About the Book
House-sitting in rural Burdekin’s Gap, in the rugged East Gippsland high country, is not an obvious career move for a PR executive like Jaime Hanrahan. But, hey, retrenchment is a kicker.
Plus she’s determined not to spend Christmas in Melbourne with her friends, who still have company cars and six-figure salaries, or with her mother, Blanche, who has remarried too soon after her father’s death.
However, it turns out that Burdekin’s Gap is a little more remote than Jaime had anticipated, the house is in the middle of a cattle station, and the handsome manager, Stirling McEvoy, doesn’t appreciate a new farmhand in Jimmy Choos and Sass & Bide cut-offs.
Soon Jaime is fending off stampeding cows, town ladies wielding clipboards, sheep that think they’re goats, nude sportsmen and one very neurotic cat. So why does she feel like she’s falling in love … with the life, with the breathtaking landscape, and with one infuriating cowboy?
Adapted from Margareta Osborn’s #1 ebook novella A Bush Christmas, Rose River is a gloriously funny romantic comedy set in the beautiful Australian outback.
‘Fun, love, adventure and tragedy are woven into this Aussie rural romance … This stands out from the pack’ Take 5 on Bella’s Run
‘Margareta Osborn’s best book yet. Packed full of twists, turns, action and awkward situations, it’s a real page-turner’ Sam Still Reading blog on Mountain Ash
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Letter to the Reader
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Margareta Osborn
Bella’s Run
Hope’s Road
Mountain Ash
Copyright Notice
Loved the book?
Dearest Reader,
Rose River started life as a little ebook called A Bush Christmas. It was a fun-loving, festive-season novella, which caught the hearts and minds of many thousands of readers. Calls came pouring in via reader reviews, email and Facebook messages for more of Jaime and Stirling’s story. And I have to admit, I’d had so much fun writing the novella, I was as keen as anyone to find out what happened next at Polly’s Plains!
Rose River is the outcome of those requests (and my curiosity) so I’d like to thank each and every one of you who asked and cajoled me for the rest of the story. This was such a fabulous and fun book to write.
For those of you who have read A Bush Christmas, you will recognise the beginning of this novel, and I hope you enjoy reacquainting yourself with Jaime and Stirling before being thrown into their new story – an entertaining, one-step-forwards, two-steps-back love affair – which features many supporting characters, including a sheep that thinks he’s a goat, an ex-girlfriend set to cause mayhem, a hunter with more than illicit deer on his mind, and a team of competitive nude cricketers. It’s a riot in the high-country, one-horse (or should I say one-goat) town of Burdekin’s Gap!
And, last but not least, I love to hear from readers so please drop me a line through my website at www.margaretaosborn.com.au, or on Facebook or Twitter.
Warmest wishes and happy reading,
Margareta
For Kate O’Donnell, the city girl, and Emma Williamson, the country girl, who brainstormed wild ideas for the original novella with me, one dark and stormy night.
And Jennifer Rose Green who, once again, showed me the way.
Laugh as much as you breathe,
Love as much as you live.
Chapter 1
There were three things in life Jaime Josephina Hanrahan couldn’t stand. Her name, public transport and musclebound men riding Harley-Davidsons. She couldn’t do much about the first, unfortunately. And the last two were currently within her field of vision.
The bus that had brought her to Lake Grace was now wheeling around the corner out of town, after its driver had broken every rule in the book on the four-hour drive up here. The Harley was parked in front of the Lake Grace Hotel.
‘What do you mean I can’t get a taxi to Burdekin’s Gap?’ Jaime asked the barman.
He glanced at her across the scarred red-gum countertop and shrugged. ‘We don’t ’ave no taxis here. Nearest one’s gotta come from Narree.’
Jaime shot another look out the door at the man gearing up to get on the Harley. He was grunting as he pulled on his boots. In the early evening light his back looked like it had been chiselled out of black marble. Solid, square, immovable. And dangerous. She shivered.
She got out her mobile phone, and held it in her hand, poised to dial. ‘So what’s the taxi company’s number?’
The barman smiled in a condescending way. He was a red-haired, dirty-looking bloke wearing little more than a bluey singlet with holes the size of walnuts decorating his protruding belly. ‘They won’t take you up that mountain, no matter how much you pay ’em.’ He swung around and placed the glass he was polishing up on a high shelf.
Jaime glanced back out towards the street. Marble Man was clipping up his motorbike boots. She could just see a head of dark russet hair, cropped close. A small tattoo appeared to spin a little dance behind his left ear. Gross. Another thing she loathed. Tattoos.
She eyed off the barman again and realised she’d have to use a tad more persuasion. She leant on the bar, squeezed her arms together to create cleavage and cleared her throat.
He turned, his eyes immediately drawn to her V-neck top, just like she’d hoped.
‘And why not exactly?’ she asked, her tone a touch away from a simper.
