Christmas at Candlebark Farm Read Free Page B

capital T—but her money was as good as the next person’s, and for the next three weeks—until they had the harvest in—every penny counted.
    He glanced at his watch. He’d shown her to her room roughly an hour and a half ago. At least she couldn’t complain about that! Her room was big and clean. Spotless, in fact. Luke knew because he scrubbed it to within an inch of its life every week.
    But if ants had invaded the pantry again or if, heaven forbid, she caught sight of a mouse…
    His temples started to pound and an ache stretched behind his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to get into his ute and bolt—lose himself in the wide plains and open skies of his land. He set his mouth and strode outside. With one longing glance at the swaying fields of gold, he turned towards the house.
    He found his lodger in the kitchen, waiting for the jug to boil. A box—in fact several boxes—of herbal tea snuggled up against his jar of instant coffee. A loaf of bread nestled next to the already full breadbox—one of those fancy boutique loaves that were more seed than bread. He didn’t know why people bothered. If they wanted seeds, why didn’t they just buy seeds?
    A women’s magazine and a local real-estate guide graced the table. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck first to the left and then to the right. He was hardly ever in the house—who cared where she put her stuff?
    The jug came to the boil and Keira reached for a mug—his mug. He opened his mouth. He shut it again with a snap. What did it matter what mug she used?
    She gestured to the teas and coffee, sent him one of those seemingly effortless smiles of hers. ‘Would you like one?’
    â€˜No, thanks.’
    He didn’t want her thinking long, lazy afternoon teas or leisurely meals were commonplace around here. He’d stopped work to make sure she had everything she needed, that she was reasonably comfortable. End of story.
    â€˜Is everything up to scratch?’ His voice came out rusty, as if he hadn’t used it in a long time. ‘Are you happy with your room?’
    â€˜It’s more than adequate, thank you.’
    Adequate?
    â€˜I cleared a shelf in the fridge and another in the pantry for my things. I hope that’s okay?’
    â€˜Perfectly.’ He worked hard at keeping his tone neutral.She was here for one week—seven days. After today they’d be lucky to spend more than five minutes in each other’s company. He just wanted to make sure she hadn’t gone and got spooked again.
    â€˜Oh.’ She swung around from pouring boiling water into his—her—mug. ‘You have ants in the pantry. Thought I’d best warn you.’
    He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and steeled himself for outrage.
    â€˜My grandmother used to leave a jar of honey open for them in our pantry. They seemed to leave everything else alone after that.’
    He stopped rubbing his nape and steeling himself to stare at her. She’d turned back to jiggle her teabag. ‘Let me get this straight. Ants don’t faze you, but a bit of horse dung has you running for cover?’
    Actually, it had frozen her to the spot and had turned her a deathly shade of green.
    She stilled, but didn’t turn around. She jiggled her teabag with renewed enthusiasm. ‘Haven’t you ever had an irrational aversion to anything before?’
    You bet! Going into town, for one, and having to endure the stares, the speculation in strangers’ eyes as they were no doubt trying to assess if what his in-laws said about him was true.
    She dropped her teabag into the kitchen tidy, then turned with hands on hips. He answered with a non-committal shrug. Her lips twitched, as if something funny had just occurred to her. ‘I bet I could name a few things you’d be averse to—male cologne, skin care products.’
    He stiffened. Did he smell?