CHAPTER FIVE
The baby goat in her hand burst free, kicking her in the ribs. The world slid out from under Paris, and the muddy ground raced toward her face. She yelped as water and dirt splashed everywhere, and coldness seeped into her bones. “Oh, crap!”
Laughter rose from behind her. Of course Jett would find this hilarious. Bastard. She pushed herself to her knees. He stood there, every inch of him drenched, and reached down for her. A goat gawked at her from under his other arm.
For those few seconds, she pictured him as her saviour, an alpha from her favourite cosy romance books, but no hero would ever grin in pleasure at seeing her sore and coated in mud. She ignored his aid and staggered to her feet, wiping the mess off her dress, which was a futile attempt. She might as well join the piggies because what she needed was a hose down.
“I’m fine,” she managed.
“Okay, if you say so. Wait this out while I help Mac.” Jett turned away. She squared her shoulders and spotted a goat in the distance. No one would tell her what to do. Now or ever. And especially not Jett, who probably saw her as a hapless city chick. Well, he was wrong. She grew up in the same town and had assisted his family with sheep shearing too many damn times. Yep, she could shave one of those buggers in record time.
Paris patted down her dress and charged after the runaway through the rain. The situation reminded her of the multitude of times she’d raced after her next-door neighbour’s chickens in Yalgoo. Those rascals were fast and quick, but so was she. Paris glanced around for anything to attract the goat. They were always hungry and playful, so she tore a handful of long grass from the yard. “Hey, look what I have. Yummy grass.”
She waved the food in the air, and the goat bleated, then approached her, sniffing her hand. She snaked an arm under his body, sweeping the animal into her arms. Just then, another white blur rushed past, and she gave chase, cornering it near a gum tree with peeling bark curling down the trunk.
The goat cried and cowered as she kneeled closer. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
Paris reached over and scratched his chin, then picked him up. The rain grew heavier. With one under each arm, she rushed to a small shed where an older man with silvery hair ushered three inside. She handed hers over, and the farmer shut the door.
“Quick, everyone in the house.” A woman in her early fifties, who had to be Mac’s wife, laid a blanket on the wooden floor and offered them towels upon entrance.
Mac joined them and shut the door, closing out the rain and wind. “Jett, you came at a perfect time.” The man spoke with a strong accent, Greek or Italian, and wore a thin moustache matching his white hair. “And, miss, you are wonderful with animals. Thank you, but your dress….” He rubbed his chin, studying her muddied clothes.
She smiled, already liking this man and his family. Anyone who would get drenched to save animals was golden in her book. “It’s only mud and water. It’ll come out, but it was fun chasing your goats.”
“Paris is from Yalgoo,” Jett interrupted. “But she’s been living in Melbourne for the past few years. I’m giving her a lift home, but we’re stopping by to drop off the toys.”
“You’re back for Christmas then?” Mac’s wife stepped closer to Paris, her accent as strong as her husband’s and her eyes smiling. “I’m Christine.” She leaned closer and kissed Paris on both cheeks.
“Yeah, I’m visiting my parents.” Paris wiped her arms. Water pooled around her on the wooden floor and towel.
Jett studied her, and she could have sworn she sensed sarcasm in his expression. With a deep breath, she planted a forced grin on her lips and faced the trio watching her. No one said a word.
Awkward.
“Coffee time,” Christine blurted and hurried to the stove. Mac joined her.
Jett and Paris remained alone and silent.
“I’ve got to make a call.” Jett had his phone out, wiping it clean with the towel.
“I need to let my parents know where we are,” she said.
“Sure. I’m calling home, so I’ll ask my mum to let them know.” He spoke with his back to her as he vanished down the corridor.
“Thanks,” she called out. “That’ll be great.”
What to do next? Jett was a world away, and she felt bad intruding on these people’s home. But if they were delivering toys in their town, helping out Jett, they were people with huge hearts. And surely, they wouldn’t see her as an intrusion. Besides, the country-style kitchen reminded her of her parents’ place, the laid-back comfort, and something always baking. That alone had her relaxing her shoulders and feeling at home.
Minutes later, Jett returned, carrying her duffel over his shoulder. “Bathroom’s to your left.”
She nodded. “You read my mind.”
When he handed her the duffel bag, their hands grazed, and for those few moments, they stood still, staring at each other, just as they used to do when they dated. Seeing him jump in and help a fellow farmer and retrieving her bag before she asked for it, those were the qualities she fell for when he was younger. Except, Jett was older now, more mature, and he carried an air of confidence he lacked years ago. Her gaze fell to his chest to where the fabric clung to his body, revealing layers of muscles. He stared at her as if he wanted to ask her a question, but he never did.
She lowered her attention to the wet floorboards and took her bag out of his grasp before vanishing into the bathroom, worried she would say something stupid like she missed him. What was going on with her? With her back pressed against the door, she gasped for air, unsure how to proceed next. In Jett’s company, her heart pounded beneath her breastbone like a time bomb. Coming home was about reflecting and taking time out. Instead, she hadn’t even made it to Yalgoo, and she already questioned every decision.
