Outback Sisters (10 page)

‘It's all right. Your secret's safe with me.' He winked. ‘I read it too. Team Edward or Team Jacob?'

She was about to reply when a customer—not a local—called from the counter, ‘Is there anyone taking orders around here?'

‘Go,' Logan whispered before she could make her excuses. ‘I'll be fine with my book.'

As she turned away from him, she couldn't help smiling at their conversation. Why did he have to be so easy to talk to, so interesting, as well as so incredibly hot?
Why
did he have to be going out with Simone?

‘What can I get for you?' she asked the tall, aggrieved-looking man as she rounded the counter. At the same time Cara appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands against her apron. ‘Sorry,' she mouthed at Frankie.

‘It's fine. I'll do this.' Frankie smiled at her; after all, she'd been the one slacking off.

When she turned back to the man, he was glaring at her as if she'd made him wait an hour, not all of two minutes. ‘I'll have a Coke and one of those homemade pies,' he said, thrusting his finger at the glass display counter, ‘and it better be good.'

‘It will be,' Frankie promised. ‘Take a seat. I'll bring them both out to you.'

She set to work heating his pie—resisting the urge to spit in it—as other customers started to dribble into the café. By the time she delivered the pie to Mr Cranky, a queue was forming at the counter, and as much as Frankie longed to resume her conversation with Logan, she had to go and assist her staff.

The next fifteen minutes or so were busy, but she couldn't help noticing that Simone hadn't turned up yet. Knowing her sister, she'd gotten caught up in her latest work of art, but Frankie felt sorry for Logan, sitting alone. She wished she could go over and talk books some more with him. Finally, as the lunch rush thinned and she was considering calling her sister, the door of the café opened and in rushed Simone, the ends of her colourful scarf flying behind her. Even with her hair windblown and her face flushed, she managed to look beautiful.

‘So sorry I'm late,' Frankie heard Simone gush as she dumped her handbag on the floor.

‘It's fine.' Logan stood and then Frankie watched as he leaned over and pecked Simone on the cheek. They didn't kiss like two people who were falling madly in love, but something sharp and prickly still twisted in Frankie's heart at the sight of the two of them together. She stared miserably as Logan pulled out a chair for Simone and she sat. They smiled at each other warmly and began to talk as if they were the only people in the world.

Feeling like a terrible sister, Frankie retreated into the kitchen to scrub dishes and distract herself. She'd leave Cara and Monique to take orders and serve.

* * *

‘Busy morning?' Logan asked as Simone settled into the seat opposite him. Their knees briefly brushed against each other and he moved slightly so as not to crowd her.

‘You have no idea. I've been working on the bombonières for my cousin's wedding and I lost track of time.' She smiled as she swept a hand through her hair. Her fingers were speckled with some kind of paint and her nails cut short and practical. An artist's hands, he thought—different from Frankie's, which he'd noticed had been immaculately clean.

‘Sounds like fun.'

‘It is,' she said, ‘but I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.'

‘It's not a problem. I had my book and I ordered one of Frankie's white hot chocolates to ward my hunger off. You were right, they're pretty damn good.'

Simone glanced towards the counter as if just realising she hadn't said hello to her sister yet, but Frankie was no longer in sight. ‘Everything Frankie cooks is amazing. Apparently she takes after our father. Mum and I can boil eggs and make spaghetti but that's about the extent of our culinary skills. I feel sorry for my girls. Lucky for me, Harriet is always watching her weight and Grace is quite happy with eggs and spaghetti.'

Logan chuckled, enjoying the way she spoke as if he knew them. If her daughters were half as captivating as their mother and aunt, they'd be lots of fun.

‘What about you?' she asked, unravelling the scarf from around her neck and dropping it into her lap. ‘Can you cook?'

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I can. Angus and Olivia tease me about being a culinary snob, but I enjoy good food—cooking
and
eating it. After Mum died, I kinda fell into the role of feeding the family. I even did the birthday cakes.' He kept a straight face and added, ‘I was particularly proud of the My Little Pony I did for Olivia's tenth birthday.'

