Man Drought (32 page)

When Gibson returned to the kitchen almost an hour later, a veritable smorgasbord of food lay on the table before him. He thought he eyed some of Pauli’s already-famous stuffed potatoes, and his stomach rolled in delighted anticipation.

‘Take a seat,’ Imogen said, stepping forward from where she’d been wiping his bench tops. Gesturing to the table, which she had laid with two place settings, she said, ‘I figured Charlie would be sleeping.’

‘Yep,’ he replied, wondering if he imagined the wobble in her voice or it was his own nerves he felt. He’d been alone with Imogen before – hell, he’d been horizontal with the woman – but all that happened before he’d fallen in love with her. Or at least, before he’d recognised the feeling.

He didn’t want this intimacy now – not when she was only here because of Charlie.

Part of him wanted her to leave. He couldn’t stand her buzzing
around his kitchen like everything was fine between them, like there actually was a ‘them’. Still, she’d been the one to find Charlie and she cared about the old guy too. She had information he’d need to tell the doctor. Bracing himself for the conversation, he walked to the sink to wash his hands.

‘How is he?’ she asked when they were both sitting at opposite ends of the table.

‘Sleeping now, but he seems physically fine.’ Massacring a potato with his fork, he shoved a mouthful between his lips. After chewing, he looked to Imogen again. ‘Can you tell me exactly how you found him?’

She nodded, launching into an account of how she’d almost driven into the log, and then how Charlie had offered to help. ‘He scared me half to death.’ Then she told him about their conversation when they returned to the house. He dropped his cutlery and almost slammed his fist into the table.

‘Dammit, I should have remembered.’ Charlie made a big deal of Elsie’s birthday ever year. Gibson had never thought it strange, because it had always been that way. Most years, he also remembered the date, but he’d been too busy thinking of other things lately. Too busy thinking of Imogen.

‘You didn’t,’ Imogen said logically, ‘so don’t waste your time dwelling on that. We need to move forward.’

He flinched at her use of the word ‘we’, as if they were a team. As if they were a couple. How could she be so cruel? She might be able forget his confession, to abandon thoughts of a relationship and jump on the friendship wagon he’d once marketed so well, but he couldn’t do it anymore. It hurt too damn much.

‘
I
,’ he emphasised that word, ‘will take him to the doctor tomorrow. It’s obvious he can’t go on the way he is, but whatever the outcome,
I’ll
be there for him. He’s all I’ve got.’

She put down her knife and fork, let out a long, slow breath and
pushed her chair out from the table. Hallelujah. She’d gotten the message.

But Imogen didn’t leave. No, she had to torture him by coming so close and kneeling right beside him so he could
smell
her again.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ He’d never be able to get that vanilla scent out of his house – it’d be infused here forever, like some ghost haunting him, reminding him of everything he wanted but couldn’t have.

‘That’s not true,’ she said, ignoring his question, gazing up at him and taking his hand off the table. He resisted, but she clamped her fingers down around his palm. ‘You’ve got me too. If you’ll have me.’

Yanking his hand from hers, he pushed back from the table, the chair clattering against the floor. He backed into a corner. ‘Why are you doing this? I know you care about Charlie but this is going beyond the call of duty. We’re not a charity.’

‘I know.’ Her voice wavered, her fingers lingering on the table where they’d dropped when he fled. ‘I’d never think that. I love Charlie, but this has nothing to do with him. It’s about you and me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you want to be alone forever?’

‘No.’ He was far too human for that.

The tiniest smile graced her lips. ‘Neither do I.’

Well, it was lovely that they’d established that sweet fact, but it didn’t change one little – no, make that one
mammoth
– thing. He took a frustrated breath. ‘The difference is, Imogen, you don’t have to be. When you’re ready to move on, you could have anyone you want – you’re gorgeous, intelligent … fertile.’

‘Two things.’ She held up two fingers, her voice suddenly strong and determined. ‘I want you.’ She stepped up close, jabbed her index finger painfully into his chest. ‘I didn’t think I was ready to be over Jamie, to move on romantically, but you made me. Without either of us intending to fall in love, I did. And I think you did too.’

When he neither denied nor confirmed this statement, she continued.

‘Secondly, we have no idea if I’m fertile. For your information, Jamie and I were trying for a baby to no avail when he died. But none of that matters.’

Gibson rolled his eyes. This was where she’d try to convince him that there were other ways they could have a family – adoption, IVF through donor sperm, surrogacy – and that love would get them through any difficulties. He braced himself to argue, because while he wanted to believe in these possibilities, there were no guarantees. And if they all failed, then how could she possibly know she wouldn’t feel like Serena did? But Imogen didn’t mention children. Well, not in the way he’d been expecting.

