Mitchell shouted again and whether it was luck, divine intervention, or the cow responding to his shouts, she turned in the nick of time, missing Len by a whisker as she shot through the gate into the smaller holding yard near the barn. To Mitchell’s astonishment, Len was as good as he promised. He threw the rope and managed to snag her on the first attempt.
‘Fluke,’ said Jordan, behind him.
Mitchell cursed. The rope was too long. Long enough for the cow to gain another full head of steam. With the rope around her neck and a drunk guy attached to the end of it, she flashed angry eyes at all of them.
Because of Len’s slow thinking processes, impaired reaction time and bad judgment, he waited until the cow reached the end of the rope before he realised what was about to happen.
‘This is not going to end well,’ Jordan shouted.
He was right.
Mitchell and Jordan covered the distance between where they were standing at the gate and Len and the cow as fast as they could, but they weren’t fast enough. With a cartoon-like jerk, the cow somehow bucked which lifted Len’s body off the ground before she turned and headed straight for the open gates behind Mitchell and Jordan. Len resembled a water skier biting the waves headfirst as the cow dragged him along the ground except that he was biting weeds, grass and dung, not water. If the situation didn’t border on dangerous, Mitchell would have laughed at the absurdity of it.
‘Let go,’ he cried as the cow ran past, splattering them with mud and muck kicked up from her hooves as she hurtled by, her calf still hanging half out of her.
Len clung to the rope for dear life. Thankfully the cow didn’t go far, but as Mitchell and Jordan tried to corner her, she lashed out, kicking Jordan in the thigh. He swore loudly but stayed on his feet, arms spreadeagled so the cow didn’t run past again. Mitchell didn’t have time to stop and make sure he was okay.
Behind them, Len sprang to his feet with surprising agility for his age and drunkenness. Without a word he tossed Jordan the rope, ran towards the cow and launched himself into the air, landing with a thud on the poor animal’s back. She bellowed as he knocked the wind out of both himself and the cow.
Jordan winced. ‘That’s gotta hurt.’
‘Ten out of ten for execution though,’ Mitchell said. ‘Grab the rope and let’s make sure she doesn’t get away.’ He needn’t have bothered. The cow had given up her fight. Mitchell quickly examined her, running his hands over her body and legs. She seemed unhurt. He wasn’t so sure how the calf had fared.
‘I don’t know if this calf will be alive,’ he told Les.
‘Yeah, wondered that m’self.’
Jordan limped over to the fence and stood, catching his breath.
‘You okay?’ Mitchell called out to him.
‘Not sure. She got me in the thigh. It’s bleeding.’ Jordan unbuckled his jeans, dropped them, and swore. ‘Made a nasty mess.’
‘Well, unless you’ve nicked an artery, I’m a bit busy here,’ Mitchell said. ‘Sorry,’ he added. He flicked his head towards the truck. ‘There’s a first aid kit in there. Bandage it up and we can check it out later.’
‘No wonder you work with animals, not people,’ Jordan grumbled. ‘Your bedside manner sucks.’
‘I don’t think my cow friend here cares about my bedside manner.’ Mitchell pulled on the long rectal glove and approached the cow from the side.
‘You are not going to do what I think you’re going to do,’ Jordan said, eyes wide, mouth agape.
‘Absolutely. And I’m going to need your help. Either take over from Len and keep the cow’s head still or hold her tail out of the way.’
‘No wonder I chose human medicine.’
The cow flicked her tail and rocked from side to side, mooing loudly.
‘Give me a sec.’
‘All the time in the world,’ Mitchell said, rolling his eyes.
It took Jordan a while to sort himself out before he came and took position at the side of the cow. He held her tail to one side and turned his head away.
‘God that’s gross,’ he said as Mitchell slid his entire arm into the cow’s birth canal.
‘How bad is your leg?’ Mitchell asked, looking back over his shoulder with his arm still inside cow.
‘I think it’ll need stitches.’ Jordan flicked a look at the cow. ‘Can you pay attention to what you’re doing please? Forget about me.’
