Grace Under Fire, page 9
She closed her eyes on dangerous temptation. “Time to step away, Ryan.”
“Why?” He released the curl, the back of his hand brushing the bare skin between her shirt collar and neck, then trailing over her shoulder in seductive retreat.
Putting some distance between them, she divulged her dilemma. “I haven’t found a single person who has a bad word to say about you. Mr. Donovan, Bess, Dad. You’re stacking up the referees.”
“Do you need referees?” His question was loaded enough to start a flashfire in her blood.
“I make up my own mind.” Apart from her family, Grace gave her trust sparingly. Relying on herself in her business and in life had risen from the ashes of Danny’s death and Smithhouse’s swindle. Ryan was shaking up the certainties she’d depended on.
“Have you made up your mind about me?” He dared her to answer.
You tempt me as a man. You confuse me in the way you do business. “Almost.”
“Have dinner with me tonight?” The intimacy in his husky invitation shivered through her.
“Why?” She, who never played games, was flirting. Yes, please.
“Consider it a job audition. You said you wanted me to hire you.” He switched to business. “Here’s your chance to prove you’re more than just talk.”
“It would be better to have the conversation out at the farm.” She’d flunked flirting as badly as she’d flunked self-promotion.
“I’m doing the hiring.” His mouth tipped up in a grin. “I get to nominate the location for the interview. Antonio’s, I think.”
The best restaurant in the area. “I’ll meet you there.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ryan rose when she appeared at the restaurant entrance. She’d dressed for business—country business, jeans and her boots. But the jeans were black, not her usual blue. The shirt brushing the tops of her thighs was a deep bougainvillea pink. She wore her hair short, and he’d bet she’d cite practical reasons for it, but it suited her, following the shape of her head. He liked the way the curls clustered when she was hot and sweaty after her deliveries. He’d like to get her hot and sweaty. She smiled at the guy allocating tables. Ryan knew the moment she spotted him. Her smile became uncertain, and she stood a little straighter. The blood drained to his groin. Yeah. He’d known the moment he’d got close to her at the field day he had a problem.
“Hi, Grace.” Ryan moved behind her to pull out her chair. Her light, fresh scent teased his nostrils—flowery, and he remembered—Sweet Peas. His mother’s favourite flowers. They’d filled the house when he was a child, and he’d never had a single lustful thought. “Would you like a drink while we look at the menu?” He gestured to the leather-covered folder in front of her plate.
“A glass of wine, please. Red, dry.”
“They have a good merlot by the glass.” He watched her eyebrow shoot up. “I checked before you arrived.”
“Sounds good.”
Ryan signalled the waiter and ordered the drinks. “Eat here often?”
“We came for Mum’s birthday last year. They do some clever things with vegetables.” She opened the menu. “I’ve copied a few recipes.”
“Do you like to cook?” he asked.
Her head lifted. She had a strong face. The light makeup couldn’t hide the impact of unrelenting work days and worry about the bank’s verdict on her future. He ached to trace the dark circles under her eyes, to make them disappear, but touch wouldn’t pay her bills, and touching her would make him want more.
“If I’ve got time.” She turned the conversation back to him. “What about you?”
“Grills, simple dishes on a regular basis. Got tired of eating takeaway, plus I was on a budget.”
“Saving to take over the world?” She relaxed a fraction.
“You could say that.” Although all his income in the first two years had gone back into helping his mother, paying for Bluey, paying down debt. He’d kept enough to survive.
The waiter returned with wine, poured them each a glass. “Can I take your order, now?”
“Give us a few more minutes, please.” Ryan opened his menu. Something had happened to distress her since he’d seen her this afternoon. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. “Any suggestions?”
Her head was bent in deliberate study. “I remember the duck being wonderful.”
“Duck it is.”
The waiter magically reappeared, took their orders, then returned with fresh bread rolls.
“Is your cheese on the menu here?” Ryan started with an easy question.
