickly, but she wasn't mistaken, he'd called her ‘Babe'. She'd never known Brock to speak like this … never. His sweet words and tone moved deep inside her to a warm private place, a place where it would remain safe forever. She curled her arms around his hard, muscled waist and hung on.

Since helping her make Jennifer's restaurant and courtyard garden pretty with autumn flowers, hanging baskets and paving, Brock had kept his distance. She'd felt a deep connection with him—his eyes couldn't lie, could they? But it had been over a year. She'd moved to Tumble Creek after her Sydney house was sold last January. It was now July, well into winter and he hadn't made any advances, not even come into the restaurant for breakfast or coffee. She told herself that right now, hiding from the carnage, safe in Brock's arms, she would take all he was willing to give. She breathed in his musky, manly scent, wanting to crawl under his shirt and suck in the strength his warm, muscled body gave her. God, he felt good, really good—comforting.

The sound of heavy boots and the rustle-squeak of protective fireman's coat preceded a voice she recognised: Bruce, Tumble Creek's newest fully-fledged fireman.

‘Oops, 'scuse me.' Bruce ducked his head. ‘Just came to tell ya, the truck's owner is here. He reported his truck stolen in Parrot Creek. Was listening to the local news and a reporter was talking about the commotion here, and his mate drove him straight over. Also, someone's coming from Armidale with scaffolding to secure what's left of your house, Sofie, they'll make it as safe as they can. They're bringing a tarp big enough to cover most of your house too.'

She pulled herself together. ‘Th-thank you so much, Bruce.'

‘Is someone questioning the semi's owner?' Brock asked.

‘Oh, yeah.' Bruce nodded. ‘Tak's onto it.'

‘Right.' Sofie could feel some of Brock's tension ease.

‘Sorry this happened to ya, Sofe. Is there anything we need to know, like any chemicals? Something that could leak and cause a fire or explosions?'

Startled, Sofie shook her head.

‘Jesus, Bruce!' Brock warned. ‘Have a heart.'

‘Look, Rock, er, Brock.' Someone in town said ‘The Rock' better suited Brock and now he was stuck with it, nothing was going to change that,
ever
. ‘Some people do have shit stashed in their garage. I have to ask. It's routine.' Bruce gave Sofie a swift nod, did an about-face and went back to inform his chief.

Brock gave her an encouraging squeeze. ‘You seen enough?'

‘No, if I can just gather some things, clothes and … whatever,' she trailed off.

‘No way. It's not safe. Maybe when the scaffolding's up.'

After destroying her bedroom, the truck's cab had come to rest in her living room in front of her new, now cracked, flat-screen TV. Her bedroom closet had been torn apart and her clothes were strewn across the room; the slightest puff of wind had caught and fluttered some items, like the flimsiest garments imaginable, her sweet, pretty underwear that her sister Jennifer had bought for her—of course!—into the garden. As she watched, her favourite pair of scarlet lacy undies, caught on an air current, twirled up and up, then, as if sucked by a vacuum, went straight to the back end of the truck where it caught and hung like a flag. Sofie turned to Brock to see his eyes fixed on the undies that were now making a slow, agonising descent down the back of the truck. Once they were within reach, he lunged and grabbed the lacy delight, and stuffed it in his jeans pocket.

Crap!
Her undies were in his pocket—that really was the last straw.

Before she could ask for them back, a loud crack rent the air. Sofie jumped and clung to Brock, gripping his shirt. A large piece of ceiling plaster dangled by a thread. Mesmerised by the spectacle, Sofie held her breath and waited for the drama to unfold. The plaster ripped, dropping a few inches, then ripped a bit more, and finally fell onto her bedside table, which exploded, bits of it flying everywhere. And with one last thump-clunk the house quietened again.

Through the cacophony of people moving about with equipment and more people calling out instructions, Sofie caught the sound of a familiar buzzing, and she broke out in a panic-stricken sweat.

Chapter 2

No-no-no. Shit. No-o-o-o-o-o-o!

