Nikki Logan - Awakened By His Touch

‘I’d like to hear the man out.’

‘Surely it couldn’t take more than a day to give him a courtesy listen?’

‘Not if he’s to see the full range of our operations first hand. Too much of it is seasonal.’

Spring and summer were all about honey-harvesting, but the remaining six months of the year they concentrated on other areas of their operation. They lived and worked through winter on the back of the honey harvest. Just like the bees did.

‘How many times?’

‘That’s up to him,’ her father suggested. ‘It’s business as usual for us.’

‘Easy for you to say—you’re not tasked with babysitting.’

‘You’re the best one to talk turkey with the man, Laney. Most of what we now do are your initiatives.’

‘They’re our initiatives, Dad. The whole family discussed and agreed.’

Well, she’d discussed and her parents had agreed. Owen had just shrugged.

‘But you created them.’

‘Someone else created them. I just suggested we adopt them.’

‘Stop playing down your strengths,’ he grumbled. As usual.

‘Would you rather I took credit for the work of others?’ she battled. As usual.

Frustration oozed from his tone. ‘I’d rather you took some credit for yourself from time to time. Who knows? If you impress him enough there might be a job in it for you.’

‘I have a job here.’

‘A better job.’

The presumption that her job wasn’t already about the best occupation a person could hope for really rankled. ‘Why would they hire me, Dad? Not a lot of call for apiarists in the city.’

‘Why wouldn’t they hire you? You’re as smart and capable as anyone else. More so.’

‘How about because I know nothing about their industry?’

‘He’s trained to recognise raw talent. He’d be crazy not to take you on.’

Laney got the tiniest thrill at the thought of being taken on in any way by Elliott Garvey, but she fought it. ‘You don’t just hire someone because they seem generally capable, Dad.’

‘You’re as worthy as anyone of your chance.’

Dread pooled thick and low. Oh, here we go... ‘Dad, promise me you won’t do the whole Laney-sell job.’

As he was so very wont to do. Over and over during her childhood, much to her dismay. But the thought of him humiliating her like that with Elliott Garvey... Ugh.

‘I’ll promise no such thing. I’m proud of my daughter and her achievements and not too shy to admit it.’

‘He’s here to study our operations, not—’

‘I liked him,’ her mother piped up, apropos of pretty much nothing, as she placed a heavy dish on the table with a punctuating clunk. Chicken stew, from the delicious aroma. All organic, like the rest of their farm. ‘He’s handsome.’

Her father grunted. ‘Don’t change the subject, Ellen.’

‘You think everyone’s handsome, Mum.’ Laney lowered her voice instinctively as she and her father helped ferry clean plates to the table, even though she’d heard Elliott Garvey’s expensive tyres on the driveway gravel about twenty minutes earlier. ‘Besides, what do looks have to do with a person’s integrity or goodness?’

‘I can’t comment on those until I’ve shared a meal with the man. So can we please just do that before setting our minds in any particular direction?’

‘You’ll have to invite him first, and he goes home tomorrow afternoon.’ So there went the dinner plan. Conveniently.

‘I have invited him. That’s his setting you just laid.’

She straightened immediately. No. She’d only set the table for the usual four. ‘Where’s Owen?’

‘Chasing some surfer tourist,’ his father muttered.

At twenty-five she might still be a work in progress, but her twin had pretty much stopped emotional development at eighteen. Whatever was Owen’s perpetual outlook. If he was around to give one and not off surfing the latest hot break.

‘He’s taking her for a pizza, Robert. He had his Saturday night shirt on.’

Oh, well...look out, Surfer Girl, then. If her brother had bothered with a clean shirt he was definitely on the make. Girls and surfing were about the only things Owen took seriously.

‘And you didn’t think to just let us enjoy a quiet dinner without him?’ Laney muttered.

‘Elliott has nothing in that chalet, Helena.’

Uh-oh— Helena. Reason had always been her friend in the face of mother voice. ‘The chalets are practically five-star, and I’m sure he has a full wallet.’ And an expense account. ‘He could have easily taken himself for a restaurant meal.’

‘When we can offer a home-cooked one instead?’

‘He went out anyway. He might as well have eaten in Mitchell’s Cliff.’ In fact she’d been sure that was what he was doing as the crunch of his tyres on the driveway had diminished.

‘I’m less concerned with what he does than with what we do. Extending Morgan courtesy to our guest.’

Laney opened her mouth to protest further but then snapped it shut again as feet sounded on the mat outside. An uncontrollable dismay that she hadn’t so much as combed her windswept hair washed over her.

But too late now.

‘He’s coming,’ her father announced moments later.

Elliott had clearly paused in the doorway and was greeting a dozing Wilbur, which meant his disturbed man scent had time to waft ahead. Wow, he smelled amazing. The same base tones as before, yet different somehow. Spicier. Cleaner.

Tastier.

Heat burbled up under her shirt at the thought, but it was true. Whatever he was wearing was tickling the same senses as the stew still simmering in its own heat on the table.

‘Thank you for the invitation, Mr and Mrs Morgan—’

‘Ellen and Robert, please, Elliott.’

He stepped up right next to her. ‘I nicked out to pick this up. Couldn’t come empty-handed.’

Another waft of deliciousness hit her as a bottle clacked against the timber at the centre of the big table.

‘Oh, lovely. That’s a terrific local winery—Helena’s favourite.’

‘Really? I didn’t know.’

His voice was one-tenth croak, subtle enough that maybe she only heard it because he was standing so close. But he wasn’t looking at her, she could tell. Plus, she wouldn’t be looking at him if their situations were reversed. On pain of death.

Her mother laughed. ‘How could you know?’

Was he worried that she might read something into that? Laney spoke immediately to put the ridiculous idea out of the question. ‘You’re either a man of excellent taste or Natty Marshall did a real sell-job on you at the cellar.’

‘She was pretty slick,’ he admitted.

‘Sit down, Elliott.’ Her mother mothered. ‘You look very nice.’

The reassuring way she volunteered that opinion made Laney wonder whether he was worrying at the edges of his shirt or something.

‘He’s changed into a light blue Saturday night shirt, Laney.’

Oh, no...

‘Mum likes to scene-set for me,’ she explained, mortified, and then mumbled, ‘sorry.’

‘Blue shirt, jeans, and I combed my hair,’ he added, amusement rich in his low voice.

Was that a statement about her wild locks? Her hand went immediately to them.

Her mother continued to be oblivious. ‘Sit, too, Laney.’

She did, moving to the left of her chair just as he moved to the right of his. They collided in the middle. She jerked back, scalded.

‘Sorry,’ he murmured. ‘Ladies first.’

‘We’ll be standing all night if we wait for one of those,’ she quipped, still recovering from the jolt of whatever the heck that was coming off him, and then she slid into her seat, buying a moment of recovery time as he moved in next to her.

So that was her question answered. She’d felt the strength of his torso against hers. He was solid, but definitely not overweight. Not as youthfully hard as her twin, but not soft either. Just right.