Page 6

Izzy was the house guest from hell. For the past two weeks, she’d been relishing the sport of irritating Craig daily. It started with her rearranging his cupboards so he couldn’t find anything, forcing him to open at least half a dozen cupboards just to find the coffee.

Then, on their treks into town, Izzy would happily greet all his past flings by bluntly asking them for the dirt on him. Of course, they’d run away and avoid him after that. Not that he minded that part.

Then Izzy took over the conversation on his hospital visits. She got chummy with his physiotherapist, getting detailed instructions so she could be on his back at home, and she was on a first-name basis with the owners of the local hardware store, stocking up on supplies to fix their house.

Most of all, he’d learned fast not to complain because she’d make him pay for it in ways only a fiendish female could.

Oh how she took pleasure in his pain, doing the smallest things that created the biggest impact, like leaving the plastic on the cheese for his sandwiches, or only cutting the top half of the bread, making a mess of the rest.

‘I got distracted,’ she’d say.

Izzy did get distracted, because her brain did dance in different ways. The problem was he didn’t know if it was truly her disorder or just her need to give him hell.

Like when she took all the remotes and made him read a book, making him lie flat on his camp bed, under a fan with his sore leg elevated to rest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d read a book. Admittedly, the book was so good that he got sucked into the crime story, but then when he turned to read the last three pages to find out whodunit—they were missing. All he found was a smiley face on a yellow sticky note.

‘IZZY!’ He ripped out the yellow note, tossing the book onto the kitchen counter. The paperback slid across the clean bench to rest beside the vase of native bottlebrushes that made the house smell like honeyed nectar. He peered out the clean windows that gave a great view of the landscape.

The whole place was all sparkly and clean, with that fresh honey and eucalyptus smell. But it was also silent.

‘ Izzy? ’ These days he only needed one crutch to hobble around, but he had to wear thongs because the horrible house guest had hidden his boots somewhere.

Across the now clutter-free verandah, he found Izzy on the far side of the house, gardening.

Izzy had truly lived up to her nickname, Busy Izzy. Like a worker bee, she’d work all hours both day and night, then collapse and sleep, only to wake with a start. She had this mantra, exhaust the body to tame the mind.

But now, as he thought about it, Izzy only cleaned like this when something was on her mind.

Craig had taken on the job of noting down the dates and times for appointments, adding them to the calendar on the fridge. Otherwise, Izzy would forget. Another trick he remembered.

He also knew she needed her specific morning routines again, and soon, to help her cope or she’d burn out fast. ‘Izzy?’

She was busily planting something in the vegetable garden, to make it look more homely for the potential house buyers who’d love the idea of a flourishing garden. So she said. But deep down, he remembered she’d always wanted to try making one, they just never got the chance. Would she be here for the harvest?

Craig still hadn’t agreed to selling the house. But he wasn’t complaining about her cleaning spree—especially not at the risk of her torturing him in some creative way.

His shadow came over her, catching her attention. ‘Izzy?’

‘Hey…’ She stood, pulling out her earphones. Classical music blared through the tiny speakers—listening to classical music helped her mind to focus, another trick he remembered.

‘Why are you looking at me like that? You’re giving off some serious serial killer vibes, you know.’

‘Why did you take the last three pages from the book? I don’t know who did it.’ He held up her sticky note.

She laughed. He used to like that laugh, now he kinda hated it.

‘I didn’t think you’d read that far.’

‘You hid the TV remote and left me no choice.’

‘You only have old movies to re-watch for the thousandth time.’

‘I stream stuff, too.’

‘Probably rodeos.’

‘So?’ He liked rodeos. ‘What do you watch when you’re on your laptop at night?’ He’d caught her a few times, in the middle of the night, huddled at the dining table, chewing on her thumbnail. Izzy only did that when she was worried, and something big must be bothering her to have her working so hard.

‘I’m reading.’

No, it was more than that. Something wasn’t right.

Izzy picked up her empty pots and gardening tools and smiled. Not at him, but at the garden.

But that smile transformed her face, like she’d turned on a light that radiated within her brown eyes, along with that soft curve of those luscious, kissable lips into a truly dazzling smile he hadn’t seen in years.

It was enough to make him lean against the fence, to sigh as he admired it. ‘Why are you smiling?’

Izzy seemed so pleased with herself, which made him pleased for her. It was a nice change from bickering or playing mind games with each other. Maybe they could be friends. Right?