Sofie's stomach dropped and humiliation sent fire through her veins; heat rose up her chest and throat so fast, she could hardly breathe.

Oh dear God!
She had to get to the buzzing sound, and quickly, before anyone else did. She scanned the wreckage of her bedroom, searching. She saw the object of her search in plain sight on the bedroom rug.

Eyes riveted on her target, Sofie jumped with fright when Brock bent over to peer into her face. ‘You okay?' he asked. ‘I know this looks bad, but it can all be replaced.'

‘Uh-huh.' Unable to take her eyes off her treasure, Sofie slowly nodded and alarm, the likes of which she'd never known, flowed deep inside her making her skin prickle with sweat. Then the whole damned thing became a nightmare. Brock followed her gaze. She may as well have pointed it out. She swung around hoping to distract him. But head to one side, he was concentrating, listening, then his face softened and his mouth tweaked up at the corners. She turned back to her room and the floor just as the sun caught the diamantes.

‘Is that …?' Brock asked, sounding amused.

Sofie remained frozen to the spot; moments ticked by, and she kept staring into his laughing eyes. She couldn't speak or move, and didn't even try to hide the answer in her silent plea.

The buzzing sound became louder as the vibrations moved it off the rug and onto the timber floor. They both turned and caught sight of Sofie's brand new, shiny vibrator. It slowly spun on its axis, just like the game, spin the bottle. She wished it was something as ordinary as that. But no, the batteries would have to run out before it stopped … hours later. Her toy kept spinning, its head pointing outward, rabbit ears trembling, and the little diamantes at the base glinting in the sun.

‘Oh fuck,' Sofie whispered, shutting her eyes tight and hiding her face behind her hands.

‘Careful everyone!' Bruce yelled. ‘I can hear buzzing, probably a live wire somewhere. Rock! Hey, Rock!' Bruce was hollering from some distance away, thank God.

Desperate, Sofie swung around, grabbing Brock's shirt she pulled him down to her face and urgently whispered, ‘Do something!'

His eyes captured hers; though weak with fear, she didn't miss his wordless communication,
trust me
. He eased her grip from his shirt, holding her hands close to his chest, turned his head and called out to Bruce. ‘Get everyone to move way back, there might've been a gas bottle delivery this morning, left on the porch!'

‘Shit!' Bruce yelled back, and immediately gave out the orders.

Shouts and cries came from the onlookers, who ran to the other side of the road and further back to the small park adjacent to Sofie's house.

‘I'll just go and …' Sofie started to move.

Brock's hands slid up to hold her shoulders, and peering into her face he ordered, ‘Stay here.'

Mortified, she cried out, ‘No—no! You can't!'

‘Sis—Sis!' Sofie turned to see her sister, Jennifer, and her daughter, Claudia, arriving. Jennifer screamed, ‘Get away from there!'

‘Mum!' Claudia screeched, ‘You're scaring the shit out of me!'

Sofie's attention swung from Brock's disappearing broad shoulders to her daughter and sister and back again. Fear and embarrassment made her feel sick. She tried to see what Brock was doing through the smoke and dust, but it was useless.

‘Smoke!' she squealed. ‘Fuck!' He was risking his life for her reputation, and what would he think when he picked it up? He'd think she was a needy sex addict nympho!

A hand clamped around her arm and Jennifer hauled her away. Claudia's arms went around her as well, and they both shuffled her backwards, away from imminent danger.

A small explosion followed by a fire started in the debris under the truck, and more smoke billowed out.

‘Brock,' Sofie whispered, her body shaking.

The town's firemen were on it, and in a flash foam spewed and spread like a big white cloud under the truck. Some of the spectators mumbled their approval, probably disappointed there wasn't going to be a huge explosion, while others applauded and shouted, ‘Yay, onya, Bruce! Well done!'

Sofie drew Claudia in close and stroked her back to ease the shock that made her daughter's body tremble. Jennifer came in on the other side and together they held onto Claudia. After a few minutes, Sofie leaned forward, distressed to see her daughter's pallid face and silent tears trickling down to drop off her chin.