She raised her hand in greeting when she turned and caught him staring at her. Matt waved back before he hurried over to her side.
‘Hi,’ she said with a smile.
‘Hello – I hope you haven’t been waiting long.’
‘Nope, I just got here. Shall we go and check out the fete?’
‘Yeah, I’d like that.’
‘So, how’s Boxey?’
Matt smiled. ‘He’s great. I’m just hoping he’ll be okay left alone in the house.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine. C’mon, let’s go in.’
Matt hadn’t been sure what he expected to see at the school fete but he was pleasantly surprised. The playground had two rows of stalls facing each other, and there was also a storytelling marquee, Shetland pony rides under the two willow trees at the edge of the jungle gym and face painting which was being held in a small colourful tent that looked as if it had just come out of the pages of One Thousand and One Nights.
‘Looks as if it’s going to be a great day,’ Matt said.
‘Yeah, that is if the rain holds off.’
Matt looked up at the sky – it was clear blue with the exception of the odd wispy white cloud. ‘It looks as if it will.’
‘There’s a storm forecast for later this afternoon. Hopefully everything here will be done and dusted by then.’
Matt and Bec walked side by side, pausing every now and again to check out the different stalls. People stopped and chatted to them and Matt felt a sense of acceptance and belonging wash over him. He bought some raffle tickets, took turns with Bec in guessing how many jelly beans were in the jar, and purchased a few bookmarks made by the kids.
The crisp air was filled with the scent of frying onions from the sausage sizzle. It made Matt realise just how hungry he was and his stomach growled in response.
‘Time for lunch?’
Matt gave Bec a sheepish grin. ‘That’ll teach me for skipping breakfast.’
She startled him then by grabbing his hand. ‘Come on, I’ll buy you a sausage in bread.’
Her hand was warm and firm and it sent any thoughts of hunger straight out of his head. Matt allowed Bec to lead him through the crowd until they arrived in front of the barbecue.
‘Great turnout today, Mrs Riley,’ Bec said to the woman taking the money as she let go of Matt’s hand and held up two fingers. ‘I’ll have two sausages, thanks.’
Mrs Riley smiled at Bec and then at Matt. ‘Yes, it looks like it’s going very well. I just love it when the town supports itself,’ she said before she turned to order the sausages. ‘Oh, do you want onions with that?’
‘Um, not for me . . . Matt?’
Matt stepped forward. ‘Yes, please.’
‘So one with and one without. Have you got that, Ken?’ Mrs Riley said to the elderly man who was cooking over the hotplate. He looked up and smiled as he grabbed a slice of Gumnut Bakery bread. ‘Ken won’t be a minute.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Riley,’ Bec said as she paid for the sausages.
‘You haven’t introduced me, dear – who’s your friend?’
‘Oh, sorry. This is Matt Harvey, he’s only been in town a little while. Matt, this is Mrs Riley, she was my teacher when I was a kid at this school.’
Matt shook Mrs Riley’s hand. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’
‘Ah, now I know who you are – you’re the town’s resident writer.’
‘Guilty as charged.’
She glanced at the elderly gentleman. ‘This is the writer you were telling me about. Matt, this is my husband, Ken.’
Matt smiled and nodded. ‘Hi,’ he said as Ken handed him the sausages in bread.
‘There you go,’ Ken said with a smile. ‘I read your first couple of books – they’re good.’
‘Thank you – I’m really chuffed that you enjoyed them.’
‘I did, and I’m looking forward to the next one. But if you want my advice, son, I’d rethink the onions.’
For a second Matt was a bit baffled at the rapid change of topic.
‘Okay – why?’ he asked as he handed one sausage to Bec.
‘Because no girl wants to kiss a guy with onion breath,’ Ken said with a wink.
Matt glanced at Bec and noticed that her cheeks were flushed.
‘Oh . . . we’re not . . . I mean, that’s not . . .’ she spluttered.