‘What?’ The barman was momentarily transfixed before glancing down at his left hand. A thin silver band sat on his third finger. He gave a slight shake of his head.
‘The taxi? Why no taxi up the mountain?’
‘Too many roos and wombats.’ The man turned away to place another glass on the shelf.
Jaime sighed. So much for persuasion. ‘Well, how does a girl get to Burdekin’s Gap if there’s no taxi, she hasn’t a car and it’s too far to walk?’
‘A horse would do it in about a day and a half,’ said a deep voice near her right ear. ‘Or a pushbike might be quicker. That’s if you can stand the pace.’
Marble Man. Right there in the flesh beside her. Close up he was big, and he must have played rugby some time in his life as his shoulders would have challenged any tailor’s measuring tape. Jaime edged to the left. The man exuded testosterone in truckloads in those black jeans and jacket, not like the suit-clad office jocks she was used to.
‘I’m off, Bluey,’ said Marble Man. ‘Send that parcel I’ve got coming up on the truc
k, will you? I won’t be back down for another week or so.’
The barman nodded, made a note in a dog-eared exercise book beside a cash register decorated with Santa figurines.
For the first time Jaime realised the Lake Grace Hotel was dripping with bright baubles and tinsel. She’d been too stressed after her terrifying ride in the bus to notice. She cast her eye at the ceiling. The oily-looking, off-white pressed tin was draped in gaudy bands of gold, silver, green and red. The overhead fan was making the tinsel shake and shudder in its breeze. Argh, Christmas. The season of joyful celebration. With three weeks until Christmas Day, the reason she was in this godforsaken place was because she was trying to avoid having anything to do with it. She’d thought remote would mean less chance of being bombarded by jovial festivities.
Not for the first time in the last little while she cursed her former employers, the chic Melbourne public relations firm Wheetles & Brute, where she’d been a marketing executive. Retrenchment was a kicker. Gone was her six-figure salary, and with it her to-die-for South Bank rented flat, her car-that-came-with-the-job, her iPhone and iPad. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it was her first Christmas without her father, Jack, who’d succumbed to a heart attack last Boxing Day. Her mother, Blanche, not one to let the grass grow under her feet, had already remarried. Jaime’s new stepdad was called Dave and he was a redneck bushman, not unlike Marble Man standing beside her.
‘Have you any idea how I’m to get to Burdekin’s Gap?’ she said to Marble Man. ‘And I don’t do horses or bicycles.’
He leant back and quietly assessed her from head to toe. She watched as flinty blue eyes took in her long honey-coloured hair, the clinging sorbet-green top, the cut-off denim shorts gracing her long legs and the cutesy melon-coloured slip-ons on her feet. They’d looked just the thing on St Kilda beach. But she wasn’t in St Kilda and she wasn’t looking at the ocean. She was in a bogan country town that had no damn taxi to get her to her new job on some high-country cattle station out the back of Hicksville.
‘Well? Somebody say something,’ she said, glancing at both men. All this silence was intimidating. Didn’t they do noise in this place? She couldn’t even hear any traffic out on the main street.
‘I figure she’s Ryan’s?’ Marble Man finally said to the barman.
The barman shrugged. ‘Guess so.’ He picked up another glass and started polishing. ‘He’s about due for a new one.’
‘Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!’ said Jaime, indignant. ‘And who’s Ryan?’
‘What were you planning to do with her?’ said Marble Man to Bluey.
‘Buggered if I know.’ Bluey cast a look at Jaime, his eyes resting on her cleavage for a moment, then her long legs, before faintly shaking his head again. ‘You fit her on that machine of yours?’
Marble Man looked horrified.
‘The Kelly boys are in the pub tonight,’ explained Bluey.
Both men contemplated each other. More silence.
Jaime glanced at Marble Man. The heavy brow was drawn into a grimace, the blue eyes were angry, the deep dimple in his chin had almost disappeared. Why did he look so … well, pissed off? Who the hell were the Kelly boys?
Finally, ‘I suppose I could try.’ Marble Man’s tone was grudging. ‘I owe Ryan a favour. He’s sorting out the business end of the Christmas trees being sold for the fire brigade.’
‘Goodo,’ said Bluey. ‘Might be for the best, considering.’
Marble Man looked Jaime up and down again and grunted.
Jaime was swinging her head back and forth between the men. Who the hell did these two think they were? She was quite capable of looking after herself. At twenty-six she’d damn well better be.
‘Hellooooo … I’m here. Like, in the room. You can talk to me!’
Marble Man ignored her. ‘You got a spare helmet, Blue?’
‘Yeah, there’s probably one out the back. Hang on, I’ll go look.’ Bluey shuffled off with more energy than he’d shown for the last five minutes. He mumbled over his shoulder, ‘I don’t want to be stuck with her.’
