Man Drought (16 page)

They’d have to learn to live with each other, but truthfully, Gibson wanted more than that. In Imogen Bates, he hoped he’d found a friend, and he didn’t plan on letting outstanding sex get in the way.

Imogen spent much of the next week on the telephone, pulling together her first matchmaking weekend. She’d run the idea past Charlie, Karen, Pauli and Cal after her return from Perth, and they all agreed it was a fabulous one.

After much brainstorming, her team came up with a name for the weekend. Imogen worried it was a little corny, but Jenna assured her it had the catchy vibe they needed in order to attract women from the city. Thus, the first Man Drought weekend was scheduled for April.

A PR friend of Jenna’s had drafted up press releases and was eagerly helping spread the word. They’d even set up a Facebook page. Each day, more people phoned, faxed, emailed and even wrote letters requesting information about the event. Half the tickets were booked before they’d officially gone on sale. Imogen could barely believe it.

She didn’t know who was more excited by the idea: herself, the
local boys, or the girls she’d spoken to from the city. The whole town got behind her and from every direction she had offers of help and suggestions. The few residual members of the CWA had offered to help with the catering and some locals had offered beds for accommodation once The Majestic’s rooms were filled. As word spread, offers had been coming from further afield, and as a result, she managed to book two bands (one for each night) at a fraction of the cost she budgeted. With tickets almost gone, Jenna already had ideas about a second event.

Happy for the diversion from thoughts of Gibson Black, Imogen embraced the busyness. Although she went out of her way not to talk to him, Gibson resumed his visits to Charlie, spending most nights perched on a stool at one end of the bar. She steered clear of that end – leaving the service up to Cal or Charlie – but she couldn’t help but overhear snippets of conversation. And Cal, who now thought Gibson’s grouchiness a hoot – much to Imogen’s irritation – insisted on passing on exactly what he thought of her Man Drought ideas.

He’d apparently christened the venture a joke, telling Cal, Charlie and anyone who’d listen that the lure of food, wine, partying and men would not attract the kind of women who’d ever want to make a life out here in the bush.

Imogen disagreed. Almost all of the women she’d spoken to so far seemed genuinely to be looking for a change of direction in their lives and were excited about the prospect of visiting the country. She desperately wanted to tell him so, but in the name of self-preservation, she refused to take his bait. She had the feeling his ribbing was solely for the purpose of getting her to break her silence. Yes, he may not have loved the idea as much as everyone, but he wasn’t usually this vocal about anything. He seemed to have loosened up since their lapse of judgement – that was how she tried to think of it – but it could just have been her imagination.
He stole glimpses of her as he chatted with the bar staff and his mates. She saw because she unwittingly found herself doing the same, then flushing hot when he caught her.

And tonight, the flushes were coming fast and furious. He’d arrived at the bar an hour or so later than usual – she’d been checking her damn watch – and it was immediately obvious he’d come straight from the shower. She was collecting glasses when he strode past, offered the briefest nod of acknowledgement and continued to the bar before she had time to contemplate a response. His hair was wet and he left a tantalising aroma of clean male in his wake. His stubble told Imogen he hadn’t taken the time to shave and she wondered why he was in such a rush. Was he meeting someone?

She hated that she cared, but couldn’t deny that she did. If she didn’t want him, was it fair to hope that no one else had him either? Annoyed at herself, annoyed at him, annoyed at the world, she checked that Cal and Charlie had everything under control at the bar and then went into the storeroom under the guise of stocktaking. Really, she needed a moment (or ten) to calm herself. This constant edginess whenever he stepped into her world drained her energies when she had so much else she needed to focus on.

Switching on the light, Imogen immediately got to work, rearranging cartons of beer in order to see what needed restocking. As she lifted the third carton, she sensed movement behind her. Although she didn’t feel threatened, as such, she gripped the carton against her stomach, ready to react. As she twisted, a tall, dark figure came into view and every reflex in her body slowed. The man she’d been avoiding for days stood centimetres away, every bit as impressive as her body remembered. Her conscience simply had no idea what to do with him. Still frozen, she could do nothing but watch as his hands reached out and came to rest on hers over the box. Her skin tingled at his touch and she sucked in a detrimental breath – detrimental because it filled her head with his arousing scent.

‘Here, let me help,’ he said, trying to ease the carton from her grip.

She held on tight and yanked the box back against her, grateful for its presence between them. ‘No, I’m fine. Really.’
Yeah, that’s exactly how you sound.