A flash of concern rippled down Mitchell’s back. He couldn’t forget about Jordan. If his leg was bad enough to need stitches, then it was bad. He should have taken more care to make sure Jordan was out of harm’s way. ‘Can it wait or do want me to check it out?’
‘It can definitely wait,’ Jordan said. ‘The bandage will stop the bleeding. I’ve had far worse injuries than this over the years. Besides, you’re not touching me after you’ve had your whole arm in there. I’d sooner stitch myself up blind with a blunt sewing needle and no anaesthetic.’
Mitchell’s concern for his friend evaporated. He twisted his head again to look at Jordan and grinned. ‘Promise I’ll wash my hands first.’
‘Bloody hope so. After this I don’t think I’m ever going to shake your hand again.’
‘What’s Len doing?’ Mitchell asked. From this angle, he couldn’t see him.
Jordan checked and threw his head back in laughter. ‘You’re not going to believe it. He’s fallen asleep.’
Mitchell shook his head. ‘I tell you, I can’t make this stuff up.’
*
‘How much longer do you think you’ll be?’ Jordan asked ten minutes later.
‘Hard to say. Once I’ve delivered the calf I’ll hang around and make sure it’s okay and feeding properly. And it doesn’t look like Len is about to wake up anytime soon. I probably should stick around and make sure he’s okay too.’
‘You right if I take your Jeep? I’ll head back to town to the clinic and see if the nurse is around and get her to help me fix my leg.’
‘Told you. I’m happy to look. I’ve got a suture kit in the back of the truck.’
Jordan held up two hands. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll dash home, then I’ll send Liz to come out and pick you up if I have to go into Warrnambool to the hospital.’
‘She won’t mind?’
Jordan beamed. ‘It’s called love. She’ll do whatever I ask.’
‘I don’t know how she puts up with you.’
‘It’s because I’m charming and irresistible and incredibly good looking.’
‘If you say so.’
More likely Elizabeth stayed with Jordan because he was a doctor. Poor Jordan didn’t have the best track record with women. He might give Mitchell a hard time about his love life, but Jordan’s wasn’t much better.
‘Keys are in the ignition. Drive carefully. You know how much I love that car.’
Mitchell watched Jordan limp back to his car. Hopefully his leg wasn’t too bad, but right now he couldn’t afford to be thinking about that. He had a little unborn calf who needed him more than his mate did.
Chapter 7
Fifteen minutes later, Mitchell delivered a very large and perfectly healthy calf. He stepped away to observe the scene, pulling off his rubber gloves and tossing them to one side. He was filthy, his khaki overalls and flannel shirt covered in smelly birth gunk. Slipping his arms out of the straps of his overalls he yanked his shirt over his head, balling it up and tossing it aside ready to be thrown in the nearest bin. No point bothering to take it home to wash.
As he stretched his arms above his head to ease the kinks from his back, a long, low whistle caused him to spin around so quickly he almost lost his footing.
A split second before he turned around, Mitchell knew it was Hope. She’d always teased him he had a sixth sense when it came to her.
When he saw her standing there, leaning back against the fence, one gum-booted foot crossed in front of the other like she had all the time in the world, his stomach knotted, and his breath hitched. If his hands weren’t filthy from birthi
ng a calf, he’d have rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.
He’d had less than twenty-four hours to get his head around the fact she was back in Macarthur Point and now she was here in front of him, all blue eyes, blonde hair and smattering of freckles across her nose. Nothing could have prepared him for the shock of seeing her.
‘H . . . Hope,’ he somehow croaked out a stammered greeting.
She grinned. ‘Looking good, Mitch Davis,’ she drawled.
Her simple greeting crash-landed in the space between his head and his heart. He took pride in his ability to remain level-headed in a crisis or an emergency, but Hope’s presence in front of him was turning on every one of his internal panic buttons. His rib cage was so tight every breath was an effort.
Not knowing what to do or say, he stood and stared at her.
