Great scones in Scone.
Tempted by a saddle in Tenterfield.
All of them signed HG. She wore the Golightly nickname as a badge of honour. A charming, careless ne’er-do-well, heedless of responsibility and prepared to let her grandmother subsidise her lifestyle. For Mona, he swallowed his disapproval.
“Speaking of which,” Holly said. “I’d best get some breakfast myself. Let you two discuss business.” The vagabond blew a kiss on her way through the door.
She had Mona’s eyes. He’d seen photos of her around the house. Easy on the eye. Appealing rather than beautiful until you learned enough to make you wary. Her eyes were a surprise. The same shape, the same colour as Mona’s. Finding she had Mona’s clear, direct gaze was an unwelcome distraction. And she smelled of honeysuckle.
* * *
Spotting a minibus in Mona’s driveway, Holly parked Norman in the empty street, folded her hands on the steering wheel, and rested her chin on them.
“Game on.” The minibus testified to kids in Mona’s backyard. Holly had coaxed names and physical descriptions of the eight kids in Mona’s care from her before Kit’s arrival.
Staying until Mona was completely fit was a no-brainer. She’d promised. Negotiating with the censorious Mr. Silverton might be trickier.
The man didn’t like her. His problem, and she wasn’t looking for a friend. But she’d have to learn enough about the project so she didn’t step on anyone’s toes in the short time she’d be here. Given he was now the boss, she’d have to deal with Kit Silverton. She pushed herself out of the van. Her first task was making the calls to cancel her music festival jobs for the next fortnight.
The noise of an argument hit Holly first. She rounded the back of the house. Bedlam ruled. Eight children between the ages of eight and twelve—although the blonde-haired, girl fairy sitting in the mud looked younger—and two adult women, all talking at once and waving their arms in all directions.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” a scrawny boy, knee-deep in mud, shouted.
Silence fell.
Chapter Two
“I want the rest of you to go and stand under that tree.” Anger vibrated from the younger adult; a flaming redhead dressed in work gear. She pointed in the direction of an old gum tree, her outstretched arm shaking, although she didn’t raise her voice.
A few of the children shuffled toward the tree, following the older woman who seemed to accept the redhead was in charge. “Let’s sit on the grass,” she said. “Is anyone else wet?”
The boy in the mud clenched his fists, his body taut as a pulled rope. The fairy sat in the mud beside him with—Holly took a closer look—Bella between them.
“Did Bella make that mess?” Holly wandered toward the mud pack. Bella’s tail thumped, churning up more mud, which spattered the boy’s shirt.
The redhead, Holly christened her Rusty, looked her up and down dismissively. “Who are you?”
“Mona’s granddaughter, Holly.” With her vow to make this work front of mind, Holly held her hands up in the universal sign of peace. “And currently in charge of the monster, marauding dog.”
The children under the tree eyed her with interest, while the two in the mud watched her warily. Each had placed a hand on Bella when Holly badmouthed the dog.
“How’s Mona?” asked one of the bigger girls.
“Mrs. Cooper,” Rusty corrected in a long-suffering voice.
“She said to call her Mona,” the girl insisted.
“I call her Mona.” Holly took a few steps closer, her movements relaxed and her smile easy. “She hates me calling her Gran. Says it makes her feel like Methuselah. She was sitting up and talking this morning. She can’t come home yet because the doctor wants a few days to make sure she’s fully fit.”
“It was my mattock.” The muddy boy stuck out a pugnacious chin, but the shadows under his eyes told of a sleepless night.
Holly ached to wrap her arms around him. “It was Max’s fault.” She took another step closer. “He escaped, and she went out to look for him. Damn cat.”
“Damn cat!” the fairy repeated.
Holly waded into the mud and caught Bella’s collar. “Let’s get you out of here, girl.” She could have sworn the dog grinned but allowed herself to be dragged toward dry land. Holly glanced over her shoulder. “Are you two coming?”
The boy put an arm around the fairy and helped her to her feet before they staggered after Holly.
“We can do this two way—” Holly began.
Bella shook herself and mud flew in all directions. The children under the tree giggled. Even the older woman’s lips wobbled, while Rusty backed out of reach, her face screwed in revulsion. Her quick retreat protected her from the worst of the airborne muck.
Holly, with her hand still linked in Bella’s collar, mentally consigned her last set of clean clothes to the washing machine. “As I was saying”—she winked at the fairy who stared at her out of wide eyes—“I can hose us down out here, or we can use the shower inside.”
“I don’t like cold water.”
“Just cold mud.” Holly reached to touch the girl’s shoulder, but she shrank back against the boy. Holly let her hand fall and glanced from one face to the other. “Let me guess. He’s your brother?”
The girl-child nodded.
“I’ll call for a taxi to take them home.” Rusty pulled out a phone.
She was about Holly’s age, thirtyish. Old enough to know sending them home early and mud-covered counted as punishment. Life had punished them enough. Mona’s gardening project was supposed to be a joyful experience for them, not more grinding down of their spirits.
Holly studied the two children. The boy’s fists were clenched again, and he stood slightly in front of his sister. She offered a compromise. “A taxi might refuse to carry them. Let’s clean up first.”
Rusty bristled. “You have no authority here.”
Holly clamped her jaw shut on the words, I know what the hell Mona would do. The woman was right. Holly had no authority and planned on leaving as soon as Mona was on her feet. By Mona’s account, the project had been chugging along nicely for two months, and it wasn’t her role to upset established routines and hierarchies. Although the fairy looked at her expectantly.
“I should have locked Bella in the house when I left this morning. I wasn’t thinking straight.” Holly smiled an apology, willing the woman to accept the compromise. “She can’t resist water and dirt.”
“Billy left the hose on.” Rusty planted her hands on her hips, determined to sheet home responsibility to the boy.
“Okaaay.” Holly gripped Bella more tightly. Rusty, or maybe the Rottweiler was a better name, wouldn’t let this go. Insisting on making a damaged boy the culprit of a harmless game stirred Holly’s usually placid temper. “Billy and I will both stand in the naughty corner after we’ve cleaned up.”
The older woman stepped forward with a placating gesture. At least she had the wits to sense the situation was escalating from slapstick to bad farce. Holly tried to recall the details of the crew Mona had on this project. Kit, a gardening teacher, a psychologist, and Mona. From the clothes and the attitude, Rusty was the teacher, and in the absence of Mona and Kit, the older woman, the psychologist, was letting Rusty take the lead on mud and dirt.