It was Marcus who was flustered.
‘They need to know you’re here,’ Peta told him. ‘Charles knows any number of locals and I’m sure he’ll be contacting them to make sure you’re here. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No, I…’
‘After all, you don’t have to see any of these people after two weeks. It’ll be me who’ll be playing the deserted bride.’
‘I’m sure you’ll play a beautifully pathetic divorcee,’ he managed and she chuckled.
‘You’d better believe it. How many cans of spaghetti do we want?’
‘None,’ he told her. ‘Canned when you can have fresh?’
‘Sure. I’m a canned girl.’
‘If you don’t want to be a divorcee by tomorrow then you put the cans back.’
There were locals watching them. Whispering. News was spreading.
‘There’s not a lot of friendliness,’ he said as they proceeded through their shopping list.
‘My dad lied and cheated and my cousin did the same,’ she told him. ‘Our family are still pretty much outcasts.’
‘Even you?’
‘I learned early to keep myself to myself.’
‘But you pay your debts?’
‘I don’t have debts. The O’Shannassy credit dried up a long time ago. I pay cash or I get nothing and that’s the way it’s always been. Now… Baked beans?’
‘Not baked beans.’
‘But…’
‘And not processed cheese, either. Honestly, woman, do you have no soul?’
‘I eat to live,’ she said with a certain amount of pride.
‘You’re proud of that?’
‘Yes.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s a culture thing,’ he told her. ‘It must be. You come from convict stock?’
‘I surely do,’ she told him. ‘I have baked beans in the blood.’
‘It’s a whole life I never knew existed,’ he said faintly. ‘And I’m not sure I want to.’
But he did want to know.
As the day wore on, the more fascinated he became. They took their shopping home, and then Peta took him on a tour of the fences. ‘They need to be checked once a week,’ she told him. ‘The cows damage them and if stock gets out I’m in real trouble.’ So they hiked along the fence line with Peta’s fencing tools slung over her shoulder. For the first two minutes.
‘You’re not carrying them,’ she told him. ‘They’re dirty. You’ll get your nice shirt soiled.’
‘Peta…’ He lifted the tools from her grasp. ‘Your ankle still hurts and you’re married, remember? Isn’t the husband supposed to be hunter gatherer?’
‘Only in families when the little woman stays home and cooks. And you wouldn’t let me buy baked beans.’
‘So I wouldn’t,’ he said, and grinned. He handed one of the six tools back. ‘Okay. You get to carry one spade and you get to cook cornflakes and toast. But for the rest, you have a husband. Use him.’
They fenced. They found a cow in the bottom paddock caught up in a hedge of gorse and a gully caused by erosion. They dug her free and watched her make her way back to the herd, with nary a thankful glance. They ate sandwiches that Peta had stuck in a backpack before they’d come out and they sat on the cliff and watched the sea. A dolphin pod appeared on cue, surfing through the breakers and cruising along the coast line. Marcus could see why Charles fought for development rights to this place. As a holiday resort it’d be fabulous.
As a farm it was better.
‘Is the beach safe for swimming?’ Marcus asked.
‘It sure is.’
‘Can we?’
‘Nope. I have to milk.’
‘What, already?’
‘Harry will be home any minute. Take him swimming.’
‘Doesn’t anyone help you milk?’
‘I like milking. I don’t need help.’
‘Peta, you have me. Use me.’
‘No.’
‘You need-’
‘I don’t need a husband in any more than name,’ she interrupted, her face closed. ‘You know that. Thank you for my day.’ She rose and gave what seemed to him to be a regretful glance at the ocean. ‘Stay here and rest. I’m off to play milkmaid.’
‘Peta, I want to come. Your foot must be hurting.’
‘My foot’s fine. It has to be. And I told you, you’ll scare the cows. Keep Harry company.’
But Harry didn’t want company. Harry had homework. ‘I’m way behind and there’s a cool project I have to do on volcanoes.’
‘Would you like some help?’
‘Nah,’ Harry told him. ‘Thanks anyway but I’m used to doing stuff on my own.’
So was Marcus. Wasn’t he? Dismissed and not enjoying the sensation as much as he might expect, Marcus made his way back to the beach.
At least here was pleasure. The water was gorgeous. He swam with the strength of a champion swimmer-not for nothing had he purchased an apartment with rights to an indoor lap pool-but he swam alone.
He was so unsettled. What was he doing?
Nothing. He was doing nothing. He wasn’t needed.
It should make him contented. Two weeks holiday with nothing to do and no demands on him.
It made him… He didn’t know what. He’d never had nothing to do in his life.
And he’d never wanted to be needed-by someone who didn’t want him.
She watched him.
Peta milked her cows and all the time she was achingly aware of the man on the beach below the dairy. She could see him stroking back and forth across the bay. He looked superbly fit and at home in the surf, a far cry from the tailored New York businessman she’d fallen for five days ago.
Fallen for?
Uh-oh. The words settled. Then they settled some more. Had she fallen for Marcus Benson?
Of course she had.
‘And I’ve fallen hard.’
She said it out loud and the cow whose teats she was cleaning swivelled round and stared down at her. Bemused.
‘Do you guys fall inappropriately in love?’ she demanded and the cow kept on staring.
She stared back, and then sat back on the wet cobbles and stared some more. What had she said?
The truth. She’d said the truth.
‘How can I fall in love with Marcus Benson?’ she asked herself. ‘How can I possibly do that?’
She’d done it.
She turned and stared down at the sea. He was still stroking back and forth in steady, even strokes.
‘We have absolutely nothing in common,’ she told her cows. ‘He’s like some modern-day Prince Charming, Marcus the Magnificent, rushing round rescuing damsels in distress. It’s all very well being a damsel in distress but it doesn’t make for any sort of equal relationship.’
‘Do you want an equal relationship?’
