Kathryn Ross - Untamed Bachelors - When He Was Bad... / Interview with a Playboy / The Shameless Life of Ruiz Acosta

She loved kids but she’d never fall in love again, could never risk a failed marriage. Which meant no children, ever. But her maternal instincts were very much alive, and working with underprivileged children was her way of satisfying that natural urge.

Grabbing a muesli bar, she swung her gear onto her shoulder and headed out into the wintry day. The tram was crowded and stuffy with early-morning commuters, and Ellie was glad of the fresh air when she disembarked just after eight and walked the last few minutes to Belle’s place.

Remembering yesterday, she knocked on the back door to let Matt know she’d arrived. She could always hope he’d already gone to work. On the other hand she could hope she’d gotten him out of bed. To see him dishevelled and disgruntled at her early arrival. Bleary-eyed, unshaven…

‘Good morning, Ellie.’

She turned at his voice. He was none of those things.

Fully dressed in dark jeans and a soft-looking cream jumper that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, he ambled from the garage, morning newspaper and a carton of milk in hand. He’d obviously showered and shaved already; the fresh smell of sandalwood soap carried on the breeze. And his eyes were bright, alert and focused. On her.

Memories of last night’s kiss hung in the air between them. But this was a working day, a working environment, and she intended keeping it that way.

‘Good morning.’ She cleared her throat, wincing at the raw pain as she did so and trotted down the back steps with an officious, ‘I’ll be getting on with it, then.’

‘Want a coffee before you start?’

‘No, thanks. I want to make some headway before it starts to rain.’

‘What are your plans today?’

‘I have to finish digging over the plot.’ Which she should have finished yesterday, but with Matt calling the meeting and all, it had put her behind. She kept moving, walking backwards as she spoke. ‘Then it’s the fertiliser and seedlings—Belle left everything in the greenhouse. Are you going to the office?’

‘I don’t plan on it,’ he said, dashing her hopes for a day without the prospect of further interruptions. ‘I’ve a costing to finish and a computer link-up with the Sydney crew.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll come by the door when I’m done.’

When she stopped for lunch, she ate her sandwich and drank her thermos of coffee alone. Despite what she’d told Matt about being self-sufficient, Belle always invited Ellie inside to share her break.

On the last day Ellie had seen her, Belle had offered her a key to the main house, allowing her access to the bathroom and hot water. But she’d felt awkward about the whole idea and refused it. If anything happened in Belle’s absence Ellie didn’t want to be held responsible; it was bad enough that she’d given her the code to the gate.

She’d not glimpsed Matt since she’d started work this morning. Seemed he was in accord with her—business hours were just that. She didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed.

Her mobile rang as she was packing away her lunch box. She glanced at caller ID and answered straightaway. ‘Sasha. I tried calling you last night. Where did you get to?’

‘I called in sick. I just opened your message.’

Her friend sounded distant and Ellie felt that all-too-familiar clutch in her belly. ‘Are you okay now?’

‘Never better.’

‘So are you up to checking out that Healesville job with me sometime soon? We need to let them know—’

‘Ah, about that…’ A pause, then Sasha went into excitement mode with, ‘I met this great guy at a club last night. Anyway…’ she went on when Ellie didn’t reply, ‘I’ve got the chance to work onboard a cruise ship leaving Sydney in a week’s time.’

Disappointment ripped through Ellie. ‘I thought you said you were sick last night?’

‘Everyone chucks a sickie now and then, right?’

No. Not when it mattered they didn’t. ‘I was counting on you to show me the ropes at the bar last night.’

‘Oh. Sorry. Did you get the job, by the way?’

‘Let’s just say I’m not cut out for that sort of waitressing. Which is why this Healesville job is important to me.’ She closed her eyes, surrendered to the inevitable. ‘Sasha, obviously your heart’s not in this, so take the cruise job and forget Healesville.’ Forget everything .

The bed-and-breakfast place out of Melbourne was offering a four-week stint to landscape their garden, and Ellie had persuaded Sasha to come along. Ellie had explained that she didn’t want to let Belle down while she was away and had promised to get back to them by the end of next week. She intended winning the job, with or without Sasha.

‘Hey, you there, Ellie?’

‘I’m here.’

‘So…I’ll call you when I get back and maybe we can—’

‘There’s no point, Sasha, it’s just not practical. Good luck with everything. Goodbye.’ And have a nice life . She stabbed the disconnect button.

She’d thought they were friends. But true friends didn’t let each other down. When was she going to learn? Ellie had some kind of in-built radar that sent people running in the opposite direction.

Remember that when you think about Matt McGregor .

As befitting her mood, ten minutes later it started to spit—a cold, ugly, misty spit. Ellie pulled on her thin plastic poncho and continued digging. She would not quit on account of rain. Unlike Sasha, she’d prove herself reliable and responsible and accountable if it killed her.

Matt pulled himself mentally and physically out of his work. He glanced at his watch, surprised to find he’d worked through the lunch break he’d set himself. He’d intended talking Ellie into sharing a coffee. Stretching fingers cramped from working the keyboard, he wrapped them around his neck and glanced at the window. Rain spattered the glass.

He walked to the kitchen window and saw her. Mud splattered her overalls up to her knees. She was measuring and pouring pellets into her hand, sprinkling them over the earth, then moving on to repeat the procedure. The misty rain speckled the flimsy plastic she’d pulled on but the cap had blown off, leaving dark honey locks damp and curling over her head.

His gaze narrowed. Yesterday he’d raised the question of her responsibility. After all, it was she who’d labelled herself irresponsible. Was she now trying to prove a point? Responsible was all well and good, but there wasn’t much point to it if the woman came down with pneumonia.

He stalked to the back door, grabbing an umbrella from the coat stand on the way. Rain spattered his soft leather shoes. It wasn’t heavy but constant, and obviously had been for some time. But the wind was fierce—it snuck under the umbrella, threatening to turn it inside out.

She was facing away from him and didn’t hear his approach. Or was she choosing not to?

‘Why the hell are you still out here in this weather?’ He reached for her shoulder to swing her around but she squealed and jerked and he lost his footing in the slimy mud her digging had created. The umbrella was forgotten as he fought the inevitable and ignominious slide to the ground, taking her with him.

At the last second he managed to twist them both so that she landed on top of him in a blur of limbs and bad language. While he was still trying to catch his breath, he stared up at the rain-spattered sky, contemplating this example of life’s little jokes. Cold muddy moisture seeped through the back of his jumper, a striking contrast to the warm wet body plastered against his chest.

When she didn’t move, he raised his head and wheezed, ‘You all right?’

‘Oh, yeah, never better,’ she snapped. Apparently unconcerned that he might be on his last breath, her only movement was to disentangle her legs from his and tug on the strap of her overalls.