His Outback Nanny (Prickle Creek)

by Annie Seaton

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Glossary of Aussie Terms

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Find your Bliss with these great releases… Bargaining with the Boss

  Be My Valentine

  The Nanny Arrangement

  Three River Ranch

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Annie Seaton. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 105, PMB 159

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/bliss

  Edited by Erin Molta

  Cover design by Fiona Jayde

  Cover art from Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-440-4

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition January 2018

  To my wonderful husband, who understands me so well and unerringly supports my need to write.

  Prologue

  Jemima Smythe ignored her ringing phone as the stylist touched up the last of her makeup. She sat straight, the clinging blue silk of the formal evening dress whispering against her bare legs. The fashion parade was at the Sydney Opera House, and everyone was on their best behavior. This was her chance to get to New York. She’d heard there was a talent scout from the Eileen Ford agency in the crowd today. The problem was everyone else was excited, but Jemima wasn’t. Lately, she’d been a bit bored by it all, though the prestige of getting picked up by the New York agency kept her going. Not to mention the financial benefit—she’d be set for life, and then she could do what she really wanted.

  “You’re next up, darling,” Roger called. Next on the catwalk and if she answered this call, she’d miss her cue, and Roger, the volatile stage manager, would go berserk. Normally, Jemima worked on being serene and presenting a calm exterior to the world. It was amazing how many favours—and indeed extra jobs—she’d picked up because of her reputation as an easy-to-get-on-with model, not a prima donna, no matter how hard the shoot or the day on the catwalk was.

  Sometimes she wondered if she’d chosen the right career. The hard work and the long hours didn’t faze her. It was attitude that was important. This was a short-term job, and Jemima knew she’d been very lucky. Hard work and the right attitude had paid off. Many of the younger models seemed to believe that a career in modelling was a path to fame and riches. But she’d been luckier than most. She’d started modelling for a department store in Sydney straight after high school, and by the ripe old age of twenty-five, she had saved a lot of money and had made some shrewd investments. More often than not, Jemima found herself mentoring the young girls aspiring for a quick path to the top. She shook her head, and the stylist grunted.

  “Sorry.”

  But despite the “glamorous” perception of her job, it was difficult work, and it was lonely. On the road most of the time, following the fashion circuit, she missed the quiet life of Spring Downs where she’d grown up. No one needed her here. If she disappeared, she’d be replaced by the next new “face.” It was all so shallow, so artificial—but it paid the bills…and more.

  The stylist put his makeup brush down. “You’re right to go. Perfect as usual. And listen, the word is the guy from New York is in the front row. Kill ’em, babe.”

  Jemima glanced down at her phone, and all serenity fled as a familiar number flashed onto the screen.

  Oh bloody hell, why is Gran calling?

  Not now. She had to be calm. This was her chance to hit the big time.

  …

  One month later

  Jemima pulled out into the heavy Sydney traffic on the motorway to the west, her Audi sports car making a muted roar. For some reason, she always felt as though she had to impress her big brother, Liam, and he’d certainly been impressed with her new car when she’d picked him up from the international airport. He’d looked tired and had quickly fallen asleep. When he’d woken up as she’d turned onto the Golden Highway, he’d been ready to chat, and they’d talked nonstop as they headed for Dubbo. She was still finding it hard to believe that they had both dropped everything and headed home to the outback at Gran’s request.

  “The accident really changed our lives, didn’t it? I think of everything as before and after,” Jemima said with a sigh as she drove by the golden fields of wheat.

  “Me too,” Liam said as they had to slow down behind a cattle truck. The smell of cattle seeped through the vents. “At this rate, we won’t be there until almost dark. But it’ll be good to be home for a while.”

  “You still think of it as home? Funny. So do I,” Jemima said.

  They were quiet for a while as she concentrated on the road, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Jemima took in a deep breath. “Ah, the smell of the country. I’ve missed it.”

  “Have you been out here lately?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “This is the first time since the funeral, and I’m a bit nervous.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re not Robinson Crusoe.”

  Three hours later, Jemima cursed and fought for control as the Audi slipped from left to right on the wet road. A light shower had turned the six kilometre stretch of dirt road between the main Spring Downs Road and Prickle Creek Farm into a slippery track. It took them more than half an hour to get to the gate of the property, and when the red and green sign appeared on the fence, she pulled over. “I’d forgotten how far down the road the farm was. But it still looks the same, doesn’t it?”

  “It does. I feel about eighteen again. Prickle Creek Farm,” Liam read the words on the sign before he turned to her. “Why did you stop?”

  “Because I need confidence and war paint.”

  He huffed an impatient sigh when she reached for the makeup bag on the floor of the backseat and proceeded to make up her face before brushing her long blond hair and putting it up with a clip. She finished off with a bright red lipstick and a light spray of perfume.

