Chapter Six
Liam stood back and surveyed the mess around him. The light-coloured benchtops were covered with chocolate-coloured goop. Eggshells filled the sink. It had taken about six goes before he’d managed to separate the yolks from the white. The oven was on at full heat and warming the kitchen, but as yet there was no cake cooking in it.
He’d done the grocery shopping for Lucy, dropped it off at the Mackenzie farm, said hi to Garth’s parents, handfed the calves, moved the irrigation sprinkler, herded a mob of cattle from the front paddock to the side paddock and then had come back to bake the cake.
How hard could it be? Really? Except all he wanted to do was put his feet up and have a cold beer.
Especially when Lucy wasn’t answering her phone for the numerous questions he had. He’d gathered the ingredients—finding them in Gran’s neatly labeled containers in the walk-in pantry wasn’t a problem—but when the recipe talked about weights, Liam had no idea how to figure that out. A deep search of the pantry finally unearthed a pair of food scales.
Half an hour later, despite the state of the kitchen, he was feeling mellow—thanks to the occasional slug of Gran’s secret ingredient.
“That’s a good girl,” he muttered as he searched in the cupboards for a sandwich cake tin. Willow was licking the spilled egg yolks from the once-clean floor.
What the hell is a sandwich tin?
He gave up looking and picked up the bottle of the secret ingredient. He took another slurp. It was hygienic; he’d already measured out the cup of whiskey that replaced the milk in the recipe, plus a spare cup in case the first mix failed. The bottle was now half empty.
Liam let out a soft belch, tripped over Willow and lurched across the kitchen just as the back door opened. As he stumbled, his elbow caught the bowl of cake mix and it slid across the counter. He dived for it but it disappeared over the other side of the bench before he could save it. Grabbing the bench, he caught himself, and stared at the visitor. Blue eyes full of amusement met his.
“Shit. Oh, double shit.”
…
Angie had tried to call Liam on and off for the last few days. She had no news for him, but despite what she had told him about not calling unless she had anything to tell him, it was polite to let him know that she’d had no luck tracking down any local Boykin breeders. His phone had gone straight to an automatic voicemail service, and she was starting to think she may have taken the number down incorrectly. God knows, she’d been stressed enough when he’d given it to her at the Chinese restaurant and he’d been carrying on about Hugh being her boyfriend. She should have told him straight up that he had the wrong end of the stick but he’d made her angry. Now that Liam was in town—or near town—it wouldn’t hurt if he did think that. It would let her keep a bit of distance, and she hadn’t lied. He’d come up with the idea himself when he’d talked to Hugh that night.
She’d been called out to the Ison farm to see to a horse with colic, and driving past Prickle Creek Farm on the way back, she’d decided, on the spur of the moment, to call in.
Willow was her patient and that was the main reason she was visiting, she rationalised to herself, as the wheels clattered on the cattle grate at the edge of the Prickle Creek driveway.
Now she stood and surveyed Liam, the mess, and Willow, who was enthusiastically licking up whatever was smeared all over the floor.
Angie bent down and scooped up the little pup. “Oh no you don’t. You’ll make yourself sick, little one.” She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. Liam’s white T-shirt was covered in blobs of what looked—and smelled—like chocolate cake mix. The same globs sat on the benchtops, the cupboard fronts and—she looked up in disbelief—the ceiling.
She tried to stifle the laugh that threatened, but it escaped her lips. “Practising for MasterChef, are you?” Angie put one hand to her stomach as the laugh took over. “What the heck are you doing?” She frowned, and then sniffed as the smell of alcohol drifted across to her. Her gaze settled on the half empty bottle of whisky on the kitchen sink and then moved back to Liam’s face. There were more chocolate blobs in his hair, and a big one had dried on his cheek below his right eye.
“I’m making a chocolate cake for Lucy.” He straightened, but the hiccup that came from his lips took away the gravity of his stance.
“That’s very thoughtful of you. I heard she was coming home with the new bub today.”
“No. Not for Lucy. For Lucy.”
“How much of that bottle have you had to drink, Liam?”
“Not as much as it looks. Most of it is in here for the—sshh—secret ingredient.” He shrugged and held up a cup. “What I mean is, it’s not for Lucy, it’s for the show. She couldn’t make it for Gran, so I got volunteered.” A smile spread across his lips and the glob of cake cracked and ran down his face. “Can you cook cakes? I really could do with a hand here. I’m going to have to start again.”
Angie put the pup down on the floor and looked at Liam for a moment. “I guess I can help out, if you tell me what has to be done.” She looked around the room with her hands on her hips. “But first off, let’s clean up this mess. Willow’s going to be sick if she keeps licking the floor and how did you get cake mix on the ceiling?”
