Jaime glanced at the cattle. Then took a better look. They weren’t Herefords, surely? Not those huge things over there? Weren’t Herefords lovely little docile creatures with big eyelashes, like the ones on McLeod’s Daughters?
After he’d herded the big cattle into the larger pen where she was standing, Stirling called to her from across the yard. ‘Open that gate over there. When I point out the steer I want, let him through as he comes towards you.’ He shot her a stern look. ‘And make sure you only let through the one I want.’ He turned to eye off his targets.
Jaime glanced around in panic. Okay, there was the gate he was talking about. Open it and let the steer through. This should be fine. Easy-peasy.
She opened the gate as instructed, and stood in front of it as a small knot of cattle started coming her way, with Stirling behind them. He was pointing with a black rod to the rear end of one of the steers. As they came closer, Jaime marvelled at their beautiful rich ruby-red coats. But as they got closer still, she realised how scary they were. There were no cute eyelashes here, only lolling tongues, big boofy heads and hundreds of kilos of rollicking muscle – all coming straight at her.
SHIT!
She sprang for the fence, breaking a nail as her hands slipped off the rough timber. She cursed and grabbed at the rails again, hoisting herself up just as the cattle came galloping past, straight through the open gateway and into the next pen. Jaime watched in horror as an incensed Stirling McEvoy halted at her feet.
‘What in the hell do you think you’re doing up there?’
His voice was deceptively quiet, which was impressive because the man looked like he was about to blow like a volcano.
‘Um … getting out of the way?’
‘You’re supposed to be in their way, stopping them from going into that pen.’ Stirling used his rod thing to poke home the point. ‘Didn’t you listen to anything I said?’
‘Of course I listened. I just … um … misunderstood you.’
Jaime snapped her lips shut and stared down at the newly ragged nail cuticle with studied nonchalance. Tried not to think about what her manicurist would have said, and instead snuck little looks at the man standing below her. Stirling McEvoy was looking around as if he wanted to hit something. Silence reigned in the cattle yards while he obviously struggled to control his temper.
Jaime decided it might be time to do something before the man kicked her out of the yards altogether. She jumped down off the fence, walked into the other pen and made ‘shoo, shoo’ noises in the hope of scaring the steers back to where they’d come from. She sighed with relief when they responded and went trundling back towards their mates now huddled in the far corner of the yard.
She returned to Stirling, who was slamming the black rod against the fence. Hard. Mmm … perhaps if she apologised? It couldn’t hurt to try.
‘Sorry about that. Let’s start again, shall we?’
The man strode off without a backward glance.
Really? What a bad-tempered brute, and after she’d tried to fix things and everything. He should enrol in anger management lessons, or go see a life coach or do yoga, although where he’d find any of that out here she really didn’t know.
He was back down the far end of the yard anyway now, and bringing up another mob. She had to get it right this time. Okay, Hanrahan, forget the pretty red coats, scary eyes and boofy heads and get your mind on the job.
This time she was ready. With her eyes set on the dancing rod, which Stirling had planted square in the middle of the back of the steer, she was able to let the one he wanted through the gate and send the others back.
‘Yes!’ she yelled. ‘I did it. Did you see that? I did it, I did it.’ She did a little dance in her ladybeetle boots. This was fun!
Stirling stopped mid-step and watched her pirouette. There was that little quirk to the edge of his pursed lips again. She could see it out of the corner of her eye.
Panting with exertion she said, ‘Righto, cowboy. What’re you waiting for? Bring them on.’
She could have sworn there was a slight thawing in his eyes, a teensy-weensy pinch of respect, before he strode towards the mob huddled at the back of the yards. Then again, maybe it was just a trick of the glinting sunlight now breaking through the fog.
Jaime managed really well, letting the steers he wanted past her into their pen, sending the ones he didn’t back, ducking and dodging, drafting them just like he said. That was until he brought up the last mob. Somehow he lost his rod thing as the final tight knot of steers came towards her. Among them were the flightiest ones that had eluded Stirling’s efforts to bring them up any earlier.
