The setting sun still threw enough light for Justin to see the old iron milking shed when he came to the top of the rise. A mixture of black and white cows and some caramel-browns grazed contentedly in the grassy pasture. To his untrained eye, Justin could only presume they were in as good a condition as Stephen had suggested.
He continued down the road, eager to reach the house before dark. The car’s headlights illuminated a small house, and he parked in the carport, next to a dirty work ute.
It was quiet, apart from the soft mooing of cattle. The path to the house was short and when he reached the wooden front door, he used his key to enter.
He switched on a light and looked around the cosy living room. The couch was aged but promised comfort. Beyond it was a basic kitchen and dining room. A quick look in the fridge confirmed it had been emptied.
He ventured farther into the house and found a basic if somewhat dated bathroom. There were two small bedrooms, each filled with a single bed and dresser. The main bedroom was at the end of the hall. He turned on the light and looked around. The floral bedspread and lace doylies reminded him of his grandmother’s house.
The room had a distinctly feminine feel to it. He sat on the queen-sized bed and breathed in the lingering scents.
This was where Boyd had slept, where he had lived.
A silver-framed photograph on the bedside table caught Justin's attention, and he picked it up for a closer look. He recognised his mother dressed in a pale dress, holding a newborn baby in her arms. A younger version of Boyd stood next to her. He looked handsome in his suit, not yet wrinkled and weary.
His mother had said they were happy for a time. This must have been taken at the peak of that happiness. Perhaps his own christening, given the state of their dress. The young couple were still in love and proud to be new parents of a healthy child. They had no idea it would all fall apart in just a matter of years.
After freshening up in the bathroom, Justin locked the house and followed the directions Freya had given him to her house.
The tree-lined driveway ended, and he was presented with a double-storey, white weatherboard Queenslander-style house. Soft light filtered through the open windows and chattering voices made their way out to him.
"He has his father's ears, don't you think?" He heard Nina say.
"I never paid much attention to Boyd's ears, but I agree there is a similarity," Mark replied.
"I was surprised so many people came." Another voice—not Freya, but similar. "He wasn't even a member of the church."
A red dog suddenly ran up to Justin and he jumped back. It sat on its haunches and looked up expectantly, then when Justin didn't pat him straight away, the dog raised his paw.
Justin bent down to pat the dog but the moment he touched its head the dog flopped onto its back and spread his legs in expectation of a belly rub.
Freya came out to greet him. He was struck by her inviting girl-next-door look in a pair of skinny jeans and a navy sweater. Thick brown Ugg boots completed the comfortable outfit. "He likes you," she said.
"Seems all the Montgomerys are friendly-even the animals." He tickled the dog’s belly in an effort not to gawk at the woman in front of him.
Her laughter wrapped around his heart with a soft, gentle warmth. "This is Denver. He's the best farm dog in Maleny." She whistled and the dog jumped into a sitting position, head and ears alert, waiting for her next signal.
She turned back to Justin. "I'm so glad you came." She pressed a kiss to his cheek then put her arm through his and walked him up the stairs, through the terrace and into the house.
Upon entering the living room, he paused while his eyes adjusted to the inside lighting. The room was large with a stone fireplace taking up a great deal of the side wall. Flames roared up the chimney adding an extra layer of warmth to the family home.
Nina wrapped him in a warm embrace. "I'm so glad you came," she echoed Freya’s words kindly. "You're in for a treat; Greer's cooking spaghetti putanesca."
He hugged her back. "Thanks for having me. I wish I'd thought to bring something."
"That's okay. We have everything we need.”
“Hi Justin.” Greer waved from the kitchen where she was busy at the counter, and he saw pots bubbling on the stove.
He greeted her and was struck by the similarity between the two sisters. He hadn't really been paying attention before, at the church.
Mark took his turn next and shook Justin's hand, his warmth immediate and genuine. "Good to see you again. Were you happy with the service?"
"Yes, it was fine. Thank you all for everything. I was surprised to see so many people turn up."
"This community always pulls together when something like this happens. I'm only sorry I didn't have more to say about Boyd. I wish I had known him better."
Justin nodded. Don't we all?
Mark sank into a La-Z-Boy and waved Justin onto the couch next to him. Freya sat quietly nearby.
"Justin, can I get you a drink? Dinner isn't far-off," Nina said.
Justin glanced at the coffee table where a can of beer sat on a paper coaster. "A beer would be great, thanks."
She smiled and nodded at her daughter. "Freya, do you want something?"
"I'll have a beer too, thanks Mum."
Justin glanced at Freya as she curled a denim-clad leg under her body. She looked comfortable and at ease; he wanted to drape an arm around her and feel her soft body against him.
"So, what did you think of the farm? You did go there, right?" she asked.
"I did. Seems comfortable enough."
"Do you remember it? From before you left?"
"Freya, he was only a toddler. No one remembers things when they were that young." Mark smiled fondly at his daughter.
She ignored her father and raised her eyebrows at Justin.
He shook his head. "I'm afraid not."
Nina returned with drinks, and Justin gratefully accepted his beer.
"Justin's staying at the farm tonight." Freya told her mother, who perched on the arm of her husband's chair.
