Grace Under Fire, page 7
He shrugged. “He was decent to me.”
“I forgot.” She trawled through her memory. Ryan had started doing odd jobs when he was twelve. She’d been pretty sure even then his pay went back into the farm. “You worked for him sometimes, didn’t you?”
“His girls were much older than us. It was already clear they didn’t want to take over the farm.”
“He had secret hopes of grandchildren for a while, especially his oldest grandson.” She’d trade information for a chance to prolong her first almost friendly conversation with Ryan.
“He didn’t say. What happened?”
“The digital revolution held more appeal.” She whistled as they entered the shed. “City folk tend to forget we’ve got our own digital revolution. Wow!”
“Take all the time you want. I’ll be in the office”—–he pointed—“over there.”
“I just might.” Grace waited for him to disappear before she did a happy dance. For a blissful hour, she poked her head into every corner, examined every piece of equipment, did a quick survey of the area immediately outside the shed and observed healthy cows lazily chewing cud. Ryan called out to her. She pushed her hands into her pockets as they headed toward the house.
“I visited a pilot farm at Camden, on the outskirts of Sydney a few years ago.” She couldn’t contain the questions bubbling inside her. “How’d you get interested?”
“An old bloke I worked for in New Zealand experimented a bit. A shortage of decent hired help, he said”—Ryan paused—“before me.”
“No family?”
“He sent his kids away to school and uni. They lost interest in the farm. Like too many farmers these days, he’d told them it was tough for so long, they weren’t prepared to try it.” He slowed his pace, matching his strides to hers. Walking together was companionable.
“It’s a common enough pattern, plus family farms don’t often support more than one child taking over.” That’s why Grace’s parents had worked so hard on a succession plan.
He stopped, his hands in the air. “Don’t tell me! EJ was busting a gut to be a farmer.”
“About as much as Chrissy was. Mum and Dad had a succession plan—me. And an estate plan.” Her parents had broken a country taboo and talked about land and distribution of inheritance with their children.
“Smart man, your dad.”
“Reality has slapped our plans around a bit.” She liked hearing Ryan praise her father.
“When my bloke died, his kids got the dividend. He was open-minded, flexible and had the curiosity of a child. I loved working for him.” He gave her another piece of himself.
“Why did you leave?” She hadn’t known he’d been in New Zealand. Had he ever considered not coming back? He hesitated, and she had her answer. There’d been a time when he planned never to return. If Danny’s death had driven him so far away, what had induced him to come back?
“He encouraged me to move to bigger spreads, get a range of experience, especially in Australia. Because I’d come from here.” He was answering her questions, actually talking to her, and Grace hungered for more. “I can offer you tea and cheese biscuits. Good cheese I’ve been told,” he added cheekily. He bought her cheese.
“You’d get it cheaper if you bought it directly from me.” Her stomach did a double flip. Another reason for her humble pie today. “The last two calls I’ve had for cheese said you referred them.”
“Just being neighbourly.”
A harmless word when he wasn’t. Not to her. Accepting help required a level of trust. Hard for her when suspicion about backstabbing deals had become her starting point—a necessary protection. Her physical response to Ryan didn’t fall under the heading of harmless. A steady hum of excitement when she got close. Don’t go there! “Who made the biscuits?”
“Perhaps I did.”
“I’m not that gullible.” She smiled, pushing her hat back.
“So, are you prepared to risk tea and biscuits with the devil?” He halted at the veranda steps.
She pointed at the dog. “House-trained, is he?”
“As much as I am.”
“Then I’ll give you both a chance.”
Pushing the unlocked screen door open, he waited for her to precede him. A few steps took her from the unseasonal heat haze of the day to the welcoming cool dimness of the dark wainscoted hallway. She removed her hat, letting her eyes adjust, and he bumped into her. A second. Long enough to know his body was work-hard, to feel the solid outline of him against her back. A pulse in her temple jumped. She inhaled his distinct woodsy scent and had to fight the urge to lean back into him for more. Her breath stalled in her throat.
“Straight down the hall, Grace,” he growled.
She knew her way blindfolded. And befuddled! The layout was as familiar as her parents’ home. Built around the same time but without the additions and renovations her parents had made. His kitchen was new. He must have gutted the original to make way for this spacious, open-plan space. Only the fuel stove stayed in position, although the ancient relic she remembered from her last visit to the property had been replaced by a new top-of-the-line Aga.
“I like what you’ve done here,” Grace said. The back wall had been knocked out, replaced with insulated floor-to-ceiling glass, letting in light and a gorgeous view of the distant hills. Every piece of furniture had been replaced, from the sideboard holding crockery and glassware to the wooden table dominating the centre of the room. Second-hand furniture, so he hadn’t opted for modern when his mother moved out, just different.
“Thanks.” He passed her to move the kettle onto the hotplate. The dog curled up on a mat beside the fireplace with the ease of a regular routine.
“It was dark and depressing the last time I was here.” She’d avoided the place since Ryan had taken up residence.
“It was always dark and depressing,” he replied.
