Outback Sisters

by Rachael Johns

  ‘Yes. Fourteen years between me and her. Think she was an accident.’

  Simone smiled knowingly. ‘And how old was Olivia when your Mum died?’

  ‘Only three.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Simone pressed a hand against her chest. ‘That’s how old Grace was when Jason died. Harriet was six. There’s no good age to lose your parents, but it must have been particularly hard for your sister, growing up without her mum.’

  Logan nodded, trying to ignore the lump in his throat that formed whenever he thought about it. Losing Mum was bad enough but thank God Olivia hadn’t been old enough to comprehend that their dad had chosen to leave them, chosen to end his life. ‘Angus did the best he could, though.’

  ‘I’m sure you both did,’ Simone said, reaching across and touching his hand.

  He smiled his appreciation and turned his hand to take hold of hers. The connection was nice. Angus might think of him as some kind of wild playboy, but the truth was it had been quite some time since Logan had been in a relationship, since he’d had someone to share stuff with and confide in. He missed it.

  ‘Shall we order?’ Simone asked, breaking the silence, retrieving her hand and nodding at the counter. ‘I’m in the mood for some soup. What about you?’

  Logan had already perused the menu. ‘I might try a homemade sausage roll and some sweet potato fries. See if Frankie’s really as talented as you make out.’

  Simone laughed and went to stand. ‘My shout since I kept you waiting and I can sweet-talk the owner. Who, yes, I promise you, is that talented. Do you want a drink as well?’

  ‘Just some water, please.’

  Simone went to order and Logan checked his email on his phone. He’d be working from home the next few weeks—while also doing his bit on the farm—and one of the editors he worked with had promised to send him a few leads for possible stories. He’d just finished deleting some junk mail when Simone returned.

  ‘All ordered. Now, tell me about your week in Broome. The photos you sent looked fabulous. I’ve never been but it’s definitely on the bucket list.’

  ‘It was great. I’ve travelled around Australia a lot, but it still baffles me how different various parts of this country are. When the plane hovers over the Kimberleys, the rich contrasting colours below just take your breath away.’

  As they waited for their lunch, he told her about the article he’d been researching on the Camel Cup—the main reason for his trip. ‘It’s only a new thing but it’s building appeal quickly and I’m sure it’ll soon be one of outback Australia’s big events. I thought the Henley-on-Todd regatta in Alice Springs was hilarious, but I hadn’t seen anything until I saw camels racing.’

  ‘I can’t imagine a camel running,’ she admitted, her forehead furrowed as though she were trying to do exactly that.

  ‘It’s a sight to behold. I’m still not sure they’re really cut out for racing. While I was there, I was constantly waiting for someone to announce that it was actually all a big joke, but the competitors and the onlookers took it fairly seriously.’

  A young blonde waitress brought their lunch out and once they’d thanked her, conversation continued easily as they hoovered up their meals. The rumours were right. Frankie’s pastry was the flakiest he’d ever tasted and he couldn’t quite make out the secret ingredient in the meat that gave the sausage roll its edge, but he vowed to get it out of her one day.

  ‘Enough talking about me,’ Logan said. ‘Tell me about these bon-bon-what-nots?’

  She laughed. ‘Bombonière.’

  ‘Yes, those. What exactly are they?’

  ‘Well, they can be anything really—they’re gifts brides and grooms give their guests. In this case, I’m hand-painting some little tins with Adam’s and Stella’s names and the date of the wedding. They’re going to fill them with chocolates.’

  ‘Yum.’ Logan patted his stomach. ‘This is the wedding I’m coming to?’

  She blushed a little. ‘Yes, if you don’t mind. I’ll pay your accommodation and everything, but if you …’

  He cut in and grinned. ‘I’m looking forward to it. And I’m also looking forward to seeing your studio—and some of your art.’

  ‘Are you inviting yourself back to my place, Logan?’ Her smile said she didn’t mind his forwardness at all.

  ‘What if I am?’ Although this was her sister’s café, he didn’t want to be one of those customers who overstayed their welcome. Besides, he was curious to see where Simone lived and worked.

