Snowy Mountains Cattleman, page 4
Rowan shook his head, keeping a firm hold on the reins. ‘They’re as bad as Bundy and Orien.’
Whenever Bundy stayed, Clancy’s silver tabby cat went from having a hissy fit at the kelpie to curling up on the mat beside him within five minutes.
Once at the stables, he and Heath unsaddled the horses before Heath headed off to his art studio near the cattle yards. What felt like a lifetime ago his parents had set up the old shed for Heath to use when his father had refused to allow him to paint. Even though Heath had left Bundilla for almost a decade, the art studio had remained untouched. Rowan’s mother had always said, with a gentle smile at Clancy, that one day he would return.
The sound of dogs play-growling came from behind the drystone garden wall, causing Rowan to take the long way round to the 150-year-old coach house. The summer after they’d lost their parents, he and Clancy had renovated the red brick building as a way to work through their grief. When the growling stopped, he quickened his pace. Before he faced Primrose and Monet’s puppy exuberance, he needed caffeine.
Thanks to stealth and luck, he managed to reach the coach house undetected. He opened the front door and walked into a kitchen filled with the aroma of banana and cinnamon. Clancy had baked his favourite morning smoko. Through the living room window he could see his sister hanging out washing on the Hills hoist. Even now the old clothesline had a tilt thanks to him swinging on it as a kid. He grabbed two muffins and went out into the back garden to help her.
He arrived in time to rescue a tea towel that Primrose and Monet were playing tug of war with. Clancy gave him a thankful smile as he picked up the washing basket so it was now out of reach of the cream golden retriever and chocolate-brown kelpie who gazed at him with innocent eyes.
‘Butter wouldn’t melt,’ Clancy said with a laugh as she reached for a hand towel.
‘Still glad to be home?’
Clancy’s smile was sunrise bright. ‘You have no idea.’
‘Thanks for the muffins.’
‘Anytime. Mabel called. Your Grace has already caused quite a stir. She was in the grocery store late yesterday with Bundy and had half a trolley of cleaning items. According to Cynthia she doesn’t say much but is stunning.’
‘She’s not my Grace … she’s my boss.’
‘You like being your own boss.’
‘I do.’ He handed Clancy the last of the washing. This conversation couldn’t end fast enough. He couldn’t have his sister sense that Grace had already made an impact without him even having started work at Crookwell Park.
‘How was her night with the possums?’
‘I’m not sure. I didn’t hear from her so everything must have been okay.’
Clancy stopped hanging out a pink shirt with her peony flower farm logo on the front pocket. ‘Why haven’t you called to check?’
‘I only have her email.’ He thought back to Grace’s independence and reserve. ‘I also get the impression she wants to be left alone.’
Clancy’s hands rested on her hips. ‘Possum shrieks can make a horror film sound like a Disney movie. If she had a bad night, she very well could have packed her car and left.’
He frowned. He hadn’t picked Grace for a quitter but she was dealing with far more than possums in her roof, and the cottage wasn’t the most comfortable place to live. For some reason the idea of Grace being gone sparked a sense of alarm.
Clancy’s brow arched. ‘Exactly.’
‘You’re right.’ He handed the empty basket to her. Instead of reaching for his phone to check his emails, he turned to leave. His restless energy was too impatient to wait for a typed reply. He needed to physically confirm whether or not Grace was at Crookwell Park. ‘Need anything in town?’
‘Tell Grace she’s welcome for dinner.’
Rowan hoped Primrose and Monet’s new bout of wrestling covered his groan. He didn’t need to see Clancy’s face to know what she was thinking. A smile had been in her voice. A smile he wasn’t so sure solely stemmed from him admitting that she had been right.
CHAPTER
3
Grace cleared her throat as the young male assistant in the Bundilla rural store waited for her to answer his query as to how he could help her.
‘Where do I find the possum nesting boxes?’
