sorry. Every one of my so-called friends are sorry, but not sorry enough to refuse an invitation to the massive wedding my parents are organizing right now. My father says a big function’s important to show there’s no family rift. So there’s no family rift. Business as usual.’
He winced. ‘That must hurt. Every major tabloid...’
‘Is enjoying it very much.’ She cut him off bitterly. ‘But that’s important how? Right now I’m offering to cook for you. Isn’t there a Discrimination Act somewhere that says asking employees about their past appalling taste in men is illegal?’
‘Are you applying for a job?’
‘I might be,’ she snapped. ‘As long as you don’t rake up my family. I’ve left them in Sydney and that’s where they’re staying. I like the fact that half of Australia is flooding between here and there. Do you like the fact that I can cook?’
There was no arguing with that. ‘Yes.’
‘So let’s move on. Your shearers like sandwiches? Are you any better at making them than frying eggs?’
‘Mine would be pretty basic sandwiches,’ he admitted.
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eight. He should be gone, he thought. There was so much to do before dark.
But he had the offer of a cook.
She intrigued him. She was half perky, half defensive.
It sounded as if her family had cut her a raw deal and he’d seen enough of the tabloids to realize how widely her humiliation must have spread. She must be hurting a lot under her pink bravado.
What he wanted was to probe deeper into what was behind her blind run to Malley’s. But then...this was personal and hadn’t he learned a long time ago not to get personal with women? The last thing he needed was a wealthy blonde socialite sobbing on his chest while she spilt all.
And she was right. Her past had no bearing on her ability to cook.
She could probably only do fancy, he thought. Soufflés and caviar and truffles. But she had cooked a mean egg, which was more than he could do. And how could her cooking be worse than his efforts?
‘If you really could...’
‘I could try,’ she told him, her glare fading. She looked as if she was sensing his train of thought. ‘You can sack me if it doesn’t work.’ She smiled suddenly, and he thought she had a great smile. It lit her face.
It lit the room.
‘Tell me what you need,’ she said and he had to force himself to focus on something that wasn’t that smile.
‘Morning smoko, dinner and arvo tea. The shearers make their own breakfast and evening meal, but our dinner’s midday, when we need a full, hot meal to keep going. You have no idea how many calories a gun shearer burns. Are you really serious about helping?’
‘I’m serious.’
‘Okay.’ He took a deep breath, seeing clear air where from the time he’d had the call from Pete he’d only seen fog. ‘At ten you’d provide smoko—morning tea. You’d bring the food over to the shed. I’ll come and help you carry it. Then at twelve-thirty they all come here for a buffet dinner and take it onto the veranda to eat. At three it’s time for arvo tea and you take that to the shed as well. It saves time. You’d be expected to cook a couple of extra roasts and leave them in the shearer’s quarters so they can use that as a base for their evening meal.’
‘Wow,’ she said and looked at the big stove. ‘No wonder you have three ovens. Is there an instruction manual?’
‘On the Internet.’
‘You have Internet?’
‘Yep. Satellite. I’ll give you the password.’
She stood up and her smile widened until the defensiveness of moments ago disappeared entirely.
‘You have no idea how good that makes me feel,’ she told him. ‘Half an hour ago I was trapped in the middle of nowhere feeling useless. Now I have a job and Internet and there’s nothing more I need in the world. Right. You’d better put those chooks to bed and gather those sheep or whatever you have to do. Leave me be, Matt. I’m about to get busy.’
He’d been dismissed.
* * *
She was needed! She stood in the great kitchen and, for the first time since that appalling night when Brett and Felicity had appeared at the family dinner table hand in hand and smugly announced the new order of things, she felt as if she was standing on firm ground again.
A shearing team of twenty. Two weeks’ hard work, she thought with satisfaction. Two weeks when she could put her head down and forget that every tabloid in the country was running articles pitying her.
She’d be working for Matt.
Matt...
And suddenly her thoughts went off at a tangent. Matt. The way he’d said he was sorry. He’d said it...as if he understood. How was that possible? It had been a throwaway line, a platitude, something that had been said to her over and over before her family and her friends had moved on to the new normal.
But his eyes were kind.
And the rest of him...
Wow.
And that was enough to make her give herself a fast mental slap to the side of the head. What was she thinking? He was her new boss. He was the owner of this place, a guy who lived and breathed the land, a guy who’d practically lifted her car and heaved it out of the water.
She’d been brought up with suits. She’d never met anyone even vaguely like Matt.
He made her feel...breathless.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. It had been less than a month since she’d been unceremoniously dumped by Brett. She’d thought she was in love, and look how that had turned out.
‘I have no sense at all,’ she told Samson. ‘Okay, he might be good-looking enough to make my toes curl but my toes are not a good indicator. My father thinks I’m an idiot, and where men are concerned I’ve just proved him spectacularly right. I need to ignore Matt Fraser and get on with my job.’
She opened the pantry again and gazed at the contents in delight.
This place was like a miniature supermarket. Filled with hope, she headed out the back. A vegetable garden! Herbs!
Her head was spinning in all directions. What first?
She could make cupcakes for morning tea. No. She pulled herself up short. Cupcakes might seem girly and the last thing she needed was guys thinking her food was girly. Okay, lamingtons. Better. She could whip up a couple of sponges now and coat them first thing in the morning. Then maybe a couple of big frittatas for lunch, with salads from the gorgeous stuff in the garden and fresh crusty bread. She had an overnight bread recipe. She could start it now so it’d rise magnificently overnight.
She looked at the sacks of flour and realized that Matt had supplies for an army. This must be provisioning for the rest of the year.
She wasn’t complaining.
Next? What had Matt called it...arvo tea? If they’d eaten a big lunch they wouldn’t want much. Chocolate brownies?
‘Let’s go,’ she told Samson and he wiggled his tail at the joy in her voice.
There hadn’t been much joy lately but she was feeling it now.
And she had to ask herself—was it just a little bit because a guy called Matt Fraser would be sharing a house with her for the next two weeks?
Was it just a little bit because a guy called Matt Fraser had caused a tingle of something she couldn’t put a name to?
‘It has nothing to do with Matt,’