“Um. I sort of didn’t put those beater things in the machine properly and when they were at full speed, they came whirling out.” This time his smile was cheeky. “For a moment there I thought I was going to lose my manhood. I had to jump out of the way of the whirling blades.”
“Too much information. Do you want me to help or not?”
“Yes, please.” A meek Liam was certainly not one Angie was used to.
Angie washed her hands and rolled up her sleeves. Luckily, it seemed there was a spare cup of the “secret ingredient” left for her to help Liam mix up another batch of chocolate cake. She couldn’t help grinning as she looked at him. There was still a blob of chocolate mix on the tip of one ear and his hair was standing in spikes, where he’d obviously rubbed his hand through it in frustration. She burst out laughing. “Looks like you’ve invented a new hair product.”
“I’ll give you some to take home if you want.” His grin was wide and his eyes were dancing. Angie ignored the warm feeling in her chest and picked up the laminated recipe from the counter. She reached for a dishcloth and wiped the goo off the recipe.
“Okay, so if you’re entering this in the show, you can mix it. I’ll supervise.” She was looking forward to this. In London, Liam had been useless in the kitchen, and when it had been his turn to cook dinner, they’d always gone to the pub on the corner.
“Aw, come on, Angie, I’ve already made one. Can’t you do it for me? Please? I can pass things to you.” The look on his face was just like the little pup at their feet.
This was a contrite Liam, very different to the one she had known. “No.” She shook her head. “I’ll supervise. Now is there an apron I can put on over my work clothes? They might look clean but I’ve been out at the Isons’ place with the horses.”
Angie was impressed when Liam opened a drawer and pulled one out. She shook her head. “You really know your way around a kitchen these days.” Their eyes met and held as they both recalled his reluctance to cook in London.
“I’ve learned a lot of new skills in the last few months.”
She leaned forward as he slipped the apron over her head, and stood still as Liam slipped his arms around her and tied the apron. Angie put her head down and absorbed his warmth as he stood close.
“And cake making is one of them?” The scepticism in her voice obviously had an effect.
Liam stepped back and nodded. “Yes, it is. Anyone can follow a recipe. If I hadn’t tripped over that damned dog—”
“If you hadn’t been drinking the whiskey, you might have been more stable on your feet.” Angie folded her arms. “And I recall someone who couldn’t even boil an egg. I guess living in the outback has improved your culinary skills.” Another giggle bubbled up from her chest and he looked sheepish. “And now here you are, cooking cakes for a competition. Come on, get out another bowl. The sooner you get this mixed, the sooner it will be in the oven.”
It was as though they’d never been away from each other. Angie perched on the stool as Liam weighed and measured, and ensured that the beaters were firmly in the mixer before he turned it on. She grinned and shook her head when he tipped the cup of whisky into the mix, lifted one brow and held up the bottle.
“Can I interest you in a tipple, Ms Head Chef?”
“No, thank you. And you don’t need any more either until that cake is baked. Not if you want to win.”
His brow creased in a frown. “It has to win, Ange. I’m doing it for Gran.”
Angie slid off the stool and walked over to where he was peering into the bowl as though something was going to jump out and bite him. She put her hand on his shoulder and smiled. “It looks perfect. You start clearing up and I’ll put the mix in the cake tin and then in the oven for you.”
“You always were a good woman, Angie Edmonds.” The words were accompanied by a belch and Angie rolled her eyes.
An hour later, the kitchen was spotless, Willow was asleep in her basket, and the tempting aroma of chocolate cake filled the house. Liam opened the fridge door and held up a bottle of wine, but Angie shook her head.
“A cup of tea,” she said firmly. “I have to drive back to town.”
“You could always stay the night.” Liam looked at her sideways as he closed the fridge door.
She put the tea towel on the bench. “Liam.” Her voice held a warning note.
“Come on, Ange. Where’s your sense of fun gone?” Liam crossed to the sink and let the water out. “I was teasing.”
She watched as the soapy water swirled down the sink. “It wasn’t funny.”
“Just a pleasant night chatting. The spare room is made up. I owe you for saving my neck. God forbid Gran’s cake doesn’t make the show,” he said.
“Don’t count your chickens yet. The cake’s not out of the oven. Things can still go wrong.” For a moment, she fought the urge to accept the offer of a drink and then shrugged. The thought of sitting watching an outback sunset with Liam, sipping wine, was too tempting. “All right, one glass and mix it with soda water. I won’t stay for long though, I’m going to call in at the Mackenzie farm on the way home. I have a little present for the baby, and I forgot to give it to Grant.”
“Grant? Who’s Grant?” Liam hiccupped again.
Heat ran up Angie’s neck. “I mean Garth.”
Liam looked at her curiously as he poured half a glass of wine. “I’ll come over to Lucy’s place with you in your car, if that’s okay. Once the cake is out of the oven, that is.”