  “Gawd, Jemmy. I’ll stink too. Give it a break.”

  “Jemima, and it’s Chanel No 5.” She looked at him as she started the car again.

  Liam shook his head. “Do women really think that stuff makes a man look twice?”

  “Oh, button it, Liam.” Jemima took a deep breath. “If you want the truth, I’m nervous as hell about going home. I can hide behind it. Jemima Smythe, aloof model who doesn’t do emotion.”

  Liam grinned at her. “Well, if you did, I think your face would c
rack with all that gunk on it.”

  For that, he copped a punch on his upper arm.

  “We’re not all as confident as you are. And don’t you even think about saying a word of that to Gran or Lucy,” Jemima said.

  “Don’t worry, sis. We’re all in this together. Solidarity. Okay?”

  Despite his teasing, Jemima knew her brother was also nervous about coming home. Why had they all jumped to Gran’s summons so readily? From all over the world? Maybe it was because she’d never asked them for anything before.

  Maybe it was because they wanted a new start in life?

  “Solidarity,” she murmured quietly.

  Chapter One

  Twelve months later

  Jemima Smythe’s gaze was fixed on the red, dusty road as she walked down the long driveway to the mailbox. It was mid-January, and the brown snakes were active out here at Gran and Pop’s farm in the Pilliga Scrub, and Jemima couldn’t go off into a daydream. Keeping an eye out for movement in the tall grass was a must if you walked along the road in summer.

  The sun was bright, and Jemima squinted as she opened the flap on the mailbox and pulled out the Prickle Creek Farm mailbag. There was a sheaf of letters, advertising brochures, and the local weekly paper. She took the newspaper and slipped it beneath her arm as she flipped through the letters.

  It seemed almost a lifetime ago since she had received that phone call from Gran. After she’d collected Liam from the international airport in Sydney, they’d come home, and Gran had revealed that she wanted each of them to spend some time at Prickle Creek Farm. Her grandparents were considering selling the farm, but they wanted to give the grandchildren a chance to work it and see if any of their futures were here in the Pilliga Scrub. For eight months, Jemima had fulfilled her contractual obligations in New York at the Eileen Ford Agency, but her heart hadn’t been in it. She’d been home now for a couple of months, helping Liam—Gran and Pop had toured the UK and now were on a bus trip through Europe—and Jemima was ready to start a new job doing something she wanted to do, something that was worthwhile and she enjoyed.

  Yes!

  There was a letter in an official-looking envelope—from the school. Her hands were shaking, and Jemima pulled out the letter, her eyes scanning the words. She let out a loud whoop, startling a murder of crows high up in the trees above the gate. They flew away with a couple of loud and cranky ark ark calls.

  She read the letter aloud as she walked along. Reading out loud made it seem so much more real.

  “Dear Ms. Smythe, Please report to Spring Downs School office at 8.30 a.m. on Monday, 29th January to be interviewed for the position of kindergarten teacher.”

  Yes! She had an interview! The first step towards getting her dream job was underway. Lucy had asked her about it when she’d come over with baby James a couple of days ago.

  “Jemmy, I can’t understand you. You had a job that many girls dream about. You’ve got enough money saved to live off for years, a snazzy little sports car, and yet you want to go and work in a primary school?” Lucy had screwed her nose up in disgust or confusion. Jemima hadn’t been sure which.

  “I do. It will be so satisfying. I’ll be making a difference. Helping the children to learn. Teaching them to grow into responsible citizens. In my hometown.”

  Lucy had shaken her head. “And wiping runny noses, and putting Band-Aids on cut knees, separating fighting children. Not for me.”

  “You’ve got your own little boy to love.” Jemima’s voice was soft. “I want someone to need me, Luce.”

  Lucy had married Garth McKenzie from the farm next door, and their baby, James, was now three months old.

  Lucy reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, love. I’m so happy. I get caught up in my little world with Garth and James, and I don’t think of others. I so hope it works out for you.”

  “Oh, Lucy. I’m going to love it. It means so much more to me than being a clothes horse. Going from city to city, having makeup plastered all over my face became so hard towards the end. I hated it. Even in New York, where everyone wants to work. I’m so happy to be home in Spring Downs. But I need to make my own way and find somewhere else to live.”

  “What did Liam say about you teaching?”

  To everyone’s astonishment, once his six months had been up, Liam had decided to stay at the farm. He was also involved with an alliance that was fighting the introduction of coal seam gas and doing some casual reporting for the local Spring Downs paper. Liam had also reunited with his former lover, Angie, the local veterinarian in town.

  Jemima was now living with Liam, and he’d done nothing but complain about her cooking since she’d arrived.

