Page 4 of The Mistletoe Wish

Darim removed his hat and heavy coat, taking a moment to shake the water off before entering. His muscles bunched tight and a hard knot formed in the pit of his belly.

Not evenonebedroom!

He could be in trouble.

The‘house’consisted of one cramped room, no more than five metres long by two metres wide. On his left was a concrete sink with one tap, a single cupboard next to it on the right and an old-fashioned coal or wood burning stove signifying the sum total of the kitchen area. In the corner directly opposite the‘kitchen’was a camp bed which had a single mattress on top and there was a chest of drawers placed along the wall. Both looked relatively new which indicated Sara had brought them with her. Folded blankets and a doona along with a bulging duffle bag reposed on the bed. Obviously, she had claimed that space as her own.

Carving out another‘bedroom’for himself let alone a room for his daughter was simply not feasible. What was that old saying? No room to swing a cat? And avoiding Sara was going to be next to impossible in such a tight space.

Six or so buckets had been placed strategically on the scratched lino floor to catch the water dripping down through what was obviously a very leaky tin roof. Up in the exposed rafters, thick filmy cobwebs swayed in the draft from the roaring wind.

“You should have seen it two hours ago,” Sara said in a wry voice, indicating a broom and a damp mop resting beside the stove. “The place was filthy.”

“I believe you.” The strong smell of bleach attacked his nostrils. Darim scratched his chin and turning found a wooden peg to hang his wet clothes on. “No electricity?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure if that’s because the power has been disconnected or because of the storm.”

“I’d say it’s been a long time before this place had any electricity. Like you said, could be the connection to the grid has been severed. Probably needs rewiring, too. What about running water? A bathroom?”

She marched over to the cupboard where a two-burner gas camper stove had been placed on top. A single gas bottle sat nearby. No doubt she had also brought along the stove. A kettle sat on one of the rings, a thin stream of steam rose into the air.

“No water. There is a water tank out the back but no pump that I could see.” Sara waved a hand to the plastic-wrapped carton of 2 litre water bottles sitting on the floor next to the gas bottle. “I brought water with me and just as well. When I turned the tap, nothing but a couple of rusty looking drops emerged. If you go through that rear door, there’s a small room tacked onto the back veranda. I think it’s meant to be a bathroom but there’s only a toilet and a tiny sink.”

She shuddered and sent him a loaded glance as she rolled her eyes. “I can’t begin to describe what the toilet looked like when I arrived. If it ever worked in the first place, I don’t think it had been flushed for at least a century.”

He laughed. “I can imagine. I guess we’ll have to make do with a porta-potty. I’ve got one in my four-wheel-drive along with a few other camping items which will be useful. You’ve been magnificent. I’m sorry I was unable to give you a hand.”

“Don’t worry, I have a feeling that come tomorrow we are going to find a lot more problems that will need to be addressed sooner rather than later.” Sighing, she lifted the singing kettle off the gas hob and onto a stool. “I can make you a cup of tea or coffee? There’s nothing else I’m afraid until I can source a fridge and get to the shops.”

For a second there, Darim could have sworn her lips trembled. A chink in the stoicism she wore like armour? He didn’t blame her as he also felt a tad daunted. It was obvious there would be lot of work ahead of them just to make the shack livable, and she was no doubt tired after ridding the place of dirt and possibly animal droppings. “We.”

In the act of crouching down to retrieve a mug from the cupboard, she shot him a narrow glance.

He lifted his eyebrows in a silent challenge. The use of the pronoun‘I’hadn’t escaped him. “Wewill look for a fridge. This is a joint effort, remember?”

“Of course. I hadn’t forgotten. Let’s discuss the situation tomorrow. I haven’t had a chance to digest all the nuts and bolts of this arrangement yet.” Straightening, she placed a mug onto the counter next to the portable stove with exaggerated care, filled it with hot water and popped in a tea bag. “First however, we’ll need to sort out the sleeping arrangements. Obviously, you will have to bunk down somewhere else.”

Darim leaned against the wall. Timber creaked. Wincing, he hoped that the ancient frame would bear his weight, and drawled, “There’s plenty of space in the middle of the room for my swag.” There wasn’t really. She’d have to step over him every time she got out of bed but he couldn’t resist teasing her.

Her cheeks pinkened and she pinched her lips together as if annoyed by the betrayal.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered. Was that her natural colour or had she applied lipstick before he’d arrived? And if she had – nowthatwas an interesting thought.

“Out of the question. There’s hardly room in here for one person to live, certainly not two.” Her ink-dark eyes sparked with … outrage? Or could he delude himself and think it was something else?

Awareness ofherratcheted up another notch and a heady thrum pulsed through him. This wasn’t good. Focus! He wiped his hands down his jeans, trying to rid himself of how good – how right - she’d felt in his arms.

Better remember they were business partners. Anything else and their situation could get messy. And after his divorce, he didn’t do messy. Or complicated. Or anything really. Staying single from now on, was the way to go for him.

“One of the rules states we both have to live in the house. I’m sure we can work something out that will suit both of us.”

“Your tea.” Her dark eyes snapping, she snatched up the mug and held it out. Water slopped over the side onto her hand, and she inhaled sharply.

“I’m a coffee man, myself. But thanks, anyway.” Straightening, he crossed over and took the mug. After placing it on the counter, he picked up her hand before she could move away and inspected the red welt where a large blister was beginning to form.

“I don’t need your help.” She attempted to wriggle out of his grasp.

His grip tightened. “Trust me, blood poisoning is not something you want to experience. Do you have a first-aid kit? I’ve got one but it’s in the car.”

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