At the first bang of the roof last night she’d stirred. By the time the thumps had turned into the scrape of claws running a marathon above her head she was fully awake. Then the screeches and hissing started. She’d welcomed the dawn by searching on her laptop for the best way to handle sharing her life with the local wildlife. While she knew her plan to give her possums a better place to nest was an approved relocation practice, she still felt guilty at wanting to evict her furry tenants.
‘This way.’
The assistant, who had recognised her from when she’d picked up Bundy’s dog food the night before, led her past shelves of unfamiliar rural items. When he stopped at a section filled with varnished and unvarnished wooden boxes she knew she wasn’t the only customer to have come inside the store sleep-deprived.
‘Any suggestions?’ she asked.
‘This one. It’s ready to be installed.’ When he gave her an encouraging smile she figured other customers more awake than her had asked for the quickest solution.
She took hold of the varnished nesting box he passed her and then reached for two more. ‘One possum couldn’t possibly have made so much noise.’ She glanced hopefully around the store. ‘I don’t suppose you have a ladder and anything else I’ll need?’
It was only once the nesting boxes, ladder, tool set and wire were paid for that she realised she wouldn’t have a hope of fitting everything into her sedan. She took in the ladder’s length. Last night she’d stood on a chair to reclean the cottage walls, but such an improvisation wouldn’t work for the nesting boxes. According to what she’d read they had to be installed at a height of around four metres.
‘Just do a mainy,’ the assistant said with a grin. ‘There’ll be someone there with a ute who’ll help, especially if Bundy’s with you.’
‘Mainy?’
‘Walk along the main street.’
‘Ahh … right.’
Small towns might be relaxed and sociable but big city habits were hard to break. There was no way she was getting in a random stranger’s ute even if Bundy was with her.
‘Or I can make some calls?’
The idea didn’t fill her with enthusiasm. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open. Making chitchat with someone, even if the assistant knew them, was hard enough when she was awake. But there was someone who had a ute and who she’d already covered all the getting-to-know-you basics with. Even if Rowan was the last person she should be calling.
At the pinnacle of the possum celebrations, she’d twice reached for her phone to text him only to put her mobile back on her bedside table. Technically the possums weren’t an emergency. She was also supposed to be self-sufficient. As for now asking him for help with the ladder, the truth was that after her poor night’s sleep she’d need more time before she saw him. There could be no repeat of how she’d felt so out of her depth when around him yesterday.
‘Thank you but I’ll think of a way to get the ladder home. Can it stay here while I do some more shopping?’
‘No problem.’ The assistant moved the ladder to behind the counter.
She collected her smaller purchases and made her way outside. At first glance Bundy didn’t seem to be where she’d left him sleeping in the shade of a gum tree. Then she saw the kelpie having his photo taken with two small children. A dark-haired girl and a little boy had their tiny arms around him. Grace’s steps slowed as she watched the mother snap a photo of their beaming smiles.
Guilt merged with her exhaustion. There was one thing she’d run out of time to give to her parents. Grandchildren. It wasn’t that she didn’t want a family, she did, she’d just thought she’d have longer to find someone to grow old with. Her attention stayed on the children as the sister took hold of her brother’s hand to steady him as they walked over to their mother. Grace swallowed past the lump in her throat when the mother drew them in close for a hug.
All she could now do to honour her parents’ memory was to restore Crookwell Park, and to do this she needed sleep. She loaded the items into the boot of her car and with a sigh took her phone from out of her tote bag. And to sleep she needed her cottage possum-free. Now wasn’t the time for her vulnerability when around Rowan to become a liability.
She opened her emails to find where Rowan had listed his number. She tapped off a message before she could change her mind.
Hi. Grace here. If you have a minute, I’d appreciate a hand with something that won’t fit in my car.
She hesitated, debating whether she should add more, and then typed a hasty Thanks before hitting send.