Now Stirling was yelling at her, ‘The red one in the middle, the red one in the MIDDLE!’
There were five steers coming towards her, and they were all red!
‘Which one?’ she called, trying to see if one was more red than the others, but they were all bunched up and coming at her like a stampede. Holy hell, this lot were really big! If she leapt for the fence they’d all get through and she’d be in big trouble with Stirling. Better to let them go round again.
Blocking the gate, she let them all thunder past and head back to where they’d come from.
‘What the hell was that all about?’ said Stirling as he pulled up beside her, out of breath from trying to keep the steers running forward.
‘You said the red one in the middle. They were all red.’
‘The one in the middle was the reddest. She only had a bit of white around her hindquarters.’
‘Well, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t see that from the front.’
For God’s sake, what did he think she had at her disposal – a reversing camera?
‘Let’s try again,’ was all he said before striding off.
‘Hey, what happened to your tattoo?’ she called. The patch behind his left ear was surprisingly empty of ink.
‘My what?’ He spun round, hesitated and then walked back, towering above her when he stopped at her side. My God, he was big.
‘Your tattoo that was, like, you know, here?’ Frowning, she flapped her hand towards the side of his face. ‘It was there yesterday.’
‘I don’t have a tattoo. My sister and mother would kill me.’
Big Marble Man Stirling was worried about what the women in his life thought of him?
‘You had this spinning thing happening right here.’ She tapped the spot behind his left ear where she could have sworn he’d had a tatt.
The warmth of his skin tingled through her fingertips. She snatched them back and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. She needed to stop touching him, which was hard because she was a touchy-feely kind of person. But all this tingling and zinging stuff was waayyy too disconcerting.
She glared at him, peeved with herself and, in some perverse way, with him too. ‘You had a tattoo, I’m sure of it.’ Her tone rang with conviction and some distaste.
Stirling ran a finger over his chin, deep in thought. She found herself wondering what it would feel like to trace that dimple with her thumb. It was really cute the way it dipped in and out, accentuating his square chin. It must be murder to shave.
She was still daydreaming when the man’s big shoulders started to shake inside his bush coat. Followed by a deep gurgle that sounded like the exhaust on his beloved V-Max, which she still reckoned looked like a Harley. The gurgle went on and on and she suddenly realised the man was laughing. What the hell?
‘What have I said this time?’ She couldn’t help sounding a little sulky.
He must have seen her cross look, because he tried to sober up. And failed.
‘Oh hell, if you could’ve seen your face,’ he said. ‘First it was pushbikes and horses, then Harleys. Now it’s a bit of permanent ink. You don’t like tattoos either, do you?’
Jaime folded her arms. ‘No. You got a problem with that?’
‘Me, no.’ He shook his head, still laughing. ‘Valerie, your employer, might though. She collects tatts like teas
poons. One for every place in the world she’s been, inked across her shoulders.’
Jaime didn’t want to ask how he knew what was on Valerie’s shoulders. ‘It’s just as well we’ll never meet then, isn’t it? I won’t have to pretend to like them.’
‘Oh, you’d do that, would you?’ He sobered slightly. ‘That’s funny, Princess, I kind of got the impression you just came out and said what you thought.’
Jaime couldn’t help letting a slight smile escape at that one. Her father had said the same thing. And there was that ‘Princess’ again.
‘So, did you or did you not have a tattoo yesterday?’
‘Well, that depends on your definition. My niece Eliza stamped me all over with Santas for Christmas. One possibly landed there. I told her my actual face was out of bounds.’ He pulled up his sleeves. ‘See, here’s the remains of my arm job.’
Jaime peered at the offered limb. Covered with russet hairs, it was strongly muscled and tanned to the elbow where his shirtsleeve usually rested. She thought it all looked rather delicious until her eyes spotted the dozens of faded Santas, skipping, running, waving and singing along his forearm. In some stamps, Santa’s big sack sat beside him, spilling out presents.
‘That’s taking Christmas a bit far, isn’t it?’ she said, moving away. ‘You want to finish with these cattle?’
