The Other Side of Us - By Sarah Mayberry Page 0,51
time, this calmness seemed too new and—dare he say it?—too temporary. He decided not to examine the situation too closely lest he jinx himself and welcome back the anger.
He was rinsing his plate at the sink when he heard the scrape of metal on concrete. Curious, he walked into the living room to look out the side window. Dressed in her workout gear, Mackenzie was clearing the gravel from the paved area in front of her house.
As she transferred a load to the wheelbarrow she’d positioned nearby, he remembered the nasty job it had been cleaning up this place—and he hadn’t been flooded the way she had. He’d ached for two days after—shoveling gravel was hard work. It had taken her days to recover from their late-night battle with the water, and he could only imagine how exhausted she’d be today after hours of spadework.
“Stubborn idiot.”
He knew her well enough now to know she would have convinced herself she could handle it. It would be a point of pride for her, a way of proving something to herself.
Not your problem.
It wasn’t. He had more than his fair share of work to tackle on this side of the fence. The kitchen was only half-sorted, and there were still various cupboards, the attic and the rear shed to clear out.
The scrape of metal set his teeth on edge as Mackenzie hefted another shovelful. He watched as she tipped it into the wheelbarrow then paused to wipe her forehead and survey the remaining gravel. After a few seconds, she squared her shoulders and set to it again, the plucky little engine that could.
He shook his head, annoyed with himself and her. She wasn’t his responsibility. Far from it. Yet there was no way he was going to be able to listen to her toiling away, potentially exhausting herself, without doing something to help.
Which probably made him a misguided sap of the worst order.
So be it.
More than a little bemused at himself, he went to change into his work clothes.
CHAPTER NINE
MACKENZIE DUMPED a shovelful of gravel into the wheelbarrow, enjoying the feeling of using her muscles for something real instead of a series of pointless exercises on her gym equipment. It felt good to be outside, accomplishing something, instead of floating around aimlessly inside her house and her own head. Ever since she’d learned via Patrick that her job was history she’d been living in a sort of holding pattern, allowing herself a chance to regroup without the pressure of expectation.
There was only so much regrouping she could tolerate, however. She wasn’t used to floating around. She was used to setting goals and going for them, hell for leather. The problem was, several days of allowing herself downtime hadn’t teased a new goal or direction out of her subconscious. She still had no idea what to do now that she’d reconciled herself to the fact that high-pressure, long working weeks were not a realistic possibility for her anymore.
Hence the shovel and the gravel. The storm damage needed clearing, and even though it was something she could easily pay a handyman from the village to do, it was also something she could tackle herself, and she damn well would.
It didn’t hurt that it was also a great distraction from the deeply uncomfortable, awkward conversation she’d had with Oliver. She’d embarrassed both of them last night, and while she’d tried to explain to him this morning that her rejection had been more about her than him, she was aware that she’d been woefully inarticulate. It would serve her right if he avoided her like the plague for the rest of his time in Flinders.
It was an unpleasant thought and she pushed it away, concentrating on heaving her latest shovelful into the wheelbarrow. She assessed the growing pile of gravel. The wheelbarrow was half-full, and she was conscious that if she made it too heavy she’d struggle to push it up the driveway. She set down her shovel and tried the handles. Not too bad. Another few shovelfuls wouldn’t hurt.
The sound of footsteps made her glance up. Oliver appeared around the curve in her driveway, dressed in faded jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, a shovel balanced on one shoulder.
She was momentarily arrested by the sight he presented. Then her brain kicked in.
“No,” she said, holding up a hand to halt his progress. “It’s a lovely offer, but I couldn’t possibly let you do that.”
His gaze swept over her body and she was suddenly acutely aware of the