They sat out on the west-facing back verandah. Liam pushed the button to drop down the automated insect screens. The bugs were starting to come out as the warmer weather approached. Angie ignored the play of muscles beneath the clean T-shirt he had changed into while she’d cleaned up the mess in the kitchen. Liam had certainly built up in the months since she’d last seen him in London. She remembered how he had paid out on their friends who were gym junkies. Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Do you keep in touch with Jimmy and Harriet?”
“What made you think of them?”
“Oh. Nothing.” She picked up her glass and took a sip. “I was remembering how they used to almost live at the gym.”
“No, I don’t. They split up not long after you left. Harriet ran off with the guy who owned the gym.” The light was dim and it was hard to see the expression on his face, but Liam’s voice was soft. “We had some fun times over there together, didn’t we, Ange?”
“Yes, it was fun for a while.” This time she held his stare and brought the subject back to the mundane. “Although I don’t miss the weather at all.”
“I missed you when you left, you know.”
Don’t go there. Don’t go there.
“I had to leave. My visa ran out. You didn’t want to come. End of story.” Angie tipped the wine glass up and drained it in one long drink. “Anyway, it’s time for me to get going. If you want a lift over to Garth and Lucy’s, I’m leaving now.”
Liam looked at her strangely. “Don’t you want to wait till the cake is done? It’ll only be a few minutes now.”
In perfect synchronicity with his words, the oven timer bell rang. They both jumped up at the same time, and Liam grabbed for Angie as she tried to avoid touching him and overbalanced as she knocked the small table between their seats. Warm hands—newly callused hands—grabbed her bare arms and she looked into the chest she had been admiring only moments ago. She fought the desire to put her head down on the fresh-smelling T-shirt. She knew there was a perfect hollow at the base of his shoulder, where her head had rested many times. In happiness, in sadness, in frustration, and in friendship.
And in love.
God, she had loved this man. Had, that was the word she had to focus on. But he hadn’t loved her. Or if he had, it hadn’t been enough. Career one, love zero.
Wake up. You can’t lose what you never had. Angie stood stiff and straight in Liam’s arms and didn’t look up at him. Finally, he loosened his grip and she slowly lifted her head.
No.
He was staring at her, and she knew that look in his eyes. She had seen it many times before, but in those days, she had been his partner, not someone he had let go because he hadn’t loved her more than his career. He had been unconcerned when she’d left. Now she was here and convenient for him, and it looked like he was going to take advantage of it.
Not on her life would she let him.
She widened her eyes, knowing she must look like a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights, but that didn’t stop the slow and purposeful descent of his head. His lips stopped a whisker away from hers and she held her breath. The soothing smell of whisky puffed from his mouth, warming her lips as he spoke.
“I don’t suppose you’d let me kiss you. For old times’ sake?”
She shoved her hands against his chest and forgot about the pleasure and the temptation of a whisky-flavoured kiss. “You suppose right, Liam Smythe. And I suggest, if you want the blue ribbon at the show, you get the cake out of the oven before it burns.”
“Burns! Would it really burn that quickly?”
“Yes, it would. And dry out, and crack.”
Angie followed his mad dash into the kitchen at a more sedate pace, taking advantage of the time to get her emotions back under control. She watched as he first picked up a tea towel and then a dishcloth before she took pity on him.
There was no need to be uncooperative just because he’d crossed a line.
“Get out of the way.” Angie nudged him aside with her hip, picked up the oven mitt, and carefully opened the oven. She couldn’t help but smile. A perfect cake, with a smooth oval top, sat on the middle shelf. Not a crack to be seen. Liam hovered by her shoulder as she reached in and slid the oven mitt beneath it.
“Careful,” he said.
She nodded and carried it across to the sink and placed it on the stainless steel pad. “Do you have a cake cooler?”
“A what?”
“Never mind. Where are the cake tins kept?”
“In the bottom of the pantry in the laundry.”
Angie started for the door but paused and turned around, lifting a finger at Liam. “Don’t touch it. Don’t move, don’t breathe near it, or it might sink in the middle. Or even worse, crack right across the top.”
In the pantry cupboard, beneath the cake tins, she found a stack of cake coolers. She pulled one out and hurried back to the kitchen. He hadn’t moved but his expression was one of anxiety.
“God, this is worse than an editorial meeting at the paper. Much more stressful.”
She simply raised a brow, turning her attention to gently patting the cooling cake out onto the wire stand. It slipped out of the tin perfectly. Carefully, she pulled the circular ring of baking paper from the bottom of the cake. Not one crumb came away.
“You’ve done well,” she said.
“We’ve done well. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Before Angie could move away, Liam leaned forward quickly and brushed his lips against hers. This time, she tasted the whisky on his breath.