always made his irritation very apparent.
Once, when Jude was about ten, he’d broken his leg playing football.
‘This will be a test of your manhood,’ his father had said. ‘Nobody likes a whinger.’
It was a message Jude had taken to heart.
Now, he noted the time—three-thirty a.m.—which wasn’t too bad. He’d already had several hours’ sleep, and he only had to manage for a few more hours before it would be daylight again.
Rolling over, he closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, but in the perfect stillness he heard noises coming from down the hall.
Soft sounds of crying.
From Emily’s room.
Any lingering thoughts about his own problems vanished. Jude sat up, listening intently through the darkness. Emily’s sobs were muffled, no doubt by her pillow, but, even so, the crying went on and on in an uncontrollable outpouring of misery.
The sounds were like hammer blows to Jude’s conscience. He knew damn well that if Alex were here Emily wouldn’t be crying like this. He’d promised Alex he’d keep an eye on her.
His feet hit the floor and he was halfway across the room before his head caught up with his chivalrous impulses.
OK. What, exactly, was he planning to do? Go to Emily? Offer her a shoulder to cry on?
Brilliant. If she’d broken her heart over a good-for-nothing boyfriend, she was hardly going to welcome another lusty bloke offering to hold her in his arms.
Sinking back onto the edge of his bed, Jude remembered the way she’d looked at dinner as she’d talked about her unhappy track record with men. She’d seemed so fragile, with shadows beneath her eyes and a trembling droop to her soft pink mouth. It was hard to believe she was the same tough cookie who managed an entire district’s bank accounts.
Obviously, the louse of a boyfriend had struck a cruel blow, and she’d come here to recuperate. To be consoled by Alex.
Alex would have known how to help her. Alex would have listened and encouraged her to talk and he would have known, instinctively, what she needed. Whereas Jude felt utterly helpless and totally inadequate. To make matters worse, he’d more or less accepted her offer to leave, which was tantamount to booting her out of the door.
How lousy was that after he’d promised to look out for her?
At last the crying settled down, but Jude couldn’t get back to sleep. He was in the kitchen quite early, brewing coffee, when Emily came into the room. In her nightgown.
Far out. He almost dropped the coffee pot. What was she thinking?
Her nightdress wasn’t deliberately provocative or see-through, but the frothy concoction of cream and lace frills hinted at her nakedness underneath. And, with her red-gold hair tumbling about her pale shoulders, she looked like an old-fashioned princess, a young Elizabeth the First. An appealing but tired princess who’d spent a troubled and anguished night.
Jude tried his best not to stare at the delightful hints of her breasts and bottom. He wondered if Emily assumed he was immune—gay, like Alex. He knew he should probably explain that this wasn’t the case, but he wasn’t sure how he could introduce the subject without tying himself in knots and embarrassing them both.
Instead, he tried to cover his reaction with an attempt at cheerfulness. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked brightly. ‘In the mood for pancakes? Or bacon and eggs?’
To his surprise, Emily made a shooing gesture. ‘Don’t worry about breakfast. I can look after it. You need to start your writing.’
‘What are you? A slave-driver?’ He smiled to indicate this was an attempt at humour.
Emily merely blinked. ‘I thought you wrote madly all day and didn’t bother about meals.’
Well, yes, he had given that impression last night, hadn’t he? Truth was, he’d been writing since four a.m., and his hunger pangs had steadily mounted. For hours now he’d been fantasising about the breakfast ingredients they’d bought last night.
About to grab a frying pan, he saw, again, the red-rimmed despair in Emily’s eyes, lingering traces of her midnight tears. She would probably find cheery chatter at breakfast painful. Perhaps the kindest thing he could offer was to stay clear and hide behind his work.
‘I’ll head off then,’ he said quickly. ‘But, before I go, I’ve been thinking about your plan to leave. You know there’s no need.’
He couldn’t quite believe he’d said that. The words had jumped out of nowhere.
Emily looked surprised, too. Her eyes widened and Jude almost back-pedalled. His life over the next week would be so much easier without her here.
‘Are you sure, Jude?’
‘Of course. You’re Alex’s cousin, and he wants to make his home welcome to you. You’ve more right to be here than I have.’
Her blue eyes sparkled with a suspicious sheen. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
Jude was quite sure he hadn’t been half as kind as Alex had hoped. He cleared his throat. ‘And if you need to talk …’
To his dismay, Emily flushed brightly.
‘I don’t mean to pry,’ he added awkwardly. ‘I’m not Alex, but if there’s any way I can help …’
‘That’s sweet of you, Jude, but I couldn’t dump my problems onto you.’
He shrugged, unsure what to say. Counselling was so not his forte.
Then Emily gave a helpless flap of her hands. ‘Oh, heck. Perhaps I should tell you what happened. Just to clear the air.’
He waited, leaning against the door jamb, trying to look as if he had all the time in the world.
‘I’ve been seeing a geologist for over a year,’ she said quietly but steadily. ‘His name’s Michael and he came to Wandabilla regularly as part of his work. Exploratory prospecting—that sort of thing. And—’ she gave a hopeless little shrug ‘—he was charming and sexy and I fell in love …’
On the word love her voice cracked and she took another deep breath while her gaze was fixed on the jug of yellow daffodils on the kitchen counter.
‘This week, Michael and I were supposed to go away on holiday together. I’d taken my annual leave. Everything was planned.’
Again Emily paused, paying serious attention to the daffodils. ‘We were due to fly to Fiji, but on the night before our flight, a friend sent me a link to a Facebook page. Actually, it was a link to Michael’s wife’s Facebook page.’
Suddenly, her mouth twisted out of shape.
Jude’s throat tightened. ‘You’re absolutely sure it was him?’ he asked, keeping any hint of reproach from his voice.
Emily nodded. ‘Michael admitted it. He could hardly deny it when the photo was there on the screen. There he was with his lovely wife and two beautiful children. They live in South Australia and his name’s not even Michael. It’s Mark.’
Jude’s hands fisted, itching to land a punch on the rat’s nose.
‘So that’s my sad little story.’ Emily’s lips tilted in a travesty of a smile. ‘But please don’t worry. I’m OK. Heartbreak’s not fatal. I’ll get over it.’
‘But you must stay here as long as you need to,’ Jude said. ‘Try not to take any notice of me. Just treat this place as your own.’
‘Well, if you’re sure … thanks.’
He raised his coffee mug in a salute, and managed to smile. ‘I’ll be off to the salt mines, but I might sneak back later to make some toast.’