She raised an eyebrow. ‘I'm impressed. There must be a big age gap between you boys and her?'

‘Yes. Fourteen years between me and her. Think she was an accident.'

Simone smiled knowingly. ‘And how old was Olivia when your Mum died?'

‘Only three.'

‘Oh God.' Simone pressed a hand against her chest. ‘That's how old Grace was when Jason died. Harriet was six. There's no good age to lose your parents, but it must have been particularly hard for your sister, growing up without her mum.'

Logan nodded, trying to ignore the lump in his throat that formed whenever he thought about it. Losing Mum was bad enough but thank God Olivia hadn't been old enough to comprehend that their dad had
chosen
to leave them, chosen to end his life. ‘Angus did the best he could, though.'

‘I'm sure you both did,' Simone said, reaching across and touching his hand.

He smiled his appreciation and turned his hand to take hold of hers. The connection was nice. Angus might think of him as some kind of wild playboy, but the truth was it had been quite some time since Logan had been in a relationship, since he'd had someone to share stuff with and confide in. He missed it.

‘Shall we order?' Simone asked, breaking the silence, retrieving her hand and nodding at the counter. ‘I'm in the mood for some soup. What about you?'

Logan had already perused the menu. ‘I might try a homemade sausage roll and some sweet potato fries. See if Frankie's really as talented as you make out.'

Simone laughed and went to stand. ‘My shout since I kept you waiting and I can sweet-talk the owner. Who, yes, I promise you, is that talented. Do you want a drink as well?'

‘Just some water, please.'

Simone went to order and Logan checked his email on his phone. He'd be working from home the next few weeks—while also doing his bit on the farm—and one of the editors he worked with had promised to send him a few leads for possible stories. He'd just finished deleting some junk mail when Simone returned.

‘All ordered. Now, tell me about your week in Broome. The photos you sent looked fabulous. I've never been but it's definitely on the bucket list.'

‘It was great. I've travelled around Australia a lot, but it still baffles me how different various parts of this country are. When the plane hovers over the Kimberleys, the rich contrasting colours below just take your breath away.'

As they waited for their lunch, he told her about the article he'd been researching on the Camel Cup—the main reason for his trip. ‘It's only a new thing but it's building appeal quickly and I'm sure it'll soon be one of outback Australia's big events. I thought the Henley-on-Todd regatta in Alice Springs was hilarious, but I hadn't seen anything until I saw camels racing.'

‘I can't imagine a camel running,' she admitted, her forehead furrowed as though she were trying to do exactly that.

‘It's a sight to behold. I'm still not sure they're really cut out for racing. While I was there, I was constantly waiting for someone to announce that it was actually all a big joke, but the competitors and the onlookers took it fairly seriously.'

A young blonde waitress brought their lunch out and once they'd thanked her, conversation continued easily as they hoovered up their meals. The rumours were right. Frankie's pastry was the flakiest he'd ever tasted and he couldn't quite make out the secret ingredient in the meat that gave the sausage roll its edge, but he vowed to get it out of her one day.

‘Enough talking about me,' Logan said. ‘Tell me about these bon-bon-what-nots?'

She laughed. ‘Bombonière.'

‘Yes, those. What exactly are they?'

‘Well, they can be anything really—they're gifts brides and grooms give their guests. In this case, I'm hand-painting some little tins with Adam's and Stella's names and the date of the wedding. They're going to fill them with chocolates.'

‘Yum.' Logan patted his stomach. ‘This is the wedding I'm coming to?'

She blushed a little. ‘Yes, if you don't mind. I'll pay your accommodation and everything, but if you …'

He cut in and grinned. ‘I'm looking forward to it. And I'm also looking forward to seeing your studio—and some of your art.'

‘Are you inviting yourself back to my place, Logan?' Her smile said she didn't mind his forwardness at all.

‘What if I am?' Although this was her sister's café, he didn't want to be one of those customers who overstayed their welcome. Besides, he was curious to see where Simone lived and worked.

She grinned and pushed back her seat. ‘I'd say I hope you don't mind a little bit of mess.'