While her heart stampeded, his hands dropped to his sides, but he didn’t step away and she was up against the wall so she couldn’t go back any further. He peered right into her eyes, as if wanting access to her soul. His close proximity made it almost impossible to look anywhere else. For a few long moments she wished that things were different, wished she could be like Jenna and simply live life to the full, simply enjoy Gibson, without guilt.

‘This has to stop.’

Blinking, she gulped and shrugged one shoulder. Did he mean her body’s ridiculous reaction to him? ‘What does?’

He sighed, took the box while her guard was down and placed it on top of the pile beside them. She folded her arms, hoping he’d read her body language and wouldn’t try anything on. The faint noise of country rock drifted from the bar, reminding her how far they were from anyone. How alone. Her traitorous stomach tumble-turned at the realisation.

‘This denial.’ His voice was low, seductively so, and she took a second to get her brain back to the conversation. ‘We need to talk about what we did. Please?’

The desperate plea in his voice sent her gaze snapping to his. Her mouth went dry at what she saw. Gone was the cockiness he usually wore like a shield and in its place was raw hurt. Desperation. Holy shit, she’d been a complete bitch. If a man had treated one of her friends like she was treating him, she’d have chopped him up into little bits. And this wasn’t even his fault. She dropped her head, shame making it heavy, as she sunk down onto a carton and flopped her hands into her lap.

Gibson smiled a slightly victorious grin and went to shut the door. As it clanged into place, she almost demanded that he open it again. But he wasn’t dangerous, not exactly, and being alone with him had to be better than risking someone overhearing their conversation.

For a few moments, silence reigned, as if he were expecting her to go first. It should have been easy, because she’d hardly thought of anything or anyone else for the last few days. Despite the pub business cranking and her need to focus on the Man Drought event, Gibson and the guilt he summoned inside her had never been far from her mind.

‘I wanted to apologise, but you haven’t given me the chance.’ His words penetrated her thoughts as he smiled slightly, perhaps trying to erode the pained expression she noted in his eyes. ‘I’d be forgiven for thinking I smell.’

Anything but
, she thought, immediately breathing in the fragrance she’d been desperate to ignore. His scent could be funnelled into a bottle and labelled Aphrodisiac. She swallowed and shook her head. ‘I’m the one that should be apologising.’ Her throat felt clogged as emotion rushed there. It wasn’t an easy conversation, which was why she’d been avoiding it. ‘I just …’

‘I understand. You weren’t ready.’ Regret laced his words as he knelt down and reached out to hold one of her hands.

His touch was comforting, and although he stroked his thumb against her skin, she understood he wasn’t aiming for seduction.

‘And it’s okay,’ he continued, ‘but please don’t ignore me. We’re adults, so we slept together …’ He wiggled his eyebrows in good nature and she shivered at the recollection. ‘Yes, I’d like to do it again,’ he admitted, with a wry grin.

She winced inwardly, but thankfully, he went on before she had to respond.

‘But I respect that you don’t feel the same.’ He paused a moment. ‘At least, that’s the vibe I’m getting.’

She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again when she realised she didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that she didn’t
want
to do it again, she just couldn’t.

Eventually, she managed, ‘I should be the one apologising. I’ve treated you terribly. I overreacted.’ Her cheeks burned at the thought of how childish she’d been. She hung her head, unable to meet his gaze. ‘It was good, Gibson – really good – but I can’t deal with this right now. I’m not ready. I know you’re not after a relationship,’ she rushed to add before he could remind her he wasn’t looking for one, ‘but Jamie’s still my man. And I know he’s dead, I know that, but I can’t betray him.’

He nodded. ‘I get that, I do. Jamie’s one lucky guy.’

She squeezed his hand and whispered, ‘Thank you.’

‘I’m man enough to deal with rejection.’ He released her and laughed before his look turned serious. ‘But I don’t want you to ignore me anymore. I want us to be adults and move on.’

She nodded. His idea sounded good in theory, but she had no experience dealing with a guy after they’d slept together. Except with Jamie, but obviously that was different.

‘I don’t know about you,’ Gibson said, pushing into a stand, ‘but I really enjoyed the trip back from Perth. You’re a cool chick, Imogen, and I’d rather have you as friend than foe. What do you say? Can we give friendship a red-hot go?’

Imogen found herself staring at his long, sexy legs – recalling them pressed against hers in the heat of passion – and for a second, wondered if she was insane for writing off the option of more. Then she stood, forcing her eyes upwards and her thoughts back to the present. She could handle it; she’d make sure she could. And with Jenna and Amy miles away, she’d be stupid to ignore the friendship of a good, kind man. ‘Yes, I’d like that.’

