Best in Show

by Lilliana Rose

  Lilliana Rose

  Best in Show

  By Lilliana Rose

  Copyright 2018 Lilliana Rose

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.

  ISBN-13: 978-0648403715

  Book design by Swish Design & Editing

  Editing by Swish Design & Editing

  Cover design by Tracey Soxie Westen at Soxsational Cover Art

  Published by Infinity Dreaming

  Cover Image Copyright 2018

  Maxwell McCarther is a farmer who once burned by love has decided never to open his heart again and is only interested in fun times with women. When exhibiting his cattle at the Royal Adelaide Show this year he meets Zoe Preston, a city girl, sassy, strong-minded, and a ball breaker. Suddenly the wall around his heart begins to crumble, but will he manage to keep his temper in check so he has a chance of love once again.

  Zoe has a high powered job in her twenties, and city life is where she thrives. Until she meets Max, a farmer, who matches her strong will, and sharp tongue. But can she get this tough farmer to open his heart without being hurt? Is this the fling she needs or something more lasting and long-term which has always been her dream? Will farm life be for her even for love?

  Life is often unplanned, and when circumstances force Zoe and Max together, will their love help them find a future together?

  To my dog, Astro.

  You are a star in the sky,

  but it’s not the same

  as having you by my feet

  when I’m writing.

  This book has been written using US English, but the book’s story is set in Australia. Some euphemisms that form part of the Australian spoken word may be used. If you would like further explanation, or to discuss Australia, please do not hesitate to contact the author. Contact details have been provided, for your convenience, at the end of this book.

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Information For The Reader

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Acknowledgements

  Connect With Me Online

  About the Author – Lilliana Rose

  Maxwell McCarther stood in the judging ring holding his breath. He kept his facial expression blank, not wanting to show the nerves that rattled inside of him like a road train out of control. His grip tightened on the rope which held his prized Australian Shorthorn bull, Godzilla. Max didn’t want a drama of losing his bull during judging. He was all for promoting his breeding stock but ending up on the front page of the Advertiser because he owned a crazed bull wasn’t what he was looking for.

  Godzilla moved impatiently. Flicking his tail in a sharp movement that indicated he too had had enough of standing in the judging ring, on the fake lawn, under the marquee, while people sat on the metal stands watching. Max couldn’t help but wonder what the city people thought of this—him standing holding a bull by the rope, in his best cream moleskins, blue Wrangler shirt, and polished RM Williams work boots. Not many of the city folk stayed to watch, but he knew most of the people who sat for hours observing the parade of breeding stock. He tried to forget they were there, his ex-wife used to be one of them. He didn’t want to be reminded of her, and what it had cost him to cut her lose in a long drawn out divorce.

  “Easy boy,” Max said softly. He inhaled deeply to settle himself and then used his left hand to rub Godzilla’s broad nose. The bull exhaled heavily. “Not long.” At least that’s what he hoped.

  The judge, Frances Knott, had been looking between the two bulls for the past half hour, unable to decide which would be the champion.

  Max wanted to win. He always did.

  It’s an easy decision, Frances. Hurry up. Just put the championship ribbon on Godzilla, and we can all go for a beer at the Jumbuck.

  Instead, Frances walked around the ring, looking between both bulls from different angles.

  “He’s always slow,” whispered Nick James, a fellow competitor from Victoria, who’d been breeding cattle for nearly three generations. Just like Max had with his own bloodline, which was started by his great-grandfather and the tradition continued.

  Another reason why Max wanted this win. It would put him in a good position before his stud sale in a few months. He had about a dozen of Godzilla’s sons ready to sell for breeding, and he wanted good prices. Money was always an issue on the farm—the house needed some attention, but since it was only himself he didn’t care. He needed the cash to go towards farm maintenance, which always seemed to be an endless money pit.

  “He sure is.” Max forced himself to be polite to Nick. He didn’t hate the guy, just that right now he was focussed on the competition. He pushed his Akubra hat off his forehead and rubbed the imaginary itch along his hairline.

  It was a close competition. He’d been eying off Nick’s bull, and he could tell there wasn’t much between the two stud animals. Godzilla was a ruddy brown even colour, his body long and broad and full of muscle. If he wanted to, the bull could make a run for it, and Max wouldn’t have the strength to stop him. Hours of walking Max around the cattle yards at night had calmed the one-tonne beast into more of a teddy bear. He rubbed him behind the ears and tried not to think of anything which would unnerve him.

  “Can I have your attention please,” said the Steward speaking into the microphone.

  About bloody time.

  Max prepared himself.

  Frances stood holding both ribbons, the champion and reserve champion. Max didn’t want the purple ribbon of reserve champion. He’d left his farm being run by a new manager this year, Tommy, and taken a risk to come to the show. Now he wanted the payoff.

  “The Reserve Champion goes to Greenfields, Maxwell McCarther, from Hawker. Congratulations.”