‘Not at all.' He also stood.

‘I'll just go say goodbye to Frankie.' Rewrapping her scarf around her neck as she walked, Simone disappeared into the kitchen. Logan deliberated about following and thanking Frankie himself—asking about that pastry—but before he'd made a decision, Simone was back, a slight frown on her face.

‘Frankie's apparently not feeling great. She's gone home sick. That's weird. She almost never goes home sick.'

‘Did you want to go check on her?' he asked, concerned; Frankie had seemed full of life and more than healthy an hour ago. ‘She seemed fine when I came in earlier.'

‘Nah. Let's let her rest. I'll make her a batch of chicken soup later and take it round tonight.'

‘I thought you couldn't cook.'

‘I can't.' Simone sighed. ‘It'll probably do her more harm than good, but there's nothing I wouldn't do for my little sister.'

‘Okay. If you're sure. Let's go then.' Logan held open the café door for Simone. ‘Shall I follow you in my ute?'

‘Perfect.' She grinned and headed for her four-wheel drive.

A few moments later, Logan turned into the driveway of a 1950s fibro cottage, typical of so many in rural Australia. It had a wide verandah at the front with a door in the middle and windows on either side. Simone's garden was a jungle of plants—some natives, some cottage flowers—and sculptures—some big, some small. He climbed out the ute and followed her up the winding garden path to the verandah, which was full of hanging baskets, overflowing with greenery, more sculptures and an array of mismatched cane furniture.

‘This is … eclectic,' he said, as she unlocked the front door.

‘If that's your kind way of saying untidy, wait until you come inside.' She laughed as she pushed open the door and the moment he stepped inside, he saw she hadn't been exaggerating.

There was stuff everywhere. Not rubbish, not dirt, just lots and lots of … stuff. Photos in frames lined the hallway floor as if no-one had ever gotten around to hanging them up. He made a mental note to offer to do so for her. Then he caught sight of a small frame on the hallway table—a much younger Simone in a wedding dress and a handsome young bloke, who had to be her husband. They looked blissfully in love and he couldn't help wondering if she was truly ready to move on.

‘Do you collect doorstops?' he asked, turning away from the frame and counting at least five doorstops within two metres.

‘Maybe.' She cocked her head to one side. ‘I guess I just thought they were cute. Come on in, don't stand there in the cold.' She gestured for him to follow her and as they headed down the hallway, he began to see evidence of her teenage daughters. They passed one bedroom, in which a single bed looked as if it might collapse under the mountain of teddy bears and another, the only tidy room in the house it seemed, that had walls covered with boy band posters.

‘I'm sorry about the mess.' She looked sheepishly at the pile of paints and little tins covering the table as they entered the kitchen. ‘I was working inside because it gets cold in my studio in the winter, but I should have anticipated you coming around. I'm sorry … I'm … nervous. I haven't done this whole dating thing for a long time. I'm severely out of practice.'

Although she didn't spell it out, he knew she wasn't simply referring to not tidying up the house for company and his heart went out to her. It was hard enough getting back in the saddle after a divorce, but it must be a hundred times more daunting after being widowed.

He crossed the room, closing the gap between them, and put his hands on her arms. ‘Relax,' he told her, meeting her gaze. ‘We don't have to rush anything. I'm enjoying getting to know you. Let's just take things slowly and see where they lead. Okay?'

She rubbed her lips together. ‘Are you sure?'

He nodded. Good things were worth waiting for and he wasn't going to rush her into anything.

‘I really like you,' she told him, ‘and you're very attractive.' She blushed, the pink in her cheeks making her very attractive as well.

‘Ditto,' he said, smiling down at her.

She laughed nervously and he wanted more than anything to put her at ease. ‘How about you show me your studio? I'd love to see some of your work.'

‘Okay.' She took a deep breath as if glad to have had that conversation out of the way. ‘Can I get you a drink or anything first?'

He glanced around, wondering if she'd be able to find a mug beneath all the clutter. ‘I'm okay for now.' He dropped his hands from her arms and took one of her hands in his. ‘Lead the way.'