She looked good too. Correction. She looked great. How she managed to look so incredible in a pair of faded denim jeans, a shapeless black puffer jacket and a beanie was beyond him, but then again, he’d always been mesmerised by her natural beauty.
He snuck a glance at her leg but her loose jeans and boots hid any sign of a prosthetic limb.
‘How long have you been standing there?’ he asked finally.
She beamed at him. ‘Long enough.’
He dragged in a breath. It wasn’t just her words; it was the way she said them and the way she looked at him that caused his blood to pulsate in his ears and his heart to beat erratically in his chest. She tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind one ear and a tiny diamond in her lobe winked in the sunlight. He caught himself searching for one on her other ear.
Damn, she looked hot. No wonder he couldn’t arrange his thoughts in a straight line. It would be easy to write off his immediate attraction as lust, but it wasn’t just his groin that ached, his entire chest was being crushed in a vice.
‘Aren’t you going to give me a hug?’ she asked, breaking through his whirling thoughts. ‘If I recall, hugs used to be your usual method of greeting.’
Her words were casually thrown at him, but he heard and felt the undercurrent of emotion that had always been there between them.
The years fell away and suddenly he was that twenty-two-year-old man, in love for the first time in his life and once again he struggled to catch his breath.
They watched each other for what felt like an eternity but was probably less than a second. He was transfixed by her gaze, carried back to that final summer when he’d last held her in his arms. He shook his head to clear the images of her.
He indicated his filthy clothes and swallowed, trying to speak. She’d rendered him mute.
Finally, Hope made the first move. She pushed off from the fence and sauntered towards him. She favoured her right leg when she walked, but her limp was so subtle he probably wouldn’t have noticed it if he wasn’t looking for it.
‘Bit of dirt never bothered me,’ she said with another grin.
Before he could prepare himself, Hope threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and nearly knocking him over as she squeezed the breath from his lungs. He’d forgotten how much Hope loved to hug.
Whether it was reflex or muscle memory, he had no idea, but in response to her hug he wrapped his arms around her waist and lowered his head to her hair to breathe her in. She smelled way better than he must, like lemon and vanilla.
Memories rushed in, making his head hurt. He’d been besotted with Hope Rossi from the moment he laid eyes on her—probably from the time she was fifteen or sixteen—and judging by his reaction to her now, nothing had changed.
He’d done nothing about his infatuation with Hope for years, partly because she was the younger cousin of one of his best friends, partly because he only saw her once a year for a short time over the summer school holidays when she visited Macarthur Point and partly because he’d carried a large chip on his shoulder and hadn’t thought he was good enough for someone like her.
But one night, urged on by his mates and bolstered by beer, he boldly asked Hope to join him on the beach. He still remembered the feeling of exhilaration and joy when she said yes.
The next six weeks were the best ones of his life.
Then she left town and got sick. After that, everything changed.
Her arms tightened around his chest as if she was remembering the past too, or perhaps reading his mind. She’d always been good at that.
Get a grip, he told himself. It’s just a friendly hug.
His body wasn’t getting the message though and he needed to put some distances between them before he embarrassed himself. And her. Heart still beating wildly, he gently eased himself from her hold.
Placing an arm across her shoulder, they stood side by side, hips barely touching and watched the cow and her calf. But he could have been standing anywhere and he wouldn’t have noticed his surroundings. His senses were overfilled with Hope’s presence and just standing there was nearly killing him. He ached to take her in his arms again and hold her tight. This time he wouldn’t let her go.
‘He’s gorgeous.’ Hope’s voice broke through his thoughts.
The calf stood again on his wobbly knobby legs and stared curiously at them with wide brown eyes.
‘Can I go and pat him?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘But go slowly.’
Hope snuck closer, dropping awkwardly to her knees in the mud when she reached the cow and calf. He smiled as she gushed over how cute the calf was.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked finally.
She glanced up at him. ‘I was driving past and saw the cow in trouble. I called the vet clinic, which was obviously you, but I had no idea. I can’t believe I didn’t recognise your voice on the phone. After I rang you, I went back to Courtney’s to get changed then came back out to see if I could help. I watched the whole thing.’
