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‘I’ll worry about those. What time do you want me?’
He looked at the digital clock on his laptop. He’d have liked to get the mowing out of the way, but it had been raining all day. Nomatter, there were plenty of jobs to do in the stable, or readying Station Cottage. ‘Any time. Amy’s here, somewhere, so she can entertain you if I’m out back.’
‘No problem.’
‘Thanks, Dad. I can’t believe I’m so frazzled at the thought of paying guests.’
‘You’re not frazzled, son,’ his dad said. ‘You’re chuffed and that’s awesome. I’m proud of you. See you soon.’
Joey slipped his phone back in his pocket. Was Dad right? A year ago he’d have thought the most fun he could have would be finessing a profit out of a tech stock in a sluggish market. And now here he was, looking forward to welcoming guests and doing a bit of muffin-baking with his dad.
Country life was changing him.
Or changing him back to what he’d once been. Before Natalie. Before he’d let spreadsheets replace the emotions he needed toreallylive his life.
He found Amy rolling in mud and chook poop with his idiot dog so hustled them to the water tank to hose off.
‘Then find something warm to put on,’ he ordered her. ‘And dry Gus!’
He ran across to the stable with a cardboard box over his head to keep the rain off, grabbed the key from the hook on the wall and let himself into the locked cupboard. Soap, mozzie coils, matches … lucky he’d stocked up the bits and pieces guests might expect to find already. He grabbed a handful and headed over to the Station Cottage.
The door opened and Kirsty stood there, her hair escaping every which way from a loose plait, and more leg than he was accustomed to seeing poking out from below an old flannel shirt.
Was she evenwearingshorts?
‘Oh, hey,’ he breathed. ‘You’re here.’
Stating the obvious … so much for the legendary Joey Miles charm his mum was always banging on about. The legendary charm had gone pfft in his head at the sight of his rouseabout’s fine set of legs.
Kirsty had a wet shirt in her hand and—wait—was thatmudstriped across her cheeks?
She grinned. ‘Don’t ask,’ she said, walking past him to hang the shirt on a hook.
He caught a glimpse of cut-off denim beneath the shirt. Huh.
‘I’m popping into town if you need anything.’
‘Umm,’ he said. Face, he told himself—it was polite to look at a woman’sfacewhen you were talking to them.
‘What’s got you all smiley and smug?’ she said.
If he were a caveman, he’d have mentioned her shorts. Because … damn. But he wasn’t a caveman. He had two sisters and a vigilante niece who’d superglue him onto his tractor at the first whiff of a sexist comment.
‘I was about to say the same thing,’ he said, prevaricating. ‘Why areyousmiling?’
‘I’m … well. Ask me later.’
He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Fine then. Be mysterious.’ He switched topics to the one that had brought him over to the cottage and grinned. ‘I just got a phone call … we’ve taken our first booking.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘We? Our? Don’t involve me in this booking palaver. I’m the rouseabout, not the hospitality manager.’
‘I guess that is my job. The good news is, someone wants to stay here and they’re willing to part with their hard-earned cash to do so. The downside is, they’ll be here three o’clock tomorrow.’
Kirsty’s eyes widened. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yep. Sorry to evict you from the Station Cottage, but it’s the only one ready to go. Mount Barney can go up on the website in a day or two when we’ve painted the last of the window trim and taken some photos, so you’re welcome to Mooball, although Pete’s coming over to replace that bodgy patch of floorboards when he gets a chance. Or …’ He took a breath. Was this a crazy thing to say? To a woman he was crazy about, but who didn’t give a flying fruitcake about him? Oh hell, he’d moved well past crazy. ‘You could move into the spare room over at the homestead.’
He could tell the minute she swung her gaze to the mountains that he’d said the wrong thing. ‘Kirsty?’
