Christmas at Candlebark Farm by Michelle Douglas

shrugged. ‘Thirty-three.’
    He watched her mind whirl and click, and then her eyes went wide. ‘But that means you were only…’ more whirring and calculating ‘…nineteen when Jason was born?’
    â€˜Yep.’
    â€˜And here I am, wondering if I’m truly ready for all the responsibility at twenty-four. Wow! Nineteen? That must’ve been hard.’
    His gut clenched. ‘Yep.’
    When he didn’t add anything else, she said, ‘I’m a good physio, and I can see exactly how much tension you hold in your shoulders. If you’re not careful you’ll do yourself an injury. And you hold it here too.’
    She lifted a hand as if to touch it to the side of his jaw. His pulse jumped. She jerked her hand back.
    â€˜Sit back in your chair like this. Nice and comfortable.’
    He did as she ordered. He figured it would be easier than arguing with her.
    â€˜Now, relax the back of your tongue.’
    He frowned. How on earth…?
    â€˜It’s located about here.’ She turned her head to the side and indicated the place. ‘Concentrate hard on loosening it.’
    He did. It took a moment to work out precisely what she meant, but when he finally got the hang of it a deep ripple of relaxation coursed through him. He blinked, stunned at the effect.
    â€˜You should try and remember to do that a couple of times a day.’
    He nodded, but it all suddenly seemed a little too chum-my—too…familiar. He didn’t need anyone looking out for him. She was the one who needed help.
    â€˜Back to this house of yours.’ His voice had gone gruff again, but he couldn’t help it. ‘I take it repairs are needed before you can sell it?’
    â€˜Apparently.’
    She pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to him. It was a builder’s quote—and the work it itemised was extensive. He grimaced when he read the total. ‘This is going to set you back a pretty penny.’ Did she have the money? Perhaps she should be looking for a banker instead?
    â€˜The real estate agency organised that last week.’ She paused. ‘Do you think I’m being overcharged?’
    â€˜I’m not an expert, but…’ He raked his gaze down the list again. ‘There’s nothing that jumps out at me from this. Why?’
    â€˜Well, maybe it’s just pregnancy hormones…’
    â€˜But?’
    â€˜Something seems a bit…fishy.’
    â€˜How?’
    â€˜Little things that don’t seem like much but when they’re added together… For example, the estate agent was supposed to take me through the house on Saturday, but something cameup and he was out of the office all day… For some unspecified reason no one else could take me through in his stead.’
    â€˜Weekends are their busiest times.’
    â€˜I know, but when the agent took me through the house today he rushed me through it, barely giving me a chance to get a good look at anything.’
    He frowned. ‘Which agency?’
    â€˜The same one your room is listed with. They booked the room for me.’
    â€˜And why would they send you nearly twenty minutes out of town if all your business is in town?’
    â€˜Exactly. Now, admittedly I was feeling a bit queasy when I was viewing the house, so I didn’t put up much of a fight, but… Have you heard any complaints about the agency?’
    No—but that didn’t mean anything. The few occasions when he couldn’t avoid going into town he didn’t speak to anyone. And no one spoke to him. He’d chosen that particular agency because, unlike the others in town, he didn’t know anyone who worked there—no one who knew his parents, no one he’d gone to school with. That had been the main factor in their favour. But…
    Were these low-lifes trying to rip her off? A pregnant woman? A lone pregnant woman? His hands clenched.