Jaime knew she sounded cranky and terse, but couldn’t do anything about it. Others could do Christmas however they liked, just as long as they left her out of it.
She strode back to her station at the gate. Stirling McEvoy stayed right where she’d left him, a bemused expression on his face. He slowly rolled his sleeve back down and, after a quick, enquiring glance in her direction, he moved to bring up the last mob.
Grimly, she waited for the cattle to come at her again. It didn’t escape her notice that they too were a festive red. Sheesh!
Chapter 4
The days started to bleed into one another. One minute Jaime had just arrived, and the next she was almost at the end of her first week. After familiarising herself with the inside of the homestead, she’d ascertained Valerie’s decorating taste was eclectic. A curious mix of brightly coloured exotic trinkets from around the world decorated rooms, while the furniture was a blend of classic and antique in neutral tones. Novels covering a wide range of genres lined ceiling-high bookshelves. Music was obviously a big part of her employer’s life, with a stunning upright piano, guitar and flute resting in the corner of the living room.
She’d also spent a lot of time exploring the vast garden. Overgrown and shabby in a nice way, the garden was a veritable treasure trove. You never knew what was going to meet you around the next corner.
It reminded her of a garden she’d once seen with her dad at an Open Garden Day in Melbourne. At that thought, Jaime had been filled with melancholy memories. Her father had loved pottering amongst his roses and dahlias. He’d taught her to garden, and she couldn’t smell the scent of soil and not think of him. He’d always worked with his cloth hat perched on the side of his head, never quite covering his rather large nose, which would end up burnt and peeling. Jaime’s mother couldn’t understand her husband’s need to be outdoors. But Jaime did. That’s why she and her dad had gone hiking together, cycling – and fishing. That’s what they’d done last Christmas Day. Together they’d landed a good catch of rainbow trout and devoured them for tea. Her dad was dead of a heart attack by lunchtime Boxing Day.
The small kitchen garden was overgrown but obviously still in use, judging by the myriad herbs flourishing amongst the weeds. Jaime had started cleaning it up, returning to the house most afternoons when it got too hot and spending the rest of the day surfing the internet trying to find a new job. With only two weeks until Christmas, there wasn’t much around. Another reason why she planned to boycott the festive season this year. It wasn’t being kind to her, so why should she return the favour?
She hadn’t sighted Stirling McEvoy in days, aside from a flash of cobalt or emerald-green shirt as he whizzed past the main house on a four-wheeled motorbike. On a carry-rack behind the stockman perched his dog, tongue hanging out, insects and dust whistling past the kelpie’s ears. She’d figured out from the bellows that floated up from the flats on a few clear mornings that the dog was named Buster. It suited both master and dog: tough, taciturn, straightforward. No fuss.
Which wasn’t how you’d describe Ryan Morley, who rang on Wednesday morning.
‘Gidday, JJ!’ Ryan sounded delighted with the nickname.
Jaime was annoyed. ‘Who told you about JJ?’
‘No one,’ came the reply. ‘The luggage tag here on your case says Jaime J Hanrahan, so I figured your nickname was JJ. Pretty clever, huh?’
‘Very clever. Except for one pertinent point. I hate being called JJ. It’s so US of A.’
‘Nothing wrong with a bit of Yankee culture,’ stated the store owner, sounding slightly peeved. ‘Why, we probably wouldn’t have Santa Claus without the Americans. Or roast turkey and mince pies.’
Jaime didn’t want to talk about Christmas so she wasn’t going to point out that the tradition of St Nicholas originally came from Europe.
‘You’ve got my suitcase then?’ she said instead.
‘Yep, sure have,’ he replied, affecting an American drawl. ‘Arrived on the lorry this mawnin’.’
Jaime couldn’t help but grin. ‘Ryan, I suggest you stick to being an Aussie. You might find it easier to pick up that Swedish backpacker you’ve got arriving. Foreign women love Aussie bushmen.’
‘Well, funny you should say that. I was kind of hoping you might come on a date with me.’
Jaime didn’t know what to say. Ryan was nice but he wasn’t her type.
