The Protea Boys Read Online Free Page A

her shoulder, convinced her voice was coming from somewhere else, as though it didn’t belong to her.
    “Come back to my place and have a cup of coffee? It’ll do you good. It’s still early. I’d love to show you the new accommodation. I’m really pleased with it. You can give me some horticultural advice.”
    “Anything but proteas are fine, and the coffee sounds fantastic.”
    ***
    Tom slid back in behind the steering wheel of his car and jammed the key into the ignition, satisfied the wombat was now in good hands, but slightly irritated by the morning’s delay. He pulled out onto the road and headed back down the winding road to his brother’s restaurant in the village.
    Miss Georgina Martin appeared to be a little accident-prone. He looked back into the rearview mirror and shook his head as he passed the bend where he’d found her this morning. His brother would give him heaps about it when he told him. The mere fact that he’d asked who she was had been enough to start tongues wagging, and then Nick had a go at him about women falling at his feet and accused him of becoming the local Lothario. Now he’d have to tell him he’d galloped to Georgina’s rescue, and Lancelot would be added to his list. He shrugged. The news would be all over the village in five minutes flat anyway.
    Tom scanned the road edges as he drove. No matter how prepared, or how careful, it was a horrible shock to run an animal over. At least she’d had the presence of mind to check the pouch and keep the critter warm. The memory of Georgina backing up, ready to fend him off, made him smile. Serious lioness syndrome—protecting her young. And she looked pretty good in those tight black exercise pants and the little crop top, too, way better than the bloody awful cargo pants and boots she’d been sporting the day she came into the restaurant. Tom shifted around in the driving seat as unexpected warmth surged in his groin. First thing he’d do when he got back was get out of the damn moleskins; they were far too uncomfortable.
    The good news was the vet had sorted out the wombat and seemed to think it would survive if she could find a carer. At least one thing had worked out.
    His attempt last night to visit his parents in Sydney hadn’t. It had been a raging disaster, his mother cold and unresponsive and his father abrupt and overpolite. It was as though he was a stranger. But then he didn’t deserve much better after what he’d put them through. He could hardly stand the sight of himself, so why would they want to look at him? Just a constant reminder of what they had lost and how he couldn’t be trusted.
    The last three months of renovations had been a bit more successful. Another few days of painting and the restaurant would be ready to open, and then he could chase up a real job and hit the road again. Western Australia was the go. With the mining boom, he’d easily pick something up. Not too many people, just wide-open spaces and machinery. He was way better sticking to machinery than people. All care and no responsibility was the way it was going to be from here on in.
    ***
    The steep track wound up the hill and then veered into a dirt driveway where Hillary’s pristine white house twinkled in the early morning sunshine. With the view across the tops of the eucalyptus trees above the valley, it was like being in an eagle’s nest.
    Georgie and Hillary left the cars and picked their way carefully over the piles of mulch and sandstone surrounding the house.
    “The house faces due north,” said Hillary. “So it will be cool in the afternoons, and the decks will get the morning sun.” She tipped her head toward the stocky workman resting on a shovel. He winked at them both and resumed his digging. Hillary’s eyes sparkled. “Hi, Carl. How’s it going?”
    “Not bad, not bad, but we’ve only got time to work until lunch today, and maybe we can come back in a week or two but...”
    “But what?” The dramatic roll of