A kelpie nose pushed into her hand and she smiled as she looked at Bundy. His steady presence last night had brought an unexpected comfort. It had also been a welcome distraction to think about someone else’s needs. She’d made a place for him to sleep in her room out of a spare blanket even though he’d ended up on the foot of her bed. Then that morning she’d discovered he too liked peanut butter toast for breakfast.
She ruffled behind his ears. ‘Let’s find you a water bowl. I’m sure I saw one outside the café.’
The main street was only a short stroll away so she left her car where it was. With Bundy by her side, she crossed the road. Every shop they ambled past featured a strip of book covers along the bottom of each window. Her mother had been told that they’d been put up to celebrate the very first summer reading festival.
Grace stopped to peer through the window of a bookshop. Beside the door stood an old-fashioned bike on which a display of books was strapped on the back. Stories had been her solace when she was a child and she still loved the smell of a bookshop. Next visit she’d browse the full shelves she could see through the glass. Right now, she had a possum problem to handle.
When they arrived at The Book Nook Café, Grace waited beneath the awning of the newsagency next door while Bundy went to take a drink from the nearby water bowl. She checked her phone but there was no reply from Rowan.
Heels clicked on the cement behind her before a slender figure dressed in a black pencil skirt and cream blouse approached. The woman took off her sunglasses with a smile. ‘You must be Grace. I’m Mabel.’
For a moment Grace thought she was back in the city. Not only was this local dressed in stylish clothes but her shoulder-length brown hair was perfectly straight. Grace resisted the urge to check her tousled hair had stayed in its ponytail.
Grace shook the hand she was offered. ‘Hi.’
Mabel’s smile widened. ‘I’m the local journo and I run Bundy’s social media page.’ She took a card holder from out of her tan leather bag. ‘Feel free to send me any photos.’
Grace cast Bundy a sideways glance to where he sat watching them as she accepted Mabel’s business card. It was no surprise the photogenic kelpie’s celebrity status extended far beyond Bundilla.
At sunrise she’d taken Bundy for a walk and as she’d forgotten her phone she’d missed a shot of him silhouetted against the early morning sky. She had everything crossed they would sleep through tomorrow’s apricot sunrise but if they didn’t, she’d remember her mobile.
‘I’d love to show you around,’ Mabel continued, her tone warm. ‘There’s a local book club, except it’s on hold until after the reading festival, a walking group, or if craft is more your thing, a quilting club.’
‘Thank you, they all sound great, but the restoration is going to keep me pretty busy.’
She didn’t elaborate. The real estate office knew she’d bought Crookwell Park and news would travel fast.
‘Hopefully you’ll have time for a coffee?’
There was something about the sincerity of Mabel’s words that silenced the automatic no on her lips. She’d come to the mountains for solitude and the space to heal, but once Bundy was no longer with her the prospect of being alone in her cottage wasn’t as appealing as it should have been.
‘I will.’ She glanced at the elegant print on the business card. ‘I’ll give you a call.’
When Mabel smiled, Grace found herself smiling in return.
After a farewell pat to Bundy, the journalist continued on her way, waving to people as she passed the café tables overlooking the footpath.
‘I’ll just get a quick takeaway coffee,’ Grace said to Bundy as she hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. She felt strangely reluctant to leave him. Maybe he’d be gone when she returned. The kelpie wagged his tail.
Except when she walked away, instead of staying where he was, Bundy came with her. Once through the café gate, the kelpie made a detour to the left. In the far corner of the outdoor eating area Grace caught sight of a dog bed. Bundy flopped onto the stretched canvas and with a sigh closed his eyes.
An elderly gentleman with polished brown boots held the door open for Grace and she thanked him with a nod. Once inside, the aroma of fresh coffee and the walls full of books had her reconsidering her takeaway order. With Bundy asleep outside, there was no need to rush. She spied an empty table at the back of the room and after making her order took a seat.
Engrossed in a book, she didn’t initially hear the ring of her mobile. She fumbled through her bag to find her phone and answered before she realised it was Rowan’s number on the screen.