‘Let’s talk about it when you come to pick up your case,’ he added. ‘I’ve gotta go – I’ve got a customer wanting me for my good looks and charm. See, I’m fighting them off.’ Before the phone went clunk in Jaime’s ear she heard him call out, ‘Morning, Irene. You’ll be wanting your Christmas decorations.’
Jaime winced. There’d be no Christmas decorations going up around here, that was for sure.
Ten minutes later, she was in Valerie’s compact Suzuki Stockman ute and barrelling down the long drive. Her case was beckoning her as if it were a truckload of creamy Cadbury’s milk chocolate. She couldn’t wait. Her cut-offs had already been through the wash four times and she was running out of tops. The bore water up here was playing havoc with her white T-shirts, turning them a mottled, dirty cream. Not to mention she was dying to try out her new Colorado boots. She’d look pretty snazzy stomping around the bush in them, seeing as her job description included being a station-hand too. Although it wasn’t as if she was out to impress anyone.
Stirling McEvoy’s handsome face floated into her mind. She shut that thought down real quick. Why on earth would any sane girl want to go there?
She felt a flash of sympathy for Marble Man. Even though Jaime could flirt with Melbourne’s sultriest best, she wasn’t a player, not like some other women she knew who kept several men on a string and played them off against one another. Jaime hadn’t even had a boyfriend since she and Josh had split up eighteen months before. Two years she’d invested in their relationship, only to find Josh had been two-timing her with his personal trainer! That bad experience had really put a dent in her trust in men. Since then, she’d gone on a date here and there, but somehow things had always gone downhill between entrée and dessert. She just couldn’t pretend to be vibrant and interested in a man – and that’s what men wanted: for a woman to focus only on them – when she didn’t feel like putting time into a new partner. She’d eventually just stopped going out, preferring to stay at home with a DVD and a Thai or Indian takeaway to keep her company. Reese Witherspoon, Cate Blanchett and Renée Zellweger were there to entertain her and she didn’t have to lift a finger.
Speaking of which, maybe she should see if Ryan had DVDs for hire. She missed her movie nights and there wasn’t much
else to do in this backwater.
Soon the general store appeared over the hill. Clustered around it were a couple of houses, a fire station and a small hall-cum-church-like building. There wasn’t much disturbing the late morning ambience of the place. A ute was pulled up beside an old-fashioned red petrol pump. A newer cluster of fuel bowsers were placed closer to the road but they had no takers. She could see Ryan on the store’s verandah, throwing his arms around like he was giving directions. Judging by the bush surrounding Burdekin’s Gap on all sides, a map and directions would be a necessity if you planned on going far.
She parked the Suzuki near the store’s door, got out and sauntered inside. Ryan was now serving up a plate of rissoles and chips to the ute driver. The general store’s owner sure was a versatile bloke. Not like Stirling McEvoy. He seemed so entrenched in his taciturn ways he could have been an immovable object.
Not fair, Hanrahan. You barely know the man!
She ignored the voice of reason reverberating through her head. She’d seen enough to make her call.
‘Morning, JJ … oops, I mean Jaime,’ said Ryan, grinning.
The shop door opened and banged shut behind her. Jaime ignored the natural impulse to check out whoever had come in and glared at Ryan.
The shop owner had his hands in the air. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry … Just couldn’t resist. And you look real cute when you’re angry.’
‘So it’s JJ, hey, Princess?’
Jaime spun in shock. Standing behind her was none other than her nemesis, Marble Man, all kitted out in black leather. Skin-tight black leather. Her eyes drifted over his torso and followed the line of his body, down, down …
‘How can I help you, Stirling?’ said Ryan with a frown. ‘I only saw you yesterday.’
‘I’m here to pick up my parcel. Thought I’d bring the bike down for a blast. Perfect weather for it.’
‘Yes, just perfect,’ muttered Jaime, and she wasn’t talking about the sunny day outside. Her eyes were taking in Stirling’s black leather pants, which were moulded to his legs like a second skin. She traced the trail of tight muscle all the way up to his groin. She wondered what it would be like to smooth her fingers over –
Rose River Page 3