While she didn’t want to admit it, Jett had crept into her mind, maybe even in her heart, which wasn’t supposed to happen. She was convinced she got him out of her system. But that was a mistake. So what now? Drool over him in Yalgoo and deal with months of crying over him once she returned to Melbourne?
They had their time, his decision broke them up, and she started a new life. Then why was being in his presence like trying to breathe underwater? She shouldn’t feel such emotions toward him, the hunger, the desperation to fall into his arms, the fantasy of reigniting what they had. And who said he was interested in her anyway? Maybe earlier he had called his girlfriend or wife… though she hadn’t noticed a wedding band on his finger.
“Get your shit together,” she whispered under her breath. “Go home, catch up with family, and work out how to gain a new job.” Those were her priorities. Nothing else.
***
Paris sat at the kitchen table and cupped her hands around the hot mug of coffee, enjoying the warmth and its nutty taste. She stared into the eyes of two baby goats sitting in a chair across from her. They had escaped their shed, and Mac brought them inside, worried they might get lost and even die in the storm. Now they huddled together, wrapped in a towel, staring at her. One released a bleating sound. In another seat was the ginger family cat, only the top half of her face showing above the table. Yep, just her and the animals shared the kitchen. Mac and Jett were somewhere collecting wood, and Mac’s wife had vanished into the house.
“So,” Paris faced the goats. “Pretty shitty weather outside, hey?”
One cried in response.
She sipped her drink. “Yep, I agree. This storm has ruined everything. Your shed and my trip home.” With another mouthful, she turned toward the pitter-pattering sounds coming from the hallway.
Three more goats scurried through the room, bouncing about the place, making a beeline for the corner near the glass door where a pile of large pillows lay. They seemed to know right where to go.
“Looks like they all wanted out of the shed,” Christine said, coming in from the hallway. She must have brought the animals inside from the front door.
“They’re adorable.” The trio huddled on the pillow closer together, soaking wet. Outside, the backyard blurred in the sheets of rain coming down. The skies roared with thunder.
“Jett said you’ll both join us for dinner,” the woman said, tucking loose silver strands beneath her floral scarf tied behind her neck.
“Thanks, but you don’t need to worry about us. We probably should look at going soon.” She gulped down the last mouthful of warming caffeine.
“Not yet. Wait until the storm slows down soon. They don’t last long here.” Christine moved into the open-planned kitchen and collected a pan suspended overhead on a hook. “Do you like pie?”
“Sounds delicious.” If they were staying for supper, the least she could do was help out. Paris was on her feet as Jett emerged from the back door carrying an armful of chopped wood and set it down near the counter. Mac followed, arranging the timber in a neat pile for the fire stove. Paris forced herself to lift her gaze from Jett as the wind whipped inside from the open door and she rushed to shut it.
Earlier today, she tried to run from Jett. Now she studied a different man from the guy she remembered from five years ago. He was still caring and attentive, but mature and serious. Plus, throw in a bucket load of sexiness.
He dusted off the pieces of timber stuck to his wet shirt and glanced up, meeting her stare.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head, not trusting her words. As much as she ogled him, being with him wasn’t an option. She had a career to resurrect, and besides, she adored her freedom. Having her heart broken again wasn’t in her schedule. Yet, staring at Jett had her swimming in confusion and desires she didn’t want to understand.
“Be back in a sec. Getting changed.” He strolled to the bathroom, and she stood there, wondering if she ought to follow him. Not to perv—though that would be a huge perk—but to clear the air between them, to tell him she wanted to get along with him and apologise for accusing him of cheating. She couldn’t understand it, but part of her insisted on making peace. Perhaps this Christmas might turn into a fun experience instead of letting her job redundancy destroy the holiday.
When she pushed forward, a red bauble rolled across the wooden flooring past her feet, chased by a goat who kicked it across the room. She ran after it and picked up the decoration, remembering the tree in the living room. Once there, she hung the ball high and out of reach from the animals. She glanced down at the pile of presents, just like the ones she grew up with back home. A gift tag drew her attention.
To Jett and Ace.
She picked up the present, studying the names. Who was Ace?
Footfalls sounded.
She replaced the gift back under the tree and spun around.
Christine smiled and set another ornament on a branch. “The gift is more for Ace, but Jett loves to do puzzles with his son all the time, so it’s perfect for them both.”
Paris rocked on the spot. “Jett has a son?”
She nodded. “The most beautiful little boy with ginger curls. Ace always talks about becoming a sheep shearer.” She retreated toward the stove. “Do you have a second to give me a hand?”
Jett had a child! He’d moved on with his life and settled down, while she had nothing. No job. No boyfriend. No future prospects.
She ought to be elated for Jett, and damn, she was, but her chest tightened. A sinking feeling dropped through her and hit her feet. The news shouldn’t bother her. Her future was in the city. Then why did it seem as if someone had jammed a blade into her chest and twisted?