Grace Under Fire, page 1
Grace Under Fire
Jennifer Raines
Table of Contents
Title Page
Grace Under Fire
Dedication | To Jonathan | For Your Love And Support
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Don’t Miss this Award Winning book by Jennifer Raines | TAYLOR’S LAW
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Grace Under Fire
Copyright © 2022 Jennifer Raines
All rights reserved.
ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-958136-36-2
(print) 978-1-958136-37-9
Inkspell Publishing
207 Moonglow Circle #101
Murrells Inlet, SC 29576
Edited By Yezanira Venecia
Cover art By Fantasia Frog Designs
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Dedication
To Jonathan
For Your Love And Support
CHAPTER ONE
To hell with the naysayers and the doubters, she didn’t give a tinker’s cuss what they thought. Grace Anderson was slowly winning over the town. Next, she planned to charm the valley. It might have taken the northern New South Wales field day committee a few years to come to the party, but here she was, artisan cheesemaker with her own booth, her own banners and her own prize-winning products. Grace Anderson’s farmhouse cheeses were smack bang in the middle of the Exhibition Hall, in the middle of the Northern Rivers Showground, reaping the benefits of the biggest crowds on record.
A single bite of her pale golden cheddar, with its hint of sharpness, and people were hooked. Her first experiment in unique cheese; it held prime place in her heart. It’d also won more blue ribbons than her soft cheeses, but a few more years and competitions would change that.
More than a decade of unrelenting work was starting to pay off.
An announcement cut through the buzz of the crowd: The video presentation on the removal of woody weeds and revegetation with local native species will start in ten minutes.
Grace’s order book was bulging, and she’d made a few solid business contacts today. She didn’t mind the work, and the taste of success was sweet. Shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, she rocked back on her heels and allowed herself a grin.
“You look pleased with yourself,” her sister Ella said.
“I am.” Grace leaned across the counter to hug her sister, placing a hand gently on the baby sling housing her four-month-old nephew, and held on.
“Hug me.” The imperious demand from below the counter had Grace drawing back and backpedalling to come around the side of the booth. Ella had nursed their youngest sister, Chrissy, until her death two years ago and adopted her daughter.
Grace crouched to Tessa’s height, and the little girl stepped into her arms. Her niece smelled of vanilla and Ella’s soap. Tessa wrapped her sturdy four-year-old legs around Grace’s waist, anchoring herself in place. Grace grinned at her sister. “When did you get here?”
“About half an hour ago.”
“And Jake?”
“Seduced by a ride-on mower.” Ella nodded in the direction of the pavilion showcasing farm machinery. “Shiny paint, huge wheels and gargantuan blades. The perfect toy for a hot-shot Sydney lawyer who lives in an apartment.”
“How’s the house hunting going?” Normal chitchat when her sister’s visit this weekend was anything but normal.
“We’ve found a bungalow with wide verandas and a large garden.” Ella’s hand cupped her baby’s bottom. “Perfect for the kids. Jake’s put in an offer.”
“Fingers crossed.” Grace held crossed fingers in front of Tessa, who mimicked her action.
“A bit higher than the budget we planned,” Ella confessed.
“Budgets rarely match dreams. I’ve fallen for a German curd vat.” Grace winced. “Much more than the budget I planned.”
“Are you hurting?” Tessa caught Grace’s chin, turning Grace’s face towards her.
“Kiss it better?” Grace pointed to her cheek, and the child planted a sloppy kiss.
“How much longer will you be here?” Ella gestured around the Hall.
“A few hours. Packing up will take another hour. I should be at the farm by about seven.”
“Any clues why Mum and Dad called the meeting?” Ella’s inquiry was laced with concern.
“You know what they’re like.” A united team. Grace had never known a time when her parents’ love wasn’t strong and real—an aura tangible enough to reach out and touch. “A family meeting only starts when all the family’s present.”
“But?”
“Mum’s not getting any stronger.” She’d borne witness to her mother’s steady decline in recent months. Simple household tasks became harder by the day. Her mother thought Grace didn’t notice the tricks her mother had adopted to disguise her frailty. Grace gave her the dignity of pretending not to see. “She’s still struggling from her last bout of pneumonia.”
“Tell me.” With two words her sister shouldered some of Grace’s burden.
“She couldn’t make the bed by herself.” Grace blinked back tears. Yesterday she’d found her mother sitting on the side of the bed, her fingers caught in the folds of the fitted bottom sheet trying to push it over the corner of the mattress. Grace had made up some story to explain her arrival, said she needed something only her mother could find. She’d coaxed her mother out of the room, then remade the bed. “I think they saw another specialist.”
“Since our call last week?” Ella brushed the back of her hand across Grace’s cheek.
“Are you trying to make me cry?” Grace sniffed, then winked at Tessa. “Another kiss to make it better.” The child held Grace’s face with both hands and placed a solemn kiss on each cheek. Grace spun in a circle, delighting in Tessa’s squeals of joy. “I didn’t say anything about the bed.”