‘Awesome.’ His lips curled into a slow, easy smile.

They stared at each other for a few moments and she wondered how they were going to go about this so-called friendship. How she was ever going to ignore the attraction.

‘Imogen!’ A shout from the corridor had them both turning to look at the closed door.

‘Charlie,’ Imogen hissed to Gibson. She flushed at the thought of what he might think, finding her alone with his grandson like this.

He nodded and they both froze as the door handle twisted.

‘You in there, Imogen?’ The door swung back and Charlie appeared in the doorway. His eyebrows shot up and he looked from Gibson to Imogen and then back again. ‘Sorry if I’m interrupting anything,’ he said gruffly.

Gibson smirked like he thought the situation hilarious, but Imogen didn’t want any of her employees thinking badly of her. Unlike some, she’d never had sex in a stockroom, and wasn’t about to start.

‘No, of course you’re not,’ she said, perhaps a tad too emphatically. She swallowed, trying to inject moisture into her dry throat. ‘Gibson was just helping me move the heavy stock.’

‘I see.’ The disapproval written on Charlie’s face told her he didn’t believe her.

‘Anyway, is there a problem, Charlie?’ She hoped to distract his thoughts. ‘Why’d you come looking for me?’

Charlie scratched the top of his head, which was usually covered by his terry-towelling hat. ‘Um. I … I’m sorry, I can’t remember.’

‘Never mind.’ Imogen took a quick breath and smiled at him. ‘We’d best get back out there to help Cal.’

Without another glance at either man, she headed out for the bar, silently praying that Charlie’s on-again-off-again memory didn’t choose to stick on this.

Gibson’s hand froze on the spanner as he listened from his position underneath the seeding rig. He’d been replacing knife points, but at the sound of a vehicle approaching, he cocked his head to try and hear better. He recognised it instantly as Charlie’s beat-up old Holden – the one he’d always vowed to restore but never got round to doing. It was a mystery how the old girl still started, but it wasn’t a mystery why Charlie was putting in an unscheduled visit. From the moment Charlie found him in the stockroom with Imogen last night, Gibson had been expecting this.

He dropped the wrench and slid out from under the big machine. He pulled his sunglasses down from their resting place on top of his head and watched as the car approached.

‘You slacking again?’ Charlie chuckled to himself as he got out of his car and wiped his hands down the front of his pants.

Gibson shrugged. ‘It’s what I do best.’ Which they both knew was a lie. He closed the distance between them and slapped his
hand on Charlie’s back. ‘So, what about you? To what do I owe the pleasure?’ If he knew Charlie, there’d be at least ten minutes of bush-beating before he got to his point.

‘Haven’t been round for a while. Thought I should come out and check everything’s in order. I see you’re servicing the rig.’ Charlie nodded towards the farm vehicles in the shed.

‘Yeah. I want to start seeding early this year. They’re predicting rain.’

‘Good boy,’ Charlie mused, which proved he was distracted, because usually he chose teasing Gibson over flattery any day.

Rather than raising the topic of Imogen – which was presumably the reason for the visit – Gibson opted for diversion tactics. ‘Granddad, come for a drive with me. I’d like your advice on a couple of things.’

‘Sure.’ Charlie straightened his hat and turned towards Gibson’s ute.

As they drove towards the far end of the property, Gibson outlined his cropping plans for this season and the next. Charlie offered a few suggestions, but agreed overall that Gibson had the right ideas. Then all of a sudden he leaned forward and switched off the stereo, which had been playing an old Cold Chisel CD.

Gibson’s gut churned slightly – here came The Talk.

‘I was thinking you could offer Roseglen for the Man Drought weekend,’ Charlie said, breaking the silence.

Gibson blinked. ‘You thought what?’ This was not the lecture he’d been expecting.

‘You heard me. Imogen’s struggling to find a property to hold her farm visit – all the blokes round here want in on the weekend, and that precludes them offering their farms.’

‘Granddad, you know I think it’s a big joke right? And all the girls that’ll flock here will be jokes, as well. Why would I want to be part of that?’

‘For Imogen,’ Charlie answered sternly. ‘And not all women are like Serena, Gibson. It’s time you got that through your thick skull.’

As Charlie continued, Gibson fought the urge to turn the stereo back on. He’d heard this spiel one too many times. The fact was, women weren’t really the problem. Granddad didn’t know the full truth about why Serena left, so Gibson would likely have to listen to this tired speech a hundred times more. Maybe he should just have told him, but something always stopped him. It wasn’t the easiest thing to talk about, especially with a bloke you’d always admired and looked up to.