‘This isn’t about babies.
This
is about us. After losing Jamie, I gave up on having a family. I came to terms with that, and I also never expected to find love again. But I did. You are my bonus, my second chance at love and life. You are enough for me. Am I not enough for you?’

He felt himself thawing. Her words overwhelmed him. And more than anything, he wanted them to be true. ‘Enough? You’re more than I ever dreamed of.’

‘Hah!’ A victorious smile lit her face. ‘See? You do want me.’

‘Dammit, Imogen, of course I want you. I never said I didn’t.’ And he was helpless not to drag her against him. His fists encircled her wrists and he brought her hands up against his chest. He didn’t know whether he wanted to shake her or kiss her, but damn she felt good. So right. He summoned all the willpower he had – it wasn’t much after such an exhausting day. ‘But that’s selfish,’ he told her. ‘Can’t you see? I’m trying to put you first?’

She angled her chin up, looked daggers into his eyes. ‘By taking away my freedom of choice? By not giving me the option of choosing you?’

‘Honestly, woman!’ No one had ever caused him so much frustration. No one had ever made his heart pound this much.

‘Do you love me, Gibson?’

Love!
That crazy, uncontrollable thing that had filled him, taking charge of his sensibilities the moment he first laid eyes on her. He had no doubt that was what he felt for Imogen, and he wanted to believe it truly was enough. He recalled Charlie’s words – that growing old alone wasn’t impossible, but it was lonely – and he knew he’d be crazy to turn her down. If she were enough for him, maybe he really was enough for her too.

‘Yes, Imogen.’ He swept a tear from his cheek as he spoke – she’d turned him into a right old sook. ‘I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.’

While a bloke might have punched the air in victory, Imogen leaned forward on the tips of her toes and pressed her mouth against his in definite conquest.

Gibson’s kisses were nice – better than that, they were fan-bloody-tastic – but now he’d admitted he loved her, Imogen wanted the whole shebang. While his tongue explored her mouth, softer but equally as possessive as the first time they’d kissed, she roamed her hands down his chest, lingering at the buckle of his belt.

‘Take me to bed, Gibson.’

His eyes were hot with need, but he sighed deeply. ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’

‘Oh yeah, I’m sure.’ She placed a kiss in the hollow of his throat. ‘And if I have to spend my lifetime proving it to you, the pleasure will be all mine.’

Claiming her lips in another desperate kiss, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her down the hallway. She’d never been
into his bedroom before, and for a second she worried that it might have Serena’s stamp on it as much as the rest of the house. But her worries were allayed the moment they stepped inside. This was a man’s room – no pretty frills, no cushions, just a practical comforter and a lamp on one side of the bed. It smelled like him. She inhaled deeply, not that she needed any more of his personal brand of aphrodisiac.

He crossed to the bed in a couple of strides, pulled back the comforter and set her down in the middle of the mattress. ‘Don’t move.’

The only movements she had planned were ripping off her clothes. Smiling at that thought, she admired his butt as he turned to shut the door and turn off the light. She was glad when he returned and switched on the lamp – she wanted to see his face through every moment of their lovemaking.

‘Last chance to back out,’ he said. She could already see an erection straining in his trousers.

Getting to her knees, she grabbed him by his ears and yanked him down on top of her. ‘Not going to happen, mister.’

He kissed her again, his mouth making sure hers felt purely adored. Tomorrow, she’d have stubble rash all over her face, but she didn’t care one bit. Being cherished like this was worth it. After a moment, the damp from his clothes soaked into hers and she couldn’t believe they were still fully dressed. It was a terrible oversight on both their parts.

‘We need to get you out of these wet clothes,’ she whispered.

‘I was thinking the same about yours.’ His fingers trailed down her face, curved over her breasts and then down further, tugging her t-shirt and jumper up over her head and tossing them onto the floor.

‘If I’m wet, it’s for an entirely different reason,’ she muttered, barely able to concoct a sentence with his hands moving lower.

His fingers slipped inside her jeans, he skilfully popped the button and then dragged them (knickers and all) down over her goosebump-covered legs. ‘I won’t marry you,’ he said.

‘Why not?’ she asked, temporarily distracted from his hands, which were working their way back up the inside of her thighs.

‘I want to give you time to be sure,’ he replied seriously. ‘I know you think I’m what you want, and I definitely want you, but I’ve been burnt before. I don’t want to rush.’

What he didn’t seem to understand was that she was already in so deep, there was no way she could turn back now. ‘As I’ve said,’ she murmured, her concentration slipping again as he dipped his head, ‘I’m more than happy to prove my love.’

