by Lisa Ireland
Honey Hill House
Lisa Ireland
www.escapepublishing.com.au
Honey Hill House
Lisa Ireland
Move to the country for $1 a week.
Dulili is suffering a people drought. Over the years more people have moved away than have arrived to stay in this old New South Wales farming town, and now only a handful of young families and elderly residents are left. The locals put a plan into action to entice newcomers: offering the town’s empty houses to newcomers from anywhere in Australia. Who could resist renting a beautiful homestead for a dollar a week?
Newly divorced Bea Elliot needs Honey Hill House for more than just a quaint project—restoring a ramshackle old farm house to a successful B&B will prove to her family—and herself—that she is strong enough to make a go of things on her own. She doesn’t need anyone to help her, even if the guy next door is remarkably obliging, delightfully generous, and terribly charming.
A city girl won’t last six months in the country, but Callum ‘Mitch’ Mitchell has good manners and loves his town, so he’ll be neighbourly, but keep his distance. Experience has taught him not to get involved with out-of-towners. Even if this out-of-towner is surprisingly resilient, unexpectedly tough, and unpredictably fond of local football.
Good fences make good neighbours, but in Dulili, it seems like barriers might instead be breaking down…
About the Author
Although born and bred in the city of Melbourne, Lisa has always been a country girl at heart. As a horse-mad teen she read countless books about girls and their ponies and dreamed of a life on a horse stud, far away from her suburban home. After completing a teaching degree, Lisa finally got to realise her dream of a life in the country when she took up a position in a rural school. A flood, a fire, and several encounters with snakes taught her that life on the land wasn’t all fluffy sheep and home-baked scones!
After moving back to the city Lisa’s appreciation for all things rural didn’t wane. She took to jotting down stories of her life in the bush so she would have a reminder of her time there. Eventually she realised that making up stories was much more fun than sticking to the facts.
Lisa now lives in a small coastal town with her husband, their three sons, and two very spoiled dogs, Millie and Lulu. When she’s not writing or reading she spends her time walking her dogs along the beach, pretending to watch her husband surf, drinking copious amounts of coffee at a local café, and cheering on the Mighty Cats at Simonds Stadium.
Acknowledgements
Heartfelt thanks go to:
Catherine Evans and Jennie Jones for including me in this wonderful project and for being the easiest people on the planet to work with. I loved working on this series with the two of you and look forward to collaborating again at some point in the future.
Amanda Knight and Carmen Vicos for being fabulous readers and critiquers. A piece of this work belongs to each of you.
My lovely writing buddies Delwyn Jenkins, Emily Madden and Rachael Johns, for your support and encouragement.
All the gorgeous women who have shared their mastectomy stories and photos with me in person and online. Thank you for your honesty, your vulnerability, your humour and your badass attitudes. You all rock.
Kate Cuthbert for your ongoing faith in my writing, Sue Brockhoff and all the team at Harlequin for your wonderful support of this project, and editors Laurie Ormond and Kate James for helping us to pull the whole project together.
Romance Writers of Australia and Australian Romance Readers Association. I am truly grateful for the opportunities provided by these two wonderful organisations.
Kelly Grigsby for your ongoing friendship and support (and for all the free publicity!).
My lovely family—my brother, sister-in-law, nieces, Nana Jude, aunts, and also my parents-in-law—for always being interested in and supportive of my writing.
All of my wonderful friends. Thanks for the coffees, bubbles, chats and the never-ending support for what I do. Special mention to Fiona Newman and John Fastuca for long service!
My mum, Lorraine, for always believing in me, and my dad, Kevin, for teaching me to dream big. I know you’re watching over me and cheering me on from above.
All the fabulous readers who read my work. You are the reason I write. Extra special thanks to those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter, or subscribe to my newsletter. I love hearing from you guys. I really appreciate your feedback and support.
Finally to the loves of my life, David, Charlie, Will and Alex. Thanks for sharing your lives with me xxx.
For Cath and Jennie with love and thanks xx
Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
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
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
Chapter 1
‘Hello. Anybody home?’ Callum Mitchell stood on the back porch of Honey Hill House and tried once again to get his new neighbour’s attention. ‘Can I come in?’ he called through the tattered wire of the screen door, but no reply came. There was definitely someone in there. He could hear music coming from the direction of the kitchen and every now and then there was a bang.
He tapped his foot impatiently. Damn his mother and her blasted welcome baskets. He had way better things to be doing than standing here like a chump at the back of some unknown woman’s house. Mum clearly thought he was stupid. She’d made some excuse about a committee meeting at the Country Women’s Association hall in town and dumped the wicker basket of freshly made scones and homemade jams in his hands. ‘Tell Beatrice, I’ll pop in to see her soon, darling,’ she’d said as she bustled out the door. Clearly she thought ‘Beatrice’ was an appropriate romantic choice for him—in other words she was a woman of a similar age—and she was wasting no time in putting the two of them together. If he didn’t know better Mitch would have sworn that his mother had devised the whole ‘Move to Dulili for one dollar’ scheme with the sole purpose of getting him hitched.