"Oh good. You should stay for a few days and get to know the area."
"No, I should get back to work. But I will need to talk to the staff first. The lawyer said they should be able to keep everything running until we find a buyer."
Mark leaned forward in his chair. "If you’re interested in leasing the farm, we'd be keen. I wish we could buy it, but it's not a good time for us right now. Maybe next year though."
Justin sipped his drink thoughtfully. Stephen had said leasing would be easier to do than finding a buyer in this market, but he wanted to keep his options open for a while.
He smiled at Mark. "I need to do some research and find out what it's worth. Is it true that the milk comes here?"
"That's right. Emerald Hills consists of our farm and dairy shed, plus my brother’s factory where they pasteurise the milk and make cream, cheese, and yogurt."
"Plus, we've got the cafe, animal farm, and dairy tours," Freya said, and Justin detected more than a little pride in her voice.
"That's quite the enterprise you have," Justin said.
"Emerald Hills has been in the Montgomery family for generations," Nina said. "Our ancestors were some of the original founders of the area. Mark's brother, Bill, wanted to expand the dairy farm, so he started making cheese and commercial-grade milk. Then when Greer was finished cooking school and travelling, she and Freya opened the cafe."
"Greer does all the work—I just come up with the ideas," Freya said.
"So, farm tours and animals too?" He loved how her face brightened up with satisfaction.
"That's for the tourists; they love seeing a working dairy farm in action. We offer them rides on a trailer pulled behind a tractor. They can look inside the factory too and see how Emerald Hills products are made."
Justin gazed in astonishment at Freya-who could just be the perfect woman. Intelligent, creative and entrepreneurial all in one beautiful package.
"We're also a popular wedding venue," she added.
Weddings equalled money. Well played, Freya.
"Freya runs the businesses and organises all the events and marketing,” Nina explained.
Freya shrugged. "It's a family company. When one part does well, we all succeed."
"You must be very busy," he said.
She shrugged. "I enjoy what I do, and I get to stay on the farm and help my family."
"She still helps with the milking too. Even the morning shifts." Mark beamed.
"I've gotta keep my eye on you," she teased.
Mark leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “It’s a difficult life, working on the land. It’s not for everyone and it’s hard on families. Divorce rates are high, and every year we see more and more kids head off to the big smoke in search of an easier life. One where you get paid a decent wage for your time and effort. A man can end up trapped, owing too much, and then forced to sell, walking away with nothing more than the clothes on his back to show for a lifetime of working all-day, every-day."
Justin's lips thinned. The truth of Mark's words were written on his face. Years of early mornings, hard work, and outdoor life had left him weather-beaten, with a face full of freckles and broken capillaries. Except Mark's family was still intact, his daughters back on the land after taking time away. If Boyd had been forced to choose between his farm and his family, he had chosen wrong.
"Dinner's ready," Greer said as she placed a huge bowl of steaming pasta in the centre of the table.
They all stood and moved to sit around the huge wooden table where a freshly tossed salad was waiting.
"Sit here." Nina motioned to the vacant seat between herself and Freya.
"Everything in the salad is organic and homegrown," Mark explained as he served himself a healthy portion. "We're very health-conscious in this family. Even if we don't always want to be."
"Don't worry, Dad, I made your favourite dessert." Greer winked at him.
Mark looked at her hopefully. "Sticky date pudding?"
Greer nodded.
Freya placed her hand over Justin's and, despite having a mouthful of food, moaned in delight. "Greer's sticky-date pudding is the talk of the town," she explained when she had finally swallowed.
Justin grinned back. "I can't wait. This all looks and smells amazing."
It surprised Justin how at home he felt with the Montgomerys. There were no expectations on him, nor did they try to press him to make a decision about the farm. They chatted easily about his life in Brisbane and their lives in Maleny. When Boyd's name was brought up, they didn't try to make him out as any type of a martyr. He was who he was, and they had accepted Boyd just as they were accepting Justin.
Justin couldn't help looking at Freya. There was not a trace of make-up on her face. Her skin appeared smooth, soft, and radiant. His fingers itched to touch her.
Over dessert, Nina regaled them with stories from the farm—the adventures Freya, Greer, and their various friends and relatives had experienced in their childhood. They’d spent long summer days roaming over the green countryside playing imaginary games, camping by the dam, water-skiing behind the boat, and learning to stand-up paddleboard.
Justin grinned at the picture Nina painted. He could easily imagine a young, sun-bronzed Freya with wild blonde hair blowing in the wind as she ran after a young calf, or leaped, bareback onto her favourite pony.
The Montgomery girls had been raised to climb trees and explore nature, and now had a deep respect and appreciation for all the world had to offer.
When dessert and coffee was finished, Justin sighed contentedly. "Thank you for dinner. That sticky-date pudding really was delicious."
Greer smiled appreciatively as she cleared his plates. "Any excuse to make it. It's my favourite too."
Freya helped her sister to clear the table, and Justin stood to help but she stilled his movement with a warm hand on his arm. "No, you’re the guest. Just relax."
"Will you meet with Fred tomorrow?" Mark asked him.