In reply, he pressed his lips between her legs and kissed her. Hard. Slow. Teasingly. She dragged her hands through his hair, caressed his earlobes, focused on the ceiling – anything to prolong this pure bliss. And then she felt it – her legs twitched, her body no longer her own. His hands cupped her buttocks, giving him greater access as he pressed his tongue deeper. In seconds, she was gone, hurtling over the edge, writhing beneath him, wondering if it had ever been this good before.

She was still panting when he rolled over and ripped off his jeans
. Oh my!
She was helpless not to stare. His shirt came next, exposing his tanned, muscular, slightly hairy chest – better than candy and every inch of it hers to explore. And, speaking of inches … She reached out and took his length in her hand. It was warm – make that hot – and pulsing. She moved her hand slightly and he moaned.

She stilled her hand. ‘How long do I have to wait?’

‘For what?’ he choked.

‘Marriage,’ she said, smiling at him, squeezing tightly. ‘I’m a traditional kind of girl, and when I’m in love I like the world to know. Officially.’

He pressed his hand into her wrist, looked into her eyes. ‘Three years.’

She snorted in disbelief. ‘Sounds like some arbitrary number to me.’

‘Three years is longer than I was married. It’s longer than you’ve been alone. It’s my only offer.’

She sighed. ‘I accept, but I guarantee you’ll cave long before.’

‘We’ll see.’ He tried to distract her with a kiss and the act of expertly removing her bra.

Yes, we will
, she thought, loving the feel of her skin against his and vowing that after she’d finished what she was about to do, he’d want to marry her on the spot. Letting it go for now, she got busy with the inches, using both hands and tongue to take him to the heights he’d just taken her. He moaned her name, groaned beneath her touch.

Aroused beyond belief at her effect on him, she was more than ready, wetter than ever, when he stilled her hand and rolled her over so that he was on top.

He kissed her lips and then plunged deep inside. She clung to him, loving the feel of him inside her. The time in his ute had been off-the-radar terrific, but this was different. This was more. This was an act of love.

And when it was over, she lay back on his bed, let her head relax into his soft pillows, and grinned. Yes. Without a doubt, this was much better than a vibrator.

For a Sunday night, the pub buzzed with blokes. A few of them voiced their disappointment at not finding a willing woman over the Man Drought weekend, but most could drink their beer and laugh about it. All were happy that Charlie had been found and quite a few had already asked when he’d be returning to work.

Unable to provide an answer, Imogen checked her mobile for the umpteenth time to see if Gibson had called again. Although she knew he wouldn’t mind her bothering him, she also knew he’d call when he had more news.

After giving her a memorable kiss goodbye early that morning, Gibson had roused Charlie from deep slumber and reminded him of his need to see a doctor. The way Gibson told it, words had been exchanged, but he’d remained firm and Charlie had eventually relented. Hearing Gibson’s account and his fears about Charlie’s memory, the doctor on call in Southern Cross had transferred him to Kalgoorlie Hospital for further testing.
Imogen wished she could have gone with them, but she was already one staff member down and Karen had been up early cleaning the hotel rooms after the participants had left, so she didn’t want to ask her to do another shift.

‘Evening, Imogen.’ Warren’s smile stretched from ear to ear. He leaned across the bar and whispered, ‘I want to thank you for the weekend.’ Then he held up a crumbled piece of paper. She could just make out a phone number.

‘Well done, Warren.’ Looked like she might not be the only one with a happy ending. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Please. The usual.’

She fetched Warren’s beer, and when she turned back to hand it to him, a tall, neatly dressed, middle-aged woman with a perfect platinum bob approached the bar. A man whom Imogen didn’t recognise, but who looked like he could be one of the local farmers, walked right behind her.

‘Thanks,’ Warren said, taking the glass. He glanced sideways at the couple. ‘Good evening, Mr and Mrs Black. Great to see you.’

‘You too, Warren,’ replied the woman.

‘G’day, mate.’ The man offered his hand, and Warren shook it quickly before slinking off in the direction of the pool table.

Black?
Imogen’s palms suddenly sweaty, she wanted to call Warren back. Were these Gibson’s parents?

As she turned this thought over in her mind, the woman wiggled her nose, as if sniffing the air, and then swept one perfectly manicured finger along the bar. ‘It’s clean.’ Her surprise was evident.

Imogen didn’t know what to say. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Just a Coke, thanks,’ said the man. ‘I’ve still got a bit of driving to do.’

‘Just passing through?’ she asked, wondering if she should introduce herself.

The man smiled wistfully. ‘Yes. We used to live here, though.’

The woman just glanced warily around.

Imogen got the soft drink and placed it on the bar.

‘Thanks.’ He nodded as he lifted the drink to his mouth.

‘Are you the new publican?’ asked the woman.