“Only after Danny died and you left. Before that it was filled with laughter. His laughter, your mother’s, even yours.” She remembered Ryan’s smile from their childhood. Rare, slow in coming, a gleam appearing in his eyes while his face remained sombre, then his face would crack as if a belly laugh had burst inside. She’d liked seeing it as a kid, had taken it for granted as an adolescent. “I don’t think I’ve seen you smile since you got back.”
He tipped his glasses down his nose, crossed his arms and leaned back against the stove.
“Ella and the babies coaxed a half smile out of you. That mutt of yours manages more, but me, I haven’t seen a real smile yet.”
“Do you want me to smile at you?” He dropped his glasses on the table.
Her toes curled in her boots. The tremble in her loins when he’d offered only a fraction of it to her sister and child warned her his rare smile would have an entirely different effect on her now. She slid into one of the chairs drawn up to the table. “I’ll accept a cup of tea.”
Efficient and practised in the kitchen, he was a man used to looking after himself. As well as working regularly at Donovan’s, he’d picked up a contract doing well-paying grunt work at a mine, where he’d been the day Danny died. Expected to be a breadwinner from childhood, Ryan had shouldered those burdens without complaint. Loaded with work and responsibilities, yet free of the cares troubling him now. Danny’s death had shaped the present for both Grace and Ryan. Unless they talked about it, they’d never be friends. Where had that thought come from?
He warmed the pot, spooned in tea leaves from a vintage canister and took mugs from the cupboard then set them on the table. “Milk, sugar?”
“Milk, please.” She raised an eyebrow when he placed a milk bottle on the table. “No milk jug?”
“It can be arranged.” His voice would curl bark.
“No need.” She’d liked the hesitation, the sense she’d thrown him off-balance, when she was the one off-balance. In a home she knew well but didn’t know at all. Winning his smile might settle her.
“Help yourself.” He placed the teapot and a plate of biscuits on the table. The dog’s head lifted, and his tail thumped. Ryan threw him a biscuit. Took one himself.
“So, what do you think?”
She stirred milk into her tea. “Does it matter what I think?”
“You’ve got a good head for business.”
Her gaze lifted to his, first her cheese, now her business sense. Another compliment, but she was unsure where he was heading.
“Yours was the best booth at the field day, the most eye-catching. And you were the brains behind the picnic hampers walking off a neighbouring stall all day.” He added sugar to his cup.
“Who told you that?” She sipped her tea, studying him over the rim of her mug. Another compliment. His compliments were an intoxicating surprise.
“They did. They stock fruit and pickles. You suggested they team them up with bread, a wedge of your cheese and a good bottle of local wine.” He confessed to cross-examining her friends.
“I was pleased with their success. I didn’t know you convinced the field day committee to include me this year.”
“Pissed you off though.” His accurate reading of her initial reaction when he’d been generous with his compliments threw her back into the role of bad-tempered shrew.
“They should have included me and the other organic producers on sheer merit,” she repeated an old grievance, although Ryan had given his support for the field day long before her parents made the decision to sell, and she wasn’t the only beneficiary.
He held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “I agree. For the record, the mayor, the woman from the tourist office and a few others came in behind me. They argued we’d attract a bigger crowd, make more money for the town and local guesthouses and cafés.”
Grace had expected him to make her feel beholden to him. She’d read him wrong on this too. She moistened dry lips. “Thank you for your support.”
“Sticks in your craw to have to thank me.” He was teasing her—a common occurrence in the past—and enjoying watching her squirm.
“I am not a bad-tempered shrew.” She scowled at him. “I’m trying to be reasonable here, Ryan.”
“If you were being reasonable, you’d use that clever business brain to look at what I’m doing.” He drummed his fingers on the table.
“What exactly are you doing?” Her curiosity trumped her annoyance.
“Getting the properties ready to sell.”
She’d heard that rumour and hadn’t believed it. Couldn’t believe even now he’d choose cash over his heritage—willingly leave the valley when he could afford to stay. “You want someone else to benefit from your sweat and tears.”
“Staying isn’t in my plans.” He drained his cup and rose to his feet.
Confusion had her staring up at him. “Then why the offers for Blue Sky?” Would he tell her the truth? Grace met his gaze. A different tension entered the room. A new negotiation. She’d never accept anything less than a meeting of equals in any area of her life. But her mouth dried—he incited a throb in her blood, a sense of anticipation, a sense he might make love to her with the same intensity he brought to his work, and she’d thank him for his time.
“Scale is everything in farming. When your father refused—"
“You must have expected he would?” she said. His misreading of her father seemed out of character.
He continued. “I went for robotics to achieve the same productivity gains.”
“Productivity gains!” She exploded. His cool calculation of costs and benefits seesawed her back to irritability.
“A seductive promise in modern farming.” His voice made a different promise, tipping the seesaw to something more primitive, and Grace shivered. “Then you’ve got what you want.”
“Not quite.”
His gaze lingered on her lips.
Her heart stuttered. He was as interested in her as she was in him. A heady sensation.
“I’d like some of your river frontage.”