“Just like you haven’t said anything about taking over shopping, the housework and the cooking?” Ella pumped Grace for details every time they talked.
“It’s not hard to knock up extra casseroles and soups. They can eat them if they want them.” The food disappeared almost as fast as Grace put it in the freezer.
“They’re intelligent people. They must know it can’t go on like this.”
“They went to town Thursday morning. Dad asked me to do the afternoon milking even though they were home.” She’d spent a sleepless night parsing out the implications of her father’s absence from the shed. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d skipped milking over the years.
“We’ll insist on an answer this time,” Ella said firmly.
“For a family that talks about everything, they’ve been uncharacteristically closemouthed about this.” Grace taking on more work didn’t make a damn bit of difference to her mother’s health. Grace nuzzled against Tessa’s neck, the little girl’s giggles a quiet comfort, smoothing over the tight clumps of anxiety holding Grace’s body hostage.
“Hi, EJ, Grace.”
The deep male voice—honey and smoke—brought Grace’s head up, her antennae on alert. Tessa protested at her firmer grip. Grace hadn’t seen him arrive, and with her sister as an audience, couldn’t avoid the contact. Ryan Wilson was six foot two and topped her by a good four inches. His broad shoulders were encased in standard dairy-country uniform of blue chambray and sleeveless poly fibre jacket. The dark moleskins and battered R.M. Williams boots were another tell of Australian country boy. Ditto with the wide-brimmed Akubra perched on his head. Dark reflective sunglasses hid his eyes, but his mouth was set in a straight line above a square jaw. His skin was tanned to a burnished gold, chamois-soft for a man who lived his life outdoors. Word was Ryan Wilson had lived outdoors in the eight years he’d been absent from the valley.
“Ryan.” Ella’s ready smile curved in greeting. “Sorry I’ve missed you my last few visits home. We haven’t left the farm.”
Grace had been avoiding personal encounters with him in the two years since he’d been home. Quite a feat, given they were neighbours.
His mouth relaxed into a half smile. “You’ve been busy since I last saw you.”
“Meet Tiger.” Ella rested her hand on her son’s head.
“Tiger?”
“He was on the move even in the womb.” Ella laughed. “His b
“Did you want something?” Grace drew herself up to her full height. He had the edge, but she didn’t back away. The prickle of awareness was new to her and oddly disorienting. So, he’d turned into a hunk.
“Just saying hello to all the new stallholders—as a member of the field day committee.” Ryan dared Grace to object.
“Doggie,” Tessa squealed.
Jake continued. “Asking if there’s anything we can do to improve your experience?”
He could take himself off like he had ten years ago. Annoyance did battle with basic politeness. “I’m fine.”
“On the committee?” Ella teased. “The Wilson boy made good!”
“A mover and a shaker,” he replied ironically.
“Doggie.” Tessa wriggled in Grace’s arms, straining to get down.
Grace squatted to face the three-legged mixed breed leaning against Ryan, keeping Tessa within the secure circle of her arms. Ryan could have approached Grace at any time during the long day. Instead he’d used Ella to run interference. His tacit acknowledgement of Grace’s confused hostility gave her pause. Her new-found edginess around him was as welcome as tick-borne disease in her cows and shredded the good manners her parents had taught her.
“Tessa would love a dog,” Ella murmured.
The Oh no! in her sister’s voice had Grace hiding her grin.
“Maybe not yet.” Ella rubbed Kit’s back. “Tess, say hello to Ryan, and he might introduce you.”
Tessa lifted her head, tilted it further back and, giggling, toppled back against Grace. “Hello, big man.”
He hunkered down and slid a hand over the dog’s head, caressing one ear while encouraging the brown and white mutt to sit. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth, and his liquid brown eyes adoringly followed Ryan’s every move.
“Hi, Tessa. This is Satan,” Ryan introduced his companion.
Figures! Grace wished she could see through those glasses, see if there was any hint of apology in Ryan’s eyes. A melt-your-bones brown—not that she’d paid much attention to him years ago on the school bus. He’d been in Ella’s class, whereas his younger brother, Danny, had been in Grace’s. The brothers had shared the same dark brown hair and eyes, the same rangy build.
The stab of grief for Danny ambushed her. One of the reasons she’d kept her distance since Ryan’s return.
“How’d he get his name?” Grace snatched at the conversational lifeline.
“Fought through hellfire to save a few lives. Or his namesake from World War I did. This one alerted us to a fire in a cabin. Didn’t you, boy?” Ryan crooned. “We got the workers out safely, but his leg was badly burned. Had to amputate.” He’d wrong-footed her again by showing a sensitive side.
“Poor baby.” Grace stretched out a hand to the dog and waited until he accepted it before patting him. “Like this, Tess.”
“He’s very gentle. Likes kids.” Ryan’s hand covered Tessa’s, bringing him closer to Grace. Close enough for her to smell man and shared history. Her breath caught in her throat as past and present collided.
