Outback Secrets by Rachael Johns

Chapter Twenty-one

As the door slammed shut, Henri sighed and leaned back against the wall, taking a few moments to catch her breath.

Liam had kissed her. Properly this time, not just because someone was watching. And she couldn’t be more pleased. Up until then, she’d thought he’d been giving his all when they’d smooched on the beach or kissed goodnight downstairs for the benefit of the patrons, but now … now she knew that all those kisses had only been a prelude for what his mouth was actually capable of.

And his hands. Oh God. She’d had fantasies about what else he might be able to do with those hands, but her imagination had nothing on the reality. Even through her bra and a whole layer of clothing, the way his fingers played her nipples almost made her come right there in the kitchen.

Damn water main! She actually stamped her foot, causing Sheila to startle.

‘Sorry, girl.’ Her heart rate finally starting to slow again, she went over to the dog and dropped down to stroke her. She still looked forlorn from being yelled at. Poor love. ‘How long do you reckon water mains take to fix?’

Sheila cocked her head to one side as if to say, Do I look like a plumber?

Henri sighed as she reached out to stroke the dog. She was right; they’d have to call Sam or the Water Corp and who knew how long they’d take to arrive. Maybe she should go downstairs and offer to help? Then again, she probably only knew fractionally more about plumbing than Sheila did.

As tight as her whole body felt—as desperately as she wanted Liam to be here right now with her—perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. It would give her a chance to do a little prep. If they were going to cross the line, and it looked as if they were, she wanted to be in tiptop condition. It had been a few days since she’d bothered to shave her legs, and even longer since she’d pruned downstairs. A delicious shiver snaked down her spine at the prospect of what lay ahead.

Normally she wouldn’t worry too much about impressing a guy, but she found she wanted everything to be perfect for him. For them.

A spring in her step, she headed into the bathroom, found a pack of disposable razors under the sink, stripped off her clothes and turned on the shower. Or at least she tried to, but nothing came out.

Dammit. Of course, the water would be switched off.

She deliberated only a moment before yanking her clothes back on. If she was quick, she could go home, wash her hair, shave every inch of her body and come back before he even knew she was gone. She rushed back into the kitchen, grabbed the bin from under the sink and swept all her biscuit attempts right into the garbage, not feeling even one ounce of disappointment as she did. Not everyone could bake, but Henri had plenty of other talents, and tonight she planned to use them!

Without water, it was hard to leave the kitchen spotless, but she did her best to return it as close to its pre-gingerbread state as possible, then she tossed Sheila a treat—one specifically for dogs this time—and hurried downstairs out to her van. She ignored all the commotion coming from the back of the pub, telling herself that she’d help with the clean-up when she returned.

The road to the farm was practically deserted, which was a good thing because traffic would have distracted her from her fantasies. All she could think about as she drove was the feel of Liam’s hands and mouth on her body and her fantasies of having them on her again.

Lost in her own bubble of bliss when she pulled up at the homestead, Henri didn’t notice her mother on the far side of the front garden watering the roses, or the hose stretched across the path, as she climbed out of Cecil and ran towards the house.

Like an out-of-body experience, she heard herself squeal before she actually felt the pain stinging her ankle, but then it was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Her eyes filled with tears as she lay on the brick pavers trying to work out what on earth had happened.

‘Henrietta!’ Her mother’s footsteps were loud as she hurried over and knelt beside Henri. ‘Are you okay?’

She was too stunned to speak as her mum helped her into a sitting position.

‘Why were you in such a hurry? Didn’t you see the hose? Oh goodness, look at your hands and knees.’

Henri glanced down and saw grazes all over her legs, but it was the absolute throbbing at her ankle that really concerned her.

‘What are you doing?’ Fiona shrieked as Henri tried to get up and test her weight. ‘You don’t want to get dirt in those cuts on your hands. Here, let me help. We’ll get you inside and cleaned up.’

Reluctantly, she allowed her mother to put her hands under her arms and try to help her stand, but it felt like someone was stabbing a knife into her ankle.

‘I can’t,’ she yelped, her tears flowing as she flopped back onto the ground. ‘My ankle. It feels like it’s broken.’

‘Stay there. I’ll get an ice-pack and the first-aid kit, and I’ll call your brothers to come help.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘The medical centre will be shut by now and they’ll probably want an X-ray from Geraldton anyway, so I’ll drive you straight there.’