But Craig also knew, no matter how hard he might fight with her, he always had a soft spot for Izzy, that he’d eventually give in to her. And Izzy truly had his best interests at heart, she always had. How they became enemies was lost on him, when it was a struggle to keep fighting against her.

‘Look.’ She waved her hand at the garden. ‘I’ve always wanted to do the veggie garden thing. Not that I’d ever do anything as intricate as Bree’s heritage garden, but it’s homely, you know.’

‘You never did one in the city?’

‘Well, I did micro-greens in jars—sprouts, herbs—under grow lights in the kitchen for a bit, and I have a house plant called Brian. But…’

‘Let me guess, you went on to another project?’

She shrugged.

Izzy had the habit of tackling ten different projects at any time. She had a cupboard full of one-off hobbies she’d started, mastered, and soon forgotten. Because of her hyper focus for projects, they usually came with a two-week time limit and then she’d get bored and lose focus. By the looks of things, that two-week limit was about to expire for cleaning the house. ‘Did you paint the sunroom?’ It was the only room in the house she hadn’t touched.

‘No.’

‘Why not? We got the paint for it.’

She tugged on one earlobe. It was her trick to slow her mind down to focus on the conversation. It was also cute when she did that.

‘Do you have a lawnmower?’ She turned away with hands on hips, to face the dead lawn.

Ah, the two-week house-cleaning spree was definitely done. Which meant he’d have to finish the sunroom, or she might go back and do it in a month, or five—if they were still here.

‘Just a push mower would be good. Don’t have my treadmill. I miss my treadmill. And my stair-master. I’d do all my emails and other work while getting a workout on those machines. Great for problem-solving, too. You know my motto: exhaust the body to tame the mind . But doing this cleaning helps. It’s an all-over-body workout, with instant results. I’ll pick up some more pot plants to spruce up the verandahs when in town next. That’d be for your appointment. With who? When?’

‘Physio. Tomorrow.’ He tilted his head at Izzy. Had she stopped taking her medications to be rambling so fast like that? ‘Shouldn’t we finish that last room first?’

‘It’s an odd room.’ She pulled the empty planter pots apart, only to restack them in colour-coded order.

‘What is?’

‘It’s a room with an outside door.’

‘The room you called the sunroom?’ From the day they’d inspected the house, Izzy had called it that and it stuck.

Incredibly, in the past two weeks, Izzy had re-grouted the bathroom, done wonders with the laundry, and the rest of the place inside and out, but the last room in her magical clean-up tour was the sunroom, which was supposed to be Izzy’s home office.

When they’d bought the house, they had a plan for their future. Craig would work on their land, in between playing part-time stock inspector at the local stockyards, while Izzy worked from her home office in the sunroom.

But in order to pay for the property, he followed Izzy back to the city where she was offered a super-sweet gig by some fancy firm. To be near her, he took on a job in the city’s export stockyards, where he quickly learned to kill time in the large car park, learning how to track assorted vehicles, as his excuse to avoid paperwork and politics. It was a sacrifice to pay off a large chunk of the mortgage on their dream house and land package, which mostly sat empty except for weekend visits.

‘Do you want me to teach you how to drive the tractor?’ Craig slowly hobbled behind her, using only one crutch, as she carried her stack of empty plastic garden pots to the back garden shed. Outside the shed were buckets, shovels, and all sorts of things, spread out into piles, leaving the shed completely empty. Izzy was definitely done with the house.

‘Why do I need to drive a tractor?’ Izzy put the empty plant pots next to the others she’d found, then sorted them out by their size. ‘You need a pot rack.’

‘I’ll build you one.’ When, how, he had no clue. Be he wasn’t going to argue with her anymore, because the woman had a way of making him suffer when he did.

Plus, it was nice sharing the joy in her days from the simple things of how she’d cook as he helped, reading over the recipe together, tasting it to see if more salt was needed, to sitting at the table to dine together. Simple stuff, that meant a lot. Then, after dinner, Izzy would drag out their kitchen chairs just to gaze at the stars in silence.

But Craig had to remember she was leaving him again, and not only for her job. When the house went up for sale, it would be for good. They were running out of time.

‘I can teach you to drive the tractor.’

‘Why do you even have a tractor? To do the farming thingy?’ Izzy finally looked at him, squinting at the harsh sunlight.

‘I had planned on planting feed crops.’ But the place looked after itself, even with its empty fenced yards, it was in good condition considering it had been neglected for years.