  “I haven’t told him or Angie yet. I didn’t want to jinx my chances, telling too many others. But you know, that’s the reason I need to do something. I’m happy for them, but I feel like a third wheel here. Once their house is built, it’ll be better, but I know when they head off into town some nights, it’s because they want some privacy. Once I get the job at the school—and I’m trying to be positive—I’ll find somewhere to live in town.” She’d giggled. “Liam certainly won’t miss my cooking.”

  “That’s for sure, love.” Lucy had laughed along with her. “You certainly missed out on Gran’s cooking gene.”

  When Jemima was almost back to the farmhouse, she glanced at the newspaper, and her buoyant mood deflated in an instant.

  “Oh no.” She groaned as she read the lead article on the front page. Who the heck talked to the paper?

  As she scanned the text below, her mood worsened. Not only was the content incorrect, they had spelled her name wrong.

  Jennina Smythe! She walked heavily up the front steps as she read. From the New York Catwalk to the Country.

  Everyone in Spring Downs would know her business by nightfall. Just what I don’t need. She hoped the principal of the primary school didn’t read the paper this week.

  Liam didn’t look impressed when Jemima fronted him with the newspaper as soon as he walked in from the paddock.

  “Are you responsible for this?” She knew her voice was shrill, but damn it, she was still angry.

  He raised his hands and stared back at her. “At least let a man have a shower and clean up before you’re into him. And I have no idea what you’re on about.”

  “This.” She shook the paper at him, and he took it from her. He held it up and read the headline, and a smile tipped her brother’s lips. At least Jemima was sure she saw one before he answered.

  “Don’t go blaming me. I didn’t tell them a thing.”

  “You work there.” Her voice was full of accusation.

  “I am a casual journalist, on staff, submitting occasional political articles about coal seam gas mining in the district. Why the heck would I want to write an article about you?” Liam chuckled and held up the paper. “And the proof is there. I think I can spell my little sister’s name properly.”

  “I’m cross.” Jemima pouted.

  “I can see that.” Liam crossed to the window and looked up the driveway. “I hope Garth and Lucy aren’t too much longer. I’m starving.”

  Jemima went into the kitchen, turned the oven on for the pizzas, and bit her lip. She was still angry about the stupid article. She opened the dresser and took out a tablecloth, ready to set the table.

  “So what’s so bad about being in the local paper?” Liam asked.

  “I was going to tell you tonight when Lucy and Garth were here, but I might as well tell you now.”

  “So spill,” Liam said with a curious glance at her.

  “I’ve got a job interview.” Jemima shook the tablecloth and spread it over the old wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. “The farm’s under control. You and Angie need some space. You’ve hired a cook to look after the contractors this year, which means I’m certainly not needed here.”

  “So where’s the job? Back in Sydney?” Liam asked.

  “No. At the primary school in town.”
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  “You finished your teaching degree?” Liam ran his hand through his hair.

  “I did. And now I’m worried about this stupid article.” Jemima crossed to the sink. She watched as Garth drove through the gate and brought the SUV to a stop. Lucy spotted her at the window and waved.

  “Why?” Liam frowned. “Surely that won’t affect your chances of getting the job?”

  “I guess it’s a confidence thing. I wanted to slip into the school quietly, get the job, and just be Miss Smythe, the new teacher.” She held out her hand for the newspaper, and Liam passed it back to her, and she read it again. “What credibility is a ‘famous international catwalk glider’”—she shuddered—“going to have in the classroom or with the parents at Spring Downs Public School?”

  “You’re a local girl made good, Jem. The kids—and parents—will love you.”

  She grimaced. “I am. This is where I grew up, and this is where I want to be. But the first step is getting the job before I can show them anything. And then I can focus on showing them I’m a hometown girl.”

  “I wonder who gave the information to the local paper?” Liam crossed to the door and held it open for Garth as he came in loaded with pizzas on one arm and a drinks cooler in the other. Lucy was close behind him, with baby James on her hip. “It wasn’t me.”

  “I saw the front page of the paper when I was in town this morning,” Lucy said. “Everyone was talking about it in the grocery store. I was surprised to see it, Jemmy.” Lucy put the baby on the soft rug on the floor, and he gurgled contentedly. “Did the paper interview you?”

  “No. I’ve got no idea who gave all that guff to the paper. A catwalk glider, for goodness sake!” Jemima shook her head. “And listen to this. They make me sound as though I’ve been living the high life. ‘New York, Monte Carlo, Paris…our local town has a celebrity in its midst.’ And I’ve never even been to Paris!”

  Lucy walked over to the oven. “So who else knew you were in the fashion industry?”

  “One of the librarians at the town library asked me what I’d done in Sydney the other day, but—”

  “Well, there’s your answer then. Maisey Sykes is the biggest gossip in town.” Lucy unwrapped the pizzas that Garth had carried in and put them into the large gas oven.