‘I’ll keep that in mind. Have a great day,’ Matt said as he took her hand and turned away from the Rileys. He could hear Mrs Riley admonishing her husband as they walked away.
‘Ken Riley, you can’t say things like that. You’ve gone and embarrassed them . . . especially Rebecca.’
Matt bit back a smile and led Bec towards the cake stall.
‘Oh, I’m sorry about that,’ Bec said, her cheeks still faintly flushed. ‘I don’t know how people can just jump to conclusions.’
‘Nothing to be sorry about. And besides . . .’ Matt said as he bit into his onion-smothered sausage. ‘I promise not to kiss you – well, not today anyway.’
***
It was a good day, one of the best he’d had in a long time. After he and Bec had eaten their sausages, Matt filmed some of the stalls and bought a hand-knitted grey and teal scarf. Bec wasn’t exactly taken with his choice but he got it just the same and wrapped it proudly around his neck.
He handed her the camera so she could record his epic fail at the lucky spinning wheel. After dragging himself back from such a disastrous bout of not winning and dropping his losing tickets in the rubbish bin, she handed him back the camera. As they explored the rest of the fair, Matt scrolled over what she had just filmed. Yeah, it was as he thought – he looked like a bit of an idiot, but what caught his attention was Bec’s soft laugh behind the camera. It sort of wrapped around him and made him smile.
Matt didn’t want the afternoon with Bec to end, but by about two o’clock they had exhausted the delights of the fete and things were winding down. By that time Matt had begun to believe Bec’s prediction of a storm blowing in. The wind was picking up and the blue sky vanished under an overcast haze.
Bec helped him carry his purchases to his car. Okay, maybe he’d gone a little mad and bought too many things, but it was all for a good cause. Besides, how could he not buy three pots of the local honey, two bags of apples, a chocolate cake, a pot of marmalade, a half-dozen pot plants and two loaves of the Gumnut’s grainy bread?
Bec rolled her eyes as she helped him stuff everything into his car. She said if he wasn’t careful they’d end up naming a new portable classroom after him. He pointed out that he was just doing his bit to raise money for the school. With a laugh and a wave she turned around and sauntered over to her ute. Matt leant against his car and watched her go.
As he drove back to his cottage he planned out the rest of the afternoon. The plan involved lighting a fire, taking Boxey for a walk and basically hanging around not doing anything too taxing. Oh, and eating way too much honey on soft brown bread. However, his plan vanished as soon as he parked outside his place. Before he even got out of the car he knew that something was wrong. The front gate was open, even though Matt thought he’d shut it before he left. He checked out the latch; it was old and worn and maybe it just hadn’t clicked shut when he’d left to meet Bec. But he was sure it had. Matt frowned as he made his way through the gate and towards the front door. The backyard was fenced off now, but a half-grown pup with a sense of adventure might try to squeeze himself under it. If Boxey had made it under the fence and the front gate was open, then . . .
‘Boxey, Boxey where are you, boy?’ Matt called out as he unlocked the front door. The fear of the inevitable sat coldly in his stomach as he walked through the silent cottage searching for the dog that wasn’t there. He had called himself a fool more than once by the time he had made his way into the courtyard.
Matt kept calling Boxey’s name as he hurried over to the goat paddock, but there was no sign of him. Matt went back to the cottage. He’d have to try and find him – the p
oor little guy was probably scared and now there was a storm coming in.
He paused for a second and scanned the nearby paddocks in the vain hope that Boxey would be somewhere in view – nothing. He had no idea which way to go first; the dog could be anywhere. With a resigned sigh, Matt started walking.
***
Bec looked across to the ridge and beyond. The storm was building in the air, she could feel it. Far in the distance there was a mass of dark clouds, and if the wind kept up, Bec figured it would blow them right into White Gum Creek. She crossed her fingers and prayed that the rain would actually find them this time.