Henri barely registered anything her mother was saying—all she could think about was what this could mean for her next contract. All the worst swear words exploded from her mouth. Finally, when she was excited about getting in the air again, this had happened! How was she supposed to get from one job to the next with a broken foot? Never mind fly. She’d have to stay here with her mum, longer!

Oh Lord.That thought was almost as painful as her ankle.

Whereas half an hour ago Henri had been dreaming of doing all sorts of wonderfully wicked things to Liam, now she could actually kill him. And her libido. If she hadn’t been so distracted by the prospect of bonking his brains out, she’d never have been so clumsy as to trip on a damn hose.

‘Andrew’s in Perth doing some Christmas shopping with Janai and the kids,’ her mum said on her return, dropping down next to Henri. ‘But Callum’s on his way.’

‘Thanks,’ Henri managed, cringing as her mother laid an ice-pack across her ankle. No doubt her brother would find her clumsiness hilarious, but she couldn’t even bring herself to care.

‘Geez, you’ve done a very good job, haven’t you, sweetheart? This one’s twice as big as the other and there’s already bruising.’

Henri glared at her—did she think that was helping?—and reached for the first-aid kit now on the ground between them.

Fiona snatched it back. ‘I’ll clean you up. Just try and relax.’

Relax?Henri snorted. Her ankle still throbbing, she barely noticed the sting as her mum wiped the dirt from her grazes.

Callum’s ute appeared in a cloud of dust just as they were finishing the first aid.

‘Home for a couple of weeks,’ he shouted as he ran over, ‘and already you’re causing drama.’

She didn’t even have the energy to glare at him, but she was grateful for his strength as he lifted her into his arms, carried her over to the four-wheel drive and deposited her in the passenger seat.

Callum looked to their mother. ‘Will you be all right on your own with her? I was helping Hannah fix the chook pen, but I can call and tell her we’ll have to finish later.’

‘No,’ Henri told him. ‘We’ll be fine. I’m sure Mum can go in and borrow a wheelchair or something when we arrive.’

‘Okay then. Take care, little sis,’ he said as he closed the car door.

Although Fiona was a very cautious driver, the gravel track out to the road made the beginning of the journey bumpy and with every jerk of the vehicle, Henri’s ankle pulsed in pain. The journey to Geraldton seemed to take twice as long as usual.

When they arrived, Fiona parked right out front and hurried inside. She returned five minutes later with a wheelchair.

‘You’re not a very good patient, are you, love,’ she tsked as she assisted her out of the car and into the chair, Henri muttering and cursing the whole time.

‘How would you like it if you broke your ankle?’ she snapped back.

Fiona looked suitably chastised. ‘Maybe it’s not as bad as you think?’

Oh Lord, how Henri prayed she was right. She hated feeling so helpless and the prospect of not working for however long it took to get back on her feet made her want to scream.

Once inside, she was triaged and then sent to sit in the waiting room with a whole bunch of other people. Glancing around, it looked as if she wasn’t the only one with possible breaks, but everyone else with a parent hanging around appeared to be a decade or two younger than her.

‘It’s a miracle you got to thirty without breaking anything,’ said Fiona, as if noticing the same thing. ‘Anyway, it looks like we might be here a while. Should I go get us some coffees? Maybe some chocolate?’

‘Good idea,’ said Henri, more because she felt stifled with her mum sitting beside her than that she actually felt like eating or drinking anything.

As Fiona went off to hunt for vending machines, Henri glanced up at the TV in the corner of the room. It was playing The Holiday. Even though rom-coms were not at all her thing, this happened to be one of her favourite Christmas movies, second only to Die Hard. After their debate the other night, Henri had to concede that Liam was right, not that she’d ever admit it to him.

She sighed at the recollection, not only of that particular conversation, but of the last few days—the many conversations they’d shared either on the beach during their surfing lessons, late at night when they were all alone and only yesterday during their magical trip to the Abrolhos. They hadn’t all been fun and flirtatious—their conversation the night they delivered Dolce’s rocking chair had been one of the most emotionally draining she’d ever had with anyone—but there’d not been a moment in his company that she hadn’t enjoyed.

And now she’d gone and stuffed it all up.

If she couldn’t even put pressure on her ankle, how the hell was she going to drive into town to see him? Never mind climb those stairs to his apartment or continue their surfing lessons. And if her ankle ached every time they’d gone over a pothole, how was she supposed to finish what they’d started in the kitchen? She’d need some bloody strong painkillers to forget the agony long enough to dance the horizontal mambo.

Argh!Maybe this was punishment for lying!

One thing was for sure, Eileen Brady would certainly think it her just deserts.