‘Hi.’ She kept her greeting low so as to not disturb the table next to her but also to hide her uncertainty. She’d been expecting him to text not call.
‘Sorry I didn’t ring earlier. I’m on the road and was in a reception black spot.’
‘It’s all good.’
She kept her reply short to hide how much the deep timbre of his tone made her wish he’d keep talking. She’d never noticed before how good a man’s voice could sound. Sleep deprivation had a lot to answer for.
‘You need help loading something into your car?’
While his words were light, she didn’t miss the underlying tension. Just like yesterday she was aware of a suppressed energy beneath his easygoing surface.
‘It’s more like I need something picked up. I bought a ladder so my possums can have somewhere else to party.’
She thought the phone signal had dropped out but then Rowan replied. ‘Too easy. Is it at the rural store?’
‘Yes, but it’s okay if you’re busy.’
‘Definitely not busy.’ His tone had relaxed. ‘Where are you in town?’
‘At the café.’
It was only after she’d answered that she questioned how he knew she wasn’t at Crookwell Park. What sounded like a nearby conversation murmured in the background before Rowan said, ‘Make sure you try the death-by-chocolate brownie.’
Still trying to work out where Rowan might be, she didn’t pay attention to the café door opening until broad shoulders in an emerald green shirt blocked the doorway. The distance between them didn’t dilute the potency of Rowan’s smile as he looked straight at her.
She slowly lowered her phone. So much for believing the next time she saw Rowan she’d have her wits about her. If the flurry of nerves in her stomach was anything to go by, not even her double caffeine hit was going to help her get through the next five minutes.
Rowan slipped his mobile into his front shirt pocket and slowed his pace as he wove his way through the café tables. The relief that Grace was in town and not halfway to Sydney coursed through him like an adrenaline rush. When he’d gone to the cottage and found it locked and her car gone he’d acted on impulse, despite his best intentions, and headed to town to discover if anyone in the real estate office knew anything.
He risked a glance at Grace, knowing he only had seconds to turn into Captain Serious. Today she again wore all black and her long hair was pulled into a high ponytail, though wisps escaped to frame her pale face. Yesterday’s smudges of exhaustion were now purple shadows beneath her eyes. Guilt had his jaw tighten. He should have contacted her last night.
A slim blonde gave him a smile from where she stood behind the coffee machine frothing milk. ‘The usual?’
‘That would be great, Beck. And one of your brownies.’
Her smile grew. He knew how early she would have been up that morning baking and he always bought something to go with his coffee. His sweet tooth was a running joke around town.
By now he’d almost reached Grace. He’d have a quick chat and then sit at a nearby table. She hadn’t yet smiled, even though when they’d spoken on the phone her voice had been less reserved than when they’d met. As he drew near she moved the stack of books on the tabletop to make room for him. He hoped his expression didn’t convey his surprise or his hesitation.
As much as the thought of her leaving had set him on edge, the prospect of sitting across from her proved just as unsettling. Yesterday whenever near her he’d breathed in a subtle floral scent that reminded him of the honeysuckle that rambled over the Ashcroft stone garden wall. He might now be standing a body length away but he still could catch a delicate flower fragrance amongst the other coffee shop aromas.
In his peripheral vision he saw a pair of grey nomad tourists seat themselves at the empty table he’d been planning to use. Even though this must have been why Grace had moved her books, his gaze met hers to double-check it was okay to join her.
After she’d gestured towards the seat opposite her, he sat, making sure his knee didn’t bump hers in the tight space.
When she didn’t break the silence, he initiated the small talk. ‘Bundy’s out for the count.’
‘I’m sure he is.’
‘I owe you an apology. I should have messaged last night to check how you were going and given you directions to my sister’s.’
Grace shook her head, the tip of her ponytail swinging over her shoulder. ‘No apology needed. I wasn’t expecting you to and I wouldn’t have wanted to impose.’
‘I’ll pick the ladder up as soon as I leave here.’