She had enjoyed the couple of hours she’d spent with Matt. But as soon as she’d got home the list of things to do had come crashing down on her. She had taken the tractor – after she’d managed to get the damn thing started – and gone to move some of the logs that Jamie Bannon had been splitting down by the little dam. They needed to be under cover so they’d be ready for when the winter really set in. However, when she was halfway through she noticed that the storm was coming in fast, and she knew she needed to batten down the hatches before it hit. Maybe she was just being overcautious, or maybe her heart just wasn’t into lugging any more timber from one spot to another – either way, she was calling it a day and going home.
She heard the first rumble of thunder as she was opening up the shed to put the tractor away. The wind had picked up and the sky was beginning to darken. Rolling in from the west was a blanket of dark clouds. By the time she’d squared things away and shut the shed door with a bang, the first splatters of rain were falling onto the dry ground.
Bec made it inside the back door before the downpour started. The house was quiet, as her parents were in Melbourne for a couple of days, caught up with her father’s doctor’s appointments. The sound of the steady rain outside was punctuated with the low rumble of thunder. Bec walked through the house until she was at the bank of windows that overlooked the circular drive at the front of the house. She opened them up and let the clear, sweet scent of the rain blow in. It was when she was opening the very last window that she spotted a small tuft of black fur huddling under the old crabapple tree.
‘Damn it,’ Bec mumbled to herself as she hurried to the front door, down the old flight of steps and out into the storm. The wind whipped up against her and the rain seemed to choose that very moment to intensify. She made it to the tree and squatted down at its base. A half-grown and bedraggled Border Collie cross looked back at her with huge pleading eyes.
‘Boxey, is that you?’ she said as she hunkered down in front of the pup. She’d only met him once before so she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure that he was Matt’s dog. But as the poor thing looked lost and Matt’s place was just down the road she figured it was a pretty safe bet. ‘Come on, we’ve got to get you out of the storm.’
But even though she urged him to come, Boxey refused to budge. The rain whipped around them and Bec knew they couldn’t stay where they were. Decision made, she reached out and picked up the shivering puppy, cradling him in her arms. ‘It’s okay, I’ve got you.’
Holding Boxey securely against her chest, she ran up the stone steps and back inside. She carried him back into the front room and put him down on the polished wooden table.
‘See, it’s better in here – at least we’re out of the rain.’ Bec peered at the dog tags which jingled from the puppy’s blue leather collar. She double-checked the name on the tag just to make sure. ‘Well, Boxey, the question is, how the hell did Matt manage to lose you?’
As if to answer her question, she heard a distant voice call out. Scooping Boxey up, she looked out the window to see Matt on the road just by the edge of the drive. Perhaps he was cold or tired but Bec noticed that his limp was more pronounced than usual. Funny, she’d got to the point where normally she wouldn’t even notice, but today it was different.
‘Boxey! Boxey, where are you, boy?’
The little dog’s tail thumped against her. She placed him on the ground. ‘I think you’d better stay here while I go and rescue your owner. There’s no point both of us getting wetter than we already are.’
Bec hurried out of the house and shut the door firmly behind her. As she ran down one side of the circular drive the rain whipped about her and made it difficult to see. Through the downpour she could make out Matt’s figure ahead as he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out into the storm.
‘Matt!’ Bec yelled his name but the wind stole her voice. She kept running towards him, calling as she went, but it wasn’t until she was only a few metres away that he spun around with a look of surprise on his face.
‘Bec? Bec, what the hell are you doing out here?’
‘Getting you. I’ve found your dog.’
A look of sheer relief washed over Matt’s face. ‘Thank God. I don’t understand what happened. I left him at home while we were at the fete, remember? I locked the gate, I swear I did. Anyway, when I got back the gate was open and Boxey had gone.’
Bec grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the house. ‘Come on, let’s get out of this weather.’
They hurried back up the driveway and Bec was very aware of Matt’s limp. Perhaps she shouldn’t have urged him to jog, but then again it was pouring. Maybe she was over-thinking the whole thing.