Even if he was in the market for a partner—which he most definitely wasn’t—some fly-by-night chick from the city would never be his choice. But Evelyn Mitchell was a difficult woman to say no to, so here he was, wasting his Friday morning trying to get the city chick to answer her door. He banged hard on the screen door again and was rewarded with a muffled response from inside just as the door’s hinges gave way.
With his arms full of scones there was nothing he could do. The door crashed onto the sagging timber deck, sending a cloud of grey dust into the air. ‘Goddammit!’
‘Can I help you?’
He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d imagined Beatrice Elliott would look like but he did know the person standing before him wasn’t it. She was tall, almost the same height as him, even in bare feet. Feet that featured toe rings, no less. He hadn’t seen that coming. Stupid, impractical shoes perhaps, but toe rings? Nope, they hadn’t crossed his mind. She was dressed in loose-fitting denim overalls and had her hair pulled back off her face and covered with a scarf.
‘Is something wrong? Do I have something on my face?’
He was staring. ‘Oh … no. Sorry. You just took me by surprise, that’s all. I’ve been out here banging for a while now.’
‘I didn’t hear you. I had my head in the oven.�
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He raised his eyebrows but she didn’t elaborate. Her gaze was firmly fixed on the fallen door.
‘Sorry about the door,’ he said. ‘I can fix it for you later. I’ll come back.’
She reached back to adjust the bandana that was just covering her pink—yes, it was definitely pink—hair. ‘And you would be?’
‘Mitch, err, Callum actually. Callum Mitchell. I’m your neighbour from up at Warialda Farm. I live in the first cottage.’
Her lips stretched into a smile of recognition. ‘Evelyn’s son, right?’
Mitch laughed. ‘Yep. So Mum mentioned me then?’
Beatrice grinned. ‘Your name might have come up once or twice when we met last month. Anyway, Callum, what can I do for you?’
‘First of all you can call me Mitch. No one calls me Callum except for my parents.’
‘Fair enough. You can call me Bea. All my friends do.’
‘Bea it is.’
‘Was there something else?’
‘Yeah. You can take this basket off my hands. It’s a welcome gift from Mum.’
‘What a lovely thought.’ She held up her hands, which were covered in black gunk. ‘Would you mind bringing it in and popping it on the kitchen table for me? I don’t want to ruin the basket.’
‘Sure. I’ll just take my boots off.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s an absolute disaster area in here. I’m going to have to wash the floor later anyway.’
‘Okay.’ He followed her inside, dodging open boxes as they made their way into the kitchen. He dumped the basket on the wonky Laminex-topped table and the table rocked in response. ‘Whoa.’ He put a hand out to steady it.
Bea shrugged. ‘I really should chock that table up with something. Seems the floor’s a bit uneven in here.’
Mitch nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s going to take a bit to fix this place up. Mum says you’re planning on turning it into a B&B.’
‘Yeah, something like that.’
Something like that? Didn’t she know? What was the committee thinking, giving Honey Hill House to a girl who looked like she’d be more at home on a commune than running a small business? Beatrice Elliott mightn’t look the way he’d expected but so far she’d done nothing to contradict his prediction that she wouldn’t last six months in Dulili.
Bea washed her hands and went over to the basket. ‘Oh wow, homemade scones—my favourite. And apricot jam too. Your mum is a real sweetie.’
‘She said to tell you she’d drop by soon. She has a few things on today but she’ll try to pop in to see how you’re going as soon as she can.’
‘Great. I’ll be happy to see her. So, can I offer you a cup of tea? Maybe a scone?’ She grinned at him and he found himself grinning back.
He was tempted to say yes. For some inexplicable reason he wasn’t in a hurry to leave. There was something strangely fascinating about this woman. It wasn’t just her appearance that had aroused his curiosity, there was something about her manner, something that made him want to sit down, pull off his boots and stay for a while. Maybe it was just the fact that she was so different from most of the women he met that made her so interesting. But she looked busy, and he really did have to head into the Ag Store to pick up some fencing wire. ‘No, I best be off. Thanks anyway. I’ll pop back later and fix up your screen door.’
‘Oh, no need for that. I can do it. It’s just a couple of screws and I’m pretty handy with a drill.’
Another surprise. ‘Oh. Okay, if you’re sure.’
‘Yep I am. Seriously, you don’t need to worry. I’m used to looking after myself.’
He was being dismissed, no doubt about. ‘Nice to meet you then,’ he said as he started back the way he’d came.
She smiled. ‘You too.’ She placed the jam jar back in the basket and knelt down in front of the open oven door.
‘Why did you have your head in the oven?’
‘Sorry?’
‘When I arrived you said you had your head in the oven.’
‘I just couldn’t take it anymore. Lucky you came when you did or I would have ended it all. You’re my knight in shining armour.’ Mitch creased his brow, not really sure how to respond to that statement, but she grinned. ‘Cheer up. I’m only kidding.’
‘Very funny. Is the oven not working?’