“Not yet.”
“I like your optimism and your ambition.” He’d had it once. Dreamed of turning their farm into a district showcase with him building a life in the valley.
“Are you teasing me?” She flopped back in her chair.
“Guilty as charged. You demand it. You’re so single-minded.” He’d teased her when she’d run free in his home, when she and Danny were like puppies rolling over each other. Now, Ryan wanted to help her. For once he didn’t know where he was heading with a woman. They had no future, yet her eyes, her hair, the smell of her, and the feel of her skin—silk—the few times he’d had a hand on her were a constant distraction.
“I thought you wanted my ideas on your farm?” She took a cautious sip of her wine.
“And heaven help us if we deviate, by so much as a hair’s breadth. Any room in your life for nuance, Grace?”
“I can do shades of grey,” she muttered mutinously. “But some things are right and some are wrong.”
“Indeed, they are. But I’m talking about casual conversation. You say something, I say something, you reply.”
She stared at him blankly.
“Do you think you can handle that?” He waited for her to take the bait.
“Ask me a question,” she snapped.
Ryan tore a bread roll in two. A small victory, leaving him wanting more. “Why did your father sell some of his best acreage to a charlatan like Smithhouse?”
She swirled her drink, then set it down. “Surely there are people all over town rushing to answer that.”
“I’d rather hear your version.” His mother had told him about Elaine’s tractor accident and about mounting medical bills. She hadn’t talked about Grace.
She shook her head as if baffled. “A few years after you left, Mum had a serious tractor accident. We needed cash. Smithhouse advanced some on a handshake and verbal deal with Dad.”
“Any witnesses?”
“You do remember Smithhouse.” She sounded grim.
“I’ve had the odd run-in with him,” he replied. Smithhouse had wanted Donovan’s farm for a housing development and had been mightily pissed when he’d discovered it was sold before it went on the open market. Not a good enemy to have.
“Ella was the witness. Didn’t stand up in court, because she was nineteen, related, and likely to lie.”
“Did the person making those claims recover from the beating?” Ryan soaked up Grace’s helpless rage.
“We lost, had to sell to pay the debt.” She winced. “Smithhouse claimed the deal included the top of the valley.” Then, as if the words were forced from her, she added, “Dad took a long time to come to terms with the loss.”
She’d been her father’s shadow for as long as Ryan could remember. She adored him. An attack on him was an attack on her. It explained her reluctance to accept help with the farm—her sometimes aggressive independence. Memo to self: any deal he did with her would have to be watertight legally for her to feel safe.
“It made Ella more passionate than ever about justice. She’s manager of a community justice centre.” Pride brought a brief smile to Grace’s lips.
“Is that how she met the big-shot lawyer?” He’d done his own research on Jake Taylor, Taylor Law, one of the top Sydney firms.
“Two years ago, his cousin, Tessa’s biological father, who’d never shown any interest, tried to take Tessa away from us.” Grace would have seen that as theft as well. “Needless to say, he didn’t succeed.”
“The Andersons stick through thick and thin.” Ryan admired her family’s loyalty, her loyalty to those she loved, even when she ranked him as an outsider.
“With the minor exception of my ostracising Chrissy.” Grace rolled her eyes.
“Surely it’s time to forgive yourself for that.” He also admired her capacity for self-reflection and contrition—after she’d blown a gasket. “I wouldn’t have made Brian an offer if I’d known what you were dealing with back then.”
She lifted a shoulder. “We didn’t spread it around.”
“How did the luscious Rochelle get to own the land?” He liked Grace’s furrowed brow, her quick scan of his face, her slight irritation, and hoped she’d reacted to the term “luscious.” Testing her interest in him was half tonight’s purpose.
“I’ve never fully known.” She frowned. “She must have been waiting in the wings, because while we were still reeling from the loss of the land, she’d moved in and started building.”