  She grinned and pushed back her seat. ‘I’d say I hope you don’t mind a little bit of mess.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He also stood.

  ‘I’ll just go say goodbye to Frankie.’ Rewrapping her scarf around her neck as she walked, Simone disappeared into the kitchen. Logan deliberated about following and thanking Frankie himself—asking about that pastry—but before he’d made a decision, Simone was back, a slight frown on her face.

  ‘Frankie’s apparently not feeling great. She’s gone home sick. That’s weird. She almost never goes home sick.’

  ‘Did you want to go check on her?’ he asked, concerned; Frankie had seemed full of life and more than healthy an hour ago. ‘She seemed fine when I came in earlier.’

  ‘Nah. Let’s let her rest. I’ll make her a batch of chicken soup later and take it round tonight.’

  ‘I thought you couldn’t cook.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Simone sighed. ‘It’ll probably do her more harm than good, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my little sister.’

  ‘Okay. If you’re sure. Let’s go then.’ Logan held open the café door for Simone. ‘Shall I follow you in my ute?’

  ‘Perfect.’ She grinned and headed for her four-wheel drive.

  A few moments later, Logan turned into the driveway of a 1950s fibro cottage, typical of so many in rural Australia. It had a wide verandah at the front with a door in the middle and windows on either side. Simone’s garden was a jungle of plants—some natives, some cottage flowers—and sculptures—some big, some small. He climbed out the ute and followed her up the winding garden path to the verandah, which was full of hanging baskets, overflowing with greenery, more sculptures and an array of mismatched cane furniture.

  ‘This is … eclectic,’ he said, as she unlocked the front door.

  ‘If that’s your kind way of saying untidy, wait until you come inside.’ She laughed as she pushed open the door and the moment he stepped inside, he saw she hadn’t been exaggerating.

  There was stuff everywhere. Not rubbish, not dirt, just lots and lots of … stuff. Photos in frames lined the hallway floor as if no-one had ever gotten around to hanging them up. He made a mental note to offer to do so for her. Then he caught sight of a small frame on the hallway table—a much younger Simone in a wedding dress and a handsome young bloke, who had to be her husband. They looked blissfully in love and he couldn’t help wondering if she was truly ready to move on.

  ‘Do you collect doorstops?’ he asked, turning away from the frame and counting at least five doorstops within two metres.

  ‘Maybe.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘I guess I just thought they were cute. Come on in, don’t stand there in the cold.’ She gestured for him to follow her and as they headed down the hallway, he began to see evidence of her teenage daughters. They passed one bedroom, in which a single bed looked as if it might collapse under the mountain of teddy bears and another, the only tidy room in the house it seemed, that had walls covered with boy band posters.

  ‘I’m sorry about the mess.’ She looked sheepishly at the pile of paints and little tins covering the table as they entered the kitchen. ‘I was working inside because it gets cold in my studio in the winter, but I should have anticipated you coming around. I’m sorry … I’m … nervous. I haven’t done this whole dating thing for a long time. I’m severely out of practice.’

  Although she didn’t spell it out, he knew she wasn’t simply referring to not tidying up the house for company and h
is heart went out to her. It was hard enough getting back in the saddle after a divorce, but it must be a hundred times more daunting after being widowed.

  He crossed the room, closing the gap between them, and put his hands on her arms. ‘Relax,’ he told her, meeting her gaze. ‘We don’t have to rush anything. I’m enjoying getting to know you. Let’s just take things slowly and see where they lead. Okay?’

  She rubbed her lips together. ‘Are you sure?’

  He nodded. Good things were worth waiting for and he wasn’t going to rush her into anything.

  ‘I really like you,’ she told him, ‘and you’re very attractive.’ She blushed, the pink in her cheeks making her very attractive as well.

  ‘Ditto,’ he said, smiling down at her.

  She laughed nervously and he wanted more than anything to put her at ease. ‘How about you show me your studio? I’d love to see some of your work.’

