The Other Side of Us - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,14

give it to him if she were in Gordon’s position.

Please, please, please don’t let that happen.

She wasn’t even remotely hungry but she forced herself to make and eat dinner. In the good old days, she’d lived on Diet Coke, black coffee and take-out meals. These days, she made sure she gave her body what it needed to recover—organic vegetables, lean protein and all manner of virtuous things. She sat on the window seat in the living room and watched the trees thrash around in the rising wind while she ate her chicken stir-fry. The storm showed no signs of abating. Hardly unusual stuff for the Mornington Peninsula—she’d already endured several storms like this since she’d taken up residence in the beach house—but pretty spectacular to watch from the comfort of a warm, cozy house.

Her gaze was drawn to the golden light spilling from the house next door. It was strange to see it lit up after all these months of darkness. If her new neighbor hadn’t turned out to be such an uptight ass, she’d have welcomed the signs of life. But after this morning’s dressing-down, the only thing she’d welcome was his departure.

She made a rude sound in the back of her throat as she remembered the way he’d looked down at her from his position on the fence, telling her how to manage her dog and acting as though Mr. Smith was some kind of pirate king who had buccaneered his way into the neighboring yard and raped and pillaged its doggy occupants. Last time she’d looked, dogs were animals, with all the attendant urges and instincts of animals. Clearly Oliver was one of those uptight dog owners who policed their pet’s every move. No doubt poor Strudel lived a regimented life full of rules and regulations.

Poor Strudel. Probably those few illicit seconds with Mr. Smith were the most fun she’d had in a long time.

Mackenzie scooped the last mouthful of rice from her bowl and swung her feet to the floor. She wasn’t going to waste another second thinking about Mr. Uptight. Life was too short.

She was in bed by nine o’clock, listening to the rain drum against the tin roof. She drifted into sleep and woke to deep darkness and the sound of running water. For a few seconds she thought she’d left the tap on in the en suite bathroom, but it didn’t sound like a tap running. The rain was still thrumming against the roof and pelting the windows and a horrible suspicion crept into her mind. She threw back the covers. The ominous feeling intensified when she discovered Mr. Smith was missing from the hallway outside her bedroom. Not a great sign. She turned on lights as she moved through the house, checking first the open-plan living area at the back before making her way to the front.

She found Mr. Smith at the door, ears up, posture alert in full defcon-five watchdog mode.

“What’s going on, Smitty?”

He turned and gave her a darkly knowing look.

“That bad, huh?”

She opened the door—and froze.

Water rushed down her gravel driveway, a muddy brown torrent filled with leaves and gravel and other debris. Once it hit the paved area in front of her house, it had nowhere to go, and a lake was forming on her doorstep, the water already lapping at the bottom step.

Dear God, she was about to be flooded.

For a moment shock stole her capacity to think. She stared at the swirling, dark water, unable to comprehend what was happening. Then, suddenly, her brain snapped into action. There was a storm drain across the driveway. In theory, it should be channeling this deluge away from the house. Which meant it must be blocked. Maybe if she could unblock it, she could avert disaster.

Maybe.

She was barefoot, so she raced up the hallway, snatching her rubber boots from the laundry, along with her garden gloves and the yard broom.

She was soaked to the skin the moment she stepped beyond the shelter of the porch, sheeting rain turning her tank top and pajama bottoms into skintight apparel. Squinting against the downpour, she made her way to the drain. The problem was immediately apparent—gravel had washed down from the road and filled the grate covering the long channel, rendering it all but useless and creating a bridge for the water to reach the house. She pulled on the gloves and squatted, scooping the gravel away from the grate. She swore under her breath when she saw that as fast as