  The polite clapping from the spectators grated on Max’s ears. He grimaced as Frances hung the purple ribbon neatly over the back shoulders of Godzilla.

  “A fine animal, Max, your father would be proud.”

  Max shook Frances’ hand and nodded. He still couldn’t believe people said that to him, he was thirty-four and his father had been gone for nearly ten years. For some, he would always be a little boy to them.

  Really, Max just wanted to get out of the ring and go slam down a cold beer. Godzilla was his best chance of a championship, and now that was blown he wasn’t much interested in the rest of the judging. He knew he shouldn’t dismiss the cows he had, but it was the bull he was most interested in receiving the championship prize for. That would’ve given him a boost in stud prices when he came to sell his bulls.

  Nick’s bull was sashed with the champion ribbon, photos were taken, and Max stood while the camera’s clicked, all the time wishing to get the hell out the ring before his temper exploded. He hated sore losers, and right now he wished he could get a hold of himself. He’d never been goo
d at accepting second place. And that included when he lost his wife. She couldn’t cope with the isolation. Left him for a bloody trucker. His past haunted him, and he struggled to push it away.

  Frances had never liked him, and Max couldn’t help but be bitter about coming second because of politics rather than the actual breeding quality. Fucking stop it, he told himself, while he forced a smile once more at the camera.

  He usually had nerves of steel.

  Disappointment flooded through him like the Torrens River, and he felt beat. The photos stopped, and the congratulations ended or more like commiserations, the other breeders now crowded around the winner. He could finally leave the spotlight.

  Dammit. The risk hadn’t paid off.

  “Come on, boy.” He tugged Godzilla, who followed obediently, lumbering behind him as he pushed through the space between people.

  What a bloody waste of time.

  “Hey, watch it,” some young woman yelled at him, her sharp voice breaking through his self-wallowing like a knife to butter.

  She stumbled backward. A young woman, blonde hair perfectly straight that went below her shoulders, she had an oval face, plump lips, and fashionable sunglasses over her eyes, which he suddenly longed to take off so he could look into them. He could tell she worked out, her arms showed a feminine strength, along with her legs as they moved to catch her balance. She was agile, and he couldn’t help thinking she could do a day’s work on the farm. His body stirred, the desires denied so long grew within him with a deep heat.

  “Don’t you bother to look where you’re going?” Her words were defiant, challenging. Women he knew didn’t speak to him like that. Not even his ex-wife stood up to him. She’d hid behind a lawyer. Not that he wanted any woman to stand up to him. Max knew he hadn’t been watching where he was walking, but he wasn’t about to admit he was in the wrong. To anybody. No matter how turned on he was.

  “You should watch where you’re going, especially when you’ve got a cow with you.”

  He could almost see her anger steaming off her shoulders as she talked. “Cow? It’s a bull.”

  “So what. You shouldn’t be so rude knocking me over like that and no apology. You live in the back of beyond or what?”

  The word apology from her sexy lips opened his old wounds. He reacted. “Bloody city girls, no fucking idea.”

  Max continued walking. Her imagine burned in his mind, and her words fuelled a fire that normally would’ve caused him to forget about her, but there was something in her mannerisms he wanted to get to know.

  She was sassy.

  Fuck. He liked it.

  It turned him on like never before.

  Don’t be stupid. She’s city through and through. There’s no way she would live on my farm with me. He’d been down that path before and it was a train wreck.

  He kept walking, focusing his mind on getting Godzilla to the stall, fed and watered before going to grab himself a cold beer. Best forget about her.

  Zoe Preston put her hands on her hips and glared at the rude man walking away. “I thought countrymen had manners.” Her insides shook like poorly made jelly, or a well-made pannacotta, depending what way you wanted to look at it.

  “Are you all right?” her friend Ellie asked.

  “No thanks to him.”

  “Max is such a prick.” Billie put her hand reassuringly on Zoe’s arm. “Don’t worry about him.”

  Zoe watched Max walk away. Dark hair poked out at the back from under his Akubra, he had broad shoulders, set back in an air of overconfidence. Perfect for resting your head on. His waist narrow, arse tight in his moleskin jeans. Lots of muscles to pinch. His long legs moved with a sureness that pulled her in, while the bull casually lumbered behind, purple ribbon on his back moving gracefully despite the strength vibrating out of both man and beast. She swallowed hard against the feelings brewing inside of her.

  He was older than her.

  Too old.

  Perfect for her.

  She’d always been attracted to older men. She didn’t care about what others might have thought, she wanted a man, not a boy. Even though that man, Max, was rude, the strength and manliness he had drew her in. At twenty-five, Zoe knew the sort of man she wanted, and it was always someone older than her, much older.

  “Come on, I’ve got to get back to the Alpacas, and the Grand Parade will start soon,” said Ellie. “Plus, you’ve got to spill the beans on who you’ve all been dating and what the hell you girls have been doing. This is the only time I get to see you, and we don’t have time to waste.”