  ‘Okay.’ She took a deep breath as if glad to have had that conversation out of the way. ‘Can I get you a drink or anything first?’

  He glanced around, wondering if she’d be able to find a mug beneath all the clutter. ‘I’m okay for now.’ He dropped his hands from her arms and took one of her hands in his. ‘Lead the way.’

  Hand in hand, they went out the back door and through a jungle of plants along a cobbled path to a shed far down the end of the property. From the outside it looked like nothing more than a place for storing crap, but inside it was amazing.

  ‘Wow.’ He looked around as Simone tugged on blinds and let the afternoon sunlight spill into her studio. Like the house, there were tables so covered in stuff you couldn’t see their surfaces and there were art supplies everywhere. Balls of yarn, scraps of material, buttons and sequins and ribbons. But it was the finished products scattered around the shed—some perched on easels, others like the photos in her hallway, just waiting for someone to do something with them—that left him speechless.

  He took a few moments just to admire her obvious talent. There were beautiful sceneries, people’s faces, shells, animals, even a row of teapots—all created with textiles. He’d never been a huge lover of art but it was impossible not to be impressed. ‘You sell this stuff?’

  ‘Yeah, some of it.’ She leaned against a work bench and smiled at her surroundings. She looked right at home among the organised chaos. ‘The little craft shop in the main street sells some of my smaller pieces and there’s a couple of galleries in Perth that display my work too.’

  He continued to admire her work—some pieces complete, others obviously in progress. Nothing he could think to say seemed good enough. ‘You are—these are—I’ve never quite seen anything so detailed. These are amazing.’

  Simone beamed. ‘Thanks. This is my happy place. When the girls are making me want to take up smoking or drinking or tear my hair out, I come here and escape to my art. I’m lucky. I love doing it, and people seem to love looking at it. Come and see what I’m working on now.’

  He followed her to her workbench and found it surprisingly uncluttered compared with the tables. On it lay a piece of thick calico with the outline of three butterflies in some kind of black silk.

  ‘Cute,’ he said. ‘My sister loves butterflies.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ Simone laughed. ‘I’m making this for Adam and Stella for a wedding present. The butterflies represent them and Stella’s little girl, Heidi, who helped bring them together. Each one will be unique and reflect their personalities.’

  ‘She has a daughter?’

  ‘Yes. Heidi has Down Syndrome and her father didn’t want her, so Stella became a single mum very young. It’s tough enough being a single mum, but being a single mum of a special needs child … Well, Stella is amazing. And in my opinion, Heidi is something of a miracle worker.’

  That piqued Logan’s interest. ‘How so?’

  ‘Long story short, Adam’s little sister, my cousin, went missing when she was seven years old and until last year, we didn’t know what had happened to her.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  Simone nodded and continued. ‘It devastated our family but it hit Adam’s mum, Esther, the hardest, of course. She totally withdrew from society and didn’t leave the farm. Ever.’

  ‘Wow.’ And Logan had thought his family had had their fair share of affliction. Stories like this made him remember that no-one was immune from tragedy, but you did have the choice about how you responded to it. This Esther woman reminded him of Angus.

  ‘I know, right? But because of Heidi, we eventually found out what happened to our cousin.’ She paused, took a deep breath and then told him everything. Her story blew his mind.

  ‘And your aunt?’ he asked her when she’d finished. ‘She’s better now?’

  ‘She’ll always grieve her lost daughter, but Heidi and Stella have helped fill that gap in her life and given her the courage and will to start living again, so you’ll see why I wanted to make them something really special for a wedding present.’

  ‘I do indeed and I bet they’ll love it.’ He leaned a little closer to peer down at the gift again. ‘It’s so much more meaningful than towels or another set of pots and pans.’

  ‘Speaking of pots and pans, I should go make that chicken soup.’ Simone straightened, already turning to the door. ‘You don’t mind do you? It’s just that once the girls get home from school, the afternoon usually gets away from me.’

  ‘Of course not.’ He checked the time on his watch. ‘How about I help?’