“Interesting,” he murmured. Closer to fascinating if Rochelle had been on hand to take advantage of Smithhouse’s duplicity and get all the building approvals up so fast. She appeared to have the ear of the council heavyweights.
“To be brutally honest, she’s created jobs and buys local.” Grace made the reluctant admission.
“A paragon of virtue.” He raised his glass, watching her over the top.
Her brows drew together. “Better than some of the alternatives.”
“So, Ella focused on justice for the underdog. What did you channel your rage into?”
Grace was silent a long time, and he’d given up on an answer. “Making the farm viable. Trying to make it future-proof.”
“Life’s a bitch!” Ryan observed. But her honesty gave him an opening. “What happened between this afternoon and now?”
She fiddled with a fork. “Why do you ask?”
“The shadows under your eyes, the worry in them. Any news from the bank?”
“I dropped in to see the broker.” Her huff of breath lifted her fringe. “The valuation’s in, and he says the bank’s getting antsy.”
“I’m guessing over a million.” He kept his voice easy, afraid of spooking her because Grace Anderson sharing her worries with him shifted something inside him. “Define antsy.”
“I expected the valuation.” She traced the outline of a dollar sign with the fork. “The deposit will be higher than I hoped, although the broker’s positive he can keep it to twenty percent.”
“That’s steep. Did the bank have other suggestions?”
“They said if I had a partner it might make my proposal more appealing.” She bristled like a chook who’d had an egg pinched from under her.
Ryan was getting used to her instant default to fight not flight. Now he’d learned more about how they’d lost their land, he understood her defensiveness. Understood it bumped between them, complicating their relationship. Initially Danny’s death stood between them, but she didn’t want a partner in her land or life any more than he did.
“It’s a big responsibility for a young woman,” she repeated someone else’s words.
Ryan shared her disgust. He could picture the fat-cat banker mouthing them.
The waiter returned with their meals. “Would you like another glass of wine with your meal, madam, sir?”
“I’ll sit on this one,” she said. “I’m driving.”
Ryan shook his head. “That’s a kick in the teeth when you had a succession plan in place. Doesn’t our banker know that?”
Slicing into her duck, she sampled a mouthful. “It’s delicious.”
Ryan picked up his knife and fork. “Changing the subject?”
“Eating a good meal while it’s hot.”
“Then we’ll enjoy this and the rest of the wine before we talk business.” He forked up a bite. “It is delicious. If you want to try and imitate this recipe, I’d be happy to be your guinea pig.”
“In your dreams.”
“You’re very interested in my dreams, Grace. Tell me about yours?” he purred.
She flicked him a suspicious look, and he winked.
“If they’re anything like mine, they’re probably X-rated.”
She lifted a hand to disguise the giveaway heat rising up her throat.
“Indeed. Best stick to talking about cheese making,” he murmured. “At least over dinner.”
She did, interspersing her descriptions with hand gestures and her own questions about the use of robotics on organic farms as well as non-organic farms.
“They work, despite the scuttlebutt around town.” He’d worked hard to be impervious to mean-spirited gossip.
“I try not to listen to gossip. Mostly because it often slips into mud-slinging.” She wrinkled her nose. “I like to make my judgements based on evidence and facts.”
The waiter moved in to remove the empty plates. “Coffee or dessert.”
“Perhaps a coffee in ten minutes,” she said.
Ryan nodded in agreement, and they were alone. Unwilling to disturb the harmony they’d established over dinner, he was tempted to lean closer, to touch her with more than his gaze. The urge to keep talking about her dreams was harder to explain, an intellectual intimacy that made him yearn for a different kind of life. But he’d invited her here for a purpose, other than the one he’d admitted to. “There’s another option for you to own the farm.”
“I have to make a lot more cheese to reach a twenty percent deposit in six weeks.”
“Sell me some of your land.”
She withdrew as he’d anticipated into her protective shell. “I don’t want a partner.”