She gasped. “In your dreams.” Images of his rare, crooked grin and work-hardened body had invaded her dreams. She stared at her empty cup.
“How’s it going with the bank?” He was multitasking—simultaneously seducing her and talking business.
“Why is that relevant?” Waiting for the bank’s decision on her loan was akin to water torture—the slow drip of each passing day without a decision like a steady drip of water on her forehead. The initial meeting had been tense. At least on her side of the table. Grace had never had to sit in front of someone detailing her finances, her expenditures, her forecast earnings, hoping they’d find her case convincing.
“I’m guessing your biggest worry is the deposit.” He was relentless. “What percentage are they pushing for?”
“What percentage did they want for Donovan’s?” she countered.
“Forty percent.” Ryan didn’t bat an eye at the mouth-watering amount.
She sucked in a breath. She didn’t have a hope in hell of pulling that kind of money together.
“I’d been out of the district for five years, no credit history, and Mum’s place was—to put it politely—unimproved. I also chose to use the local bank to build a relationship.”
“The local bank is my only option. The broker is supportive. He said he’d push my arguments with the higher-ups.” She bit her bottom lip. Her father had the credit history. She’d tried to do all her transactions for the cheese business with cash. Waiting until she had money before she took each step to expand. “I’m negotiating ten to fifteen.”
“If it doesn’t work out, call me,” he said casually, adding nothing more while waiting for her to precede him onto the veranda. He stayed close to her heels, catching her arm before she stepped off, trapping her between him and the post.
Her body went on alert. “You’re crowding me, Ryan.”
“You’re tempting me. But you know that. Fancy a roll in the hay?” he deadpanned.
She choked on a reluctant laugh. “Only city slickers have fantasies about rolling in the hay.” Memories of her own adolescent experience tumbled back to ambush her. Innocent and joyful. The wicked glint in Ryan’s eyes promised one of the two. “Country people—like you and me—know how uncomfortable it is.”
“Necessity can be a killer.” His voice was a purr, his breath warm and his body close enough for her to be enticed by his spicy aftershave.
“True confessions?” She placed a hand on his chest, creating breathing space. The temptation was shocking. “You don’t like me.”
“I like your honesty.” He traced a finger down the side of her face, the rough pad surprisingly gentle.
The directness of his play for her appealed. The disinterested older brother of a friend had changed in the time he’d been away. He’d developed an elusive charm the boys who’d stayed behind didn’t have. More, he’d developed a fascinating contrariness, making her want to understand the contradictions between the man who revealed admirable qualities to relative strangers, and the man who kept a cool distance from most people. Danny’s death explained part of the puzzle.
“The prickliness is a bit of a trial, but I can cope. And we’re both old enough to know there’s a buzz between us.”
His touch had ignited a fire. Heat pooled low in her belly. “A buzz!” Grace fanned a hand in front of her face. She wasn’t ready for this. She especially wasn’t ready for it with a man with such different goals and dreams. “To return to your very romantic offer. Not right now. But I’ll bear it in mind. Now, I must go.”
“The offer’s separate to any business we might do.” He stepped back, instantly giving her space.
The late afternoon sun crept under the veranda. Ludicrous to be mesmerised by eyes she knew as well as her own. Except lush lashes shadowed the brown depths, making the fanciful part of her imagine his eyes were the colour of liquid chocolate. But they hid secrets. Secrets she was intrigued enough to dig for.
“I took it that way.” She smiled. The man was full of surprises today, and each one had slipped past her guard. “Thanks for making it explicit.”
She’d never been so attracted and so cautious with a man before. Mating, birth and death were as natural as breathing to her. She’d had her fair share of tumbles in the hay, friendships that went a step further, but nothing to distract her from her goal of becoming the best cheese maker in the area, the state. Hey—international competitions were her next step. Ryan had slipped under her skin in a different way. She wanted to be the one who brought a smile to his face. Her way of equaling the odds because he made her feel as giddy as a schoolgirl.
Aware of him at her shoulder, Grace slid her glasses on, imagined him doing the same as they crossed to her vehicle. “Were you serious about the bank?”
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. His fingers stilled on the head of the dog who rarely left his side. “I have some ideas on alternate financing options.”
Another surprise. He’d been buying and selling property for years—successfully. She could afford to listen to his ideas, if it came to it. Listening didn’t commit her to anything, and her pitch to the broker had been strong.
When she glanced in the rearview mirror, he hadn’t moved—a man and his dog. The flutter in her tummy when she was near him was a new sensation. Disconcerting to be physically attracted when she was unsure of the man. Today he’d revealed more of himself. His contribution to their truce. He’d had next to no choices when Danny died, and her rush to judgement then had been unfair.
She was more confident about what he was doing as a farmer. He’d invested in more than robotic milking equipment. There were improvements to pasture and plans for more collaboration with universities and others of like mind in other countries. They were pragmatic decisions. Another contradiction. He worked the land, nourished and nurtured it, but refused to be attached. He’d repair and improve this land and then move on. Leaving her land would be like tearing her heart in two.