  Simone grinned. ‘I was kinda hoping you would.’

  They headed out the studio, back up the path and into the house, where Simone began to hunt through her freezer and fridge for supplies. She conjured up a bag of frozen chicken pieces and held them up to Logan. ‘These will do, right?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What veggies do we need?’

  He shrugged and pushed up his sleeves, ready to work. ‘Onions, carrots, celery are a good start. Whatever herbs you have growing. But anything will do, really. That’s the great thing about soup.’

  Simone’s head disappeared into the fridge. ‘Luckily Harriet fancies herself as a vegetarian at the moment, so we should have plenty.’

  She retrieved some celery, carrot, broccoli and an onion and laid them out on the bench.

  ‘Have you got any pasta?’ Logan asked. ‘It’s a good way to make the soup a little more like a chunky meal.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Simone said, diving into the pantry and re-emerging with a packet of macaroni. ‘Will this do?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  The two of them set to work alongside each other on the bench. The last time Logan had cooked with someone, he’d been married and, although it was only five years ago, that suddenly seemed a very long time. It felt good to be doing something so normal with a woman again. They talked and laughed as they worked, conversation only pausing when he went to the bathroom.

  ‘Mmm,’ he said when he returned a few minutes later to find the kitchen filling with the comforting scents of homemade soup. ‘Not bad for someone who claims they can’t cook.’

  Simone grinned. ‘I had a little help. Now let me get you a drink while it simmers.’

  She made them both a cup of tea and they sat at the table. ‘Have you talked any more to Angus about the wind-farming?’ she asked.

  Logan groaned. He didn’t want thoughts of his brother’s stubbornness ruining what was proving to be a very pleasant afternoon.

  She smiled sympathetically. ‘That bad, hey?’

  He nodded. ‘We had words about it again before I went to Broome—he just refuses to see that it could really work for us. Farming is uncertain—we’re at the mercy of Mother Nature and she isn’t always kind—so why not make things a little more financially secure for ourselves?’

  Simone shrugged one shoulder. ‘What does your sister think?’

  He was about to say he hadn’t brought Olivia into the argument yet, when they both screwed up their noses.

  ‘Oh no!�
� Simone leaped to her feet, her chair crashing to the tiles in her haste to get to the stove. ‘Damn. Shit. Bugger it. I’ve stuffed it.’ She switched off the gas and peered dismally into the pot.

  Frowning, Logan stood and went to join her. ‘How did that stick so quickly?’ Then he saw the empty packet of macaroni beside the stove and his mouth dropped open. A bubble of amusement stirred within him. ‘Did you put all that pasta in?’

  She nodded sheepishly, her eyes wide and the expression on her face telling him she didn’t find this quite as amusing as he did. ‘Wasn’t I supposed to?’

  He lost the battle with laughter and eventually Simone saw the funny side too.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, giggling. ‘You probably want a girlfriend who knows how to cook.’

  He shook his head. ‘Actually, that’s not high on my list of priorities. I can cook perfectly well myself, so there are a few other qualities that are a bit more important to me.’

  ‘What exactly are those qualities?’ Simone asked, her tongue darting out to moisten her lower lip.

  He opened his mouth to tell her he wanted someone who made him laugh, someone who turned him on and someone he could talk with, but his words were lost in what sounded like a hurricane coming down the hallway. He snapped his head around to see two teenage girls. Although they had blonde hair instead of Simone’s rich red, they were both stunning and it was clear they were her daughters.

  The older of the two stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh. Shit,’ she said, storming over to the window and yanking it open. ‘Have you been cooking again, Mum?’

  ‘And it’s lovely to see you too, Harriet. Did you have a good day at school?’ Simone’s tone did not match her words.

  The girl rolled her eyes and then seemed to register him. ‘Logan!’ she exclaimed, her sullen expression lifting as she eyed him as if her were a long lost friend. ‘So good to finally meet you.’

  He lifted a hand in a slight wave. ‘Hey. You must be Harriet.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’ Then gestured to the shorter girl. ‘And this shrimp is Grace.’