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She blinked, and he wondered if she hadn’t thought through the connection. True, she’d just found the old relic in his cowshed, and according to her story, there was a hole in her past and she was trying to fill it—the way he was trying to fill the whacking great hole that had opened up in his future when he chucked in his job.
‘Port Augusta is a bit far away for visiting my shed on weekends. And’—Should he mention it? He gave it a moment’s thought then ploughed on—‘I’ve got plans for that shed. It’ll need to be empty at some point in the near future.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I have some time,’ she said in a rush. ‘I have some annual leave up my sleeve which I can take, like another eight weeks or so. I … need access to that plane.’
Eight weeks. In eight weeks winter would be gone and spring rain would be falling—fingers crossed—on his newly irrigated and fertilised macadamia plants. He’d be staking avocado seedlings and encouraging Dobbin to trot up and down the rows dispatching steaming clumps of nature’s fertiliser into the soil.
At least, he would be if a miracle happened and he’d finishing renovating the cottages. He’d be wanting to start on the event space in the shed by then, get some promotional material up on his website.
A thought struck him. Crazy, but … a lot could get done in eight weeks. And he’d have some time to investigate what this World War II windfall might mean to his bottom line. Or—better still—Kirsty could find out for him. And she’d said she owned a toolkit. ‘Where are you staying? Have you got friends in the area?’
‘The Clarence Hotel Motel.’
He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve had an idea. It’s a little out there, so by all means say no, but …’
‘Yes?’
‘You want a bit of time to find out more about Bill Bluett, right? Find out some info about this plane.’
She blinked. ‘I guess.’
‘Question: that screwdriver you were clanking about in the cockpit the other day … you know your way around any other tools?’
‘I know my way around a hammer drill and a socket set. I paid my way through flight school by jillarooing in the Northern Territory.Up there, when something’s broken, the nearest tradie can be a six-hour ute trip away.’
‘I think we might be able to help each other out. You see that old orchard, past the dunny and the chook shed and Dobbin’s stable?’
‘Ye-es,’ she said, as though she thought he was about to suggest something awkward that she’d have to refuse.
Which, in truth, maybe he was.
‘You can just see a tip of corrugated roofing through the avocado trees. There’s a paddock out back, which has recently become home to two timber cottages and one old railway station built in 1913.’
‘Wow. You’re setting up a farmstay?’
She caught on fast. ‘Fingers crossed. Plumbing’s in, electrical cables have been laid … but there my budget came to a screaming halt. I’ve got to renovate the interiors and paint the exteriors—as soon as possible if I want any chance of keeping my bank manager sweet. So if you’ve got painting skills, or carrying brick skills, or even just towing-a-trailer-to-the-tip skills, I could offer you a place to sleep. If you can give me a few weeks’ work—maybe four hours a day in the morning? Does that seem a fair trade for accommodation?—then I’d say we’d be giving each other a helping hand.’
‘That’s … a generous offer. You don’t think it would be a little weird, having me stay here? You don’t know me.’
Weird, no. Tempting, yes. ‘You can have the Station Cottage. It’s the tidiest one at the moment, but don’t get excited thinking I’m offering you blue chip accommodation—there’s no taps or loo in it yet and the power isn’t connected.’
‘No taps and no loo. How can a girl say no to that?’
He chuckled. ‘You see my outdoor dunny? It’s all yours, and you’d be welcome to use the bathroom here in the house. The kitchen, too. Just don’t leave the butter out because Gus has a hankering to develop a cholesterol problem.’
‘You must really be broke if you’re trading reno favours with strangers.’
‘When your bank loan is as big as mine, sweetheart, you’ll tapdance naked at the pub trivia night if it helps you meet the repayments. Besides, it can get lonely out here under the stars.’ What was hesaying? He liked being alone out here. He wanted silence and quiet time and zero involvement.
She stared across the yard, her fingers burrowing into Gus’s fairy-floss curls. ‘Can I think about it?’
‘Sure. How long do you need?’
‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow,’ she said, rising to her feet and dislodging the dog. She turned to him and held out her hand.
Hers was warm. Strong. He imagined typinggood handsinto his Wife spreadsheet.
‘Thanks for the offer,’ she murmured, and he watched a blush rise and fall beneath the faint freckles on her face. ‘And thank you for being so cool about me barging into your shed.’
He nodded. As she strode away, the long hair of her sun-streaked ponytail kicked up in the breeze.
Who was he kidding? He needed a hand for the reno, true. But why had hereallymade her the offer? Nowhere among today’s chores on his whiteboard did it sayLose heart to mysterious tempting stranger and invite her to stay.
