The Loner's Guarded Heart. Michelle Douglas

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      One uncompromising word, but it lifted the weight settling across her shoulders. See? He did have a kind heart. For dogs.

      It was a start.

      Kent leapt up onto the tiny veranda that fronted the cabin and pushed the key into the door. Josie started after him then swallowed. The cabins all looked really tiny. She’d hoped…

      The door swung open and she gulped back a surge of disappointment. When Marty and Frank had said ‘cabin’ she’d thought…Well, she hadn’t expected five-star luxury or anything, but she had hoped for three-star comfort.

      She was landed with one-star basic. And that was being charitable.

      Kent’s shoulders stiffened as if he sensed her judgement and resented it. ‘It has everything you need.’ He pointed. ‘The sofa pulls out into a bed.’

      Uh-huh. She took a tentative step into the room and glanced around. Where were the flowers? The bowl of fruit? The welcoming bottle of bubbly? There wasn’t a single rug on the floor or print on the wall. No colourful throw on the sofa either. In fact, there wasn’t a throw full stop, grey or otherwise.

      Admittedly, everything looked clean, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. By the light of the single overhead bulb—no light shade—the table and two chairs gleamed dully. Would it really have been such an effort to toss over a tablecloth and tie on chair pads?

      ‘The kitchen is fully equipped.’

      It was. It had an oven and hotplates, a toaster and kettle. But it didn’t have any complimentary sachets of tea or coffee. It didn’t have a dishwasher. She hadn’t wanted the world, but—

      An awful thought struck her. ‘Is there a bathroom?’

      Without a word, Kent strode forward and opened a door she hadn’t noticed in the far wall. She wasn’t sure she wanted to look.

      She ordered her legs forward, glanced through the door and released the breath she held. There was a flushable toilet. And a shower.

      But no bathtub.

      So much for the aromatherapy candles and scented bath oils she’d packed.

      ‘What do you think?’

      Josie gaped at him. The question seemed so out of character she found herself blurting out her first impression without restraint. ‘It’s awful.’

      He stiffened as if she’d slapped him.

      ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, but it’s a dog kennel.’ In fact, she bet Molly’s quarters surpassed this. ‘It’s…Do all the cabins have the same colour scheme?’

      The pulse at the base of his jaw jerked. ‘What’s wrong with the colour scheme?’

      ‘It’s grey!’ Couldn’t he see that? Did he seriously think grey made for a homely, inspiring atmosphere? A holiday atmosphere?

      He folded his arms. His eyes glittered. ‘All the cabins are identical.’

      So she was stuck with it, then.

      ‘Look, I know this probably isn’t up to your usual standard,’ he unfolded his arms, ‘but I only promised basic accommodation and—’

      ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Tiredness surged through her. Was this all Marty and Frank thought she was worth? She gulped back the lump in her throat.

      ‘Like you said, it has everything I need.’ The greyness settled behind her eyelids.

      CHAPTER TWO

      KENT strode off into the lengthening shadows of the afternoon, his back stiff, his jaw clenched. For once he didn’t notice the purple-green goldness of the approaching sunset. He skidded to a halt, spun around and slapped a hand to his thigh. ‘C’mon, Moll.’

      Molly pricked her ears forward, thumped her tail against the rough-hewn boards of the cabin’s veranda, but she didn’t move from her post by Josie’s door.

      Oh, great. Just great.

      ‘See if I care,’ he muttered, stalking back off. Solitude was his preferred state of affairs. Josie Peterson was welcome to his dog for all the good it would do her. Molly wouldn’t say boo to a fly.

      Birds of a feather…

      Up on the ridge a kookaburra started its boisterous cry and in the next moment the hills were ringing with answering laughter. Kent ground to a halt. He swung back in frustration, hands on hips.

      These cabins weren’t meant for the likes of her. They were meant for men like him. And for men who lived in cities and hungered to get away occasionally, even if only for a long weekend. Men who wanted to leave the stench of car exhaust fumes and smog and crowds and endless traffic behind. Men who wanted nothing more than to see the sky above their heads, breathe fresh air into their lungs, and feel grass rather than concrete beneath their feet. Men happy to live on toast and tea and beer for three days.

      Josie didn’t want that. She’d want spa baths and waterbeds. She’d want seafood platters and racks of lamb and soft, woody chardonnays.

      And he didn’t blame her. If she’d just lost her father she probably deserved some pampering, a treat, not this rugged emptiness. Her brothers had to be certifiable idiots.

      He kicked at a stone. He couldn’t give her spa baths and seafood platters.

      A vivid image of mousy Josie Peterson lying back in a bubble-filled spa rose up through him and his skin went tight. She didn’t look too mousy in that fantasy.

      He scratched a hand through his hair. Idiot. The kookaburras continued to laugh. Their derision itched through him. He surveyed the cabin, hands on hips. Not a sign of movement. His earlier vision gave way to one of her lying face down on the sofa, sobbing. He took a step towards the cabin.

      He ground to a halt.

      He didn’t do crying women. Not any more.

      A month. A whole month.

      His gaze flicked to her car. He wasn’t a blasted porter either, but that didn’t stop him from stalking over to it and removing two suitcases and a box of groceries. Or from stalking back to the house, grabbing a bottle of chardonnay and shoving it in an ice bucket and adding that to the items piled up by her front door.

      He bent down and scratched Molly’s ears. ‘Keep an eye on her, girl.’ That would have to do. Common decency demanded he check on her in the morning, then his neighbourly duty was done.

      If she hadn’t already had a crying jag when perched in the clothes-line, Josie would’ve had one now. But she decided one a day was enough.

      A whole month. She was stuck out here for a whole month. On her own.

      She tried to repress a shudder. She tried to force herself to smile as she glanced around the interior of the cabin again. She’d read somewhere that if you smiled it actually helped lift your spirits.

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