Christmas at Candlebark Farm Read Free Page A

it?
    Her lips twitched. ‘So that’s your selling point is it—an old bench?’
    It wasn’t that old! It… Okay, perhaps it was. But—
    â€˜And as I’m currently abstaining from both caffeine and alcohol…’
    He slammed his hands to his hips. This woman had turned being difficult into an art form!
    â€˜Still, if you substitute chamomile tea for coffee…’
    He gave up trying to read her expression from the corner ofhis eye and turned to face her fully. She met his gaze without blinking. Her hair—red-gold—tumbled around her face and shoulders in a riot of messed up curls and wispy bits, fizzing up around her sunglasses. It made her look wild and full of mischief, like an errant fairy.
    Luke swallowed. He needed water. A long, cold glass of water. He was so dry. He couldn’t remember the last time thirst had plagued him with such ferocity.
    He cleared his throat and stared back out at his wheat. ‘Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I thought you were after some kind of hokey family-farm-stay. Candlebark isn’t set up for that sort of thing. I usually only rent the room out to temporary mine workers. It’s coming up to harvest, and I’m too busy to…’
    He trailed off. The words that had sprung to mind were play host . He wasn’t a host. He was a landlord, and she was a temporary—very temporary—lodger. ‘And of course you have full access to the kitchen while you’re here. You can use the dining and living rooms too if you want.’ No skin off his nose. He didn’t care if she took over the entire house. He was hardly ever in it anyhow.
    She surveyed him for a minute, and then she grinned. That off-balance thing happened to him again.
    â€˜Help me unload the car?’
    He shrugged. ‘Yeah, sure.’
    â€˜Then I guess you have yourself a guest for the next week, Mr Hillier.’
    Lodger, not guest. He bit back the correction and reminded himself about the hospitality thing. ‘Luke,’ he offered from between gritted teeth. ‘Why don’t you call me Luke?’
    He followed her out to her car and tried not to notice how sweetly she filled out those jeans of hers. He’d carry her bags in and then he was getting back to his tractor. Fast.
    Â 
    Luke returned to the barn and the relatively uncomplicated workings of his tractor. Finishing up the repairs—the tightening of that single nut—took roughly forty-five seconds.
    He stowed his tools and then glared at the pile of horse dung that had so offended his ‘guest’. The look on her face when she’d stood in the stuff! He seized a spade. The last thing he needed was a repeat performance. He mucked out the horse stalls and removed all signs of horse manure from the barn and its immediate surrounds. That took half an hour.
    Next he set about cleaning the tack. He rubbed leather conditioner into his saddle, all the while searching his brain for anything else she might find offensive about the farm—anything as earthy as horse manure, that was—but he came up with a blank. Since Jason’s border collie had died—hit by a car eight months ago—he, Jason and the horses were the only living, breathing beings on Candlebark. As long as you didn’t count snakes, spiders, lizards, the odd kangaroo or ten, possums, bees and hornets.
    He let rip with an oath. What if something else spooked her? What if she just upped and left without so much as a by-your-leave after all?
    He threw his cloth down. He’d planned to start clearing the western boundary paddock this afternoon. Get it ready for sowing in April. At the moment it was choked with Paterson’s Curse. He sighed and admitted defeat. He wouldn’t get out there today. He’d best stay close to the homestead in case anything set his ‘guest’ off again.
    He didn’t doubt his first instinct about her—that she was trouble with a