‘That would explain the tractor that’s taking up space in your shed. Or do you keep that big bulky mass of metal just so you can lean against it while you drink beer and pretend to be some farmer?’

He narrowed his eyes at her, gritting his teeth, and got the conversation back on track. ‘I meant I could teach you to drive the tractor so you could mow the weeds along the driveway.’

‘Oh…’ She spun on her boots to face the long drive, giving him a great view of her arse in those old shorts of his. ‘I’ve always liked that driveway. And those trees.’

He’d always liked her arse, and the long ponytail of dark hair that trailed down her back, tempting him to wrap it around his wrist to—

No.

Not a dingo’s chance in Hades was he going back there.

Craig cleared his throat, turning to face the long avenue of shady trees lining the wide track that made up the driveway. It was those trees that had sold them on the place before they’d even seen the house. And if he remembered correctly, weeping paperbarks were Izzy’s favourite trees. She said the nectar attracted bees, and the ever-curious Bee Queen had a thing for bees.

Every time they drove down that driveway, they’d roll down their windows, letting the sweet, honeyed fragrance wash over them as they cruised past open fields, picturing livestock grazing—perhaps a stockhorse or two. As the stress melted away, they’d share a soft smile knowing they were home.

After working on sprawling cattle stations most of his life, Dustfire’s size was a dream. A perfectly manageable patch of land that came with the right amount of working infrastructure, including a house with three bedrooms plus the sunroom-come-office. Even though it wasn’t in mobile phone range, Dustfire was only an hour’s drive from town, ticking off another item on his wish list for his ideal property.

It was Izzy who’d found Dustfire, when she’d heard about the property while working on a deceased estate case. The remaining family were keen to sell.

Back then they were a starry-eyed couple who’d been well and truly living in that sweet honeymoon phase of newlyweds for a few fantastic years, looking for a long-term legacy home to pass down to their children. They talked of orchards, beehives, vegetable gardens, fire pits, home offices, and paddocks that only contained a specialised livestock. Dustfire had a bright future. Once.

Sadly, they’d barely made it past their first anniversary as Dustfire’s owners, and their second as a married couple. Leaving the property to become nothing more than a place for the dust to settle over their long-forgotten dreams, buried under a pile of heartbreak.

Sure, they’d been madly in love but, sadly, love alone didn’t pay the bills. It didn’t help when his wife made the big money, while he was just a lowly stockman. That’s why he took the soulless job as a stock inspector in the city of Darwin—to be with his wife.

It didn’t take him long to climb the ranks in that job. Doing his best to cope with the time-wasting experience of peak hour traffic, bosses who didn’t know one end of a cow from another, Government officials always nosing around to spout some new departmental policy change, leading to more rules, more red tape, more regulations, along with a few vegan protesters for kicks and giggles. He was glad to quit that job and come back to Dustfire.

Sadly, alone.

By then, Izzy was already on the east coast of the country, poached by a high-end Sydney firm. He’d catch glimpses of her on the news after winning some big case. Izzy never spoke to the media, she never smiled when on camera, and she was never the face of their court cases, even though she should have been. Instead, Izzy let the others take the credit, when Craig knew full well it was Izzy who’d done all the hard work. Izzy only cared about the job, she was never one to want the rewards, the glory or the fame. She was one of those rare lawyers with no ambition for power or prestige. Her reward was the personal dopamine hit of solving a puzzle, to then wrap it up neatly before moving on to the next project. He’d seen it in her stance on the TV, living off that natural high.

He was so proud of what she’d achieved, but he also knew that she’d walk away from those press conferences to go crash on her couch and eat ice cream and binge-watch bad reality shows until the next shiny object caught her attention.

Right now, this property held Izzy’s attention. She didn’t look like a high-powered lawyer, wearing one of his old shirts and shorts, in a pair of boots she’d picked up from the hardware store, without a skerrick of makeup, and some dirt on her cheek. And she’d never looked more beautiful to him.

He reached out and wiped the dirt off her cheek, finding her skin so incredibly soft.

She stepped back from him, savagely wiping away his touch. ‘Can you trust me with a tractor?’

‘You drive my ute fine.’ He had no choice about her driving his ute around, because his leg still wasn’t up to using the clutch.

