Page 5 of The Mistletoe Wish

“In my bag.”

Enclosing his hand around a wrist that felt too thin, too vulnerable, he towed her over to the camp bed. Although she rolled her eyes, she fished out a small canvas bag with a zipper. Taking it from her he quickly located antiseptic cream, gauze and adhesive tape. She stood completely still and silent as he administered aid to the angry-looking burn. So still that it made him wonder what had happened to make her so wary. As he soothed the adhesive strip over the back of her hand, he marvelled over how her skin felt butter soft beneath his touch.

Irritated with the direction of his thoughts, he released his hold rather abruptly and packed away the few items he had used back inside the kit. “There you go. Mind you keep it clean for the next few days. Maybe wear gloves.”

For a few seconds neither moved as his gaze meshed with hers. An odd sensation grew. It was if he was being drawn closer. With an almost physical effort, he stepped away, his hands bunched into fists at his sides. He moved to the door, relieved to put some distance between them. Because for a moment there, he had had an insane urge to trace the contours of her face with his fingertips.

Yeah. He definitely was in trouble.

He had to get out of there.

Now.

Darim snatched his coat and hat from the hook before opening the door. A flurry of rain drops smacked him in his face. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he paused to say, “I’ll place the porta-pottie in the bathroom, then get some rack time. See you in the morning, Sara.”

Once he had shrugged his wet-weather gear on, he stepped out into the storm and raced to his car. Ignoring the water seeping behind the collar of his coat and trickling down his back, he dealt with the porta-pottie then proceeded to erect his tent. As the wind lashed the canvas, he drove the pegs into the soggy ground all the time reminding himself of what was at stake.

Shared custody of his only child.

Somehow, he’d find a way around this nonsense of joint ownership and turn a broken-down shack into a home.

All he had to do was find a way to get rid of Sara – get her out of the house and out of his life.

CHAPTER3

The storm crashed and growled like a hungry beast sounding as if it was directly above the leaking roof of Sara’s new home. Perched on the edge of her camp bed, she polished off the last mouthful of her three-minute noodles. Wanting to preserve her meagre supply of oil, she’d turned the lantern down as low as possible causing the shadows inside the building to deepen.

She huddled into her only jacket, a second-hand, fleecy-lined parka that she’d purchased at the end of last winter in a jumble sale run by the ladies of Bindarra Creek’s Country Women’s Association. Her gaze darted about the gloomy room, her ears straining for the slightest indication she had company. She wished she’d thought to bring mice traps with her and decided to add that to her list of‘to-do’s’for tomorrow.

As soon as the sun rose, she would read through the paperwork thrust upon her by Ty Devereaux. She’d make notes on what required further clarification and phone the solicitor as soon as she’d finished. Mainly she was keen to discover how she could wiggle out of the joint ownership deal. And then, a trip to the bank which should tell her how much money she could borrow to pay her new partner off. Surely now that she had this property behind her as collateral they would look favourably on an application.

She tossed the empty carton into a spare bucket doing double duty as a rubbish bin then crossed to the sink where she rinsed her spoon using water from the kettle. Another boom of thunder sounded, making the small house shake while rain continued to lash the window. She checked the time; almost eleven. Flexing shoulders stiff from hauling buckets and scrubbing walls and floors, she grabbed the lantern. She moved to the back door then hurried into the tiny bathroom tacked onto the narrow rear veranda. The porta-pottie was a godsend and a wave of gratitude towards her house partner, Darim, flooded over her. After brushing her teeth using some of the bottle of water she’d stashed in there earlier, she went back inside. Circumnavigating the buckets she’d placed on the floor to capture the rain dribbling down from the holes in the roof, she hung her damp parka on a coat hook nailed to the wall. About to turn in for the night, she hesitated.

The storm showed no sign of easing any time soon.

Instead, it seemed to have intensified with a howling wind that rattled the windowpane and the loose fitting timber doors. Anyone outside would not be having a picnic.

Sudden guilt clawed at her heart. She’d insisted there was no room for Darim inside the one-roomed house. He’d made no demur and hadn’t argued. Simply, headed out into the wind and rain. What could it hurt for him to sleep on the floor?

She pulled a woolly throw blanket over her shoulders, yanked open the door and held the lantern high.

Wavering yellow light spilled out over deep puddles to reveal Darim sitting on a camp chair under the front flap of a small tent. His head was tucked down low on his chest. He looked so cold, so alone.

So wet.

A bit like a drowned rat. Had he had anything to eat?

I’m so selfish.Before she could change her mind, she stuck two fingers in her mouth and let loose a piercing whistle.

When he looked up squinting a little as the light hit his eyes, she beckoned him forward and shouted, “Sleep inside! It’s too wet out here!”

His slow grin was like a heat ray sizzling through her, and her tummy quivered. Already regretting her invitation, she stepped inside, placing the lantern beside the stove. It wasn’t long before Darim entered, shaking water in all directions like a wet dog. He had a duffle bag over one shoulder and held something bundled up under his coat which was soon revealed to be his swag.

“Thanks.” He placed his coat and hat on the hooks then turned around. “Okay if I bunk down near the wall? That will leave a bit of walk space to the kitchen.”

“No worries.” Clutching the edges of the blanket together, she hurried over to her camp bed. With his presence the room seemed to shrink, and her thoughts spun to earlier that day when she’d fallen on top of him. She didn’t know what was worse: him thinking she was a delicate flower who had hysterics at the sight of a mouse – or the unwanted heat that had simmered through her body at his touch.

Or yet again, the burgeoning need that still lurked deep inside every time her gaze strayed in his direction.

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