“I’m not offering to be a partner,” he insisted. If she accepted that basic principle, he might have a chance of helping her. “I’m offering to buy some of the land, so you have the deposit to buy the bulk of it. Free and clear in your name.”
She picked up her glass of wine, then replaced it, untasted. “Why?”
“I’ve told you. Scale is everything in farming.” He gave her the plausible excuse.
“What about my scale?” she asked crossly.
Ryan leaned back in his chair. “You ultimately want to convert your entire herd to organic milk production or cheese making. You’ll have the premium that comes with organic and the control of your own farm. It’ll take years before you want or need to grow your herd.” Logical arguments were the only pathway to a win-win outcome.
“Is this what you’ve wanted all along? Why you’ve pretended to be helpful?” She lifted her chin combatively.
“I’m not Smithhouse, Grace.” He took a swig of his wine to wipe out the bad taste left by her suspicion.
“I owe you another apology.” She pleated the linen serviette and drew an audible breath. “You paid above market rates for the Donovan place.”
He didn’t need her trust. It was a business deal, pure and simple. And if they went to bed, that was a different transaction, consenting adults acting on an attraction. He didn’t need her trust there either, so why was he sweating on it? “Do you object to me leaving town or earning enough money in my absence to join Donovan’s farm to Mum’s?”
She cocked her head to one side. “You don’t see it as yours.”
“Is this some word game?” he snapped. “Mine. Mum’s? Who cares?” His mother had given most of her adult life to the farm. His contribution had been cash and a failure to be there at the most important moment in his brother’s life.
“I do cryptic crosswords, and I like word games, but I was making an observation.” Grace’s voice dropped. “To be honest, my animosity is because you weren’t here when you were needed.”
“I can’t change that.” Ryan absorbed the sting her words brought.
“I needed you.” Her expression told him she’d surprised herself with those words. “I mean—"
“I know what you mean.” Ryan lifted a hand and let it drop onto the table. His fingers curled into a fist. “I couldn’t talk to anyone that day. I couldn’t bear to bury him.” Some of the bastards in town had taunted Danny as if it were a blood sport. Brutish, mob-rule baiting had contributed to his brother’s death. They’d made it easy to cut emotional ties to this place. “If I’d opened my mouth, I would have abused every bastard who came to gawp.” He pressed his fingers flat. “Or have beaten the shit out of them.”
She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. The warmth offered comfort to the boy he’d been. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”
He turned his hand over and linked his fingers with hers. “You cared, and you were angry. That meant a lot.”
Her courage in refusing to ignore Danny’s death when everyone else in town pussyfooted around it acted as a balm to his bruised spirit. She was prickly, argumentative and he couldn’t for the life of him explain why that added to her attraction. Her eyes opened wide, and for a moment he imagined drowning in those sea-green pools. He knew he wouldn’t feel a thing. Just go slowly under, mesmerised by the lure of those depths.
A tanned, telegenic early forties woman was veering in their direction. Ryan released Grace’s hand, easing back in his chair. Soon after his return to the valley, he’d made it his business to find out about the woman regularly heading down the valley road in the direction of the Ridgeway Wellness Centre. She’d made it her business to introduce herself at business forums, to be omnipresent at community ones. She’d weighed him sexually and professionally and found him wanting. That amused him. His taste didn’t run to women who’d swallow you whole. In the last fortnight Rochelle had unexpectedly dropped in, claiming she was just passing and wanted to catch up on local news. His mother didn’t raise an idiot.
“Why, Grace, it’s unusual to see you here.”
“Hello, Rochelle.”
“And with Ryan?” She pushed a thick wave of auburn hair behind one ear, a deliberately provocative gesture, and leaned closer. “How fascinating.”
“We’re talking about robotics,” Ryan offered.
“Not a partnership?” Rochelle wore another of her flowing caftans. This one in muted colours, designed to accentuate her femininity, yet despite her gruff exterior, Grace struck him as the softer woman.