He hobbled down the cleaned paths towards the shed. Normally, he’d shorten his stride to walk beside a woman, but not this one. The good thing was he’d never had to shift his car seat after Izzy drove it either. ‘You’ll have to fuel it up first, but I’ll sit with you on the fender.’

‘Can you climb up onto the tractor?’

‘ Buck me …’ Craig stopped dead in the middle of the yard, leaning on his crutch while dropping his head. Containing the fire in his chest had him grinding his teeth. He hated this.

‘It’s okay, honey.’ Her hand rested tenderly on his arm, gently steering him back to the house.

A fortnight ago, he would have pulled away from her touch—just like she did his. But he liked these small windows of time when she felt like the Izzy he’d known so well and still missed. Even if, right now, she was coaxing him back to the house he desperately needed to escape.

‘Have you done your physio exercises?’

‘I’m getting sick of them.’

‘But they’re helping. And you are walking better.’

‘They still suck.’ Strangely enough, they seemed to have bonded over the house repairs and the regular trips to town for his medical issues. But he had to remember he couldn’t get too comfortable with Izzy, not when she’d leave again.

When? He didn’t know, but it was inevitable. She had that big job in the city, on the other side of the country, that was paying her good money.

Craig could never offer Izzy that kind of lifestyle. Not the flash restaurants, the big shopping sprees, nor deep stimulating conversations on law. Hell, he didn’t even own a suit or tie. All he could offer her was peace, even if she was the one disrupting his peace of mind by just being here. ‘Does this mean I get the last three pages of the book?’

‘Deal.’ Her luscious red lips curved into that sly, sexy grin of hers. She enjoyed playing this game. Funny thing was, he didn’t mind because he got to see that spark of mischievousness in her eyes.

‘Hey, if you liked that book, I have another one you might like to read.’

‘As long you don’t rip out any pages.’

‘Promise.’

‘And you haven’t written any answers in the book’s margins to give away the clues?’

She screwed up her dainty nose, only to shrug. ‘I can’t remember if I did or not.’

They were interrupted by a rumble at the far end of their driveway.

‘Is that a Harley?’ Izzy faced the dusty track, where the avenue of trees needed a trim. The weeds too. Heck, the whole driveway needed to be graded. One trip in the tractor wasn’t going fix the driveway that had sold them on the house.

A black bike with shiny chrome detailing carefully wove its way past the many potholes from the last wet season. They’d need a load of gravel to fix that driveway.

‘How do you know what that kind of bike sounds like? Date some hairy biker in the city?’ Didn’t that make his guts churn with heat at the thought.

‘Not like you with your ten dozen buckle bunnies on speed dial.’

‘Do you see any of them here?’ None of them had ever visited Dustfire. He’d been very careful not to tell anyone he had a home, which was easy when half the time he didn’t even know if he was going to be home either. They certainly wouldn’t be visiting now word was out that he had a wife.

‘Who is that?’ Izzy shaded her pretty eyes with one hand.

‘You need a hat.’ He dropped his hat on her head. Then grinned so widely at how she looked, it almost had him rocking on his boot heels—if he had any on. ‘Where are my boots?’

‘Hmph, you’ll get them when we go back to town. If I remember where I put them…’

‘Please, no.’ Because it was quite possible that Izzy would forget. Craig had been finding all sorts of things in the oddest of places, like eggs in the bathroom, soap in the fridge. Signs that Izzy needed to establish her morning routine, and soon.

‘Next time we’re in town, can you remind me to buy a hat?’ She adjusted his hat to shade her face.

‘Sure.’ He was used to reminding her of times and dates.

Yet he grinned wider at Izzy wearing his hat that was too big for her. It was his hat, on his wife’s head! Hello, sweetheart.

‘Why are you grinning at me like that?’

‘Do you know the cowboy-rule about wearing a man’s hat, especially a stockman’s hat?’ Izzy looked super sweet and sexy in his hat, he had to turn away from his wife.

Ex- wife. Although, technically, they never did get divorced.

The loud bike arrived with a rider who had big shoulders. The noisy engine reverberated off the shed and house until it stopped to suck the noise into a heavy silence that was like being stuck underwater.

Izzy hid behind him, gripping the back of his shirt.

What was she so scared of? When Izzy was normally very inquisitive.

‘It’s okay, Izzy.’ To console her, Craig rubbed her arm, while the level of protectiveness smoulder into a wildfire spreading across his chest. This was his land, and this was his wife, and this was their home . He turned to the rider. ‘Who are you?’