‘And I’d say Imogen is worth ten Serenas put together,’ Charlie finished.

‘You’ve got that right.’

‘So, you
are
seeing her.’ Charlie clapped his hands together, and Gibson realised he’d been lured right into the trap.

‘No, I’m not.’ Despite this being the truth, he felt the muscle at the side of his neck twitch as if it were a lie.

‘Are you sleeping with her?’

Charlie’s direct question threw him, and he almost lost control of the ute as he careened round the corner of a paddock. He stopped alongside a fence that really needed to be replaced and turned to his granddad. ‘No.’

‘Oh really?’ Charlie raised his eyebrows and his forehead creased in the way it always had when he’d known Gibson was lying as a child. He never got away with fudging the truth with Charlie.

‘It was just once,’ he admitted, discomfort forming a ball in his gut at the fact he was talking sex with his granddad.

Charlie swore and slammed his hand on the dashboard. Gibson flinched. ‘I expected more of you than that, Gibson Black. We’re not quick, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am types of men. Us Blacks treat women right.’

‘Granddad,’ Gibson spoke loudly to interrupt Charlie’s tirade. ‘She doesn’t want to again.’ And he couldn’t blame her, the way he’d acted. Although she’d been as hot for him as he’d been for her, he hadn’t treated her right. He should have thought things through. Maybe if he’d taken the time to woo her – taken her to a
bed
, at least – she would have had time to come to her senses.

Charlie wasn’t listening; he barrelled right on through Gibson’s protest. ‘I may not have known Imogen long, but she’s a sweet girl and I won’t have her taken advantage of. She’s been through hell the last few years and she deserves better than that.’ He yanked the hat off his head and scrunched it in his hands. ‘Your grandmother will cuff you round the head if you’re lying!’

Every muscle in Gibson’s body contracted, and the guilt at how he’d treated Imogen dispersed for a moment. Had he heard correctly? ‘Granddad,’ he said seriously, ‘I never met Grandma. She’s dead. She died before I was even born.’

Charlie blinked and shook his head slightly. He wrung his hat between his fingers like it were a wet cloth, and then snapped. ‘I … I … I know that,’ he all but shouted. ‘I meant, metaphorically. Not a sin to chat to a dead woman, you know, not when you love her like I loved Elsie. Every time I visit her gravestone I tell her about you, about Harry, Paris and your mum. Elsie was as open-minded as they come, but she’d agree with me on this one. You don’t mess around with a lady.’

Gibson let out a long breath. ‘Granddad,’ he began slowly, ‘I promise you I don’t want to hurt Imogen. What happened was a mistake. Like me, she doesn’t want another relationship, but …’
Man, talk about awkward
. ‘I’m hoping we can be friends instead.’

‘Hmm.’ Charlie frowned. ‘I loved your grandma more than I ever thought I could love any woman, but it’s lonely without her. I sometimes wish I’d found someone else to warm my toes in bed. You two shouldn’t be so quick to write off more.’

‘Look, Imogen’s still hung up on her husband, and she knows I’m not looking for another wife, so we’re good. Trust me.’

‘Hmm,’ Charlie said again, popping the hat back on his head and shifting in his seat a little. He looked as if he were deep in thought. Gibson’s gaze darted round the paddock as he wondered what Charlie was thinking about. Finally, he put the ute back into gear, and that’s when Charlie hit him with it: ‘If you’re friends, then you’ll be happy to help her out.’

‘How? Is she having another slab party?’

Charlie laughed. ‘And people say
I’m
forgetful. No, the Man Drought farm visit. I’ll tell her you’ll be happy for her to come out here for a look-see.’

Gibson resisted the urge to let his head hit the steering wheel. This was Charlie – was he ever not going to get his way? ‘All right, if she wants this place, she can have it.’

‘Hah.’ Charlie chuckled to himself and Gibson looked into the rear-view mirror to see his enormous grin.

The Talk over, his arm truly twisted, Gibson drove his granddad to Elsie’s grave. His grandmother had been buried on Roseglen in the days when it was still legal to have a private graveyard. She rested alongside a sister, a number of family pets and both her parents. After paying quick respects, Gibson retreated to his ute to read the latest issue of
Farm Weekly
while Charlie knelt beside the now-decrepit headstone, pulled the weeds from the dirt around it and settled in to talk to Elsie about who knows what.

Gibson and Imogen, most likely.