With a final scratch to the calf’s head, Hope pushed herself up from the ground and looked him over. It was a long, lingering pass covering him from head to foot and back again. His body tingled in response.
‘Aren’t you cold?’ she asked.
Despite the fact he was only wearing overalls and an old flannel shirt, and it was probably less than ten degrees, his body temperature was at boiling point. He indicated his ruined jumper on the ground. ‘I couldn’t leave that on.’
‘Do you often get dirty on the job?’ She asked.
He raised an eyebrow. Was she making a double entendre? He chose to ignore it.
‘I’ve got a change of clothes in my car.’
She glanced over her shoulder and he followed her gaze to where a lone, black, mud-splattered BMW was parked. Courtney’s X5. Damn. He’d forgotten Jordan had taken his car, and with it, the spare change of clothes he kept in the boot.
‘Jordan was here helping. He got kicked by the cow and took my car back into town to go to the clinic and stitch himself back up.’
Hope’s face filled with concern. ‘I saw him drive off. Is he okay? Does he need help?’
‘He’ll be fine. Probably needs some sutures, but he refused my offer of doing them.’
Hope chuckled. ‘Looking like that, I’m not surprised.’
Silence fell between them, but it was comfortable.
‘I think I saw one of Lachie’s jackets on the back seat.’
She strode back to her vehicle before he could stop her and returned a minute later with a navy wool jacket. She handed it to him, and he slipped it on gratefully over his dirty overalls. He’d have to get it dry-cleaned for Lachie later, but that was the least of his concerns. The coat was warm, and it provided a barrier of protection against Hope’s sweeping gaze.
‘I probably should go and check on the old guy and make sure he’s okay,’ she said.
‘Oh, er, yeah, right,’ he stammered. What a fool. He’d been so caught up in Hope’s presence, he’d forgotten about poor Len. ‘That’d be a good idea. His name’s Len. I doubt he needs any help. I’d say he’s sleeping off a hangover. But I�
�m no doctor.’
Hope headed over to where Len lay on a pile of sodden straw near the entry to the shearing shed. Unsure what else to do, Mitchell trailed after her.
She nudged Len’s foot with the toe of her boot. ‘Hey, mate. Can you hear me? Open your eyes.’
One eye flickered open briefly.
She gave him another gentle kick. ‘Open your eyes. That’s it. What’s your name?’
Len groaned. ‘Len Bennett.’
‘Can you sit up?’
Len shifted slowly into a seated position.
Hope leaned over and held out her hands. ‘Give my hands a squeeze.’
Len reached for her hands and squeezed tightly. She looked at Mitchell and winced. ‘Nothing wrong with his grip strength.’ She fixed her attention back on Les. ‘Righto. Let go. Can you stand up?’
Len reached for her hands again. ‘Can ya help?’
‘Uh-uh. No way. You got yourself down, you can get yourself up. I’m not stuffing up my back because you’re too drunk to stand.’
Mitchell stifled a laugh. Hope hadn’t changed. As forthright as he remembered. He went to her side to see if he could help. ‘Is he alright?’
‘He’s fine. You’re right. He probably needs to sleep off whatever he drank last night.’ She scrunched up her nose. ‘Or this morning. Jeez, imagine if he was breathalysed.’
Mitchell reached down and helped Len up before taking him by the elbow and leading him towards the farmhouse. ‘Come on, mate. I’ll help you inside.’
After they’d settled Len on the couch and covered him with a blanket, they exited the gloomy interior of his house and headed back to the car in silence.
‘Can I give you a lift home?’ Hope asked when they got back to the shed.
‘Yeah, that’d be great. I’ll double check the cow and calf are okay and call Jordan and tell him not to bother coming back out to get me.’
‘Cool. While you do that, I’ll load your gear into my boot.’
He hesitated. He couldn’t let Hope do that. His bag was heavy and with one leg, surely it would be difficult for her to manage.
‘It’s fine, Hope. You don’t have to. It might be too hard with your—’
Holding onto Hope Page 6
