Man Drought by Rachael Johns Page A

and posts – apparently he’d renovated the farmhouse at Roseglen a few years back, and the verandah was one of the major improvements. But, of course, he’d declined.
    She’d had to force herself not to roll her eyes and scoff when Charlie put in Gibson’s apology. He’d offered to lend his sander but was far too busy to lend himself. Well, that was fine with Imogen. She didn’t want to put him out.
    But Charlie didn’t want to leave things there. He’d apologised a number of times on behalf of Gibson, who appeared to have ceased his daily visits to the pub. Mostly, Imogen was happy about this fact. The cranky glare he bestowed on her whenever he sat at the bar made her feel uncomfortable, as did the reactions his mere presence sparked deep down in her core.
    She shivered simply thinking of them.
    She didn’t need grouchy patrons and she certainly didn’t need to be distracted by unexplained and unwanted feelings when she was trying her damn best to be professional and make a go of this. But she felt sorry for Charlie, who clearly missed his grandson’s visits. Gibson’s absence unnerved him and he talked about him much more than before. Worst of all, he felt the need to explain, to justify and make excuses. She supposed it was sweet, but the last thing she needed was a reason to feel sympathy towards Gibson. Unfortunately, earlier that day, Charlie had provided one – touching that kind heart Imogen still needed to harden.
    He’d caught her coming out of the office, and just by the gleam in his eyes, she knew he was about to launch into another conversation about his precious grandson.
    ‘I’m a bit busy, Charlie,’ she’d said, her arms laden with old account books she planned on storing in a back room. ‘Can it wait?’
    ‘Here, let me help.’ Charlie put his arms out to take some of her load.
    Great
, now it would take them twice as long to get to the storeroom and back again. ‘Thanks,’ she said, trying to keep the exasperation from her voice.
    Sure enough, as they started down the corridor, Charlie launched into his favourite subject. ‘I know you and Gibson didn’t hit it off to start with, but he’s really not as awful as he makes out.’
    ‘I know he’s your grandson, Charlie, but to be honest, I don’t waste too much time dwelling on his standoffishness. I have bigger fish to fry.’
    Blatant lie – she thought about him much more than she liked. There was no reason she should think about him at all. If she were going to start pondering being with a man other than Jamie – and she wasn’t – there were so many that should have been higher up the list than Gibson. Any of the other pub regulars, for a start. All of whom appeared to be kind-hearted, fun, hardworking and, although not quite as jolt-your-insides good-looking as Gibson, certainly smiled more. She liked smiling.
    ‘Good. I’m glad.’ Charlie entered the storeroom behind her and put his pile on a shelf. ‘But I still want to explain. He’s my family and I wouldn’t want you to think we raise them grumpy and rude in the Black clan.’
    ‘He hasn’t been rude, exactly,’ Imogen began. ‘More like quiet and reserved.’
Hah!
    ‘His wife left him a few years ago,’ Charlie announced. ‘He was a mess.’
    ‘Oh.’ Her chest tightened. Why hadn’t she expected something like this? No one got to be like Gibson without good reason. Butwhat kind of woman would leave a man like him? Despite the rudeness, the sex would have to set your sheets on fire.
    Argh! Here I am, pondering the horizontal mambo again. What’s wrong with me?
    She laid her books next to Charlie’s and leaned against the wall. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
    Charlie shrugged and adjusted his hat, as she noticed he did whenever he spoke about something close to his heart. ‘Serena was never cut out for country life. Gibson was too blinded by lust to see that.’
    ‘And love?’ She couldn’t help herself.
    ‘Oh, he loved her all right. Was