Bec ran up the steps and pushed open the door to find Boxey waiting with his tail thumping on the Persian carpet. Matt knelt down and hugged the dog to his chest.
‘You scared the hell out of me, I thought I’d lost you for good.’
Boxey’s tail wagged even faster and he licked Matt’s cheek.
‘Why don’t the two of you come through to the kitchen – I’ll make coffee and rustle you up a towel,’ Bec said as she moved along the hall.
Matt trailed after her as the pup bounced excitedly by his feet.
Bec gestured towards the kitchen table. ‘Take a seat.’
‘Thanks, and thanks again for finding Boxey,’ Matt said as he sat down. ‘It’s all my fault. I thought it would be cool to keep the old gate but I think the latch has had it. I was sure I’d shut it but it mustn’t have clasped properly.’
Bec grabbed the kettle and filled it up at the sink. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. These things happen. Besides, Boxey is fine, if a bit wet.’
‘He was probably scared silly,’ Matt said as he reached down and rubbed behind the dog’s ears. ‘He has a few abandonment issues, so the poor little guy must have been frightened out in the storm.’
Bec smiled back at him. ‘He’s fine and really happy to see you.’
Matt nodded, although she wasn’t convinced that he actually believed her.
Bec flipped on the kettle before heading through the door. ‘I’ll go and grab a couple of towels.’
She went upstairs and quickly stripped out of her wet top and bra. The rain had soaked her to the skin and she was dripping on the floor. She hurriedly changed into a dry shirt and a pair of jeans. She glanced at the mirror on the way out the door and had to shake her head. Even in clean clothes, she still looked like a drowned rat.
Bec took the stairs back down two at a time. She yanked open the door of the large laundry press and grabbed a couple of fluffy towels. She was about to go back into the kitchen when she changed her mind and detoured into her parents’ room. Without hesitation she crossed the room and opened up her father’s old-fashioned wardrobe. She burrowed through the contents until she found an old work shirt at the back.
Matt looked up as Bec walked back in and gave her a smile.
‘Here – heads up!’ she said as she tossed him the towels and the shirt. ‘The bathroom is the second door on the right.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Oh, before you go – how do you take your coffee?’
‘White with one.’
‘Ha, I thought all writers were double espresso types.’
‘Only when the edits arrive,’ Matt said dryly as he wandered off in search of the bathroom.
Bec
busied herself with the coffee as a handful of minutes slipped by. Matt reappeared in the doorway.
‘So, do I look the part?’
Bec smiled at the sight of Matt in her dad’s old checked shirt. ‘Sure, all you need is a hat and some work boots. Your coffee is on the table.’
‘Thanks.’ Matt sat down and cupped the mug between his hands. ‘You’ve got a lovely house – it’s got a nice vibe to it. You know, lots of period features and stuff like that.’
Bec pick up her mug and sat down on the opposite chair. ‘I guess.’
‘I mean, it’s got an old-world charm to it but it doesn’t feel like a museum.’
‘Well, the house was built back in the 1880s, and other than having its plumbing and wiring modernised and being given a lick of paint it hasn’t changed that much. I love the house, but if I had my way . . .’
‘What would you do?’
‘I’d redecorate the kitchen and the bathrooms and maybe get rid of the dark colours on the walls and brighten the whole place up.’
‘So why don’t you?’
‘My dad likes it.’
‘Sometimes it’s good to change and shake things up a bit.’
‘I doubt my father would agree with you.’
‘Is he that difficult?’
‘I . . . um . . .’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’
Bec leant forward and rested her arms on the table. ‘It’s okay. My father has always been a complicated man. Oh, he’s very straight down the line, honest and a hard worker, but he can also be very autocratic and damn well pig-headed at times. Things have got a whole lot worse since his accident. He’s depressed, moody and mad as hell that his body won’t do what it used to.’
Matt gave her a questioning look.
‘He came off a quad bike near the top paddock. Landed on a bit of rock and that was that. He’s paralysed from the hips down.’
Country Roads Page 16