Bea sighed. ‘No. It’s a real bummer because I love to bake. The hot plates are working okay, but I can’t get the oven to fire up.’
‘Want me to take a look? I’m pretty handy with electrical stuff.’
‘No, it’s fine. I have to get a new oven anyway. This little old thing isn’t going to make the grade once I start taking guests on. Looks like that’s a job for sooner rather than later.’
‘You know, it’ll take a while to get a new oven fitted. The nearest appliance store is in Orange, which is a 50-minute drive from here. Even if you went today there’s no guarantee they’ll have the model you want in stock, and even if they do you’ll need to get someone who’ll come out here to fit it. I can give you a couple of names if you like, but like I said, the whole process won’t be quick. You might have to wait a couple of weeks. Wouldn’t you rather have a working oven in the meantime?’
Her shoulders slumped. ‘I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that. But I can’t ask you to fix my oven. I don’t want to be an imposition. We’ve only just met.’
‘You didn’t ask, I offered. And we’re neighbours, we help each other out. That’s just how we roll here.’
She laughed, a loud infectious laugh and he grinned in response. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just never expected you to say, “That’s how we roll”.’
‘Glad I amused you. At least I’ve been of assistance in some small way.’
‘Look, I’m just not used to accepting help from strangers, that’s all. But you’re right. We are neighbours and I guess I’m going to have to get used to things being done a little differently here. I’d love you to take a look at my oven, Mitch, but there’s one condition.’
‘Oh yeah, what’s that?’
‘You let me cook you dinner once it’s working again.’
‘It’s a deal.’
* * *
Bea stood on the back verandah watching the clouds of yellow dust Mitch’s ute threw up as he drove off towards town. Her first interaction with one of the natives—outside the old dears on the ‘Dulili for one dollar’ committee—hadn’t gone too badly. Granted she’d already broken her new rule of not relying on anyone else, but Mitch had made it pretty much impossible to say no. She hadn’t really wanted to start her time here being indebted to anyone, especially not a gorgeous specimen like Callum Mitchell. Her stomach had done a flip-flop at the sight of his masculine arms wrapped around the wicker gift basket, but she’d immediately quelled any amorous thoughts with the painful memory of Jason’s betrayal. Moving to Dulili was about freeing her life from old complications, not inviting new ones. She was not here to fall in lust with nice-looking men. She was here to build a life of her own.
Mitch had insisted looking at the oven would be no big deal and she’d offered to repay him with a dinner, so that made them all square, didn’t it? Besides, if he was right about the time it would take to get a new oven fitted it would be really inconvenient. With winter on its way, she’d been planning on baking lots of breads, muffins and pizza bases to freeze, not to mention the odd teacake or two. Hopefully fixing the old oven wouldn’t be a big job and her little dinner would be sufficient payment.
They’d made plans for him to come back late this afternoon after he’d finished doing whatever it was he had to do. She probably should make a start on unpacking the kitchen stuff if she was going to cook anything for anyone in the near future, but it was nearly lunchtime. Emma would be out of the classroom in ten minutes, which meant she had time to make herself a tea and scoff one of Evelyn’s scones before having a much-needed phone debrief with her friend.
She’d last seen Emma on Tuesday night at her farewell dinner.
All her girlfriends had been there at their favourite little neighbourhood pub to wish her well on her new adventure. There’d been lots of laughs and a few tears too. Lots of promises to come and visit when she was settled. Bea knew everyone meant what they said, but she also knew that those promises would be hard for some of her friends to make good on. Kids, jobs, husbands, boyfriends and so on had to come before visiting a crazy girlfriend who’d gone bush. But Em would come. She’d made Bea promise that she’d have a guest room ready by the next school holidays, because she was planning to come and stay for two whole weeks.
Tuesday seemed like a lifetime ago. Wednesday she’d finished loading the truck her brother had borrowed from a mate and then the two of them had hit the road, Joe driving the truck and her following behind in her ancient Barina. It was a long haul from Melbourne—two days on the road, with an overnight stop in Wagga Wagga—but she’d loved sharing the adventure with Joe. It took her back to her early childhood, those happy days before Mum was gone and she’d had to grow up overnight.
They’d arrived late yesterday afternoon and after some basic unpacking, including the assembly of two beds, they’d both collapsed with exhaustion. This morning, Joe had been up and ready to leave before seven. The truck had to be back before Monday so there was no chance for lingering farewells. Bea kissed Joe with dry eyes and a smile on her face, shaking off his pleas to call if things didn’t work out.
‘You worry too much, Joe. I’m going to be fine. Better than fine. I’m going to be fantastic.’ As the truck disappeared into the distance, she realised she was on her own for the first time ever. The tears came then. Whether they were out of fear or relief she didn’t know.
But so far, so good. The unpacking was going well and the oven was the only major problem she’d discovered so far. That problem was on its way to being sorted so she figured she could afford a little break. Hopefully a quick chat with Em would help keep the homesickness at bay. With the scone now reduced to crumbs and a fresh tea in front of her, she pulled out her mobile and called her friend.