"Fred?"
"The farm manager. He was Boyd's right-hand man. He's been running the place since ..."
Justin nodded. "Yes. I'll find him in the morning and have a chat."
"Fred's a good worker. You can rely on him, and we're here if you need anything," Nina said, her voice reassuring.
"Thank you. I appreciate your kindness," Justin said. "I better get going." He stood and said his goodbyes.
"I'll walk you out." Freya led him to the front door and down to his car.
The cool winter air bit at his cheeks and he gazed up at the cloudless sky, only to be startled by the million sparkling stars of the Milky Way.
"Wow."
"Incredible, aren’t they?" she murmured, and he could feel her warmth against his arm. "So clear and so close."
He looked back at Freya, her face shining in the glow of the house lights.
"Thanks for coming," she said softly.
"Thanks for inviting me," he breathed. "Your mum is one of a kind."
Her eyes glittered, and a sly smile tilted the corner of her mouth. "She sure is."
He sank his hands into his pockets. "You're a lot like her."
Freya bumped against him. "I'm hoping that's a compliment."
"Oh, it sure is." He inhaled her fresh, floral scent. He had always been a sucker for kindness. And pretty girls.
He had never met anyone like Freya before. He liked her slower pace and deep love for her family. The way she was so content in her environment and accepting of other people, even strangers.
"You should give us a chance," she said sweetly.
He raised his eyebrows.
"Maleny. The farm. You might be surprised what you find here."
"I already have been surprised."
She sucked in her lower lip. He breathed out deeply, creating a puff of smoke. "I should go."
Freya reached up on tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Sweet dreams."
He watched as she skipped back up the wooden staircase. Climbing into the car, he already knew that she would be the star of his dreams tonight and they would be sweet. Oh-so sweet.
Chapter 4
Justin yawned as he poured boiling water into the coffee plunger he had found in the kitchen cabinet. Maybe he and Boyd did share something in common after all. Even if it was just their taste for freshly brewed coffee.
He had slept surprisingly well last night in Boyd's bed and had woken this morning thinking of Freya. With each sip of coffee, his resolve strengthened. She was a dream. Possible in another life, but not this one. He lived in the city; she lived in the country. Long-distance relationships were hard and he knew it wouldn't work, despite their obvious chemistry. But he would have liked more of that hot, thrilling feeling he experienced whenever their gazes connected.
The responsible thing to do was to leave before things got more complicated. Before he could hit the road though, he needed to see Fred.
He drained the cup of coffee and opened the door to the chilly winter air. Two pairs of oversized boots—one long rubber, one short leather with laces—stood sentry next to the doormat. He pulled the rubber pair on, grateful he had inherited the same-sized feet. A thick raincoat hung above the boots on a hanger and, as he slipped it on, he hoped it would be thick enough for the crisp weather.
The ground was muddy from an overnight shower, and Justin squelched his way to the milking shed. He followed the line of waiting cows into the shed and stopped to survey the scene. The animals were standing either side of a concrete pit where he saw two men working.
Justin pressed his hand to his nose, the combined stench of animal fluids and manure making him gag. He swallowed hard.
"You must be Justin." A thin man in overalls and a woollen hat approached him.
He nodded. "Are you Fred?"
"Sure am." The men shook hands. "Sorry about your dad. He was a good man."
Justin smiled politely and ges
tured to the cows, slotted into stalls divided by metal rails. "So this is how cows get milked."
Fred put his hands on his hips. "Sure is."
Justin listened as Fred explained how the herringbone shed worked. "The cows come in and angle-park themselves side by side, facing away from the centre pit where the milkers work. It's the same on the other side of the pit, so the cows together form a herringbone pattern. A rail at breast-height prevents the cows from moving forward, and they are released together through a gate once milking has finished.
"Each cow has its own individual identification tag. The machines check them while they're milking and track their weight, milk quantity, and anything else we need to track."
A new group of cows entered the stalls and Justin watched as the pumps were cleaned and attached. The technology involved was impressive, and his mind automatically started imagining how it all worked and possible improvements. Perhaps an app?
"What happens if a cow is missing?"
"The machine alerts us. We have built a herd history for ongoing herd management and decision-making. Boyd was always thinking about the farms’ long-term future." Something flickered over Fred's face. Grief?
Justin looked around. The milkers were busy doing various jobs and he realised he was taking up Fred's time with all his questions. "I see you’re busy," he said. "How can I help?"
Sweat trickled down Freya's neck despite the winter-cool temperature. She slowed her horse, Nutmeg, to a walk and scanned the lush scenery around her. Another beautiful day had dawned on the range, and she was full of hope and joy. Thoughts of Justin filled her every waking minute, and she had found herself up at dawn despite not being on the milking roster.
There was something different about Justin Wheeler. His slim exterior and brawn, his solid shoulders, his thick arms. And those hands. Not callused and rough like those of the country boys she was used to, but still not perfectly smooth either. Nor was he soft around the middle like so many urbanites were. He obviously looked after himself—probably had a gym membership and used it. She certainly enjoyed looking at him and touching him.
The Dairy Farmer's Daughter Page 3