“Good doggie. Ellie”—Tessa screwed up her eyes against the sun—“I want doggie.”
“I know you do, darling,” Ella murmured. “We can talk about it with Jake.”
“She looks like Chrissy,” Ryan lowered his voice so only Grace could hear. When she nodded, he continued. “I’m sorry Chrissy died. I haven’t had the chance to tell you.”
“I’m sorry about Dan.” Old despair erupted in a messy accusation. “You never gave me a chance to tell you.”
Ella winced at her sharp response, but Grace had looked to Ryan in the church ten years ago. For help to make sense of the madness? For reassurance? To see if he shared her sense of loss, of waste, of guilt in not being able to prevent Danny’s death. Ryan had refused to talk to her after Danny’s funeral, abandoning her to suffocating grief.
Ryan had been seventeen then to her fifteen, as tall as now but gangly. He hadn’t grown into his build, but the promise of the man had been there. His shaggy hair had been longer. Not long enough to hide his tight, shuttered expression.
The pain of Ryan’s rejection had smouldered inside her, only to flare up now. He’d left town straight after her best friend Danny’s funeral. Hadn’t stayed for the wake or to listen to community condolences. Ryan had spoken to no one. Not even her. Then disappeared. When his mother needed him. Grace had struggled to forgive him for that too. She’d taught herself not to need him, not to need anyone other than her family.
“I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you.” He rose abruptly to his feet, his hands held up in front of him.
She rose with him. Her heart hammered, her hands balled and her legs were planted wide in defiance.
“Are these handmade?” A short, wide woman in a rose-patterned dress had peeled off from the noisy pack surging through the Hall and stood at her stall.
Grace scurried to the counter, a plastic smile plastered in place. “Yes. Farmhouse cheeses from Blue Sky farm in the Ridgeway Valley.”
“Can I try?” The woman gestured to the two breadboards, one spilling over with crackers and chunks of fruit bread with a large wedge of her crumbly cheddar in central position. The second hosted her soft cheeses, a less rustic display, more a sophisticated cheese platter presented as you might a share plate at an award-winning restaurant.
“What would you like first?” The potential customer held only half of Grace’s attention, although her patter was too well-honed for the woman to detect her distraction. Ryan and his give-away-nothing reflective sunglasses occupied her peripheral vision. Ella had always defended him for leaving town. Hers was an easy friendship with him, something Grace couldn’t imagine for herself.
“Nice to catch up with you, EJ.” Ryan turned to walk away.
Ella caught his elbow and linked arms. “Why don’t you escort Tessa and me back to Jake so I can introduce you?” She made a face at Grace, promising a reprimand later tonight for her churlish sniping. “See you later, Grace.”
“The cheddar,” Ms. Rose-Pattern said.
Grace lost her temper when her heart couldn’t make sense of her world, which only compounded her sense of helplessness. She could have—should have—politely accepted Ryan’s condolences for Chrissy. Instead Let Her Rip Gracie had ripped into him, reminding him of that dreadful day. Her gut clenched in contrition. From his reaction, she’d catapulted him back to the incomprehensible hell they’d inhabited after Danny’s death.
“Can I try the cheddar?” Ms. Patient Rose-Pattern had to repeat her choice. The woman skewered the chunk Grace cut with a toothpick, wrinkled her nose as she savoured its earthy scent, then popped it in her mouth. “I like it.” The woman reached for the second chunk Grace had cut. “What’s your average cheddar weight?”
“About twelve kilos.” Grace braced for the verdict, always personal when it was your own creation.
“I’ll take one. I just love the branding. Pretty girls? Is that from the nursery rhyme?” Ms. Rose-Pattern leaned closer. “Are you one of those three girls in frilly blouses sitting on a bench in the photo on your label?”
Grace raised her voice to compete with the booming announcement of the winning ticket for the door prize. “I’m the middle sister. My Nana loved that photo—called it pretty girls all in a row.” Except now Grace had only one sister.
“That’s sweet.” Ms. Rose-Pattern gave Grace a shrewd look. “And your blouse matches the one in the photo. Clever marketing. I’m guessing Blue Sky’s your farm?”
“Family owned and run for four generations.” When Grace took over, it would be five. The continuity was a rhythm beating in her blood, a source of pride as well as a passion. For now, she operated as a subtenant working and living out of the old house her grandparents had lived in until their deaths.
“Was that your sister and her husband?” Ms. Chatty Rose-Pattern stared at Ryan’s retreating back, giving Grace permission to do the same.
“Ella’s my sister. Ryan’s . . .” Not Ella’s husband. Relief pushed jumpy sparks of alarm along Grace’s synapses. I am not interested. “A neighbour.”
“He’s reason enough to move to the country.” The woman’s low-voiced chuckle brought Grace’s gaze back to her. “Easy on the eye,” the woman commented. “Do your sisters work in the business?”
