Joshua's Grace

Chapter 4 (1)

One week later Joshua paid Grace an unexpected visit. She was working in, what was laughingly referred to by the family as, the back lawn. The acre, that swept from the house to the beginning of a slight inclination that formed the base of the hills, was almost a paddock. A rough, uneven expanse of land. Part of it served as a vegetable garden and a few flower beds bordered the house and the path leading to the clothes line. But beyond the vegetable plot, the land had been left in its natural state, it was rough, clumpy and during the summer very dry. Occasionally a neighbouring farmer would ask to graze a few sheep there. It was an arrangement that suited the Carvalho family, for it kept the grass and tussock at a reasonable height. At the moment it was clumpy blades and tufts of long knee high dry grass.

The area between the house, the vegetable plot and the clothes line was also what passed for a backyard in these parts. Grace was pushing a dilapidated lawn mower over that grass when Joshua paid her his visit. He hadn't phoned to tell her he would be visiting. She would have dredged up an excuse not to be there, of that he was certain. His plan was to arrive unannounced and work from there. If she let him. Of that he was less certain. He had pensively reasoned the whole thing through. He'd start by apologising, if she'd let him. He wasn't expecting it to be easy or straightforward. But having her on his mind was not conducive to an efficient work load.

She was wearing very short cut-off jeans, a t-shirt that was knotted under her bra-less breasts, and on her feet were a pair of old trainers. Her hair, as usual, was in a pony tail, and as usual, there were several wisps that escaped the confines of the hair tie. She was sweating profusely. The wisps of jet black hair clung damply to her face and neck and her T-shirt was plastered wetly to her back. She had her walkman hitched on the waistband of her jeans and ear plugs fed an endless rendition of indy rock songs into her ears. Singing loudly, and slightly off key, she urged the lawn mower forward. The majority within hearing distance would have considered her singing more akin to yelling. It certainly bore no resemblance to the melody.

Her mind was tuned into hear the music and her other senses had switched off as she carried out the mundane, but necessary, task of mowing the tough strip of grass. She had managed to mow almost half of it and had her back to the house as she made one more sweep up the slight incline. She was leaning heavily against the dilapidated mower as she pushed it steadily along. This was her way of working out, she had no need of a gym.

When Joshua rounded the corner of the house he was surprised into temporary immobility. He had planned his speech carefully. He had logically expected to find her reading or doing what ever it was that lecturers did on their day's off. He hadn't expected to find her pushing a rather ancient manual lawn mower, yelling loudly as she went. Of course he'd heard the racket as soon as he had stepped out of the car, but he hadn't expected it to be coming from her. And he had expected her to stop that racket to find out who had arrived. She seemed oblivious to his presence as she continued to holler loudly. He stopped and watched. It wasn't the sound that paralysed Joshua. What held him transfixed was the expanse of flesh that he had been imagining, dreaming and lusting over for the last week. How could a woman pushing a dilapidated lawn mower look so sexy? And those shorts were positively indecent. He sincerely hoped she didn't wear them in public or beyond the fence line of this property. As far as Joshua was concerned she looked sexy.

He knew she had shapely legs, but the first time he'd formed that impression, her legs had been clad in red denim. This time they were bare and never ending. The sight of her bare midriff was what his fingers remembered. His hands had felt, teased and held that skin only a week ago. His mind had completed the picture for him over the last few days and nights. He grew hard. Taking a deep breath he watched her move. The pony tail of jet black hair bobbed along as she propelled the heavy machine forward. The next time he touched her he was going to thread his fingers through that hair, and hold onto a fistful as he made love to her. He swallowed.