Page 15 of Secrets of Riverside

Stepping into the sundrenched lounge room with gleaming polished timber floors adorned with a huge cowskin rug, Jarrah waved her deeper into the heart of his home. ‘Come on, follow me and I’ll show you around the bachelor pad.’

She did as asked, and fell in step beside him. Her hands slipped into her pockets as she looked to the high ceiling with rustic open beams. It could have easily made the space feel hollow, but instead only added to the open-plan charm. Wandering through the comfy room, she noted the simple touches: a vase of fresh sunflowers on the side table, matching cushions and a throw rug on the modular couch, a rustic coffee table with a stack of R.M. Williams Outback magazines on top. The walls were painted a soft hue of eggshell blue, giving a sense that the outside was making its way in. The same could be said for the huge bay windows framed by lace curtains, where the view of the horse paddocks was to die for. Passing a tightly packed bookshelf – she liked the fact that he was a reader – she followed him into a long hallway, which passed a staircase, a bathroom and the laundry, then led into a spectacular rustic-themed kitchen with appliances to die for.

She couldn’t hide her wonder, nor did she want to. ‘Wow, Jarrah, this is …’ She turned in a slow circle. ‘Just wow.’

‘I had it renovated last year.’ He ran his gaze over the room, his smile stretching. ‘I don’t get much spare time, but when I do, I love to lock myself away in here, turn on some country tunes, and cook to my heart’s content.’

Liking this man even more now, Millie nodded. ‘I can see why.’

The open, light-filled space was a country cook’s dream with classic cream cupboards, hard-wearing timber benchtops, a double porcelain farmhouse sink, a gorgeous stone island bench with copper pots and utensils hung above, and a six-burner Aga stove at the centre of it all. A bright red KitchenAid mixer, along with a matching kettle and toaster, added a pleasant pop of colour, as did the colour-coded barista-style coffee maker and double-door Smeg fridge. She could easily see herself in here, whiling away an entire weekend, making all the things she and her mum used to love to cook.

Blessed is the woman who gets to call this place her home.

Jarrah came around to face her from the opposite side of the breakfast bench. ‘In my hour of need, I didn’t even think to ask if you’ve had any experience in a commercial kitchen?’

His voice was deep, verging on the edge of husky, and those enchanting eyes of his – she felt as if she was tipping into them. ‘No, not in the usual sense.’

His slight smile was a little cheeky. ‘Hmm, righto, so what’s “not in the usual sense” mean?’

‘I spent my childhood in the kitchen with my mum, mixing, whipping, licking beaters, having my hand slapped away from hot things, and tasty things.’ A rush of nostalgia had her blinking faster, in a bid to ward off a sudden urge to burst into tears. ‘And my love for home-style cooking has continued on from there,’ she added, quickly.

‘Food is a magical thing that can bring people together.’ Reaching across the bench, Jarrah offered reassurance with a gentle brush of his hand over hers. ‘And leave lasting memories.’

His touch startled her, as did his ability to read her expression so accurately, and she had to take a moment to gather whatever it was he’d just stirred within her. ‘Uh-huh, it sure can.’ She stepped out of his reach. She couldn’t risk feeling whatever that was again, or it might bring her crumbling into his big strong arms, where she would bare her soul.

A lengthy moment passed, followed by another, as he regarded her through deeply perceptive eyes. It made her feel exposed, vulnerable, giddy, and yet extraordinarily drawn to him.

‘Your room is this way,’ he finally said, walking past her.

Thankful for a reprieve from his undivided attention, she followed him back down the hallway and up the flight of steps. As she turned right, away from what she guessed to be the master bedroom, a corridor led her past two closed doors and what would be her very own bathroom, with a claw-foot bathtub and shower, and then they stopped.

Turning the handle, Jarrah pushed the door open. ‘Here you go.’ With a sweep of his arm he gestured for her to step past him. ‘Home sweet home for a few days.’

Her breath caught as her gaze met the unmade queen-size bed with a plush-looking mattress and topper, flickered over the ornate timber headboard, and then travelled over the antique dressing table. It was so pretty, with just the right amount of sunshine filtering in through the wide windows. She could call this her bedroom for a lifetime.

Jarrah remained at the doorway, as if stepping in would be an invasion of her privacy. ‘I’ll grab you some fresh sheets, a couple of pillows and a doona. I hope you don’t mind making it up yourself.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I got a couple of things I need to do before sundown.’

‘Yes, of course I don’t mind. It would be the least I could do.’ Although she wanted to, she failed to smile as she tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. Rolling emotions were making it difficult to breathe, let alone talk, but she pressed on. ‘Thank you, for being so kind and welcoming.’

‘Hey, no worries, Millie.’ He offered her a charming smile, filled with his equally charming dimples. ‘Back in a minute with your bedding, and your bag.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ She swallowed, and then swallowed again, willing herself to hold it together as she watched him disappear down the corridor, his footfalls fading away as he traipsed down the staircase.

Her head in a spin, she couldn’t deny that something had ignited between them the second she’d locked eyes with him on the deserted roadside. And that certain something came dangerously close to a primal kind of attraction. As if they’d been born for each other. But as real as that felt, it was all too sudden, all too demanding, and way too intense for it to be tangible. Her nerves were having a field day and getting the better of her. She really needed to get a firm grip on the situation, and on herself. She dragged in a slow deep breath. Her voice of reason sprang to life as she exhaled, warning her to steer clear of him, and to tread carefully if she didn’t, because she had no idea if he was going to become an ally or an enemy.

For all she knew, he could be the one who had sent the photograph and the letter.

***

The tropical downpour had all but disappeared. As the sun began its descent behind the surrounding mountain ranges, painting a scattering of warm brush strokes across the vast stretch of cloudless blue, Jarrah did his best to keep his mind present, instead of on the very beautiful woman to whom he’d just offered a bedroom, and a job. He hoped to goodness he’d made a good judgement call, and not just landed himself into deeper water. Inevitably, if Millie took the job, time would most certainly tell. Worrying about it was futile. Predictably, Tommy had been annoyed when he’d told him they might have found their new cook, if she wanted the job. Aware it was because he’d fired Jasmine, Jarrah had chosen not to fuel the fire by reminding Tommy who the big boss was around here. Tommy may have the manager’s role, when it came to the roadhouse and motel rooms, but his nephew was seriously becoming too big for his britches. It was as if the Martino blood ran strong through Tommy’s veins, and no matter how much Jarrah tried to flush it out by immersing Tommy in all that was Riverside Acres, he had a sense that his past would come through Tommy to bite him on the butt.

When he least expected it, too.

But, for now, all he wanted to do was be in the present moment, for that’s where peace could be found. So, lunge rope in hand, he continued to put his new mare through her paces as he kept the rope taut while turning in circles with her. He always found how the magnificent creatures could read body language so very remarkable. There was no need for heavy-handedness. The whip held in his other hand was merely for long lashes on the ground behind her, and never for her powerful body. Authority with a horse was all about the tone of his voice. Softly spoken words could slow the mare, and a few clicks of his tongue would get her to pick up the pace. Even though he was keen to get in the saddle, he knew groundwork was what built trust. He wanted her to be used to his touch, and voice, before putting anything on her back.

‘Hey, Jarrah.’ Millie’s voice carried on the gentle late-afternoon breeze. ‘Nice-looking horse you have there.’

‘Isn’t she a beauty?’ He flashed a wide smile over his shoulder. ‘And to think she was about to be sent to the abattoir.’

---