  “You’re right. I’ll forget about Max and have fun with you gals.” It had been eight years since they had finished high school together, and despite Ellie and Billie living in the country and Zoe in the big smoke, they had managed to keep their friendships going.

  “Where’s Kristie?” asked Zoe, wondering why her friend wasn’t with them.

  “I think she’s found a boy to keep her amused for the show,” said Ellie.

  “Good for her, I could do with one of my own.” Billie walked ahead and looked back over her shoulder. “Hurry up.”

  “How’s the shearing going? Don’t you have a competition at the show this week?” Zoe stepped up to walk next to Ellie.

  “Don’t remind me. Bloody Cooper made it to the finals with me.”

  “Not good?”

  “Nah, we broke up, start of the year.”

  “Sorry, I forgot.” Zoe couldn’t keep up with the on again and off again relationship Billie had with Cooper.

  Billie shrugged her shoulders. “You should come and stay sometime. I’ll find you a country boy.”

  “They aren’t my type.” Zoe laughed. But, she remembered Max, and how heavenly hot he looked. And that she wanted to run her hands down his toned chest muscles, and squeeze his arse.

  Could a country boy be for me? She pushed the thought away. No way.

  Unlike the other two girls, she didn’t feel at home at the show. She was only there to have fun with them, it was one of the ways they could meet up easily. She was a city girl through and through, and the most time she’d spent in the country was the odd week during school holidays at Zoe’s farm. That was a long time ago.

  “Watch where you’re going…” Billie reached out to grab Zoe’s arm. Too late. Zoe stepped right in the middle of a very big pile of cow shit.

  “Bloody hell.” Zoe lifted her foot, screwing up her face at the sight of shit covering her new sandals. She gasped as her mind caught up with the cause of the wet feeling on her skin.

  Ellie and Billie laughed.

  “It’s not funny.” She wasn’t annoyed, it was just that she didn’t have their sense of humour—it was lost in the crap covering most of her right foot.

  “You gotta look where you’re going.”

  “No shit.” She tentatively placed her shoe on the ground and tried to wipe off the brown mess. It didn’t make a difference. Her friends burst out in laughter.

  “You need to do more than that.”

  Zoe looked at Billie. “I know.” She put her hands over her face. The shoes were new, leather, with a little heel. Totally ruined. She could afford it. A legal secretary, she worked long hours and could easily go out and buy another pair, but that wasn’t the point. She didn’t much like her friends laughing at her.

  “Come on, we’ll go find a tap.” Ellie put her hand over Zoe’s shoulder.

  “Maybe we should buy you work boots for your birthday,” suggested Billie.

  “Good idea, but they aren’t my style.” Zoe pouted, allowing herself to be guided from the alleyway into the shed where there were hundreds of cattle tied up in rows. She glanced down at the work boots her friends were wearing. They just wouldn’t go with any of my outfits.

  It unnerved Zoe being so close to such large animals. Though it did help her to forget about how uncomfortable each step was to make, with a fresh feeling of moisture pushed deeper between the straps of her shoes.

  She fr
oze at the sight of cows tied up against a wooden wall, their backsides pointing out to the aisle on each side. She wasn’t sure she could walk the gauntlet of cattle bums, without getting more shit on her. Even though her foot was a dirty mess, she wasn’t keen to get her spring dress dirty—full skirt, tight bodice, light green. She’d chosen this outfit because she wasn’t completely stupid and knew not to wear white to the Royal Adelaide Show.

  “Come on, down here.” Billie tugged on Zoe’s arm.

  “I don’t think so.” Zoe pulled back, stopping Billie from taking her past all those cattle.

  “Well, you can walk around with shit on your foot then.”

  Zoe groaned as if in pain. “I’d rather not.” She took a breath against the earthy smell that was becoming overpowering the longer they lingered.

  “Don’t be such a girl.” Ellie laughed as she grabbed Zoe’s other arm. “You don’t want this crap on your foot all day.”

  “No, but I don’t see how we’re going to get it all off.”

  “Don’t worry, we’re good at cleaning up.”

  Zoe gave in and allowed her friends to drag her past the backsides of the cows, along the aisle to the back of the shed, where there was a low tap coming out of the side of the galvanised wall over a trough.

  Everything looked dirty. If it didn’t look dirty it looked old, which gave Zoe the impression it was dirty. She didn’t want to touch anything.

  Ellie patted the side of the trough with her hand. “Up here.”

  “I’m not one of your Alpacas.” Zoe complied with the gesture and rested her dirty foot on the side of the trough. She nearly cried at the sight of her ruined sandals.

  “You’re dirtier than my girls.”

  “Thanks.” Zoe pouted, pretending to be upset. She couldn’t stay grumpy for long when she was with Ellie and Billie.

  Billie turned on the tap and a rush of water tumbled out with force, hitting the metal and splashing back up, spraying them all.