Imogen smiled. ‘I am.’ She held out her hand and was almost surprised when she shook it. ‘Imogen Bates, lovely to meet you.’

‘My son said you’d done the old place up.’ She snorted in a manner that didn’t match her ladylike attire. ‘He raved about your efforts, in fact. I suppose it’s not bad if you like this sort of thing.’

‘And we do,’ Cal said defensively, arriving by Imogen’s side.

Imogen shot her an appreciative look but shook her head to say she’d handle it. She returned her attention to the older woman. ‘You must be Gibson’s mum.’

The woman nodded. ‘We’re on our way to see him and Charlie in Kalgoorlie.’ She sniffed and pulled a tissue out of her handbag. After blowing her nose, she continued. ‘Dreadful business. I’ve been saying there’s something wrong with him for months, but no one ever listens to me.’ She looked to her husband, but he was studying the rim of his glass intently.

‘We all love Charlie,’ Imogen said. ‘Please give him our best.’

Mrs Black opened her mouth to reply as Imogen’s mobile began to ring. She yanked the phone out of her pocket, checked the caller ID and her heart did a happy high jump. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to take this call. Cal, can you get Mrs Black anything she wants?’

Although Cal looked like she’d rather throw a glass of wine over the woman, she nodded. They’d all been waiting for this call.

Imogen retreated into the corridor that led to her office, hoping Gibson’s news wasn’t too terrible. Wondering if he knew his parents were in town. ‘Hi there.’

‘Hey sweet.’ He didn’t sound stressed, and she loved the sound of his voice, especially when he used a pet name.

‘How’s Charlie?’

‘Actually, he’s going to be fine.’ She could hear the smile in his voice, but wanted answers before she let out a sigh of relief.

‘Did he have tests?’

‘Yes, but not for dementia. The doctor didn’t think Charlie’s symptoms added up to that, but they made sense relating to something else.’

‘Oh?’ Reaching her office, Imogen sank into her swivel chair to listen.

‘Charlie has a heart condition – one he refused to let any of us know about. A minor one,’ he rushed, before she could ask. ‘I can’t remember the medical term, but in layman’s terms, he has heart flutters. It’s really common and can be managed by medication. He takes a tablet daily, something called digoxin. Anyway, he’s been on it for quite some time, and due to his kidney function, the digoxin has become toxic to his system. This is what they believe is responsible for his confusion and tiredness. He even admitted he’s been having blurred vision, headaches and nausea.’

‘But of course he didn’t tell us any of this.’

‘Of course not,’ Gibson laughed. ‘And Mum was partly right. At least she’ll be able to own some smugness.’

‘Um … speaking of your mother. I just met her.’

‘You what?’

‘She’s here in the pub, running her fingernails along the bar and—-’

‘Checking for dust?’

It was Imogen’s turn to laugh. ‘Something like that.’

‘Dammit, I was hoping to be there when you met her. To soften the blow. She’s really not that terrible when you get to know her, at least not when she lives three hundred kilometres away.’

‘Gibson,’ Imogen spoke seriously, ‘I keep trying to tell you, nothing is going to put me off. Your mother could be Cruella de Vil, for all I care.’

‘Remind me to buy a lotto ticket tomorrow. I must be the luckiest man alive.’ His words felt like a hot bath wrapping around her body, but there was more to ask about Charlie.

‘This thing Charlie’s got. Can it be fixed?’ She picked up a pen from her desk and rolled it in her fingers, hoping the cure would take a long time for Gibson to explain. She liked the sound of his voice. She liked their banter and their serious discussions. She liked the normalness of speaking to him on the phone.

‘Yep. He’ll have to stay in hospital for a couple of days.’

Relief filled her heart. ‘He’s going to love that.’

Gibson snorted. ‘He doesn’t have a choice. He needs to be on a drip to get the toxin out of his system. But he wants you to know that he’ll be back, so don’t go getting any ideas about replacing him – his words.’

Laughing, Imogen said, ‘I’ll have a few words to say to him myself when I see him. Will you be home tonight?’

‘No, I’m going to spend the night in Kal. It’s late now and I want to be here for Charlie in the morning.’

‘Okay.’ Imogen hoped he couldn’t detect the disappointment in her voice. She understood his desire to stay near Charlie. And his parents would want to spend time with the both of them. ‘I told your Mum to give Charlie my best, but can you tell him I said hi as well? We’re all—-’

‘Imogen,’ his deep voice interrupted her. ‘I can’t stop thinking about last night.’

She grinned. ‘Me neither,’ she said, and then realised she’d been doodling love hearts on her notepad.

‘So, no regrets then?’

She scribbled her initials at the top of one heart and then scrawled his underneath. ‘None whatsoever, Gibson Black. And I promise you, there won’t be.’