‘I am not going on that bike if that’s what you’re thinking,’ Jaime stated to Marble Man, who was still glowering like a thunderstorm. ‘I said I don’t do bikes and that includes the motorised versions.’
‘Well, they might think you’re the new town bike if you stay here tonight. One of the local lads is having a bucks party. They’ll think you’re the stripper.’
Jaime looked into the man’s face to check if he was kidding. He wasn’t. Shit.
She chewed the inside of her cheek and took another glance at the monster Harley-Davidson outside the pub door. Dave, her stepfather, with his bullneck and blustering ways, had one. She couldn’t understand what her mother saw in him. It was bloody indecent how quickly Blanche had remarried. It was like she wanted to forget that Jaime’s father – a gentle, quiet soul – had even existed.
‘My father calls those things boat anchors,’ she said. ‘Surely there’s some other way to get to Burdekin’s Gap?’
‘Nope. Not unless you want to wait for the supply truck to the general store. It comes up on Wednesday.’
Today was Friday. A whole five days. Double shit.
‘I’ve never ridden on a Harley-Davidson before.’
Marble Man looked aghast. ‘That’s not a Harley! It’s a Yamaha V-Max. A classic piece of machinery!’ He didn’t say it but it was obvious he was thinking, ‘You idiot!’
Bluey appeared again, a grotty-looking fluorescent green helmet in one hand and pair of what appeared to be overalls in the other. Overalls that were the same navy-blue colour her father wore. Jaime could never talk about her dad in the past tense. She guessed that would come, but it was all too recent, his death such a shock. He was only fifty-three.
‘’Ere, put these on,’ Bluey said, shoving the helmet and overalls across the bench.
She snatched at the gear, displacing a laughing Santa from his perch at the end of the bar. The stuffed toy fell to the floor. Jaime picked it up and slammed it back on the counter, a look of displeasure on her face. The toy started to play a jovial rendition of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’. Merry? Yeah, right.
‘No need to be mean to Santa,’ said Bluey mildly. ‘My kids set a lot of store by the old bloke.’
Jaime didn’t reply, just glowered at the barman. She’d left her friends and what remained of her family to get away from Christmas.
When her manicurist had suggested house-sitting a client’s country mansion, garden and a neurotic cat, Jaime had immediately thought of the Mornington Peninsula or maybe even the New South Wales coast, Batemans Bay or Tathra. A cushy job near the beach in a gorgeous house. On her own. (She wouldn’t even think about the cat.) Her daydreams took a nose-dive when the manicurist continued, ‘Some place in the high country of East Gippsland. The property’s very flash by her accounts.’ The woman had looked doubtful. ‘It’s pretty remote.’
Images of rolling azure waves had disappeared to be replaced with monotonous grey eucalypt scrub. But then, she thought, mountains were pretty as long as you just looked at them, luxury meant cushy and remote equalled no Christmas. She just hadn’t realised how remote.
‘C’mon. I want to be up at Burdekin’s Gap by nightfall.’ Marble Man was already heading out the pub door.
Jaime remained where she was, looking down at the dirty outfit in her hands. The helmet was going to play havoc with her hair and, judging by the copious amount of material, the overalls were at least three sizes too big.
‘Sorry,’ said Bluey, ‘my wife’s a bit larger than you.’ He looked sheepish as Jaime unfolded the outfit. ‘They’re her painting overalls.’
Jaime stared in horror. The front was splashed with enough bright colours to make it look like Pro Hart had been responsible for the design, and the back was decorated with hearts and had ‘BLUEY LOVES JEAN’ scrawled all over it.
Bluey shrugged again. A blush was stealing up his neck. ‘The kids thoug
ht it was funny. You know, me, the wife, the hearts and stuff.’
Jaime couldn’t wear these! They were awful. Her Sass & Bide cut-offs would curl up in terror.
A bellow came through the door. ‘Hurry up. I’m leaving in two minutes. It’s the Kelly boys or the V-Max. Your choice, Princess.’
Jaime froze. Princess? She hadn’t heard that in eleven months. It was what her father called her.
‘He’s okay,’ Bluey said, leaning over the bar and trying to look reassuring but only partially succeeding. His eyes had landed on the belly-ring peeking out from below her top. He forced his gaze from the glinting zircon crystal up to her green eyes. ‘Stirling’s a good bloke.’
So that was his name. Stirling.
‘Not known for his patience though, ’specially when it comes to young dolls like you,’ Bluey added, moving back along the counter. ‘Not since Miss Fancy-pants Tiffany gave him the flick, anyway. She turned into a posh chick from the city too.’
Young dolls? Fancy-pants Tiffany?
‘That’s it!’ came a shout through the door. The motorbike rumbled to life, shattering the evening peace of Lake Grace’s main street.
Jaime snatched up the helmet, threw the overalls across her shoulder and took off out the door.
Rose River Page 1
